Ahsoka sat on one of the base's walls, watching the work going on below. Her Teacher was rushing around again, discussing some boring technical details with the clones. No — she understood that all of this was very important, but… that didn't make it any less boring. So now the girl sat on the wall, simply relaxing and enjoying the warm rays of the sun falling on her skin.
She giggled a little as she watched several clones trying to get a company of B-1s to paint themselves. That was definitely not a boring sight.
The tin cans nodded, cheerfully reporting, "Understood, understood!" — and immediately managed to create complete mess: falling flat on the ground, overturning paint buckets, smearing each other's sensors, moving while being painted, and so on. And all of this was actively discussed among themselves — giving advice, arguing, and trying to help — only increasing the chaos.
The clones had long since regretted their decision to slack off, but their lamentations and instructions were of little use. The mess continued.
I wonder why the Teacher even needed those stupid buckets? I could take them all down in less than a minute! The Togruta smiled smugly, suppressing a laugh, when one of the clones shouted, "Damn you idiots!" Three droids stumbled over each other and, with a chorus of "Understood, understood!" collapsed right onto a bucket of paint.
It's good that I escaped from the Temple after all. Being a Padawan is really cool. But the Teacher… Ahsoka's thoughts took a new direction. He's strange. Sometimes it feels like he's not a Jedi at all. Of course, he's amazing, but… he's just different...
He often mentioned strange things she had never even heard of. And the process of her training was somewhat unusual. The Teacher would send a couple of droids against her, forcing her to throw them around with telekinesis, or make her meditate for hours. Ahsoka didn't see much point in that, but she didn't dare argue.
It wasn't that they'd had much time for training yet, but her Teacher often stumped her with tricky questions. Still, he also encouraged her when she showed curiosity — as he liked to say, "Truth is born in argument."
For example, yesterday, when Ahsoka couldn't hold back any longer and, while inspecting the fortifications under construction, asked the question that had been tormenting her since the reinforcements' arrival:
"Teacher, what did you mean when you told Commander Rinaun that the Order had forgotten? What kind of tendencies had come out there? Or were you just trying to calm him down and improve relations?" She would have asked earlier, but there had always been others around. Now, finally, they were alone.
He turned around, crossed his arms over his chest, and said with a smile,
"Just say it like it is — 'Teacher, I think you lied shamelessly so that the terrible and evil commander would stop scolding you.'"
"No!" the Togruta exclaimed indignantly — and a little fearfully. "I mean… Jedi don't lie, but what you said…" All her prepared words suddenly vanished.
"What did I say? After Rusan, the Order really did change a lot. Everything — from our way of life to our place in the galaxy, even our level of knowledge — underwent radical transformation. A lot was forgotten, some things deliberately rejected, and others taken to absurd extremes."
"For example?" Tano had never been told such a story before. She would definitely remember.
"For example, the rejection of emotions and attachments, the prohibition against having a family. Do you know how the original Jedi Code actually sounded?" A sly look appeared in the mentor's eyes, with an undertone she couldn't quite grasp, and Ahsoka felt something in the Force… something vague.
"Ah… it changed?" I must look like such a fool right now.
"There!" His smile widened. "You don't even know that." His gloved hand gently rested on her head and stroked it lightly. "Now, how does the Code sound today?"
The girl frowned, uncertain how to react. She narrowed one eye as she gathered her thoughts, then recited carefully, trying not to stumble:
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force
"Correct." His hand left her head, leaving behind a strange, lingering feeling. Teacher looked into her eyes.
"Only that isn't the real Code of the Jedi Order. It's a mantra Odan-Urr — the Keeper of the Order's Archives, who lived about four thousand years ago — came up with for himself when he was enduring a particularly unpleasant episode in his life. He used it to calm his mind after a severe moral trial. The real Code sounded like this:
Emotion, yet peace.
Ignorance, yet knowledge.
Passion, yet serenity.
Chaos, yet harmony.
Death, yet the Force.
Ahsoka shuddered. Those words… they had a certain pull. Though the Togruta couldn't explain why — they were simply too unusual.
"Do you feel the difference?" he asked. "To be honest, I don't know how the mantra of Odan-Urr, who was the Keeper of Knowledge, became so widely known. From my point of view, such things shouldn't be taught to everyone. But I can easily tell you how it replaced the real text." The Teacher fell silent.
"How?" Ahsoka couldn't help asking.
"Throughout history, the Order has been almost completely destroyed several times — and as a rule, it began from the very top: the most experienced and knowledgeable members. The last such catastrophe occurred on Rusan a thousand years ago, when almost the entire elite of the Order perished in an instant. There was another during Odan-Urr's era — actually, two: first, the Jedi Civil War, then the First Jedi Purge." The Jedi tilted his chin thoughtfully, then continued:
"It was around that time one of the survivors decided that the mantra of the long-dead archivist suited him better than the original text. Since then, Odan-Urr's version spread among the masses, gradually replacing the real Code."
Ahsoka felt as though she'd been hit over the head with a dusty sack — at least, that was the image that came to mind. Yet some stubborn instinct of resistance remained.
"What about attachments? Don't they lead to the Dark Side?"
"Of course not," the man replied, shrugging as he surveyed the panorama of fortifications. "Not on their own, at least. It's the inability to control oneself that leads to the Dark Side. If a rational being allows anger, jealousy, or fear to dictate their actions, then they have only themselves to blame for being such a weak-willed nobody. Everything else is merely an attempt to shift responsibility. Besides, by rejecting feelings and emotions, the Jedi have distanced themselves from ordinary people — becoming dark, aloof figures who are tolerated but not welcomed. They can't understand us, so they fear us, thinking we're something like the Sith. Do you understand?"
The Teacher raised his eyebrows, and Tano nodded hesitantly.
"Well, the prohibition against Jedi owning personal property sometimes leads to absurd situations — like when, during a mission, a Jedi is forced to make do with junk. Not to mention that a lack of resources can jeopardize an important task — or cost a Jedi their life. All in all, such a policy weakens the Order. I won't even mention that the logic itself is idiotic, because reasoning like that could lead to the idea of stifling every gifted individual at birth — since life itself carries the risk of turning to the Dark Side. So let's solve the problem once and for all, shall we?"
"That's a bit extreme…" the Togruta muttered in confusion.
"But that's how it is — and it's very sad," the Jedi said with another shrug.
"But Jedi did fall to the Dark Side… That's what we were told. The prohibitions exist to prevent that, don't they?"
"Yes, but intelligent beings aren't mechanisms you can program once and expect to work forever. Every sentient being is unique — with their own character, tastes, and worldview. For some, love is inseparable from possessiveness, jealousy, and aggression toward anyone who might threaten it. Others can love selflessly, guided only by the desire for their beloved's happiness — even if it's not with them. You can't lump everyone together like that. It isn't true even within a single species — and when you're dealing with hundreds or thousands of intelligent species, such an approach is utterly absurd.
"As for turning to the Dark Side… there have always been, are, and will always be those who want to take the easy path — to gain everything at once or simply save their own skin by making a deal with the enemy. It's part of life. C'est la vie, comprends?" The Master switched briefly to some language the Togruta didn't recognize.
The man fell silent, and Ahsoka shook her head.
"Teacher, what… what Code… no, what do you think—" the Togruta stammered, unable to form the question.
"Which path am I following, you mean? And which path should you choose?" he asked quietly.
Tano could only nod jerkily.
"That's for you to decide, Snips," the Knight stunned her, then turned and walked away — leaving Ahsoka alone to ponder his words.
A teacher should guide his student along the right path… but he—? Or is this part of the lesson? What did he want from me? And what conclusions am I supposed to draw?