Chapter Text
The primary actors. (To be updated if necessary)
CC-1010 ‘Fox’: Planetary Marshal of Coruscant, Commanding Officer ‘Commander’ of the Coruscant Guard
Glöyn Tichý: Nurse in the 5th Maternity ward at the Galactic City General Hospital
Socair Noū: Youngest member of the Peace Council and friend of Amidala’s. Senator of the paradise world of Aade.
Julia Conch: Director of the Coruscant Security Force.
Jan Antilles: Past Director of the Coruscant Security Force.
Mikkel Antilles: A man found dead outside his house, shot in the temple with a recent model of verpine shatter gun.
Lucy Antilles: His wife.
ǁ-ǁ: The Geonasian sent to kill Antilles
Ngoobd Tall: The CSF Detective assigned to the Antilles case. Rodian.
Ziro the Hutt: Gang boss on Coruscant
Lom Void: Spice dealer. Pyke.
SR-72-4448 ‘Eight Ball’: Captain of Easy Company of 3rd Battalion of 75th ‘Dawn’ Regiment (Special Ranger Unit) of the 144th Gendarmerie Division of XII Corps of the First Army of the Fourth Army Group of the Coruscant Guard.
SR-72-6437 ‘Rampant’: Lieutenant of Golf Platoon of Easy Company of 3rd Battalion of 75th ‘Dawn’ Regiment (Special Ranger Unit) of the 144th Gendarmerie Division of XII Corps of the First Army of the Fourth Army Group of the Coruscant Guard.
SR-72-7897 ‘Deathwish’: Sergeant of Squad 1 of Golf Platoon of Easy Company of 3rd Battalion of 75th ‘Dawn’ Regiment (Special Ranger Unit) of the 144th Gendarmerie Division of XII Corps of the First Army of the Fourth Army Group of the Coruscant Guard.
IC-42-4787 ‘Jack Knife’: Clone Intelligence
IC-42-4783 ‘Three Piece’: Clone Intelligence
JARRY-ISC: Analysis Droid.
Begin Story:
The table was so immaculately set (C-3PO’s help was simply invaluable), the silverware so perfect and elegant (It was the pride of the Naberrie family). Only the finest for her table. Wine from Borun with its famed dry summer climate, barq crackers and soups from Qiilura. Grilled merlie veal in abundance. Fruit trays of impossible variety, every plate and saucer made of china ordered directly from Naboo, and gilded around the edges. Only after hours of work was any of this ready.
And only then could Padmé sit on her balcony and watch and wait as the kind, hospitable hostess of a meeting of the Peace Council.
The Peace Council was formed of the remains of the Council Against the Military Creation Act after the Battle of Geonosis. Composed of twenty of the brightest and most famed politicians from around the galaxy, Riyo Chuchi, Mon Mothma, and Bail Organa, it was the passion of pacifist news reporters and lobbyists everywhere. Citizens saw them as a beacon of hope for the end of the war, and frantically lauded their efforts at every opportunity.
Padmé felt every ounce of pressure that came with being the unofficial leader of such a light in the darkness. Which was why she, Dormé, and Sabé (on a friendly visit from Theed) were arrayed in golden-white gowns (the color of peace on Naboo) each seeming more beautiful than the others every passing moment. The handmaidens wore a simple, traditional cut form fitting until it flared out evenly at the hips, making an isosceles triangle by the time it reached the ground. Both were heavily embroidered with famous treaties in golden thread and veiled in Osse lozenge-pattern silk. Padme wore golden hair boxes, and a shoulderless silk fur-trimmed empire dress.
And so they sat, at 5:30 in the evening, waiting, thirty minutes early, for their guests, trying their best to carry what felt like the weight of the galaxy on their shoulders, each of their political geniuses tumbling through dozens of plots and strategies every minute. Moving in the port, starboard, prow, stern, zenith, and nader with all the grace of a butterfly and despite all this, they looked as immovable as the white draped synthstone of their surroundings.
Bail and Socair were the first to arrive. They came twenty-five minutes early, and were clearly aware of the color scheme, appropriately arrayed in white and gold, their airspeeder was too.
“Senator Organa,” Padmé rose and spoke in her Queen voice, “It is truly a joy to have you here. I am eternally grateful for your sage council in these trying times. Please allow me the pleasure of your continued presence as I await our other guests.”
Bail nodded solemnly and took a seat on the cushion beside Amidala.
“Senator Noū of the contemplative world Aade! Welcome, young mind, to the Peace Council. Your youth will surely reinvigorate our efforts to pacify our ailing nation. Please join me here and give me council, as we await our peers.”
The Senator inclined her painted complexion ever so slightly, and took her place beside Padmé.
It was a performance worthy of the holo-cinemas, and rightly so, for they were both recorded.
This one, however, was quite a bit more scrutinized.
Everything had to be perfect. Absolutely true to script. Everything was recorded and broadcasted to the billions of gossips of the galaxy by floating droidcams placed in every possible angle of view. If anything went wrong, the black murk of despair, resting so peacefully in the depths of every citizen’s mind, would be stirred to the surface and block out the light of hope.
It was the kind of work news analysts delighted in.
And the script said that the five assembled would wait until 6:00 before they had to greet any more of their fellow diplomats, so that those who tuned in late would get to see most of the Senators they idolized arrive and would feel safe and connected to the pacifist labors. Of course, traffic would probably have something to say about messing up the times, but there were dozens of contingencies designed for those situations.
The heroic Generals Skywalker and Kenobi were rumored to be joining them as well that night, later in the evening of course, because of how busy they were. Not at all because it was publically reassuring to be fashionably late. Not at all.
But now the acclaimed Senators sat and discussed in eloquent exchanges how best they could propose peace to the Galactic Senate and drank refreshing, carbonated juices served by an array of protocol droids as they ‘awaited’ their scheduled associates.
Until, mere moments before the quarter ‘till mark, there was a roar of engines and a string of nine LAAT/le’s sped past the balcony, making an earsplitting screaming noise as they came. The line halted midway through, leaving the fifth gunship mere inches from the marble of the platform, positioned directly in front of the dignitaries. Four gunships ringed the building on each side of the platform, doors open, allowing the shock troopers inside full view of the breathtaking setup. Some stood, others sat, letting their legs dangle into the endless canyon between the floor of the gunship and the sheer crystal windows of the Senatorial penthouse apartment, despite the savage winds eternally present at such altitude. They arranged themselves in all sorts of comfortable tactical positions, arrayed in the standardized livery of the Coruscant Guard. The fifth ship’s doors were closed, displaying its identifying numbers and colorful art for all to see. Then there was a hiss, like the opening of a sealed jar, for that was what happened, and that door too slid aside.
For a millisecond, there was a terrified silence. Then the striking of the quarter and of boots on marble rang out as one.
Padmé had known care all her life, even as a child prodigy, especially as a child prodigy, it took care and attention to craft a successful campaign, it took care to communicate hope, and not recklessness, during the occupation of her planet. It took care not to reveal her secret marriage. It took care to reassure citizens across the galaxy with the right mix of theatrics and honesty.
The man before her now measured his steps with something more than care. It was something scientific. It was something unthinking, and yet meticulously thought out. It was something sharp and exact, not warm and responsive. Perhaps the closest Basic was precision.
He measured his steps with precision. The distance was so consistent it would make a physicist cry, not to mention a drill sergeant. He moved with a smooth violence more appropriate to a droid than a man.
There appeared a bloodstain on the immaculate veranda. Sanguine red soaking into eclipse white.
This time Padmé did not rise.
“Marshal Fox, how pleasant to see that you are early.” she said, her tone intentionally surprised
“Senator.” There was a harsh click of boots and a clack of armor. Three saluting statues stood before the former queen.
A graceful laugh, “At ease soldiers.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I shall have Threepio bring seats for you at once.” The couch was of course reserved for the Senators. “Will you be wanting refreshments?”
Fox removed his helmet casually, obeying her order. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Padmé was pleasantly surprised by how civil Fox was acting. She had expected him to show up exactly on time, not exactly fifteen minutes early, and when he had, she had expected a little more trouble from him. It was just the way he worked. He didn’t like politics, in fact he positively hated it. It initially made her wonder why he had his job, before she realized that firstly, his military background (to put it lightly) made politics strange to him, in a way that being educated about couldn’t help, and that he didn’t hate politics itself, just the manipulative nature of it. He hated it when any Republic citizen was taken advantage of, and, Padmé had to admit, that was a large part of politics.
Even trying to be compassionate, she still couldn’t help but roll her eyes every time he mentioned his PSYOPS teams.
Still, she wanted him… somewhere else. He wasn’t photogenic at the moment. Especially with the peaceful message they were trying to send. A man in red armor would really mess up the so carefully arranged symbology. He would be useful later, but right now…
Padmé leaned in close to Socair’s ear.
“Cairrie? Could you invite Fox here to a tour of the gardens? Make friends, it’ll make me happy, and it’ll be good for you.” Padmé smiled at her younger companion.
Socair was always happy to help with anything, so she smiled compliantly and rose from her chair.
Padmé could have sent Dormé or Sabé to do the same, but she wanted to respect Fox’s position. What’s more, her friend needed something to engage her, and a connection with the Commander was essential, so Padmé just gave that relationship a little push.
The young senator had already engaged Fox in kind conversation and was drawing him out of his seat and through the exit of the veranda, safely out of prying eyes. Padmé, quite the schemer already, had yet another genius plan underway to save the clones, the Republic, and the Jedi from this terrible war.
*****
Fox wasn’t stupid. He knew Senator Amidala was a genius of epic proportions. He knew that she knew that he knew she wasn’t stupid. So why did she treat him like she didn’t?
She was making every move so obvious. Invite him over for dinner as the other side of the argument? Please. Clones weren’t politicians, if she wanted the other side of the argument she could have invited Senator Kork of Correlia, or Burn of Duro. And she had.
So why invite him? Well, to convert him of course! She was going to use him against her opposition, by saying something along the lines of ‘see this poor abused child right here? You have increased his sorrows by buying him and using him as a tool in a war he has nothing to do with…’ Yada, yada, ya.
Except half that was false. There was no way she would call a three-year-old Geonasian a child. Those were adults. And somehow, he wasn’t? Bantha poodoo, Shaak osik, and a couple things beside. Biologically, he was an adult. So, point number one gone. The line between abuse and training was iffy at best, so point number two can take a hike. Third, he wasn’t a slave, he did what he wanted and ate well. She was gonna tell him he should have the power to choose. Well he did, he had more power than any man on Coruscant. He could do anything he wanted and there was no one to stop him. And he did, and no one stopped him. Funny how that worked out. He wasn’t even bought, if she wanted to talk about that. The Kaminoans got a commission for the creation of an army, not the providing of an army. The clones weren’t bought, they did what they wanted. If anything, the Kaminoan scientists were bought.
Fox respected the hell out of Amidala, and maybe some of her arguments were right, but it was wrong of her to say that the clones were abused child slaves.
Senator Noū was looking at him funny. Try something engaging.
“Beautiful gardens, Senator. Very well kept, and very in keeping with the Naboo culture.”
Noū didn’t seem to think that was an acceptable response. She quirked her plucked brow. Her face was painted, true to her Sephi heritage, in white and gold to look like she was crying rivers, symbolizing her solidarity with the torn galaxy, but the streaks were arranged in the pattern of the streams in the Queen-Mother’s garden of hope, a nod to her Hapan heritage as well. Or so Fox’s MFTAS told him. He wasn’t actually that well informed on Sephi culture. He knew a little about Hapan.
Because of all this when she quirked a brow at him, it looked kinda funny. Almost laughable.
Fox kept a straight face.
The young Senator sighed, and leant forward, a nervous tick Fox had noted from watching countless hours of senatorial sessions. Noū normally let her raven hair out, and when she did this it would cover her face, but not now. Now it was put up in a tight five strand braid studded, all four feet of it, with opal, gold, and pearl ornaments. And that did not help in hiding her face. She smoothed her dress, which was of a similar make to Amidala’s and similarly trimmed with fur, but it wasn’t quite the same.
“Marshal,” she began hesitatingly, clearly this was a hard subject for her. Fox guessed it was something Amidala put her up to, it was out of character to attempt so difficult a conversation otherwise, “What is your opinion on the war?”
Fox took a glass of bubbly from a nearby waiter droid. It was gonna be a long night.
“Which one?”
She blushed.
“The Clone War,”
“No, which opinion would you like to hear, Senator?”
“Oh,” She paused for a moment, “I want your honest opinion, the one you would act on if given the chance. I always want you to speak honestly. I am no egoist, nor a fantasy lover.” Her eyes glinted as she finished.
“My honest opinion on the war, Senator, is that it is going well-“
“No!” She interrupted, her patience momentarily exhausted, “No, Marshal.” She recovered herself, “Tell me if you think the war is right, not if you think it is well. Of course, there are some who think them the same, but that is not a soldier’s philosophy.”
That was the Aade spark he had been anticipating. That was not the statement of a plotting Senator, or a meek little girl, that was the philosopher in her blood. The fight was surfacing in her.
“Senator, we clones have a rule we take very seriously. We call it Rule Number One when we’re feeling theatrical. It’s pretty simple: we fight together. The Separatists have broken that rule. The punishment for breaking Rule Number One is the Number One Punishment. So, the way I see it at least, the Separatists deserve every ounce of what they get.” Fox offered, unsure. Padmé wasn’t supposed to make that move.
The Senator nodded solemnly.
“And it never occurred to you to question the morality of war itself?” she asked.
Fox thought for a long moment, “The Kaminoans have a saying-“
He was cut off by laughter. “Did your teacher speak like that?” She imitated a gruff voice, “’These people have a saying,’ Is that how they taught you to distance yourself from your argument?”
Fox frowned, “The Kaminoans have a saying, that you, a philosopher, will certainly recognize the validity of: If a thing does not exist as it should then it should not exist. So, the way I see it, we’re doing what should be done. And you can’t do much more than that.”
Noū remained nodded slowly, something Fox noted was her way of reassuring her lecturer that she was listening, while she came up with a counter.
“That’s good to know. Any democracy should find the opinions of its soldiers invaluable.”
Democracy blather, his favorite.
“And that’s why I would like to get to know you better, Marshal. There can be no pacifist effort without a connection to warfighters.”
There’s that curveball.
“So, please, tell me about your teacher, and what he did say.” She finished, looking very pleased with herself, and very intently at him.
Fox was in an awkward spot. Obedience was his blood and his breath. He certainly could not refuse. But the Cuy’val Dar were classified. Very classified. And he certainly could not speak of them. Try something, his mind screamed
“Well, I was trained by three people…” Kriff, this was hard. “But it was different than the rest of the army…”
She laughed again. “I can go first if it makes it easier for you.”
And she began a description of her education, from kindergarten to now. Fox memorized the whole thing. It wasn’t like he had a choice. It was his job, not to mention his biology, to do things like that. It would prove invaluable to predict her movements and her rivals. Maybe Padmé wanted the same kind of information on him, but for all he could tell she just wanted her friend to make friends with him. It was terribly confusing.
“So… after all that, are you ready to talk? It can’t too embarrassing. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I won’t think any less of you if it was some backwater thug who taught you. I was taught by some outsiders myself.” She was right about that. Some of those she was taught by had track records other than sycophantic sophist, and that guaranteed an outsider status. Especially in the Core, where she was from. “I understand that the Cuy’val Dar had to work with what they could.”
Fox actually choked on his drink.
“-*cough* who? *cough*-“ he managed.
Noū looked a little concerned, but made no move to help him
“The Cuy’val Dar. Julia told me about them. She said the Senators deserved to know what they were buying.” She explained.
Director Conch could go screw herself on a blaster. In fact, Fox hoped she would.
“I’m sorry Senator, the CSF failed to inform me of this development. I am unaccustomed to spying on my allies. I should probably start now.”
The Senator looked horrified.
“Oh. Oh. Oh… I didn’t mean to betray anyone’s trust! I really didn’t.” She started to cry.
Fox was named for his skill as a police negotiator. He had prevented more suicides and resolved more hostage situations than anyone had any business knowing, but this was something else entirely.
“Ma’am. I need you to calm down. We can make this right, but I need you to calm down first. We can’t do anything until you’ve calmed down.” He comforted.
Noū wiped her eyes, “I’m sorry. For both. It’s just…” the tears threatened to well up again, “you have it so hard already, and *hic* I’m making it harder for both of you *hic*”
Fox offered her a glass of bubbly to calm her hiccups. She took it. After drinking it and calming down enough that she could speak, she tried again, “So, who did teach you?”
There was no reason to refuse her now.
“Jan Antilles, Fenn Rau, and Ion Etyakch.”
She did the eyebrow thing again. “And who are those?”
“Jan Antilles was the Director of the Coruscant Security Force, from about 34 years ago to about 14 years ago. Rumor has it that the Chancellor made him step down. Fett picked him up for the Cuy’val Dar job shortly after that. It took him a while to warm up to the idea. I think it took until he met us. He certainly never liked Fett. I don’t blame him. I don’t like mercenaries either.”
Noū nodded attentively. “I’ve heard a little about him. He was responsible for changes in policy on seized alchemical artefacts, we had to go over things like that in our Governments and Religion class back at the Academy.”
Fox was more than a little surprised. Her Academy teachers certainly did not seem like the people to talk about such things.
“Director Conch petitioned to change those same laws a while back. She said they were responsible for multiple abuses of religious property, and were severely overactive.” He pointed out.
Noū smiled again. “It’s good to see that you pay attention. I imagine that our sessions get boring at times. Thank you for muscling through. Please tell me more about Misters Rau and Etyakch.”
Fox was warming up to the topic now, and it wasn’t so hard. He was getting used to the idea of a conversation, not an interrogation.
“Fenn Rau is in charge of a Mandalorian gendarmerie, called the Protectors. They’re New Mandalorians, but they operate in defiance of Duchess Kryze. They police the less populous regions of her jurisdiction, and generally enforce her laws. They’re indispensable to the proper function of the territory, but their warlike nature grates on the Duchess badly.”
“And what did he teach you?” she prompted.
“How to run a gendarmerie.”
“And what did Mr. Antilles teach you?”
“About Coruscant. And how to talk.”
For some reason, she thought that was hilarious.
“And Mr. Etyakch?”
“He was a Pantoran Ranger. I use his patrol tactics over less populated terrain. Like Scipio.”
“Oh! Have you ever been to Scipio?”
******
Satine was intrigued. The clones were Mando’ade.
She had only met the man before her once, on The Coronet, and otherwise had merely heard of Kotˤ (she would never be able to think of him as Cody) from Obi-Wan, and had never had the time to properly meet him, and now truly regretted that she hadn’t.
He was so Fett, though, he reeked of their mannerisms. He even spoke Basic with a Core accent, like Obi-Wan. That needed to be fixed.
Obi-Wan had introduced them, and left to go supervise Anakin and Padmé, asking that they make themselves acquainted in his absence.
The clone looked completely lost, she could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he tried to think of something appropriate to say to her. She couldn’t say she understood the pressure, but she at least knew that talking to the ruler of 2000 systems was stressful.
“Obi-Wan has told me a great deal about you, especially of your valor and loyalty. If you don’t mind me asking a personal question, was your name Kotˤ before it was made into Basic?”
Kotˤ turned red, “Yes, Ma’am. My name is Kotˤ.” He said in a just barely strained voice.
Satine was a little surprised, “I’m sorry, is that a sensitive topic?” she asked, and immediately regretted it. She could see in his mannerisms that he was the sort of man who wouldn’t admit pain even on a torture table, as long as his superiors were present.
Kotˤ shook his head, “No, Ma’am. My name has a past. That’s all.” He paused a moment. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Only if you would like to tell it.” Satine replied politely.
Kotˤ smiled grimly, “I… was a good cadet. I scored higher than anyone on the tactics tests. My teacher made fun of me for it, calling me Cody with a Basic accent, instead of Kotˤ’ika. The others adopted it, always up for a good tease. So, I became Cody. The General picked it up from the men.”
Satine raised her eyebrows, “I didn’t think Obi -Wan could be so insensitive.”
Kotˤ surpressed a chuckle, “The General is a mystery, that’s for sure. Do you remember his funeral?”
“Do I?” the Duchess repeated incredulously, “I remember it like it was yesterday, in fact, I remember it better than yesterday. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“Oh, yes I heard it was a ball.” A smooth voice interjected, “A truly unforgettable experience.”
Kotˤ looked like he’d been shot, “General, the Duchess and I were just discussing your cultural sensitivity. She seems to think it’s higher than it is.”
Obi-Wan put on a cocky grin. “Really?”
Just then, Socair dragged Fox (that was the only way to describe it) into the sitting room. All the pieces were in place.
A gentle pinging noise filled the room. Padme was striking a spoon against a partly filled drinking glass.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I have assembled you here tonight, to discuss peace. Everyone in this room wants peace.”
By now silence had been achieved, and every set of eyes in the room was on Amidala.
“Everyone in this room is also one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. To pick a random member, Senator Burn is representative of over thirty trillion people.
“Why is it, then that we have not achieved peace? Is it because we do not work together? Maybe. Is it because there are greater powers arrayed against us? I am not so pessimistic. I believe, and this is the reason I called this meeting, that it is because we define peace differently and are thus necessarily opposed.
“I hope to reach a working definition of peace by the end of the night.”
Suddenly everybody began speaking at once. Anakin had to snap his mechanical hand a few times before everybody settled down.
“Hey, she’s not finished.” He turned to her, “Go ahead.”
“One person speaks at once,” She said, “that way we won’t simply recreate the problem we’re trying to solve, by merely combining and mutating different thoughts into others. You may now begin.”
Satine spoke first, as she was accustomed. “Peace is the situation in which there are no violent acts. Any method of obtaining peace that incorporates violent acts is repulsive and self-defeating.”
There was an overlapping click of armor as the clones all turned their full attention to her.
The awkward silence that always comes with the declaration of a controversial statement among polite company stretched out a little longer than usual.
“With all due respect, Duchess Kryze, that is an insufficient definition of peace.” Fox said, “It is practically self-defeating.”
The Duchess raised an eyebrow, “And you believe that practicality is ideally relevant? That surely isn’t very warlike of you.”
Fox shifted. “Peace is the singular presence of the highest value system. Is that warlike enough, ma’am?”
Satine’s other eyebrow went up. “Highest, Commander?”
“Best.” Fox corrected.
“Thank you,”
The strange silence settled again, betraying the fact that there were a great many politicians in the room, not a great many philosophers. Blind politicians at that.
Kork spoke up at last, “Well,” he laughed awkwardly, “all I know is that peace is better for the economy, and that’s what my people care about.” He cleared his throat.
Padmé made a small cooing noise. “Aww… what a good representative. And I suppose that you mean peace as in the absence of war?”
Kork nodded and swallowed a lump, “Thank you, Senator.”
“Does anyone else have any other definitions they would like to add?” Satine said eager to move on in pursuit of peace, “Padmé, this is your meeting, maybe you would like to add a definition? Or the Masters Jedi? Or, perhaps, one of our other Commanders—Field Marshal Kotˤ? First Captain Rex? Another representative?”
Riyo Chuchi spoke up from her place on the couch, “Peace is the toleration of all other views by all parties,”
Burn seconded her.
“Peace is the free security of all sapients.” Bail said.
“Commander Kotˤ?” Satine tried.
Padmé looked like she wanted to intervene but was beat to it.
“Cody and I stand with Fox, ma’am,” Rex said.
“Is this the case?” Satine asked, looking directly at Obi-Wan’s second, a slightly disappointed look on her face.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kotˤ replied, “We clones stand together.”
“Padmé and Masters Jedi?” Satine finished her sweep of the room.
Obi-Wan stroked his beard thoughtfully, “I can’t say. I’m torn. All very well thought out. How about I play moderator?” He flashed the whole room a dazzling smile.
Very well thought out, Satine had to admit. He certainly would be moderator. Everybody in the room trusted him.
“Uhh… I’ll just go with what Padmé says, I trust her.” Anakin said, semi-jokingly, as he leaned back in his chair.
All eyes were on Padmé again.
“Well, I think that peace is tranquility, or the state most conducive to the welfare of the people.”
Anakin nodded convincingly.
Then everybody started talking at once.
********
Fox didn’t get home until late.
The Galactic Republic Military Complex (nicknamed GaReMiCo by the clones) was as busy as ever this time of morning. The galaxy never slept, and so neither did the Grand Army. That was the way it needed to be.
Fox made his way to the turbolift and keyed in the top floor. He would sleep in his office tonight.
The ride up wasn’t very eventful, just a series of:
“Sir.”
“Corporal”
“Sir.”
“Sergeant.”
“Sir.”
…
He was hoping for a peaceful night in the office. Those were rare, but after a long night of politics, it would have been nice.
Fox stepped off the lift and navigated the labyrinthine hallways to the highest security part of the building, all the way to his office. He keyed the code on his office door, and a retching, burping sound, magnificently echoed out of the dark room.
Fox flicked the lights on.
“Agha! Nes xhorudy!” (English translation from Mando’a: Uh-oh! I’ve been caught!) came his own voice back at him.
The man at the desk next to Fox’s scrabbled his hands around on his desk until he managed to get ahold of a carton of tropical cereal and hold it in front of his face.
“Thornu.” (trans: Thorn.) Fox accused.
“Am-dikudy narun-mal.” (trans: I prefer to remain anonymous.)
“Khan nok knwis skanr?” (trans: Why are you eating civvie food?)
“Orxhav lina zana ‘arsikan” (trans: A magician never reveals his secrets.)
“Janarn skanarimi Jettsteris? Tha zxor Arkanisarn xhlidudyarn nunarn. Oya Korelisarn zvatano jvirano, khon xharn manasarn var-chuv.” (trans: The ladies at Jettster’s diner? That would explain the Arkanian fried nuna. Get Correlian next time, then I might forgive this disaster)
Fox reached over to his desk and retrieved the force pike sitting on it. It had not been there when he left. He pulled the sticky note off it.
Roses are red.
You’re on grass.
This is a stick.
He looked back to Thorn.
“Az, ‘orm dha-gep?” (trans. So, the deal went through?)
“Azi,” (trans: Yup)
“Kotˤ. Je gupr Korelinis. Khan Rothannis, khan Scipionis. Na gevudy.” (trans: Good, you’re off to Corelia next. Then Rothana, then Scipio. Be ready.)
Thorn nodded. His mouth was full.
“Ahka ni dav khan Jan jen hhonn, ver chak sokhiz khlod.” (trans: I still don’t know how Jan passed you, your manners are atrocious.) Fox sighed
“Nikk ni zab jop anon.” (trans: Ith becaud I wub you both.) Thorn managed.
Fox sat down on his chair and started up his computer.
“Annoh tozimm sin ni ahk nes neskon?” (trans: Anything interesting happen while I was out?)
Thorn shook his head.
“In gam chokor.” (trans: Justht more of da thame.) Somehow Thorn managed not to spray cereal across the desk. “Oyan Torkh anor vavaror chapu’or xhisot. Hhab.” He opened a file on the computer he had been browsing the dark holonet on, and hummed appreciatively. “In nan-dep-gor sxhlapp janitha yarr, dep jin narubi.” (trans: Only three-point-five billion homithides today, tho thath one poind down from da norm.)
Fox shook his head.
The city he had to take care of.