Chapter Text
Fox's stomach churned as he and the other clones who were chosen to speak waited in the ante room off of the semi-permanent senate hall of the New Republic. Bit by bit the Rebel Alliance had pushed back imperial remnants, evicting them from their long held occupations. The planets and systems had begun rebuilding themselves, sending delegates to the newly formed legislative body stationed on the planet Chandrila, to represent their interests, fill their needs, and hopefully restore some order to the chaotic void left by the fracturing of the Empire.
The sudden arrival of several hundred-odd aged clone troopers at the Rebel Alliance base on the moon of Endor, freed by Ahsoka Tano from a backwater prison camp on the outer rim, had caused quite a stir. She presented them as political refugees, but just in the case that their request for sanctuary was denied, and as they didn't even have the dignity of being considered sentient beings, she also harshly stated her protective ownership of them. Every single one.
The clones represented an uncomfortable reminder of the flaws of the previous incarnation of the Republic. The most feared military force in the galaxy at its time, they were commanded by the Jedi Order. Staunch peace-keepers the jedi were; the irony of presiding over such a force was not lost on them. They had been illegally genetically engineered by the Kamino cloners, a fact that was decried by many in the High Republic, at least until the first shots of the clone wars were fired; then it was providence that there were so many guilt-free bodies to be flung in the path of the aggressors. Despite their heroic deeds and unflappable loyalty, the fans that clamored for news of their favorite troopers, and the bucket bunnies who stalked the armored men in the bars and clubs near the military space port; despite all of that they had only ever earned the right to be property. Bought and paid for by republic taxes.
The previous democracy had touted slavery as illegal and needed to be punished with the utmost prejudice. The idea of ownership of another being needed to be wiped from civilized society, clear to the outer rim and beyond! But when faced with separatist droid armies at their doorstep, the million plus physically superior flesh and blood soldiers provided by Kamino were instantly called up and put to work, and their status as non-sentient draft animals was conveniently ignored. The Republic had a war to win… the details could be ironed out later.
Indeed, their mere presence made many of the old guard delegates squirm in their robes, presented with the remnants of a "problem" of their own making... an uncomfortable truth they would have to face. Some shouted that the clones must be jailed as war criminals, murderous butchers… unfeeling executioners:
"They slaughtered the Jedi! They served the Empire without question!"
Others hoped to put the troopers to work as part of the war effort against the Imperial cells that still operated separately across the galaxy:
"But they are fierce soldiers and they know the Empire's tactics!"
Either way, the clones were still seen as a product by many, to be re-purposed or discarded; at the end of the day they still didn't seem to have a voice to speak for themselves.
Ironically, it was the remaining council-members of the RA (the most functional military organization in the New Republic) that had opted to present the clones as beings worthy of a choice in the matter. Leia Organa had developed great admiration for them over the past few years as Commanders Rex and Wolffe served with the RA in its struggle to survive. Her father, Bail, had spoken respectfully of several clone soldiers over the years, some with the same reverence and praise he gave his fallen Jedi comrades. She was horrified to see the outright distrust and hatred that many still held for the clones and was heart-broken to realize they had no legal recourse to defend themselves; just quick fists and quicker minds to give them enough space to run and the sense to know when to do it. Leia had always been more soldier and less politician. She wasn't going to let this go without a fight.
The rebel military forces, as it is, had gained a deep respect for these men as leaders, soldiers, and as human beings in general. At first it came begrudgingly - with a nod of approval for a brilliant tactical maneuver here, or a friendly clap on the shoulder there, but by deeds and wisdom the two clone commanders had won over one rebel after another. They proved indispensable in whipping the ground forces into shape, essentially forming the first actual organized infantry of the RA forces. What once had been a mismatched rat's nest of rowdy brawlers, swaggering cowboys, and jumpy greenies barely old enough to shuck off the title of "youngling" was quickly morphed into a well oiled machine, capable of making a hundred men feel like a half a thousand. They were competent. They were sensible. And they were utterly unimpressed by anything the Empire could throw at them.
When the New Republic senators recoiled in panic and disgust from the timeworn clones, the RA had surged forward in a protective embrace. The two former CCs were nearly moved to tears by the devotion, and Rex's own lieutenants were witnessed checking their blasters for readiness with cold efficiency. He'd spilled his own blood time and time again for his troops and they were inclined to return the favor.
The Alliance had enlisted Princess Leia and General Syndulla to gather speakers from among the clone troops to present their stories to the senate. Chancellor Mon Mothma was inclined to welcome the session as an example of the need to overhaul the galactic military forces as a whole; holding the systems themselves responsible for their own protection, and not shouting for the RA (with a clone battalion) at every turn.
Organa had gathered first the men she knew personally - Rex and Wolffe, who had freed themselves during order 66 and had operated independently of the Empire for years. They in turn brought in ARC troopers Echo & Fives, who had both suffered immeasurably at the hands of the Empire and survived, and who were living as good-hearted guns for hire as part of the unconventional yet efficient Bad Batch. Finally, to round out her presentation of heart-rending misery, Leia selected Cody, the former Marshall Commander, and himself, the nastiest bastard the Coruscant Guard had to offer. They were both lifers in the Imperial army. Both carrying top ranks and responsibilities and credentials. Both broken beyond repair by their existence for the past 20-odd years.
The others were relatively comfortable with this endeavor. They were heroes, having survived hellish experiences, and presented themselves as the best possible results despite their lifetime of social programming, servitude, fighting, and killing. Even Cody had maintained his honor and blazed forth brightly with his redeeming moment - he had chosen to desert and live to raise his adopted son, rather than die a miserable death within the Imperial machine. Good ol' Fox, well… he was just a piece of shit loyalist; not a single decent action to his name. Why in the hell would she want him to speak?
They were announced, and walked solemnly into the small arena to take their places at the central dais. Fox felt his stomach flip several times as he squared himself at attention as best he could, wincing against the icy crackles of pain from an old back injury. So many eyes were studying them, like they were some strange new species. So many condemning faces turned to whisper to each other. They hate us, he realized.
There was a hum of muted conversation from the assorted delegates. Some looked too young to have ever seen a clone in the flesh. Others looked old enough that they probably had scraped clone off their boot during the days of the Old Republic.
He spotted the RA representatives - Leia Organa was there, with her new age Jedi, Luke Skywalker, at her side. Also that Solo asshole, a reformed smuggler or some bantha-shit. She was an alright kid, Organa. Fox had decided that he liked the girl when he'd witnessed a burly mercenary speak crudely to her at the RA base, and the petite creature had gone up one side of him and down the other like a rabid tooka, shortening him to half her size in the process. She would have made a fine general during the clone wars. Fiery and fearless. Extremely curt and to the point. Must have gotten that from her mother, Queen Breha. Bail was far too gentle.
He fidgeted as the others stepped forward and spoke, knowing some of their tales and hearing others for the first time. Much of it he wished he'd never hear again.
ARC trooper Echo discussed his imprisonment at the hands of the Techno Guild, under guidance from Sidious. He had been subjected to numerous experiments where much of his brain was hijacked by cybernetic implants until he was turned into a living computer that would play a twisted game of chess against the Republic forces. Rex had particularly vexed the separatist generals, as he was the brilliant tactician behind much of the 501st legion's success. By the time the Captain was able to rescue him, Echo had lost his legs below the knee and much of his right arm, and most of the neural implants proved too dangerous to remove without crippling him.
Fives regaled the body with his tale of internment under Sheev Palpatine. His mates thought him dead - shot by the CG after he had been drugged into madness by Palpatine's grunts and accused of violence against the Chancellor. You see, Palpatine had noticed Anakin Skywalker's fondness for his troops. He had been warned by the Jedi council to mind his feelings, but the man couldn't justify holding them at arm's length when they fought shoulder to shoulder and shared so much grief together. He thought of too many of them as friends and brothers. When Fives presented as a possible hitch in his scheme to eradicate the Jedi via their clone army, Palpatine also saw the potential to utilize the ARC trooper as a persuasive tool, and ordered the CG to "detain him covertly". Upon waking he found himself as one of a rapidly expanding assortment of blackmail tools that would eventually be trotted out to persuade the fallen Skywalker to remember his place whenever the Sith apprentice became too loud or defiant for his own good. The Sith Master had kept a whole stable of bargaining chips to keep Vader subdued, even presenting the younger Sith's deceased mother's desecrated remains at one point. Fives was starved, beaten, tortured; subjected to more and more nightmarish experiences as the years wore on, then nursed back to relative health as needed for roughly eight years before he was discovered by Echo and the Bad Batch, more dead than alive. Fox quaked inwardly over fives words, carrying a heavy guilt for his part in his brother's misfortune.
Wolffe told of the death of his beloved General, Master Plo Koon, who had adopted his clone soldiers as sons in everything but the law. The Jedi master was known to bodily carry injured troopers for miles to find them medical help. He regularly abused his privileges as a general to provide extra nutrition and comforts for "his boys". Upon order 66, their biomechanical programming had compelled them to murder the man they called "Buir", "Father" in Mando'a. Wolffe shuddered at the memory. He had removed his inhibitor chip covertly, having discovered troubling intelligence about the implant after Fives' "death". When the order came down he lost his mind at the sight of his brother's opening fire with cold efficiency on Plo Koon's fighter. He raced to his dying general, only to be ordered to run. "Live for yourself, my son," were the Kel Dor jedi's last words. Moments later Wolffe was on the run from his own men after they witnessed him attempting to save the Jedi - a clear violation of order 66, which marked him as a traitor. After several years when Sidious' use of the inhibitor chips began to wane and the dissenters had mostly been eliminated, the troops began to slowly return to their senses, becoming lucid again and realizing the gravity of what they had taken part in, what they had done with their own hands to their Generals and friends. Wolffe had heard that several of his good men had eaten their blasters, they were so tortured by what they had wrought upon Buir, screaming for his forgiveness in their nightmares.
Rex stirred the crowd in profound ways as he related his experience with order 66. He remembered falling under the thrall of the programming, the surge of violence and rage that had welled up within him at Sidious' command. He had turned to his dearest friend, the love of his life, and raised his blasters to her person as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The part of him that was drowning was fighting violently, writhing in horror at the crazed impulses taking hold. He managed to garble an obscure warning before his mind snapped and the blood lust took over, before he opened fire and tried his damndest to end her. His inward struggle had alerted Ahsoka Tano to the danger and earned her a half a step of lead time to defend herself and escape. He had hunted her for at least an hour afterwards, determined to spill her blood in the name of Lord Sidious. It was only when she had subdued him, and forcibly removed the inhibitor chip from his brain, that he returned to his senses. He had a choice then: serve the military and the ruling body, which his entire life had trained him to do, or protect an innocent being with all the strength he had. The clone mantra had been "Good soldiers follow orders." Fighting side by side with Jedi such as Skywalker and Kenobi had taught him instead that "Great soldiers question if an order is right and just." The first proper choice in his life was to walk the hard path. He chose justice. He chose Ahsoka. Together they fought their way free of her battalion, the 332nd, and buried his brothers after their venator had crashed on a remote moon. Today they stood as husband and wife, having fought side by side for years since the incident. His choices established him as a man, not a machine, he said, and he would not be treated as less by any being. Ever again.
Fox floated in and out of his mind during Rex's speech. It hit far too close to home. After the initial furious purge of the Jedi temple, Coruscant had erupted in chaos. The CG received droves of arrest warrants for defiant politicians, and he had rushed to scoop up as many as possible before they escaped. One name had jumped out at him. He knew that Riyo Chuchi was important to him for some reason, and he wanted to be the one to arrest her. When he arrived with his troopers at the senator's apartment, her detail fled with her towards the port. He remembered drawing his blaster and ripping off shots as the target and her crew sprinted towards their ship. The Pantoran female had turned to glance back at him and he chose his target. Her countenance shattered into despair as he raised his blaster and it shook him hard enough to put his aim off. His bolt struck high and to the right, near her collarbone. The ensuing fire-fight left several other Pantorans dead, as well as a few troopers, but the Senator had been carried aboard the ship and spirited away. He was made to pay dearly for his missed shot.
Cody stepped away from him, squeezing Rex's arm as the two men traded places. Cody stood tall and proud, introducing himself as a commander that had faced off against their forces numerous times. He had received his orders from Sidious. He had ordered his men to fire on the beloved General Kenobi, the esteemed Negotiator. He had served as honorably under the Imperial banner as he had when he wore the Republic Cog. And he had lost his faith in everything. As the years passed, and his mind slowly became his own again, he found himself in the midst of a depleted clone force and a substandard army. The Empire was at the peak of their strength, their ranks swollen with well meaning citizens who thought they were serving the cause. He saw the suffering that the Imperials left wherever they passed and worried for the severity with which they dealt with struggling peoples as well as the casual ease with which they utilized slavery to fuel their machine. He found that no dissenting voice had any power to change anything. Looking outward from the Empire only promised death for a wayward clone at the hands of the subjugated peoples. He represented everything that had destroyed their lives and there was nowhere for him to hide if he went AWOL.
As the clones aged their usefulness was considered waning. Bitter and floundering, he was sent to be the head of security for a remote base. What he discovered there chilled him to the bone. Prisoners there were used as lab rats, as black mail tools, as uncomfortable reminders to unruly politicos. Upon investigating mournful screams he was horrified to find a Jedi Padawan who had been kept there since before the Republic fell and was being used in some sadistic breeding experiment. She recognized him, begging for death to ease her suffering. Instead he promised her life, and their escape had been miraculous. He had looked after her until her death a few years later, hoping that protecting her tortured body and broken mind from further abuse by the Imperials would be his first step in repaying his own tresspasses.
Fox realized why he was there. The five brothers who precededproceeded him were good men. Decent. Honest. By all rights they were heroes. But it would be entirely unbelievable if all the clones were portrayed as knights in shining armour with bruised hearts and broken bodies, seeking peace and freedom and the pursuit of happiness. There had to be the juxtaposition. That was him. He was a fucker. Miserable and violent. He was the monster that the public had heard about; the proof that stereotypes have a truth somewhere. The killer. Murderer. The one who came in the night and took children's parents away. He was the balance in this scenario that maybe would validate the good, honest men that had spoken before him.
Fuck it. What was he hoping for anyway?
He only suffered guilt for one man and he had put himself at Fives' feet and offered his brother a blaster, full well expecting the scarred ARC trooper to place a bolt between his eyes. Fives had waved the weapon away, dropping stiffly to embrace Fox, whispering that too many Vod were already dead for foolish reasons. Fives suffering had left him wiser of thought and gentler of heart. Fox's… well… his years only allowed his bitterness to ferment to a potency that would choke a Krayt Dragon.
What was there for him now? His career - gone. The empire - crippled. He was practically geriatric, slow and stiff. Not worth much to anyone. May as well seal his death warrant with a flourish. What better soap box was available to unload his memoires de mis and show the New Republic what dimwitted, naive, self-serving morons they truly were.
Cody motioned him to the podium.
Fox stood quiet for a moment, then cleared his ragged throat a few times.
"Ladies, gentlemen.." his voice dragged along the scar tissues in his larynx, the words clawing their way out as if through a mouthful of crushed stone. "Senators, dignitaries, representatives, and whatever the hell the rest of you may be… I am the nightmare creature you were all told about. Clones like me gave rise to the stories you heard whispered at cocktail parties, in the bars and pubs, and the lounges at your jobs."
He paused, seeing the confused disbelief on many faces… savoring the uncomfortable whispers caught.
"I was Commander Fox, the highest hand in the Coruscant Guard. I had a few superiors who would pass orders and such, but generally I answered directly to Chancellor Palpatine, or the Emperor…. or Darth Sidious… or whatever the fuck you'd prefer to call his scabby, wrinked ass. I wish I could spin a few tales of good deeds and brave missions... or the time I pulled a litter of tooka kits from certain death, but it really wouldn't balance out the raging trash fire that was the existence of the CG."
He heard more whispers, saw glances of disgust tossed back and forth. Good. Cunts. I'm glad I make you nervous.
"Early on, my duties included overseeing the city-planet task force, and providing escort and body-guard services for the wealthy and powerful. Occasionally we would have to step in and rescue the police force when their job became too horrifying to stomach. Retention of clone troopers of any rank, as well as citizens, and extra-planetary travelers, was always my jurisdiction. Hell, I even had the power to arrest and jail Jedi, as it were. As things progressed and the separatist war escalated, Coruscant became far more volatile and Palpatine's expectations more demanding. When events didn't go in his favor he began craving a more satisfying outlet for his fury."
He chuckled wryly at the thought.
"I recall the first time I saw him really karked off. We had been ordered to arrest a political shit-stirrer; he was able to flee the planet moments before we arrived at his docking bay. That was the first time Palpatine reached for my throat and I realised things were *very, very* out of control within his mind. And I didn't speak of it to anyone. Not a word. Perhaps I thought I didn't say anything because it was my choice, fool that I was. Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard… choked nearly to black-out by a feeble old man… with magic powers… who certainly wasn't a jedi. But - One beautiful nuance of our biomechanical inhibitor chips was that they made orders from him stick. Forever. Or it seemed like that. When he ordered to me that a word of our debriefing would never be spoken or documented beyond the barest of details, I was never able to move beyond it. That order lasted until the moment he died. My mates saw me collapse in a twitching heap… the hell that had been locked away in the most secret parts of my brain surged forth and I was an incoherent mess for about thirty-odd hours after that."
He paused for a sip of water, his throat becoming uncomfortable with the prolonged use.
"My misfortune was that I was extremely effective, so he used me for everything. I was the one who would arrive with troops and haul your spouse off to be executed for "treason". I was the one who was so damn good at making dissidents turn up murdered and political opponents "disappear" or "commit suicide". I have tortured information out of so many beings and falsified so damn many statements for the higher offices that trial by jury could only yield their preferred results. Why did I do all of this? Why couldn't Commander Fox say "No, this is wrong, I refuse!" Because a phantom hand wrapped around the very controls of your mind and body is something none of us poor di'kuts in this room could fight off. Well, most of us."
He glanced to the young Jedi by Organa's side, offering a nod of acknowledgement.
"If further encouragement was needed on my part to comply... Well, for the regular trooper, dragging of the feet or failure to succeed resulted in instant death. I was a favored pet of the Supreme Chancellor, which earned me special privileges. I didn't get to die. So I damn well better get the job done if I didn't want to see my boys snuffed out in my place, paying for my failures."
He held up his left hand, the fingers permanently flexed into a claw, the knuckles misshapen and inflated.
"Crushing the delicate bones in the hand and wrist is extremely effective encouragement. Easy to hide. Easy to treat. Eventually the repeated trauma does cause lasting damage. He had better sense than to harm my better trigger hand, that one was too valuable."
He glanced at his curled digits, flexing them experimentally before dropping his hand back to the podium with a sigh.
"Hyper-extension of the joints was also a favored "exercise". Generally this was performed while I was suspended in the air. Increases the severity of the mental trauma, having nothing to grab and hold on to for an anchor…"
He paused, his mind drifting in and out of the terrifying memories as they lined up eagerly to be shared. Shame after shame, each more mortifying than the last. He shook himself and continued on, plucking another treasure from the pile..
"Choking…" (he grunted at the word, the noise emphasizing the gravelly wheeze that he spoke with, rather than the rich baritone of his brothers) "Choking was a favorite practice of his. Crushing of the throat and compression of the chest. Never to the point of unconsciousness, though. He knew right where that began, and so he would hold me just shy... right at the point of panic where you were certain that death was coming. My larynx was crushed and repaired a number of times, but bacta can only do so much when there is little undamaged tissue left to rebuild."
He smirked inwardly. More and more senator's faces were clouding over with horror. A few looked to be fighting back nausea and one delicate looking female was fighting to hide tears.
Fox leaned a forearm on the podium, his back starting to twitch with cold electricity from the tension of the moment. Stooping gave a little relief and he rubbed a palm over his jaw, fussing over how to explain the next jem plucked from his treasure trove of experiences.
"We were experts at gathering intel, the CG were. Palpatine knew a great deal about manipulating people. Knowing that secrets flow more freely in a comfortable, casual, relaxed atmosphere, he thought it ideal to toss us around as party favors to the elite of the galaxy. We clones were considered beneath notice while in polite company, but there were plenty of rich, powerful scum bags out there who couldn't resist a hard bodied rough-neck soldier as a personal plaything."
He waved a hand dismissively at the crowd.
"However many of you who have done your business on Coruscant over the years… I'm sure you know someone who has snickered over their night with a guardsman… and for someone like me… my troopers… it was 'Shut your eyes and be proud of your service to the Republic!"
He slammed his raised hand down on the podium, hot fury welling in his gut at the memory of a young trooper who had curled into a ball in his office. The lad had been barely year 9, a shiny without a name yet, and had fought tears so violently it had put him into a panic attack. Fox had held him and ordered the boy to breathe properly, choking on his own dread over the abuse that had been wrought on his innocent body. That he couldn't protect his trooper from. That he couldn't protect himself from.
"My Men! Treated that way!! Traded by our fucking Chancellor! To be used! BY POLITICIANS! SENATORS!! REPRESENTATIVES!! PEOPLE LIKE YOU!!"
His voice broke on the last words. The young trooper had taken his own life just days later, unable to cope with what had happened. That and the realization that he was charged with defending those very same people every day at the senate building. The house of "Justice and Democracy". Fox lashed out, swiping the items from the top of the podium, the water cup shattering against the dais and the datapad clattering rudely in the shocked silence of the chamber.
Fox was seething, his fingers gripping the podium so forcefully his knuckles cracked. He counted off CT numbers in his head, to draw himself away from the hurricane of rage and hate that had roared to life in his chest.
He drew a few deep breaths, until he was certain he could speak clearly once more.
"Yes. I was Commander Fox. I was the clone you should have been afraid of. These men…" he pointed behind at his brothers… "These men are the best of us. They represent everything we could have been. The urge to serve and protect even in the face of the worst misfortune. These men deserve to be treated as such not just by their brothers, but by every damn one of you and every soul you represent. And I.." He jabbed his gnarled thumb into his chest, his growl taking on a weary note, "I am what a clone becomes if he is repeatedly ground under your boot every day of his life. Not a man worthy of a voice and the privileges of the law. I AM an animal. I have no honor and no virtues worth saving. Execute me if it assuages your guilt over the hundreds of thousands of others who weren't given the benefit of a second thought. I don't care."
He swallowed dryly, his eyes dropping with the finality of his statement. He'd said his piece. They knew what kind of beast he was. They could appreciate how kind and brave and decent the others were because of him. Turning he quietly left the podium, his knees a bit unsteady from the pain in his back and the weight in his heart. A hand wormed under his arm with a reassuring squeeze and he looked up into Fives' gentle smile. Fives, too, had been at the mercy of Palpatine's whims. He could appreciate the poisonous terror that was locked away in the recesses of Fox's mind.
They moved towards the exit hallway, the others falling in around him as a group. Their heads high and eyes sharp. They're guarding me.. he realized. I don't deserve it.
Noise was heard building from behind them in the senate chamber, and the speaker was calling the members to order. Then the doors shut and the voices muted, and he drew a shaky breath.
"Fekking winds and tides Fox…"
He looked up in time to see Wolffe reaching for him and he instinctively winced at the advance.
"Easy brother… you're safe with us." The grizzled man embraced Fox, squeezing him tightly. It wasn't hurtful, though. And Fox dropped his forehead on to the hard shoulder, suddenly exhausted as if he'd been on a rotation-long grind in the lower levels.
A large hand rested itself on the back of his neck and a face joined him by Wolffe's collar.
Rex. That fekking insufferable wunderkind. He only hated him because he was everything Fox would have wanted to be. He got out. Lived his own life. Was a war hero.. A rebel. Took a wife for fuck's sake. Lucky bastard. He smiled weakly at the man as Rex's fingers worked the stiff anchor muscles at the base of his skull.
"You did well brother," the bearded man spoke quietly. "I can appreciate how hard that must have been…. but please…. please…. never call yourself an animal again."
"You suffered longer than Fives and I combined." Added Echo. "You were in the thick of it from the very first. You have every right to speak of it without fear of repercussion."
"That… an' it must have been satisfying as hell to tell a bunch of bureaucrats how worthless they could be." Fives smirked and leaned an elbow on Echo's shoulder.
The voices from the senate chamber were growing louder and the men glanced back where they had exited, their nerves screaming to be ready to defend themselves. None of them felt safe here, and Cody had been the first to suggest that they prepare an escape plan if things should end badly. He wouldn't be subdued. He had a boy who needed him.
They traded quiet glances, silently agreeing that it was time to go, when a single shrill voice was heard rising above the din. It sounded like a female. And she was pissed. It wasn't Leia - her tones were deeper and more husky. No… this voice was bell like… but was clashing like thunder. It raged and echoed, undulating within the walls… harangued and threatened and shamed. It gave them all pause.
Whoever that was… well, they all shared pleased looks.
Apparently they had a new friend.