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There has always been something a little bit odd about himself, Fox has noticed over the months. The same goes for the rest of the Coruscant Guard as well. They have built themselves up around each other, and the Guard is more deeply entwined with itself than most of the GAR could say about themselves.
Everyone keeps their business in-house, and Fox doubts that outsiders know a single thing that goes on here, not even their once-closest batchmates. Their connection is built on blood and tears, and they can only trust their companions to have their back.
Fox is the same way, to be honest. On Kamino, his batch- from ‘01 to ‘10- and even most of the 1000s line were a close-knit bunch, just as most of the 2000s were their own group and the 3000s were yet another. The very moment he was assigned to Coruscant, however, those bonds were shattered as the others dispersed along the front lines of the War.
And without them to stand beside him, Fox focused on the Guard, on building it up from the few hundred heartbroken troopers it originally was to something larger, something that could actually do its duty and do it well.
The GAR was prepared for war. All of them expected to be on the front lines to protect the Republic as a whole, not to simply… rest on a single planet for the duration, knowing that while the others were out there fighting and dying, all that the Guard is meant to do is arrest whatever low-lives cross their paths and bodyguard Senators.
They could not do what they expected to do, and so the Coruscant Guard took its assignment and ran with it. And maybe being stationary is what led to the differences they carry now, like they are shaped just a touch too different, no longer capable of truly meshing with the rest of the GAR. Even the Shinies do not adapt to the network quite so easily as first, not until they too start becoming odd like the rest of them, always hastened by any Senate duty shifts for some unfathomable reason.
Fox absently scrolls through the line of recent reports that have been sent to his datapad, barely even skimming them before he signs them and moves on. He already knows they have been filed correctly, and none of the information is news to him. There was never a chance of that in the first place. Most of it is simply damage and expense reports, an analysis on frontline casualty statistics, and a handful of lodged complaints that will go nowhere. The Network pings.
Venator Lox is landing for shore leave with 9,742 members.
Understood. They’re down about a battalion’s worth. The General is likely using her scheduled leave to wait for her new Shinies to arrive.
Venator Negotiator is landing for shore leave with 743 members.
Understood. A rarity, but more of an annoyance than unexpected. That High General is not on Coruscant as often as others, but his presence usually heralds the following of the most semi-lovingly beloathed part of the army.
Venator Hiraeth is orbiting, waiting for permission to land.
Permission granted. Now, that one carries one of the few Jedi that Fox actually likes enough not to put them through a long waiting queue, though his people more than make up for the lack of problems. The General is a Healer that does not limit himself to the temple, and whenever he’s on leave he can usually be found helping in the lower levels.
Nothing particularly noteworthy as far as arrivals go, however, except in that the Hiraeth has CC-1225. Which means that Fox will be going through yet another round of complaints about ‘abandoning their bonds,’ as if everything is his fault. Kriff, he should figure out what exactly that fool named himself. Someone in the Network probably knows it, though, so he sends out the ping and hopes his old brother waits a few days before venting.
Well, even if he does not, Fox can simply ensure that he always has an unfortunate shift to get to that means he has no time to sit around for a one-sided yelling match that he has no vested interest in. Then again, all it would take is retreating into the Network and letting someone else take up his office and borrow information while he took a day to properly reorganize the Network’s lines again. He doubts that–
Request granted. General Haalan’s Commander is called Strike.
He doubts that Strike would know the difference between him and any other Corrie with regulation hair. Then again, Fox had been thinking about getting a crimson streak recently, to cover up the bit of gray he’s noticed starting to sprout up. The very idea of it might stun the kriffer enough to make him leave without ever saying a word. Stars, Fox might just dye his hair a veritable rainbow if it means none of the usual irritants have a clue what to say about it. A trickle of amusement passes through the Network alongside an impression of raucous laughter.
Yeah, Fox likely deserves that response. It would be fitting, though, the variation. It fits in ways he cannot fully describe. More than the fact he knows Dreamcatcher pulled off rainbow hair before he finally picked a preferred color, and more than the fact that so much of the Guard is made up of the outcasts of the entire rest of the GAR.
Not that he will actually dye his hair like that. As amusing and ironic as it would be, Fox is not particularly fond of green or blue, and his acceptance of purple heavily depends on the shade. He has seen too many Senators wearing garish, overused colors that are an offense to all things living. And no outfit deserves to be made up of a single nightmarish color from head to foot. Fox does not even know anything about fashion and he can tell an offense to all sentients when he sees it.
He leans back in his chair, the uncomfortable backrest digging into his shoulder blades. Right, this is the one he forgets is only acceptable when he is wearing his full armor and there is something in the way of those unnecessary edges. He needs to invest in another chair.
Maybe he could send some of the infiltration specialists to buy whatever appropriately dramatic furniture the local Coruscanti thrift stores have. Anything would be better than the cheap ones they have to live with currently, so long as it was made for humanoids.
Admittedly, he has a heavy preference for togruti furniture. The curve meant to accommodate lekku works well with the protrusion on the backplates of their armor, and it is better with the awkward shape of their helmets as well. And if it’s cushioned, all the better. Well, Fox only had the opportunity to experience such chairs a single time, and he will forever mourn that he had not appreciated that chair properly at the time.
Request. Does anyone want to buy out any thrift stores they find?
Request granted. Don’t you dare think about it, Fox. You already dictated no frivolous spending just last week.
Request granted. Can we use the credits we stole from that cartel last month?
Request updated. Yes, you can use the cartel credits.
Request updated. Last week is not this week, Stone, keep up. And we can donate all the junk in storage in return.
Request granted. You’re the absolute best, Commander.
Fox snorts at the indignance filtering in from the other Commanders. Well, at least Soothsayer is happy with his answer. Delighted, even.
The Network is… a vast sort of thing. It is vast, and it is dense, like a heavy knitted blanket built upon layers and layers. It has its individual lines, its specializations and goals, but at the core of it all is Fox. It is beyond any other Network that he has ever heard of in the GAR, both in its numbers and in its strength. Most of them weaken as more join, individuals unable to sustain the information flow and subconsciously placing unbreakable limits upon it. Most can barely sustain upwards of a thousand.
Maybe the Guard is different because they take the time to truly take care of and organize the Network, giving themselves unspoken protocols for its use to simplify the flow. Every ping is a request, and every answer is the 'granted' response.
It is so much more complex than that, however, and so much more intimate as well. The Network is as much a part of them as their hearts are, so deeply entwined that it cannot possibly be removed without having died first.
It is more than a way to share information and memories. All of them are Aware. All of them know where the others are, always. If a Corrie is injured, every single one of them knows exactly who it is, where they are, and what happened. They all know, they all see. It used to be different, it used to be weaker, used to lack that depth.
It used to be that it took six hours for a ping in the network to travel from one side of Coruscant to the opposite side. This was just a little over seven months ago. Now, it takes less than thirty seconds. It still remains far longer for anyone that is not currently on the planet, for whichever troopers are currently on Diplomatic Escort duty. For everyone else, though–
Fox’s first Network was little more than a warmth present in the back of his head, full of wordless greetings and warnings. His second, his true and current one, is thousands of hearts beating alongside his own.