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Riyo notices Marshal Commander Fox is missing on the first day.
This means nothing.
Fox is a very busy man. He commands the entire Coruscant Guard, which means his schedule consists mostly of preventing senators from being murdered and occasionally preventing senators from murdering other people.
There is no reason he should be standing outside the northern committee chamber when Riyo’s session ends.
He has only done that four times this month.
Five, if she counts the day he claimed to be inspecting a security panel that had already been inspected twice.
Riyo doesn’t count that day.
Liah does.
“The red one isn’t here,” her aide says as they leave the chamber.
Riyo keeps walking. “There are several Guardsmen wearing red.”
“You know which red one.”
“I don’t.”
“The marshal commander.”
“I assumed you meant Commander Stone.”
“Commander Stone terrifies you.”
“He doesn’t terrify me.”
“He stared at you for six minutes because you asked whether the prison needed more blankets.”
“He was thinking.”
“He looked like he was deciding whether blankets were a threat to public order.”
Riyo adjusts the datapads in her arms.
The corridor is guarded by two troopers she recognizes, though she doesn’t know their names. Fox has been trying to change that. He includes names beside designations in the casualty and patrol reports he sends her.
Neither trooper is Fox.
That also means nothing.
“He’s probably in a meeting,” Riyo says.
Liah makes a thoughtful sound. “You noticed yesterday too.”
“I noticed a change in Senate security.”
“You asked three different Guardsmen where he was.”
“There have been recent threats.”
“You asked one of them whether the marshal commander had eaten.”
“That was relevant.”
“To what?”
Riyo doesn’t answer.
Liah’s smile becomes insufferable.
Riyo does not have a crush on Marshal Commander Fox.
She respects him.
There is an important difference.
Respect explains why she knows the exact shade his ears turn when she brings him frost-spiced caf. It explains why she recognizes his footsteps in crowded corridors and why she has begun choosing committee routes that happen to pass the Guard’s temporary administrative offices.
Professional respect often causes people to wonder whether someone has slept in the past forty hours.
Probably.
“Senator Chuchi.”
Commander Thorn approaches from the opposite corridor.
His white-and-red armor is polished, though the painted wings along the sides of his helmet distinguish him immediately. They sweep backward from the temples in bold lines that would violate the Guard’s anonymity regulations if Thorn were anyone less senior.
Riyo stops.
“Commander Thorn.”
His helmet turns toward Liah.
Liah smiles pleasantly.
Thorn’s posture becomes wary.
Everyone who works in the Senate eventually learns to fear pleasant aides.
Riyo glances behind him.
No Fox.
Thorn notices.
His shoulders move in what may be a sigh.
“Was there something you needed, Senator?”
“No.”
Liah coughs.
Riyo ignores her.
“I was only wondering whether security assignments had changed.”
“No.”
“The northern committee corridor has had different patrol officers.”
“Temporary redistribution.”
“Because of a threat?”
“No.”
“An inspection?”
“No.”
“An internal review?”
“No.”
Thorn’s answers are becoming shorter.
Riyo looks at the wings painted on his helmet rather than the way his hand tightens around his datapad.
“Is Marshal Commander Fox unavailable?”
Thorn goes still.
Liah stops pretending to organize Riyo’s schedule.
Riyo’s pulse quickens, which is ridiculous. Fox is probably buried in reports or trapped in another meeting with the Chancellor.
“He’s off-world,” Thorn says.
Riyo stares.
“Off-world?”
“Yes, Senator.”
Fox doesn’t go off-world.
The Chancellor barely lets him leave the Senate District. Riyo knows because Fox once spent an entire caf break explaining why Guard inspections of orbital defense stations had been delegated to officers with less comprehensive security clearance.
He had been annoyed.
Riyo had found it attractive.
Professionally impressive.
“Where?” she asks.
“I’m not authorized to discuss operational deployments.”
“I have senatorial military clearance.”
“Not for this deployment.”
“Commander.”
“Senator.”
They look at one another.
Thorn’s helmet conceals his expression, but Riyo can feel his resistance. Guard protocol around natborns is built from silence. Fox has explained enough for her to know why.
Any personal detail can become leverage.
Any answer can be called insolence.
Any senator can request punishment.
Riyo softens her voice.
“I’m not asking to interfere. I only want to know whether he’s safe.”
Thorn’s helmet tilts.
Liah glances at Riyo.
Riyo will deal with that later.
“He’s at Ryloth,” Thorn says at last.
Riyo blinks.
“Ryloth?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Operational reassignment.”
“What operation?”
Thorn’s silence returns.
Riyo thinks through the current Senate schedule.
Ryloth remains under Separatist blockade. The Republic’s first attempts to break the siege have gone badly, but Fox commands the Coruscant Guard.
He protects senators, investigates crimes, oversees prison security, and somehow manages enough logistics to prevent the Senate District from collapsing under its own incompetence.
He does not command planetary invasions.
At least, Riyo has never seen him do so.
“Senator Orn Free Taa is still on Coruscant,” she says slowly.
Thorn’s helmet turns toward her.
“Yes.”
“So Fox wasn’t sent as part of his protection detail.”
“No.”
“Then why was the commander of the Coruscant Guard sent into an active war zone?”
Thorn shifts the datapad beneath his arm.
“He was requested.”
“By whom?”
“Redacted.”
“Who authorized it?”
“The Chancellor.”
That creates more questions than it answers.
Riyo looks toward the distant windows. Coruscant traffic moves beyond the Senate towers, orderly from this height and chaotic everywhere below.
Fox is somewhere beyond it.
At Ryloth.
A battlefield.
“Does Fox have experience with planetary liberation?” she asks.
Thorn doesn’t answer immediately.
Then he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like amusement.
“Senator, with respect, you’ve only met the version of Fox assigned to babysit this building.”
Riyo looks back at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he was trained for more than escort rotations.”
“How much more?”
Thorn’s helmet angles toward Liah again.
Liah raises both hands. “I’m only an aide.”
“That makes you more dangerous.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I accepted it as one.”
Riyo steps closer to Thorn.
“Is he qualified?”
The commander’s response is immediate.
“He’s the best strategist in the army.”
Riyo nearly laughs.
Thorn doesn’t.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“The Guard commander.”
“The Guard commander,” Thorn repeats.
Riyo tries to fit the information around the man she knows.
Fox standing silently behind senatorial chairs.
Fox reading security reports in an office that used to hold cleaning supplies.
Fox correcting casualty statistics, inspecting broken cameras, and threatening to arrest senior officials who mistreat his troopers.
She has never imagined him commanding a fleet.
She has never imagined him flying into battle.
Now that the image exists, it refuses to leave.
“What exactly is he doing on Ryloth?”
“Breaking the blockade, presumably.”
“Presumably?”
“He left me in charge before I could ask enough questions.”
Thorn sounds personally betrayed by this.
“Is that why you look tired?” Liah asks.
“I always look tired.”
“The helmet hides it.”
“It’s an excellent helmet.”
Riyo looks at the painted wings.
“Did Fox approve those?”
“No.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He assigned me six additional logistics reviews.”
Liah nods. “Worth it.”
“Absolutely.”
Riyo almost smiles.
Then she remembers Ryloth.
“How long will he be gone?”
“Until the operation ends.”
“That could take months.”
“Yes.”
The answer settles heavily in her chest.
She tells herself it is concern for a valuable military officer.
A friend, perhaps.
A professional ally.
Nothing more.
“Can messages reach him?”
Thorn’s helmet turns very slowly.
Riyo feels heat gather in her cheeks.
“For committee coordination,” she adds.
“Of course.”
“I may need clarification on Guard casualty projections.”
“Naturally.”
“And there are budget amendments he was helping me review.”
“Vital matters of state.”
Liah presses her lips together.
Riyo glares at both of them.
Thorn retrieves a small datachip from a compartment on his belt and offers it to her.
“Military relay address. Messages will be screened before transmission.”
Riyo takes it.
Their fingers don’t touch through his gloves, which is fortunate because her hand is suddenly unsteady.
“Thank you, Commander.”
“Senator.”
Thorn walks away.
Liah waits until he disappears around the corner.
Then she looks at Riyo.
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask what budget question you intend to send your definitely-not-a-crush on Ryloth.”
Riyo starts walking again.
“I do not have a crush on him, Liah.”
“Of course not.”
“I respect his work.”
“Deeply.”
“He is an important contact.”
“Whose absence you noticed within one day.”
Riyo walks faster.
Liah keeps pace.
“What will you write?” she asks.
“A professional inquiry.”
“About?”
Riyo looks down at the military relay chip in her palm.
She knows nothing about the strategist Thorn described. She knows only the exhausted commander who drinks her caf and listens when she speaks.
She wonders which version of him is standing on Ryloth now.
“Whether he’s safe,” she says.
Liah’s expression softens.
Riyo closes her fingers around the chip.
Then she remembers herself.
“And the budget reports.”
“Obviously.”
“Those are important.”
“More important than the blockade?”
Riyo refuses to dignify that with an answer.