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Cody wakes at 0612 with his cap over his face, one boot missing, and Marshal Commander Wolffe asleep beneath the drunk-tank bench.
Bly is sitting upright against the wall, still wearing both boots but no tunic.
Nobody immediately knows where the tunic went.
“This is your fault,” Cody says.
Wolffe’s voice comes from beneath the bench. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“That’s not specific enough.”
Bly opens one eye. “Why does my mouth taste like floor polish?”
Cody sits up and instantly regrets it. His dress-white trousers are now lined with orange, yellow, and grey fingerprints. His formal jacket hangs from the ceiling light by one sleeve.
Memory returns in pieces.
The accidental leave overlap.
One reasonable drink at 79’s.
Wolffe declaring that the Wolfpack could outdrink the 327th.
Bly responding that the 104th considered engine coolant a beverage.
Cody attempting to restore order and somehow becoming the judge of an arm-wrestling tournament involving three Marshal Commanders, six ARCs, and a very confused Nautolan dockworker.
Then someone had stolen Wolffe’s cap.
Wolffe had accused Bly.
Bly had accused Cody.
Cody had discovered the cap on his own head beneath his regulation cap.
After that, events had deteriorated.
The drunk-tank door opens.
Commander Stone stands outside with a datapad.
He looks at the three highest-ranking prisoners in Guard custody and displays no visible surprise.
“Good morning.”
“No,” Cody says.
Stone checks the datapad. “Charges include disorderly conduct, destruction of private property, interfering with a patrol, unauthorized commandeering of a street-cleaning droid, and attempting to enter the Senate District fountain.”
Bly frowns. “We didn’t enter the fountain.”
“You were arrested while carrying it.”
Silence.
Wolffe crawls from beneath the bench. “How do you carry a fountain?”
Stone turns the datapad around.
The security image shows Cody and Bly holding opposite ends of a decorative water feature while Wolffe stands on top of it, pointing toward the Senate District like a conquering general.
Cody closes his eyes.
“We need release authorization,” Stone says. “Because all three of you are Marshal Commanders, the signature must come from a superior officer.”
“Our generals,” Bly says.
Stone’s mouth twitches. “General Secura declined the call.”
Bly looks betrayed.
“General Koon said this was an important natural consequence.”
Wolffe mutters something rude in Mando’a.
“General Kenobi,” Stone continues, “asked whether Commander Cody had finally learned why mixing Corellian brandy with reactor-room homebrew was inadvisable.”
Cody stares at the wall.
“He isn’t coming.”
“No.”
“Thorn?” Wolffe asks.
“Equal rank.”
The three commanders slowly look at one another.
There is only one officer in the GAR who outranks them.
At 0630, Fox arrives.
He wears immaculate dress blacks, three Guard-red command ropes, polished boots, and the expression of a man who received a highly entertaining report before breakfast.
He stops outside the cell.
Cody straightens as much as possible while missing one boot.
“Chief.”
Fox studies them.
His gaze moves from Bly’s absent tunic to Cody’s hanging jacket, then to Wolffe, whose formal grey-lined whites are stained purple from shoulder to knee.
“What happened?”
“Operational misunderstanding,” Cody says.
“Cultural exchange,” Bly adds.
“Bad intel,” Wolffe says.
Fox looks at Stone.
“Marshal Commander Wolffe challenged a cleaning droid to single combat,” Stone says.
“The droid started it,” Wolffe replies.
Fox signs the release form.
Cody almost relaxes.
Then Fox adds three pages.
“You’re released into my custody at 0700. At 0730, you’ll report to Public Works and return the fountain. At 0900, you’ll clean the entire drunk tank.”
Bly’s face falls.
“At 1100, you’re giving a joint lecture to newly deployed shinies on appropriate shore-leave conduct.”
Wolffe grips the bars. “You can’t be serious.”
Fox finally smiles.
“At 1300, you’ll find Commander Bly’s tunic.”
“Do you know where it is?” Cody asks.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Fox turns away.
“You’ll learn from the investigation.”
The door unlocks.
Cody retrieves his jacket from the light while Wolffe mutters about abuse of command authority.
Fox pauses in the corridor.
“One more thing.”
All three look at him.
“79’s has banned you for a month.”
Bly gasps.
Fox walks away before they can appeal.