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Grizzer dislikes the Chancellor’s office.
This doesn’t distinguish it from most government buildings, lifts, speeders, medical wards, or rooms containing Senator Burtoni, but Hound respects her judgment.
The massiff sits beside his leg with her lead clipped to his utility belt, claws scraping faintly against the polished floor whenever she shifts. Her broad head remains level with Hound’s hip, and her eyes follow every movement inside the office.
Chancellor Palpatine sits behind his desk.
High General Kenobi occupies one of the absurdly expensive chairs opposite him.
Hound remains standing.
“Commander Tano is alive,” Hound says. “She’s receiving treatment at a secure Guard medical facility. She hasn’t regained consciousness.”
“And her condition?” Palpatine asks.
“Stable.”
It’s the only medical information Scalper authorized him to provide.
Palpatine folds his hands.
“The situation has become increasingly troubling. First the Temple bombing, then the escape, and now General Skywalker’s assault upon the Chief of Defense.”
Kenobi looks exhausted.
Hound doesn’t blame him for that. He does blame him for several other things, but the Jedi already looks as if he has spent the last several hours discovering entirely new ways for Skywalker to damage his life.
“Anakin believed Fox knew where Ahsoka was,” Kenobi says.
“He did.”
Kenobi winces.
Hound continues, “He also told General Skywalker that Commander Tano would be brought in alive.”
“That hardly excuses withholding information from her Master,” Palpatine says.
“Former Master,” Hound corrects. “The Council expelled her.”
The Chancellor’s expression barely changes.
Kenobi’s does.
Hound files that away.
“General Skywalker attacked an officer performing a lawful investigation,” Hound says. “He Force-threw Chief Fox through an office door and strangled him in front of witnesses. His beliefs don’t alter the incident report.”
Grizzer yawns.
Her teeth are large enough to make the sound feel editorial.
Kenobi rubs his beard.
“Is Fox badly injured?”
“Bruised throat, strained shoulder, concussion symptoms, cracked ribs.”
That last injury came from the door rather than the strangling, though Hound doubts Fox will appreciate the distinction while breathing.
“He’ll recover,” Hound adds.
Fox had been more concerned about the bruise around his throat.
Not because it hurt.
Because Riyo would see it.
It might fade by tonight, Fox had said, displaying a level of optimism Hound had never previously witnessed from him.
Riyo’s mother and brother were visiting.
Vishni Chuchi had once reduced a Pantoran representative to tears over an incorrect seating chart. Hound didn’t want to imagine her response to someone strangling her son-in-law.
Azen was sixteen, protective of his sister, and recently fascinated by Guard weaponry.
Hound did not pity his commanding officer.
Fox had married into that family with access to the relevant intelligence reports.
“He should be afforded time to recover,” Palpatine says. “The Chief has served the Republic with remarkable dedication.”
Grizzer’s nostrils flare.
Hound touches two fingers against the ridge above her eyes.
She settles.
“Chief Fox remains in command,” he says.
“Of course.”
The Chancellor smiles.
Hound would rather Grizzer start chewing the furniture than continue the conversation.
Fortunately, Kenobi rises.
“If there’s nothing further, Chancellor, I should return to the Temple. The Council is awaiting an update.”
“There is one thing,” Hound says.
Kenobi pauses.
Hound removes a datapad from his belt and sends two requests to the General’s device.
“I’m requesting custodial transfer of Morai.”
Kenobi looks down at the first document.
“The convor?”
“The military asset registered to Commander Tano.”
“She isn’t merely an asset.”
“Then you’ll understand why keeping her in a cage for five days violates Republic animal welfare statutes.”
Kenobi’s face tightens.
“The Temple was concerned she might interfere with the investigation.”
“She’s bonded to Tano.”
“Yes.”
“Tano’s unconscious.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then the animal should be with her.”
Palpatine watches them with quiet interest.
Kenobi scrolls through the transfer request.
“Ahsoka is no longer a member of the Order.”
“Correct.”
“But Morai was housed at the Temple under her registration.”
“Her GAR registration,” Hound says. “The Jedi Order has no current claim to either of them.”
That sounds more possessive than Hound intends.
He decides he doesn’t care.
Morai has spent five days trapped in a containment cage, separated from her handler while every Force-sensitive person in the Temple debates whether Ahsoka is guilty.
The Guard has a secured medical room, several animal handlers, and Grizzer, who can explain the institutional rules through biting if necessary.
Kenobi glances toward Palpatine.
The Chancellor lifts one hand.
“This appears to be a military matter.”
Meaning Palpatine doesn’t want to place himself between the Guard and a furious green bird.
Reasonable.
Kenobi signs the transfer.
“I’ll arrange for her release.”
“Today.”
Kenobi looks at him.
Hound looks back.
“Today,” the General agrees.
Hound nods toward the second request.
“I also need a list of all Mirialan natives registered with the Jedi Order.”
Kenobi’s attention sharpens.
“For what purpose?”
“Investigation.”
“You can’t seriously consider every Mirialan Jedi a suspect.”
“I don’t.”
“Your request says all registered members.”
“That’s where records searches start.”
Kenobi studies the document.
Hound can see the objection forming, so he saves them both time.
“I don’t need everyone from Mirial. I need those who’ve been on Coruscant during the relevant period and have a documented connection to Commander Tano.”
Kenobi goes still.
Only slightly.
Grizzer notices anyway. Her head lifts.
Hound feels the movement through the lead attached to his belt.
“Do you have a name?” Kenobi asks.
“Not yet.”
“What evidence points toward a Mirialan?”
“Restricted.”
“I’m a High General.”
“And the Temple is involved in the investigation.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the one you’re cleared to receive.”
Kenobi’s mouth flattens.
Fox would approve.
Probably.
Once he finishes trying to explain the hand-shaped bruise to three furious Pantorans.
Palpatine leans back in his chair.
“Surely the Jedi Council will cooperate fully in clearing Commander Tano’s name.”
Kenobi looks toward him.
Then back to Hound.
“I’ll provide the list.”
“Unedited.”
“Hound.”
“General.”
Kenobi sighs.
“Unedited.”
Hound inclines his head.
The meeting is over.
He turns toward the door, and Grizzer rises beside him in one smooth movement.
Behind him, Palpatine says, “Commander.”
Hound stops.
“I trust you’ll keep my office informed of any significant developments.”
Hound looks over his shoulder.
“Yes, Chancellor.”
Significant is a... flexible word.
The Guard employs lawyers specifically to stretch words until they become operational cover.
He leaves with Grizzer, a signed order for Morai’s release, and a list soon to contain every Mirialan connected to Ahsoka Tano.
He doesn’t have a suspect yet.
He has a species, access requirements, and a shrinking circle.
For Investigations, that is practically an introduction.
-
Riyo has already decided not to murder Anakin Skywalker.
This is an act of tremendous restraint that Fox doesn’t appear to appreciate nearly enough.
He sits beside her at the dining table wearing a black undershirt with a collar high enough to conceal most of the bruising around his throat. Most, unfortunately, isn’t all. Purple shadows climb above the fabric on the left side, shaped unmistakably like fingers.
His voice is still rough.
His pain medication is also wearing off.
Riyo can tell because he’s stopped moving his right shoulder unless absolutely necessary, and every swallow requires a pause afterward.
She slides his bowl closer.
Fox looks down at the pale vegetable soup.
“I can reach it.”
“I know.”
“You moved it three centimeters.”
“You were staring at it.”
“I was considering whether it qualifies as food.”
“It does.”
“It has no structural integrity.”
“You can’t chew.”
“I can chew.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Across the table, Azen lowers his spoon.
“Why can’t he chew?”
Fox looks at Riyo.
Riyo looks at Fox.
They had agreed to get through dinner without incident.
This agreement had been made after Riyo spent twenty-seven minutes threatening Anakin Skywalker’s continued access to all necessary organs, followed by another eleven minutes listing the criminal statutes Fox could use against him.
Fox had stopped her somewhere around aggravated assault against a senior military official.
Not because she was wrong.
Because, in his words, Skywalker is already in Guard custody, and explaining your involvement would create jurisdictional complications.
Fox knows her too well.
“Dental work,” Riyo says.
Fox turns his head toward her very slowly.
Azen’s eyes narrow.
Vishni continues cutting her roasted vegetables into perfectly equal pieces.
“Fox’s teeth are fine,” she says.
Fox’s expression develops the distant misery of a man realizing he has survived one assault only to arrive at another.
Riyo reaches beneath the table and rests one hand against his thigh.
Not affectionately.
It is a warning not to flee.
Vishni looks at him.
“Your voice is damaged.”
“Temporarily,” Fox says.
The word comes out scraped raw.
Azen leans forward.
“What happened?”
“Operational incident.”
“That means someone did something stupid,” Azen says.
Fox glances toward him. “Usually.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Riyo squeezes Fox’s leg.
He looks at her again.
Fox had told Riyo everything the moment the apartment door closed behind him. He hadn’t softened it, though he had attempted to begin with the phrase The situation is under control, which was generally how Fox announced that something was absolutely not under control.
Anakin had attacked him.
Thrown him through a door.
Held him against the War Room wall by his throat while demanding Ahsoka’s location.
Riyo understood why Anakin had been furious. She understood what it felt like to be excluded while someone she loved was in danger. Ahsoka was her friend too. The thought of Ahsoka running barefoot and injured through the lower levels had kept Riyo awake for nights.
But understanding wasn’t absolution.
Anakin had been afraid.
Fox had still been unable to breathe.
“General Skywalker,” Fox says.
Azen’s mouth falls open.
Vishni’s knife stops.
The apartment becomes very quiet.
Riyo closes her eyes.
So much for avoiding an incident.
“General Skywalker did what?” Vishni asks.
Her voice is calm.
That is worse than shouting.
Fox takes another spoonful of soup, presumably because eating is less dangerous than answering.
Azen looks between them.
“Did he punch you?”
“No.”
“Shoot you?”
“No.”
“Hit you with his lightsaber?”
“No.”
“Then what did he do?”
Fox swallows carefully.
“He used the Force.”
Vishni sets down her knife.
Riyo feels Fox’s muscles tighten beneath her hand.
“On your throat,” Vishni says.
It isn’t a question.
Fox’s collar has shifted enough to reveal the shape of another bruise.
Azen sees it.
His face changes.
He is sixteen, and much of his anger is still immediate, bright, and honest.
“He strangled you?”
“Azen,” Riyo says.
“He did.”
Fox sets down his spoon.
“He was distressed and believed I was withholding information regarding Commander Tano.”
“That’s because you were withholding information,” Riyo says.
Fox gives her a flat look.
“I am not defending him,” she adds quickly. “I’m explaining his reasoning.”
“His reasoning was flawed.”
“Deeply.”
Vishni folds her hands.
“Where is General Skywalker now?”
Riyo’s grip on Fox’s thigh tightens.
Fox answers cautiously.
“In Jedi custody.”
“Why?”
“Because executing him would have created paperwork.”
Azen snorts.
Vishni does not.
“Has he been charged?”
“The Guard filed charges. The Jedi requested jurisdiction.”
“And you allowed that?”
“The assault involved a Jedi General, classified military information, and an active investigation connected to the Temple. Shared jurisdiction was unavoidable.”
Vishni’s gaze moves over Fox’s bruised throat.
“Unavoidable is a word institutions use when they don’t wish to admit cowardice.”
Fox looks at Riyo.
She gives him a tiny, helpless shrug.
This is his mother-in-law.
He has access to intelligence reports. He knew what he was marrying into.
“I assure you,” Fox says, “General Skywalker won’t be permitted near me without supervision.”
“That isn’t reassuring.”
“He’ll face consequences.”
“From the Jedi who allowed a sixteen-year-old girl to be hunted across Coruscant?”
Azen points his spoon at Vishni. “That’s what I said.”
“You said the Jedi were idiots,” Riyo reminds him.
“They are.”
“Not all of them.”
“Enough of them.”
Fox reaches for his water.
His hand shakes once.
Only once.
Riyo takes the glass before he can pretend it didn’t happen and holds it while he drinks.
The fury inside her shifts.
It doesn’t lessen. It becomes quieter, denser, a blue-white star pressing beneath her ribs.
Fox had come home in pain and spent the first hour calming her.
He had explained that Anakin’s fear didn’t excuse his violence. He had reminded her that Ahsoka was alive. He had promised Scalper had checked him twice. He had endured Riyo examining every bruise while insisting he could breathe perfectly well.
Now he is trying to protect Anakin from Vishni.
That may be the bravest thing Fox has done all day.
Vishni watches Riyo lower the glass.
“What did the doctors say?”
“Cracked ribs,” Riyo answers. “A strained shoulder, concussion symptoms, and bruising to his throat.”
Azen’s spoon bends in his hand.
Everyone looks at it.
He looks down.
“I didn’t know these were that weak.”
“They aren’t,” Fox says.
Azen releases the utensil.
Vishni rises from the table.
Fox straightens despite the immediate pain crossing his face.
“Where are you going?” Riyo asks.
“To make a call.”
“To whom?”
“An old Assembly acquaintance.”
“No.”
Vishni looks at her daughter.
Riyo stands too.
“Uma, whatever you are planning, no.”
“I haven’t said what I’m planning.”
“That has never made your plans less alarming.”
“I only intend to determine whether Pantora’s diplomatic agreements with the Jedi permit formal sanctions against individual members.”
Fox closes his eyes.
Azen grins.
Riyo steps between Vishni and the comm unit.
“Anakin was terrified for Ahsoka.”
“So was Fox.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t strangle anyone.”
Fox raises one finger. “That isn’t entirely accurate.”
Riyo turns toward him.
Fox lowers the finger.
“Not today,” he amends.
Vishni looks almost impressed.
Riyo is not.
“No calls,” Riyo says. “No sanctions, no public statements, and absolutely no contacting General Skywalker.”
“I can be discreet.”
“You once started a committee investigation because someone insulted my winter cloak.”
“The stitching was traditional.”
“They said it looked warm.”
“The tone was offensive.”
Fox leans toward Azen.
“Is she always like this?”
Azen whispers, “This is her calm.”
Vishni hears him.
“Correct.”
Fox looks down at his soup as though reconsidering every decision that led him here.
Riyo returns to her seat and takes his hand beneath the table.
His fingers close around hers.
Vishni sits again, though she does so with the dignity of a head of state postponing an invasion.
“For tonight,” she says.
Fox exhales.
Riyo lifts his spoon and offers it to him.
He stares at her.
“My shoulder is injured, not my hand.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I am not.”
“Fox.”
He takes the spoon.
Azen picks up his bent utensil.
Vishni resumes eating.
For nearly thirty seconds, dinner proceeds without threats, political retaliation, or discussion of Jedi jurisdiction.
Then Vishni asks, “Does General Skywalker have a mother?”
Fox chokes on his soup.
Riyo pats his back while glaring across the table.
“Uma!”
“What?” Vishni asks. “I only wish to speak with her.”
Fox coughs painfully into his sleeve.
Azen begins laughing.
Riyo decides that preventing one homicide may have been the easy part.