Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fox startled when he felt a soft tug on his hand, and looked down only to meet the big blue-green eyes of his vod’ika.

Cody had commed only a week ago to say that the 212th was going on a total communications blackout while on a stealth mission assigned by the Chancellor. His general and the rest of the battalion had agreed that this was not a mission they wanted their precious administrator along.

The logical choice—despite Rex’s pouting—was to leave the youngling with the Coruscant Guard.

Most people might have suggested the Jedi Temple, seeing as Obi-Wan was a member of the Medical Corps and surely had access to a suite of rooms that he could use. Those same people would have quickly backed away from the vibroblade held to rather sensitive parts of their anatomy. The vode were extremely protective of their adorable vod’ika. And with that di’kutla hutuun Jinn under Temple arrest, they were not willing to let their baby brother anywhere near that moron.

Hence the Corrie Guard had a temporary commander for the next three weeks, and they got to dress Obi-Wan in Corrie Red!

Thorn may or may not have already taken around a hundred holos of their Ob’ika in a Corrie-Red sweater that they had had custom made, with help from Senator Organa.

Holos which had definitely found their way on the commander chat.

For posterity purposes of course.

Certainty not to brag to the other units at their adorable temporary commander. It definitely wasn’t to rub the fact that the Guard got to see their vod’ika, while the others had to do without.

It wasn’t fair that everyone else got cute mandokar baby-jedi, and the Corrie Guard only got drunk, incompetent senators.

Okay, so maybe it was to brag.

With a soft smile that was reserved solely for shinies and Obi-Wan, Fox crouched so that he was eye-level with the tiny administrator. “Hi Ob’ika. Is there something you need?”

The boy gave a very serious nod, and the other guards had to fight not to coo at how cute their vod’ika was. Fox swore if he had ovaries they’d be exploding right now. How was it possible for a being to be so copikla? “What can I do for you, vod’ika?”

In response to the question, a pad was offered up to him. Cody and the rest of the 212th had made sure to provide a list of things the Guard needed to know when taking care of their administrator, and one of the top five was that the boy didn’t talk, so if they needed to communicate to follow Obi-Wan’s lead.

Fox accepted the pad, and looked at the contents only to frown.

“These are the medical records for the Coruscant Guard.”

A nod.

“How did you even get these?”

Obi-Wan’s ears turned a soft pink that had Fox internally cooing, even as he continued to stare. The boy refused to make eye-contact, and after several minutes Fox dropped it to regard what exactly Ob’ika was asking.

Pale fingers quickly tapped in a command, and a different screen was up.

Fox read, having to go back several times at the different calculations the boy had run.

“You notated injuries common to the guard, and cross-referenced it with the arrest rate?”

He read further.

“And you calculated recovery time versus active-duty needs?”

There was a small annotation three pages down.

“How did you get the number of requests we get from the Senate?” A shrug was his answer. “Wait—you cross-referenced the number of troopers on active-duty, with the security rotation and recovery rate?”

Obi-Wan simply nodded.

How the hell did Ob’ika even have the time to do this? He’s only been here for a few days.

Yet there it all was, in black and white. Everything that Fox secretly dreaded. Because it was one thing thinking that the Corrie Guard were being run ragged. It was quite another knowing it, and seeing that because of the demand on the system, they weren’t able to recuperate.

Chancellor Palpatine always seemed apologetic whenever he called Fox up to his office to assign the Guard yet another duty—yet he couldn’t help but feel the old man derived some sick pleasure in seeing the troopers suffer. Good soldiers follow orders. Fox shook his head. Where did that thought come from?

“So, this is good work…but what exactly is it that you need from me vod’ika?”

Obi-Wan pointed.

Fox’s eyes followed the movement, until he saw the list of recommendations that Obi-Wan had outlined.

His face paled.

“Ob’ika, I don’t know if everyone is going to be…willing…to cooperate with this.”

Because the number one recommendation was for the entire Guard to commit to having a complete physical done. Under the assumption that the fitness of the unit needed to be determined before more strategic interventions could be put in place.

Golden brown eyes met blue-green. “If we want this to work verd’ika, we’re going to need to be smart. The Guard are tough and cantankerous. This is going to take brutal tactics and an iron will.” He looked at the boy. “Think you’re up for the challenge?”

A quiet nod was his answer.

Needless to say, the Guard cracked in less then three minutes.

No one could say no to their vod’ika’s tooka eyes.

Those things were lethal weapons.

Unlike other battalions, the Guard didn’t have their own medics. The Senate hadn’t seen a need for them, as they would be stationed on Coruscant and have access to some of the Republic’s finest medical clinics.

Only, very few natborns wanted to treat clones—and the kaminiise refused to let anyone take a look at their product. So when the Guard suffered injuries, they tried to treat them on their own. Using the basic field-medicine they’d received to take care of injuries—and pray to the Little Gods that everything would be okay.

But things didn’t always work like that.

Between dealing with the increase in crime in the lower levels, belligerent senators, and cruel citizens who wanted the “flesh droids” gone, the Guard were in a constant state of hyper vigilance.

Plastioid was strong but—

Sometimes it wasn’t enough.

Sometimes their scraps of field-medicine couldn’t substitute the in-depth knowledge a medic would have.

Sometimes, a name was added to their Remembrances.

And they were forced to go on, as though nothing had changed.

Exhausted.

Drained.

Alone.

But that was before a tiny administrator came along.

Master Che smiled at the way Obi-Wan lead an entire contingent of troopers in white and red armor through the Halls.

“Corpsmember Kenobi.”

A tiny freckled face turned towards her, a big smile breaking out, before the youngling hurled himself forward.

Two arms curled around her waist, a blinding smile directed up at her and she couldn’t help but smile wider at the pure joy and happiness that was being projected into the Force. “It is good to see you too Little One.”

It had been too long since she had seen her boy, and while she knew that he was doing alright in his new assignment she couldn’t help but worry. They were in a war that had cost them so many.

Vokara had sworn that she would never take on a padawan. She didn’t have the time, or the temperament, to provide the nurturing padawans needed to become knights. Only for a youngling to be admitted into her Halls, malnourished, suffering from electric burns and hypersensitivity from being cut off from the Force for so long.

She’d taken one look into those serious eyes, at the way that after everything he’d suffered, after having his voice stolen from him, his Force signature was still so incredibly bright—she knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep her vow.

Obi-Wan would never officially be a part of her lineage, but he would always be her youngling.

The clones behind him shuffled awkwardly, one making an aborted movement to pull Obi-Wan back, only to be stopped by another one. She could tell from the distinctive paint and the way he held himself, that this was Commander Fox.

She held Obi a moment longer, before she stepped back. “Administrator Kenobi,” she said and her youngling straightened up, “how can we assist you?”

A pad was held out for her, and she accepted it.

A brow rose, even as her lips curved in a mischievous smile. “A full physical eh? Neurology included?”

Obi-Wan nodded, even as a clone stepped forward. “Brain scan? Ob’ika I don’t think that’s nec—“

“Thorn—“ Commander Fox started, only to break off as Obi-Wan turned to look at them, big blue-green eyes soft and sad, and Vokara had to fight not to laugh at the way both troopers deflated. Obi had the Guard wrapped around his little fingers.

She approved.

“Hmm…no that would make sense. It shows that the most common injury the Guard has is concussion and blunt-force trauma to the head. Any healer would recommend a scan to ensure that you’re not suffering any long-term effects.”

Thorn looked like he was going to argue, only to back down at the hard stare from his Commander. “That’s why we’re here, General.”

Master Che smiled. “Let’s get to it then.”

“That’s not right.” She’d done the same scan on six troopers, and each one had a foggy area in the same location. Normally they wouldn’t do this level of intensity for a neurology scan—but Obi-Wan had been insistent with the high rate of head injuries the Guard suffered.

Now concussions could be ruled out, the most logical explanation being a tumor or growth. But even if all six troopers had somehow developed tumors in their brain, the likelihood of them all developing them in the same exact place—even factoring in their identical genetic template—was extremely low.

It had to be something else.

“Commander, we’re going to run a different type of scan.” Resonance imaging could only detect so much, afterall.

But the Halls of Healing wasn’t staffed by regular medics.

They had just reached the area on the scan that was foggy, when the healer’s hand froze. There was a cloying coldness, a hint of brittle chill that seeped into their bones and pulled at their soul.

A feeling they had been trained from birth to recognize.

The Darkside.

“You want to what?” Fox asked, arms crossed protectively.

Master Che sighed. “Our equipment won’t show more than a small abnormality, and our senses are only telling us that whatever it is, it’s dark. We can’t determine more without physically going in to see what’s there.”

Fox couldn’t believe that the Jedi—the people who were supposed to be the Keepers of Peace and Justice in the Galaxy—would be so callous. Would mercilessly subject a vod to the knife, simply to take a look inside their heads. How could they—

He was pulled from his thoughts when tiny arms wrapped around him. He looked down. A fluffy mop of red hair stared back. Ob’ika.

The boy was burrowing as close as he could to Fox, as though able to feel the man’s turmoil, and Fox remembered that Ob’ika had already suffered from a Jedi’s callous disregard.

That this boy knew what it was like to be at the mercy of thoughtless beings unconcerned and inconsiderate of how their actions affected others. What it was like to have decisions made about you instead of for and with you. Ob’ika would never let the vode be subjected to that kind of treatment.

Would never want the army that had adopted him—that he had adopted as his—to suffer the same injustice.

He wouldn’t have brought them to someone he didn’t trust.

Remembering the way that Obi-Wan had run up to hug the scary twi’lek healer, Fox’s next decision was remarkably easy.

“Alright general. I’ll let you perform this operation on me—if you find anything, you have my permission to remove it.”

Tiny arms tightened their hold, and Fox felt something in him settle.

Everything would be alright.

Fox stared down at the object that they had pulled from his occipital lobe.

It was a chip.

A chip that the Jedi had no record of, and which the kaminiise hadn’t said a word about.

A chip that was apparently in the head of at least five other vode and most likely in every single clone—from the oldest vod to the youngest shiny.

Brown eyes hardened.

“Get them out.”

As the Corrie Guard voluntarily went under, each eager to have their chips removed, Obi began going through their records.

For an office as important as theirs, they seemed to be severely underfunded, which was strange as the Chancellor had just signed a bill that was supposed to increase security for the Senate.

Why were the Guard still in Phase 1 armor? Why didn’t they have sufficient rations? Where were the upgrades to the Guard Barracks?

Over half of the Guard had been found to be underweight, and most were suffering from hypertension and fatigue. Additionally, several had bronchial infections from the mold that was found in their ventilation system.

Fox was sitting next to him, using the secure line their splicers had created to notify the other CC’s about the chip and the best way to have it removed.

Several hours later found Fox nursing his fourth cup of caf. Every few minutes, he’d place a mark down on a piece of flimsi one of the healers had given him when a fellow commander confirmed that their battalion had started the procedure.

The Corrie-Guard had only just finished, their last trooper currently being pulled into the vod-pile Thorn had set up in one corner of the Halls.

Beside him, Ob’ika continued to scan through documents, several piles of flimsi having taken residence around him.

There was the legislation that the Chancellor had introduced, with a line-item detailing the exact amount the Guard was supposed to have received.

Yet their records indicated they only received a fraction of that amount.

So where was the rest of the funds going?

If it was from the Galactic General Fund, then records of the transaction would be on file, and the Inspector General should have been notified if funds weren’t being allocated appropriately—as according to the Galactic Charter, it would have automatically triggered a red flag.

But, while the line item stated that the budget appropriation was supposed to be placed with the Guard, it didn’t specify the account.

Because clones weren’t recognized as sentient, budgets were distributed by the GAR Quarter-Master…

Fox was on his sixth cup of caf.

He’d had reports from the other CC’s and over half the GAR had successfully completed the operation, and a quarter would be finished within a couple of hours.

Ob’ika’s piles of flimsi had become mountains, and he had slowly started slumping further and further towards the left, till his head was resting on Fox’s shoulder.

The tired commander looked down at the administrator, before he wrapped an arm around the youngling’s shoulders.

Ob’ika burrowed closer, even as he continued to scan.

He’d managed to track down the sub-account that the funds were being diverted too—but there was an unusual number of transactions.

It looked like several departments throughout the Senate had a portion of their funding placed into this account, only for this account to then transfer the funds to another one. Nothing was unusual about these departments, except for the fact that they had all recently received line-item appropriations from a budget bill the Chancellor had introduced.

While records were confidential, Obi-Wan was able to trace the oldest transaction as only a couple of days after the first budget allocation.

But how would someone know what office to pull from? It hadn’t been announced which departments would be receiving additional funds…and the Chancellor’s office hadn’t reported a leak of the bill…

Fox was on his tenth cup of caf, only for Master Che to take it away mid-sip.

He glared as best he could, except it was rather difficult.

Since when were there two two scary twi’lek generals? The galaxy could barely survive having one.

The entire GAR, with the exception of the 501st and 212th, had reported back all-clears and no complications.

“Rest commander.” The healer quietly commanded.

Fox blinked at her.

There was a warm weight on his side, and Fox blinked again.

Perhaps a slight nap wouldn’t hurt.

Only for a few minutes.

“Chancellor Palpatine, you are under arrest under Article 5 Subsection XVIII, Paragraph 9a of the Republic Constitution. You have been found guilty of the willful and explicit abuse of public funds diverted to a private individual. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a Court of Galactic Law.”

The jedi-knight droned on, even as several others moved to place the man in cuffs.

Palpatine growled. “Lieutenant, Execute Order 85.”

The clone looked at him stupidly. “Sir? What is Order 85?” They asked stupidly, and ooh! This was the last time he trusted idiotic eugenists from a backwater planet with such an important part of his plan! They couldn’t even get a simple inhibitor chip right!

With a screech of rage, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic hurled himself at the jedi, red saber igniting with a hiss.

It looked like he was going to have to take care of this himself.

The Senate looked on in shock as the recording played, the clear evidence that their chancellor had been a sith-lord this entire time and was playing both sides too much to comprehend. The man had, unfortunately, died in custody—the injuries he sustained while resisting arrest too severe.

Senator Amidala turned to her colleagues smugly. “I move to immediately halt all hostilities with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and to begin the peace negotiations.”

Still bewildered by the events before them, the Senate blindly agreed.

Obi-Wan curled up closer, nose scrunching up cutely at being jostled, before falling back asleep.

Fox slept. Arms wrapped protectively around his vod’ika.