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30 BBY - 8 years before the Clone Wars start
Fox stared at the designation on the screen in front of him in horror.
CT-27-5555
Nausea rolled in his stomach. He’d known this day would come, but he was still unprepared.
Stand down, soldier!
He gripped the data terminal so hard his fingers ached.
CT-27-5555.
Fives.
Ka’ra, Fox can still hear Rex’s scream.
Fives!
Fox staggered away from the terminal and fell to his knees, gagging.
Fives. No, Fives. Stay with me!
Fox managed not to throw up, but it was a near thing.
The vod’ika in the tube was months away from being decanted. Fox had time. Time to decide if he would interact with the cadet or not. Time to apologize to Rex, again, even though cadet CT-7567 wouldn’t know what Fox was apologizing for.
And he had another vow to make. Another little brother he would not let die.
“Not by my hand,” Fox whispered. "Or anyone else's."
His fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists.
Quiet footsteps on the floor. A warm hand on his back.
“You alright, vod?”
Jango. Of course Prime would find him like this. Fox shuddered and straightened.
“I’m alright,” Fox lied.
He wasn’t alright. Hadn’t been alright since the war started. Watching his brothers in the Guard get harassed and abused daily. Being ordered to hunt down a brother. Killing a brother.
Fox’s stomach tried to rebel again.
“Let’s get you to medical,” Jango said.
“No!” Fox snarled. “I just . . . I just need a moment.”
“Well, you’re not going to get it here.”
Jango slipped an arm under Fox’s shoulder and helped him to his feet. They walked out of the tower room and when Fox would have turned down the hallway to go to his own quarters, Jango steered him the other way.
“You look like osik nadalyc,” Jango said. “I’m not leaving you alone until I know you won’t die when my back is turned.”
Fox snorted. “Warm shit, huh?”
“Frankly, I’ve seen warm shit that looked more alive than you do right now.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “Why do you even bother with me?”
“Not many people can hand me my shebs like you did. Plus, Zam likes you.”
“That’s not a great recommendation.”
Jango laughed. “And you say osik like that with a straight face. What’s not to like?”
Fox shook his head in bemusement. For someone who didn’t want to have anything to do with his clones, outside of training them to be killing machines, Jango didn’t seem to mind spending time with Fox. He realized Jango still had an arm around him, and he stepped out of the other man’s hold. They walked in silence to Jango’s room.
Jango walked in without pause, but Fox hesitated in the doorway. He’d never been to another trainer’s room, much less Prime’s. He felt like a cadet again, wandering where he wasn’t allowed.
“Don’t just stand there, vod,” Jango said.
Fox stepped into the suite and the door swished shut behind him. The back wall of the room was a curving transparisteel window looking out over the rainswept ocean. A couple of Tipoca City’s domes were visible in the distance. A ‘fresher stood on Fox’s left and a closed door to what he assumed was the bedroom was on his right.
As he walked further into the apartment, a little island became visible on his right, separating the small kitchenette from the living space. Jango motioned Fox to take one of the seats at the island. Fox sat while Jango rummaged around in the slide-out conservator, then put a covered container in the nanowave cooker to heat. Then he took a bottle of clear liquid from a cupboard, pulled a couple of glasses from another, and tipped a bit of the liquid into one glass before setting it in front of Fox.
“That’ll settle your stomach,” Jango said. “Or knock you out.”
Fox eyed the glass, then picked it up and knocked it back. It was only through sheer willpower that he didn’t choke and sputter as the drink burned its way down his throat, though his eyes did tear up.
“Little gods,” he gasped.
Jango chuckled and poured him a bit more. “Congratulations, you didn’t pass out. It’s Rav’s latest distillation of tihaar. She tried a couple of batches with what the kaminiise grow in their hydroponics dome, but none of those turned out.”
The bounty hunter poured himself a glass and took a sip, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. Fox thought his face might melt off if he tried that.
“I procured Rav some meilooruns for this batch. It’s actually palatable.”
Fox took a small sip, swallowed, and thought he could detect the flavor of the melon as the burning faded.
“I don’t think I’d drink this on the regular,” Fox said, “but it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had.”
Jango snorted. “I dare you to say that to Rav’s face.”
“Not on your life. I don’t ever want to be on the business end of that woman’s temper.”
“Oya,” Jango said, lifting his glass.
“Oya,” Fox replied, clinking his glass against Jango’s.
The nanowave cooker dinged, and Jango pulled the container out and dished up a mess of noodles into two bowls, then proceeded to cover them with a thick red sauce that made Fox’s nose burn from two feet away.
“Mandalorian chili sauce,” Jango said. “Good for what ails you.”
Fox gave him a dubious look, but pulled a bowl close and fished out a couple of noodles that weren’t too drenched in sauce. He contemplated the taste and heat of the sauce as he chewed, then went in for another bite.
“Not bad, eh?” Jango asked.
Fox nodded.
They ate in silence for a while.
“So,” Jango said, setting his empty bowl aside and sipping his tihaar. “What had you so karked you were trying to empty your guts back there?”
Fox sipped his own drink before answering.
“I killed a man.”
“Only one?” Jango teased.
“I killed an innocent man,” Fox clarified.
Jango grimaced. “Sorry, vod.”
“He was trying to warn a brother about a betrayal, but I didn’t know that at the time. I had my orders; bring in a deranged fugitive. My blasters were set to stun. They should have been set to stun.”
Fox knocked back the rest of his tihaar and leaned his elbows on the counter, resting his face in his hands.
He’d read the reports. He’d tried to get his hands on any security footage from the warehouse, but it had been mysteriously wiped. Fives’ body had been cremated within an hour of his death and no autopsy had been done despite Nala Se’s initial report on Fives and Tup claiming the need for further study of the supposed virus.
And none of that explained why Fox’s blasters had been set to kill. He’d known he was going after a brother. The alert had said the fugitive was wanted for questioning. There was no reason not to stun and subdue the suspect. But on the way to the warehouse, Fox had received a private transmission from the Chancellor, and he didn’t recall events clearly until he was facing down Fives, and the other man had a hole in his chest.
“Someone used me as their executioner,” Fox said, looking up at Jango. “Bic ni skana’din.” That really ticks me off.
Jango poured a bit more tihaar into Fox’s glass, then lifted his own glass in salute.
“Ka’ra help the shabuir who pricks a Mandalorian’s ire.”
Fox lifted his glass in return. “Oya.”
The next time Palpatine tried to enact Order Sixty-six, or any order involving the biochips, he’d be in for a very unpleasant surprise. Fox was going to make sure of it.