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Wow! Another amazing chapter! I really love what you’re doing with Fox, and I love his thought process. And I also really love how you showed Keeda barely keeping herself together. She’s so strong, but we all do have a breaking point. I’m so glad she got justice. Can’t wait for more!

Chapter 2: The Taste of Caf

Characters: Commander Fox, Commander Thorn, OC Keeda Ionza, OC Mari Vontas, OC clone troopers

Summary: Keeda deals with the stressful aftermath of her evening, Fox talks to Thorn about a new assignment, and silent justice is served.

Rating: Explicit 18+, no smut

Warnings: Aftermath discussions of attempted SA from the previous chapter, nothing graphic. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 5.6k

Ao3 link

A/N: CHAPTER 2 UPDATED: 04/14/2023. Hello and welcome to the updated version of Sweet True Lies. It has been reworked into 3rd person and will follow my OCs and canon characters POV's from here on out. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!! A huge thank you to @rexxdjarin for beta reading, and for letting me borrow her OC, Mari Vontas!!

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The Taste of Caf

Keeda breathed out a long, tense sigh as she watched the familiar luxury high-rise come into view. The senatorial transport wove smoothly around the bustling lanes of traffic, carrying her swiftly to her childhood home. It felt odd riding in a vehicle with such clearances, as it normally would have taken at least a few extra minutes for her to get here through her normal route.

“Level 233, please. You can just pull up next to the speeder on the landing platform there,” she said to the driver, spotting her mother’s expensive vehicle parked on the private landing pad.

“No problem, miss,” the driver replied, slowing the transport, and angling smoothly toward the correct side of the skyscraper.

He opened the door for her once more and offered her his hand to help her out of the posh vehicle. Upon taking it, Keeda subtly slipped him a few high-value credits. With gratitude written all over his intricately tattooed face, he tipped his cap to her again and bid her a good evening as she began making her way across the platform.

She was relieved her mother was home tonight. She had been half expecting her to be neck-deep in either some new medical research back at her office or planning for the upcoming charity gala at the lavish venue, but she saw the large, intricately mirrored glass door already open for her as the transport came to a stop.

Keeda squinted as the warm light beyond the heavily tinted windows spilled out through the open door and into the night, illuminating part of the landing pad. Having already given her mother a heads-up through a text comm that she was on her way over—and recounting the entire incident in her message—she hoped she would not have to repeat any of the distasteful events that had transpired in the past hour.

The wind rippled gently through Sareel Ionza’s velvet robe and nightgown as she hurried out to greet her daughter. The austere look on her face must have told Sareel enough because she immediately took her daughter into a motherly embrace. “Oh, honey,” she cooed, sounding worried. She placed a hand on her daughter’s dark hair and tucked her into her shoulder.

“I’m ok, Mum,” she muttered, carefully crafting her composure and not really believing the lie.

Sareel was a thin woman with a graceful, reed-like figure, but her grasp was like a vice. “I told Auntie Henya what happened, and she just feels awful. She said she wanted to come by in the morning to talk, but I figured you would want some space for a bit.”

Henya was an experienced lawyer at the same hospital where Sareel worked and one of her best friends. She had watched Keeda grow up and had been like family for years, and she had been the one who set up the date.

Keeda blinked rapidly and nodded, feeling choked up again as her mother took her face in her hands. “Please let her know it wasn’t her fault, okay?” she requested, settling into her mother’s arm and letting herself be led inside. She passed through the large foyer and into the less formal part of the residence with her mother’s comforting arm around her shoulders. You’re home. You’re safe. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but that disgusting, worthless asshole’s. she told herself for the tenth time.

Upon entering the kitchen, she shucked her coat and tossed it lazily over the arm of one of the sleek barstools, making for the conservator. The oversized, stainless durasteel-topped island in the center of the kitchen was littered with flimsi sheets, a few datapads, and samples of different elegant dishes.

Yep, she was gala planning. Keeda thought, wrinkling her nose at what looked to be a cold, slimy seafood dish. Her mother’s household protocol droid, TC-N2, was unwrapping and setting out even more food samples as she passed. Fuck, I could’ve just come here for dinner.

She could feel Sareel’s warm brown eyes following her every move. “I’m not hurt, Mum,” she said tensely, shaking her long, heavy hair out of the loosely braided updo she had been wearing all evening, releasing some of the strain on her neck.

“Maybe not physically,” Sareel said swiftly, tucking a stray pale blonde curl behind her ear and adjusting her glasses, “but you’re most definitely shaken up. I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if those clones had not been there.” She sighed as she took her daughter’s coat and folded it before handing it off to TC-N2. “They sound like good men.”

“Yeah,” Keeda agreed, swallowing thickly. “They were.” Keeping her head buried in the conservator, she blinked hard and banished the tear that had been trying to escape. Talking about her evening was the last thing she wanted to do, but she conceded that, as her mother, Sareel had a right to express her feelings about it.

Her mind wandered back to the clone commander and his men again as she continued searching through the conservator. As prepared as she had been to defend herself, she was relieved the clones had come along. So often, the clones were treated little better than droids, not even being legally considered citizens in the eyes of the Republic, and Keeda once again felt guilty about how she had spoken to the commander—she had not even asked for his name.

“So good to see you this evening, Mistress Keeda. Is there something you require? As you can see, we have plenty of food,” the silver-plated droid asked, watching her dig through various frozen items.

“Nope, I got it,” she replied, triumphantly holding up a tub of her favorite ice cream and grabbing a nearby spoon. “Thanks, N2.”

She plunged the spoon into the softening ice cream, took a bigger scoop than was probably wise, and stuffed it in her mouth. The sweetness and rich cocoa-caf flavor immediately replaced the bitterness she had been tasting, making the tightness rising in her chest a little easier to bear.

“Is there anything else you require, Mistress Sareel?” N2 asked. “If not, I should like to recharge for a while. My energy level is becoming critical.”

“Go ahead, N2,” Sareel answered, dismissing the droid. She leaned on the grey tektite granite counter behind her daughter and took off her glasses. “This is the last thing I’ll ask tonight, I promise,” she began, also grabbing a spoon. “Would you like me to remove the governor and his wife from the gala invitation list?”

Keeda groaned inwardly, trying to calm her nerves as she rolled the frozen cream around on her tongue. She had forgotten they had been invited to the gala, but the calm familiarity and the sweet, oaky scent of her sprawling childhood home were soothing her in a way she could not explain, and it was helping her think more clearly.

As much as she despised playing politics, she knew uninviting the governor would not benefit the charity’s local efforts in his district. If she had to suffer through an evening in the same room as her assailant’s family for the benefit of all those people the charity could help, then she would do it.

Out of what felt like a mixture of spite, and possibly a little self-pity, she dug her spoon into the ice cream again and took another large bite before pushing the container toward her mother. “Don’t uninvite them,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure they’ll be hearing about this from Henya, anyway. Besides, it’s their son who was the problem.”

Sareel gave her a concerned look and took a smaller bite. “It’s up to you, honey. They may want to talk to you about what happened tonight. That is if they even choose to come at all.”

Keeda mulled it over silently as she shared her dessert. She had already made up her mind, but there was that tiny inkling of doubt making her question herself. She popped another large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth before tossing her spoon into the sink with a clatter. “It’s fine, Mum. Don’t worry about it,” she said blandly. She was not entirely sure it was fine, but she did not want to discuss it anymore at the moment.

Inhaling deeply to assuage the ache in her chest, she scrubbed a hand through her wavy hair. “I’m gonna go take a bath and just try to sleep. I’ve canceled all my plans for tomorrow so I can have a bit of a lie-in.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll be out here if you need me.” Sareel kissed the back of her daughter’s head gently as she walked behind her. “If you want something to do tomorrow, could you stop by June’s nursery and check on the flowers for the gala?”

June was Keeda’s best friend from university. She had inherited one of the few greenhouses left on Coruscant, and Sareel had placed a substantial order with her for the gala decorations. Keeda had been meaning to stop by there to see her friend anyway, so she answered with a silent nod.

“I’m glad you’re here and that you’re safe,” Sareel added as she disappeared down the hall, sounding a little melancholy.

With a long sigh, Keeda made her way to her old bedroom, knowing full well why her mother had said that. She had asked Keeda at least twice over the past few months to move back in with her, saying that the sprawling luxury condo was simply too big for one person who was hardly ever there. Her mother had even gone so far as to update her room for her over time, keeping up with her maturing tastes. After tonight, Keeda could only imagine that desire had grown.

Originally, Keeda had told herself she moved out to feel some sort of independence after she had started attending the University of Coruscant, but the truth was she had been trying to escape the memory of her father at the time. However, she could never escape him, because she looked just like him—everything from her light olive skin and dark hair down to her bright green eyes and muscular build was Terreg Ionza.

As she entered her old bedroom, she realized that being there no longer felt like she was running from a memory, or that she was going to accidentally stumble into her father turning a corner, or see him sipping whiskey and reading in his favorite chair. She had been feeling rather lonely as well, absorbed in her work for the charity and overseeing the shipping company she had inherited. After all, it was why she had agreed to go on that awful date in the first place. Perhaps moving back in was something to consider when she had less on her already crowded plate.

It also dawned on her that it would be impractical to keep her little apartment much longer. Part of the reason for the gala Sareel was planning was not only to fundraise but also to commemorate the attachment of civilian relief effort volunteers to different units of the Grand Army of the Republic. Seeing as Keeda was one such volunteer, she could not fathom a reason to let the place just sit empty for months on end.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed hard, trying to dispel the headache that was forming behind her eyes, and wrenched the handle on her tub a little harder than necessary. The large soaker tub in her old bathroom filled quickly, pleasantly filling the air with steam, and she set about examining herself in the mirror as she stripped down. When she turned in the dim light, she felt a pit form in her stomach as she noticed a dark bruise forming on her upper arm where her assailant had grabbed her.

Dammit. she thought, scrambling to find a tube of bacta in one of her drawers. Thank the Maker the home was stocked full of medical supplies—almost as well-stocked as the hospital itself, compliments of having a surgeon for a mother.

Keeda’s vision started to blur with unshed tears again as she fumbled with the cap and squeezed the gel over her arm. Rubbing it in furiously, she did not think she had been gripped that hard, especially through her wool-lined coat, but the adrenaline must have overridden her ability to sense pain. She was disgusted by the thought of that wretched man having left any kind of mark on her, so she slathered another copious amount of the tingling blue gel into her arm until her skin was dry and the bruise began to fade.

The tears were flowing freely by the time she lowered herself into the steaming water, not caring that it was a bit too hot for her liking. Her skin prickled from the heat, but she forced herself into it anyway–wanting to feel something other than the anxiety coursing through her limbs. The tub was deep enough that she could submerge herself completely, so she sank under the water, letting it carry her tears away, and let herself scream—the delayed and repressed rage and fear finally breaking through.

High in the towers of the GAR Military Complex, Fox plopped down in his chair tiredly. It was late, and he had a mountain of flimsi-work to catch up on, but it was worth it to have taken Jonor and Rydar on their first real patrol. It was even more worth it to have put that high-born asshole in his place.

Pulling his gloves off and scrubbing his calloused hands over his face and through his curls, he waited for his little caf machine to finish brewing a fresh pot. He studied his right hand in the light from his desk lamp, flexing away the slight soreness where his knuckles had bruised from the force of the two blows he had dealt. Deep down, he was glad for it. That shabuir deserved every hit. he thought angrily.

How anyone could ever think of hurting a woman—or any other living being for that matter—in that gruesome way was inconceivable to him. As a soldier and a commanding officer, he had a stomach for everything, except that. The very idea of it made his gut churn because, in a way only clones would understand, he knew what it felt like to have his own autonomy stripped away.

In his short life, from the day he was decanted, he had been treated as little more than an identical cog in a machine he could not see—a replaceable part that was destined to be destroyed on a future battlefield. Even now, a year and a half into the war, he despised the Kaminoans for viewing them as nothing more than products to be used and tossed away whenever they had served their purpose.

Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes briefly and could still see the young woman in his mind. Her beautiful green eyes had been so full of fire, ready to burn everything in their wake. She had been quick and accurate, a sign of training. He had no doubt she probably could have taken care of herself, but a tightness enveloped his chest as he thought of her, still hoping she was somewhere safe.

The beeping of his caf machine broke through the memory. Fox dragged himself up again, grabbed a clean mug, and poured what he knew would be the first of many cups. He shook himself a little, watching his cup fill and wondering why the woman had such a deep effect on him. He did not even know her name. As he replaced the small pot, he heard his office door slide open.

“Bring the shinies back alive?” a rather chipper voice asked.

Thorn. Fox thought as he turned to face his brother. “They did very well. Observant and… followed orders.”

“Glad to hear it,” Thorn said with a yawn, pulling his long golden curls into a bun. “I was getting worried Jonor would get sidetracked. He’s shown some tendency for distraction in training sims. They looked pretty happy with themselves, though. Got enough there for two?” he asked, looking to the caf pot.

Fox tipped his head toward the pot as he took a sip and crossed the room to his desk. The hot, bitter, dark liquid warmed him to his bones.

Thorn poured himself a cup and grimaced as he took an experimental sip. “Ugh! How do you drink this stuff without some sugar or cream or… dying?” That got a rare, genuine laugh out of the Marshal Commander. Smiling to himself, Thorn knew he was probably one of the few clones alive, apart from Fox’s batchmates, that could manage to make that happen.

“Black like my soul,” Fox said, taking his seat again.

Thorn frowned, but his voice was light, “Ha! Have you met yourself? The boys would’ve nicknamed you ‘Commander Sunshine’ if the 212th hadn’t already snatched that title for Cody.”

Beneath the gruff, stoic, and intimidating exterior, Fox was one of the most selfless brothers Thorn had ever come across. He had always put himself on the line first, whether it be physical or official, ready to take the fall if necessary. For that, Thorn and the rest of the Corries were eternally grateful. They all knew how tired he was, they had all seen the premature grey lacing through his curls, and they all worked their asses off out of gratitude.

Fox miraculously laughed again, taking another drink. His oldest batchmate, Marshal Commander Cody of the 212th Legion deserved that call sign far more than he did. He wondered if he still would have earned that nickname if the chancellor had not requested that Fox be made Marshal Commander of the Coruscant Guard instead of Cody. In any case, Fox thought his troops’ call sign for him—Caf—suited him far better, even if no one called him that to his face.

“Whoa, hold up,” Thorn said suddenly, coming over and noticing Fox’s knuckles. “Those are new.”

Sighing and ignoring Thorn’s remark, Fox set his cup down and picked up his stylus, ready to start signing off on reports and supply requests.

Thorn perched himself expectantly on the edge of Fox’s desk, caf in hand and an expectant expression on his face. “You always wear training gloves so those aren’t from a punching bag or a training scrap.”

Fox pulled a face. He knew Thorn was not going to let this go, no matter how much work he had to do. His hyper-observant blonde kih’vod was a pain in his ass at times, always mother-nuna-ing him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud, but Fox had grown to rely on that in a way.

“This one’s off the books for now,” the marshal commander said, keeping his eyes on his reports and giving in to the silent pressure of Thorn’s gaze.

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, sipping his caf and waiting patiently as Fox recounted the evening’s events. He was not surprised at the stunningly thorough level of Fox’s detail, especially how his fist making contact with the assailant’s jaw had brought the tired commander some true satisfaction.

It had been a while since any of the Corrie commanders, including Stone and Thire, had the occasion to justifiably beat the living shit out of anyone but each other, especially a nat-born. They went at each other hard in training, but even training had its limits.

Thorn downed the last swallow of his caf as Fox finished his narrative with a sleepy sigh, returning his focus to signing off on reports. “Damn, I gotta start going back on patrols more often. Sounds like that prick deserved it,” Thorn said, pulling a tube of bacta gel out of one of his belt packs and extending it.

Eyeing the tube, Fox shook his head, his messy curls bouncing a little as he scribbled his signature off on a report. “Nah, I want to keep these for a while.”

“Your call, Vod. Might not look too good in your dress greys with your hand like that, though,” Thorn replied with a shrug, tucking the tube back in his pack. “Might want to use some under your eyes, too. You need more sleep.”

Fox paused his scribbling. “Dress greys?” he asked, his brows pulling together in confusion. “When am I…?” He let out an exasperated huff when it crashed over him. The charity gala that a multitude of senators, celebrities, and other public officials had been invited to was in just a few days, and the Coruscant Guard had been requested as security detail due to the event’s high profile. “No,” he protested adamantly, glaring up at Thorn. “No, no, no, Thire said he had that covered.”

Thorn shrugged. “He got called off-world. Some senator needed an escort home through the frontline.” He chuckled quietly as Fox groaned and thumped his head on his desk. “Come on, it’s just a big fancy dinner with a few thousand guests tops. It’s not the worst event we’ve ever covered. Maybe we can sneak some dinner while we’re there like we did at that crazy party Senator Taa held last month.”

Kriffing hells. Fox did not even bother to raise his head. “You know, you guys keep telling me to sleep, but instead you keep giving work I delegate to you right back to me.”

“Well, when Jonor and Rydar and the rest of the shinies can hold their own in security detail, I’ll delegate more to them,” Thorn said, patting Fox’s armored shoulder and hopping off his desk. “Seriously, though, take a nap at least.”

“I’ll nap when you get a haircut,” Fox shot back, both playful and annoyed. He was tired of finding stupidly long, stray blonde hair on everything.

“You’ll be awake for the rest of my life,” Thorn laughed, leaving Fox to his paperwork.

“No!” an adolescent boy’s voice screamed. It cracked from having started puberty just months prior. “No, you can’t take him! Vod!”

Fox was panicking, groggily struggling against two pairs of long, thin arms—one holding his torso, another holding his legs. The more he kicked and fought, the foggier his vision became. The edges of his peripheral vision were blacking out and blurring.

“No!” the young boy screamed again.

He could hear himself crying out, too, desperate to hold on, but he only caught a blurry glimpse of the other boy before the blackness consumed him.

A loud banging and an angry feminine voice calling his name—no, not his name, his full title—made Fox jump up so violently he knocked his knees on the underside of his desk and sent his half-full caf cup flying to the floor.

“Marshal Commander Fox, open this fucking door!” the woman called again.

Fox realized he was panting and sucked in a deep breath to slow his heart rate. Just a dream. It was just a dream. he told himself. I really have to stop falling asleep here.

The pounding on his door continued as he regained his bearings, and he activated the switch on his desk, sinking back down into his chair. “Mari, what the fuck? What’re you ‘marshal commander-ing’ me for? You never call me that.” He rubbed the base of his palms into his eyes as he pulled himself further from his nightmare.

A petite, voluptuous, gorgeous young woman strode into his office and set a brand new, steaming cup of caf on his desk before leaning over it and glaring at him. “Drink up.”

The misty morning light was just beginning to filter through the tall window behind him, and he looked at the chronometer on the far wall. “Fucking hell, it’s only just past 0600 hours. If you’re not banging a headboard against the wall this early, it’s not worth the noise.”

He eyed her cautiously before picking up the cup, the sweet scent of the good caf she always brought him was too tempting to ignore. Bringing it to his lips, he noted her large brown eyes had not left his face. “What? Please tell me you poisoned this.”

“What the hell did you do last night?” Mari asked quickly.

“There’s a lot of night to cover, Mari. Which part?”

“Oh, maybe the part that has a very pissed-off Coruscanti governor and his beat-to-shit son looking for you?!” The angry panic in Mari’s voice was evident, but underneath there was true worry.

Fox took a hefty swallow. “Ah, that part.”

Mari came around to the side of his desk without any spilled caf and perched herself on the edge, much like Thorn had the night before. “Fox, I’m serious.”

“The guy tried to assault a young woman last night. I was on patrol with some shinies and we caught him,” he explained. “After she was safe, I may have sanctioned an… unorthodox punishment.”

“Fox…” she groaned, crossing her arms tightly. “That would explain why the guy’s face is purple.”

He could not help the brief grin that crept across his handsome face, but Mari’s terrified expression wiped it clean off. She had always looked out for him and the Corries, knowing what they endured on behalf of the Republic, and she made Fox’s life that much less miserable. He, too, cared for her deeply, having watched her work her ass off for Senator Amidala. As a strong advocate for clones to have full citizenship and rights, Mari knew what could happen if a clone was seen to be out of line.

“I recorded the whole thing. I’ve got proof of what he did, it’s gonna be fine,” he said reassuringly, rising to his feet and stretching. His tight muscles protested and his neck gave a satisfying pop as he rolled his shoulders. “Just go to work like normal, and if I don’t bring you a cup of caf by lunch, then you can worry. Okay?”

Sighing, Mari pushed herself off the desk, “I can get Senator Amidala to mediate this if you want.” She could never keep up her anger for long around Fox, so she hugged herself tighter to stave off her anxiety. She was trying so desperately not to let it show, but Fox saw right through her.

“C’mere.” He pulled her into a gentle hug, careful not to crush her against his armor. He was the only one other than Rex who knew hugs were the fastest way to calm her down. Well, maybe the second fastest. he chuckled in his mind.

As beautiful and passionate as Mari was, the was no way Fox would have ever dreamt of bending her over his desk, even before she had started dating Rex. She and Fox had kissed once after one too many shots at 79s, but they had both promptly broken out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Fox doubted he would ever deserve someone like her, and he did not want to ruin the precious friendship they had forged. He knew she deserved someone as valiant as the captain, and Fox could not be happier for them.

“Shut up, I know what you’re thinking,” Mari’s slightly muffled voice mumbled from his chestplate.

“Not in your wildest dreams, short stuff,” Fox said, rubbing her back over her long, dark hair.

“Just go get some work done, yeah? Save the Republic and all that.”

Mari nodded and made her way to the door. “I still expect that caf by noon.”

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it.”

“Mhmm. Nice and sweet. None of that death water you drink.”

“Wait, were we talking about caf or your taste in men?”

Fox smiled as Mari slinked out the door, holding up her middle finger in his direction. Just as his door slid shut again, his comm pinged, summoning him to the main security office of the Military Complex.

He quickly gulped down the rest of the caf Mari had brought him, eternally grateful she had come so far out of her way so early, and grabbed a comb and some styling gel from his desk drawer. He quickly worked through his messy mop of curls and commed Rydar and Jonor to meet him in the security office.

“That’s him, Father!” a rather petulant voice announced as Fox exited the lift into the spartan waiting area.

Governor Baylo Gargeli and his son were on their feet immediately, and Fox frowned. Sure enough, as Mari had said, the son had purple bruises and cuts all over his angular face and his hair was purposefully disheveled, but Fox was skeptical of the cast and sling he had on one arm.

“You are Marshal Commander Fox I presume?” the governor asked flatly.

Fox came to stand at attention before them. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for accommodating us so early. As you see, this is a matter of rather grave importance. My son, Pettri, tells me that you and your men unjustly assaulted him and frightened away his date as they were leaving a restaurant last night. I know of you, and this is a heavy accusation to bring against such a highly decorated commander. I would—”

“He did!” Pettri interrupted. “And it was unprovoked! His men dragged me into an alley and started beating me, and one of them broke my arm. You saw how I was in the hospital, Father.”

A subtle glare from his father sent Pettri into silence, and Fox was doing his best to stifle the laugh bubbling in his chest. This guy is so pathetic. The governor can’t possibly be buying this load of bantha shit.

Gargeli cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Commander, I would very much like for this to be resolved here and now if possible, and your cooperation would be appreciated,” he said with distinguished grace.

Fox immediately began pulling up the footage from his helmet recorder onto his HUD from the previous night. “Have you spoken to the young woman?” he asked, ignoring Pettri completely. “I’m sure her insight and witness testimony to these accusations would be valuable.”

Pettri visibly paled under his bruises as his father turned to him once again. “I-I…uh, well, it’s so early… and s-she didn’t… she wasn’t a-answering her comm,” he stammered.

Rolling his eyes, Fox pulled off his bucket and heard Jonor and Rydar exit the turbolift behind him. The lie was even more pitiful than his ramblings just moments ago. “These are the men I had with me last night. Do you have your recordings?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Jonor replied, each of them handing the commander a datastick.

“Thank you, gentlemen. Governor, if you and your son would follow us to the briefing room, I have three separate recorded accounts of what transpired last evening.”

“Gladly,” the governor replied. “Come, Pettri.”

Fox could practically feel Pettri quivering in fear as he ushered them into the room, but kept his smirk to himself. This was one part of his job he loved. Solid proof and imminent justice, and he had always been good at making sure it was delivered. He knew even if the governor and his son wished to press further charges, Pettri’s lie would never hold up in the courts against three separate recordings, even if they were the testimony of clones.

Inserting the datasticks from all of their helmets into a viewscreen, he stood back with his men and watched as the awful night replayed itself. He watched the governor’s expressions shift from expectant to furious throughout the recordings, forced to watch as his son attempted to assault an innocent young woman. Pettri stood silently beside his father and stared at the floor, his lies laid bare.

He also struggled to keep from gazing at the young woman again. The delayed fear in her beautiful green eyes was plain to see, even in his recording. It was not her fault she had gone on such a shitty date, and he hoped she did not blame herself. He wished he had at least gotten her name so he could do a wellness check on her.

But Fox was also watching the recordings from Jonor’s and Rydar’s helmets. Each of them had waited until Pettri had thrown a swing at them to deal their damage. However, not once did they hit either of Pettri’s arms. Their blows were contained to his face and torso, and not nearly powerful enough to break bones. Add a self-inflicted injury to the list of idiotic things this di’kut has brought on himself. he thought amusedly.

When the recordings ended, Governor Gargeli turned pensively to the three clones. “I thank you for your assistance, Commander. This has been most enlightening,” he said, his disappointment and anger toward his son leaking into his tone.

Fox bowed his head professionally. “My pleasure, sir. Is there anything else we can assist you with?” he asked, twitching an eyebrow.

The governor turned to Pettri who was visibly shrinking within himself. “I would like a moment alone with my son.”

“Of course. Jonor, Rydar, let’s give them some privacy.” As soon as the door slid behind them, Fox patted both of them on their shoulder bells. “You both did well, last night. You’re dismissed.”

Fox took up a post by the door to be sure the governor would not be interrupted. He wished the room had not been soundproofed so he could hear whatever verbal barrage Pettri was currently enduring. Even still, he was satisfied that the young woman currently invading his thoughts yet again was getting her justice, even if she never found out about it.

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