TheBridge

“I don’t have a lot of time and I need to ask a favor,” Cody told him, sounding more weary than Fox ever recalled hearing.

“You and everyone else,” Fox replied gruffly. “What is it?”

“We…we found Tech.”

Fox had never known Tech all that well. His brother’s particular enhancements had been the sort of thing to drive Fox nuts, however valuable Tech’s skills were. But these days he valued every vod they found alive. And he knew that the Bad Batch had taken his loss hard.

“What do you mean? His body?” he clarified.

“Ah…in a way,” Cody replied, and Fox could hear other voices in the background. Across from him, Thorne made a motion with his hand, meaning wrap it up. They usually had about four minutes before they had to cut the signal to avoid detection.

“Give me the facts, Cody,” Fox snapped. “We’re on a clock.”

He ignored his brother’s offended huff.

“He’s alive, Fox. But—-he was captured after he fell on Eriadu. They…did things to him. Damaged his mind and brainwashed him.”

Fox felt a surge of white hot fury. Was this always the fate of the clones? To have their minds messed with? To be abused and twisted?

Dear Sir,

Hmm. That sounds so very formal.

Greetings Lieutenant? I don’t care all that much for that address either.

It’s difficult to know how to begin a letter to you. I rather feel that after one has gone through the experience of saving someone’s life and subsequently spent weeks on a voyage in their company, surely there should be less formality?

Dear Firmus.

I like that and I think I shall stick with it. Also, it is much easier to write than ‘Lieutenant Piett’. I hope you don’t mind.

The weather is beginning to turn here and it makes me wonder if you are sailing in balmier seas.

Oh dear.

I’m talking about the weather.

I’ve already started this letter three times, and I have three drafts sitting in the waste basket beside me. I am determined not to do it again, so I am afraid you are getting my flow of thought as it is.

“Is it hurting you?” asked a voice at my elbow, and I turned to find that Princess Sola was at my side.

She had achieved a smooth tan in our weeks of sailing and looked like most Axxilan girls did who had grown up in a desert climate. I wondered if this was normal for women from Naboo and decided it didn’t matter. Her honey brown skin suited her. I spotted a few freckles on her nose as well.

“Thank you, no,” I replied, touching my cap swiftly in respect. “I just…I was making sure the bandage was in place.”

She leaned both elbows on the rail, her sleeves billowing in the breeze and stray strands of dark hair whipping about her face.

“They said that we will be home in two days,” she stated, her countenance peaceful and content as she gazed out at the white tops of the waves.

“Yes,” I agreed, frantically searching my brain for something interesting to say and failing. “I assume you will be glad to be back in Naboo?”

Stupid, incredibly mundane question.

“Very much so,” she replied, tucking one of the rebellious strands of hair behind her ear. Then she turned to lean her back on the rail and study me with those intense blue eyes.

“I wonder what you will think of it, Lieutenant?”

“I trust you are getting whatever you need?” I asked. I felt suddenly insecure. These men had been subject to horrors I could not imagine and here was the privileged aristocrat in their midst with no precise idea of what they could really use. What might be helpful to them after the darkness they had survived.

The one with the eyepatch grunted a bit and folded his arms across a broad chest. “Depending on what you mean by ‘need’,” he growled, “I would say I need to get lost years of my life back. But yes, Your Highness, we have what we require at the moment.”

“No need to be rude to a lady, Wolffe,” said the first man chidingly.”She didn’t do this to us.”

“I hope it has been explained,” I said, keeping my gaze unflinchingly on Wolffe, “that you are slaves no longer. That we intend to aid you to reach wherever you wish once we return to Naboo.”

“It was,” said the last man curtly. His hair was curlier than the other two and he was perhaps an inch shorter. A little grey flecked his temples, though he did not appear older than the others to my eye.

“Good,” I answered a little awkwardly. “I ah…I wondered what you might be able to tell me about how you came to be in the hands of slavers. You are Mandalorian, correct?”

“Are you sure you can’t come?” Rex asked. Fox longed to join them at 79s but he must get this flimsiwork processed. Then he had to ponder the problem of housing fourteen Corries because they were informed that one of their buildings which had been a barracks was being co opted for…storage? He thought?

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, well aware that this was the fourth time in a row he’d made an excuse. Wolffe would have dug out the problem, but Wolffe wasn’t here and Rex was more polite.

“Well, I’m sorry too. We’ll miss you,” Rex said, clapping him on the shoulder companionably. Fox made certain not to flinch.

It had been a rough patrol the night before and Klatoonians were not easy to deal with even when they weren’t drunk as hell.

Fox remembered that moment for a long time.

It was the last time Rex spoke to him as a vod. As a friend.