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Thorn didn’t consider himself to be an unreasonable clone. He didn’t complain as much as probably called for, and had the most accurate outlook on the undercity- really, he was the obvious candidate for Senior Commander. He held grudges for a perfectly reasonable amount of time, nearly forever, and could almost admit that he probably needed to reign himself in on occasion.
Which was why he wasn’t supposed to have to deal with senators. That was Fox’s job, or any of the captains under him that operated out of HQ. Thorn avoided the rotunda like a plague since they were first stationed for good reason, as the casual disregard for their depthsdamned existence pissed him off. The realization of just how much the Senate didn’t give a kark didn’t take long. Not about the Guard, not about anything other than themselves and their credits. Even their planets didn’t hold much regard.
So Thorn was put in charge of ground troops. It wasn’t the best job, but he didn’t mind it most days and kept his mouth mostly shut when he felt otherwise. The Guard had been stationed on Triple Zero for a relatively short time, and more troopers were assigned to them by the day. The best of the best- allegedly.
The other commanders didn’t see the day to day discontent as much. Stone, the di’kut in charge of the prison only swung by HQ to report maybe once weekly and fucked off to his hellhole otherwise. Fox had his hands full with stuffy senators and flimsiwork that refused to be delegated. Thorn was sure there were plenty of horrors in the senate he wasn’t privy to just by virtue of not being there to see them. He didn’t like the ignorance, but guiltily felt absurdly grateful for it at the same time.
Ground Ops weren’t exactly a smooth speeder trip either. Thorn and his patrols had to put up with plenty of abuse from the less than noble denizens on every level. Especially topside. But more often than not they found themselves in the lower worlds, down the depths with practically a new city every layer with their own biospheres that were usually downright miserable to trek through. And the levels went on endlessly, deeper until the sky seemed like a distant memory. Coruscant was a planet of steel and duracrete, but was best considered to have grown from the core like a hungry amoeba.
The lower one went the thicker the air became. Vents were supposed to circulate air, but they were routinely clogged and droids were the only ones that got around to cleaning them if they were stationed nearby. Troopers were assigned at key access points, sprawled across the concentric rings of city life and at varying depths. He stationed hundreds if not thousands of troopers at safehouses across the planet. Strike teams were the best weapon at his disposal. Sure, they fucked off at times to see the sights and eat out with mysteriously sourced credits, but he couldn’t begrudge them. It was an invaluable service to be able to source troopers from anywhere on the planet.
And plenty of trouble could fit into just one level. It was the most densely packed space in the galaxy, after all. With trillions of citizens it didn’t take much to cause a stir. Massive networks of criminal activity were rooted deep under the surface and his troopers were somehow expected to dig up Separatist plots? It was practically laughable and a logistical nightmare. There were plenty of ominous organizations without potential enemy influence.
Really, they were doing the Coruscant Security Force’s job. But with less droids and funding, and a disparity in resources that Thorn knew was sure to only grow, really, their position wasn’t tenable. He was trying to crack down on a population that had been there for far longer than he existed, and would continue long after he was gone. The worst part was how easy it was to see how they didn’t make a difference whatsoever. But CSF officials demanded support, and even as second to the Marshall Commander he was forced to bend to them. They didn’t like the lower levels and those were his trooper’s specialty, apparently. CSF just knew they were disposable.
Thorn told his troopers not to make undue enemies, and only arrest those who they witnessed commit actual crimes. The lack of evidence they needed to lock someone away left a rancid taste in his mouth. There was always someone to whom they could pin the blame. He instructed them to pay attention to their surroundings and stick close to their vode, but it was never enough. Every empty apartment that he found after they missed a check in hardened his heart that much more. Thorn tried to hold on to his sympathy with all he had, but it was a losing battle. He inked barbs that crawled up his arms and neck as a reminder of who he had to become.
So he was in charge of every single little gear within his sizable quadrant of a massive machine. It wasn’t like anyone was keeping an eye on the quality of his reports. Thorn stayed mostly on-shift at night, when most hotspots were active. The neon of the underground had long since permanently burned itself into his retinas. Speeder travel was hardly the most reliable way to get around, there were tunnels, but they were far slower and he had dozens of trustworthy pilots. Thorn had taken power naps in the back of those transports more than a few times on his way back to HQ.
He tried to get back for his rest shifts when he could, but that was difficult when he was traveling all over planetside. Sometimes he’d work right through the day and have to muscle through the following night. He had no ranked backup in the beginning, there wasn’t much the other commanders could do with their responsibilities in Galactic City proper. So he promoted who he needed, and his Captains Odi and Liko were in charge whenever he was occupied in the day shifts. They managed well enough.
It was just a stroke of luck he was around when they got the call from a senator’s protocol droid. It was as telling as ever that they got the call, not CSF. An administrative trooper had picked it up on the HQ’s emergency line and nearly hung up outright. It was almost a joke, a politician held prisoner by a Hutt? With sentinel droids to boot? Thorn laughed when the on-duty senatorial Captain Behr commed him before he cut himself short as his head caught up to the dead set of their voice.
“You’re actually serious, here? You want me to raid a nightclub with no just cause? No legal precedence?” It wasn’t supposed to be a concern of his. Well it was, but the paperwork part had only recently been brought to his attention by Fox. Natborns with credits had hell of a lot more rights than clones, and it wasn’t Thorn’s fault that he had to follow orders. Implied plenty was the amount of force best used when he received his job description from the desk of the Chancellor.
“A senator, sir. We can’t just let this one be.” Behr said it like it was supposed to mean something. Thorn almost laughed again. Senatorial troops were humorous by no fault of their own.
“Of course we can’t. And if the Hutt tries to press charges?” His worries were justified, the Hutts weren’t something to sniff at. Not the mob with the most powerful grip on Coruscant by a long shot, but in the galaxy at large? Even the GAR were likely to bow to them for trading route use eventually.
“Then it’ll be on me.” Behr was self sacrificing to a fault, very evident of someone serving under Fox. Thorn didn’t feel bad dissenting.
“Like depths it’ll be on you. Send along a transcript and a caller ID and we’ll see what I can figure out.” So he soon found himself on holocall with a disgruntled protocol droid, with Coruscant Prime’s rising rays cutting through the transmission. Traveling topside was the safest and fastest way to make it back at an optimal time for a ground operation.
It wasn’t long before he and Trill Squad met up with the droid, who insisted on taking a ridiculously reflective and old-fashioned jet. Usually Thorn would refuse such an ill-advised move, but he wasn’t in much of a position to disagree with politics. He knew of Ziro and his many nightclubs across the levels. The droid, C-3PO, was the one who would be leading them to where she was held.
Except evidently he did not know, because the senator wasn’t at the first one he brought them to. By the third Thorn’s troopers were exchanging dubious looks, shifting uncomfortably in their boots. At the rate they were going Ziro probably already knew they were on their way. He only had five troopers with him, usually an optimal number, but they were against who knew how many combatants in addition to the sentinels.
They got lucky by the fifth, having finally smartened up enough to send C-3PO in first. A protocol droid in a club wasn’t the strangest sight, but a shock trooper squad stuck out. They got the signal to move and rolled out onto the landing platform in unison.
Entering into a situation with the number of unknowns they had wasn’t ideal. Still, they were going through the back-entrance during daylight hours, there wasn’t a crowd to take much notice. It was a nightmare of purple lighting and a maze of a bar-adjacent restaurant, but they made it towards Ziro’s antechamber without an undue amount of resistance. They could hear commotion through the blast door.
“-to be left alive.” Ziro’s pitched Basic was muffled but easily recognizable.
“Killing a Galactic Senator, here on Coruscant! Are you out of your mind?” Amidala was still alive, evidently, by the sound of her. Thorn gestured to his nearest explosives expert and backed away, other troopers ushering C-3PO out of the blast radius as Boomer pulled out a detonator.
“I have some powerful friends in the Senate. I’m not afraid of-” and right then the modified popper was set off amid the screech of a Hutt. C-3PO went in first to peer into the chamber, and Trill Squad hesitated.
“Is anybody …home?” The droid was evidently taking in the sight of its brethren strewn across the floor, and Thorn along with his squad held back for the moment. This was where most things went wrong for ground troops.
“Threepio?” Amidala was right in the center of it, in front of Ziro. Trill’s buckets turned to him one by one, and Thorn’s heart beat in his throat- he hoped against hope they wouldn’t have to recover any plastoid bodies.
“And what is that?!” The Hutt seemed plenty taken aback, which was good news for their element of surprise. Ziro tried to book it as his squad finally rushed the room but didn’t manage to get very far. There weren't many places to go under heavy fire.
Yes, there were the expected sentinels and some standard battle droids, but the fight wasn’t long or hard. One of his troopers with a flair for the dramatics dove over a sidebar to find better cover to shoot from. Blaster bolts from both their guns and the opposition filled the room, and Thorn hoped to the depths the senator wouldn't be killed, or worse, injured. At least if she died he didn’t have to deal with official complaints on his troopers’ conduct while she was bored in recovery.
“Stop! Stop right where you are.” Amidala had found herself a sentinel’s blaster at some point, and pointed it at the slug that was still trying to inch away. Thorn and his troopers took the opportunity and surrounded Ziro, blaster rifles at the ready.
It was over as quick as it started. Thorn was proud to not have lost a single trooper, while not a single droid even twitched. Trill were his favorites for a reason, and not just the men he had on hand when he got the call. Anah had some bruising up her side from the unnecessary dive, but nothing too serious. Other scorch marks on armor were routine enough not to worry about.
“Mistress Padme, are you alright? Was I too late?” C-3PO walked over unsteadily from wherever he had hidden during the skirmish. Thorn didn’t see the use in a droid that hadn’t even found a blaster. He saw the senator lift her gun and turn, so he kept his gaze and gun fixed on the Hutt in their custody.
“Threepio, your timing was perfect.” She was still watching the droid, so Thorn let his hands tighten- that rankled, somewhat. Their timing would’ve been a lot better if it hadn’t been for the depthsdamned droid and his inability to track holocalls. Not to mention the fact the droid couldn’t have pulled a single thing about the rescue off without them. Might as well have called CSF, they could’ve been useless together. And then the Senator would’ve ended up dead.
“Oh, thank the Maker. I’m so relieved.” The droid creaked, as if in genuine distress, and Thorn had had enough.
“Should we arrest the Hutt, senator?” It was a cut and dry answer in his book, much more than usual, but the senator hesitated long enough for Ziro to cut in.
“I had no choice! Dooku said he’d kill me if I didn’t help him kidnap my nephew, Jabba’s son. You have to believe me! I love that huttling.” Hearing that was more information than Thorn ever wanted to know in a hostage situation. Whatever went on with the frontlines, he was of the firm belief it should stay there. Hutt family and Separatists? Seemed that the hyperlane routes were up for grabs just as he’d expected.
“Oh, I believe you. But will your brother?” The drama to Amidala’s tone was the last warning Thorn had to ditch. But no, he was in far too deep and had one too many stimpacks from the sleepless day before. He’d say yes to anything just to get out of the situation as quick as possible.
Amidala had his slicer Ourp hitch into Ziro’s holo network right there in the antechamber. Any attempts at reason were shut down. He brought up reinforcements, retaliation, but she gave just as much regard to their lives as the Chancellor did. Thorn didn’t know what he expected from the man’s prodigy. He called for a large prisoner transport shuttle and hoped to the depths that it would show up quick enough for them to get out of the call. It did not.
“Greetings, Honorable Jabba. I am Senator Amidala of the Galactic Congress.” She nearly bowed and Thorn had to turn away from the deference she showed to one of the worst lifeforms in the galaxy. He and Stone shared a similar distaste for politics, if not a similar distaste for most things, including each other. “I have discovered a plot against you by one of your own. Your uncle will admit he conspired with Count Dooku to kidnap your son, and frame the Jedi for the crime.” The transmitter slid from her to Ziro. The Huttese began, and Thorn tuned the rest out.
Maybe he had been a little harsh on the senator. She handled herself well enough with a crime lord, which couldn’t be said for most politicians. The most surprising thing of all was seeing jettise in the background of the holocall, lightsabers drawn in what he could assume to be some kind of throne room. Jabba, through the translator droid, agreed to a treaty and that was that. It, at least, should have been.
The strange intensity in the interaction between the jetti knight and Amidala as they offered farewells didn’t bode well for the future. Battalions were already starting to get leave, and with that so were their generals. Some kind of relationship between those two was going to be a headache Fox definitely would hate to deal with. Thorn could at least look forward to reminding him.
The prisoner transport showed up just in time to not be a convenient exit strategy. They took Ziro into custody, of course, which meant the Hutt was now Stone and his troopers’ problem, but there was still the matter of the nightclubs. Leaving such a vacuum unfilled in the underlevels wasn’t what Fox would call a tactical move.
Conveniently, Thorn had picked up a few contacts who liked having the ear of a Guard commander. He didn’t exactly call in a favor, more like did them one- divvying up the properties best he could by the level and leaving the rest to sort themselves out. It was nasty business, sure, but more a preventative measure than anything. Getting his hands dirty now would save the blood from them later. Property disputes were some of the nastiest kind in a place of such little free space.
He finished up his shady dealings as the last of the evidence was collected. Droid parts and combatant blasters alike, they were all bagged into a CG speeder and taken to the nearest depot of theirs. Especially since Dooku was mentioned, a case for Separatist involvement would be one of the easiest conclusions to follow through on alongside records of the holocall. One of his investigative teams would deal with that, and send the paperwork for Thorn to approve. He was glad for it and for the distantly approaching concept of finally collapsing into a rest shift.
“I really have to thank you for the rescue, trooper… what is your name?” Amidala approached from directly behind him, and he knew she was there, but Thorn still nearly jumped a foot in the air at suddenly hearing her voice broadcasting into his bucket. And then he hesitated, because no natborn had asked for his name before. Not without some kind of mocking edge, at least. He turned and straightened into some kind of parade rest.
“Senior Commander Thorn, ma’am.” He watched her eyes flit from his pauldron down to the lack of a kama at his waist, and grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to snap at a natborn, a politician, judging his choice of armor. He wasn’t.
“Well, Commander Thorn, I quite really appreciate the helping hand. I hope it wasn’t too much of an imposition on your schedule.” She seemed genuine, truly, and Thorn wasn’t too much of a self-sabotaging di’kut.
“Senatorial duties are part of the Guard’s job description, ma’am.” It was even true.
“But I don’t think I’ve seen you around the veranda before- what are your usual duties? And I’ve only met Commander Fox, I had assumed he was the sole clone in a leadership role here on Coruscant. My mistake.” Amidala’s head tilted, eyes finding the wings painted on the top of his bucket, and Thorn felt distinct alarm at the prospect of her asking him to take it off. The blond he’d been growing out was far from regulation.
“It happens. And usually I am in charge of boots on the ground here on the underlevels of the wonderful Galactic City. So not really a change in routine for me,” he didn’t lie, just wanting the interaction over with, “Well! We really have to be going. I can escort you and your droid back to your jet, but now would be a good time to be off, yes.” He ushered her towards the blown out blast door, being careful not to touch the senator once. Rich natborns were finicky about that sort of thing.
“Ah, thank you again for all that you do, Commander Thorn. I hope I didn’t cause you too much undue stress.” She smiled like it was a joke. It probably was, for her. He stared back through his visor like he could see all the way back to the Capitol proper. His HUD listed her as alive, pulse beating, and positively identified her as Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. His job was done in that regard. There wasn’t a single salute from a trooper as she left, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Thorn gathered Trill and dismissed them officially to complete their shift, groaning all the way, and he hailed the nearest clone pilot patrolling the lanes with a faint smile at their antics. CG speeders were generally more skilled and far more reliable than a regular taxi. Reep was the one who showed up for him, a regular pilot of private rank, and he nodded tiredly to them before letting himself fall into the covered backseat. They never tended to make conversation, which he was grateful for.
It took being halfway back to HQ for Thorn to finally realize he was still clutching the blaster rifle in his hands. He had to consciously let it go. It clattered to the floor of the speeder, and he pressed his hands over the visor of his bucket. The op was a success, sure, but it was hell of a headache he was going to have to deal with paperwork-wise. Thorn wasn’t intending on leaving Fox to it anymore. Not to mention the sleep he was going to continue missing.
After they hit the relatively open air of topside, Thorn imagined he could breathe that much easier, so high up- the world itself seemed lighter. That was probably the midday starshine, to be entirely truthful. Still, he relaxed into the padded seat with the first waves of true exhaustion finally washing over him. The stimpacks always wore off eventually, and hit even harder the other way round. Reep wouldn’t let him arrive unaware.
It didn’t take much longer for them to arrive at HQ. The hanger came up on them all at once while he blearily blinked back awake. One moment the viewports were full of speeders and sunlight, the next it was dank duracrete and transparisteel ceilings. Reep docked them, shot off a casual salute, and vanished to presumably find a fellow trooper to help with maintenance. Thorn didn’t much care about dismissing them as per protocol and was more occupied with the hangar lights swimming fuzzily before him.
He found himself stumbling through HQ not much later, pressing his credentials stubbornly into locked terminals until they let him through. He just about made it to the command barracks, truly, but he ran into Fox outside his office just before them. It wasn’t like Fox wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, quite the opposite, but his commander was a hypocrite enough about proper rest- and Thorn wasn’t exactly a paragon of wakefulness at that moment.
He cursed as he spotted his commander, and Thorn was tired and slow enough to not make an adequate escape. Fox noticed him, quick as ever, and almost seemed to brighten (the man was in armor, he was seeing things), starting to make his way over.
“Oh, Thorn. How’d it go out there with Amidala? Fried senator? Scraped off the bottom of a level? Riddled with blasterbolts?” Fox didn’t pull off his bucket, but the bastard grin was obvious in his voice. He was already halfway to Thorn, who couldn’t back up much more without making it obvious. “Tell me if we’ve got a rogue jetti coming after us, I’m practically on the edge of my seat.” So he’d guess the other end of the holocall was in fact Knight Skywalker, which he should have figured. It hadn’t been long since his commander found out but Fox’s rants on the two of them were already legendary.
“She survived, y’know, guess we were too good.” He pulled off his bucket so Fox could see the wry smile on his face. It must have betrayed his exhaustion, because Fox didn’t start ushering, no, he just pointed at the barracks and Thorn went without much complaint. His flimsiwork plans dissolved like, well, flimsi. “Maybe if we trained some of your guys with city patrols there would be less exciting things going on at the Senate.” He heard a scoff from behind him.
“Those troopers will never learn a damn thing if they had anything to say about it. And at this point I’m sure that the Senate is the way it is, and there’s not much we can do to change that. Which doesn’t bode well for morale or any medic’s blood pressure.” Or lives, went unsaid. He knew about the multiple decom requests Fox had already received, even if overheard by accident. Thorn hoped to the depths that the senatorial troopers would tighten up soon, or they’d start losing far more than they could spare. And they couldn’t spare any in the first place. Vode an.
He officially crossed the threshold to the command barracks by then, and the bunks looked incredibly inviting. He’d barely taken a step towards the shoved-together mattresses before a newly bucketless Fox headed him off at the pass.
“You’re funny if you think I’d let you pass out in your armor, and then complain to me when you wake up. Not a chance.” He took Thorn by the shoulders and bodily pushed him towards their attached fresher, and Thorn gave in within any token resistance. Fox’s frown at that out of the corner of his eye went ignored.
Thorn’s fingers fumbled on the attachments of his armor. His command pauldron was cumbersome and the first thing he wanted gone, but it took far too long to release and too much energy to care where it fell. Thorn slid down the wall of the fresher, head leaning back as he exhaled heavily and waited for his commander to follow. He wasn’t one to appreciate assistance, not ever, but even he could admit when he was past his limits. And it wasn’t just anyone, of course. It was Fox. Thorn never had to ask, he didn’t take long to show up.
The worry lines appearing on Fox’s face seemed to deepen as he took in Thorn’s sorry sight. Refusing to be mollified by hands that tried the cursory wave-away, Fox persisted and Thorn was forced to accept help with the stubborn clasps built to stick. Spaulders first, then went his chest and backplate, and Fox pressed his forehead to Thorn’s as he unlatched the belt.
It wasn’t something new for them, he himself had done it for Fox more times than he could count on both hands. Rerebraces and vambraces went as well as his plackart, and Thorn found himself drifting off even as Fox ever so carefully helped him out of the rest of his armor. He didn’t even remember where his rifle had gone. Still in the back of the speeder, probably. That needed to be retrieved for evidence.