Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Good afternoon, my darling vode. It is time for Radio Neduumyc, welcome back again!  A crackling sound comes from a small, battered-looking tin can sitting among piles of pads, flimsi and empty coffee cups on Commander Fox's overflowing desk. The host’s voice is intimately familiar to each of the clones listening, as it is the same voice they all spoke with. The weather here in Coruscant is sunny. The warm air brings up some interesting scents from the lower levels. It could almost be described as a mixture of a bantha’s ass and betrayal, with a touch of treason. Eau de la deceit, if you could call it that. 

ARC trooper Fives and Commander Fox sit on the roof of the guard headquarters, a half-full thermos flask between them. All of the guards keep their eyes open, not only for suspicious activity, but for small treasures that the wealthier residents of Coruscant have discarded on the streets for whatever reason. The thermos is dented, and someone has stuck stickers of various animals on it. One of them is of a tooka riding a hoverboard and wearing sunglasses. Underneath it reads ‘commit tax fraud’.

Fox raises the thermos and takes a big sip. Then he offers the container to Fives, who takes it without saying a word, bringing it to his own lips. The coffee inside is the same thick sludge that every clone at the GAR drinks. It's bad, but it does the job.

This has been their routine for a few weeks. They wake up before sunrise, brush their teeth and wash their armpits, and fill their thermos with sludge. Then Fox brings Fives to sit on the roof and enjoy the polluted morning air of Coruscant for a moment. 

Fox enjoys the silence in the mornings, claiming that he needs to save his social energy for later, when his shift begins and he has to endure the pomposity of various politicians. 

Why he chooses to spend the only quiet moment of his day with Fives is beyond anyone's knowledge.

"How's work?" Fives asks, unable to bear the silence any longer.

"Shut up," Fox replies, snatching the thermos back.

He whines a little, but he's not really hurt. Fox is like a massiff, tough on the outside but soft on the inside. Or so he thinks; he has never met any other massifs than those the guard has, but they are all quite softies.

He looks at the landscape in front of him. It is still early morning, and the sky is painted in shades of pastel orange and blue. The weather on Coruscant is artificial, but whoever is in charge of it knows their job well. Despite the early hour, speeders crisscross the sky.

“Can you remind me again that if I am dead, why do I have to be awake in the ass crack of dawn?”

"Being dead is no reason to be absent from work," Fox says, drinking the thermos empty. He shakes it sadly upside down and sighs deeply when nothing more comes out.

"I'm pretty sure nothing truly revolutionary has ever happened before 11 o'clock.”

“Stop being a baby,” Fox tells him. "Besides, nothing revolutionary can happen unless it is prepared in advance."

"You are the only person who can make conspiracy revelation and government takeover boring," Fives whines again. 

"Someone has to be boring for anything to happen," Fox says, not bothered at all. 

Fives sighs deeply and looks down. Far away on the ground, he spots a few guards on their morning patrol. Their red and white armor reflects the rays of the morning sun, turning the white parts golden. The longing he has felt since everything changed is suddenly multiplied.

"I want to go outside too, I want to do things," he says petulantly. He already knows what Fox is going to say.

"You know that the safest thing for you is to stay at headquarters, out of sight. You know too much, and many people want you dead because of that," Fox replies once again, but not unkindly.

“I know. I just feel so- so useless, sitting inside while you all risk your life out there,” he says in a small voice. Fox doesn't look at him, but leans closer, their shoulders touching.

"The hardest thing is usually being idle, but remember that there's more to do than running around waving your blasters around like a di’kut. You did dangerous work in Kamino, and now you have to let the rest of us help you."

See, his ori’vod is a complete softy.

He leans more heavily against Fox, whose pauldron presses uncomfortably against him. He can’t bring himself to care about it.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Fox hums. 

They sit like this for ten minutes, watching in silence as the orange in the sky gives way completely to blue, the number of speeders increasing considerably as the rest of Coruscant's diurnal residents leave their homes to do what they normally do. Down below, in front of the Senate, there is a buzz of activity as aides and maintenance workers rush about their business. There are also several groups, tourists and school excursionists coming to visit the Senate in the courtyard.

Fives runs his fingers along his thigh guard. It is red and white, the colours of the Guard. He misses his own armour, but it was left in one of Kamino's examination rooms, and by now it must have been melted down and recycled. Kaminos are efficient that way, they don't dwell on the spiritual significance of things. Everything just goes into the same melting furnace and back into use. He hopes that part of his armour will protect at least one vod from death and injury, and that when they touch the breastplate they can feel Fives' heart beating in time with their own.

This armour doesn't feel like his, but he's no longer allowed to use his old one. Technically, he's not supposed to use this one either, he's not allowed to leave the guard's HQ, but Fox is afraid someone will spot-check their quarters at any moment and find Fives loitering around, so he's stuck in this borrowed armor.

He found a small can of paint, red, not blue, and he painted a small palm print on the inside of the armour. In the middle of the palm he drew the number five, similar to his tattoo on his forehead. When he feels lost, he presses his hand over the image, trying to remember the warmth of his brother as they leaned into each other.

Next to his palm are other small paintings that remind him of his old life. Small Jaig eyes, a single teardrop, geometric patterns and a republic cog. And so much more.

Fox's communication device beeps, and they both jolt out of their thoughts. What Fox was thinking while he was lost in his own head, Fives can't be sure. Probably a hundred different ways to kill Palpatine with a fork or something like that.

Fox reads his message, and stands up with a groan. The man is twelve years old, but suffers from a senior citizen's knees.

"What are you up to today?" Fox asks him as he helps Fives to his feet.

Fives holds onto Fox's arm for a moment longer as he tries to find his balance. Say what you will, but a direct hit to the chest with a blaster takes longer to heal than a few weeks.

"I'll read some reports I've gotten my hands on and tell you the latest gossip from the warfront."

"Sounds exciting. I'm going to stand behind the chancellor for eight hours while he goes through his meetings, and then I'm going to patrol the prisons for eight hours."

"Well, you have a wonderful time today, Commander."

Fox snorts rather unattractively and starts walking towards the hatch they climbed up through earlier. Fives bends down to pick up the thermos, and with his thumb swipes on a sticker of a nuna bird with a vibroblade in its mouth. Below it reads ‘peace was never an option’. 

He follows Fox inside.

It all started when Fives died in that warehouse.

Or maybe when Tup killed Tiplar. 

Young, innocent Tup, fated to be betrayed by some outside variable he had never consented to taking in his head. A karking biochip planted into his head. Into all of their heads. Tup just happened to be the unlucky one whose chip started to malfunction.

Why hadn't he made sure that Tup was okay? His brother was clearly in pain and distracted, and he had simply ignored it as if it were normal. What kind of person does that?

Not a very good one, he thought later.

When he saw Tup take off his helmet and march toward the general, his eyes empty and his ray gun raised, Fives' heart seemed to stop.

When Tup pulled the trigger, his heart broke.

The situation just kept getting weirder, if the sudden, cold-blooded murder of their own ally wasn't weird enough already. Their opponents went to the trouble to carry out an operation involving several squads of droids and a small-scale space battle to get their hands on Tup, and they succeeded for a moment, until Fives, Rex, and General Skywalker got him back to safety on their own ship. What on earth did the Separatists want with a clone who had gone mad, unless they somehow had their own interests at stake?

When they finally arrived at Kamino, Fives promised Rex that he would take care of their vod’ika . What a lousy job he did. 

When those damn fishy-smelling longnecks tried to tell them about Tup suffering from some sort of virus that had made him snap, Fives had been on high alert and was instantly suspicious.

With a few manipulative phrases, he managed to persuade one of the medical droids to perform a fifth-level anatomical scan of Tup's brain, and sure enough, a tumor was found. The Longnecks must have known about it, because why else would they have been so opposed to the scan?

In the end, however, the discovery did not make any difference for Tup. With the help of the droid, they were able to remove the tumor, but Tup's body was too weak to withstand such stress.

He held Tup's hand, his ear nearly caught in the other's lips, as Tup told him with his dying breath how he could finally rest, escaping the horrors of war.

"The mission… Free. The mission."

"Brother, what mission?"

"You… you know the one. The—the mission, the one in our dreams… that never ends. The one in our dreams... Oh, brother. This is the end. Forget the mission. Oh, the nightmare. I'm… free."

Fives had no idea what mission he was talking about. However, Tup's words sent an unpleasant, cold chill down his spine, and he had to fight against the shivers. The guards in the room looked equally uncomfortable upon hearing Tup's last words, glancing at each other uncertainly.

General Ti informed him that he would need to undergo one final inspection before he could return to the 501st. He seemed to finally have a bit of luck on his side, as his convoy happened to pass by AZI-3. The babbling droid told him how the Kaminoans planned to wipe his memory and put him in the sanitation crew. You know, completely innocent behavior.

He didn't come all this way just to be reconditioned, so he caused enough trouble to be court-martialed. He wanted to think of Echo watching him mischievously from somewhere across the border, his hand on Tup's shoulder.

He ran, stole a ship, abandoned the ship, swam miles back to the town, climbed through storm pipes, went to see the tubies, and had his own chip removed. Just a normal day.

He would mourn his hair as soon as he had a moment to spare.

Just moments after his own surgery, Nala Se and her companions arrived on the scene. The longnecks tried hard to convince him that the chip was intended to mitigate the aggression inherent in the clones' nature, which had been transferred to them from Prime. Fives claimed it was bullshit. General Ti was ready to listen to him, and got him out of Kamino, out of the reach of long, cold tacky fingers.

Or so he thought. 

As he lay on the stretcher in the transport vehicle, the last thing he clearly remembered was a sharp prick in his neck and a fishy-smelling finger on his lips. Drugged to the gills, he got to the Chancellor, who in turn first confirmed the conspiracy theory, and then made it look like Fives had tried to kill the old dried plum of a man. 

Now a fugitive from justice, Fives fled into the lower levels of Coruscant, looking for allies and anyone who might hear him out. His drug-addled brain made him see hostile stalkers out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look at them, they were just ordinary city folk, going about their business. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a high-pitched whine filled his ears.

He could feel his pursuers closing in on him, their hands outstretched, ready to drag him away to a place where no one would find him. Cold sweat ran down his back as he ran faster, bumping into other figures on the streets.

Eventually, he arrived at 79’, and after a moment of looking around, he spotted Jesse and Kix sitting at a corner table. His brothers were laughing at their own stories, alcohol staining their cheeks red, their eyes bright.

Before he could figure out how to approach his friends unobtrusively, Kix got up from the table and started staggering towards the toilet facilities. Fives followed quickly, not wanting to miss the window to confront his friend.

Kix seemed shocked to see Fives, but didn't immediately call for help, so perhaps it was a victory of sorts. The drugs Nala Sen gave him were still messing with his head, but he tried to concentrate. She had to get everything she knew out before it was too late.

"Kix, I need your help."

Kix, kind and helpful Kix, promised to contact Rex and General Skywalker on his behalf. He gave Kix the coordinates where he would meet the General and the Captain. Before leaving, he hugged his brother tightly, hoping to see him again.

They came, but so did the Coruscant Guard. Apparently the substance he had been given had increased its effect over time, for he found it even more difficult to get his point across, his speech slurred and his balance unsteady. Perhaps trapping his friends under a radiation shield was not the smartest moment of his evening. In retrospect, he could not blame anyone for thinking he had lost his mind. Before he could tell his friends what he had found, he was shot by Commander Fox. 

What a fucking bastard. 

What a fucking day.

—

He is surprised to wake up the next day in the guard's medbay.

The last thing he remembers is Rex's shocked face, his eyes wet with tears that have not yet started to fall, and his lips pulled down into a scowl. He reaches up to touch his brother's cheek. Then he blinks, and in Rex's place is the face of Commander Fox.

“Y-you fucking bastard…” he whispers, because his throat is as dry as Tatooine, and tastes as if some small, mangy animal has crawled in and died.

"Hello there," Fox replies dryly, because he has to be the driest vod of all the clones.

"H-how...?" Fives asks, and the next thing he knows, he has a straw in his mouth. He sucks in room-temperature water, letting it drip from the corners of his mouth onto his pillow when he can’t swallow.

"Take it easy, brother," Fox tells him, placing the straw back on his lips, "just little sips."

This time, he is a little more successful in his drinking, and is content to glare at Fox. His gaze must tell Fox that he still wants answers, because Fox opens his mouth again.

"I had a gut feeling that not everything was as they said," Fox tells him. That he had been  following the incidents through the field reports and has deduced, between the lines, that something was wrong.

"You base all this on a gut feeling?!" Fives doesn’t shout, he doesn’t have the energy, but he would like to. It’s intended to be a shout.

Fox shrugs.

He had gathered his own troops, received orders from the Chancellor to kill Fives, and then gone completely rogue.

How is he able to convincingly shoot Fives in the chest, with a normally fatal shot, get him into Guard headquarters without anyone knowing Fives was alive? Only Fox knows. Bonkers. 

“...fucking bastard…” he whispers again, and passes out.

The Guard's catering teams on duty today are busy in the headquarters' industrial kitchen preparing lunch. Not that it's difficult to prepare a protein gruel for the clones, but with a Guard strength of just over ten thousand clones, the meal takes time.

With the clock a few minutes to eight hundred, one of the clones, named Soup, double-checks that their radio is on the correct frequency and the volume is appropriate. 

Soup continues mixing protein mash in the big pot, while chatting to the clone next to him, Cody H, who is sorting fruit pieces into cups. They get fresh fruit and vegetables once a day, apparently to keep the scurvy at bay.

Before he can hear Cody H's answer to his question, the radio crackles to life. It plays a happy little tune before the host's voice replaces it.

Good morning to Coruscant, and good any time of the day to others wherever you are! The voice sounds cheerful and upbeat (how would anyone possibly know that it belongs to Fives?) In the studio present today is, who else but me, your sexiest mystery vod. I still won't tell you who I am, because I already died once and I don't want to do it again if I don't have to. Who would then whisper in your ear the latest juicy gossip and the most exciting plot twists? 

"I'm pretty sure the chip removal really caused him to go insane, why else would he do this?" Cody H. whispers, and the others shush him.

Now it's time to listen to the news of the day! Fives (perhaps) takes a short break. In the silence, they can hear him breathing into the microphone. Then continues hosting. This is the news on Radio Neduumyc, good morning. It has come to our attention that General Skywalker still believes that no one knows about his relationship with Senator Amidala. The couple was seen kissing in front of Dex's Diner, and then continuing on foot toward the Senate District, where Senator Amidala's private residence is located.

Soup starts scraping the protein mush they have mixed into a heat-resistant container. The mush is gray in color, gray in texture, and gray in taste. Surprisingly, it smells quite good.

The mush makes a wet splashing sound when it hits the oven dish, and Soup carries it to the warming cabinet.

"I can't believe that man is in charge of major military operations," someone mutters.  

"I don't know, I think it's kind of cute," Soup says. "It's good that someone can hold on to happiness in times like these. Besides, what harm could it do?"

Here in Coruscant, local human rights defenders have again taken a stand against the use of clones in war. Members of the organisation are accusing the Senate of accepting slavery. 

Members of the organisation could not reach Chancellor Palpatine, but received a statement from Vice Chair Amedda. According to him, clones are an important part of society, allowing not only the availability of big volume military missions, but also a lot of medical research. He told the organization that war is expensive, and the Republic could not afford it without the clones. 

Fives has added an audio recording of Man Amedda to the news broadcast. There is background noise on the recording, as if it had been recorded in the middle of a busy moment in the corridors of the Senate. The clip is probably cut from the helmet camera of a vod standing guard. “There is nothing illegal about our actions, as the Senate has updated the laws to suit our objectives. Everything we do is within the law.” 

The use of clones in war has been commented on not only as unethical, but issues have also been raised by their inhumane living conditions and substandard food rations. 

“Hey! We are doing our best here!” Cody H. exclaims. They all shush him again. 

Regardless of whether the clones are at work or off duty, many of them share the same space, making it cramped and completely invasive of privacy. 

The Vice Chair says that the issues of space shortages and food rations are in the Senate for comment and will be revisited later.

A request has come from the Senate to keep the debate on the use and the mass production of slaves objective, and they would also like to point out that clones also benefit from goods produced by forced labor, such as weapons they use in the war and the clothes they wear every day.

They all start muttering among themselves.

And finally, some sports news: The Scuba dudes won a bolo-ball match against 104th Furballs 21-18.

The same happy little tune plays, before Fives speaks again. That's the news, and here's the weather: In Coruscant, the weather is sunny, with acid rain plaguing the western parts. It is still freezing in Hoth and sunny in Tatooine. Name day is celebrated today by Rys, Jumpy and 1139. Happy name day to you!

"Does anyone know how the chip removal is progressing?" Soup asks the room in general. 

"From what I've heard, they're still trying to figure out how to do the surgery safely and hide it among routine procedures so that it doesn't arouse suspicion in anyone who might be snooping around," Pru replies as he pulls bread rolls out of the warming cabinet. The aroma is intoxicating, and they all pause for a moment to breathe it in.

Cody H's hand reaches for the tray to grab a roll, but he quickly drops it.

"Ah, hot!"   

"You greedy little brat, you got what you deserved," Pru scolds him, but nevertheless hands him the fallen roll wrapped in a cloth. Cody H holds the roll against his chest, as if to absorb its comforting warmth into himself.

Soup frowns. "How long will it take? I'm a little nervous that we all have a ticking time bomb in our heads."

"We just have to trust our vode and keep a cool head."

Soup opens his mouth to respond, but the radio comes back to life, the host's voice tinny from the little apparatus. 

Then it's time to catch up with vode from around the galaxy! I have a vod from the 212th on the line! Trapper, tell us, how are things going over there?

Hey, brother! Thank you for having us. We just finished fighting on the planet's surface, and now we're all waiting for our turn to take a shower. Commander Cody told us that no one is allowed to go to bed until we've washed up. We're all gathered in the hallways, and I can tell you that the smell is indescribable! 

There is a buzz at the end of the line as several pairs of hands apparently try to grab hold of the communication device. A distant cry of victory can be heard from the line, and then the voice of a different brother can be heard on the radio. 

It's been six days since my last shower, and I'm feeling very crusty and ripe. I can proudly say that I haven't changed my underpants in all that time, and they're getting so stiff that I'm chafing at the groin. And, I'm pretty sure that Wooley peed his pants more than once. He’s sitting next to me, and if I hadn't already smelled him all week I'd be running for sure…

"Eww, disgusting," everyone in the kitchen says in unison, as the sounds of fighting can be heard on the radio.

Chapter Text

Hello, hello, hello and welcome back! Today's programmes are sponsored by a picture of Commander Cody, apparently trying to sneak out of General Kenobi's room, definitely wearing something other than his own trousers. Thanks to the anonymous sender of the photo. You can all check it out on Radio Neduumyc’s MySpace page. Maybe give it a like and show it to your friends too.

When Fives wakes up on day number two after the shooting, he is much more disconcerted and in much more pain. The medic on the shift pushes him back against the cot as he gasps for breath and tries to wriggle out of bed, confused by the time and place.

"Shhh, calm down, you're safe," the medic whispers to him as he heaves and sobs against the hold the brother has on him.

The vod holds him in his arms throughout the breakdown, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and stroking his cheek with his thumb. When he finally calms down, the vod pulls back but still holds his hand. His grip is steady and Fives uses it to anchor himself. 

"What happened?" Fives croaks, and the vod quickly raises a straw to his lips. There is something vaguely familiar about the gesture, but he doesn't think about it any further. He drinks greedily, trying to make sense of his surroundings. "And who are you?"

“You are in the medical bay at the Coruscant Guard Headquarters. My name is Rigs, I am one of the medics here,” the vod – Rigs tells him. Rigs has deep crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and worry lines on his forehead, and he is wearing an off-white uniform and has no visible tattoos or any other markings on him. Pretty standard vod . 

"Do you remember how you ended up here?" Rigs asks him. 

For a moment, his mind is blank. The room feels hot and suffocating and it’s hard to concentrate. He lets his eyes wander, noticing a light blue privacy curtain that’s been hung around his bed, and he cannot see what he assumes to be the front of the infirmary. However, the curtain is not drawn fully on his other side, so he can see his surroundings better. 

There is a vod sleeping in the bed next to him. He is apparently recovering from some kind of struggle, as his hand is bandaged and he has a stitched wound on his temple.

The sign of the head wound makes the events of the previous day hit him like a stampeding herd of banthas.

" V-vod, you have to listen to me. This is a conspiracy that we are all involved in. We have to warn the others...!" Fives starts frantically scratching Rigs' arm, breathing out in short gasps. Rigs takes both of Fives' hands in his and rests them on Fives' chest.

"Calm down, you need to calm down. How about I call the commander and we go talk in my office? We'll have more privacy there," Rigs says in a low voice. He waits for Fives to compose himself again and nod. 

"Good work," Rigs says, pulling out his communication device. He types in a quick message before stuffing it back into his pocket. 

"Okay, let's try to get you out of this bed."

Getting up is more painful than anything Fives has ever experienced before. By the time he is in a sitting position, he is drenched in cold sweat, and black spots are dancing before his eyes. He hears Rigs' voice as if from under water. 

"Sit there quietly for a moment, I'll find you a hover chair."

He has to concentrate on not vomiting up the mouthful of water he drank earlier, so he doesn’t answer.

"Do you feel like you're going to pass out?" Rigs asks him somewhere near.

Fives opens his eyes and notices that the room is no longer spinning wildly. However, he doesn't dare open his mouth, so he just shakes his head.

"Good. This might hurt a little," Rigs says, and without further warning, starts pulling Fives out of bed.

His world explodes into pain again, everything hurts so much that he cannot even make a sound. Then he is sitting on something slightly uncomfortable and feels a sharp prick in his neck from a hypo. The searing pain quickly gives way to numbness, and Fives realizes he can breathe again.

"Thanks for the warning," he gasps. Rigs just snorts and starts leading them toward his office. Perhaps Rigs is secretly a sadist, and just knows how to hide it better than his colleagues. He did seem too normal and balanced to be a clone medic. 

Rigs' hand is on the back of his chair, guiding it gently in the right direction. The medic has positioned himself so that his body blocks Fives' view of the medbays door. 

Now that the pain is no longer at the forefront of Fives' mind, he notices that the medical center seems to be in a state of controlled chaos. Most of the beds are occupied by clone troopers in varying stages of recovery. At one bed, two medics are trying to hold one of their brothers in place as he panics and tries to break free from their grip. At the same time, a third medic is trying to straighten his leg that is bent at an unnatural angle. 

There are less seriously wounded brothers sitting in chairs at the edge of the medbay, holding cooling packs against their bruises or letting medics stitch up their wounds. They all have a thin layer of sweat on their foreheads.

"What happened here? Did somebody attack you? And why is it so hot in here" Fives asks Rigs. 

"This is just a normal Taungsday," Rigs replies, without actually answering his questions. 

They arrive at Rigs' office, and the cacophony of the medbay quiets down as the sliding door swooshes into place. 

Rigs' office isn't just his office, as there are three worn-out desks crammed into the small room. On the wall is a picture clearly taken from a 79' surveillance camera feed, showing ten brothers trying to build a human pyramid in the middle of a dance floor. The image is frozen at the moment when the pyramid starts to collapse.

At the bottom of the picture, written in messy handwriting, is: ‘how is medbay like a hot nightclub? Vode are just dying to get in’.

" Vod , what I've found, we need to act fast—"

"Shh, let's wait for the commanders to arrive."

They sit in silence for a moment, Fives nervously wringing his hands and wondering how to make Rigs understand the seriousness of the situation. Rigs, on the other hand, leans against a desk and examines his cuticles. 

Just as Fives is about to speak again, the door slides open and Commander Fox enters, followed by another clone with wings painted on both sides of his bucket.

"Hey Rigs, thanks for calling us. Thire and Stone are on duty and couldn't make it, but we'll fill them in about our discussion later," the clone trooper Fives doesn’t know says to Rigs.

"Commanders, I'm glad you could make it. This guy here can't seem to stop shouting about his business to the whole world, and I don't need mass panic in my medbay."

Fox lets out a grunt and sits down on one of the chairs. The other trooper sits down at one of the tables and takes off his bucket. Underneath, he reveals bleached curls tied into a small bun. His hair on top of his head is flattened from wearing the helmet and sweating, and the trooper tries to comb his curls into place with his fingers. The result resembles a bird's nest.

“Hello, my name is Commander Thorn. I don't believe we've met before,” Thorn smiles at him and extends his hand.

Fives stares at the outstretched limb as if unable to comprehend its meaning. Thorn's smile doesn't fade, and after a moment he jerks his hand toward Fives again.

He snaps out of his thoughts and grabs Thorn's hand. “Sorry, Commander. No, I don't think we've met. My name is ARC trooper Fives.”

The manners instilled in him since being a cadet make him want to salute Thorn properly, but when he makes a jerky movement with his hand toward his forehead, the wound on his chest stings. He settles for a grimace.

"Sorry for being rude, but someone-" he glares at Fox "-shot me."

"Ah, what a convenient bridge to that topic, that's what we came here to talk about," Thorn says cheerfully. Fox says nothing.

"I thought so," Fives mutters to them. Perhaps they can forgive his insolence. In his opinion, he has a very good reason. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence. A faint bang and a scream can be heard from the medbay through the door.

"So..." Fives says.

"So...?" Thorn replies.

"Why on earth did he shoot me?" Fives asks, irritated. 

"Let's see," Thorn says, raising his index finger. "First of all, you attacked the Chancellor for no reason -" he raises his second finger. "- you fled the scene -," he raises a third finger. "- you appeared to be conspiring with your squadmates," he raises a fourth finger. "-you were clearly under the influence of an unknown drug, and you pointed a weapon at the commander with the intent to shoot."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Fives says.

"And let's not even get started on everything that happened in Kamino," Thorn concluded. “Please, tell us everything you have learned. I trust Fox's gut feeling with all my heart, but I would also like to hear it from you.”

So Fives tells them. He talks himself hoarse about Tup, the chips he found, the Chancellor's revelation, and his escape. All three Guards sit quietly listening, their body language giving no indication of their feelings.

When he finally finishes, Rigs sighs deeply and pulls a bottle with no labels from the bottom drawer of the table.

"Ooh, is this from the latest brew?" Thorn asks excitedly.

"No, this is from the batch from two years ago, the best we've been able to make. I've been saving it for some doomsday news," Rigs replies and opens the bottle. The vapor rising from it makes his eyes water. He passes the bottle around, but slaps Fives' hands away when he tries to take it.

"Not for you, you got shot yesterday," he says, instead handing him a juicebox from the same drawer.

"It seems like an appropriate occasion for this," Thorn agrees, taking a sip. "Damn, this is strong."

He hands the bottle to Fox, who takes it but places it on the table next to him. He also takes off his helmet, revealing his scarred face and short curls that are graying at his temples.

"You really need to die," Fox breaks his silence. 

“W-what!?”

“Fox,” Thorn says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We really need to work on your bedside manner. Fives, we need to stage your death."

"I see," Fives replies, only marginally relieved. "And then what? You'll put me in the guard's armor and put me to work while we try to figure out how to get out of this?"

"Absolutely not. If anyone from outside sees you, we're all doomed. You stay in here, and the rest of us will try to figure out how to get out of this," Fox replies.

"How would anyone recognize me among the others? We all look exactly the same," Fives asks indignantly.

"You have a face tattoo."

"I'd be wearing a helmet the whole time. Besides, it can be covered up with makeup."

"We can't take that risk. The fact that you're here at all is a death sentence for many of us if anyone finds out," Fox retorts. 

"So what now?" Fives asks.

"You focus on healing and keeping a low profile. And you don't set a foot outside the headquarters."

The commander's order to keep a lay low is not difficult to obey for the first two days. Fives is still on bed rest and spends most of his time sleeping. When he is awake, he pesters Rigs with millions of questions about the removal of the chips. 

However, Rigs gives him discouraging news. The Guard's medical facility is seriously understaffed and underfunded. The technology they have is not state-of-the-art, and even if they could assign a few medical clones to perform removals full-time, ten thousand brain surgeries would take years. Not to mention that a report must be written for every medical procedure and used resource. Someone higher up would surely become suspicious of their actions sooner or later.

"None of us even know how to perform such a surgery. No one should have to be a lab rat while their brother pokes around in their brain with a spoon," Rigs says, shaking his head, and then rushes to help a trooper who has just stumbled in, clutching his bleeding torso.

"What on earth happened to you?! Can't you even go a few minutes without trying to die in my arms?"

On the fourth day after the shooting, he is allowed to leave the medical ward. He is not yet allowed to do anything strenuous, so he contentedly wanders the corridors of the Corries’ headquarters. The building itself is quite interesting; the original purpose of the building had been for something other than an army base, but the rapidly escalating war had forced the Senate to give them resources on a hurried schedule. 

Only the first two floors are above Coruscant's first level. The remaining ten, that were probably added after, are below ground, integrated into the lower levels of the city planet.

It feels almost like an old, massive school building, if schools used to be built to accommodate thousands of students and they weren't really supposed to see the sunlight. What is it with people and windows? But the building's corridors are long and there are many, many rooms, so Fives has plenty to explore.

He stands out from the crowd like a sore thumb, wearing only his blacks, while almost all the other Guards wear full armor at all times. Fox almost had a heart attack the first time he saw Fives wandering the corridors. After that, Fox reluctantly agreed to give him a standard Corrie armor to wear.

He’s still not allowed outside.

They continued to discuss what would be the most sensible way to bring the chips to the attention of others. Fives wanted to tell everyone immediately, but Fox reasoned that it would cause mass panic, which could expose them to the Chancellor, and then it would probably be a game over. 

The others felt that everyone should have the right to know what had been put into their bodies without their consent.

"I'd like to discuss this with Cody, he might have something sensible to say," Fox muses. 

"And it probably wouldn't hurt to tell Captain Rex that his beloved brother isn't dead after all," Fives retorts. He had been extremely angry when he found out that Rex had not been told that he survived the shooting. 

"They are both scheduled to be sent back to the front by the end of the week, so we need to act quickly," Thorn says without looking up from his pad. "How do you think you'll get them to come here? I don't think you're very popular with them right now."

"How so?" Fives asks.

"Rex believes that I cold-bloodedly murdered you. He's nothing if not overprotective of you clowns. And he knows how to hold a grudge," Fox replies. "Cody is loyal to Rex, at least more than he is to me."

The last sentence sounds a little bitter, but Fives may also be imagining things.

"I'll contact them, and hopefully Rex's desire to beat me up will overcome his desire to never see me again."

Later that day he finds himself in a room on level -8, rummaging through boxes, searching for treasures that others might have overlooked. There isn't much, mostly some mirrored boxes with lights attached to them, empty terrariums, and pens that ran out of ink long ago. 

He lets out a little cry of joy when he finds a small portable radio station in one of the boxes, hidden under a heavy cloth. He fiddles with the device until late at night, too focused to stop until it works. 

By morning, he is sitting on top of one of the boxes, wrapped in fabric, with a working radio transmitter in his lap and looking kind of manic. He spent a good amount of time splicing the device and believes it is now untraceable. 

Now all that's left is to try it out.

He types in Commander Fox's comm frequency and tries his luck.

"Boo ooo o …, Commander, I am your conscience. I watched you last night as you jerked off thinking about General Vos' tight ass. You should be ashamed of yourself...Boo ooo o...~"

The channel is silent for a moment, and Fives is quite sure the transmitter is not working after all, until the Commander answers him in a monotone voice.

"I really should have let you bleed out in that warehouse, Fives, it would have been a public service to everyone."

For the rest of the day he keeps harassing keeping company to Fox, telling him fun facts he had learned from his time at the warfront and surprising him with occasional weather reports.

When Fox threatened to smack him unconscious and throw him off the Senate roof, he decided to do some modifications. He tunes the transmitter so that anyone with the correct code could listen to it, and then hung the code on a piece of flimsy on the bulletin board in the mess hall.

Cody and Rex walked side by side toward the Coruscant Guard headquarters. Earlier that day, Fox had sent them a message asking them to come urgently to discuss something.

meet me ASAP @ ccghq the message read, and nothing else. They almost didn't show up. Rex had been so angry that he destroyed a few squads of training droids in one of the barracks training rooms when he saw the message.

Cody feels irritated too. He is also endlessly worried about his brother. The idea that he would have deliberately killed one of the members of the vode seemed impossible. 

Rex was too grief-stricken to see that anything might be wrong. He had just lost Tup and Fives in an utterly bizarre chain of events and needed someone to feel angry with, and unfortunately, the finger of blame pointed at their older brother.

They march through the doors toward the reception desk that two Corrie brothers are manning. Both guards raise their heads as they get closer, the one sitting behind the desk quickly jumping to his feet and greeting them sharply. The one leaning against the table also stands up straighter, at attention, and greets them.

"Commander, Captain. My name is Commander Thire, how can I help you?" 

"At ease," Cody says. "Commander, we came to see Commander Fox, he sent us a message." 

Thire sizes them up for a moment, surely sensing the hostility that emanates from them, but ultimately deciding to let them proceed.

"I'm going in the same direction, you can follow me," he says, and without waiting for them walks quickly deeper into the building.

They follow Thire deeper into the headquarters, along winding corridors. Everything looks old and worn, but not dirty. The air inside feels oppressive, and Cody feels the temperature rising the further they go. 

Thire doesn't let on that anything is wrong, but Cody can feel beads of sweat running down his forehead under his helmet. He can't see Rex's face, but he can tell from his body language that he is uncomfortable.

"Why is it so hot in here?" Cody asks after a moment, as the temperature doesn't seem to be stabilizing. His armor's temperature control is working overtime and can't seem to keep up with the environment.

"Our air conditioner broke down a while ago, and fixing it hasn't been high on the priority list," Thire replies. 

"How long has it been broken?" Rex asks, his bad mood forgotten for a moment.

"A few weeks, or something like that," Thire says as if it's not important. He just seems to pick up his pace, clearly excited to get rid of them. 

"That can't be right, it must be at least 30 degrees here! Why hasn't your general taken care of this?" Cody is angry. He can understand a few days, but weeks ?

Thire does not respond. They arrive at a room with several doors along the walls, leading to who knows where. The room is filled with mismatched tables, coffee cups, papers, and pads. Along the walls are a few worn-out sofas and filing cabinets. Fox is standing in the middle of the room. He is wearing the lower part of his armor, his bucket and a black tank top.

Fox has his back to them, but Cody recognizes the ugly scar on Fox's shoulder, which he got once during training when they were cadets at Kamino. There is also a trooper standing on his shoulders, their upper body disappearing into a hatch in the ceiling. Fox is supporting the vod by a firm hold on his ankles.

-- and listen to this, someone is planning to make a six-part documentary series about the war efforts… a crackling sound comes from somewhere inside the roof.

"Is it ready yet?" They hear Fox ask. The brother on his shoulders makes an irritated noice that echoes strangely inside the ceiling.

"This isn't very easy!"

"Hey, Fox," Cody says. Fox flinches and quickly turns around to look at them. There is a clanking sound from the ceiling as their brother's head apparently hits something in there.

"Commander! Ouch!"

Fox doesn't answer him, choosing instead to look at Cody and Rex. His body language is unreadable, as usual, but Cody could swear that his ori’vod is nervous.

"Cody, Rex, thanks for coming," Fox says. 

Cody takes off his helmet but says nothing. Seeing Fox has brought his irritation to the surface again, and he doesn't dare open his mouth for fear of saying something he'll regret later. Rex makes no move to acknowledge Fox.

"Hey, Commander, what on earth are you doing?" Thire asks Fox.

"We're fixing the air conditioning," Fox replies as if it were obvious.

"Don't you really have anything better to do?"

"I'm writing reports at the same time," Fox says. He must have some kind of typing program installed on his helmet's HUD. 

"I need to get a little higher," says the trooper on Fox's shoulders, planting his boot on top of Fox’s bucket and pushing himself up. Fox's head bobs for a moment before he regains his balance, this time supporting his brother from the soles of his shoes. 

"Don't you have a maintenance crew for this?" Cody's curiosity overcomes his irritation.

"Budget cuts," is the only answer he gets.

"Fox..." Thire sounds annoyed. 

"No one can sleep in this heat," Fox says. "Thorn is talking to his reflection, and I found a couple of new recruits crying in the closet because they're so tired."

Thire sighs in response, and Cody is concerned. Rex's body language also relaxes for a moment, before he remembers that Fox cold-bloodedly murdered his beloved vod’ika.

The silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife, broken only by the clatter of tools on the ceiling and occasional cursing. Fox's helmet stares longingly at Rex, who deliberately looks away, his hands clenched.

--The documentary is called 'Clones', and its main character is Obi-Wan Kenobi, played by Drad Pift. It is a story of a Jedi general who lives in constant worry for his troops. The clones will not be cast for the documentary at all, but are included in as a concept of some sort… The tinny voice sounds again. 

Just as the situation starts to become too much for Cody and he frantically tries to think of something to fill the silence, the air conditioner starts up. A faint cheer can be heard from inside the ceiling.

A few doors open and happy but sweaty faces peek into the room.

"You got it working!"

"Thanks, Commander!"

Fox helps his brother down from the ceiling, and he jumps down smoothly. He packs his tools into a toolbox on one of the tables. In his hand he holds a small box with an antenna sticking out of it. The documentary also features General Skywalker and his Padawan Tano, played by a Twi'lek named Sela Elsa. The director of the documentary says that the actress is not quite the right species, but there was no one else available and no one would probably notice anyway. We eagerly await the finished product. Now, let's listen to some music for a moment. I found some classical Tellus music among the lost and found items. I can't read the name on the cover, but this is quite captivating.

"I'm going to take a shower and go to bed! I can't wait to not be sweaty for the first time in weeks. I think I've got algae growing on behind my knees and groin," says the trooper, apparently unaware of the awkward atmosphere in the room. Or maybe he notices but doesn't care. Fox's troopers are strange. He leaves through one of the doors, whistling along the beat coming from the box. 

"Thanks for coming," Fox says again. Rex twitches next to Cody.

"We're not here because of you. I just want to hear why you did it, and then I never want to see you again," Rex says coldly. 

Fox tries to make himself smaller, and even though they can't see Thire's face, Cody knows he's staring at Rex with knives in his eyes.

"Listen, Captain..." Thire says, but Fox motions for him to be quiet. 

"Thire, everything's fine..."

"Fox, he shouldn't talk to you like that!"

"I'll talk to the vod killer however I want," Rex growls, and Cody places his hand on Rex's arm. Thire takes a step toward them, and Rex's hand automatically reaches for his blaster. 

"Enough! Follow me, and I'll explain everything," Fox shouts. They all freeze in place. At that same moment they hear a loud bang, and the lights go out. All of the sliding doors open quietly, as they are designed to do when the power is cut off. The newly repaired air conditioning coughs a few times and then shuts down as well. Discouraged rumbles can be heard throughout the building.

In the darkness, they hear Fox's voice.

"Thire. Is it double gala night tonight?"

"Looks like it," comes Thire's reply. 

"How does that affect anything? Why did the lights go out?" Cody asks.

"The Senate's power grid isn't large enough to handle many big events, so they usually cut us off as needed," Thire replies venomously. 

"Isn't that pretty dangerous, considering you're responsible for the Senate's security?" Cody asks.

"It's only unimportant places, like living quarters and such. The control rooms still have power," Fox replies. "And it won't last long. The power will be back on by morning."

Fox lights the torch on his bucket and starts walking toward a heavy-looking fire door. Behind the door, there are stairs that seem to go down forever into the darkness. Cody can hear some sort of liquid dripping slowly somewhere in the tower-like structure. The sound is eerie and sends a shiver down his spine.

Others light their torches as well and follow Fox down the stairs for what seems like an eternity. Then Fox exits the stairs into an identical-looking hallway framed by open doors. They walk past the doors, and peeking inside, they can see the vode doing their own things: writing reports by the light of their torches, sleeping in their beds, or cleaning their weapons. Deeper inside the building, the temperature seems to rise even further, and the air is stiflingly still.

They go in through an open doorway, and Fox puts his helmet on top of a big box. Cody sees his brother's face for the first time in months and is shocked by what he sees.

The poor lighting may be playing tricks on them, but Fox's skin is pale and the circles under his eyes are very dark. A new scar adorns his face, running horizontally across his cheek, over the bridge of his nose. He looks as if he has lost a lot of weight.

"Again, thank you for coming –" Fox doesn't get to finish his sentence before Rex's fist hits him in the cheek. Fox staggers, but quickly regains his balance and sweeps Rex's legs out from under him with a quick kick. Rex goes down like a sack of potatoes, but before he can get up, a new voice speaks behind them.

"Captain!"

Rex freezes in place, half crouching and panting. Cody turns to look, and in the spotlight he sees a trooper dressed in armor sans his bucket. He has a bit of an overgrown buzzcut and a scar on his temple. The most important detail, however, is the number five tattooed on his forehead. 

"What the hell?" Cody can only say. 

There is a broken sob from the floor, and he turns to look at Rex, whose bucket is stuck staring at the trooper.

"What is this?" Rex asks, sounding devastated. "Why are you being so cruel?"

"Captain, I –" the trooper tries to say, but Rex interrupts him.

"Fox, you knew what he meant to me. This is low, even for you. I don't know what I've done to deserve this, or if you've lost the last shred of your humanity, but I'm leaving now. And I never want to hear from you again."

Cody has never heard anyone sound as broken as Rex does now. He turns to look at Fox, whose eyes are glistening with tears.

"No, Rex, I'm sorry. I would never..."

"It's really me," the trooper says, rushing closer to them. Rex is still crouched on the floor, trying to scramble away, but the vod grabs him by the shoulders before the Captain can escape. 

"Captain, Rex, it's me, Fives. I don't know what happened, but I'm here."

"B-but I saw you die. I held you when you died," Rex says. Cody's heart is in tiny pieces at the bottom of his stomach. 

"I'm here now," Fives says, and opens the seal on Rex's helmet, lifting it up. Rex's face is wet with tears, and he looks so lost.

"You're here," Rex whispers.

"I'm here," Fives repeats, gently bringing their foreheads together. 

Rex takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around Fives. Then, as if all the strings holding him up had been cut, he leans against Fives and cries. It is loud and wet, and Cody feels like he shouldn't be here. He feels his own tears running silently down his cheeks, and he looks away from his vod’ike on the floor. His gaze meets Fox's, and silently he mouths a thank you.

"So what, we all have control chips in our heads that can be used to brainwash us into doing anything, even killing our Jedi Generals?"

"Pretty much."

"And the Chancellor is behind all this."

"One of them, yes."

"Huh. Okay."

"Is that all you have to say, OKAY?!"

"There's a lot to take in here."

"Removing the chips will be difficult without anyone outside knowing."

"That's what we've been trying to figure out, and we wanted to talk to you about it."

"Fives, did you say that a droid removed your chip in Kamino?"

"Yes, AZI-3. I don't know what happened to it, but the last time I saw it, it was on its way to have its memory wiped."

"That could be a good place to start. It may have information on how to perform the procedure safely, and we could try to replicate it in other battalions."

"We just need to figure out a way to contact Kamino without attracting attention."

“This is so stupid,” a clone named Peaches mutters. 

He sits on a low sofa in the corner of one of Kamino's rec rooms, clutching a small communication device in his fist. He has listened to a few broadcasts of a new clone radio program, which is less of a show and is actually more like a rambling monologue by an unnamed vod.  

It's not too hard to connect the dots between when one of the brothers from 501’ came to Kamino, causing the biggest mayhem since the rejects from the Bad Batch crashed their ship into the landing platform and almost killed three longnecks, was flown to Coruscant and started causing even more mayhem there and was then killed, and this radio station appearing about a week later.

It's not Peaches' business, and he does not want to get involved. 

He was surprised when he received an invitation to participate in the program as a guest, as long as he had a few cadets with him. So now here he was, waiting for the vod’ike to arrive and for the communication line to open at the agreed time.

"Really stupid..."

He is distracted from his thoughts when something small bumps into his feet. He is already pulling out a knife hidden in his sleeve when he notices a small cadet looking at him, his arms wrapped around Peaches’ legs.

“Hi Peach!” a cheerful voice says to him. He relaxes his hand away from the knife, pushing it back to his sleeve. The cadet has two tufts of his short hair pulled on pigtails on top of his head. They look a bit like small antennas. He is wearing a small blue romper, and is the cutest thing ever. Peaches drops his hand between the pigtails, and ruffles his hair. It’s very soft. 

“Hey little one, what's your name?” 

“Hi!” the cadet says again, smiling brightly. Peaches melts inside.

“This is Kit,” says a slightly older cadet whom Peaches recognizes. His name is Tail, and he is part of a group that Peaches spends more time training. Tail is wearing a red bodysuit with blue tunic on top of it. He is also very cute. 

Kit holds his hand up in the universal “up” command that all little ones in the galaxy seem to know. Peaches obeys and lifts the cadet into his lap, grimacing as the cadet’s small hands squeeze his cheeks. Why and how is the little one so sticky?

Tail sits next to him on the sofa, leaning against his side.  

“Are you excited about being on the radio?” Peaches asks as he tickles Kit’s tummy.  

The little cadet squirms in his arms but doesn't try to get away.  “Peach, stop!” he giggles.  

“He sure is,” Tail rolls his eyes, but Peaches can see that the older boy is excited too, even though he tries to hide it. 

As if on cue, his communication device starts beeping. Tail sits up straighter next to him, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Kit stops fidgeting and grabs Peache from the arm.

"Hello?" he answers the device.

Hey! We're about to start! I'll give a short introduction, and then we'll begin the program! says the voice on the other end of the communication device. Kit then tries to reach for the device to take it for himself, but Peaches lifts it higher, out of reach of his sticky little hands. 

Welcome to a new segment called Cadet Hour Goof-up! Today's program features a little guessing game, followed by an educational bedtime story. Now, all little ones, listen up!

Kit tries to climb like a womp rat up Peaches' arm toward the communication device, and Tail tries to keep the smaller cadet in place. Somehow, they both end up in Peaches' lap.

Today, we have a guest from Kamino, Peaches. He is one of the vode who takes care of the cadets. Hey, Peaches! Do you have any little friends with you today?

Peaches, buried under small, sharp elbows, raises his voice toward the communication device still held in over their heads. 

"Hi, thanks for having me! I have Kit and Tail here with me."

Hey Kit and Tail, glad you could join us. How are you and how old are you?

Tail suddenly seems shyer than before and pushes his finger into his mouth. Peaches tries to get the digits out.

"Hey, no fingers in your mouth, they're dirty," he mumbles as he tries to keep the communication device out of Kit's reach, taking Tail's fingers out of his mouth, and  keeping them all from falling off the couch.

"Hi! I'm Kit. I'm one!" Kit shouts much louder than necessary. He has a slight lisp. There is laughter on the other end of the line, but before the host can respond, Kit shouts again: "And a half!!" 

Peaches has Tail's fingers out of his mouth and gives him an encouraging smile. 

"H-hey, I'm Tail, and I'm three," he says. 

"Good job," Peaches praises him and drops a kiss on his head. Tail giggles, and isn't that the sweetest sound ever? Too soon, the smiles and laughter would turn into the solemn frowns that all the clone troopers sport. Peaches hopes that Tail and his little vod’ike wouldn't lose this innocence too soon. 

He adjusts the position of his arm around the little ones so that they are all in a slightly more comfortable position, and leans deeper into the sofa. He feels Kit’s tiny fist closing around the fabric of his shirt. 

Yep, good job! says the voice on the other end of the line. Now, I've prepared a little riddle for you to start with. Vod'ike, would you like to hear it?

Both of the kids perk with that, wiggling out of excitement.

“A widdle!” Kit exclaims.

Yes, a riddle! Here it comes:

I have no heart, but I can think.

I have no soul, but I can blink.

I never sleep, but I need a charge.

What am I?

"That one mean vod who works in the medbay," Peaches mutters quietly under his breath. He and many others had fallen victim to the vod ’s irritation. They had a very vicious way to jab them with hypos when annoyed. 

The voice on the line snorts. Peaches feels his face heaten up, and he hopes that the vod does not listen to this shit show. 

Kit's nose wrinkles cutely as he thinks about the answer to the riddle. Peaches wants to put his finger in the middle of the rib and try to straighten it out.

Tail also looks very thoughtful before his expression brightens and he shouts happily: “A droid!”

Good job, Tail, that's the right answer! As a reward, you can ask your ori’vod for an extra serving of pudding!

“I want pudding too!” Kit cries out, with wet eyes. Peaches is horrified by the thought of his little brother crying.

I’m sure Peaches can give you an extra pudding cup too!

The voice ignores Peaches’ exclamation of protest, and drills on. 

Now, if you are comfortable, I am going to tell you a bad time story with a very important lesson behind it. 

He waits for their affirmative answer. Kit burrows deeper into Peaches’ embrace and clings to his shirt again. Tail leans his head against Peaches collarbone and snuggles a little against his shirt. It's really cute, and Peaches chooses to ignore the fact that he probably has a snotty streak on his chest now. 

The story begins, and Peaches is certain that he should have expected something  just like this. Once upon a time, there was a farmer who was challenged to a competition to grow the most beautiful cabbage. The farmer was sad because he didn't have any cabbages, and the competition was coming up soon, and he wouldn't have time to grow any. 

A mysterious visitor approached the farmer and told him that he had a field full of cabbages that he wanted to give to the farmer. 

The visitor's cabbages had already grown into magnificent, green, large specimens. He had used a special fertilizer during the growing phase, which made the cabbages grow beautifully. 

The farmer was happy and accepted the visitor's offer. And they were indeed the most magnificent cabbages he had ever seen. 

He took over the cabbage field and continued to grow cabbages. He won the most beautiful cabbage competition time after time. 

Then one day, another farmer, a malicious one, entered the competition. 

It was the stranger who had originally given the cabbages to the farmer!

Both of the kids gasp in Peaches lap, and he squeezes them a little tighter, trying not to roll his eyes too hard.

With a snap of his fingers, the evil farmer activated the fertilizer he had used on the cabbages, and the cabbages turned into hostile madmen, killing the farmer.

The cabbages cried because they liked their farmer and didn't want to hurt him, but they had no other choice. 

The evil farmer took all the magnificent cabbages for himself and won all future competitions.

The end.”

"What the kriff?" ask Tail.

“Language,” Peaches says. He still agrees with the sentiment. “I don't know if this was a very child-friendly story towards the end."

" Ori’vod ,” says a little voice on his lap, sniffling. “I didn’t like that very much. Can we leave now?" Kit actually looks a little sad. If this little one has nightmares about the story, Peaches plans to track down this lunatic himself and strangle him. Still, they should be polite. 

"What do we say when our brother tells us a story, even if we don't like it?"

"Thank you, ori’vod , for the story..."

"What was the lesson?" Tail asks.

Ah, I'm glad you asked! There are actually two: the first is that you should never accept anything from a stranger that seems too good to be true! But I guess it's too late for that, so let's move on to the second lesson: sometimes a cabbage has to take matters into its own hands, ask for help from someone else, hopefully some competent, medically trained cabbage, to split itself open and dig the evil farmer's fertilizer out. Otherwise, you may turn into a mad slaughterer cabbage, and the balance of the entire agricultural culture will be at stake.

"You're crazy," Peaches says, and means it.

"What is a cabbage?" Kit asks, still tearful. 

Another good question! Cabbage is a green plant, widely cultivated as a vegetable, and a popular ingredient in cooking. It is green and about the size of a humanoid's head.

"I would like to go play now..."

“You can go,” Peaches says, kissing both boys on their heads. They toddle away rather quickly, towards other vode sitting in the rec room. 

Thank you for participating in the program! If you know that any of your brothers didn't hear this bedtime story, please tell them about it! I really hope that the riddle and the story got you thinking. 

The last sentence is phrased in such a way that it feels as if it were directed at Peaches himself.

Karking hell, what has he gotten himself into...