The Zygerrian queen is there when he wakes up. Rex isn't surprised even though he probably should be. She's waiting there in the doorway, gold eyes narrowed in dangerous amusement as he blinks the haze of unconsciousness from his mind. The expression sends a shiver up his spine. He'd done his research on her before they'd left for this mission, and he knows what she's capable of. She's dangerous, a predator in her own right, with claws and teeth that cover both physical and metaphorical categories. What is she doing here?

He pushes himself slowly to a sitting position, clenching his fingers in the soft mattress beneath him—that she put him in, no doubt. The springy material is so pliant that his body sinks into it and he has to fight for balance. For a few seconds he's certain he looks undignified, but that hardly matters—he's far more concerned with why he's here, and where the Jedi are.

The last thing he remembers is fighting against Zygerrian guards at the slave auction. He'd been knocked from his position on the first floor to the ground level, and then… and then there'd been a flash of orange light and an electric shock so strong he'd blacked out. An electro-whip, he realizes now. It had happened too fast to process before. His stolen Zygerrian armor has been stripped away, leaving only a simple brown tunic behind.

The Queen has not moved from her spot by the door, has not yet said a single word. She's still watching him, so he glares back with all the force he can muster. It is only then that she tilts her head, lips curling in a smile that reveals sharp canines.

"Such anger. But then, they are all like that, in the beginning."

Rex's glare intensifies almost involuntarily. He knows what she's talking about, and he also knows she's attempting to get a rise out of him. He keeps his mouth shut as he swings his legs to the floor. His mind is racing. The queen is unarmed, even though he's probably capable of overpowering her. The fact that she's in here alone, without a guard or some other method of controlling him, means that she has something else. His heart sinks as he makes the connection. There's only one thing she could have that is enough to keep him docile.

"You and your Republic friends ruined my auction," she tells him conversationally as he gathers his thoughts. He keeps his eyes on her warily, but she does nothing more than inspect her nails. "It was foolish of you. We were more than prepared for such inconveniences."

Does she really expect him to respond? Rex ignores her and begins to scan the room, taking stock of where he is. There is a balcony outside a set of double doors to his left. He's high up, then, likely in the palace. There is a decorative vase on the dresser on his other side that he could throw if necessary. The curtains, too, could be useful if he needs to defend himself—

"Tell me, clone. What should I do with your Jedi friends?"

Rex's head snaps back to her, and she smirks at the reaction.

"I was thinking, perhaps I should gift the girl to my subordinates. She is a fine prize. Kenobi is much more dangerous. He will have to be reconditioned before he is of any use to me."

Rage is boiling beneath his skin and his fists are clenched, but he still can't help but flinch at the word 'recondition'. He grits his teeth so hard that his jaw starts to ache as she continues.

"As for Skywalker… he is more valuable to me than any of the others. He will be mine, without question. Imagine what my political opponents will think when I arrive to the next council with a Jedi as my personal bodyguard."

Rex can't help it—he snorts out loud at that. If she thinks General Skywalker is going to submit to her control like some sort of lapdog, she's got another thing coming. The queen tilts her head.

"Oh? Do you find that amusing?"

Rex isn't going to humor her. Instead, he narrows his eyes and asks, "Why are you here?"

There's no reason for her to be gracing him with her presence. She has the Jedi, who are much more entertaining than Rex could ever be. If she wants information, she's not going to get it from him.

"I am curious about you, clone," she says. That can't be good. "You are the only one they brought with them, and that makes you special. I admit, I was surprised to learn they had brought a clone along at all."

Rex keeps his mouth shut and turns away from her again. Force, what does she want? Is she just here to taunt him, wave the fact that he can't do anything to her in his face?

She waits for a moment to see if he'll speak before she changes tracks, shifting her weight and tapping her fingers against the wall. "What should I do with you?"

Rex doesn't answer.

"I could send you with Kenobi to one of our processing facilities. Or…" she trails of pensively, and it's all a show, he knows it is, "I could just kill you."

He doesn't react, doesn't move, doesn't let her see his uncertainty. She needs leverage against General Skywalker to keep him here, after all… but, he realizes with a jolt of horror, she doesn't need Rex for that. She has Commander Tano and General Kenobi. It won't matter if she kills him. If anything, it would ensure General Skywalker's cooperation, to see that she is serious about the safety of his friends.

The queen notices the tension creeping into his body. Her eyes practically glow in satisfaction. He's not surprised when she keeps going, worming her way into the cracks of his psychological armor.

"I could always keep you here, as a third option," she muses. "It isn't as if it would be any different for you, would it? A simple transition in ownership, that's all."

Rex's stomach drops abruptly. He'd known this might come up, but it's different to hear it in the queen's drawling voice. A protest is on his lips, the same protest he and his brothers use half-heartedly whenever this hushed conversation happens in the corner of the barracks. It isn't like that, it's not, we aren't their servants—even though they all know the truth. He bites the words back. They would only encourage her.

"Hmm. I grow impatient with your silence."

That's not good. Who knows what impatience will drive her to.

"What do you want me to say?" he says quietly, bitterly. She arches a single perfect eyebrow.

"Perhaps a word of defense, or a scathing insult?" she suggests slyly. "Where has your anger from earlier disappeared to?"

Rex doesn't have any words of defense. He has plenty of insults, but those he manages to keep locked away. As satisfying as it would be, they won't help him. When he goes silent again, she lets out a soft laugh.

"No defense, then. Fascinating. The slave knows his place."

This, finally, is too much. He shoots to his feet with a snarl on his lips. Implications are one thing, but saying it is another, and the lie he and his brothers tell each other shatters as easily as splintering glass. It had been so very fragile to begin with, after all.

He actually takes several steps towards her before he remembers the full gravity of this situation. He can't attack her. Who knows what she'll do to the Jedi if he does. She hadn't even flinched when he'd moved. She knows that he is bound by his loyalty, more effectively than chains could ever accomplish.

"So you do know what they really think of you," she says. She's watching his face carefully, analyzing every single twitch of his expression. "And you truly cannot come up with a justification for your owners. Either that, or you are unwilling to." She laughs again. "The Republic condemns my nation for the very thing they submit their own armies to. Does their hypocrisy know no bounds?" She looks delighted by this. Rex clenches his fists again, fingernails cutting little crescent shapes into his palms.

"Are you just going to mock me, or is there some other reason why you're still here?" he grits out. It's a mistake, and he realizes that the moment the words are out of his mouth. Her eyes narrow, and that smug smile disappears.

"Careful, skug," she says dangerously. She takes a few steps forwards. Rex forces himself not to back up as she stalks closer. "You wouldn't want to anger me. I will not tolerate such disrespect towards me in my own palace." She stops right in front of him. The queen is tall, nearly equal to him in height, and it's easy for her to look him dead in the eyes. He stares back, refusing to break his gaze away first.

"Mmm. You are different," she says after a moment, and draws back a little (not much, but a little). "You are one of Skywalker's."

Rex lets out an uneasy breath. "What makes you say that?"

She smiles. "You are… like him. Headstrong. Determined. But you are only a man. It does not help you as it helps him."

Rex frowns, but she waves a hand before he can spend too much time wondering what the kriff she's talking about.

"He is a Jedi. His recklessness only aids him. It is endearing, seen as a useful trait in battle. In you, it is a curse. The same traits he is hailed for would kill you if you acted upon them. You cannot protect yourself, carry yourself as he can. It is like comparing a mere mortal to a god."

Rex has seen General Skywalker bruised and hurt and coughing out desperate orders through mouthfuls of blood. He's watched over his General while the man was unconscious, barely clinging to life, fighting against a fever that kept him delirious for days. General Skywalker is just as mortal as anyone else. The queen doesn't seem to understand this, though, and Rex sees no reason to point it out to her. If she wants to waste time being poetic, he's not going to stop her… though there is a strange, almost obsessive look on her face as she talks about the Jedi that's rubbing Rex the wrong way.

He still doesn't know what she wants.

She spends a few moments wistfully staring off into space. Rex really doesn't want to know what she's thinking about. Eventually, she turns her attention back to him.

"Tell me your name," she says suddenly. Rex scowls at her. She doesn't need to know that.

"Ah, the anger returns. But it won't save you. Your name, clone. Give it to me." This time it's a demand. Rex considers denying her further and then thinks of Commander Tano, of General Kenobi.

"Rex," he forces out, hating himself for it. The queen tilts her head.

"Is it?" Her voice is soft, patronizing, even. "Are you certain?"

Oh no. Rex knows what she wants, and he won't give this to her. He turns his head to the side in defiance.

"Clone. Tell me your name."

"It's Rex," he snarls again. She won't take this. No one will ever take this from him again.

The queen sighs.

"You cling to your delusions so determinedly," she cooes. She's coming closer again, and this time he does back up, on the defensive. "Foolishly. Blindly. You know what you are. Why deceive yourself?"

"No," he growls at her, but his heart is beating faster and faster, because she's right. Force, she's right and he hates it more than he's hated anything else before. "No, I have a name. It's mine. I'm Rex."

"Lies," she says gently. It's a false gentleness, like a flower that bristles with thorns. "You would feel better without the facade. "

"I don't think so," Rex counters a bit desperately, taking another step backwards. His shoulder blades hit the wall. "I was created under the facade, I might as well keep it."

Another mistake. Her smile widens, sharp teeth glinting in the light. It is a vicious expression suddenly, a far cry from the false sympathy she's been wielding like a spear. She steps even closer. There's nowhere for him to go at this point, so when she reaches up to curl her fingers around his jaw with a punishing grip he can't move away.

"You won't strike me," she says thoughtfully. She glances down at where his fists tremble, pressed tightly against the wall. The temptation to attack is strong, but she's right, he won't hit her. "You can't, because I have your precious generals at my mercy. How far could I push before you betray them?"

Rex clenches his jaw. She must feel it underneath her fingers, because her grip tightens. Sharp nails dig into his skin. He hisses at the pinpricks of pain as her expression darkens once more.

"I have entertained you long enough, clone," she snaps. "You intrigue me, but I am quickly growing bored of your defiance. Break."

Rex exhales harshly. "The Republic will never allow you to—"

She snarls and yanks his head up, exposing his throat. He closes his mouth immediately and stares up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to flinch as she traces his jugular with the claws of her other hand.

"Break, or your Jedi starve for the next three days," she tells him harshly. An ultimatum. "Tell me who you are."

She has him. He doesn't want to say it. The syllables stick in his throat, but he manages to choke them out in little more than a whisper because the Jedi's well-being is dependant on him.

"CT-7567," he rasps quietly. The numbers taste sour on his tongue. He remembers a much deeper voice, thrumming with dark intent and fury and hatred. CT-7567, are you reading me? I asked you a question, CT-7567.

"Mmm." She doesn't release her grip, but it does lighten just a little. Her fingers stroke over his throat softly, like a caress now instead of a threat. "Was that so difficult?"

He doesn't answer her. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to care this time. Instead, she tilts his head to the side, inspecting him with what he knows is a practiced eye. He lets her move him without resistance. He's already lost, struggling against her further would be pointless.

"CT… 7567, was it? Good. Very good. See, clone? You were made for this," she purrs. "The Republic does everything they can to try and distract themselves from the truth, but you and your brothers know better, don't you." She finally lets him go and takes a step back. He doesn't move, though, except to close his eyes in silent defeat.

"You are a slave," she tells him triumphantly. "You know that you are a slave. You must follow orders without question, and you are identified by a simple number. Why resist the very thing you were created for? Does it truly matter who you serve?"

For an instant, his rebellion returns. His eyes snap open.

"I serve General Skywalker," he tells her determinedly. "I am loyal to him, no matter what."

She isn't swayed by his words at all. On the contrary, her expression turns smug.

"Yes," she says. "I'm counting on that."

Rex keeps playing right into her hands. He's off balance, unable to come up with a good response. His brain is still spiralling, struggling to comprehend her blatant words on the subject that has been practically taboo his entire life until now. He stares at her partial shock, meeting her victorious gaze without really thinking about it. She clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"My slaves do not look me in the eyes, skug," she tells him. "Eyes down. Slaves who cannot keep their gazes where they are supposed to lose the right to see completely."

His fists are still trembling, and every breath drags painfully against his lungs. He drops his gaze as instructed, though, because what else can he do? She'd won a long time ago. He never had a chance. He is a slave to the Republic, and the only difference between that and what her empire is built on is that she actually uses the correct word to describe her slaves.

"Good," she says again. He lifts his gaze just enough to watch as she turns and begins to walk towards the door. "Now, follow."

When he hesitates, the queen makes a sharp, impatient gesture.

"Come, clone. We have another guest to greet." He blinks, finally moving to obey. Who is this other guest? One of the Jedi? Hope swells within him that he can't quite suppress. As if sensing it, she whirls on him again when he gets close, tilting her head to look down on him. He barely remembers to drop his gaze in time. He doesn't think she's kidding about the eye thing.

"You will not talk to our guest, or attempt to interact with them at all," she instructs softly. There is a note of cruel glee in her voice now. "You will only move if I tell you to, and unless I instruct otherwise you will stand at attention, staring at the wall. Do you understand me?"

He wants to shout in frustration. He's going to have to obey. Some fraction of that thought must show on his face, because her expression turns satisfied again.

"Well?"

"Yes," he grits out.

"Yes, what?"

Curse her. "Yes, sir."

The amused smile is back. "Not quite. Try again."

He doesn't want to play this stupid game. He's tired, and sick of the psychological torture. He takes a deep breath, clinging to the last dregs of his patience.

"Yes… ma'am." When her expression doesn't change, he sighs inwardly. "Yes, my Queen," he amends. She nods.

"For some reason, 7567, I am not worried about you misbehaving," she murmurs. "Would all of your brothers be this obedient?"

Rex thinks of Torrent Company under this witch's control, pictures Fives and Jesse and Kix battling against her will until she discovers that hurting the others for one's misbehavior is ten times more effective than hurting the transgressor. He pictures Tup struggling pitifully against heavy chains, eyes wide and hands trembling as he tries to maintain his composure—kriff, he's so young. The new ones all are, and they wouldn't be able to fight her off even if she didn't have Jedi to use as leverage.

She laughs suddenly, tearing him out of his thoughts.

"I thought so," she says, even though he hasn't said anything. She opens the door. "I've wasted enough time with you, clone. Let's go."

Rex can do nothing but follow. He has no choice but to obey.

She's right, though. It's a familiar feeling, following her mindlessly down the hallway, and that only makes him feel worse. Nothing has changed.

He is still a slave, and he will still be a slave once they escape.

This is, as she'd said, merely a simple transition in ownership.

A/N: This could be continued someday, who knows.

I worked on this instead of Dominoes and I feel a little guilty about it but I'm pleased with how this turned out so oh well.