Chapter 8: Lir Sey'les
Coruscant
The floor of D-114 was abuzz with activity. On the three viewscreens at the front of the room, were different angles of the fierce battle to retake Praesitlyn. Wearing headsets, Itoll and Sey'les listened intently for any words of Geonosian, amidst the cacophony of intercepted transmissions.
So far, it was nothing but Muun babbling mixed with robotic noises that made her ears feel raw. Every so often, her eyes would drift across the room towards the equipment storage room. At any moment, she expected Team Muun to be deployed.
Then her eyes shifted to Wulf, chattering animatedly with Dub, Dubs, Knot, and Grath. Dubs was pointing at something on his screen.
No, I can't pay attention to that right now, Sey'les thought bitterly, shifting her focus back to the sounds of battle.
"Admiral on deck!" Fojo yelled.
Sey'les leapt to her feet but found herself physically unable to stand straight. The rubber band-like cord of the headset still tightly around her head yanked her down, slamming her face down towards the keyboard in front of her. She whimpered in agony as her fleshy wet nose slammed into the v b and spacebar. A few voices snickered uncontrollably.
"Are you all right, Sey'les?" Tarkin demanded in an angry whisper.
Yanking her headset off, Sey'les stood up straight and yelled "YES ADMIRAL!" Her nose still throbbed. The skin behind her ears felt chaffed. Nothing critical.
"Good," Tarkin said dryly. "At ease everyone."
Sey'les rubbed her nose, fur twirling with unhappy embarrassment. She looked over at the equipment storage room, strategizing. I am going to have to get ready super fast to make up for this. I will be the first one on the LAAT to Praesitlyn.
"The toxicology report is in for Dima Habar," Tarkin said wryly. "He has taken a potent Merseerian drug and will be unable to assist the task force for the next three or four days."
At which point you will promote the bastard to kriffing Vice Admiral I suppose, Sey'les thought, fur standing on end in fury. Her gaze turned from Tarkin to Commander Wycombe, standing at his station, hands in his pockets.
The central viewscreen displaying the scene of battle turned off, going black for a few moments. When it rebooted, a giant image of Trajan Kran wearing sunglasses and a dark brown wide brimmed hat appeared.
"Commander Wycombe," Tarkin muttered, nodding to the dishevelled ex-cop. "Do you still think we need to wait to approach Trajan Kran after Dima is ready to help?"
"Uh, yes I do—Yes Admiral—Yes Governor!" Wycombe stammered, correcting himself. "Trajan Kran is big on connections. He doesn't like me very much, but he likes Dima. He could be very dangerous when surprised."
"Very well," Tarkin muttered.
Wycombe opened his mouth to say something but just coughed. His coughs grew more serious sounding as he hacked, huffed, and puffed.
I wonder how the hell he passed his physical, Sey'les wondered, remembering how many cigarras and deathsticks Wycombe smoked the day they met.
The far left viewscreen, next to the display of Trajan Kran's face, suddenly panned in on a Munificent-class cruiser. The engines flicked on with a fiery blue glow. Sey'les had difficulty taking her eyes of the screen as Tarkin walked towards the center of the room.
"Captain, Lieutenant, I want you to smell this," Tarkin said, brandishing a brown paper bag in front of the Bothans standing in front of their stations.
Sey'les looked away from the screen, fur still standing on end. She glared at Tarkin, narrowing her eyes.
"What is it, Governor?" Itoll growled nervously, nose twitching obediently as Tarkin opened the bag.
Sey'les reluctantly leaned forward, sniffing the open bag. It smelled human, but saltier than usual, with a hint of chalky talc and bourbon.
"Items of clothing that the SBI believes were worn a year ago, by Trajan Kran," Tarkin whispered conspiratorially.
"Sir, I have difficulty discriminating different human smells," Itoll admitted stiffly.
"I know," Tarkin reassured, "but I know for a fact it is possible for Bothans to discriminate human smells, even smell blood relations and ancestry if they are familiar enough with the subject."
"Respectfully, Governor," Sey'les growled sternly, holding her hands behind her back. "I feel this order is inappropriate."
An eerie smirk crossed Tarkin's face, infuriating Sey'les further. "Inappropriate or not, I want the two of you to breathe this smell. Live this smell. Become familiar with it. The SBI also believes that Trajan Kran has many body doubles. No retinal scan is on record. Your noses are the only means we have to be certain that…" the Admiral's voice grew fainter as he leaned in to the two Bothans. "That Commander Wycombe is being honest."
Sey'les looked across the room to Wycombe. Seated at a table by himself, he was now itching something on his wrist. As she turned back towards Tarkin, the far left viewscreen caught her eye again. The Munificent-cruiser was still in focus, flying towards the camera. It grew wider and wider, occupying more of the field of view until finally, it seemed to collide with the camera. The far-left screen now displayed nothing but static. The far-right viewscreen however, panned in on a Munificent-cruiser colliding with a Venator. Impacting the top of the Venator, the Munificent slid along the hull like a dull knife, eventually crashing into the bridge tower, which disappeared in a fiery explosion. Fire erupted from all of the upper decks and the Venator's engines sparked.
Situated directly between the static viewscreen, and the viewscreen displaying the deaths of 10,000 or more beings loyal to the Galactic Republic, was Trajan Kran's face.
"Captain?" Tarkin hissed in an angry whisper. "Are you with us?"
Spinning back towards the Admiral, her snout brushed the papery fabric of the open bag. An intense sweaty salty talc smell invaded her nostrils once again. "With all due respect," Sey'les snarled, recoiling from the bag, "with what is happening out there right now, I think this is a waste of Republic resources. A waste of my time. A waste of Itoll's time and a waste of all of our time! Beings are dying! We are looking for a two-bit spice dealer while—"
"—A waste of time?" Tarkin asked, one eyebrow raised.
Sey'les suddenly felt much less certain of herself. "Um… Yes Governor," she growled nervously.
Tarkin hissed angrily, venom in his voice. "While it may not appear that way to you, the situation on Praesitlyn is under control, forces are being redeployed from Centax 1 and soon, the Separatists will be surrounded. The Shadowfeeds are our top priority and getting to them would seem to require the help of one Trajan Kran. Lieutenant Itoll Oc, do you find this task to be a waste of time too?"
Itoll gulped, fur flat in fear. He looked nervously to Sey'les, then back to Tarkin. "No Governor, not a waste of time at all."
"Very good," Tarkin replied with a renewed smirk, passing Itoll the bag. Then he turned back to Sey'les. "Captain, since you think this task is so beneath you, you are dismissed."
"Dismissed?!" Sey'les gasped, then began stammering in shock. "But Governor—I am sorry, I did—"
"—You may pack your things and take the day off early," Tarkin interrupted. There was an unsettling calm and matter-of-factness in his voice.
Fur twirling unhappily, Sey'les looked down at the floor. "Yes, Governor."
o.o.o.o.o
Trajan Kran
Coruscant
Utilising a traffic lane designated for military craft, a pitch-black Nu-class transport descended into the Federal District, approaching the Republic Center for Military Operations.
"Trajan," a red-skinned male said in a thick slurry Twi'lek accent. "You don't have to do this alone. I can go with you."
"No Wizento," Trajan replied with a reluctant sigh. "You don't. In fact, you would only make things worse. We don't know who we are dealing with."
"We know enough," a tan tattooed Zabrak named Orek muttered, flashing a flimisplast photo of Tarkin and Wycombe. "We know Wycombe is working with them. They have Dima. They probably want to restart the Besh Files."
Adjusting his trenchcoat, Trajan sighed even more mournfully than before. "I know."
"You've done enough for the Republic," Wizento scoffed. "We all have done our part for king and country."
Trajan smirked in amusement at the irony, rubbing the bald spot at the top of his head. His assassins and bodyguards acted as if the profitable decade working with the Coruscant police to take down rival gangs had been volunteering—Charitable even. Sure, crimes were solved, the homicide rate went down, and Trajan saw to it that trafficking and spice dealing operations were more humane. But still, that was not charity.
"Trajan, you know I hate it when you smile like that. What's wrong."
"We have done our part," Trajan snorted to himself, "and we'll do it again if need be. Now, are all of my badges in order? Does my uniform—What am I doing wearing a suit?! My robes! Get me my robes!"
o.o.o.o.o
Lir Sey'les
Coruscant
The last time Sey'les had been extracted from Tarkin's command, it had felt like a relief. She was terrified after witnessing Buzz kill off Lurmen—Terrified after being forced to fight her own people, then threatened by the Spynet, viciously beaten by Spynet assets. MGX-93776 had further devastated her trust in the Galactic Republic. When she was finally brought back under Tarkin's command, along with the rest of Team Muun, she now did her work, day-in and day-out, not caring at all. Just enough to slide by without drawing Buzz or Tarkin's ire.
She no longer believed in the Galactic Republic, in the war—or perhaps had no longer believed in it. Things changed for her ten minutes ago. Watching that fleet of ships in combat with the Separatists, a Venator destroyed in a kamikaze attack, made her suddenly feel guilty about being safely on Coruscant. Safely positioned in a task force that now seemed to be thoroughly obsessed with finding a gangster named Trajan Kran.
No sooner than she suddenly felt a renewed sense of duty and patriotism, did her commanding officer suddenly dismiss her. The one leader in her life was displeased, not only out-casting her, but casting doubt on her position in the power pyramid that had been a certainty for most of her adult life. Sey'les was devastated.
Thoroughly manipulated by Wilhuff Tarkin, Sey'les staggered down the hall from D-114, tears in her eyes, fur twirling unhappily. She now wanted nothing more than to do his bidding. She wanted to just stick her snout in that paper bag and smell Trajan's talcey bourboney salty musk for hours, even days—Whatever would please Tarkin. Whatever would make Tarkin give her some certainty back.
He's going to demote me, she thought in horror. He asked Itoll. Itoll didn't think it was a waste of time. Holy shtak! He's going to be Captain and it won't be like when Ekos promoted Itoll. I'm going to be… I don't even know! What will I be?! Wulf's battle buddy?
"He only said go home for the day," Sey'les gasped, renewed hope in her voice. That means he's not going to kill me, or court martial me… But he still could demote me!
"Good afternoon ma'am," a Clone said nervously.
"Good afternoon," Sey'les sobbed, tears too thick in her eyes to possibly see his rank.
o.o.o.o.o
Trajan Kran
Coruscant
"Good afternoon, General!"
"Good afternoon to you too!" Trajan exclaimed in a posh Coruscanti accent. Now wearing a white tunic with brown over-robes, Trajan looked like a typical balding 61-year-old Jedi Master. "I have an appointment with a certain Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin."
At the gates to the Republic Center for Military Operations, a red armoured Clone took Trajan's military ID and scanned it. A green light glowed on the datapad attached to the scanner. Unsurprisingly, Trajan's forgery worked.
"Very well sir, have a good day!" the Clone said stiffly, giving Trajan a salute.
"I am unfamiliar with this installation, my good Clone. Where might I find my quarry?"
"Your quarry sir?"
Trajan clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth impatiently. Tsk tsk tsk. "I just told you, not ten seconds prior, that I have a meeting with Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin in room D-114. Where is that room?"
"My apologies General!" the Clone gasped. "Flash, you heard the General! Find D-114 and print out a map of the facility!"
"Yes Sergeant," the other Clone stammered from the other side of the guard post, quickly pressing buttons on the keyboard in front of him.
"Thank you, kind gentlemen," Trajan droned, leaning against the guard post's wall.
A minute later, the Clones passed Trajan back his military ID, along with a map outlining the layout to one of the Galactic Republic's most secretive facilities. A sloppy yellow highlighter mark ran through the map, pointing to the Naval Intelligence Building.
In the bright sunlight, one of the Galaxy's most notorious criminal masterminds walked through the Republic's most important military base, wearing Jedi robes. He walked past saluting officers in green, past columns of Clones in red and white armour, past tanks, surveillance droids, past the most sensitive and sophisticated technological infrastructure in the Galaxy. He continued on for five minutes, crossing a vast courtyard.
When he finally neared the Naval Intelligence Building however, Trajan stopped, frozen in fear and uncertainty. In the distance, a grey furry figure in a green uniform was approaching him, yelling curses and canine snarls. What the hell?
o.o.o.o.o
The blinding daylight shone off Sey'les's ashy grey fur as she stepped outside. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sniffled, looking around the expansive landing and drill zone in front of the Naval Intelligence Building. The last rain day was nearly two weeks ago, and the ground had a dirty ultraviolet shade to it. Blobs of darkness a Bothan could see in bright sunlight where beings and wildlife had spat, vomited, bled and defecated.
I can't even drink, she thought with a sigh, staring at a dry shadowy stain puddle in front of her. I can't even go to the cantina and get a drink because my kriffed up kidneys. Hell? Do I even care? Maybe I'll do it anyways. Maybe—
—Something was wrong. Sey'les's fur suddenly swirled with nervousness and apprehension. There was a very familiar talcy salty musky human smell in the air. One she was supposed to pay attention to and identify. Trajan Kran. Is the paper bag nearby? Is it perhaps Itoll or Tarkin? No… She gasped, fur flat in fear.
A figure in the distance was slowly but steadily approaching her position, wearing Jedi robes. His scent was growing stronger and stronger. As he walked nearer, she could see more of his facial features. He was bald and smiling, no Jedi face she recognised. In fact, his facial expression was positively smug and gleeful, not very Jedi-like at all.
She yelped in terror and amazement, then began running in his direction. "HOLY KRIFFING SHTAK! STOP HIM!"
A line of Clones stopped walking and looked with uncertainty and confusion towards Sey'les then to Trajan Kran.
Trajan continued walking towards the building, then stopped, gasping.
"FREEZE! TRAJAN KRAN! STOP!" Sey'les snarled, shrieking as he came into view. She licked the roof of her mouth, expecting her adrenal implants to kick on. Oh shtak. Those got removed.
Upon hearing his name, the robed figure spun around and sprinted back towards the gate.
Charging with nothing but her own natural strength and energy, Sey'les pounced on the much larger human, clawing at his robes. Trajan jerked his arm back roughly, elbowing Sey'les in the snout, right onto the bruised spot she had banged up earlier on the keyboard.
Ignoring it, Sey'les pushed with all her might, driving Trajan into the ground. His smell was now all over her and she was more certain than ever it was him.
"TRAJAN KRAN!" Sey'les snarled, fur now dancing with excitement as she sniffed the air furiously, bathing in his smell. Whatever this was, whatever was happening, would certainly outweigh Tarkin's earlier dismissal. "I AM PLACING YOU UNDER ARREST FOR TRESPASSING, ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION, ESPIONAGE, AND BEING A KRIFFING STINKY—"
—With a hasty jerk, Trajan's free arm dove into his robes, grabbing at a blaster that was in a holster at his hip.
"SHTAK! BLASTER! HE HAS A BLASTER!" Sey'les yelped to the sky, driving her knee onto his hip.
Trajan gasped in pain, holding his hands up in surrender.
A group of Coruscant Guard Clones approached the fighting pair, blasters drawn.
"What the hell is going on?!"
"It's Trajan Kran," Sey'les snarled, fur now standing up and twitching in impatient fury. "Trajan Kran is right here! You idiots let Trajan Kran on the base dressed like a Jedi!"
o.o.o.o.o
"Astounding," Tarkin gasped in awe, leaning towards the viewscreen. On the viewscreen, it was as if an invisible man were wearing an orange prison jumpsuit. The clothes were filled with some invisible human-shaped substance, but the sleeves, collar, and gap between the pant legs and ankle were invisible. The head was completely invisible.
Beyond the viewscreen however, in blastproof glass chamber, an anatomically normal bald human being sat in an orange jumpsuit, chained to a chair.
Sey'les's fur continued to dance with excitement. She was happier than when she had graduated from the Judicial Academy. Happier than when she had been promoted to team leader. She felt better than she ever had from being the center of attention at a party, better than she ever had from sex. Even better than eating a whole branch of Alderaanian grapes, while so drunk she could not stand. Sey'les felt like she had a million friends and could accomplish anything. All she could do was flash a toothy feral smile as the rest of the division analysed the situation.
"Yeah," Wycombe muttered. "I should have mentioned that. Trajan has a neat trick where he's invisible to surveillance cameras, droids, most satellites, everything really."
"You knew?!" Tarkin sputtered, face growing red in fury. He jabbed Wycombe in the center of the chest. "You knew Trajan Kran was invisible to surveillance technology, yet you didn't think to mention that?"
"Well, not totally invisible to surveillance. Infrared can pick up his heat signature and, as you can see, when he isn't wearing surveillance resistance clothes, his clothes pop up on camera. He also shows up in a photo that utilises chemical film products."
"I expect a report on all of Trajan Kran's physical abilities and modifications!" Tarkin spat. "If the report is fewer than ten pages, you will find yourself in that cell with Trajan. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir," Wycombe replied, then stood idly by.
"NOW!"
"Oh, uh, yes Governor," Wycombe replied, giving a very un-military-like bow. The automatic doors to the detention bloc hissed open then slammed shut once he was gone, leaving only Sey'les, Tarkin, and a team of Clone troopers behind.
Sey'les was now smiling so intensely that she had to squint to fit more smile on her face.
"So, he had a blaster?" Tarkin inquired.
"Yes Governor," Sey'les yipped excitedly, then she coughed, clearing her throat. "Yes Governor," she repeated as professionally as she could.
"What are your thoughts as to his motives?"
Sey'les looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. A security camera caught her attention. "At first I thought he was coming to assassinate you. Maybe though, he was just probing our security."
"Perhaps," Tarkin agreed. "By why come himself?"
"Huh," Sey'les muttered, scowling to herself. Why would Trajan Kran—the Trajan Kran—Come here himself? Doesn't he have people for that?
Tarkin leaned forward and pressed a two-way comm button. "Trajan Kran, I am Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin. You may call me 'Governor.' I want to know why it is you have breached this facility."
"Governor?" Trajan guffawed, laughing uncontrollably.
"You find this amusing?" Tarkin muttered, suddenly deep in thought.
"Yes poindexter," Trajan snorted.
Tarkin gasped audibly.
"Did I offend you Governor?" Trajan asked, jingling his chains. "If so—"
"No, you did not," Tarkin replied, a knowing smirk on his face. "I just realised why you came here, breaching Naval Intelligence with the express purpose of entering my office. To humiliate me."
Sey'les opened her snout in shock, imagining Trajan Kran dropping into D-114 right while his face was on the screen and an entire division of Analysts, Direct Action Operatives, and whatever it was Wycombe was, were debating whether or not to make contact. It would have been chaos. Blasters would have been drawn. Alarms would be sounding. Tarkin would have been humiliated.
"Huh. You're smarter than I imagined," Trajan muttered. "It took the Coruscant Police Commissioner three weeks to figure that out when I did this to him. Lucky for you, a snarling furball stopped me from bruising your ego."
"No," Tarkin corrected. "Lucky for you."