Chapter 33: Lir Sey'les

Skor II

On an uncomfortable wooden bench, Sey'les sat in a hallway in the top floor of the Serwaldisher Zekslöytenkofkwart. Yet another long Serwaldish word the Bothan could not pronounce, one which probably meant something like 'Serwaldish Police Headquarters.'

The building was five stories tall, with a plain rectangular, brutalist, brick design that reminded her of the Varnek police headquarters—The building she had participated in a military assault on during her brief misadventure on Bothawui-9.

A flatscreen displayed some newsroom with a human and a Squib duo of anchors. She could not understand the language of their reporting, but it was painfully obvious what they were talking about. Grainy low light datapad footage showed a Morseerian vessel firing through the side of the ski lodge, repositioning and firing through the roof, then promptly flying away.

Fur twirling unhappily, Sey'les continued waiting. The Captain felt like she was back at the Judicial Academy, a cadet again, sitting outside the Commandant's office, waiting to grovel and plea her way out of being expelled or forced to repeat a course. Only this time, she had two injured friends, an injured enemy combatant, and had no way of knowing what would be happening to any of them. How will I ever explain this to Tarkin? I know. The virus… The one the Clone got infected by… That's what matters. That's what Tarkin should be worried about.

A human smell wafted into the hallway, accompanied by eerily familiar footsteps.

Sey'les turned her head, standing up from the bench.

"Captain, let's make you useful," Trajan said cheerily as he walked up the hall, Nebhir following closely behind him.

Sey'les scowled. "Make me useful? Don't I have to file a police report?"

"Oh, that's been taken care of," Trajan reassured. "Come."

"Taken care of? How's everyone doing?" Sey'les asked anxiously as she followed the duo towards the turbolift.

"Just fine for now. Even the Clone has improved. Everyone is doing just fine except the Shistavanen. He's been moved into intensive care."

"Sesh?!" Sey'les yipped in amazement. "That's great news. So, the Squibs developed a cure then?"

"Perhaps," Trajan shrugged nonchalantly as he stepped onto the turbolift "The study of biological squishy things is not my speciality. Now, we need to get you to Aftsünd Beach."

"A beach?!" Sey'les snarled incredulously, voice echoing off the durasteel walls. "Trajan, I want to see my team."

"And you shall, but for now you need to get in your fancy uniform and meet some so-called 'Sons and Daughters of Freedom' on the beach."

"They seem like interesting people," Nebhir noted in a dreamy voice.

"Wait…" Sey'les scowled, a snarl forming on the end of her snout. Sons and Daughters of Freedom… Those traitors! "What are those traitors doing here?"

"The Morseerians cited diplomatic immunity when the Squib Polyanarchy tried to place the pilot of the vessel that attacked that lodge under arrest," Trajan explained.

"Diplomatic immunity," Nebhir echoed, snarling in outrage as she folded her arms.

Sey'les scowled, not entirely sure where this story was going.

Trajan continued, this time providing much more relevant information. "The Morseerians evacuated their embassy in MetroBig City twenty minutes ago. We need to prepare for a full out assault, and the Sons and Daughters of Freedom are willing to help."

o.o.o.o.o

Perhaps unsurprisingly for a polar island surrounded by seawalls, Aftsünd Beach was unpleasant at the best of times. Forming a strip of bare ground between two towering sea walls, the beach was an uninhabited buffer zone that was allowed to flood when the outer storm wall failed. As per the system, the tall inner sea wall stopped any of the rising tides from flooding Prosstäd immediately behind it. Access was provided by small shielded gate at the base of the inner sea wall, which allowed pedestrians and boat-hauling vehicles through to the beach during the nicer seasons, and maintenance crews at all times of the year.

Beyond the shield gate, most of the terrain was covered in snow and ice, just like the rest of Serwald at this time of year. A hundred meters or so further out towards the ocean, slushy ice-covered water washed up onto the muddy beach, melting the snow to reveal the black ashy volcanic sand underneath.

In the dreary cloudy afternoon, Sey'les stood on this inhospitable terrain, bundled up in her green cold weather uniform, waterproof pants over her thermal leg-wear to prevent them from being soaked in water; thankfully, her semi-familiar thick green trench-coat and woolen beanie served her somewhat more ably here than they did on MGX-93776. Arrayed before her on the beach were dozens of old clunky ex-Judicial Nu-class transports, very much inferior to the current GAR models in most regards, and hundreds of beings.

Sniffing the painfully cold air curiously, she could smell a mixture of the ocean, human scents, Squib scents, as well a curious mix of many other mammalian species. The Sons and Daughters of Freedom really got recruiting, the Bothan thought to herself as she stepped onto the snow. No way reptilians could stand being deployed on this beach, she thought, imagining how Fojo would cope.

A familiar-smalling short sentient was showing a group of Squibs how to dual wield blaster pistols. That's so stupid, Sey'les thought as she approached the group. Squibs are tiny. They can barely hold one blaster.

Sey'les's suspicions were confirmed as she drew nearer to the group. Wearing a thick red coat and a pilot's cap with goggles, an Ardennian knelt in front of the Squibs, firing inaccurately at a group of durasteel humanoid targets while dual-wielding blaster pistols. That asshole… The Bothan's fur stood on end. While she knew it was a possibility that she would encounter this particular Ardennian—

"—RIO DURANT!" she yelped, biting the air furiously with each syllable. Her fur stood on end.

"Hold on, is that Lir Sey'les?" Rio exclaimed, lowering his blasters and turning to face the Bothan. "You're pink."

Sey'les locked her jaw, growling stiffly. "Surprised to see you here." Surprised to see a kriffing traitor showing his face in front of me.

"Yeah. Surprised to see you here, Captain." The Ardennian reached one of his unathletic lanky arms up, giving Sey'les a lazy and extremely sloppy salute.

Not sure how to respond, Sey'les saluted back crisply with an awkward grunt of annoyance, not saying a word.

Rio turned away from Sey'les, back to the row of targets. "All right, looky here," the Ardennian said loudly, once again assuming his very inefficient dual wielding pose.

Nine months before Sey'les's extraction team was massacred in the dark forests of Antar 4, Rio Durant and a group of Judicials stationed on Sluis Van defected from the Republic, abandoning their Jedi Master after a mission went similarly sideways.

Under the leadership of a Corellian Judicial Fleet Captain named Zozridor Slayke, Rio Durant and the other Judicials formed an anti-Separatist terror cell called the Sons and Daughters of Freedom, primarily attacking cargo ships flying under the flags of the Techno Union and Retail Caucus. As their loot became more and more profitable, a coalition of pirates joined their ranks, partaking in the plunder.

Once the cold war with the Separatists exploded into a hot war, the Galactic Republic ended up pardoning the entire organisation, hiring the Sons and Daughters of Freedom as mercenaries and officially sanctioned privateers.

The Sons and Daughters of Freedom, however, were not the ultimate reason why Sey'les's fur stood on end as she glared at Rio Durant on this cold mucky beach.

Eight years ago, Sey'les and Rio were both Cadets at the Judicial Academy, studying to become fighter pilots. One of the core required courses for the Judicials starting their piloting career track was flight computer programming. Up till that point, Sey'les had been performing in the top 15% of the class. Yet, as the weeks wore on, she found the programming tasks more difficult and time consuming.

Not wanting to spend seven hours fixing a hundred tedious error messages, or worse, failing the class, the Bothan cornered the lanky Ardennian after class. In exchange for, what she told herself, was a teensy tiny bit of help reprogramming the flight computer, she offered to use her snout to do very nice for him.

Completely aghast, Rio turned her in, telling the Commandant that she was offering favours for help with cheating on assignments. Fur flat in fear, Sey'les confessed to everything. She received an automatic F in flight computer programming and was banned from repeating it. She also lost her pilot's licence, lost her speeder license, and was nearly expelled.

Fortunately, she was allowed to transition into the Peacekeeping career pathway. A course full of absolute mouth-breathers, Sey'les had always thought. Within a year though, she was the top marksman in her entire class and, despite her very tarnished record, on the way to a career in Special Tactics.

In retrospect, Sey'les knew she was smart enough to have dealt with the computer programming problems herself if only she had been more patient. By the end of her studies, she was much more attentive to detail and not quite as incapable of dealing with boredom.

Nothing saved Rio Durant's reputation to her, however. Everything the Ardennian had done as of late, betraying the Republic, then taking a pardon and agreeing to work for them, only solidified the Ardennian's position as an irreconcilable villain in her mind.

A no-good traitor who ratted me out. Couldn't play the clean strait-laced un-corrupt game, became a pirate, then couldn't do that either. Now look at him! He's… He's… He is awful at shooting. This is just painful to watch. "Ugh!" Sey'les yelped angrily, stepping up to the Ardenian.

"What are you doing?" Rio hissed, lowering his blasters.

With a snarl, Sey'les grabbed the blaster in Ardennian's left upper arm, then handed it to his right lower arm.

"What are you—Oh."

Manipulating Rio's arms, Sey'les pulled his upper and lower right arms together. "Look," she grunted. "You can aim down the sights now."

"Huh," Rio said. His mouth was in a surprised o-shape as he held both of his right hands near each other. Tilting his head to the right, the Ardennian could now dual-wield while using his blaster pistol's sights. He sqeezed the trigger, sending a series of more accurate shots at the durasteel targets. Eight out of ten hit.

"There," Sey'les sighed. "If you're gonna shoot, at least hit stuff."

"How did you know how to do that?!" Rio asked in shock, staring at the Bothan as if expecting her to suddenly sprout two new arms. "And this isn't going to help the Squibs dual-wield! They only have two arms!"

"Are you kriffing kidding me?" Sey'les snarled. "Squibs dual-wield? They can hardly hold one blaster pistol," she grunted, looking back at the crowd of Squibs. A blue one's wide round eyes were tearing up. "GROW THE KRIFF UP! YOU ARE ALL TINY! IT'S A KRIFFING FACT!"

"Sey'les!" Rio whispered harshly, pulling her away from the Squibs by the shoulders. "They're just civilians. We are trying to get them ready to defend themselves. Skor II doesn't have a standing army."

"Yeah?" the Bothan snorted. "And you expect them to need to learn how to dual wield?"

The Ardennian paused for a moment, blinking thoughtfully. "You didn't answer my other question."

With a smirk, Sey'les looked at Rio, telling him with a hint of pride, "my fiancée is Ardennian."

Rio stared at Sey'les for a moment, holding his tongue between his teeth thoughtfully. "Doesn't surprise me. He dual-wields though?"

Sey'les stood there, frozen for a moment in nervousness, fur swirling with embarrassment. He's kind of on my team.

The wind picked up, blowing snow off the sand. A shiver of cold went down Sey'les's spine. You know what? I don't have to explain myself to this traitorous asshole. "Yeah," she growled, flashing her teeth. "And he shoots a lot better than a traitor like you!"

"Traitor?!" Rio yelled indignantly, promptly regaining his cool and switching to his usual sarcastic scoff. "Doesn't traitor imply I was fighting for the other side? Freedom's Sons has been fighting Separatists since Sluis Van. We couldn't stand to see the Republic sit by and do nothing, while you were kriffing about—"

"—Kriffing about?!" Sey'les snarled, fur standing in anger. "I lost three people on Antar 4. Then in the first month of the war, entire teams of people I knew were blown away. Almost everyone who survived Antar got killed. The whole thing… I am just crawling from subterfuge-filled fiasco to another, wondering if I am going to stop being the lucky survivor. I lost my kriffing kidneys, had—"

"—I didn't mean it like that," Rio interrupted with a sigh. "Sorry. It sounds like you've been busy. Really weird time to get engaged though. Congratulations."

Sey'les had her snout scrunched in a snarl. She was ready to respond with another angry bout of curses. Yet, her fur relaxed, anger subsiding as quickly as it had emerged. "Thanks," she growled, giving Rio a sad smile. Congratulations? I didn't expect that.

"Is everything all right?" a grizzled-looking human asked. Scar around his left eye, he was pale with dark red hair and dense five o'clock shadow. He had a Captains rank on his tan and orange bomber jacket.

"Yes sir," Rio said. "This is Captain Sey'les."

"Captain Slayke," the human grunted, extending, stooping as he extended a hand to the Bothan.

"The Zozridor Slayke?" Sey'les growled cautiously, ears folding back slightly as she took his hand.

"Yep, the Zozridor Slayke. Are you the Lir Sey'les?" Slayke asked, turning to Rio Durant who nodded. "Huh," he grunted.

Sey'les scowled, imagining Rio Durant telling the whole Galaxy about her. He probably embellished the story too. Made it a lot more dramatic like tons of men do. Hell, maybe he even told the crew that we actually did something. Maybe the dweeby Ardennian even made up losing his virginity to me.

Distracted by meeting the founder of the Sons and Daughters of Freedom, with the wind blowing smells up from the ocean, Sey'les did not notice two newcomers walk up onto the beach behind her.

"Hey Sey'les," Wulf said, then groaned in pain.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Itoll said formally. "Good afternoon—"

"—Rio Durant and Zozridor Slayke," the red-haired human said, taking Itoll's hand. "I take it you're also with the Republic."

"Uh, yeah," Itoll growled, suddenly looking very self-conscious as his jet-black fur rippled with embarrassment. While Sey'les was in uniform, he was wearing snow pants, a coat, and a scarf. "Didn't know we'd be… Sorry, Sey'les."

"You're fine," Sey'les grunted. That's the least of my worries, she thought as she looked nervously to Wulf and Rio Durant. What if they talk? Don't be stupid, she snarled at herself in frustration. I don't think Wulf would care what I did or didn't do eight kriffing years ago. Anyways, he's no prude.

Even standing with a pained posture from his broken rib, and his muscles hidden under a thick snow-coat, Wulf somehow looked far more confident formidable than Rio Durant, at least standing side by side.

"So, uh, Sey'les. What's going on?" Wulf asked.

"Just training some Squibs," Sey'les shrugged. "Can you… Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah," Wulf groaned, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It only hurts when I breathe."

"Training Squibs," Itoll growled stiffly. "All right Squibs!" he yelled, facing the multi-coloured group of diminutive sentients. "I am now going to show you how to use the latrines out in the field." He jokingly unbuttoned the top button of his snow pants.

The nearest Squibs shrieked, squeaking in terror and disgust.

Sey'les yipped with laughter, almost doubling over. Wulf laughed weakly, then groaned in agony, gasping for breath.

"Just kidding!" Itoll gasped. "Blast, it was only a joke. I didn't think you'd take it that seriously!"