Chapter 29: Asir Kroy'lya

Aboard the Fensk, in Hyperspace

With Vasa and her obnoxious team of incompetents out of the way, Asir finally had some breathing room. Even better, Fen was back.

Surprisingly to Asir, Arakh had been previously unaware that he was in an open relationship with her, and that Fen was not an ex, but also someone who was equally special to her.

Asir had scowled at Arakh's confusion. I told him about the grave attachment dangers of entering into permanent relationships, and how it must be done wisely lest it lead to the darkside… And how romantic relationships can be separate from that, she had thought to herself. Maybe it just didn't sink into his thick Defel skull.

At the bench seat of the dining room lounge table, Asir was now seated between Fen and Arakh. A flimsiplast copy of an Extradition Order was in front of her. But Asir, Fen, and Arakh were talking about everything but their mission.

Bafflingly, Arakh had decided now was the best time to mention every being he wished he had ever slept with. "...And that Umbaran..." the Defel growled thoughtfully. "At Palaptine's retreat. She looked really hot when I saw her."

"Sly Moore?" Fen snorted, wrapping his arm around Asir's shoulder. "Wow."

"Yeah," Arakh nodded, blinking his beady red eyes. "I definitely wish I had asked her if she liked me."

"You were invisible," Asir muttered boredly, taking a sip of caf. She paused for a moment, and began speaking again upon setting her cup down. "If Sly Moore knew you were there, she would have told the Clones. Then you might have been shot."

"Oh, I know," Arakh growled, "but I am just saying I wish I could have asked her out, you know? Now that I know it wouldn't be cheating, I would have totally taken Sly Moore out on a date."

Fen groaned, wincing in disgusted anguish.

"Also… More realistically, the Princess."

"Which princess?" Asir asked, but she knew the answer. Her fur swirled with jealousy.

"Kuril," Arakh yipped excitedly. "Actually, I've already gotten past the getting-to-know-you phase with the princess. She kissed me—really hard… It was like… Scary shark face, but I didn't tell you that… Vasa Ro'val was there."

"You're fine," Asir grunted angrily, stirring her now half-empty cup of caf with her spoon.

"When we return her shoes to Manaan, Kuril and I are gonna have something special," Arakh growled firmly. To the Defel, it seemed to be a fact of the universe. A law of physics like gravity.

Fen roared with laughter, yipping as he punched the surface of the dining table with a closed fist.

Something special all right… Asir blinked in disbelief. "Honey, we are absolutely not returning Kuril's shoes. The idea was for the Princess to forget we ever existed. She was also really spiced up, and I am not certain she would like you as much or remember you—"

"—Oh I am sure she remembers me," Arakh insisted, shaking his head firmly in disagreement. "Also, you weren't there at Trajan's house. Kuril is a party animal. Spiced up is probably just a normal Benduday for her."

"Arakh," Asir corrected in a somewhat cross tone, "that was Dima Habari's house not Trajan's house. You need to read the briefings… Whether or not you plan on getting intimate with anyone."

"I did," Arakh explained. "It's just confusing sometimes… And I don't think the owner of the house is that important." He paused for a moment, then added in a sad croak, "everyone died."

"I understand," Asir said consolingly, putting a hand over his. She smiled, sensing that Arakh felt a very small amount of empathy for the fallen. He's coming a long way. I can almost sense the light side in him.

Fen frowned in disbelief, shaking his head. "You know, if you want to get laid, pro tip: don't talk about everyone you wish you had kriffed to Asir."

"I am not!" Arakh snarled, baring his teeth as he glared into Fen's eyes. "I am just bringing Asir up to speed about my goals!"

"Your goals!?" Fen snarled back. "You sound like a fifteen year old!"

Asir chugged the remaining half of the caf in her cup, then sighed. "Boys, stop fighting. We have gotten a bit off track here… So… Linay Los'ean. She has a 98% match in proportions with Nif Far'lis, Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs."

Fen and Arakh looked down on the table as Asir spread the flimsiplast diagrams of Linay's body out, in comparison to Nif Far'lis—Bodzho Se'lab's Undersecretary. The images were arranged on a grid with arrows pointing to her eyes, angles and vector lines plotted along her ears, snout, chin, neckline.

Grum Bodzho Se'lab both represented Clan Alab in the Combined Clans and served as the Foreign Minister of Bothawui, overseeing the Diplomatic Corps. Incidentally, he was also Senator Polo Se'lab's brother.

"So…" Fen said slowly, "I am guessing Lir Sey'les's extradition request is not legit."

"Nope," Asir sighed. It's a pity our friend on Leritor had to resort to these means. "Bodzho Se'lab is a bit a of a klutz," she added, "he stamps his signature because his handwriting is so sloppy."

"Why does his sloppy handwriting matter?" Arakh asked. His ears perked straight up as he picked up the extradition request, signed—no stamped with the Foreign Minister's signature.

"He just… Well, I don't know," Asir admitted. Why would anyone stamp their signature when it can be so easily copied that way?

"But it's good for us," Fen muttered, sounding more than a bit unsure as to whether it actually was good.

Definitely not good for Sey'les, Asir thought, fur swirling with guilt.

o.o.o.o.o

"Cargo ship Givor, you are cleared to land. Proceed to Adanso Spaceport, outer tarmac," a Clone voice said from the subspace radio.

"Thank you," Asir replied politely, terminating the call.

"What do you do if they say 'no' when you are asking for permission to land?" Fen asked with a smirk, sitting in Arakh's co-pilot seat.

Asir frowned. "You are in an awfully good mood for being tasked with eliminating a colleague you worked with for what? A year?" Sometimes Fen's personality is just too much.

"I hope it won't come to that," Fen sighed.

"Eliminating Sey'les when you tried to do exactly the same thing," Asir continued angrily. "Vasa no doubt told our friend on Leritor that you tried telling Jazal—"

"—You seemed just fine with taking on this mission before," Fen growled incredulously. "And that was different."

"HOW WAS THAT DIFFERENT?" Asir yelped, banging her fist on an empty part of the control panel. "And maybe I am actually not okay with this, and it is driving my kriffing crazy that you are!"

"As I said," Fen repeated. "I hope it won't come to that. Maybe no one has to die..."

"Reaper team has been completely decimated," Asir growled. "We both know our friend on Leritor will be looking for anyone to lash out at. Sey'les doesn't stand a kriffing chance once she's in our custody."

"Huh," Fen growled thoughtfully, mulling something over.

"Huh? Huh what?!" Asir demanded, spinning in her chair.

"Traffic control to cargo ship Givor, you are coming in a bit fast," the same Clone voice spoke from the radio, now sounding worried.

Asir's fur swirled nervously as he fired the reverse thrusters, slowing the descent. From somewhere downstairs, Arakh yelped. Metal clanging noises banged around.

"Sorry about that," Asir gasped into the ship's intercom. "We are decelerating."

"I noticed," Arakh's voice snarled angrily.

"Uh Asir," Fen growled nervously, pointing out the cockpit window. "I thought we were just picking up Linay Los'ean."

Asir quickly looked up out the window. All around the landing pad were the shattered remnants of droids and wrecked Separatist vehicles. Destroyed during one of the invasion attempts of Manda.

Standing in front of a tall pile of battle droids were not one but two Bothans. Linay was there, as expected, in all her clownlike orange-furred glory. A more typically furred Bothan male stood next to her, holding her hand.

"Korsk," Asir snarled under her breath.

"Who's that?" Fen asked.

"Linay's husband," Asir muttered. Kriff it.

o.o.o.o.o

The ramp descended onto the tarmac. Asir, Fen, and Arakh stood at the top, staring down at the duffel bag-holding pair below. Asir had worked with both of them before—Both individually and as a pair. She much preferred Korsk or Linay on their own.

Asir's fur bristled with frustration that no amount of meditation could relax. "I expressly ordered Linay to this landing pad alone. Don't you think it best to hang around Manda, maybe distract Kelia a bit?"

"Who's Kelia?" Fen whispered.

Asir shushed him, not wanting to explain the fact Linay was in a Mandalorian-style polygamous marriage to both a particularly trusting Republic ship Captain and Korsk.

"Kel is plenty distracted," Korsk reassured. "Besides, I've already created a persona for myself and a cover story."

"He's got this covered," Linay yipped, tapping the flimsiplast cover of the envelope Korsk was holding.

Korsk scowled angrily at her.

Asir could just sense the drama already brewing. Long before they ever reach Coruscant, Korsk or Linay would probably get into some squabble over something very minor. Or worse, they might contribute to each other's corny jokes. It is going to be Naboo all over again. Not the worst thing possible, I suppose. Definitely not the worst part of this...

o.o.o.o.o

Six hours later, the astringent ammonia smell of fur dye filled the cabin, even with the Fensk's air filtration system working over time. Asir and Arakh sat at the table, watching Linay, who was now barely-clothed and standing on a series of plastic sheets. Fen paced around her, carrying a datapad, a satchel filled with hundreds of varieties of brown coloured dye, and wore a utility vest with pockets filled with scissors, buzz cutters, mascara, lipstick—everything a Bothan wanting to change their appearance could possibly need.

Fen Kar'fon had spent nearly ten of the last fifteen years as a deep cover operative—seven of those years without his essence transferred, but instead entirely depending on his ability to maintain disguises, appearances, and personas.

Korsk on the other hand, had none. The times the Spynet had he or Linay utilise consciousness transfer, was to put them into heavily-modified combat bodies (much like the one Fen was permanently in now).

For an awkward twenty minutes, Fen stood next to Linay, pacing around her, holding up various colour pallets and streaking samples on her fur. The trick was not only to match her fur colour with that of Nif Far'lis, but also to make sure the particular dye changed Linay's highly unusual orange fur to the correct colour.

The second Fen began rubbing dark brown fur dye into Linay's orange shoulders, Korsk yelped.

"Korsk!" Linay snarled. "What is your problem?"

"It's the totally wrong colour!" Korsk interjected.

Fen's blonde fur stood on end. He flashed his teeth, stepping so close to Korsk that he was at risk of stepping on Korsk's toes.

Arakh gasped, rippling into invisibility as he sat at the table.

"Boys—Fen get away from him!" Asir yelped, jumping to her feet. Her senses told her that this situation was going to escalate fast if she did not intervene.

"The colour will get lighter as she dries," Fen panted, turning to Asi. His chest heaved with each angry breath as he calmed down. "And even if I get it wrong the first time, we still have eighteen kriffing hours to fix it!"

Korsk winced, fur swirling with embarrassment.

Asir sighed in relief. "Okay. Fen? Korsk"

"Yes ma'am?" they both asked.

"Fen, I think you should view this as a teaching moment."

"A teaching moment, Major?" Fen asked incredulously

"Yes," Asir growled cautiously, thinking on her feet. She was making it up as she went along, but knew she had to completely reframe the situation for Fen to not have another outburst at Korsk. "Korsk and Linay will, no doubt," actually quite doubtful, "be assigned by the Spynet for deep cover ops after this."

"We will?!" Linay gasped.

Korsk began yelping, "Kelia is pregnant! I didn't sign up—"

"—QUIET!" Asir snarled. "Okay, well maybe they might be assigned longer term tasks that involve disguises. Fen, this is a teaching moment to get Korsk up to speed, not a time to get snarly."

"Oh…" Fen growled to himself, then gasped "oh! I copy that."

"Good," Asir smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Teach them."

Arakh rippled back into visibility, scowling at Fen.

Before Murkhana, Asir would have never worried Fen might just go ballistic and jeopardise the mission—perhaps even kill innocents. Now, she was not quite so sure.

o.o.o.o.o

With Fen and Arah playing nicely with Linay and Korsk, Asir had nothing to distract her from the guilt of their mission. They were giving the Republic a forged extradition request, collecting Lir Sey'les, and bringing her to Leritor. With Reaper's assassination attempt on Itoll Oc'skar, it was almost certain that the Spynet wanted Sey'les dead. Or at least, Leritor wants her dead.

Unable to bear it anymore, Asir called the one being she trusted for spiritual guidance. The human Jedi in charge of the Krant sect of the Church of the Force, Ras Andromias.

"Young Kroy'lya, what is bothering you?" asked Ras Andromias. The Jedi now appeared on her desk as a miniature holopresence.

"The more I think of our current path, bringing Sey'les to our friend on Leritor, the more it reeks of hypocrisy, evil, the Dark Side—"

"—But Lir Sey'les has betrayed us," Ras Andromias cautioned. "Wouldn't most star systems execute a being for such treachery?"

"She was just an asset," Asir sighed. "Sey'les was not a trained Spynet operative, nor does she understand the endgame."

Ras Andromias spoke now in a sorrowful voice, "I do not think you understand the endgame yourself. What would you have done unto Lir Sey'les as punishment for her treason?"

"She should be locked in prison," Asir insisted, fur twirling unhappily. She was growing increasingly disappointed with Master Andromias's responses. "Please Master, I beg of you, ask leniency from our friend on Leritor. And, if he doesn't grant it, I suggest this is yet another area where we cannot walk the same path he does. Where our friend on Leritor's goals align with ours we work with him for the Greater Good. Where they diverge, we do not enable his… His evil."

"Garmr simply sees light and dark differently from the Jedi," Ras Andromias said matter of factly, waving his hand dismissively. "The Dark Lord sees the Galaxy in shades of grey—a force with both a light and a dark."

Asir gulped, fur falling flat. She always found it startling when Ras Andromias referred to their friend on Leritor by his old Bothese name Garmr, his Caamasi Garmuros, or called him 'the Dark Lord.'

"But do not worry, young Kroy'lya, I will bring your concerns to the Dark Lord and ask for leniency."

"Th—Thank you, Master" Asir stammered, bowing to the holopresence on her desk.

Ras Andromias returned the bow, then flickered off, leaving Asir alone in her quarters.