A Less Than Civil War

[Corell Leonis]

Twenty Years Ago - Corellia

"Kabel Asad?"

The young boy shifted a little uncomfortably at the mention of his name, poorly disguising a startled flinch. In the dim silence of the interview room his hearing had strained to grab snatches of the conversations going on in the hall outside, and the sudden noise caught him completely off-guard. The fact that the speaker had somehow entered the room without him knowing filled him with a sense of dread.

Oh stars, what have I done?
The man who had spoken paced slowly around the bare table that Kabel had been seated at for so long that his legs had gone numb. He said nothing; did nothing; he was just there, looming and menaving, all wrapped up in a uniform that was so clean and fresh that probably wasn't worn all that often. The boy knew in an instant that this man was a soldier; the grizzled lines and scars on his face, and the flecks of grey in his hair suggested that he had been one for a very long time.

"Y- yes?" the boy finally managed to force out, with considerably less confidence than he had hoped.

Finally, mercifully, the man sat down. The boy felt a wave of relief as the looming stopped; but he soon realised that the man was now close enough to fix him with a steely gaze. No one had restrained him, but even if they had it wouldn't matter: for much as he wanted to run away, Kabel was too petrified to move.

A frown crossed the soldier's features as his eyes glanced away for a moment, seeking out information on the datapad he'd set out in front of him. "How old are you, Mr Asad?"

It was a simple enough question, and Kabel was careful not to hesitate. "Seventeen, sir."

The soldier didn't look away from his notes. "Are you sure about that?"

Tightness gripped around the boy's throat. "Yes, sir. Seventeen, sir."

Leaning back in his chair, the soldier's arms folded across his chest. "That's a little strange," he mused, his eyes locked on to the boy's. "Because I remember driving your father to the hospital the day your mother squeezed you out, and I'm damn sure that was only fifteen years ago."

The sarlaac of dread in the pit of the boy's stomach lashed out with a tentacle that sucked all the moisture from the boy's throat. "I think you must have me, ah, mistaken for -"

The soldier lurched forward, his gaze boaring deep into the boy's soul. "Drop the act, kid. I know exactly who you are, so there's no use pretending."

A sigh escaped, and the soldier's hands laced together in front of them, propping up his forehead as he allowed silence to fall for a few moments. "What is this about? You're daddy's dead, so you're looking to go out there and get yourself killed?" He shook his head. "Join up with one of the swoop gangs in Coronet if that's what you want; don't try doing it in my army."

"It's not like that!" Corell shot back, surprising himself with his sudden burst of confidence. Better judgement reeled his tone back into something a little more meek. "This has nothing to do with my father. It's about -"

He trailed off, his eyes falling away, unable to hold the soldier's gaze any longer. "Everyone I know is going off to war, risking their lives for the greater good. All I want is to do the same: to do my part."

Something softened in the soldier, though years of practice at military command prevented him from letting it show too much. "This war isn't going to be over any time soon. And even if it is, the Republic will still need protecting. You'll get your chance to be a hero, kid."

"Yeah." Corell sank in his seat. "And in the meantime, everyone I know gets shipped home in a body bag."

The soldier was quiet for a very long time, and even if Corell had been looking at anything other than the floor he wouldn't have been able to read anything from his perfect pazaac face. Instead he wallowed, lamenting the foolish plan that had landed him in this mess. Even though they cost him his entire savings, he should have known that the fake IDs from that ekster wouldn't hold up against scrutiny - he was trying to fool the rodding Republic Army, for drokk's sake.

"Entering a military base under false pretenses at a time of war is a serious offense," the soldier explained, encouraging the sarlaac to a feast on Corell's insides.

"However -"

It wasn't a smile - not even close - but it was something. "- I do have a security dispatch here approving visitation rights to one Corell Leonis; apparently his father used to serve with the commander of Aurek Company." His frown returned for an instant. "Do you have any idea who that might be?"

Corell flashed him a sheepish look. "That would be me, sir."

"And you're absolutely sure of that?"

That even provoked a hint of a smile. "Yes, sir."

Corell hesitated for a moment. "I don't even know your name, sir."

"Rex," he soldier answered. "Captain Regulus Rex."

Something turned solomn as he regarded the boy sitting in front of him, practically a clone of the man he had served with so many years before. Some would have said it was a sign - maybe even the will of the Force, if they were one of those Jedi-loving skrag-brains - but Captain Rex didn't believe in all that droyk. There were other things he believed in however: and as far as he was concerned, things like honour, duty, and loyalty were far more powerful than the Force could ever be.

"Come on kid," he said, hauling himself from his seat. "I think I need to have a talk with your mother."

[Na'ir al Saif]

Delete please!

[Cor Leonis]

Present Day - Ord Mantell

The wind howled. It did that a lot, particularly out here in the barren backwaters of Ord Mantell; but at least it was only the wind making noise, and not mortar shells, artillery cannons, or whatever else the separatists and the Republic Army were throwing at each other. Elsewhere on the planet there were people being displaced from their homes, but out here in his rickety old farm house on Great Rock, Corell Leonis was too far from Worlport, or Avilatan, or anywhere else important for either side of the conflict to give a damn about it. With the conflict out of sight, out of earshot, and thoroughly out of mind, Leonis was permitted to enjoy his retirement in peace.

Most of the time.

A faint synthesised bleat fumbled it's way across the cabin from a dusty old console in the corner, a dim red light blinking intermittantly to signify the same thing. The array of crude sensor nodes that Leonis had strung up around his land had detected a breach; and while that usually meant that a savrip had blundered into his back yard again, the breach was far too short to have been caused by anything that slow and hulking. Either the offending object had been much smaller, or had been moving much faster.

Though his movements felt stiff and clunky, they were still practiced and efficient. A few paces carried him to a locked cabinet; a few swift motions opened the lock and haulled out the trusty rifle that he always kept there. It was no sporting blaster either; it bore the markings of military surplus, and bosted all manner of tweaks and customisations that meant that in the right hands, it could pack a fearsome punch.

Cor Leonis was the right hands.

He didn't bother with the front door. Like most civilian entrances it was too exposed, and so Leonis had long ago welded the thing shut. Instead he moved stiffly but swiftly through the kitchen, nudged a door control with his elbow, and descended into the basement. A clear path cut through the abandoned clutter, and a few moments later Leonis was out in the frigid air, climbing another flight of stairs to the cabin's more concealed entrance.

The grass was slick with moisture, but his Republic issue boots made short work of the slight incline. Within a few controlled breaths he emerged from around the corner of the cabin, and brought his rifle to bear.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he suddenly announced with a note of warning in his tone. "The doorbell is rigged to explode."

The house guest wasn't quite what he'd expected, but blonde and pretty didn't necessarily rule out dangerous; especially when the arc of cybernetics above her arched eyebrow struck chords in his memory.

"If you're intention is to ward off Separatists," she pointed out, her tone painfully formal save for the faint twang of a Coruscanti childhood in the background, "You may want to consider the fact that they are unlikely to knock first."

Muscles bunched along the line of Leonis' jaw. "You're right," he conceeded. "Seps are too smart to go pushing buttons. Which I guess means you're here from the Republic."

If his words had been an attempt to get a rise out of her, they sadly didn't succeed. "My name is Dana Citra," was all she said. "We served together -"

"I know who you are," Leonis cut her off, his blaster aim not deviating even slightly. To her credit, Citra didn't even seem phased. "Did the SIS send you?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly," she explained, careful of her choice of words. "I'm here at the request of General Garza."

She paused for a beat. "As is my partner."

A few inches from his right ear, Leonis heard the tell-tale whine of a blaster capacitor charging, ready to take a shot. Wrapped around the grip was the paw of a Cathar; a limb or so away, Cathar lips let out a few words laced with an instantly recognisable Cathar purr. "Your hospitality is a little lacking, LT."

Leonis didn't let his eyes or his focus move away from his original target. "long time no see, Ensign," he offered, though the edge in his words robbed the phrase of any friendly sentiment.

"Actually," the Cathar threw back. "It's Lieutenant now, too."

Leonis seemed to contemplate that thought for a moment. "Congratulations," he offered, and almost sounded sincere.

A second later, the Cathar was on the floor with Leonis' rifle aimed at his chest, and absolutely no clue how he got there.

The Cathar's hands rose up in surrender. "Easy now, sir," he called, in the most diplomatic tone he could muster.

"It's not sir," Leonis bit back, a snarl curling his lips. "And it's not Lieutenant, either. I retired, and I moved here: to the ass-end of the galaxy." His gaze rounded on Citra. "Why won't you people leave me alone?"

"I am sorry," the Cathar offered from the floor. "But we didn't have a choice."

Citra meanwhile remained matter-of-fact as always. "There has been an 'incident'," she explained, not giving much away: despite her change of career, she apparently hadn't unlearned all the suspicious and paranoid mannerisms from her time as a spook. "Perhaps it would be better if we discussed it inside."

After a long pause, Leonis let out a grunt. "Fine," he muttered, and without a word trudged off back to the basement.

[Dana Citra]

Warning! This post contains spoilers from the Ord Mantell arc of the Trooper storyline in SW:TOR!

Leonis had invited them to sit. Citra had declined, naturally.

The Lieutenant's aversion to their presense had not been unexpected: given the reason for their visit in fact, Citra had been prepared for an even less hospitable welcome. For now he seemed to have lapsed into grudging acceptance, and had even gone so far as to abandon his rifle - though not his sidearm, she noted - but Citra would not allow that to let her become complacent; nor would she provide the Lieutenant with a tactical advantage by trapping herself on his somewhat structurally unsound furniture.

Her partner was not nearly so cautious; though that did not surprise her either. Daneb Aleet had served under Lieutenant Leonis for several years, and as was to be expected with such relationships the Cathar trusted him implicitly. Before General Garza had even finished briefing them, Aleet had drawn his conclusions: and while they might still prove to be correct, Citra couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that he hadn't yet adopted her more professional approach to missions.

Leonis had also offered tea. Citra had actually accepted, though of course she had no intention of drinking it: it would be all too easy for the Lieutenant to have added an unadvertised ingredient or two to render his visitors unconscious, or worse. Her hindsighted partner was the exact opposite, and had even asked if there were any snacks to go with it. That had almost made her sigh, though she refused to give Aleet the satisfaction of knowing that his doubtless deliberate attempts at frustrating her were succeeding.

Finally, Leonis had come to join them; and like her, he chose to remain on his feet, leaning casually against the corner of one of the support beams holding up the roof. His arms were folded across his chest in a classic defensive posture, and just as Citra's cybernetically enhanced vision scanned the Lieutenant for concealed weapons and comms devices, his veteran's gaze scrutinized her intently. Though the civilian clothes and the ragged, unkempt hair had scuffed off some of the paragon gleam, there was still plenty of the soldier that Citra remembered lurking behind those eyes.

A satisfied grunt from Aleet interrupted their unspoken staring contest. "You always did make a good ryshcate, LT," he chimed in, brandishing the chunk of fruit cake that Leonis had presented him with. He frowned a little, cocking his head to the side. "Though it tastes like you tweaked the recipe a little. Trouble finding the right ingredients on Ord Mantell?"

The Lieutenant's reply was slow, reluctant. His eyes didn't deviate from their lock with Citra's. "I added a little nutrient powder," he eventually explained. "All the goodness of field rations; none of the flavour."

Aleet offered a mutter of approval. Silence fell again.

Citra waited for Leonis' resolve to waver, and for him to break the silence. He didn't. She caved.

"Are we the first visitors you've had?" she asked; though it was intended to sound casual, most questions that tumbled from her well-spoken lips sounded like an interrogation.

Leonis shrugged. "I came here to get away from everyone. Most people got the message." He frowned, ever so slightly. "What's this about?"

Glances passed between Citra and her partner. One said 'I told you so'; one said 'Don't jump to conclusions'; one implied something rude; one was an outright glare. Eventually Citra sighed, and bowed her head in resignation.

Aleet abandoned his cake. "A few weeks ago, Havoc Squad led a mass-defection of Special Forces personnel to the Empire. Their last mission was on Ord Mantell, and, well -"

"- Garza wants to know if I was in on it," Leonis cut in, drawing the logical conclusion. "She sent you two to find out whether or not I'm a traitor."

"Yes," Citra replied, her voice cold. "And to deal with you accordingly."