The Last of Us

[Adonis Inirial]

Kor Vella, Corellia - 11 ABY

Tammuz Fital took a slow breath as he stepped out of the transport shuttle, acclimating himself to the Corellian air. Some people said that you could detect the differences between the air on different planets. Tammuz supposed it was true: different ratios between the base chemicals, the aroma of local fauna or industry; but to Tammuz, it was all just air, and there was nothing to be gained by romanticising it. Of more value was what could be gleaned from the clouds suspended in that air, a portent of an oncoming storm. How apt.

The name was an alias, of course, and the guise was as well: necessary protections for an officer of Alliance Intelligence who chose to visit one of the Empire's most fortified worlds. Adonis Inirial was not here on Alliance business however: this trip was personal, and the lengths he'd gone to in order to disguise himself from recognition were self-inflicted, specifically chosen to trip up the automated methods the Empire or CorSec might have in place to identify intruders: facial hair, a few scars and tattoos, ocular lenses, medication to temporarily tweak his skin tone, a broken nose that he'd need to get reset when this was all over. Chief among his measures, however, was sneaking a false persona into the Corellian security network: what better way to avoid being recognised as yourself than to be more easily recognised as someone else?

Tammuz scowled at someone who peered at him a little too close, trudging his way through the streets of Kor Vella towards The Eldest Brother. More irony. More situational appropriateness. Perhaps it was design. Perhaps coincidence. Perhaps the Force. The streets were less crowded than he might have expected for a tourist destination such as this: not sparsely populated by any stretch, but there was enough freedom on the sidewalk for one to move relatively unhindered. It was a blessing and a curse, and a stark reminder of the Corellian Blockade that drifted above, their orbits carefully chosen so that the stark white daggers of Imperial Star Destroyers could be seen by anyone turning their eyes to the sky.

Adonis had read reports, seen what the Empire was doing here, and like so many, he had cringed and fidgeted in displeasure at the Alliance's near total activity - at the abandonment of a world like Corellia, so vital to the Rebellion, so deserving of liberation. But it, like Ithor, like Chandrilla, like so many others, it was left to writhe under Imperial occupation. The cost of peace, or so the politicians said. As a son of Alderaan, it rankled him, felt like a surrender and an abandonment of those the Alliance to Restore the Republic had vowed to liberate. As an officer of Alliance Intelligence, he grudgingly understood the complexities, and sought to soothe his objections with reassurances that the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

Tammuz Fital meanwhile did not care: he kept his attention focused on the sidewalks and byways that weaved through the Kor Vella towards the casino herself. It was an open secret in certain circles that the establishment, like many others, was a facet of the Black Sun Syndicate: not merely a front for their operations, but a legitimate revenue stream as well, a conduit for laundering, and a haven where the unsavoury sorts that Black Sun so frequently dealt with could mix and interact unnoticed. On many levels, Adonis disapproved; but Tammuz had been designed to feel at home here, and so he did, the noticeable hunch in the way he walked relaxing slightly as he stepped into the casino lobby.

"Welcome to The Eldest Brother! I am -"

Tammuz didn't give the hospitality droid the opportunity to finish its programmed greeting.

"Oi am 'ere for Garrick Kane," Tammuz interrupted, Adonis laying the accent on thick, a small chip implanted in his throat sending pulses of vibration into his vocal chords, ensuring fidelity on the accent and adding a little extra depth to his voice.

"Oh," the droid responded, startled, almost disappointed at having been prevented from fulfilling its intended purpose. "I am afraid that Mister Kane is not available for -"

Tammuz took a step closer, barely inches away from the droid's ocular receptors before he spoke again. Were it a living being, it would no doubt have recoiled at the invasion of its personal space, and it was easy to mistake the automaton's motions for that same reaction.

"Tak me," Tammuz insisted, with a hint of a growl, "Tu Garrick Kane."

The droid's eyes seemed to flicker as it ran through various algorithms, seeking internalised instructions for how to deal with this sort of situation. Fortunately, despite being a facet of the legitimate side of The Eldest Brother, the unit had contingencies in place to deal with exactly that: something Adonis had carefully researched, and was counting on. The secondary directive implanted by Black Sun was simple: any aggressive individuals insisting to meet with members of the Syndicate were to be quickly and discretely removed from the casino floor, and an appropriate individual summoned to deal with them. As Adonis had also carefully researched, Garrick Kane's main lieutenants were currently elsewhere, which meant any trouble he caused here would have to be dealt with by the man himself - much to his frustration, Adonis hoped.

"Oh. Well. May I enquire as to the reason you wish to meet with Mister Kane? Is it business, or personal?"

There it was, the preprogrammed query: the gateway into those reactive Black Sun subroutines. Adonis tried not to feel too satisfied, and made sure that Tammuz did not show that on his features. Instead, he paused for a few ominous seconds, eyes narrowing as they peered into the droid's absense of soul.

"Which du yu fokk'n think, ey?"

[Garrick Kane]

Today was a bad day. Those were not necessarily uncommon, and in fact, came around with such frequency that Garrick had taken to grading them on a curve. There were minor bad days, like when the stock market fluctuated, and people's pockets weren't quite full enough to spill out onto the casino floor. There were moderate bad days when smuggling cargo was lost thanks to CorSec inspections or Blockade patrols, and the third parties involved were either burned or had to cut and run. There were the bad days when the Empire announced some new regulation or sanction to make everyone's life here on Corellia more difficult, and the bad days when the Empire made a big show out of thwarting the local Resistance - though bad days of that variety often turned into good days, when the Empire's activities pushed more custom his way.

Then there were bad days like today, where several things conspired to go wrong at once. Last night, a third party freighter carrying an arms shipment hidden inside a spice shipment had been tagged by the Imperial Blockade. It was a common practice: in the minds of the Empire, running spice was a lesser crime, and if boarded a smuggler could often bribe their way out from under Imperial attention, provided the officers involved were sufficiently corrupt. This time, however, something had gone wrong. Perhaps the smuggler - someone relatively new, and someone Garrick would not be making use of again - had got spooked, and jettisoned his cargo before bolting from the system. Perhaps the Empire had been more zealous than usual, and some different approach or more aggressive stance had thrown a spanner in the works. With the smuggler jumping for the hills, Garrick was hardly in a position to find out more information; and that left him on clean-up duty.

That little fiasco had dragged Andana away, off to meet with her contacts in the Resistance to apologise and explain the delays in their latest arms and ordnance purchase. Which was why she hadn't been available to deal with the break-in at one of the Black Sun storehouses in Coronet City. There was nothing particularly untoward about it, just a few local street kids managing to make off with a fistful of coaxium; but it was something that needed dealing with swiftly and decisively, before anyone else got it in their heads to try the same stunt. In the grand scheme, even a full raid on the storehouse wouldn't amount to much - Garrick maintained a distributed network of stashhouses for Black Sun's contraband, and the fuel that had been taken was part of his rainy day fund, literal liquid capital for deals that needed sweetening or to be untraceable. It was a stolen wallet, versus a savings account, but still: with Andana indisposed, the situation had stolen the attention of Yolee; and that left him here alone, with neither of his ladies, forced to deal with problem number three.

Garrick sighed, striding up the corridor towards his office at a reluctant pace, flanked by two security droids. An unkempt and irritable Pantoran with a scarred eye and some sort of draconic or serpentine facial tattoo: that was the description that one of his hospitality droids had provided. It didn't sound familiar, but at the same time it certainly did sound like his sort of people; and without Yolee here to work her Jedi voodoo on the man in question, Garrick was forced to rely on the only other set of instincts he trusted - his own.

A hand smoothed down the front of his tailored silk vest, and he offered a silent nod to the droid on his right, which obediently triggered the office doorway by remote.

"Tammuz Fital," Garrick offered with suitable gravitas, making his entrance into the room. The Pantoran's back was to him, studying the various artefacts and nicknacks that graced the shelves behind Garrick's desk. "I'm a little pressed for time, so let's make this brief. You wanted to see me - why?"

[Adonis Inirial]

"Because you're a dead man, Garrick Kane."

Adonis knew that as soon as he turned around, it would all be over; and so he was ready and prepared. Acting fast, a compact device held in one hand was triggered, beaming out a short range broadcast signal that initiated the shutdown mode on Garrick's escort. An outstretched finger jabbed into the control array mounted into the casino manager's desk, triggering the office doors to close and lock behind him.

In his other hand, Tammuz did not hold a blaster, but rather a compact circular device, one that he placed on what he assumed was the ludicrously expensive wood of Garrick's desk, and activated. A flickering hologram sprung to mind above it, a simple headshot of an Imperial soldier, and a string of Aurebesh characters beneath.

"This dead man, to be specific."

Despite himself, he felt his eyes compelled to stare at those letters, driven by some specific urge not to look at the man they belonged to. LANCE INIRIAL - SGT. It was a struggle, an effort, to wrench his gaze away and look upwards, to stare across the room into the face of a ghost: older and more weary, yes, but a ghost none the less. Another command was triggered on the remote in his hand, and the chip in his throat deactivated, allowing his voice to lapse back to normal.

"Hello, brother. It's been a long time."

[Garrick Kane]

Garrick's curve of bad days was crushed underfoot, sundered like a volcanic eruption. That voice, that hologram, that word - brother - they carved into him like talons, wracking him with pain, tearing into old wounds that had never healed. Today, this worst day of worst days, some crazed Pantoran had strolled his way into his office, and was speaking in -

He couldn't even bring himself to think it. Adonis Inirial was dead, killed when the Galactic Empire turned Alderaan into slag. Anpher. Selene. Pharos. Adonis. Cantul. Benton. Liana-Carré. Even Harris - Harris - his own Force-damned twin. Father, mother, and six siblings, all reduced to nothing but atoms and ions, and the echoes of memory that haunted his dreams. Now, apparently, they were trying to haunt him while he was awake.

A blaster appeared in Garrick's hand, anger the only thing keeping it from trembling. The Pantoran was unarmed. His mistake.

"You are a sick bastard," Garrick countered, his voice thick with disgust and threat. "You have exactly five seconds to tell me who sent you and what you want, before I discharge this entire power cell into your chest. Make sure I like what I hear."

[Adonis Inirial]

This was the flaw in his plan, his efforts taken to avoid recognition by the Empire having the same effect on his brother. On some level, he'd hoped that deep down, some part of Lance would see through the disguise, and recognise him underneath. Apparently not. Perhaps it had just been too long.

Still, even now he had obtained some of the answers he was here to seek. Ever since the security footage from The Eldest Brother had passed across his desk - flagged as of interest for potential activity by ex-Alliance activists, something Alliance Intelligence tried to remain aware of, lest it turn into a Treaty-threatening incident - and he had seen the unmistakable face of his brother among the crowd, he had wondered how he had survived, and why the surviving Inirials had not managed to find each other. Certainty was the answer, certainty that they were all dead and gone: why look, when you were sure there was no one to find?

Of course, that didn't alleviate the current problems Adonis found himself facing. Setting the remote down on the desk, he took a step backwards, hands held up in the most non-threatening way he could manage.

"The day Alderaan was destroyed," Adonis replied carefully, offering his best recollection of the final days of House Inirial, "Our family was gathering together at home. Dad was throwing one of his parties, because Rey had just graduated flight school. We used to call it the Anpher Initiative: he'd take any excuse he could to get us kids all under the same roof."

A nostalgic smile tugged at the corner of Adonis' mouth, even with the blaster still aimed at his chest.

"That's why everyone was supposed to be on Alderaan when the Death Star showed up. I was late, because Captain Tyree received new orders in the wake of the Scarif and Eadu attacks, and couldn't release me in time. I'm guessing that you -"

His voice faltered; cracked a little; a decade of unaddressed guilt suddenly seeping out from the corners of his mind where it had been securely locked away.

"Gatherings like that were always difficult for you. You were a Sergeant, in a family full of officers. Even Cantul had managed to make something important of himself with his law degree; and Harris? Everyone loved Harris, no matter what he did. But you? You always felt as if we were disappointed in you; as if we looked down on your choices; as if enlisting in the Stormtrooper Corps rather than going to the Academy like Dad wanted was some last-gasp act of teenage rebellion that you'd saddled yourself with for the rest of your career."

The faintest breath of laughter escaped.

"You always had that backwards, and back then you were always too stubborn to listen. Dad was proud of you. We all were. All of us, we took the shortcuts and the easy ways that Mom and Dad offered up for us. We were Inirials, and we embraced that advantage, let it do the heavy lifting. You didn't want that. You didn't want the easy path. You wanted to be judged on who you were, not who your father was. You put us all to shame. You inspired Benny and Rey to become pilots, instead of hiding behind a desk and a uniform the way the rest of us did."

Adonis took a tentative step closer, his eyebrows pinching together as complex emotions danced across his features.

"There was never a favourite, Lance. Not between you and Harris; not between any of us. I loved you all. I still do. Enough to risk everything to sneak past a whole Blockade just to tell you face-to-face that I want you to come home; that Carré needs you to come home."

[Garrick Kane]

"Carré?"

It was the word that broke Garrick's resolve; the notion that turned a trembling gun hand into one hanging limply by his side. His mind and balance swayed, and a staggering half step backwards brought him up against the sealed door. Tammuz, Adonis, whoever he was - he was wrong about one thing. The sentiment he had offered, and the picture he was painted was a touching one, but there had been a favourite - Liana-Carré. One sister; six brothers; not a difficult equation to balance. Throughout all these years, that had been the nucleus of his guilt: not only that he had not been there with his family in their last moments - that he, the least deserving of all, had been the only one to survive - but that Carré had died thinking, knowing, that Lance had not come to her party; thinking that her brother hadn't thought her success was worth celebrating. That was the thought that had filled his mind on so many nights, spent with a bottle in one hand and a blaster in the other.

"She's alive?"

The centre of his reality collapsed in on itself, becoming a gravity well that stray thoughts and feelings swirled around with all the ferocity of the Akkadese Maelstrom. For the briefest moment, a flicker of hope sparked in the distance, of redemption, and forgiveness; it faded almost in an instant as Adonis' words replayed in his head. His eyes snapped back to Adonis, filled with worry, whatever doubts he might have had about the Pantoran's identity brushed aside.

"Is she okay?"

[Adonis Inirial]

Despite the lenses obscuring Adonis' eyes, there was a distinct shimmer to them as he nodded in reply.

"Better than okay, actually. She's pregnant."

Slowly, Adonis tested the waters by lowering his arms, watching as his words dispelled any prospect of Garrick - Lance - following through on his earlier threats. He took a careful step, and then another, emerging from behind the office desk, and advancing a few paces closer to his brother. Adonis had always been taller, but the way Lance had slumped back against the door made the difference even more profound, an extra decade or so stripped away, back to their teens and twenties. For Lance, it probably meant nothing, but for Adonis, it was one of the best parts of his life. The second son, Adonis had always felt like a shadow, but with Pharos off earning a name for himself with the Imperial Army, Adonis had finally had the opportunity to be the big brother, the Eldest Brother; a circumstance that Wilhuff Tarkin and his battlestation had now made permanent. For that brief stretch, he and Lance had been close, Adonis the confidante that Lance needed as he struggled to choose the direction of his life. With all his being, Adonis wished that today was as easy to resolve as back then had been.

"So what do you say, brother? We almost have a nephew to meet. Do I need to knock you our and carry you, or are you going to come willingly?"

[Garrick Kane]

It was all too much. Lance's mind was too chaotic, and whatever suspicions and inhibitions might have settled into place over the last twelve years could not find the purchase to stop him. Pushing off from the door, he flung his arms around his brother in a vice-like grip. For a few moments, he was twelve again, and Adonis was just coming home, missed too much for decorum or propriety. He could feel Mother's disapproving look as he embarrassed them all in front of the other guests. He could feel the flush to his cheeks in the aftermath, made worse by the teasing of his twin that he was compromising his status as the broody one. He hadn't cared then, and he didn't care now. For the first time in twelve years, he finally wasn't alone.

"Willingly," he half-muttered over his brother's shoulder, his embrace not diminishing even slightly. A cascade of different smiles competed for dominance on his lips; the one that won was subtle, but rueful, as the man that Adonis remembered him being proved easier to slip back into than he would have expected.

"We both know that there's no chance in hell you could knock me out, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you after coming all this way."

[Adonis Inirial]

There he was. There was Lance. His eyes had seen it, his mind had known it, but now finally, in his heart, he believed it. Adonis didn't stop the laugh that Lance provoked.

"Yeah right," he countered. "Says the guy who sits behind the desk of a swanky casino drinking expensive booze all day. You couldn't beat a damn cold. I'm a frikkin' spy."

That statement was enough of a reminder of reality to pry Lance and Adonis apart, but just barely, and with considerable reluctance. True, there would be time enough later, when Adonis wasn't lurking on a planet where recognition would get him killed; but they were Alderaani men, raised with a certain sense of decorum and propriety. Displays of affection weren't part of that framework: not something that Adonis would ever have expected to bother him, and yet it did. Perhaps there were some things that should be left for dead with the rest of Alderaan.

His brow furrowed as he pulled away.

"Speaking of which," he said with a wince, "I didn't want to risk running up against the Blockade, so I flew in on public transport; a Star Commuter out of Truuzdann. I have a ship waiting at a rendezvous point to get us back into Alliance space, but I don't -"

Another wince; bordering on a grimace, in fact. It was not often that Adonis left uncertainty in his plans: he was always prepared to adapt if the mission demanded it, but he always, always at least had a concept for Plan A. This time he didn't; time had been tight, and resources limited. He'd hoped that he'd be able to conjure up a solution in the moment, but, well, time would tell.

"- I don't suppose you have a discreet way of getting us off-planet?"

[Garrick Kane]

It was a smart plan, coming through the civilian routes rather than trying to enter the Corellian system on private transport. The Imperial Blockade was tasked to challenge and scan all such arrivals into the system, but doing so with a scheduled passenger transport was too tedious to be practical. Instead, the Blockade relied on security measures at either end of the flight to screen passengers as they moved onto and off the transport, shifting the burden of security from the Imperial military to the CorSec immigration officers at the planet's major starports. Less than ideal for smuggling cargo - the amount of spice or coaxium you could conceal effectively in your hand luggage was hardly worth the effort - but not bad for moving people, and Truuzdann was small enough that no one would really pay much mind to how you got there in the first place.

It was a smart strategy, but then Adonis had always been smart. Too smart, in fact, to have slipped up and inadvertently revealed his avenue past the Blockade to the local Black Sun Lieutenant. Lance fought down a flicker of a rueful smile. Interesting.

As for the question that Adonis posed, Lance's eyes narrowed.

"...define 'discreet'."

[Oisin Ocasta]

* * *

Oisin Ocasta kicked his legs, swinging them back and forth over the edge of the medbay bio-bed. In an ideal world, he would have waited in the waiting room, but there wasn't one. The Sironna might once have been one of those fancy-pants Consular ships that Republic Senators cruised around on, but the Clone Wars had transformed her into a frigate, and it was in that stripped down and spartan form that she had found her way into the hands of the Alliance of Free Planets.

The Commander didn't know the specific history of the Sironna. He knew the name of course - General Gavvix Sironna of the Royal Alderaan Civil Fleet - but that seemed more like a nostalgic choice in recent years than something the ship might originally have carried in her Republic days. Had she seen service in any great battles? What had befallen her between the collapse of the Galactic Republic, and the ascent of the Alliance of Free Planets? What atrocities had the Empire forced her to be responsible for? Or, like many others, had she passed into private hands, or languished in surplus yards waiting for the opportunistic Rebellion to liberate her?

Ordinarily, he would not have cared, but right now he would have welcomed just about anything to distract him from what was going on behind the privacy screen a few beds over. The gently swaying sheet of pleated fabric was supposed to prevent anyone from seeing what was going on over there, but Oisin knew. Sweet lords of Alderaan, he knew. Not the specifics, thank goodness, but he knew enough: Carré was pregnant, and there were droids, and a medical gown, and probably inappropriate amounts of poking and probing going on, and Oisin wanted none of it.

His neck craned back, as if gazing at the ceiling somehow changed the fact that his former copilot's lady-parts were in the process of getting explored and examined in technically the same room as him. Oisin had never winced so hard in his life, and at this point, it was starting to feel as if the expression would be permanently etched onto his face.

"Is the gross stuff done yet?" he called, for perhaps the third time in the last five minutes.

[Carré Inirial]

In the last several months, she become accustomed to the inordinate amount of poking and prodding that medical professionals and droids were wont to subject a pregnant woman to. It was, granted, still decidedly uncomfortable, but hearing the baby’s strong heartbeat and having the peace of mind that a proper exam gave her was entirely worth all of it. A hand lifted to push a stray lock of hair back from her cheek as the last of the droids began one final scan, and a faint smile curled her lips at the sound of Oisin’s voice echoing from a few beds away.

“Almost, Echo. Almost. It’s honestly not that bad…my lady parts are fine, my baby is fine, everything’s delightful. Except the gel for the scan…that’s just slimy.” she grinned, knowing it would work its way into her tone of voice even though he couldn’t see the expression for himself.

Her emerald gaze went to the nearby monitor, watching the baby move, a peculiar sensation she could feel at the same time. Carré reached out to press a few of the buttons, recording the scan for herself in addition to the records that would be kept as a part of her medical files. This much she could send to Kelly, along with a note detailing how everything was going smoothly. His concern at her traveling had been a point of contention between them briefly, but a summons from Adonis was not something she would simply ignore.

Precautions had been taken, and her own physician had cleared her for travel. Files for the medical droids aboard the Sironna had been provided, giving access to information in order to perform the scheduled diagnostics she would have otherwise missed. Soon enough, the droid finished the last of the scans and allowed her to rise as the results were compiled and sent to her datapad and prepared for transmission back to her physician on Bothawui.

Nodding, she thanks the team of two droids and gathered up her clothing as she availed herself of a cleansing cloth and redressed herself slowly. Carré spoke up as she struggled and fussed with the buttons and zippers on her clothing, grumbling a bit under her breath about her choice in garments.

“I haven’t talked to Chrys in a long while…how are she and the girls doing on Jovan? All settled in and doing well, I hope?”

[Oisin Ocasta]

Oh, sure. Small talk. While she was getting fondled by robots. That was the kind of thing that Oisin wanted to be discussing right now.

He fidgetted uncomfortably, the word slimy still crawling across his skin. Scan gel or not, that was not a word he wanted to hear uttered in the same breath as my lady parts from anyone, not least from Carré. Maybe for a typical rocket jock, that kind of talk might have been normal, but that wasn't the kind of stuff he wanted to be hearing from his wingman. He'd never really understood that part of machismo: he could sling a wrench as good as anyone, and wasn't afraid to get his precious hands dirty or anything like that, but he'd never really seen the appeal of being gross, or crass, or of oversharing the kind of details that were meant to stay private. He wasn't a prude; it was just a sense of propriety, the kind they baked into your bones back on Alderaan. Force sakes, Carré was a frikkin' Lady of an Alderaani noble house. How come he was the one feeling the affront to his sense of decency?

"Chrys is fine," he replied, still swinging his legs and awkwardly staring at the ceiling. "The girls are fine. Jovan is fine. All settled in, all happy at school, all that good stuff."

Resolve survived for a few moments longer, before Oisin surrendered, and heaved out a theatrical sigh. Like it or not, Phoenix was his wingman, and even if such things were past tense these days, that still came with responsibilities and obligations. If Carré was going to take the lead, and set the terms of the engagement, then it was Oisin's responsibility to be on her wing, following that lead, and figuring out how to make it work.

He grimaced as he stared at the ceiling, embracing their small talk as part of the list of things that were making him feel gross and uncomfortable in the moment. This was why he only socialized in bars, when there was alcohol there to numb the pain, and other people to soak up those stupid obligatory questions so he could avoid addressing them. It was something he'd never quite got about people, and was one of the reasons he had so readily embraced being a recon pilot for the Alliance back in the day. There were no generic questions in the solitude of the lonely blackness. No one asked you questions about other people, instead of asking the other people. No one asked how your day was, or chatted to you about the weather. It was why he preferred the company of Brienne and Emma over pretty much anyone else on Jovan Station, truth be told: at least when they asked him questions, they were interesting questions, because no one had taught them to be boring yet.

But boring was what Carré wanted to talk about, so boring was what Carré would get. Even so, he still winced a little, the question aching as it was asked.

"How's Kelly?"

[Carré Inirial]

Half fastened and buttoned and zippered as she was, she paused, hand pressed to her belly as Tadel decided it was time for a round of “kick Mommy in uncomfortable places”. She breathed carefully through it as one of her physicians had recommended, and while it didn’t do anything to ease the pain, it kept her focused until the round was over. Carré took a deep breath and continued fastening herself back into her garments as Oisin spoke.

“Kelly’s fine…keeping busy with the Rogues and the training schedule aboard the Challenger. I spend most of my time on Bothawui with Admiral Tyree, so we don’t always have enough time to spend with one another as we’d like.” She added quietly, securing the last button on her tunic and taking a moment to breathe. The joys of pregnancy, she mused, being out of breath just putting clothes on.

Pulling the curtain back, her emerald eyes regarded her wingman, while a smile found it’s way back to her lips. “Sorry that took so long…things that use to take a minute now take several and leave me out of breath half the time. Luckily, when the time comes, I’ve got leave scheduled so I may just hand the baby to Kelly and sleep for a week straight to catch up on rest.”

Hand pressed to her abdomen, she canted her head to the side and winced slightly. “Ooof, he’s active today. Want to feel him kick? I swear he’s going to turn out to be an athlete at this rate.”

[Oisin Ocasta]

It was another of the myriad aspects of pregnancy and pregnant people that Oisin did not understand. As he understood it, babies kicking was just them moving around to get comfortable. Oisin did that in his sleep, especially when the blankets got all tangled up around his legs. It wasn't impressive. It wasn't special. But, feel a baby's foot accidentally poke you in the insides, and all of a sudden you were looking at the next all-star athlete, or a Teräs Käsi master in the making. Then there was the whole feeling it thing. Oisin was already acutely aware, and deeply uncomfortable, with the knowledge that there was a tiny parasitic human growing inside his former wingman. Sure, it was their child, and everything would be great and wonderful, as long as you ignored all the poop, and the vomit, and the endless screaming, but come on. Did Oisin want to feel the fetus currently squirming around inside Carré's insides? Not particularly, no.

But it wasn't an invitation that you had the chance to conscientiously object. If a pregnant woman invited you to manhandle her womb, you didn't get to say no: you acted as enthusiastically as you could manage. Oisin fought the urge to cringe and recoil as he nodded, and offered his hand out for sacrifice. Carré guided it towards her bump, and for a fleeting moment there was nothing. Peaceful stillness. For that moment, Oisin wondered what all the fuss was about, and if people were just imagining things, humouring the pregnant and their delusions of movement. And then it happened.

Immediately, Oisin took a step backward, raising his hand in the air as if his left side was being held at gunpoint. He took a moment to calm himself, carefully furling his fingers and lowering his arm back to the side. He took a breath, and fixed Carré with a look.

"Your baby is weird and gross," he explained. "You must be very proud."

His shoulders shifted under his shirt, trying to dislodge a shudder that had managed to stall half-way through and get itself stuck between his shoulder blades. "I'm warning you now: I know how this holomovie ends. If your kid starts doing the squirms in your chest cavity, I am tossing you out an airlock."

[Carré Inirial]

There was a small expression of mirth on her features as Tadel kicked and Oisin recoiled from the sensation, and she couldn’t have masked it even if she’d wanted to. It was born of warmth and just the tiniest bit of pleasure at her wingman’s discomfort, the way it would have been with any of those close friends she considered family.

“He is a little weird, but he’s my son, so that comes with the territory I think.”

Carré breathed deeply, her own hand pressed to her abdomen still as the kicking eased and Tadel finally relaxed after the last half hour of exams. The sigh of relief she allowed past her lips in that moment was shortly morphed into a soft laughter at Oisin’s comment. She lost her breath again, and had to lean back against the exam table as she regained it, a hand rising to brush a loose curl from her cheek.

“Echo, if he starts squirming in my chest cavity, you have my permission to vent any airlock to get me off this ship before he pops out through my ribs.” Carré managed to say after a few moments, gently prodding her squeamish wingman with the words she couldn’t resist saying. She smiled and smoothed out her tunic, taking care to move relatively slowly as she seemed to be exceptionally talented at losing her breath today. Not an unusual occurrence during her pregnancy, but one she’d learned to compensate for over the last eight months.

“Ok, I think I’m ready to get out of here…at a slow pace, of course.” She added, fingers plucking up the datapad from the table beside her and stepping forward. “I could go for a snack, though…want to help me raid the galley for something?”

[Oisin Ocasta]

At a slow pace. That was an understatement.

As a pilot for the Rebel Alliance, Oisin had cultivated a new understanding of the word slow. In his civilian life on Alderaan, slow was waiting at a station for mass transit to arrive. It was standing in line at the grocery store, while some old guy tried to recount some story of his Clone Wars heroism to a cashier that he probably thought was his granddaughter. It was being stuck in traffic waiting for the two thranta up ahead to stop humping, so that you could get home after a long day. Slow was sitting in your cubicle, staring over the modular barriers at the chrono display on the wall, waiting for that final hour and forty-nine minutes to tick by so that you could escape from the monotonous hell of your work life, and eagerly dive into the endless tedium of that rush hour traffic, because some slowness was worse than others.

The Alliance had changed that. Slow had become the days when you were stuck in a Y-Wing, or when some A-Wing kriffbag decided to be a punk ass and overtake you during CAP formations. Slow was being stuck escorting unarmed medium transports. Slow was multi-hour hyperspace jumps sat alone with your thoughts in your cockpit. Slow was recon patrols, in the peaceful blackness of space. A slow day was rocket jock code for one where you didn't face constant peril and the imminent risk of death. Oisin had learned to like slow.

Then babies had happened. It wasn't entirely Carré's fault, he reminded himself. The Atreides family had exposed him to it first. Before, he had always wondered how people could be so inept at getting their shit together and showing up to things on time. That had changed, the first time he tried to convince two toddlers to do the same thing at the same time. The slowness of watching tiny hands trying to shove tiny feet into tiny shoes, or tiny arms into tiny jackets, utterly refusing any kind of assistance because some idiot had convinced them they were snowspeeder pilots in Rogue Squadron and that meant they were too badass and independent to accept help any more - that had become his new benchmark.

As always, Carré upped the game. It wasn't so much walking as much as an imitation of a Hutt trying to cross a frozen pond. Here was a creature that you knew was capable of moving under their own power, and yet when you looked at them that possibility suddenly seemed intensely dubious; and if you ever had the misfortune of actually seeing them move? Oisin shuddered at the notion. Not for the first time, he considered insisting that she sit down in a repulsorchair so they might actually get somewhere at some sort of reasonable pace; but she'd refuse, just like she had the last seven times. He supposed that was understandable: she wasn't injured, wasn't broken; just infected, and people managed to live through their daily lives while afflicted with a parasite all the time.

His eyes narrowed.

"Snacks, you say?"

[Adonis Inirial]

* * *

"I still don't believe that you have one of these!"

It was an odd thing to see, an almost child-like wonder painted across the rugged and altered cerulean features that Adonis currently wore. He would have preferred to have returned to his normal self by now, but Tammuz Fital was a far more plausible companion for a Black Sun Lieutenant; certainly more so than a brother that Garrick Kane was not supposed to even have. For all the distinguishing and eye-catching features that Tammuz' visage deliberately incorporated, the persona was one that gave him an ironic anonymity, one that might be beneficial if and when the time came to reinsert his brother back into his new-found Corellian home.

That wasn't something Adonis was prepared to dwell on, however; not now, at least. Currently, he wasn't even contemplating the weighty significance of being sat here beside a brother who had been dead for a decade. Right now, he was more fixated on the ship that Lance - Garrick - had selected for their egress from the Corellian system.

The NovaSword Space Superiority Fighter was not a famous or infamous ship. It was essentially a failure, an effort by Subpro to develop a starfighter alone, without the involvement of the Incom Corporation, during the height of the Clone Wars. Their hope had been to extract themselves from their dependence on the Z-95 and the ARC-170 for production revenue. The result was a disaster. The NovaSword herself was a simply gorgeous piece of design, and vastly better than the Headhunter it strove to replace, but the Galactic Republic simply was not interested. It wasn't entirely clear why that was, though Adonis had always suspected that the Senate and Supreme Chancellor had been reluctant to spend their military budget on starfighters from a Trandoshan corporation, without Incom there to make the contract more palatable to humanocentric sensibilities. Even before the Empire existed, the DNA that would evolve into it could plainly be seen.

Subpro didn't give up on the NovaSword, however. Having - in their overconfidence - invested in an initial production run, Subpro flipped the bird at the Republic, and sold the NovaSword to anyone who would buy: bounty hunters, mercenaries, and even the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Three decades on, the NovaSword existed mostly in private collections, apparently like the one that Black Sun had allowed Lance to acquire. This particular example was in pristine condition, lovingly maintained - and gods, she was beautiful.

A contented sigh escaped Adonis, not for the first time.

"I used to have a poster of one of these on my wall in college."

[Garrick Kane]

"Yeah."

Lance, or Garrick, or whomever he was supposed to be in that particular moment - frankly, he was beginning to lose track - fought against the unruly expression that tried to smile its way onto his features. When he looked back, he had always remembered Adonis for his intelligence, his insight, and his propriety. Not quite as stiff and formal as Pharos could be at times; Adonis was the smart one, the Intelligence Officer, the inquisitive and calculating one whose principle hobby through childhood had been academic decathlons.

In his memory, Lance had turned that into a sense of serene wisdom, and in doing so had allowed himself to forget just how much of a dork House Inirial's second son could be at times. The fond reminder of their past selves intermingled with Lance's restrained knowledge of why exactly he owned this particular craft. As if it hadn't stirred the memory in him the moment he'd seen her at auction. As if he hadn't painstakingly matched the paint shade and the detailing to turn her into a physical manifestation of that memory.

Perhaps Adonis hadn't spent long enough with Lance's collection to understand the meanings and motivations behind each piece; or perhaps the memories they related to were too personal, to unique to his own experience for even his brother to undestand. But they were all there, all represented in some way, a relic or facsimile for each and every one of them.

"I remember."

He adjusted the controls, slowing the NovaSword's forward momentum and letting the repulsorlifts catch them within the artificial gravity of the cargo ship that had just entered. Adonis would probably be able to tell him what exactly the C-ROC part of the Gozanti Cruiser's designation ment: Lance had always thought that from a certain angle the craft resembled the gaping maw of some sort of aquatic reptile, but Adonis was the sort of nerd who would absolutely know for sure. Lance couldn't bring himself to ask, though; wasn't willing to sacrifice that potential avenue for conversation, instead hoarding it desperately in the event of some future need to end an uncomfortable silence.

The NovaSword settled gently onto the deck; a few control manipulations powered down the engines, and lowered the boarding ramp that descended somewhere below their feet. Garrick triggered the half-way concealed button on the side of the pilot's chair, and it slid backwards on rails, bringing him to the aft of the cockpit, the ramp's slope now positioned before him. It was a deeply unnecessary quirk of the design, a feature that existed only for style and aesthetic purposes; a feature that Adonis no doubt found pants-wettingly cool. Perhaps that was why Lance had grown so fond of this ship: there was something sweet and reassuring about how its outward grace and sophistication concealed so much quirky weirdness.

Lance was first down the ramp, stooping low to duck beneath the forward fuselage - another design "feature" that ordinary minds would have likely regarded as a flaw. As always, his fingers subconsciously traced across the ship's polished hull, deriving some strange sense of reassurance from it.

He did not allow himself to linger, however. His attention shifted to the figure standing a few meters ahead, poised in the middle of the cargo bay as if he had somehow predicted exactly the right spot before the NovaSword even arrived. The illusion might have been maintained, if Garrick hadn't spotted him standing somewhere else a few moments before.

Garrick glanced over his shoulder, Adonis emerging from the ship behind him, and appearing at his side.

"This is your elaborate plan? I smuggle us off Corellia, so we can rendezvous with the Loose Goose?"

[Lux]

Lux bristled at the old nickname. He was one of the few people in the galaxy aware of the true name that belonged to Garrick Kane, and the reverse was true as well. Lance Inirial and Lucius Montegue had served together in the Stormtrooper Corps, and both strove to move beyond their birth names, though for significantly different reasons.

When Adonis Inirial had approached him, carrying evidence of Lance's survival and looking for information on his potential whereabouts, Lux had faced a dilemma: preserve the anonymity of a brother in arms, or help reunite him with a real brother. Ultimately it had been emotions that had guided his choice, and the thought of what it would mean if it was his cousin who stood to be reunited with a lost brother. He hoped he had made the correct choice; hoped that Garrick would respect and understand his motivations. Perhaps the nickname was proof of that, for surely the Black Sun Lieutenant would have begun to put together the pieces by now.

"He would have hired someone classier," he countered, "But unfortunately your brother had a hard time finding anyone willing to put up with you."

Your brother. Being able to say those words made it all worth it. For a man so determined to remain alone, Lux had a complex relationship with the notion of family. He craved it, and yet ran from it in equal measure. Perhaps that was something that was overdue for a change; though he wondered if his own relatives would have been willing to go to the lengths that Adonis had to bring about a reunion.

"I did suggest that he simply let me travel to Corellia and retrieve you, but your brother seems to be quite -"

He trailed off, his gaze shifting to the surreal appearance that Adonis had apparently adopted.

"- theatrical."

His head tilted back in acknowledgement of the Alliance agent's presence.

"I would have thought you would be a little more elated by the reunion with your brother."

He paused for just a moment, allowing confusion just enough time to settle in on Adonis' features.

"You seem a little blue."

[Adonis Inirial]

Adonis stared down at his current Pantoran hands, almost as if suddenly surprised by the reminder that he did not currently look like himself - as if the implants, beard, and prosthetics weren't reminder enough. At least he had abandoned the uncomfortable posture, and unpleasant accent.

"Right."

His voice faltered.

"I should probably do something about that."

Reluctance gripped him, his attention shifting between himself, his brother, and the Captain. Things felt strange; awkward; not entirely has he had expected or calculated they would go. The encounter in Lance's casino had been heartfelt, but everything since then had been a sequence of moments that demanded their attention. Exfiltration. Smuggling themselves across town. The tense transit past the Corellian Blockade, and the distracting starship that had conveyed them. It felt normal, almost, two brothers existing in proximity to each other as if nothing had happened, as if they were just picking up where they had left off. It should have felt nice, and yet it didn't; not quite. It felt as if something was lacking, as if they hadn't paid proper tribute to the significance of their reunion. They hadn't talked, hadn't exchanged stories, hadn't quizzed each other on the intimate facets of their lives. But then, they never had. Lance and Adonis had been brothers. Worse, they had been brothers among Alderaani nobility. Adonis had spent enough time around people from other cultures, enough time hearing of the tragic pain and loss that people suffered from the absence of their siblings, to know that House Inirial was not what it should have been; not what he would have wanted it to be. Perhaps it was too late for that. Or, perhaps it was now his responsibility to enable and encourage that: after all, with Father and Pharos both gone, he was the patriarch now.

The notion tied his stomach in knots.

"Set a course?"

[Garrick Kane]

Loosey Montegue - Garrick stubbornly refused to think of him as "Lux", even though he made the concession to address him as such if their paths ever crossed out in the real world - seemed to nod in understanding of the zero details that Adonis offered. There was a plan here, one that Lance was not privy to, and it irked him.

"Wait."

Carré was pregnant. That much he knew. Yet, she wasn't here. Perhaps this was a surprise - it wouldn't have been the first time the elder siblings had deliberately kept something important from the younger ones - but it felt like more than that, some instinct in his gut telling him not to accept the situation at face value.

Adonis had said something about Alliance space, a detail that unleashed a horde of questions that Lance would demand answers to in due time. Regardless, a ship like this one was certainly the sort of tub one would want to try and smuggle your way across the Alliance border: that's certainly the sort of thing that Garrick had hired Lucius for in the past. And yet, Lance couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was missing something, like there was some facet that thus far escaped his understanding.

"Where in the nine hells are we going?"


* * *