Chapter Text
T-7 ion disruptors. Agent Kallus swept his gloved thumb over the name, the datapad casting a soft blue glow against the clean shaven skin of his chin. Concentrated fire forces deactivation of metallic constructs, disintegration of organic beings. Observe with caution.
Observe and report.
He drew a long, centering breath through his nose and blew it steadily out again. He could recall the sound those weapons made, a quiet hiss like a pained breath when the projectile was hurled from the barrel, followed by the snap of thick static striking metal and the shake of the ground at something's collapse. A better sound to hear than cut off shrieks of living beings and the whisper of bodies turned to ash in the air.
Lasan had been a messy campaign, though a victorious one with no setbacks to the Emperor and his most devout. They hadn't been down on the surface.
Since that 'quashed insurrection', Kallus had tracked those weapons meticulously, down to the singular digits. Each one accounted for, each one known to him, and now a few crates worth had been swept off his proverbial radar.
Kallus frowned, lips twisting in distaste at the unnecessary prattle coming through the connection behind him. "Describe the thieves." He demanded, glaring up at the opposite wall, bored of the lack of usable information.
"I saw five." Tua counted off. "An adult male, a juvenile male, juvenile female. An old C-1 droid… and a Lasat!"
Her voice had pitched a little at the mention of the species, as though she were gleefully letting him in on a dark secret.
"Honestly, agent Kallus, I didn't think there were any Lasats left!"
That was enough to go on. One Lasat with a crew of easily distinguishable rebels. A step forward at last.
"Only a few, minister…" Kallus purred, turning to face the holotable at last. His red eyes and cobalt skin glowed bright in the blue light as he leaned in close, hands braced on the round table's edge. "Only a few."
He switched off the holotable the heartbeat before Tua began talking again, call him petty if you will. He was never pleased in the company of Lothal's minister; she enjoyed complaining for the sake of being heard doing so and somehow managed to talk and talk without saying anything at all.
"Sir!" One of his subordinates called for attention, shaking him from his thoughts. "A distress call to governor Pryce has been rerouted to your attention."
That piqued his interest. One brow raised minutely as he paced deliberately across the gangway. He nodded his readiness at the attendee, and the young deck lieutenant hurriedly activated the connection. If there was one thing Kallus had learned about academy graduates, inside and out of the academy himself, it was that they all were desperate for their first real promotion.
After a breath of static, a polite, musical voice crackled through the receiver. "This is C-3PO, human cyborg relations. My counterpoint and I were abducted from the spaceport on Garel by criminals! Thieves! Outlaws!" The droid's voice turned shrill with panic.
Kallus' other brow raised to join the other. He wasn't sure what sort of sick individual would program a protocol droid to easily fall prey to fits of distress seemingly for it's creator's own amusement. If they ever met, Kallus was sure the one responsible wouldn't be walking away. "Remain calm, my friend…" He soothed. "All I need is your location."
A little flutter of pride tickled in his gut at the sound C-3PO's voice, steady once more. "Sending our coordinates now."
"Have no fear," the agent hushed silkily, "help is on the way."
A moment of euphoric relief rushed through his chest as he stepped back from the console, motioning with a wave of his hand to the young deck officer that he were done. All the contraband weapons were once more accounted for.
"Have my troops prepare and be ready for departure in the main hangar!" He called over his shoulder, his hands flexing and curling into fists as he stalked toward the armoury. There was a reckoning to come to those thieves for jeopardizing his mission.
It was difficult not to slip into the dark well of pride as base staff and patrolling troopers hopped out of his path and saluted, sometimes calling a sharp "Sir!" as he passed.
All the sideways glares, jeers, and threats around blind corners endured at the Imperial Academy on Coruscant had silenced as he surpassed those boys in rank and prowess, only Konstantine would glower and mutter something as Kallus passed him across the deck when in a foul mood and Pryce simply enjoyed taunting others below her, human or chiss.
The strangest offence would be the newest deck lieutenants staring, not from anger or disgust but curiosity. A dangerous thing to feel within the xenophobic clutches of the Empire. None had the courage or stupidity to stumble their way through an offer during down hours, and Kallus had taken to politely turning away when taking the turbolift with company, focusing elsewhere when their bodies glowed a little brighter with flushing heat.
He thumbed the next control panel, activating the armoury doors to part with a hiss and a sterile gust of air. Kallus wrinkled his nose at the too clean, chemical scent. The armouries were a pleasing room to stand in, minus the smell. Rows upon rows of neatly aligned blasters, munitions, and helms ran along the small room's walls and dividing racks, maintained and ready for the moment a signal was given. Kallus' designated own stood out from the mass of the others.
He jumped as fast paced binary whistled up from between his boots, and something tapped insistently at his ankle. One slim brow arched and Kallus cast his luminous gaze downward, the other jumping to join the first at the sight of an MSE droid interrupted in it's cleaning duties.
A soft chuckle passed his lips and he sidestepped out of the little droid's way. "Ch'at'utuhah, ch'eo ch'ithsin'bo ch'acevi."
The opportunity to converse in his native cheunh was excessively rare, any language other than basic and binary were looked upon with disgust and would result in being quickly silenced. The droids themselves didn't mind, happy to be greeted in any tongue and not kicked out of the way.
The little MSE droid whistled it's thanks for it's obstacle moving and whizzed away through a maintenance grate, onward towards it's next task to complete.
Kallus watched the little cleaning bot go with a small smile before turning his attention back to armouring up, ready to lead the ground assault. Perks of achieving rank in the security bureau, and -despite his non-human self- being Colonel Yularen's favourite, gave him access to personal munitions and his requisitions could skip the pending time for fear of the man and his connections.
He cupped his palms around the sculpted fit of his black ISB helm and raised it from it's stand, thumbs sweeping over the armoured plates that shielded his cheeks -and more importantly, his expertly shaven facial hair- from damage and debris. Individuality wasn't encouraged within the ranks of the Empire, his expressive chops another perk of his old mentor's position although that didn't get him everything.
His scalp itched fiendishly beneath the layer of shiny but uncomfortable gel, the silky, fine strands of his hair glued together with the product not tailored for him. He played the part of a cold and unfeeling officer well but secretly he hated the feel of the gel after it had hardened, he looked neat at least. Precise. In any event, he hadn't joined the Empire for his own comfort.
The chiss blew out a short, disapproving breath through his nose and slid the helm over his head, the weight of it grounding all his focus on the task at hand.
He disregarded the array of standard issue blasters and reached instead for the weapon he had gained on Lasan, the unique rifle modified by his own two hands for close range combat against far larger enemies. He hardly needed the aid but the sight of him wielding it intimidated many lesser men, and if these were indeed Tua's thieves then their Lasat would target him for the insult of a bo-rifle in the hands of someone not of his kind, leaving Kallus' platoon of stormtroopers standing and able to apprehend the other rebels.
It was a fine weapon, sleek and weighty, with the bayonet sharpened to a glinting edge. The Lasat's had remarkable skill in weaponsmithing, and likely everything else he had only seen as ash and rubble. Kallus clenched his jaw around the seething hiss that slithered up his throat before it could spill past his cobalt lips, and snapped the rifle against the magnetic holster fitted into the back of his cuirass.
The added weight from his armour and rifle altered his usual steady, measured gait into a prowl. None disturbed him this time, only eyes on his back and the sudden spikes or drops in the body temperatures of the troops and base staff as he stalked past toward the hangar. Only Pryce would pull him off course with some snide remark or unnecessary order for her own amusement. Kallus silently thanked every star he could name that she presently wasn't there to irritate him.
The aft hangar door parted before him with a mechanical breath, revealing orderly rows of troop transports and TIE's, empty Imperial shells awaiting their pilots controlling hands and beating hearts to bring them all to life. The echoing march of plastoid boots and the low roar of ion engines beat almost too loud within his ears, drowning out the thump of his steadily pumping heart. If he closed his eyes long enough he could imagine a legion clad in naval blue, sleek black, and silver.
Kallus filled his lungs until the ache bought him back, nose wrinkling at the taste of hot exhaust air, oil, and the sharp tang of sterile chemicals.
The emanating glow of his eyes flashed off the polished durasteel beneath his boots as he raised his chin again, choosing instead to glare at the awaiting carrier ahead of him than think, it's engines already humming for his command to depart. None disturbed him as he crossed the wide expanse of the hangar, rank or xenophobia giving him peace.
His selected unit waited aboard, muttering lowly amongst themselves, freed momentarily from the all seeing eyes of the Admirals.
"Sir!" One barked at the sight of his approach, and all of them silenced and snapped to attention in the same, well practiced motion.
"Troopers." He greeted them smoothly, pretending not to have heard even a whisper and stepped past to lead the squad in formation toward the center of the ship. He unclipped his comm device from his belt and brought it to his lips, the polished chrome of the metal reflected the sharp white of the overhead ships lights and the delicate blue of his skin. "Pilot, take us up."
The answering voice came soft through the mouthpiece of their helm, and even softer through the ship wide comm. "Yessir."
A heartbeat later, the entire carrier shivered as it's firing engines burned hotter, generating enough lift to raise it's bulk from the hangar floor beneath the landing struts with a low, resonating roar. Kallus balanced himself, hands clasped neatly together at the small of his back as the transport circled in a low swoop to snatch up the waiting AT-ST walkers from their ready bay. The ship shuddered around him as the magnetic clamp built into the hull activated.
He had never been inside a walker's cabin as it was transported from bay to campaign and occasionally back again. Briefly, Kallus wondered if the pilot's suffered from vertigo as they were moved by someone else's will.
The chiss cast his carmine gaze out of the troop carrier's narrow flank window to watch as they fired through the star lit void of space, closing in on Lothal. After the choking metropolis of Coruscant, it's metal shell void of clean air and greenery, the openness of the outer rim planets left him reeling in vertigo and dizziness at the simple joy of untouched nothingness spanning for miles in all directions, upwards included.
Before them, Lothal grew from a pebble to a planet in mere moments, greeting them with the sight of swirls of distant dust storms and listing plains of grassland beneath the layers of pale cloud. Kallus kept his knees bent softly to rock with the trembling of the ship's hull as the transport broke through the atmosphere, starlit black turning to pale blue like the dissipating of dark ink in a vial of water, leaving them surrounded by bright streaks of sunlight stained cloud.
The transport turned sluggish under the newness of gravity and the added weight held beneath as it furthered it's descent towards the coordinates sent by Tua's droid.
Kallus' dark brows furrowed, and he stepped up closer to inspect the view from the cockpit window. Ahead, there was a small encampment hidden amongst a cluster of strange rock towers.
Those formations had always amused him since his first glimpse of them, looking somewhat alike the long, soft ears of the planet's native prairie felines.
Kallus held a secret fondness for the little creatures that ran wild within the city and beyond, having encountered plenty of them coming to sniff the strange giant in their home and rub against his boots when he would walk past the edge of the capital city just as the gentle hues of dawn would begin to colour the sky. The little cats had charmed him with their stealth and brash personalities, and on the rare occasions the chiss removed his gloves they were also incredibly soft to the touch. Kallus always made sure he was completely alone before settling in his knees to coo and trill back in response to their curious noises at his presence.
One pilot called for his attention, their muffled voice pulling him back from his idling thoughts. "Releasing walker's now, sir."
Kallus nodded, one sharp little inclination that kept his eyes fixed on the scene ahead. The ship rocked minutely beneath his feet when the mag-clamps disengaged, dropping the two legged constructs the final few meters to connect with solid ground.
The resonating stamp and echo of the AT-ST's steps rattled from below with their advance, along with the blasts of cannon fire meeting rock. The agent's nostrils flared a little with his deep inhale; combat was a talent of his, and it was talent he excelled at performing.
Now unburdened, the carrier lowered further, landing gear descending ready to meet the soft rustle of dry grasses and solid ground.
A bright flash before them had the chiss' eyes narrowing, the soft glow of them fanning against his cheekbones. Static enveloped the furthest AT-ST, sparking louder than Empire Day fireworks as it's systems overheated and burned out, rendering it uncontrollable. The walker shuddered from struts to cabin and toppled motionless in the dust seconds later.
A low sound fought it's way past Kallus' strict self control to worm up his throat and release itself to the recycled air of the carrier. The thieves had undoubtedly opened the crates, nothing else could bring down an Imperial construct in a single shot. He stalked his way back to the center of the ship, and his awaiting platoon.
"Bring us down!" He barked, voice echoing through the onboard comm.
The disembark lift shuddered beneath Kallus' boots as it descended, dropping them into the chaos of shouts and blaster fire below. "Advance and fire!" He commanded as the lift settled against the dusty earth, chin raised and eyes glowing in stark contrast against the dull grey of his helm.
Kallus' brows raised from his ready scowl as he recited Tua's headcount; an adult male, a juvenile male, juvenile female, the clone war era C-1 astromech, and indeed a Lasat. His lips pursed in disapproval as a flash of pale green lekku and the bright orange of a pilots jumpsuit flittered between the stone spires. Tua's information was incomplete -of course it was.
His heart began to pound against his ribs as he locked his gaze with two luminous green eyes that tracked him from the shadow of a large, sandstone spire.
A shiver of anticipation had the fine hairs on the back of the chiss' neck raise to stand on their ends, as the thrill of combat with a fellow being of higher strength than a human would be a grand diversion from his other problems.
A low sound thrummed up the column of his throat, lost to a passing whisper among the dusty air, and he snapped the rifle from the magnetic holster. The spectre identified as Orrelios was known to easily fling fully armoured troopers around like a child's toy soldiers, goading him into fighting out of anger was the surest way to achieve a clean victory.
"You, Lasat!" Kallus stepped forward and held up his own bo-rifle, extended into staff configuration and sparking bright at both ends. "FACE ME!"
Silence descended on their maze of a battlefield, even the blaster fire had ceased.
Kallus watched the Lasat's eyes travel up the length of him from boots to helm, expression falling in disbelief at the sight of the modified weapon of his people, then hardening once again as rage began to boil.
A deep, guttural snarl echoed around the little clearing, and after a heartbeat of bunching muscles and raising fur the Lasat charged at him, deaf to or outright ignoring the shouts of his name from the other rebels. The Lasat's own diligently cared for rifle extended into it's staff form with a practiced flourish of the larger being's wrist, purple lightning shocking to life at the ends of it and streaming trails of light behind him like a war banner. The flicker of electricity and sunlight stained the dust beneath his paw like feet.
Kallus knew the blinding need that Lasat felt to the marrow of his bones, that unsilenceable urge to protect what you keep hidden because losing it would be the end of you. He was just one step ahead of the edge of the pit of despair Orrelios was a prisoner at the bottom of.
The chiss prepared himself for the blow, dashing forward himself to use Orrelios' speed and strength against him. The arms of their staves connected with a metallic ring, the musical sound echoing into the silence that heralded the coming onslaught.
The Lasat deflected his first few strikes, his own metal and wood bo-rifle beating against Kallus' all metal and modified, each blow resonating with the rush of adrenaline and thunderstorm of their beating hearts.
The rebel was a larger opponent and fast but Kallus himself was faster, having nimbleness and a clear head on his side. He dodged the Lasat's arcing sweeps, bending and ducking at the last possible moments which would only fuel his enemy's rage.
Orrelios knew his weapon, the rifle itself familiar to the many hands before his own, and the Lasat himself had been shaped by the use of it. A skillful blow caught Kallus across the ribs, striking just under the protective embrace of his cuirass with enough force to spin the chiss' around and topple him, landing sprawled in the dust on his belly.
"Only an honour guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!" The rebel roared, baring all his sharp teeth along with years of hate and anguish.
Bitterness coated the inside of Kallus' mouth at the memory of that day. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the rise of shame and bile. I am not your enemy rebel!
The cry was ready on his tongue, waiting to foil his own plans. He could not risk exposure now, not after everything he'd done to achieve his goals, the horrors he'd witnessed wouldn't be for nothing! Kallus swallowed down the taste of ash and the old Lasat's word, and reached for the haft of his bo-rifle.
"I know!" He sneered instead, spitting dirt, and flipped himself over to face the former honour guard with his mask of cruelty firmly in place. "I removed it from a guardsman myself!"
He struck out with the electrified end of his weapon, creating just enough room to roll out of the Lasat's reach and kick himself back onto his feet. Orrelios seemed to almost glow before him, body heat and fury burning bright enough to blind him.
"I was there when Lasan fell…" he hissed, backing up to mirror the rebel's advancing steps and let the sound slither freely past his pearlescent teeth. "I know why you fear those disruptors, I gave the order to use them!"
He hadn't, in fact, but Orrelios didn't need that piece of information and he was far safer himself keeping the true lay of events tucked away.
The rebel Lasat growled as their battle brought them close again; a deep, primal sound that shook Kallus' ribs at the proximity and had the chiss' freckled cheek twitch up in a quick smile. He leaned into Lasat's block, revealing his own maw of sharp teeth and hissed in retaliation. A silky, serpentine pass of breath that lilted around the arch of his tongue.
Orrelios pushed him back and changed tactic, still swinging with heavy blows with enough power to knock the Imperial down now knowing that he could, and aimed a kick to Kallus' knee, either to knock the chiss off balance or used his strangely prehensile toes to grab and yank the limb out from under him.
With another sundering roar, the rebel charged at him, slamming down strike after strike with immeasurable strength that would have had a weaker man crumble, or succumb to having both wrists broken by the onslaught of raw power. Kallus blocked each one, pooling his own strength low to brace against the final push and heave upward, unbalancing the Lasat instead and sending him reeling backward with a kick to the belly.
His taunts had been successful as the spectre roared and came at him angry once again, his blows heavy but landing wide, leaving Kallus with the perfect opportunity to slam the sparking end of his rifle into the same hard muscle that his boot had likely left bruised.
Orrelios' low growls lilted up along with a stalling whine of pain, not enough to down him but surely enough to leave him weakened. Kallus ducked under his next clumsy swing and struck him again, closer to his ribs this time, somewhere softer that would have their fight conclude with his victory.
Kallus bared his teeth as the rebel's growl was once again warped into a groan.
The ground beneath them suddenly shook violently, and were it not for the bloom of heat and flicking orange from the disruptors overloading and the explosion's resulting fireball, Kallus would have believed it had come from a seismic quake far beneath the earth. He managed to right himself as the shaking ceased, but the rebel lost his balance and stumbled forward, a look of shock morphing his strangely handsome features the heartbeat before his own defeat was recognized.
Kallus struck forward one final time, and drove the electrified end of his staff square into the Lasat's belly. Gold lightning shocked across the Lasat's entire body and he crumpled to his knees, ears drooping and breath coming in gulping fits.
Kallus raised the end of his rifle, holding it high and advertising his strike. He grit his teeth desperately through his sneer, only able to hesitate so long until savouring victory spoiled into the pantomime act it truly was.
"NO!"
Kallus fought back the sigh of relief at the boy's cry, turning it outward as a snarl of frustration. He braced himself for the sharp strike of blaster fire, never expecting to be flung off his feet and hurled backwards with an untrained shove with the force.
Ah. He thought as his vision began to blur, his peripheral fazing into darkness. Two Jedi, how very novel. That thought had him smiling feebly to himself as he collapsed limp against the sandy earth.
The blast of a ship's engines roused him from his brief spell of unconsciousness, out for no more than a few minutes at most. He felt grit shifting beneath his fingertips as his awareness and strength returned and struggled up to his feet, stumbling as his vision pitched and blurred.
His luminous eyes finally focused enough to watch the rebel vessel -a Corellian BCX if he recognized it's model correctly- sweep the clouds apart and disappear from view high above his head. Kallus had a niggling feeling that he would encounter these 'rebels' more than once during his time on Lothal.
He knelt beside one of the wounded stormtroopers, slowly coming to with a feeble groan after a shake. Kallus cast his carmine gaze around the others of his platoon, all of them beginning to wake. No casualties, not a single man dead. He swallowed a short hum, stamping down his approval at being bested by a crew ruled by their own substantial morality, and helped the dazed trooper to his feet.
"Escort the injured back to the transport, to the infirmary if any man faints." He called to the other soldiers, the few who had managed to get their feet back under them and stand without toppling.
"Yessir-!" Two troopers nodded identically, one reaching out to steady the other as they swooned, apparently not quite balanced enough yet for rapid movement.
Kallus slung his rifle over his shoulder to rest in it's magnetic holster and took a slow lap of the camp. The thieves and rebels had abandoned it in a hurry so searching for evidence would prove beneficial to his cause.
Something flickering in the gentle breeze caught his eye.
He approached what seemed to be a cornered off living space, little more than a hammock and an empty crate for a chair but that alone was evidence that this camp was a frequently used one, worth watching for future inspection.
The disturbance that snared his attention came in the form of some corner folded, suspiciously cared for flimsi pinups. He arched one shapely dark brow at the embellished rendition of a twi'lek on the cover, face frozen in a seductive wink up at him. Kallus snorted derisively and rolled his glowing eyes.
At large, the little camp contained nothing more than some pornographic contraband and a few half empty ration packets, likely all belonging to the thief that made off with the last four crates of disruptors. That had a firestorm of anger coalescing in the pit of the chiss' belly.
That fire sputtered out at the icy dousing of echoing voices behind a stone spire. One of his platoon gently rousing another, coaxing a cousin back to consciousness.
Kallus counted the passing seconds it took to inflate his lungs and push the air back out again as a sudden wash of dizziness came, dizziness that forced the unwanted image -however hazy- of exhausted youthes flopped back on worn training mats to the forefront of his mind, their hair damp and unkempt, and complaining at the rigorous exercises they were being subjected to so very unfairly.
Vlist's feet hanging off the end of the mat where he lay, already taller than the other boys around him.
Kruz's long hair spread out in a sweat shiny halo, irritably attempting to blow the strands over her eyes away without having to move an arm to sweep at them.
Owlo standing wearily at his feet, smiling softly despite being flung onto a mat just moments before, one hand outstretched to help Kallus up his feet.
"To your feet, man, up you get." That same stormtrooper murmured softly, voice muffled by his helmet and the rocks that shrouded the thieves camp.
Kallus clenched his jaw tight until he felt his teeth creak, blaming his lack of mental restraint on the probable concussion he was suffering. He stiffened at the sound of disturbed earth coming closer, and remained wound tight even as those boots halted a respectable distance away.
"All troopers are aboard sir."
All the agent's breath left him in one short gust.
"Very good." Kallus murmured, voice impossibly low and just loud enough to be heard over the whisper of the grasses around the stamped down earth. "I am ready to depart."
The stormtrooper bowed shortly and silently led the way back through the clearing towards the ship.
Kallus' usual frown returned to his face as they skirted the smouldering wreckage of one AT-ST, it's pilot's hatch broken open and billowing thick smoke. Four entire crates of once more off-the-grid missing T-7's smarted as sorely as pressure on blackened bruising, and the chiss fought back a slippery hiss of frustration.
Truly, he respected these rebels as much as he were able with them causing him a headache and undoubtedly constant hindrances in the future, he hoped that should the Empire finally expand from known space and turn towards the outer expanses, the people there wouldn't sit by and be conquered either.
He stepped up into the lowered platform of the disembark lift, subtly drawing in all the scents of clean air and prairie grass to smother his anger and optimistically put him in a better mood to deal with the admiral waiting above to say something derisive about their failure. Not his at all, ever, certainly not.
The slumped bodies of the walker's unconscious pilots had been securely fastened into their seats, one's arm suspended in a field sling from the onboard medical kit and both their heads had lolled forward beneath their too large helms. Kallus settled himself in the empty seat beside them.
The return flight passed in a vericoloured blur, the Imperial agent having finally succumbed to a headache so fierce even his teeth had begun to ache. Kallus fought the urge to slump into the uncomfortable back of his seat, pure willpower and the shaft of his bo-rifle being all that kept his back straight.
Silence and the soft hum of the engines carried them back to the destroyer, the ambient sounds broken by the occasional pained murmur from those slowly waking. At least no man required lifting out on a stretcher.
The triangular shadow of Konstantine's destroyer loomed closer, gently backlit by stars blazing far away. Their small ship rose up to slip inside the bay shields, a small swath of dust brushing off it's hull despite only being planetside for less than an hour. If Kallus were in a better mood he'd apologize to the attending MSE droids for the mess.
The carrier settled back into idleness upon it's landing struts, engines powering down with a mechanical sigh. Those still standing disembarked with a wave of Kallus' gloved hand as he too stood, watching the battered and the bruised shuffle down the ramp to make their way toward the medical bay.
The AT-ST pilot who's right arm had been shattered wobbled feebly as he was helped up to his feet, held steady between the plastoid bulk of one trooper with a hand on the center of his grey suited back, and another who slung the injured man's left arm across his pauldroned shoulders for support.
Kallus settled his hands neatly against the small of his back and watched the few largely unscathed gather the remaining munitions and blasters to ferry back to the armoury. They didn't offer to return Kallus' rifle, all knew better than to ask an agent of the ISB to relinquish his weapon.
"All munitions ready to be cleaned and reset, sir." One said, standing to attention before him.
"Very good, you are both dismissed."
The hull door closed behind them with a hiss, leaving Kallus alone in the gloomy half light. He surrendered his helm to the empty seat beside him, the meager weight of it growing along with his fatigue and each campaign.
Unsightly pockmarks be damned, Kallus pinched the tip of one finger between his teeth and slid his hand free from the dull grey leather of one fitted glove. It felt odd to be apart from even a little piece of his uniform but liberating at the same time, small cracks through the despairing sea of grey that only he could peer through.
He lay the plain garment across his knee and leaned forward just enough to reach over his shoulder to unsnap the rifle from his back, holding it reverently before his eyes. The sight of his own blue skin bought him a sliver of comfort, softly bright beneath the carmine glow of his own eyes and the low overhead lights.
He grazed his fingers over the rifle's casing, across where the it's previous owner had wrapped a strip of coloured cloth, before the weapon had come to him.
Memories came with the brush of his bare fingertips.
Dark hair matted with dust and sweat, a less bloodstained Kallus rounded the corner of a crumbling building, skidding to a halt and stopping just before the barrel of a Lasat's bo-rifle connected with the tip of his nose.
That rifle shook violently, the wood and metal rattling as the arms of the elder wielding it no longer held enough strength to keep it level. Kallus swallowed, blinking in shock at the frightened mewling of several children trying to hide behind the old Lasat's crooked legs.
The chiss wet his lips, wincing at the taste of mortar dust and ash. Observe and report. He stamped down that voice, his unbidden heart taking control over his senses.
"Csei s cseah!" He hissed urgently, holstering his blaster and holding out his empty hands. He slowly raised his left to point down a deserted side street, shrouded in mist from the dust in the air.
The old Lasat's eyes widened, unfamiliar with the language but the intent behind the invader's hurried words was clear.
Go, quickly. Before they catch you.
"Csit'eb! Vizehn ch'at ran'bin'he'asas." Kallus insisted, acutely aware of the encroaching stamp of Imperial standard issue boots.
The old Lasat hobbled closer, and with what strength remained, he knelt and held out the rifle. "Boosahn…" He whispered, voice faint and cracking with age, raising his weapon higher for Kallus to take. "Boosahn."
That word had remained an enigma to Kallus even as time had passed, Lasana not being a language he had ever had the chance to study before or after that fateful day, but from the almost reverent way it curled off the old Lasat's tongue he knew it to be be a word he should keenly remember until his life was spent.
Kallus turned his modified bo-rifle over in his hands, watching the dim glow of his eyes reflect off the sleek metal.
"Boosahn…" He whispered, safe for the moment in the solitude of the empty transport, just to feel the word shape his tongue once more. He sighed heavily, the weight of the Ascendancy and Csilla itself upon his chest, and stood.
Agent Kallus could boast a strong will and a stronger stomach to face the horrors of warfare and brutality but one's idle mind wasn't as easily hardened, and Ar'kallu'sash's wanting heart was not welcome amidst the choking grip of the Empire.