                                Star Wars 

                           Wizard's RPG Stories

          source : http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=starwars/newsarchive
          upload : 10.IV.2006


     Idiosyncrasies

     By August and Cynthia Hahn

     Duty. It was the watchword for Cularin's heroes  long  before  the  Clone
Wars. When their world, their lives, and their loved ones were threatened, the
brave men and women of the Cularin system have selflessly acted  to  save  all
they hold dear. It was duty that drove them to  establish  their  own  militia
against the tyranny of a corrupt military force many times their  own  number.
It was duty that brought them time and  time  again  into  conflict  with  the
twisted minions of the dark side of the Force when naught else could withstand
their evil.

     The children of Cularin know well the call of duty and the terrible price
it often exacts...

     Warlan Tosk was having a bad day. There were irritating days, there  were
annoying days, and then there were bad days. This definitely shot way past the
first two and was far exceeding the third. It was almost its own category.  If
he were the kind to use harsh language, Warlan could have  said  exactly  what
kind of day he was having, but barring a string of invectives that would  have
set fire to the surroundings, "bad day" would simply have to suffice.

     He held up the security datapad one more time, desperate to achieve  some
form of communication with the clerk in front of him. "Do you  see  this?"  He
pointed at a graphic near the bottom of the screen. "Do you know what this is?
"

     The ambivalent-looking Human woman made a decent show  of  pretending  to
care as she looked at the screen for the hundredth time. She knew that if  she
didn't answer this man's questions, he was likely never going away. "Yes, sir.
It's a Republic Senate Seal."

     "Correct."  Warlan  was  guardedly  optimistic  now.  At  least  she  was
acknowledging obvious facts. Now to  try  for  something  just  a  little  bit
harder. "And do you know what it means?"

     She looked up into the bothersome  man's  eyes.  He  was  handsome  in  a
harried way, not too muscular but athletic in build. With his dark brown  hair
and bright green eyes, he was exactly the kind of man she'd  normally  date  a
few times and then never get called by again. Men like him  always  broke  her
heart, and if this particular version of that  walking  pain  thought  he  was
going to get anywhere with her, he was  sadly  mistaken.  Yes,  it  was  petty
revenge, but it was her petty revenge.

     "No, sir."

     He almost screamed. "You work for the Senate! You are an administrator at
a Republic Holding Facility! How can you not know that this seal  is  a  legal
authorization for the document upon which it appears?!?" And then he breathed,
rather hard, as that had all been one long exhalation.

     "Well, I do now. Thank you." She found it fun to watch him twist  in  the
wind. Oh, she knew his type - - loud, bossy,  gorgeous...  It  was  definitely
time to wiggle the knife now. "But this is not  a  holding  facility.  It's  a
protected safehouse for Senators and other governmental - - "

     "Yes, it IS a holding center!" Warlan screamed in frustration, but only a
little, and much to her delight. Then  he  tried  to  calm  down;  losing  his
professionalism was not going to do Ms. Wren any good. "Look, just because  it
has Durosian marble columns out front and an indoor Toorgash range  with  real
grass and live Toorgas doesn't make it any less a jail."

     She shrugged.  She'd  made  him  lose  his  temper,  and  no  matter  how
attractive it made him look, she was sticking to her blasters. "I  don't  wish
to disagree with you, sir, but we are listed in the Republic charter as a -  -
"

     "You could be listed as a Kilassin petting zoo, but that  doesn't  change
what this place really is!" He could see where this was going - - again.  Time
to change tactics. "Tell me this, then. Is my client free to leave?"

     She looked at him, eyes impassive and unforgiving. This one  should  send
him right over the edge, she hoped. "And who is your client?"

     To her glee, his face turned  the  same  crimson  color  as  the  Supreme
Chancellor's guards' new uniforms. Amazingly, he managed to  sputter  out  her
name. "Senator... Lavina... Durada-Vashne... Wren."

     She knew what to say next.  But  was  she  really  that  evil?  Yes,  she
decided. This one was just too good-looking and too much  fun  to  play  with.
Besides, it wasn't evil, she corrected herself. It was  revenge.  Not  against
this one, per se, but against the horde  of  ex-boyfriends  who'd  ruined  her
credit, forgotten her birthdays and treated her like... like... well, like she
was treating this poor, obviously defenseless man now.

     "And just how do you spell Wren?"

     Inside Warlan Tosk, personal security specialist, something  snapped.  He
stopped talking, stood completely upright, smoothed down  the  lapels  of  his
jacket and smiled thinly. "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back, ma'am." And
with that, he slowly walked out of the lobby and into  the  building's  lavish
green courtyard, a half-deranged look in his eyes.

     She watched him leave with a self-satisfied grin. That was more fun  than
she'd had in ever so long. What she needed now was another man to  break;  why
stop when you're on a roll? And,  as  if  the  universe  itself  was  hers  to
command, a brawny Zabrak carrying a package  from  Renna's  Transport  Service
came through the front doors a few moments after Warlan left.

     With a silent "thank you" to whatever powers were obviously watching over
her, she buzzed him through the security doors and back into the office.  This
one, maybe she'd flirt with first. It would make torturing him  all  the  more
fun.

     * * * * *

     Outside, Warlan paced between the manicured hedges. Could  he  have  been
wrong? He'd been here more than an hour now, and aside from a rancor disguised
as a receptionist, he saw nothing dangerous. Maybe Wren was  all  right  after
all. Perhaps this move by the Supreme Chancellor really was to get her out  of
harm's way while things in the Senate heated up. Was he just being paranoid?

     No - - it was his job to be paranoid. All the signs led up to an  attempt
on Lavina's life. There was that ugly business with the infiltrator on Cularin
last year and then the ship hijacking on their  way  here  to  Coruscant.  The
"accident" in Wren's apartment complex had obviously been a  staged  event  as
well. He knew what faulty wiring looked like, and  that  lift  had  definitely
been  tampered  with.  He'd  developed  a  sixth  sense  about  ambushes   and
assassinations; it was practically screaming at him now.

     And every trail he'd followed led him here. His contact in the  Undercity
going missing while  investigating  Senators.  The  strange  shipments  coming
through customs before disappearing out of quarantine. Everything was pointing
to something violent about to happen and what  was  worse,  it  was  about  to
happen to his client.

     He was glad he'd insisted on escorting her here a few days ago  when  the
order came down from the Chancellor to have her moved to  this  safehouse.  He
used the term loosely, as it felt a lot more like a prison  than  a  protected
shelter. The armed guards, the security gate, and the monitor grid should have
made him feel better about the Senator's safety, but  somehow  it  didn't.  If
trouble couldn't get in, that just meant she couldn't get out to escape it.

     Frustrated, Warlan started twirling his blaster pistol. It was a  nervous
habit, one that helped him settle and focus. In truth, he hardly ever drew  it
with the intention of shooting. He just liked spinning it around  his  trigger
finger. The last time he'd actually pulled it out of hostility was when he was
escorting Lavina here and had to warn that swoop driver away. That driver  had
been just a little too close for his comfort. Crazy pilot, that  one,  zipping
through traffic, but that was just the way Zabrak were. The whole race  seemed
allergic to holding still, even stocky ones like...

     He turned toward the front doors and shouted into his wrist  comm  before
his brain even registered why. He'd seen that delivery man before, and  Warlan
Tosk didn't believe in coincidence.

     Five yards from the entrance, the doors exploded outward, and the  entire
front  of  the  facility  blossomed  into  a  fireball.  The  last  thing  the
beleaguered bodyguard saw before unconsciousness  dragged  him  down  was  the
center of the holding facility collapsing, completely engulfed in flames.