Before the Saga “Love is a shield”, an Agent Kallus & Orson Krennic one-shot (3 BBY)

Title: “Love is a shield”, an Agent Kallus & Orson Krennic one-shot

WARNING: May contain spoilers for the Cassandra main story!

Author: AzureAngel2

Co-editor and muse: @DarthUncle

Main beta editor: @WarmNyota_SweetAyesha

Length: one-shot

Summary: An Imperial agent comes back from a failed mission. His welcome is not exactly warm. But there is one exception.

Time frame: The story takes place in 3 BBY.

Place of choice: an Imperial Star Destroyer

Disclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company


Some people suppress you
They parch you
And reap a disaster
Re-education for the infants
Who demanded for an innocent instance

The great commandment
Shows the contempt
Between the world and their
Embarrassing pavement
Believe the scholars
Read the readings
Realize the man who says anything

The needies believe you
They treat you
Like survivors of a disaster
Re-education for the infants
Who demanded for an innocent instance

The great commandment
Shows the contempt
Between the world and their
Embarrassing pavement
Believe the scholars
Read the readings
Realize the man who says anything

The great commandment
Shows the contempt
Between the world and their
Embarrassing pavement
Believe the scholars
Read the readings
Realize the man who says anything


Admiral Konstantine does not even look up from his data pad to meet your eyes. Your name comes from his lips like an automaton. There is no real meaning or emotion behind it. Just a couple of sounds. He passes you as if you were but a utility droid for him. Or even worse, the ghost of a fallen soldier. The battlefields of the Galactic Empire are full of them.

The fingers of your right hand cramp around the gift that Garazeb Orrelios gave you back on Bahryn. The warmth of the small meteorite has faded beyond recognition, but its hard surface is the only thing that feels real to you right now.

You stare after the vanishing figure of your commanding officer.

Soon, the ship corridor is empty again.

You cannot help but hang your head, while the universe around you grows colder and darker.

Camaraderie and appreciation seem outdated these days. Especially in military service.

You bet that nobody on top remembers the names of your squad that got slaughtered back on Onderon a couple of years ago. Brothers-in-arms you had been for one another, but for the Imperial authorities just canon fodder. Expendables, really.

A deep sigh shudders in your breast, vibrates into the rest of your body.

With closed eyes, you remember the events on a certain Geonosian moon.

You breathe heavily while it's all coming back to you.

One memory is brighter than all the others. It shows you the warmth and affection that the 'Ghost' crew had in stock for their missing comrade.

Cheering, the young man called Ezra Bridger had ran down the ship's ramp. The Imperial defector, Sabine Wren, had been by his side. With a mixture of relief, pride and wonder they had touched the large Lasat on his upper arms.

After a while you return to the present, gather all your remaining strength together and limp towards your quarters.

It takes you a little eternity to get there.

You activate the door mechanism.

Thick metal walls, indifferent and uncharitable, greet you. This place, cold and soulless, is not home. Your few personal belongings are stored up in a box, kept out of sight from prying eyes.

You place the meteorite on the empty shelf right above your bed. Then you sit down on the mattress, brooding. But not for long.

A familiar sound startles you. It comes from the console inside the frame of your bed.

You accept the HoloNet call without thinking. Just a handful of people have your private contact data.

“G’day! How’s it going, mate?” asks the somewhat smoky voice of Orson Krennic, Director of the Advanced Weapons Research division of the Imperial Security Bureau.

Your foul mood is gone in an instant. “Okayish,” you offer, because you do not want to unsettle the director straight away.

“See, I need to be honest with you,” he answers, dropping his thick Chandrilan Westcountry accent. “I was explicitly ordered to give you this call.”

A smile spreads over your face. It comes straight from your heart. You know exactly who gave that order: your most favourite person in the entire universe.

“Oh my!” There is chuckling. “I am sorry to say that, Alexsandr, but someone with pink unicorn slippers is spying on us. I fear that the enemy is pressing against my bedroom door right now.”

Without taking your boots off, you lie down on the bed. “I wonder who that might be,” you let out and try to keep your laughter in.

“I have a guess, but then again it can't be our Cassandra, because you taught her to be as soundless as a night shadow.”

In the off you can hear a faint protest.

“Then stop lurking outside, little soldier, and say hello. This is your call any way. I am only the one paying for it.”

You hold your breath until your godchild's voice fills your army quarters. “Are you sure that you are okay, Uncle Alex?” she says, her anxiety palpable.

“She had one of those dreams, you know?” the girl's father cuts in.

Orson Krennic is playing down the problem at hand. Being highly Force sensitive, Cassandra must have had one of her visions. Considering who her biological uncle is, a powerful Sith lord, this was to be expected sooner or later. Now that she is in her teens, she needs to be protected more than ever.

“It was but a nightmare, sweetie,” you coo.

“But I saw you suffer,” Cassandra insists. “You fell and there was debris all around you.”

You give your best to sound convincing and calm. “It seems real to you, but believe me, your mind played tricks on you.”

“A Lasat was with you.” Faint anger swings in her words. “He gave you a glow stone.”

You run a hand over your face, glad that she cannot see you. She is good at reading others. You taught her interpreting micro-expressions, through the Facial Action Coding System, and body language. “Sweetie, normally, I kill Lasats,” you remind her, which is not a lie.

“Not this one. The two of you hugged.”

“Blimey!” cajoles the director. “Then come around to Chandrila and I will give you a hug, too.”

You could answer that you would like to give him a black eye, but then again he is vital to you. One of your true friends.

Maximilian Veers is too busy leaving a path of destruction these days and keeping his son Zevulon in line.

Crix Madine has been acting strange of late, which makes you suspect that he will sooner or later defect like his foster brothers Berch Teller and Dravits Draven.

“But Geonosis has moons,” Cassandra throws in unexpectedly. “And you have crashed on one of them.”

The girl's father comes to the rescue. “There are actually fifteen moons. Which one was it exactly? Did your dream specify that?”

She scoffs.

Orson Krennic is not finished with all his reasoning. “And why should a flying ace like Uncle Alex crash at all?” he asks.

“I...”

“Cassie, dear,” the director cuts in. “Whatever you believe to have seen in your dream was nothing more but a reflection of your fears.”

The tenderness in your friend's voice is hard to miss. Around his adopted daughter Orson Krennic is like a tame rancor. She makes him a much better, more likeable person.

“Listen, Alexsandr!” he says to you. “See if you can get a couple of days off after your latest boring mission. I know that there are other pressing matters, but still. My little soldier here needs to see you with her own eyes.”

In your head you calculate how long it might take you to have your leg completely healed by bacta. “I see what I can do.”

“Now we should stop to hold up your poor godfather any longer, Cassie dear. I bet he has plenty of work to do in the name of the Empire.”

Usually, you love that your friend is on the practical side, but right now you hate to depart with him and Cassandra.

“Uncle Alex?” she pipes up, sounding so young and vulnerable.

“Yes, sweetie?” You put as much affection as you can into those two words.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“Awww!” muses Orson Krennic. “And believe it or not, I could love you into bits and pieces, too, Blondie.”

Of course, the director had to destroy that tender moment with a lame joke. But then again he cannot help to be an absolute nerf herder. There is a certain reliability to that.

“Good night, Cassie!” Your heartbeat quickens by just saying her nickname. “Please try a different setting for me in your next dream! Something that involves a good game of sabacc or a fishing trip on Lake Sah'ot. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” she mumbles and you can almost see how she blushes on far away Coruscant.

“Orson?” you address the director.

“Yes, mate?”

“Take good care of my godchild, you old moron!” you scold him friendly, fully aware that he cannot help her visions.

“Then come down to my old man's farm and help me to protect the asset.”

He makes it sound rough, but you of all people know that Cassandra is more precious to him than is own life. A sentiment that you share.

The connection breaks off.

You stretch yourself out on the hard mattress, but then you are painfully reminded of your right leg.

If it were not for Cassandra and her father, you would not have taken chances with the Empire. You would have followed Garazeb Orrelios on board his ship straight away.

Of late you ask yourself if you are truly fighting on the right side of the civil war. All you ever believed in has been questioned by your superiors.



Sources:
The song “The great commandment” by Camouflage (1987)
Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki
Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia

 

Love the interactions and the encounter with the Ghost crew. The "You" point of view makes it all the yummier.

 

It is but honorary mentions of the Ghost crew in this humble fic of mine. I did not dare to write about them. Because there are far better fan fic authors around here on the boards than me.

 

The "You" point of view puts a bit more distance to Alex, which makes him feel all the more lonely as he thinks about his experiences with the Ghost' crew, and his own adopted family, which he now feels he needs to hide his thoughts from, again making him feel lonely. Harrowing, as that moment in the episode of Rebels seemed, but now with even more context to really feel it from within.

 

Thanks, dear husband, about being specific about writing in 2nd person singular. It is an odd choice, I know, but as always you found out about my motives. I love you very much!

 

Admiral Konstantine

I admire the city he built. It's Istanbul, not Constantinople anymore, as the song goes.


Camaraderie and appreciation seem outdated these days. Especially in military service.

Especially not when you fail the glorious Empire.


Expendables, really.

Everyone below Palpatine carries that title.


“G’day! How’s it going, mate?”

I didn't know Krennic came from the planet Down Under? Where beer does flow and men chunder!


“A Lasat was with you.” Faint anger swings in her words.

Be careful. You don't want the mighty Cassandra mad at you.


Around his adopted daughter Orson Krennic is like a tame rancor.

She keeps him in line.


“And believe it or not, I could love you into bits and pieces, too, Blondie.”

I have no doubt the weapon maker could love whole planets into bits and pieces.


an absolute nerf herder. There is a certain reliability to that.

A reliable nerf herder. An important task, to be sure.


Excellent work, AzureAngel2, as always.

 

@Vek Talis: Thanks for the sweet reply! It came when I needed cheering up.

Especially this part:

“G’day! How’s it going, mate?”

I didn't know Krennic came from the planet Down Under? Where beer does flow and men chunder!

In all my fics, not only the Nagina main story and the Cassandra main story, I let Krennic talk with a broad Aussie accent plus using "Chandrilan Westcountry" slag expressions. Especially when he gets emotional.

Nagina, Chapter 17:

“I was not briefed about you being a cat owner,” wonders Orson, and glares at the animal in puzzlement.

“I do not own her. With cats it is the other way around usually,” I laugh. “But if you really want to know...”

He narrows his eyes. “I insist.”

“My neighbour gave Tasia into my charge only yesterday.” My palms get sweaty. “She is away for a couple of weeks. To visit relatives.”

His husky laugh floats stirs through the air. “In the past you could tell me anything and I believed you. Such a simple gift, Ina. So rare and precious. Like a kyber crystal.” His lips tighten as his gaze reaches sub-zero temperatures. “Don't put on the raw prawn with me! Why do you protect a man you hardly know? Who is he?”

Tasia's eyes go wide, which tells me that she is in attack modus. Before my pet can claw off Orson's face, I hurry to the kitchen window and open it.

“Off with you!” I tell the animal and, ever so gently, set her down in the garden. “I will call you when Orson behaves reasonably again. Like a real person and not a heartless war machine.”

When I close the window again, Tasia protests loudly.

She is not the only one who feels treated unfairly by me.

“What have I done to deserve this?” complains Orson, his Chandrila Westcountry accent broader than ever. “I came here all the way from Geonosis, thinking you were dead already! That I had completely failed to protect you already.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“If only you were sorry, Ina. But you are not. Not really. It's the biggest load of bull larky I've ever heard.” He studies me for a few seconds. “Even your poor uncle, my commander-in-chief, gets his share. But that you dare to lie at me. Holy dooley!”

His fist comes smashing down on my kitchen table. Makes me jump.

“You are a dangerous person,” he sneers. “Always deflecting. A schemer really.”

“Oh, you mistake me for the other Palpatine.”

Orson rises and looks down on me, his arms crossed in front of him. “Whether you like it or not: I am in charge here. Therefore I will control everybody that sets foot over your threshold. Including that mysterious neighbour of yours.”

Tears gather in my eyes. “I hate you!”

“No, you don't!” He assures me, a sad smile on his lips. “That is what really breaks you apart.”


Here another example:


Cassandra, Chapter 14, too:

“Fair crack of the whip! You woke up freckin' everybody!” my father thunders.

The ginger-haired man stays calm and friendly, his smile never leaving his bearded face or his baby blue eyes. “Last time I checked, Orry, your father had no motion alarm installed. His neighbours and friends were free to visit him at any time.”

At present I cannot write anything new due to the complicated work situation & exciting home situation, but I think from the middle of January on things will be more clear again. Plus my husband will have healed from his surgery trial that is due soon.


Of course you will find more examples in the Celtic challenge thread "Down by the Willow Garden" which contains 8 Krennic fics. And in the diary challenge thread "Raising the enemy".