Zira had found herself retreating back to the confines of the Phantom. She wasn't exactly sure why but she could only guess that it was because the ship represented the only setting with any sense of familiarity to her on this planet and right now the comfort of what was known was something she desperately needed. The remainder of her conversation with the ambassador, her exit from the building and the short conversation she'd had with Myala upon seeing the light of day again afterwards were sort of stirring around in her mind in a blur of both natural and phosphorescent white as the afterimages of the embassy's pristine light displays mixed with the sight of the bright snow she was staring at out of the ship's cockpit viewports. There less than a hundred meters away her young charge, rosy cheeked in the winter's chill, busied herself rolling a ball of snow that was slowly increasing in size so that she could form the base of a sculpture that Zira had showed her how to make just minutes before. Watching the girl's single minded determination to finish the project was quietly charming to Zira. It was somewhat calming to see someone so fascinated with something so simple as Myala now was. It helped that, as Zira watched, she could see the first hints of a contented smile form underneath the loose strands of hair she periodically pushed back.
Oh, to be so carefree again.
The hiss of the cockpit doors opening behind her signaled the arrival of Shakka. Zira had been slightly irritated earlier to find that the Twi'lek had vanished without a trace by the time she had exited the embassy's doors with nary a warning other than the slightly frightened message conveyed through Myala that she would be close by. Fortunately for Shakka that irritation currently had no room within Zira's mind to grow into any sort of real anger as she swore she could feel the synapses in her brain sparking from the current overload they were experiencing.
"We're being watched." Shakka's voice was low and even in the quiet of the cockpit.
"Do tell." Zira said without bothering to acknowledge her presence in any other way.
"Took a look around. Didn't get a lot of detail but there are definitely probe droids out there. You can tell by the way the daylight flares off their lenses if you manage to spot one."
"Hmph."
"Did you hear what I said?" Shakka asked, approaching the pilot's seat where Zira sat slouched with a hand lazily propping her head up. "Someone's spying on—"
"They belong to the ambassador."
Grabbing something resting on the other side of her lap, Zira held up a datapad that was currently projecting a slowly rotating holographic image of the man in question that appeared formally taken as a matter of official record in front of both of them and waited for Shakka to take it before continuing. Her stare remained on the frosty blankets of snow outside.
"Kel Trask. Middle aged. Native of Alderaan. Former Alliance jump trooper. Hair like the peaks of snowcapped mountains. Eyes that'll pierce you like staring into the Kaliida nebula. Jawline that could cut through durasteel. Body like a Nubian god of sports."
She finally turned her head to look at Shakka who had taken a seat behind her and wore a quizzical look of curiosity.
"So when's the wedding?" She asked.
"He's a bastard." Zira hissed, turning back to look at the snow.
"The pretty ones usually are, in my experience." Shakka tutted. "What happened in there?"
"Nothing. We had a conversation. He's doing his job and trying to get Arlox to agree to join the New Republic. That's why he's got as many eyes about the place as he can manage."
"And you're...upset at this?" Shakka asked, genuine confusion tinting her voice. "Last night you said you flew for the Rebellion."
"My whole family fought in the Rebellion." Zira confirmed. "Father, mother, brother. All of them still work for the New Republic too. One big family dedicated to public service and freedom from star to shining star."
"So what the hell are you so pissed about?"
There was a long silence in the cockpit as Zira considered her next words.
"Lets just say he brought something to my attention that concerns all of us."
"All of who?"
"Everyone who came to Arlox aboard this ship last night."
"So he's threatening us?"
"No. Nothing so—"
"Extortion then."
Zira turned to stare at Shakka again. The blue Twi'lek was sternly staring back at her from her seat over a pair of long crossed legs and folded arms.
"I might look like your average lady of negotiable affection but I've been around the block once or twice, hun." She said in that slow, poisonous drawl that she found so easy to slip into. "There's only a few reasons why someone with your background and someone with his would part on such frayed terms." She scrolled through the contents of the datapad with a lone, dainty finger and pursed her lips. "Especially considering you weren't exaggerating. He's...quite the looker."
"I'll tell you what he said when I can get everyone we came here with in one place." Zira said, pushing past Shakka's mischief. "It involves all of us and I really don't want anyone doing anything too drastic before we've all had a chance to consider our options."
"Sounds serious."
"It is."
Shakka tore her gaze from the datapad to look at Zira, her brow furrowed.
"The son of a bitch did threaten you, didn't he?" There was a beat of time where Zira swore Shakka looked quietly impressed. "So much for comrades in arms, eh?"
"Tell me about it." Zira sighed, sinking into her seat as memories spilled out onto the white canvas of the snowy hills...
5 years earlier
Var Zayza, the planet of Theron
The District of Clay
The skies above the city had not seen a single firework in decades. That simple fact made tonight's display all the more breathtakingly spectacular.
Blazing red spirals mixed with azure blue fountains of light while emerald sparks and vermilion sprays danced together against the clear, cloudless black of the night sky. But even the heady, wild rainbow of color that nearly blotted out the light of distant stars could not compare to the exuberance of life happening under the flickering streetlamps below. There between the kiln yards, warehouses, quarries, and smattering of tall red smokestacks that made up the Trager Gap Brickworks at the district's southern boundary and the massive, squat, cylindrical storage tanks nestled next to the multistory monstrosity of metallic piping and machinery that made up the Galactic Mining Guild's rhydonium refinery at the district's northern boundary was the mass of crosshatched streets lined with storefronts and domiciles of sandstone, scrap metal, and a thin but pervasive film of soot that made up the vascular necessities of the town's beating, working class heart. It was on one of these streets called Granite Road where from the shotgun seat of her brother's landspeeder Zira was witnessing the party at the end of the world...
Or perhaps it was more accurate to call it the party at the beginning of a new one.
Every single device or screen within the city capable of transmitting the holofeed of the second Death Star's apocalyptic demise was doing so on an endless loop. The cheers from sidewalks and from open windows were raucous and continuous from every road one cared to travel down. Bells were ringing. Songs were being sung. Horns were blaring. Flags emblazoned with the Alliance starbird fluttered in the breeze, hung from every pole, post and tree branch. Priests of every religion were handing out blessings liberally with one hand and imbibing the free libations that poured generously from the city's taps with the other. In the distance the flickering yellow-orange light of flames burned against the horizon because it wouldn't be a Theronian party without someone setting something on fire. All hands and all voices, human or otherwise, were raised to contribute to the magnificence of the historic moment.
It was glorious. It was rapturous. It was lovely and heartfelt and all the other good things about strangers coming together to celebrate how the common decency of the galaxy had been victorious.
It was frakking annoying.
Zira seethed in her seat in the open topped speeder car while her brother drove it slowly through the traffic that was being held up by the throngs of people filling the streets. Whoever was two speeders ahead of them was laying into their horn something fierce and after a moment it became obvious why as a Zabrak and a Falleen staggered out of the headlights and off to one side of the street, their bodies about as intertwined as their tongues seemed to be.
"D'you hear me?" She realized her brother had said something and then raised his voice higher to be heard over the roar around them.
"What?"
"I said at least they're having fun!" Sidanti shouted to be heard, nodding towards the couple and their passionate display. "Question is why aren't you?! Its over, Zira! Or, hell, it will be soon! Thought you'd be at least a little more excited that we finally made it!"
She tore her gaze off her surroundings and looked at Sidanti in annoyance. The older Pantoran cut a stark figure; all white hair and baby blue skin with a pair of canary yellow gold eyes that reminded Zira of a bird of prey sometimes. Despite not even being on duty tonight he was still clad in an interesting mash of civilian clothes and military gear what with that bandoleer of power cells and the blaster rifle slung over his chest. Zira never completely understood her brother's sense of style; a result of some weird action readiness standard he was required adhere to while serving with the SpecForce Pathfinders was all she could guess.
"Dad said something to Milo and he's gone now." She said.
"What?" Sidanti asked, unsure if he'd heard right.
"I cornered Fayn earlier and made him tell me about it."
"That twitchy Rodian that works in Dad's office? The hell does he know?"
"Just enough to tell me Dad ambushed Milo one night when he was coming home from work." Zira fumed. Sidanti watched her drum her fingers impatiently on the dashboard. "I haven't heard from him in a week. That's why I asked you to take me to his speech because he owes me some karkking answers."
"I'm sure he just—" Sidanti started tepidly but Zira was not having any of it. Not tonight.
"Don't you dare defend him!" She exploded, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. "Dad never does this to you, only to me! I'm goddamned sick of it!"
"I'm not defending anyone!" Sidanti's empty hand came up as if to defend himself from his sister's tongue lashing. "I'm just saying, you know how Dad is. If he had something to do with it then he had a good reason."
"Good. Yeah, right. This is the third time he's done this!" Zira sneered and the sound of her fist hitting the side of the speeder's frame could be heard as she underlined her frustration. "The. Third. Karkking. Time!"
"Go easy would you?!" Sidanti shook his head, gripping the speeder's steering wheel stiffly. "No need to take it out on my ride. Besides, I know better than to get between you and him when you're like this by now."
"Frak off."
Sidanti couldn't help but laugh at the acid in his little sister's voice. "Twin hells, you sure know how to pick 'em."
"What? Fights or boyfriends?"
"Both." He deigned to take a sideward glance at his opponent only to see that she was giving him a look that told him he was dangerously close to recieving something a bit more painful than her attitude. He decided to offer her an olive branch. "Listen, me and the boys are planning to take some friends of ours out to—"
"I've got bigger gorgs to fry than you and your dates." Zira suddenly pulled herself up and swung her legs over the side of the speeder before hopping out onto the street. "The place isn't too far away. If its all the same to you I'll walk the rest of the way there. Thanks."
Sidanti watched her move sullenly off into a jubilant crowd of revelers with her hands stubbornly stuffed into her jacket pockets and sighed raggedly. "Does anyone in this karkking family know how to say bye?" He wondered to himself.
The Swembi Opera House was one of the most recognizable and famous landmarks in all the District of Clay. Built by the famous Sullustan architect Yati Wuuth-Swembi four centuries before the Clone Wars, it was said that she was paid handsomely for an extravagantly ostentatious building that would have fit more into a villa full of aristocrats rather than a village of miners and factory workers. Months after work began and having been quite taken with the rustic hospitality of the locals the story went that Swembi risked the fury of her contractors to completely redesign the structure into something that would better represent the town she was building it for. The results were the pride of generations of the District of Clay's denizens; a six story monument to the salt of the world's soil of marble columns and multicolored stained glass windows framed in polished yellow aurodium, circular in shape, crowned with a further two stories of vaulting dome plated in slowly spinning sheets of durasteel and crested with a flanged pedestal bearing aloft a tall statue of burnished copper depicting a weather worn youth cradling a pickaxe against one shoulder. The entrance halls and interior were equally as stately; their colorfully handsome frescoes and tiered balconies furnished and trimmed with precious stones, metals and reserved, rich velvets that were somehow presented under the light of vast and hanging crystal chandeliers in a way both artful and yet somehow just shy of gilding the lily. Zira had always thought it was the lack of gemstones. The fantastically wealthy always seemed to put them on everything.
Despite the rage building within her she took a moment to appreciate the fact that the war had somehow failed to touch the Opera House. She remembered all the stories she'd heard about how the dome had suffered damage during the Clone War and how every single member of the district, no matter what side they had pledged loyalty to, had considered it a stain on the town's soul. She was glad that the intervening period had seen the building restored and gladder still that it had been spared the fate of the district's town hall; the most comparable landmark in the area which had been gutted by fire during the planet's great Rebel Rising after the Battle of Yavin.
It was for this reason that the opera house was currently the venue of choice for that oh so important yet vapid staple of every revolution in every age; the political stump speech. The echoing words of the speaker who had taken the house's center stage as his platform washed over Zira as she walked down the broad aisles, the rows of seats around her hosting a motley crowd of bored and drowsy eyed but well dressed business moguls and rough hewn, scruffy looking cutthroats and smugglers alike. Scattered amongst the two extremes were the uniformed soldiery of the rebellion and next to them those who wore no real insignia but nonetheless bore a dizzying array of weaponry in flashy holsters or scabbards and were dressed in the homespun manner of the local custom, betraying their number as squadrons of the local Alliance backed militias. Some small groups whispered and grumbled amongst themselves in the cavernous auditorium as the speech went on but all were more or less given to absorbing what was being said whether they be fresh faced greenhorns, wide eyed with wonder at the spectacle, or jaded veterans who would have looked more at home at a barricade's firing step.
"Decades ago many of you listened to the words of Jules Vandrec who stood at a pulpit much like I do now and promised Theron a bright future as a full member of the Republic!" The speaker's gravel toned voice proclaimed. "Though his humble origins were on far away Coruscant most who remember him knew him as a true man of the people and as one of his deputies I can say that I have yet to meet a lawman of his like. He was an inspiration to this planet and this city where he chose to raise a family, becoming an iron pillar of its community and a voice for its citizens!"
A polite applause washed through the crowd as Zira stood near the rear of the congregation and fought to hide her amusement. She'd never seen her aging uncle Malik, a steely eyed Balosar with a wild bush of chestnut hair that he'd probably fought with for an hour to slick back for this spectacle look quite so...clean. But there he was; the old rough and tumble Sector Ranger in a dark blue uniform she'd never seen pressed, wearing a line of medals on his chest she'd never seen polished and sporting a handlebar moustache she'd never seen waxed holding onto a makeshift lectern with the stage lights burning into the sweat of his brow as the two...well one and a half...antennapalps sticking out of the top of his head twitched nervously every few seconds. She watched as he shuffled through the speech notes in front of him and reached forward to take a sip of water from the cup on the lectern, painfully aware by her familiarity with the man that speeches had never been his strong suit but somewhat bemusedly proud that he was obviously giving it his best shot anyway.
"Now, I don't have to tell any of you that I am no Jules Vandrec!" Her uncle began with an affable shrug.
"I can certainly confirm for these fine folks that you've far too cool a temper to be my father." quipped one of the few figures on stage standing behind and to the side of the speaker. The crowd guffawed heartily and there were even a few claps thrown in for good measure as a grin broadened on Malik's face. Zira watched as her father smirked and coolly shifted his stance behind her uncle, somehow managing to project an aura of complete and aloof poise with his hands clasped behind his back as her uncle forged on.
"But I will give you the same promise that he once gave all of you! And all of Theron! Should I be elected to this district's seat on the Planetary Parliament through your generous financial and electoral support I will immediately pursue a policy of integration with the New Republic..." A few exhortations of support sounded throughout the hall at this. "...And together we will finally make the dream of Jules Vandrec a reality, stepping hand in hand into a brighter future as a full member of the greatest democratic body that the Galaxy has ever known!"
Full throated, roaring agreement followed as many in the crowd sprang to their feet in their applause. As if on cue, Eli approached the lectern to Malik's left and wrapped his arm around his comrade's shoulder as the flashes of hovering holopic recorders above their heads flared in staccato bursts of light.
"Malik Madallo is a good and righteous man!" Eli declared. "I don't have to tell most of you that his actions during the Rebellion were in keeping with the highest standards of moral duty that all of his former station swear to upon taking up the badge of the Rangers! Were my father still alive he would no doubt tell you the same! A vote for the Judicial Party ticket is a vote to make good on the sacrifices our beloved Theron gladly made so that we might have elections again in the first place!"
Zira considered she might have been the only being in the building who wasn't currently offering their finest adulation. An angry steam still wafted in her mind but she had to admit; her father had this crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Not like it was hard on a night like tonight, she thought. She was nearly convinced that by the next dawn Var Zayza would have a new mayor based purely on whatever asshole in this intoxicated mob could shout the word "republic" louder than the others.
"One people we shall be and one people we are! Those were words of my good friend Jules in one of his last speeches to the Parliament before the tragic catastrophe of the Clone Wars!" Malik picked up where Eli left off. "A band of siblings; no danger, no distress shall sunder us! We will be free beings as our mothers and fathers were and sooner welcome death than live as slaves!"
The next minutes were filled the same sort of heady rapture that Zira had seen on the streets outside as the mass of assembled citizenry rushed forwards to express their encouragement and shake both her uncle's and father's hands. The crowd fought for the space around the stage with local reporters, their holorecorders held aloft in outstretched arms, who barked questions and sought statements over the cheering and over each other. It took some minutes of waiting in which Zira continued to slowly boil off to one side but eventually the speech goers naturally did what all crowds seemed to do and broke up into smaller collections of animatedly chattering individuals until her father was surrounded only by a few important looking dignitaries whom he wore a polite smile for.
"A damn fine speech!" A Nikto in voluminous silk robes was saying as she neared. "But I'm afraid nothing will ever top the absolute scorching that the honorable Olin Angak gave us on the eve of the Rising."
"But of course!" Her father chuckled, a wizened finger scratching at a well maintained beard of slightly greying dark hair. "What could compare to...how did it go again, Mal?"
Malik flourished the drink that had appeared in his hand, getting into the character of their dearly intense compatriot before delivering his best impression of the pugnacious Lannik. "Broken chains by any means necessary!" He intoned, with all members of the small gathered group joining in to echo the final refrain; "Blasters, bayonets and bare hands!"
"That was it!" One of the group, a sagaciously whiskered Abednedo in a tall headwrap laughed. "Gods bless Olin, what he lacks in stature he always made up for in his command of rhetoric!"
"Can you believe the dumb bastard wanted to give that speech from a battlement?" Another voice in the group asked. "Finest oration the Army of the Hearth's commanders ever heard and he would have gotten his head blasted off his shoulders if he had his way about it!"
"That's Olin for you." Eli shrugged. "A heart of gold but a mind of pyrite."
"Dad!" Zira called as the group shared a laugh. Eli turned on the spot and his smile widened at the sight of his daughter.
"Zira!" He beamed, a curious light gleaming in his grey eyes as he came to her side. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be out celebrating with your friends, not listening to some dusty old men blather about the good old days!" Behind him Malik carried on the conversation and the few amongst the group who caught on that Eli was speaking of them raised their drinks in silent toast as father and daughter shared an aside.
"We need to talk..." Zira said lowly, holding her father's gaze, her jaw set. "About Milo."
She watched the light of mirth vanish from her father's features. "Ah," he said. "That."
"Yes. That." She echoed impatiently.
"We'd better have this conversation in my office, then."
"Lead the way." The smile she wore was several things but happy wasn't one of them.
A series of decorum demanded excuses to Malik and the rest of his political benefactors and a short walk down a few backstage hallways led the two of them to a chamber that Zira was fairly certain had been used as a dressing room for one of the opera house's many performers but had since been hastily converted into a working office with a large desk and accompanying chair at one end that was surrounded by a menagerie of plush couches and softly lit mirrors. As her father closed the door behind him she was about to launch into the assault she had been considering for the past few hours now only to be halted by a raised finger. In a moment Eli had shed the heavy dress coat he had been enveloped in and hung it on a hook by the door before walking to the desk and casually taking a seat behind it as though nothing were amiss. A drawer to one side of the desk was opened and from it a small silver flask was pulled. Zira watched with mounting consternation as her father leaned back in his office chair and raised the flask a few inches to indicate it.
"I've got a feeling I'm going to need this in a minute." He said as he flicked the top of the flask off and set it on the desk.
"Are you frakking pleased with yourself?!" She nearly shrieked at him from the edge of his desk. "Milo's gone! Gone! His friends haven't seen him, his own damn mother hasn't seen him since you...you...you asshole. What the hell did you say to him?!"
"Fifty thousand." Eli said after calmly swallowing a slug from the flask.
"...Come again?" Zira burbled, her voice a glycerine mixture that threatened eruption with each new agitation.
"Your boyfriend owed the Pykes fifty thousand credits."
Eli watched that statement sink into his daughter and was admittedly unsurprised at the outward reaction that followed the slight twitch in her eye.
"That's a damn lie." She breathed.
"Hmmm...an emotionally charged but factually baseless accusation." Eli tilted his head. "Lets see how well that shakes out under scrutiny, shall we?"
Eli flung the drawer open again and in his hand appeared a datapad which he only got halfway to the desktop before his daughter angrily turned and stormed away from him.
"I swear to the gods of the Cakarian Star if you show me a dossier you've made on another one of my boyfriends—"
"You'll what?" Eli's voice lowered. "Refuse to believe it? That mag-lev seems to have left the station!"
Zira's fist were balled at her sides. Eli watched tears begin to roll down her cheeks, their trails curving around lips curled into a rictus grit
"I can't believe you're doing this to me again." She fumed.
"I'm sorry? What I'm doing..." Eli sat up straight in his chair. "...to you. What I'm doing to you? Did I hear that right?"
"You do this every time." Zira plowed on, the sting of betrayal piercing each word. "Just when I start to like someone you and all your bastard spy friends find something in their past to use to blackmail them into disappearing."
"Zira." A strangled sound escaped Eli's throat as he tried to wrap his head around what his daughter was accusing him of "Zira. That's not...I can't even begin to describe—"
"I'm karkking radioactive because of you, you bastard! Don't you get that?!"
"Enough!"
The roar was a sudden thunderbolt that silenced whatever his daughter had been about to say next and Eli Vandrec was in the eye of that storm; a tired and battle-scarred man in his early forties who could no doubt feel the trough of each wrinkle in his forehead excruciatingly in that moment. He'd gotten to his feet and wearily leaned over his desk.
"I will suffer to be called many things, daughter of mine." He began slowly. "A liar, a tyrant, a fool...but cruel is not one of them."
"Then why does this keep happening?" An accusatory finger came up in desperation. "You never did this to Sidanti!"
"That's because Sidanti actually bothers to think about what he's doing!"
"Oh. Ooooh! I see! So that's what it is, then?! I'm just some stupid girl who doesn't know any better. That's just great!"
"That isn't—" His shoulders slumped as he brought two fingers up to press against the bridge of his nose. "That's not what I said and you know it, young lady. I know you're not stupid. Anyone who can strip an ion thruster as fast as you can isn't stupid."
"Then what is it?!"
"You need to grow up, Zira."
Eli watched those words roll over her and studied her for a reaction. She screwed her eyes shut and held her head in her hands as different emotions battled for dominance of the moment.
"What does that have to do with any of this?!" She finally blurted out.
A sigh escaped Eli. "Lets go over the last three, shall we?" The rolling of the opening drawer was relentless as two more datapads appeared on the desk with Eli picking up one and scanning it. "Colo Brimen—"
"I was sixteen, Dad."
"His mother was an ISB informant. We talked about it, remember? It was never going to work."
The datapad flopped to the desktop and another one was raised. "Dash Terrand."
"Please don't—"
"You dumped him if I recall correctly?"
"...Yes."
"And so we come to the latest model." Eli continued blithely. "Milo Shule. A punk turned smuggler who was in over his head."
He lowered the datapad. His daughter's head was bowed but she still glared at him defiantly even though the heat of her rage had ebbed.
"What. Did you. Threaten him with?" She demanded as Eli sipped at his flask again and studied the datapads now collected on his desk.
"I didn't threaten him." Was the tired answer.
"Shaakshit." His daughter hissed, stepping back towards the desk and the object of her ire. "You were the last one to speak to him."
"I gave him the money."
Zira's head snapped up, her eyes appraising every line in her father's face in search of a lie she was increasingly afraid did not exist.
"You..."
"I did the preliminary investigative work that I do for every single person that gets close to anyone in this family. Not just you. My informants picked up a conflict of interest. I conferred with my superiors and they agreed with me that it represented an undue liability to operational security. I was then given several options, some of which were quite nasty, on how to resolve this and chose to follow what my gut told me."
The intentional pause seemed to irritate his daughter who had finally calmed down enough to take a seat on one of the room's many couches.
"Which was?!" She barked impatiently.
"Oh, so you do believe me?"
"Dad!"
"My gut told me that he was a dumb kid who was more scared than malicious...So I approached him outside his job site last week and offered him every last credit he'd need to pay off his debtors and clear his name."
"And he took it."
"Yes."
"And he ran?"
Eli didn't answer immediately. The blazing fire of anger that his daughter had entered the room with minutes before had smoldered away to embers before his very eyes. She sat very still on the couch and stared at the mirror opposite to her, trying to put the pieces of what her father was telling her together in her mind.
"And that was it, huh?" Her voice had become a hoarse whisper. "Not even a goodbye..."
"I didn't have a lot of great choices, sweetie." Her father offered. "It was either that or—"
"I know, Dad." She said bitterly, her eyes welling with tears again as she pushed back strands of frazzled hair. "I knew he was in some kind of trouble I just didn't think...I thought that it'd work out..."
"Because he was working for the Alliance?"
"Yeah." She squeaked. "Gods I really am stupid."
"No you aren't, Zira." Her father said, sitting next to her on the couch and putting his burly arm around her shoulders much like he had done for Malik earlier. "You're just young and you want to believe in the good in everyone. Especially people you like or agree with. Its natural."
"I frakking hate this." She moaned as she put her face into her hands.
"I know. And I know it doesn't seem like it right now but one day you'll think about today and you'll laugh."
"Right." She snorted derisively.
"You will! I know you will. And when you do I want you to remember something for me, will you? Its important and I had to learn it when I was your age too."
"What's that?"
"Who someone is out of uniform is just as important as who they are in uniform."