“Your leg,” Leader said.
“What?” Syal turned an uncomprehending expression on him.
“Your leg,” he repeated.
Syal looked down. Her right leg was vibrating again. She glared at it and it stopped.
“Answer the question, please,” the woman said.
“I’m …” Syal looked at her, then turned apologetic eyes toward Leader. “I’m Corellian.”
He glanced toward his datapad. “Right. Born on Corellia. Raised on Ralltiir.”
“No. Born on Corellia … raised on Corellia. The recruiting officer assumed, and put down, that I was raised on Ralltiir because I have Ralltiir citizenship. But I didn’t get it the usual way. I bought it.”
The woman said, “What else in your record is incorrect?”
“Nothing. But Lysa Dunton, well, that isn’t the name I was born with.”
Leader scowled at her and sat again. “You achieved an officer’s rank on a falsified name. We’re deep into court-martial territory here.”
“No, Lysa Dunton is my real name. I changed it, legally, at a court on Ralltiir that is known for being horribly disorganized. I knew it would take years for the records to reach the GA military. I changed it to avoid comparisons with my father, so I could achieve a reputation of my own.”
“What’s your real-” The woman checked herself. “Your original name?”
“Syal Antilles.”
Both the woman and Leader blinked. The woman reacted first. “Corellian. Antilles. You aren’t by chance-“
“He’s my father.”
“And Iella Antilles your mother.”
“I’m surprised you know that name.”
The woman nodded. “So the mechanic tries to persuade you to perform unspecified actions for the Corellian government.”
Syal nodded. “And he threatened to do things to my family if I didn’t comply.”
Leader gave Syal a hard start. “So you’ve just gotten your family killed. You refused; that agent’s superiors will now begin the purge. Good going.”
Syal settled back in her chair, putting a precious few more centimeters’ distance between herself and her squadron leader. “I hope not.”
“The smart thing to do,” Leader said, “would have been to go along with whatever he said and bring Intelligence in later.”
Syal shook her head. “I’m no good at that sort of thing. Don’t you think I know what I’m capable of? My mother was in Intelligence. My sister got those genes, I guess. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off, and in the meantime, that man would have been free on this ship, maybe sabotaging the starfighters of my friends. No, that’s not smarter.” Syal heard her voice rise in indignation.
“I’ll tell you what,” Leader said. “We’ll look into this. If you’re lying, you get a dishonorable discharge and whatever criminal punishment you deserve. If you’re telling the truth, things are much better. You get an honorable discharge and can go home to Corellia and fly with your daddy’s squadrons … and give us a crack at you. Either way, this is the last day you’ll wear the Galactic Alliance uniform. Dismissed.”
Syal tightened the muscles of her face, struggling to hold back new tears that wanted to stream forth, and started to rise.
“Sit,” the woman said. She turned to Leader. “You. Be a good boy and go away.”
Leader gaped at her. “You-“
The woman smiled at him, showing teeth. “The correct response is Yes, ma’am. Now go.”
Leader evaluated her expression, then hurriedly rose. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman waited until he was out of the interrogation room. She returned her attention to Syal. “Yes, we’ll verify the details of your story. If they check out, you’ll be returned to active service. But I doubt you’ll be returned to VibroSword Squadron. I suspect that it can be considered a hostile environment for you now.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Your leg is going again.” The woman turned her attention to the datapad in front of her. “It says here that you were offered the chance to join a new squadron handling the first deployment of the Aleph-class fighters. Is that correct?”
Syal nodded. “I didn’t want to, though. I’ve played around with Aleph simulators. They’ve got plenty of speed, but they maneuver like big plugs of duracrete.”
“And if your only options are to fly Alephs or work as a communications officer aboard a sensor ship?”
“Alephs sound great, ma’am.”
“Spoken like a true Antilles.” The woman closed her datapad.