Traitors and Transients

[Bryna Belargic]

After the events of No Fate But What We Make (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=20851)...

There was no brig aboard the Alliance transport en route Intel HQ but having acquired two prisoners quite unexpectedly, Director Van-Derveld had made a ram-shackle cell out of the cargo bay. On one side of the room, Intelligence operative and turn-coat Tess Adramel was unconscious, cuffed by her wrists and ankles to the chair she sat in. Hair had fallen into her face, but it didn't completely disguise the swollen bruising on her face. On the opposite side of the room, there was a young woman who had, a matter of hours earlier, been wearing a set of Imperial Stormtrooper armour. Stripped of the plastoid-composite body armour, she was now clad in only a sealed, black body glove. Her standard issue E-11 blaster rifle was gone, as was the lightsaber she'd been hiding inside her left gauntlet, but she wasn't bruised or bloody; merely sullen. Her dark eyes wouldn't leave Tess Adramel, not until the door to the cargo hold hissed open.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Uncharacteristically, Grace paused before the cargo bay door, fingers of her right hand flexing and drumming against the air as the other held a cylindrical device that posed even more questions then answers. One of the prisoners was potentially not a threat to the Rebellion but protocol needed to be maintained - no matter how, for once, the Director's own bias wanted to question the girl on the trip back. Not for insidious measures that Grace was known for, but to talk and cut through the bathadren and understand how this girl really knew her.

Her intel had placed her deep in the middle of an Alliance Operation that had been compromised from the start by the mole Tess. The girl's interference had made the mission a success but what else was troubling was the slippage of one word that changed everything. She had accidentally called her 'Mom'. The term was heard quite clearly and the panicked laced voice over the Stormtrooper communications device - Grace knew the girl believed her to be her mother.

"Director?"

She slapped the wall console and entered as the cargo bay doors slid opened without a word. She was not going to acknowledge that her reverie allowed for several moments silence in front of her two man escort.

"Take Ms. Adramel to lock up. When she wakes up, we'll begin her interrogation." She gave a side long glance towards Bryna, though it was impossible to see what was going on behind the mirrorshades, the young Jedi could feel a tumultuous storm of emotions. "This one goes to a debriefing room. Inform Jedi Nytherciria that her presence is requested."

"Yes Director Van-Derveld." The grunt pulled out his comm unit and placed a call as the other dragged Tess away.

Now considering that Bryna was Force Sensitive to a degree, that fact that she was cuffed to the chair by ankles and wrists helped her case (considering she could have broken free at any time), but Grace was still suspicious. Leaning down, she released both binders and allowed the girl to have the freedom to move. The agent looked at the Director incredulously.

Grace paused momentarily from her kneeling position and with a brief emotionless stare into the eyes of her supposed daughter, she couldn't help but remark how similar they looked. She noticed it before but not without the threat of death around them, she used those few seconds to really study her features and noticed the similar jawline, the full lips, and cheekbones. The eyes though. Staring so close it reminded her of ...

"Let's go," she barked and used Bryna's own lightsaber to point out the exit.

[Bryna Belargic]

Bryna got to her feet promptly, having no desire to hear her mother use that tone of voice again. It made her stomach flutter and forced her to draw upon the calming breathing techniques of her training to soothe her nerves. As they left the cargo bay, following not far behind the men dragging Tess Adramel to what Bryna hoped cynically was a cold, dark hole somewhere, she stole another quick glance at the utterly unreadable face of her mother.

“Where are we going?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"The medical wing," she responded coldly. "We're getting to the truth of your claims and once that's done ..."

Grace stole a glance at Bryna, her true emotions hidden behind the glasses and a steel visage of unnerving calm. "You are going to tell me everything you know while the results are finalized."

[Bryna Belargic]

Her head dipped, Bryna muttered to herself. “That could take a while.”

No comment came in reply from Grace. The woman had all the charisma and warmth of an assassin droid as she marched them through the ships corridors. For everything that Bryna knew about her mother's past, it was jarring – still – to see her like this.

The guards outside of the medical wing stole covert glances at the Director and her prisoner as they entered the sterile bay. A sad smile passed over Bryna's lips as she took a look around the room, recognising the design and layout; it was a common set-up on an older generation of Alliance ships. There was even an old GH-7 medical unit floating in one corner.

Bryna sat down on the gurney closest to the GH-7 droid. It drifted towards the young Jedi and welcomed her to the medical wing with a voice that was far too bright and cheery, given the circumstances.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Acquire samples for a DNA testing sequence." Grace took up a position right on the edge of the room with the gurney, looking more like a disgruntled guard that got elected for such a boring assignment. Her face betrayed nothing, only stared directly at this girl while the droid took blood and tissue samples to be analyzed.

"For what purpose Director?" came the cheerful voice as it swabbed Bryna's cheek.

"Cross referencing."

Swirling the swab into a mixture of blue liquid, it capped the sample and inputted directions. "With what?"

"Me." There was no mistaking the seriousness within Grace's voice.

The GH-7 droid manage to pause for a split second, its only appearance of surprise before returning to work. "I will cross reference with the files we have, Director. I should have the reports within a few hours."

It left the room to begin its analysis immediately leaving Grace and Bryna alone, and once the see through isolation door closed them inside that the Director had initiated, they truly were.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

[Bryna Belargic]

Her fingertips curled around the edge of the gurney as she struggled to look anywhere except at her mother. She could feel her eyes, even behind the mirror shades, watching. It was the first time she'd been subject to the look, that stare of her mothers which could practically strip the plating from a ships hull. Ordinarily, she would have been overjoyed to spend some quality time alone with her mother, especially given the circumstances under which they had parted ways, but this was anything but ordinary. For a moment longer, silence held as she considered how to answer what felt like the billion credit question.

“I'm.. Bryna. My name's Bryna.”

Restlessly, the girl shifted her posture and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She pursed her lips, glanced away from her mother, then sighed as their eyes met again.

“Look, we don't have a lot of time, okay? I just.. need you to trust me so.. just.. ask me something only you would know.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

There was only a momentary shifting of Grace's eyebrows, indicating the name was familiar. It was a Hapan name and that made her instantly think of Dasquian. The Hapan Consortium was where his roots originated but that was all it meant to him. A place where he was born but if Bryna was the name of her supposed daughter, was that out of remembrance or ...

She pushed that ludicrous thought from her mind and waited for more of an explanation. A name did nothing to explain and to gain the Director's trust was not a question to be asked lightly. If Grace were to give out such a rare gift, it would require proof.

"What was the exact moment that I fell in love with Dasquian?" she said with as much monotone precision as she would be asking for the location of a prison camp. The knowledge she loved Dasquian was inferred and confirmed by her own actions. Admitting it out lout felt awkward but it was the only way to prove to Grace that Bryna was speaking the truth, that she was her daughter. It would have been a moment shared with an offspring to explain why she fell in love for the first time.

[Bryna Belargic]

The question was delivered with such a deadpan lack of feeling that Bryna almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it, and probably would have if it hadn't been so sad. Instead, she restricted herself to a small sad smile, just a flicker of movement on her lips as she lifted one hand and ran it back through her hair. “He made you dinner (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=14796),” she began, with a soft shrug. “It was just after Master Laran and Master Ev-...” Bryna stopped herself, realising what she was saying. “Morgan. Just after Master Laran and Morgan had brought Byl Laprovik back to the fleet (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=14632). The fleet fleet, I mean. This was before the Wheel. You.. had the Corellian Chardonnay you'd been waiting... three years to drink.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

As the moment was confirmed with every word, Grace's stoicism melted away in utter shock. No one. No one could possibly know of the subtle intimacy shared between her and Dasquian, and in her heart there was no mistaking the truth that he would never divulge that information to anyone. Ever. Overwhelmed by the weight of the truth, Grace fell into the nearest chair, finding it impossible to stand any longer. She couldn't bring herself to look at Bryna, though the young Belargic could see a gaping mouth quivering ever so subtly.

"How ..." she swallowed, her words broken as the heart beating inside her. Every ounce of perfected calm had been destroyed. "How is this possible?"

[Bryna Belargic]

“I don't know. It isn't.”

Every part of Bryna wanted to reach out to her mother, to embrace her as she had done on Dac before all of this madness had swept into their lives. She'd even taken a few steps towards Grace before the hesitation set in. Although Bryna knew her mother would never have admitted it, there had been a time in her life when cold hatred for the Empire was the only thing holding her together. She wore her anger like armour, her grief over the loss of her partner stored away somewhere deep and dark inside of her, where no one could find it – and it couldn't find her. A hug from the daughter she had yet to conceive, with the man she thought she'd lost forever, might just be the straw that broke the bantha's back.

Chewing the inside of her bottom lip, Bryna looked over her mother with a frown. She couldn't explain what she couldn't understand and yet although she might not have understood the how of her arrival three months prior into a land where she had yet to be born, she did know the why.

“We can figure it out later, but right now you need to.. keep it together, and be strong.. for dad.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She laughed viciously, "For dad?"

Ripping off her mirror shades, green eyes pierced the ones of her daughter that held none of the defiance and stoic grace held previously. They were dulled, defeated but Bryna could sense that in the back of her mother's mind, the glimmer of hope that the Director had for Dasquian had all but faded. "Your dad is dead!"

Vaulting to her feet, she threw the mirrorshades against the ground as she spoke as if wanted to emphasize the point. "I've only stayed because I believe in the cause! It's the only thing I have left!"

[Bryna Belargic]

The full force of her mother's anger hit Bryna like a cold slap to the face. The little girl inside of her – the child she had once been – wanted to flinch away from the fury that etched an ugly and unfamiliar mask onto her mother's features, but Bryna held her ground, her hands tightening into fists. There is no emotion, there is peace. The words circled round and round inside her mind as she tried desperately to compose herself. Fighting with her mother was a new experience. It wasn't that her childhood had been perfect, but her parents had never raised their voices at her, and certainly had never looked at her the way Grace was looking at her now.

“I know where he is – and if we don't get to him soon, he's going to be something worse than dead!”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Visibly startled, Grace's posture turned upright with eyes as wide as saucers, the shock of the news forgoing her usual perceptions. For if she were in her right mind, the Director would have easily seen just how alike mother and daughter were at this precise moment. Not allowing to falter with the mission and stubborn to the core, the only thing that was different now was Bryna held the gentleness of her father within her voice. The steely edge of disappointment had never been learned by the young Belargic.

"You being here is ..." eloquent the Director no longer was, "... is impossible to ... begin with. To believe that things happen the same is ludicrous."

She had accepted the death of the only person she loved in this galaxy and the possibility that Dasquian was still alive, Grace couldn't accept it if Bryna was wrong. To allow hope into her heart fully only to be devastated would destroy her.

[Bryna Belargic]

“I-” With a frustrated sigh, Bryna turned half-away from her mother. In the three months leading up to this moment, she'd rehearsed this conversation over and over in her mind yet it had never gone this badly before. She'd had some inkling of what to expect, when it came to understanding her mothers frame of mind in this particular time-line. Still, nothing could have prepared Bryna for her mothers complete lack of hope.

Looking at Grace side-on, she felt her mothers desolation beginning to steal over her. Every minute that ticked by in which she failed to convince her mother to believe her was another minute closer to losing her father forever. She could picture Master Tarkin's face as she stressed the merits of diplomacy and the virtues of constructing a compelling arguement, two facets of Bryna's Jedi studies that she had yet to fully grasp.

Master Tarkin... Freezing, Bryna turned sharply back towards her mother, taking a step forward.

“The droid can check my DNA, it can't tell you if I'm telling the truth – but a Jedi Master can. One of them must be nearby, right? Master Tarkin, Master E'frain, Master s'Ilancy?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Out of sorts on on the verge of snapping the perilous string of control she had left, Grace had to admit that Bryna was either an impeccable liar like her mother could be, or she was telling the truth. The way the young Belargic spoke with such confidence and without stutter as those names were rattled off, it made the Director concede the request - to an extent.

Master Tarkin was not on the Wheel currently, nor was Knight s'Ilancy. The other name spoken was not familiar but there would be an investigation to the whereabouts of that possible Jedi. Ironic as it was with her life in shambles, Grace could not stop thinking about the mission.

She tapped at her right ear, turning on the transmission device that was nestled inside it. "Change of plans. Bring Jedi Nytherciria to the medbay where I'm with the detainee."

Though not a Jedi Master, Grace trusted Daria implicitly.

[Daria Nytherciria]

In spite of living aboard a ship that was occupied primarily by members of the Rebel Alliance, Daria Nytherciria had very little to do with the Rebellion. Her waking hours were full of preparation: both physical and mental, for herself and the other Jedi aboard the Wheel. There were very few duties within the Rebel convoy that required the precise skill-set of a Force User but Daria did not consider herself above co-operating with the Alliance when necessary, particularly where a woman like Grace Van-Derveld was concerned.

As had become commonplace, Daria arivved at the sick bay in clothing more suited to one of the Wheel's military personnel than a Jedi Knight. In a black t-shirt, pants and military-issue boots, her red hair hung loose at her shoulders. The silver hilt of her lightsaber stood out prominently on her hip.

“Agent Van-Derveld,” she said, acknowledging the Director with a nod. Her sightless white eyes slid to the second, unfamiliar woman in the room, lingering there even as she continued to speak.

“Is there some matter that requires my assistance?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Thank you Daria for being here." The Miraluka would immediately notice the unsteady flux of emotion in the Director's voice. It was dangerously uncharacteristic and it mirrored the tension within the Force. Though there was a good chance the Knight was taken aback at how candid the Director was in using Daria's name so freely.

"This ..." she sighed and knew that the Jedi Knight would not judge her for this improbable situation, nor the turbulent feelings raging within her. "I don't know how to explain this without it sounding ridiculous but ..."

She stood up and found that one of her best traits of being blunt when needed was still possessed. Besides, a Jedi doesn't require facts being pampered by meaningless words. They just needed the truth. "This woman claims to be Bryna."

A pause for the emphasis and some resolve to kick in, but some of the armor loosened by the previous conversation with Bryna was being reinforced back into existence. "Byrna Belargic. Supposedly she is from the future and my daughter. We must know if this is true and quickly."

She left out the details that if Bryna was telling the truth, that meant that Dasquian might be alive and there was a chance he could be rescued. Grace wanted to froth another response, swearing if this girl was lying, she'd space Bryna herself.

But oddly, such strength could not be mustered.

[Bryna Belargic]

Bryna had spent the time waiting for Master Nytherciria's arrival in what could only be described as sullen silence. She'd retreated to the gurney where she sat once again holding herself, alternately looking aimlessly around the room and stealing brief glances at her mother. All the while, the Jedi Code was being repeated inside of her mind in the hopes that it would bring some much necessary clarity to her thoughts.

When the red-haired Jedi entered the med-bay, Bryna pushed herself quickly to her feet. Although her hair was longer and she wore fatigues rather than the heavy robes of the Jedi Order, there was no mistaking Daria. She had a permanent look of wondering about her, an air of the ethereal that made Bryna think her focus was never quite fully in the present.

“Master Nytherciria...”

As she bowed her head, Bryna couldn't hold back a little smile, though it quickly began to fade.

[Daria Nytherciria]

“That certainly is a.. bold claim.”

Had such a declaration come from anyone other than Grace Van-Derveld, Daria might have shrugged her suspicion off as nonsense – but the Director was practical to a fault. Nothing in her aura told Daria that the woman had lost control of herself and succumbed, as human nature would dictate, to the power of her own grief. Similarly, the girl claiming to be Grace's daughter radiated no air of deceit. It was to Bryna that Daria directed her first question.

“Tell me how it is you came to be here, in this time.”

[Bryna Belargic]

That was the billion-credit question, of course. If she'd known the answer, she might have gone back, against all sense and reason. The galaxy she had left behind was not the galaxy she had sworn to defend, not any more, but there were people suffering there. Bryna's stomach knotted. Were they suffering right now? As she stood in the sterility and safety of this medical bay, were the faces she had known and loved contorted into grotesque caricatures, lips curled back in feral snarls as the Morbus virus made monsters of good men and women?

For an instant, Bryna closed her eyes. There is no emotion, there is peace. She drew in a deep breath and, steeling herself, looked to the blind Jedi.

“Master, I can... show you, if you'd permit me?”

She held out one hand to Daria, hoping that the woman standing before her had the same preternatural insight as the Jedi Master that had mentored so much of Bryna's instruction in the Force.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Bolder, still. There were not many who would readily offer them mind up to the probing gaze of a Jedi Knight, not when they could not control what the Jedi would see. Daria's own experience penetrating the thoughts and memories of others was limited, as occasion so rarely called for it, yet when she searched her feelings she felt no anxiety in herself at the prospect of seeing into this girl.

“Very well,” she moved forwards, reaching out to lay a hand against the Belargic's girls face.

“Show me.”

[Bryna Belargic]

Their minds rocketed forwards as an explosion sent a jolt through Bryna's starfighter. Her knuckles whitening as rolled the ship wing-over-wing, a volley of laser-fire screamed through the space the vessel had occupied seconds ago. The sky swarmed with ships of every kind, jostling to find prime position in the space-lanes that surrounded Coruscant. In the mid distance to her left, a heavy freighter collided with one of the huge garbage cannister's that made a tight orbit around the planet, whilst to the right smaller ships struggled to navigate through the shattered remains of an orbital mirror array, whose fragments were strung across the sky like a row of jagged teeth.

The only people moving towards Coruscant where those crashing to the surface.

Bryna's hands worked the 'fighters controls without so much as a glance at which buttons she was pushing, but if she'd stopped for a second her fingers would have been shaking. Everything was reflex now. The Force was with her, guiding her. It was the only guide she had. An ill-timed hit to the 'fighters hull had taken out half of the sensor packages and all but crippled communications, though that was a small mercy given what was transmitting on an open frequency throughout all of the Core.

It was a single voice, repeating the same message over and over again.

“The farms of Chandrila are burning.

The beaches of Corellia are burning.

The plains of Dantooine are burning.

The jungles of Felucia are burning.

The pastures of Naboo are burning.

The docks of Kuat are burning.

The spires of Coruscant are burning.

The oceans of Dac are burning.

The towers of Nar Shaddaa are burning.

The forests of Kashyyyk are burning...”

She knew that voice. They all did. Executor Van-Derveld. The man – no, monster who'd unleashed the Morbus Virus on the galaxy. Her uncle. Bryna's ship shook again, sparing her the revulsion of picturing the Executor for more than a moment.

Though she'd escaped the surface of Coruscant and the outer-atmosphere, the surrounding system was just as much a minefield as the planet's surface. Just one stray torpedo - fired in a frenzy of panic - could deplete what was left of her shields. Then, there was only a thin shell between her and the unforgiving darkness of space. No, she thought, frowning. There was the Force too. The Force was with her, surrounding her, drawing her onwards. Onwards to only it knew where, but she felt its pull like magnetism.

Three shots glanced off her right wing. The fighter stuttered to the left but the shields held. Bryna threw a wild glance out of the cockpit and her eyes flew immediately to a familiar sight: the battered bulk of Master Henning's Knightfall shouldering its way through the chaos. Her mind sprang outwards, desperately clutching at whatever presence might be aboard. She'd heard in chambers of the Jedi Council on Vortex that Master Henning had been lost in the slums of Coruscant, consumed by the plague her uncle had unleashed on them all, yet there was no mistaking his freighter. She couldn't feel Master Henning at all, but there was a presence there nonetheless, someone familiar on board.

In her mind, she saw the impish eyes of Cleo Némain, smiling.

Seconds later, the world before her exploded into a kaleidescopic cone of light – then collapsed into darkness.

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria snatched her hand back as though she'd been stung.

For a moment, it was as if she'd just woken from a nightmare. She could still feel the echoes of Bryna's emotions as if they were her own. The connection that the Force had formed between them had been brief but intense and even as she took a step back from the girl, Daria could feel Bryna's mood bleeding into her own. The girl had been trained in the Jedi arts, there was no mistaking that, but she was a learner still and so unable to sever the connection she had made completely.

The silence in the med-bay was a startling contrast to the sound and fury that had reigned above Coruscant – or rather, would reign above Coruscant. Daria knew her history. What she had just glimpsed was not any part of the Galaxy's past and yet the girl knew things that no stranger could have possibly known: the enclave on Vortex, Barton Henning's Knightfall and even the existence of the Director's brother, the pale spectre that Navaria had clashed blades with on Druckenwell (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=17752). That felt like a lifetime ago.

Daria inhaled deeply, centering herself. “I believe the girl speaks truly when she says she is not from our... time, Agent Van-Derveld. I sense she does not understand, fully, how she came to be here and I must confess I cannot understand or explain it myself. As to whether she is your daughter,” Daria paused, studying the girl for a long moment. Nothing of what she had seen could lead her to believe that the two women standing before her were related, yet she knew better than most that sight could not always be trusted. She reached deeper into her senses, calling upon the Force to bring clarity to her mind.

Seconds passed, and Daria gave a faint shake of her head. “I cannot say. I see similarities in you, but sensitivity to the Force is a trait which is typically inherited from ones parents. The chance that one or both of the girl's parents could touch.. the Force is.. incredibly high.”

With those words, Daria fell silent and looked to the Director.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Uncertainty within certainty. The Director hated the ambiguity and the doubt that hung in the air between her and Bryna. The Jedi's judgment lifted some of her reservations of the girl but the possibility that this girl would ever be her daughter had died along with her father. Because in heart, now more then ever, there was only one man she would have ever shared a life with - a family with.

Yet, there was the sincere revelation of latent Force Sensitivity - a fact that Grace had dismissed since learning her brother was able to wield its awesome power. She knew there was a chance that she too possessed that capability, almost cementing that it was far more then chance when confronted with her Lupine heritage.

"The tests being ran by the medical staff will confirm any doubts," she said so impassively but when Grace looked towards Bryna, she let out a resigned sigh. "But now, I have none."

[Bryna Belargic]

If the ships equipment was advanced enough the tests might reveal that she was of mixed parentage, having marks of both Hapan and Lupine genetics, a rare and potent combination if ever there was one. The interrogations of Tess Adramel would eventually lead Alliance Intelligence to similarly unexpected conclusions, that one of their trusted operatives was indeed a mole, who had been hell-bent on putting Grace Van-Derveld out of her misery - but all of that didn't really matter to Bryna. Not nearly as much as her mothers own acceptance did, however begrudgingly it was being given.

Ordinarily, any awkwardness between mother and daughter would have been resolved with a warm embrace. Since Bryna had become a Jedi, they had seen little and less of each other, but that only made their time together all the more important. Too important to squander on bickering and squabbling. Now more than ever, Bryna knew they had to make every moment of their time together count.

“Could we look maybe.. get something to eat and look at some star-charts while we wait?” she asked, eyes shifting between Daria and her mother. “I can show you.. where they're keeping dad.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The Director was not surprised that with her admittance to the truth, things were even more tense between mother and daughter. It didn't bother Grace in the least.

"Fine." She stepped aside, allowing the young woman enough room to follow. She hadn't realized how close she had gotten to Bryna as the three of them had talked. Grace chalked it up to keeping the girl closed in so she wouldn't escape, but that seemed ... wrong.

"I appreciated your help in this matter, Daria. If we need your services further, I'll contact you." Her gratefulness was forced and she looked down at her daughter with a grim expression. "Regardless of what you hold to be true, there is no guarantee that he is alive."

[Daria Nytherciria]

Daria inclined her head slowly to the Director, her mind still swimming with the visions that touching Bryna Belargic's mind had given her. In truth, she did not want to leave. She wanted to take the girl aside and look further, deeper into the future she had glimpsed, however fleetingly – and yet she knew that now was not the time. We weill speak again soon, Bryna, she thought.

“May the Force be with you both,” she said, giving the girl one last glance before she departed.

[Bryna Belargic]

They left behind the medical bay. Her mother stalked ahead, sullenly leading the way to what appeared to be a make-shift comms and briefing room. It was meant to set an entire away team or starfighter squadron, but with its empty seats and silence it felt small, sad. Bryna watched her mother bring the star-chart projector to life with a stab to its controls. The machine shone stars onto the wall ahead of them, depicting a map of the sector that the room's previous occupants had been studying. There had been no mention of food yet – no mention of anything really – but Bryna said nothing on that subject. She had spent the last three months living on meagre rations. A day longer wouldn't hurt.

Still, she needed to say something.

“I know.. how.. strange this must be for you. It's strange for me too.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace glowered at the stars upon the wall and then at Bryna. "I don't know what you want from me," she said honestly. She had no idea of how to act, what to say, or even respond to the notion she wanted a child. Without the years of nurturing between them, Bryna was left with the emotionless husk that was left over when everything good in her life had faded away.

She pulled out her comm and let the mess hall know to bring them two plates of food and drink.

[Bryna Belargic]

Grace's words stung Bryna, but they were to be expected. This woman might have looked like her mother, but she was not her mother yet. She had to remember that. There is no emotion, there is peace.

“Just your help,” she answered, crossing the briefing room to the projectors controls. The Rebellion had scrounged up most of their tech from relics of the Clone Wars and the projector was no different. The system was simple, however, at least for someone who was used to searching through the Jedi Archives.

“I don't understand how me being here works, but if we don't find the Hades soon...”

As she waited for the terminal to load the list of accessible star-charts, Bryna stole a glance at her mother from beneath a curtain of dark hair.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

That small part of her that had wanted to believe that Dasquian was alive started knocking on the edges of restraint.

"Just because you exist does not mean he's alive. Things changed once you arrived here," she said as clinically as briefing a group of Ops for a mission before pocketing the comm device. "And even if by some stretch of the fantastical imagination that he was, Alliance Command would never be agreeable to a rescue mission."

Her own actions had seen to that but every lead had turned up empty. Resources needed to be allocated to the war efforts, not some idea that one man may be alive.

[Bryna Belargic]

At that rebuke, Bryna returned her attention to the computer screen in front of her. The proof of her claims would be found aboard the prison ship Hades.

“I didn't need an Alliance sanctioned mission to rescue you from Tess Adramel.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She almost, almost smirked - the comment reminding her of how committed Grace once was in finding Dasquian.

"I won't even debate the logistics of that statement." A prison ship that was constantly on the move, jumping into hyperspace and flying through general areas of Imperial controlled space was not the same as a stationary fixture where they had spies to relay information.

"It's suicidal going after a phantom."

[Bryna Belargic]

Bryna sat back from the terminal. She had given Daria the smallest glimpse of the future that lay ahead, but her mother didn't have an inkling of understanding yet. If she had, she might have understood how little the odds of success mattered to her daughter. Stranded in a time where her own mother looked at her as if she were a stranger, she had no way of knowing if she could ever go home or, perhaps more importantly, what ramifications would follow if she failed to act now.

“It's kind of suicidal if I don't go.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

She frowned. How could Grace argue that?

"Do you have any idea of where the transport would be?" she said blankly, not wanting to argue further. She wasn't this girl's mother and how could she really dissuade her from something she passionately believed and needed to see through.

She was beginning to become jealous because that was Grace not that long ago. Passionate, though serious - as much as the Rebels gave her flack for it, the Director had a respect and camaraderie with the right mix of fear. Now it was mainly fear with respect for running a tightly run operation. It was just existing.

[Bryna Belargic]

The story of her fathers time aboard the Hades wasn't the kind of nostalgic tale told over the Life Days fires. Most of what she knew she'd overheard, a young girl crouched in the shadows out of sight when her mother and father thought she was fast asleep in bed. The Hades itself, however, was legendary. It's name had become a byword for the special type of hell that a traitor could expect to be condemned to. It was part of every childs education, as the site of a major event in history.

“I know the sector. I think I can pin it to within a couple of systems, if it's where the archives said it was...”

If. Bryna bit the inside of her lower lip, feeling the first pangs of doubt.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Cue what you know into the computer and then we'll go from there until our food arrives." Even with whom Bryna was trying to rescue, this was what Grace was good at. Digesting information and formulating a plan.

She was also good at reading people and could see that her daughter was nervous. "By the archives, I presume you mean the Jedi ones?" She asked not out of curiosity but if relations progressed between Alliance and Jedi, it wouldn't surprise her how much information the Council would have gathered over the years.

[Bryna Belargic]

With a slow nod, Bryna keyed in what she could remember about the Hades location and got up, leaving the terminal to do its work. She slid into one of the briefing room's chairs, ordinarily the domain of 'fighter pilots in their bright orange jumpsuits. The upholstery was a little ratty around the edges but it was cushioned, and that was more than could be said for the chair she'd arrived shackled to. After three months on the move, small comforts were welcome.

“Right, the Jedi Archives. They're in the temple on Vortex. Or they will be.”

She lifted her eyes back to her mother. The ghost of a small, sad smile had edged onto her lips.

“You helped fill them up.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Her eyes were fixated on the star charts while her daughter spoke, but a curious brow could not help but rise with the confession. Vortex of all places. The Jedi had decided to return there. It would almost indicate that Alliance had won.

"Then one would presume Alliance Command decided to keep me as Director if that were the case," she said with a sardonic smirk.

One of the grunts entered the room and stopped, his lips pooling downwards at Bryna in thought. He never seen her around the fleet before. "Here ya go, Ma'am."

As he walked inside, both could see how matted his mousy brown hair was with perspiration from being in the kitchen all day. His apron could really use a good washing as well. He slid the metal covered plates onto the table before removing the bottled waters underneath his arms. "I whipped up a salad and some roasts for ya."

"Thank you, Malcom," said the Director before taking a seat at the table.

It was the cook's cue to leave, but not before nodding pleasantly to the other girl in the room. "Miss."

[Bryna Belargic]

“One would presume that,” Bryna echoed, with a smirk of her own. The sound of humour in her mothers voice was a welcome thing, however dry a humour it might be.

When the cook arrived, he gaped at her as if she were some strange creature from beyond the unknown regions. Bryna only had eyes for the food he'd come to deliver. A real meal – not just some pill. bar or pulpy tasteless mash – was a thing to be savoured, but Malcolm had barely left the room before Bryna's cheeks were bulging. Evidently, table manners and etiquette weren't high on the list of topics covered during Jedi training.

She chewed her way through several mouthfuls in silence before glancing up. “You know,” she said, swallowing down another bite. “You never did learn how to cook.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Her fork barely speared the salad, a small crunch being heard as lettuce snapped under the pressure before Bryna cheeks were as full as a rodian rat. Grace had dismissed the poor table manners for starvation. "When was the last time you ate?" she asked.

She felt herself groan inwardly at the comment and chewed on a bit of salad, her mind wandering to the last time her and Dasquian were happy. He had cooked dinner to celebrate their down time and kept berating her to learn to cook.

"I do well enough to survive. My forte are using pans as weapons anyway." The comment should have been humorous but it was spoken flatly, as if merely a fact.

[Bryna Belargic]

Bryna pressed one hand to her mouth, half-choking half-laughing. Swallowing another hungry mouthful, she shook her head. “I always thought that was just a joke.”

There was a muted beep, a signal that the terminal had finished correlating the data Bryna had given it. She looked across the room with a frown, surprised at the machines speed – and privately a little irritated that it had interrupted the first actual conversation she'd had with her mother since arriving. On her feet again, she moved quickly to the terminal.

“Terminus system.” She gave the keyboard an irritated jab and, bending lower to squint at the screen, went on talking to herself. “Stars, there's barely anything here. You really didn't know much before the expansion...”

She paused, catching her lower-lip between her teeth for an instant. With the touch of another button, the stars and planets of the Terminus system - as the Alliance knew it - flickered to life in three-dimensional holographic display. Bryna took a step back to examine the sparse representation of the Kallea sector, where the Terminus system was located.

“How long is it going to take us to get from here to the Outer Rim?”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Quizzically, Grace raised a brow since she was completely confused as to what was so funny. Upon the explanation, she supposed such stories of her missions with Dasquian would come up. He probably had great pleasure in embarrassing her in every way possible in front of their daughter. It would be so him.

For a brief moment, the haze of indifference was lifted before it was clamped down tightly behind the steel emotionless barrier. She couldn't afford even the simplest moments of remembrance or hope to seep inside. Not after all of the disappointments in her life and not after seeing what could have been sitting next to her.

"Probably a day," she said after doing a quick mental calculation. "I cannot simply disappear either. However, I'm certain I can convince the Alliance to be rid of me for a short while."

The Advisory Council and Grace weren't on the best speaking terms for the most part. There were a couple that empathized with her, most wanted her to be quiet and do her job. Which she had been doing as of late and with extreme efficiency. Even under the current truce, they would welcome the time apart from the Director.

[Bryna Belargic]

She didn't say it, but Bryna knew that her mother could convince even a stubborn Adarian to change their mind. Talking the leaders of the Rebellion into allowing her to strike out at an Imperial prison ship would be a piece of cake.

“A day,” Bryna nodded. “That's quicker than I thought.”

Getting a lock on the Wheel's current location was about as easy as pinning down the Hades itself, so it was a small mercy to know that they wouldn't have far to go. Standing up, she paced slowly around the star-chart then glanced through the pale blue holograph at her mother.

“We could do with some back-up.. and some distractions.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I know some short cuts," she said dismissively and narrowed her eyes after the next reply from her daughter.

"What I was thinking as well," she muttered and made a note to speak with Jakatta after they were done here. He and several other Rogues wouldn't mind living up to the name of their squad, but it was best to leave most of the details out. Both regarding Bryna's true identity and who they were attempting to break out.

"I'm certain I can convince a few space happy pilots to accompany us."

[Bryna Belargic]

A smile started to creep onto Bryna's lips, but she covered it with a fist and feigned concentration on the star-chart. This was the Grace Van-Derveld she knew. A woman who could take the bare-bones of a plan and call upon every available resource to make it a reality. Though the 'space happy pilots' wouldn't yet have grown into the Rogues that Bryna had flown alongside, history told her that these were young men and women at the peak of their skill. Their assistance would be invaluable.

“Once we've reached the Outer Rim, I can plot us a course through the Terminus system.”

Probably, Bryna noted silently as she deactivated the holographic star-chart.

“So... I guess the sooner you can drum up some starfighter support, the sooner we can head out.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"I expect no less from you." Grace spoke directly towards the young woman across from her with a mixture of contempt and insecurity. If Bryna was truly her daughter, then she would have raised her to never undertake something she couldn't see through to the end. A lesson that Grace herself had learned the hard way.

Her comm went off and she tapped her ear piece. Eyes widened for a moment before settling back to their neutral state. "Understood."

Tapping the device off, she addressed the young Jedi. "You will be contacted once that is accomplished. Till then, you are under house guard and to remain out of trouble as soon as you're done meeting with Jedi Master Tarkin. She has requested your presence." Bryna appeared surprised. "Which shouldn't come as too much of a surprise considering the Jedi you have just spoken with."

Most of the Rebellion was clueless about the nature of Daria and Navaria's relationship, but if one looked past the formality and respect that they held for one another, there was a deeper familiarity they shared. She and Dasquian had similar chemistry and it was simple for the Director to piece together the clues between the two female Jedi.