Traitors and Transients

[Bryna Belargic]

After the events of No Fate But What We Make...

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,” 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. 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.”