Subject: [OTL]: (alt. Betsy/Star Wars) Fanged Butterfly 2: Knightcross 33/? (R) From: Phil Hartman Date: Thu, 10 Apr 2008 00:50:55 +0000 will1@earthling.net Fanged Butterfly Vol. 2: Knightcross Chapter 33 by Phil Hartman DISCLAIMER: Marvel's are Marvel's. LFL's are LFL's. Any original characters are mine. The rest belong to their owners/creators. No money is being made off of this. Please don't sue. WARNING: Themes, graphic imagery. ------------------------------------------------- 40 ABY: En Route to Mandalore System, Outer Rim Territories, Galactic East: 22-23 Days after the Battle of Corellia: ------------------------------------------------- Ben awoke, sweating, from some half-remembered nightmare ... more afraid of how GOOD it had felt, instead of it being horrible. Aunt Betsy was sleeping in the pilot's chair, and had insisted Ben take the acceleration couch; Daala and Liegius had been given the master cabin as a nod of respect, and Ben wasn't going to argue. Both because he WAS the apprentice here, and because keeping Daala at least not angry was the smart play. Even Ben, at 14, knew that. He was wrapped in a sheet with a pillow, wearing just his shorts; whether that was a measure of his comfort level being around Aunt Betsy, or leftover disdain for body shame from being Shaped, Ben wasn't sure. Probably both, he admitted. He wasn't going to avoid thinking about what had happened. Ben knew avoidance had been Jacen's problem, and when Ben COULD think about things, he would. Artoo rolled over, toodling at low volume with concern, and Ben smiled in the darkened cabin as his oldest friend looked at him. "Just a bad dream, buddy. But thanks," Ben tried to reassure the astromech. "Bwoot twoo dlurt," Artoo disagreed, gently but firmly, and Ben sighed, rubbing Artoo's dome. "You're right. I'm sorry. I ... it was a dream about when I was Shaped. How ... GOOD it felt. I was fighting someone, and ... KILLED them, and Caedus was smiling ... and when I looked down ... it was ME. I mean, human me.And it felt RIGHT," Ben recalled, fighting back tears ... "Owoooo," Artoo replied, and Ben sat up and hugged the droid, letting himself cry softly against the metal dome. Ben wished he wasn't such a BABY, but ... everyone said it was OK to cry if you needed to, even the GAG guys. And it was better than keeping it inside. "Dwoot bwoodle roo?" Artoo asked after a long time, and Ben leaned back, managing a smile. "Yeah, I feel a little better. Thanks ... hope I didn't get you rusty," Ben said. Artoo just burbled merrily, and Ben rolled back into bed; he'd need his sleep where they were going. He wasn't the same kid who'd wished he was a Mando boy, anymore. Ben knew how awful combat could be, how terrible it was to grow up too quick. At least he had a few more years to be a kid ... even if Ben wasn't feeling young. Plus, the Mandalorians didn't like the Vong. Not after the Vong had used singularity ordinance, minature black holes, to SLAUGHTER Mandalore. At least a million were estimated to have died ... And Aunt Betsy and Ben had to convince Mandalore Fett not to attack Vjun, full of half human/half Vong hybrids. AND, Ben had apologized to the Mandalore about Ailyn Vel. Whether the rest of the warrior race had accepted that apology was still up in the air. He was wondering whether he'd get any sleep, when a low series of chimes hummed a half remembered tune by his head, and he looked at Artoo ... who was replaying Dance, Dance Little Ewok!? But oddly enough, it WAS comforting, even if Ben was a teenaged Padawan ... Artoo was trying to help. #Thanks, pal,# Ben thought, smiling as he drifted off to sleep. This time, without nightmares, as the oldest member of the Skywalker family stood watch over one of the youngest. ---------------------------------------------- The realspace reversion alarm stirred Betsy - that, and the smell of caf, as Ben called, "Sorry. I thought I'd make breakfast. Dustcrepes?" "Bless you. Those MREs of your mother's were a bit hard to take," Betsy admitted, not wanting to badmouth Mara in front of Ben. The boy just smiled sympathetically, and Betsy got up to eat REAL food. They'd both showered and set out clean clothes the night before; they were wearing plain coveralls, no Jedi robes. No telling how ready they'd have to be once they got within hailing distance of Keldabe, the informal Mandalorian capital ... settlement. And no lightsabers once on the surface, although Betsy was NOT going to be stupid and not have SOME weapons stashed away. It was one thing to not shove jetiise attitudes at Mandos. It was QUITE another not to be prepared to fight one's way out of a situation. Betsy was sure Fett would understand, as she rechecked the holdout blaster holster at the base of her spine, and the knife sheaths under her wrists; Ben checked his hidden weapons, also, including his own blaster, and the vibroblade Mara had given him for his late birthday present. Ben had (gently) confronted his mother about the old flash code transponder tracking signal he'd discovered coming from said vibroblade, but he'd been more understanding about it than Betsy might have been ... "They thought I was DEAD after Hapes. And if they know where to find me, they can come and help. Mom didn't NOT tell me about the signal," Ben had explained. Betsy just thought Ben was trying to reassure his parents that he trusted them, but she hadn't pushed the issue. If she'd had a rigged vibroblade to track her old teammates, half the "You were dead! No I wasn't!" shavit might've been avoided. She finished her food, nodding as Daala and Liegius - both dressed in plain coveralls also, given the obvious lack of Imperial garb among the GA delegates, and ANY garb among the Shaped Ones - came to breakfast. "Thank you, young Skywalker. Always thoughtful for hosts to include an inflight meal," Daala said, nibbling on nausage as if it was an everyday breakfast item. "Beats yanskac. AGAIN," Liegius said in relief, his gratitude far more real than Daala's. "I confess a degree of intrigue about what you did as a Shaped One if Daala was running about the galaxy as Caedus' Hand, Liegius," Betsy said, after stopping the Wing at the edge of Mandalore space for the hail from Keldabe Air Traffic Control. "I applied my holotechniques to long range holovillips. The principle is basically the same, just ... smellier," Liegius said, shrugging nonchalantly as he devoured dustcrepes. "Thing is, you didn't mind the odors. It was like ... I think the genetic link between us and the Vongtech was what ... comforted us," Ben said, struggling for words and looking both embarrassed and concerned. Betsy radiated understanding; she'd felt something similar when exposed to the Crimson Dawn. Once ... infected by something foreign, once it became part of your everyday life, you COULD sense it in others, become comfortable with them. Ben smiled gratefully at her, as Daala said wryly, "I must confess, there is a part of me that will never quite get over the ... idea of once being part of a mental collective, even at the subconscious level." Ben almost looked ... sympathetic, until Daala added, "The possibilities of such a collective as a weapon ..." Betsy ignored her, as the incoming hail call and Neal and Artoo's whistles interrupted the conversation. The telepath took the comm chair and said, "Keldabe ATC, this is courier shuttle Angel's Wing, requesting permission to enter Mandalorian airspace, over." "Angel's Wing, please state the purpose of your visit and number of sentients and droids aboard," an almost bored male human voice replied, and Betsy gave Ben a reassuring smile. Mandalorians loved this sort of game; better to keep it strict business. Fett might be a stereotype, but he wasn't that far afield of the average Mando dealing with aruetiise, or foreigners: Amused contempt, at first. "Keldabe, five humans, one as bounty, and three droids, one temporarily deactivated. Two of us are here to speak to the Mandalore; two are here en route to Bastion," Betsy said, keeping it simple. THAT got the AT controller's attention. "Angel's Wing, hold position and prepare to be escorted in. Land at Keldabe Field and disembark, sentients only," the now awake and wary man said. Betsy didn't have to wait long. Some kind of boxlike flying tank, matte black with more cannons than the topside of a Star Destroyer, came out to meet them, and Betsy took over manual despite Artoo's protests. She also started disarming, and nodded at Ben to do the same when he glanced at her lead. Daala looked wary, but Betsy just said, "They don't send a flying armory to escort just anyone in. Keldabe is prepping for SOME kind of action, which means they'll be looking for trouble. If we're considered assassins instead of backchannel negotiatiors, things could go very badly." "Rather ... chancy," Daala said with that Imperial disdain for taking risks. Betsy just smiled too sweetly and replied, "Risks are our specialty." ------------------------------------------------- Well, OK, actually having fought alongside a few Mandos during the efforts to drive out the remaining Vong warrior caste had been Betsy's specialty. Hence why, once the Wing had landed and a small crowd of amused Mandos had greeted them - Daala, hair cropped or not, was recognizable by at least half the greeters, since she'd probably hired some of them - Betsy calmly waited, leaning against her cooling ship, while Ben marveled at the temperate season and Daala and Liegius sat, patiently, on a bench. Finally, a Mando in royal blue armor with a speeder pulled up, removed his helmet and grinned maniacally ... and Ben marveled as Betsy laughed and said, "Gor'ika. Still NO fashion sense." "BETS'IKA!! Still no mouth control. I love you like that, you know," Goran Beviin, a grey haired Mando human male and Fett's chief of intelligence/affairs of state/general fixer, laughed, kissing Betsy on both cheeks. He chuckled at Ben, then, and ruffled the boy's red buzzcut, saying, "You look MUCH better with the hair, Skywalker. Your respect to the Mand'alor back on Dathomir impressed us. As far as we Mando'a are concerned, you're good folk. For jetiise." "Thank you, sir," Ben said, nodding respectfully; he could tell that Beviin wasn't one for excessive protocol. Nor were most Mandalorians. ANOTHER reason Betsy was glad Threepio was shut down in the Wing; Artoo and Neal could handle things. "Ah, call me Mr. Beviin. Sir is nice, but you're not military anymore, right? And may I say, the coverall is a nice touch. Skin or robes have their places, but SO not here, especially with our issues with the crab boys, and Fett's ... you know," Beviin said, winking. Yep; Betsy was right. Beviin, especially, would know about Vjun ... and Geonosis. She started to ask the obvious question, but Goran just smirked and said, "As long as Solo's on Her Ex Majesty's leash, Bob'ika's made it clear Vjun is off limits. Your little Resol'nare comparison was QUITE the nod, I gotta say." "Thank you," Betsy said, and Beviin chuckled, at ALL the statement stood for, before he took his boisterous act over to Daala and Liegius. Ben glanced at Betsy and asked through the Force, /I'm glad we're welcome, but ... are all Mandos this ... LOUD?/ ~It's a Beviin thing. You get used to it. He acts like a clown to distract from how incredibly dangerous he is; most Mando'a are smart AND skilled, but Goran is a whole other level,~ Betsy told her Padawan. Fett was the stereotype of Mandalorian force and coolness in combat. Goran Beviin was a power behind the throne, the most dangerous type because he WASN'T manipulating Fett. Beviin was a loyalist. Betsy respected that, and she sensed Daala's careful word choices at Beviin's feigned shock at recognizing the dread Imperial. ~Something else; if we end up spending the night at Beviin's farm, don't be surprised about his significant other, Medrit Vasur,~ Betsy warned Ben. /Why not?/ Ben asked, his eyes widening a little when she showed him Medrit: VERY big Mando human male, braids, pounding away on an anvil, forging beskar steel into shabla knew what kind of weapons ... ~Good to see you're not bigoted,~ Betsy gently approved; she knew THAT kind of relationship was extraordinarily rare in this part of the galaxy. /Well, people are people. I was half Vong for almost two weeks, and Aunt Cilghal isn't human, but I treat her like an aunt,/ Ben replied, mentally shrugging. Betsy mentally ruffled his spirit, and Ben smiled, as Beviin turned back from his enthusiastic greeting to Daala and shouted, "OYA! Ne'kaaniise." Betsy finally relaxed; the second word was plural for noncombatant in Mandalorian, which was about as close as she and the rest of her party were going to get to "guests," since they WERE aruetiise. The crowd dispersed, a few waving polite farewells as Beviin motioned the Jedi and the Imperials into his speeder, and they headed for Keldabe proper. "Bob'ika's in the Oyu'baat; the kad'ika there able to stand a round?" the Mando asked, nodding at Ben and using the Mando term for "little saber" in place of Padawan. Ben looked a little worried, while Daala smirked and Liegius arched an eyebrow. "He's handled Starblasters, but actual alcohol, not yet," Betsy said, giving Ben a look that was both protective and respectful. "Eh. Well, I blame jetiise and general GA morals. Not your fault, kad'ika. Have to start you kids out earlier on REAL beverages," Beviin snorted playfully, not meaning a word of it; he knew QUITE well how dangerous drunk Force users could be ... and Betsy remembered too ... As if HE were Force sensitive, Beviin grinned wickedly at Betsy, who was in the front passsenger seat, and asked, "Remember -" "YES, Goran. I'm QUITE aware of what happened the night we celebrated driving the Vong out of Mando space," Betsy muttered, blushing as Ben looked ... intrigued. Beviin lit up, anticipating a new listener for THAT story, but Betsy gave Ben her sternest Look and said, "Focus on the new cultural experiences, Padawan, NOT my sordid past." "Yes, Master," Ben said, trying not to pout, and Betsy projected a plea for understanding, which the boy managed a smile at. He was STILL curious, though, and Betsy telepathically explained why she wasn't eager to share ... ESPECIALLY in front of Daala ... and the unique sound of a strill - the six-legged, gliding/walking hermaphroditic hunting beast of the Mandalorians, able to live hundreds of years - took Betsy back to that embarrassing night ... ************************************* Oyu'baat, Keldabe, Mandalore: 28 ABY: ---------------------------------------------------- It didn't matter if it was Harry's Hideaway, a Tijuana dive, a Genoshan cop watering hole, or ... Mandalore. A bar was a bar, and after the day Betsy had had, she was bloody ready to get SCHNOCKERED. #A few hundred skips, some frigates, that bloody destroyer ... lucky the Mando'ade didn't lose more,# she thought, flicking a credit chip at the bartender, a stocky man with white hair and a vine tattoo on his neck. Normally, a Jedi might not get served in the Oyu'baat, but Betsy had made it a point to help the Mandalorians, even after Yuuzhan'tar had fallen; she was bloody well NOT going to sit around and let the Vong remnants get away with ignoring the treaty Nas Choka had signed. That kind of willingness to fight and risk death had impressed the Mando'ade, enough to let Betsy help with the counterstrike against the Weight of Death, a Vong destroyer sent specifically to annihilate the Mandalorian homeworld. And for the first time ... possibly EVER ... a jetiise was drinking alongside Mandos on Mandalore as an ally. "Syrspirit, no water?" Betsy asked; the stuff was VERY strong, but Corellian ale wasn't going to cut it. Not after seeing Vong corpses in vacuum. Or the remnants of the Vong temple outside of Keldabe, or the prisoners therein. "Bit strong, Bets'ika? Stuff's potent," Beviin warned her, as Betsy thanked Carid for the dark, syrupy drink and the crowd hushed. She knew exactly what the Mandos were waiting for; it was goodnatured fun, laughing at the jetiise with the Zeltron hair and the filthy mouth, who'd impressed them by shooting and sabering Vong as nastily as they did. And Betsy DID enjoy a crowd ... ... and maybe she was fresh from missing Ganner. The armored bunch roared their approval when she tossed back the shot and shouted, "Wayii!" "SHAB, woman, will you marry me?" one of the MandalMotors boys begged, before a steely eyed woman with cropped blonde hair and red armor grabbed him and dragged him off, and Betsy shared Beviin and Medrit's decanter of Corellian whisky for a bit. "Bloody hell. Stuff IS a little strong," Betsy confessed; she liked Goran and Medrit, a little true love was a rare thing in this bloody nightmare. And then she noticed them; the creatures with the six legs, mouths full of teeth, and gobbling whatever bits of food were cast off by the Mandos at the tables (not that Mandalorians were savage eaters; they were really quite well mannered, Betsy had gleefully taunted poor misguided Kyp about at the celebration for freeing Coruscant). Beviin smiled and said, "Strills. Our favorite pet. Nasty hunters, stink only humanoids can smell, but they're loyal and long lived. And they can glide." One of the strills wandered over, and Betsy risked scratching it; the creature purred, rubbing against her leg like some kind of giant furry armadillo, albeit with a whiplike tail and a LOT of teeth. "You're a GOOD strill, aren't you? Wes Wou Awe!" Betsy ... cooed ... and she risked mentally linking with the foul smelling creature ... found a kindred spirit ... And Betsy threw back her head, and started SINGING, at the top of her lungs, in Mandalorian: Strill, strill on the range Hungry, smelly, deranged Where often is heard a snuffling Mird and the Mandos do not miss all day. The entire bar went dead silent ... and the smell of strill suddenly got far stronger ... Betsy opened her eyes and saw a CROWD of strills watching her, as the Mandos gathered, smiling ... and she grinned, breaking into another verse, with the strills crooning along: Strill, strill on the range (Awoo, woo woo, woo woo) Hungry, smelly, deranged (Awoo, woo woo, woo woo woo) Where often is heard a snuffling Mird (Awoo woo woo woo, woo woo woo woo) and the Mandos do not miss all day. (Awoo woo woo woo woo woo woo) Beviin cheered, Medrit sneezed ... and the bar crowd went berzerk with the pounding of their glasses on the tables, shouting, "KANDOSII !!!" Betsy whooped, leaping atop the table, and led the strills AND the Mandos in one more round of music, before giggling and letting Medrit catch her and her hosts roared in approval ... FORCE, life was good. ************************************* Betsy snapped back to the here and now, as Ben tried not to giggle and Betsy smiled, blushing. Master and apprentice both LOST it then, and broke out giggling, making Daala look like the Jedi had lost it and Liegius just smiling bemusedly as Beviin grinned. All it took was Beviin whooping "KANDOSII !!!" and Betsy lost it again, laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes, as Ben giggled an apology. "Not your fault, Ben. Just never, NEVER drink syrspirit straight on a full moon night in Keldabe ... " Betsy warned ... and Daala looked positively miffed, as Beviin, Betsy and Ben broke out laughing and giggling AGAIN. Force, life WAS good. They pulled up to the Oya'buut, and Betsy felt a little sad when she saw the sign: NO STRILLS ALLOWED. "Not because of the smell, Bets'ika. Car'ika just knows nobody'll ever equal that night's performance," Beviin said with an utterly innocent face which fooled NO one, and Betsy, Ben and Beviin erupted in laughter one more time. Daala looked ... intrigued, but Liegius whispered in her ear, and the former Imperial admiral finally threw her hands up. "I do NOT appreciate being the only one not getting the joke," Daala warned, but Beviin pooh poohed her annoyance. "We can get YOU drunk and let YOU croon to -" Beviin began, leading them into the bar ... and there he was, STILL with the helmet, as Mirta gnawed some haunch of roast beast off of her three sided knife and a loose crowd of Mandos sat or stood nearby: Boba Fett was holding court. "Braddock. Skywalker; welcome to Keldabe, kad'ika. Good to see two jetiise I can tolerate. Especially with the news from Vjun," Fett said warningly, removing his helmet; after Dathomir, the mystique was lost. "Mandalore, sir -" Ben began, but Beviin's quick headshake stopped the boy from continuing to plead. Beviin had already said Fett wouldn't sanction a preemptive strike on Vjun, and Betsy trusted him. THAT far, anyhow. Carid, the bartender, eyed her with a smirk, accepting her credits when she ordered, "Shataul in season? And a pitcher of Naboo wine, and a fizzade for Ben?" "Hmph. Getting soft as a Master, Braddock. But for the kid's sake ..." Car'ika said, carving a shank off of a chunk of roast shataul, and ordering one of his waitresses to get the drinks. The new arrivals found seats, and Fett and Mirta joined them - Mirta gave Ben a dirty look, but remained silent, and calmed down when Fett said, "You saw the data Beviin brought back about Caedus' experiments. The boy was a victim too. At least he's dealing with it." Ben blushed, and Betsy was about to protest, but Mirta finally sighed and said, "OK, OK. Shab, Skybratter, ANYONE on Vjun wearing clothes these days?" "A few. Might've been interesting, testing my old claws on beskar," Ben said, his eyebrow quirking dangerously. Mirta laughed at that, and Beviin slapped Ben on the back, while Fett ... Fett just nodded. Betsy worried badly, until she remembered these WERE Mandos they were dealing with; that kind of bravado was what they needed when talking with this crowd. Still ... --------------------------------------------------- Ben could've slapped himself; his mouth took over at the WORST moments ... And he WAS scared, now; that dream the night before had been bad enough, but he'd just teased Fett's GRANDDAUGHTER. #LIke I was Paxis again ... what's wrong with me?# Ben worried, trying to lose his fears in the shataul and the drink. /Aunt Betsy? I'm sorry ... I don't know WHY I said that,/ Ben sent, and Betsy reassured him ... but she was nervous too. ~Don't worry. We'll do a genescan when we get back to the Wing. I'm sure you're just having flashbacks. And it's not like Paxis was necessarily a BAD person. Just ... blunt,~ Aunt Betsy sent. Ben was still worried, though. Paxis might not've been bad, but he should be part of Ben, not ... another person. He stirred from his thoughts when Mirta nudged him and asked, "You were really naked, huh? Except for that pouch?" "No need for clothing with it, yeah," Ben admitted; no sense in lying, since Aunt Betsy had told him Beviin's intel network rivaled GAG's. The Mandos knew about the Shaped Ones, and Ben's former Shaped status. And maybe Ben didn't have to be as ashamed of what he'd been as he feared. He was still wary. "Oya. Either gutsy or insane. The chameleon cloak was a nice touch," Beviin said, shrugging, before turning back to Aunt Betsy and Fett having some kind of chat with Daala and Liegius about Vjun, the Confederacy and other things. Ben knew he should listen, but he was kind of happy just ... being. Even in a Mando bar on Mandalore, normal was GOOD. He smiled in a friendly way at Mirta and said, "Clothes are better, though. Armor, too." "Ah. Knew there was a reason Ba'buir respected you. SOME common sense, along with the gett'se," Mirta said, toasting Ben, and he drank to that. They went back to eating, and Ben asked, "Mirta ... may I call you Mirta?" She grunted an affirmative around a mouthful of shataul, and Ben continued, "Why ... I know Jedi hurt your family, and I'm really, really sorry about your mom, but why do Mandalorians think so badly of MOST Jedi after 4,000 years?" "Hypocrisy. Not from YOU; I actually kind of like you. You showed real remorse, you do care. But most of the bathrobe bunch are a bunch of hut'uuns, talking about peace when they run arond whacking as many people as we do. Fierfek, we're better behaved than most of you modern Jedi," Mirta said. Ben considered that, then thought about the carnage a Kyle Katarn, Kyp Durron ... or even Anakin Solo ... could wreak ... Mirta wiped her mouth on a napkin and added, "A lot of Core types and the more arrogant jetiise have this shabla idea that we're savages. We're more ready to shoot first if a karking chakaar knocks on the tomb door." Ben didn't say that the comparison to a tomb reminded him that the Mandalorian Empire was a LONG time dead. Its descendants might be fewer, with fewer worlds, but Ben had a new respect for warrior races, having been one even for a short time. He made a note to check his DNA, just in case ... and not to worry quite so much about what he'd been, and more about where he was going. BOTH mattered. --------------------------------------------------- " ... just as long as those Shaped stay out of our space, we'll get along fine," Fett concluded, and Betsy nodded. "I was authorized to present a proposal for enviroforming technologies, not to Vongform Mandalore, of course, but to try and repair what the Weight of Death did -" Betsy began, but Beviin's headshake and that Fett ... stare cut her off. "Any other jetiise who made that offer would be dead. You ... you at least came here to fight with us. But no; keep your Vong toys. Any Mando'a who darjetii Caedus wants to play with are long dead, and the rest of us have nice Vong scalps to remind us of what the crab boys REALLY offered," Fett said in that durasteel voice. Liegius looked suitably concerned, while Daala ... merely nodded, and Fett returned the gesture; Betsy absently worried, until she recalled that Daala wasn't an admiral. Of course, commissions could be reactivated ... and alliances reforged. Betsy made a note to get an idea of exactly WHAT Maw technologies Daala still had access to, before Bastion. And she might have a way to do it ... "Car'ika! A pitcher of syrspirit," Betsy called, tossing another credit chip on the bill and grinning challengingly at Daala, while Ben looked shocked and Beviin whistled. --------------------------------------------------- Several shots, a mindscan, and a snoring Daala later ... Ben was grateful Aunt Betsy had used a Jedi healing technique to minimize the syrspirit's effects, but KARK, she was still heavy, coming in from the speeder ... /I can HEAR you, my very young apprentice,/she teased, checking on the Wing as she leaned in the doorway of Beviin and Medrit's guest wing; they had seperate rooms. /Sorry. I just worry,/ Ben sent, and Betsy kissed his forehead as she shut her door; Artoo and Neal had taken care of feeding and watering Phenirr, and Liegius and Daala were bedded down in another room. Ben slipped into his own guest room, showered, and put on a rough pair of sleep pants Beviin had loaned him before tossing his coverall and shorts into a laundry chute. Something nagged at Ben, and he slipped the pants off, feeling ... better ... as he crawled naked between the cool sheets and curled up to sleep. He HAD changed; the ease with his body was still there, even if Ben wouldn't streak down the Temple halls. And he wasn't so afraid to stand up to teasing, or insults ... Maybe being a little more relaxed was OK, Ben thought, smiling. But he was still gonna be careful, and try to help others, if they needed it. He slept without nightmares, OR dreams. --------------------------------------------------- Betsy brushed Ben's surface thoughts, amused at his sleepwear choice, and respectful of not going any deeper, as she put on a pair of Mirta's pajamas and climbed into bed. The boy was a welcome distraction from ... Daala still had a ghastly number of connections, none of which boded well if the Moffs in the Imperial Remnant decided to bow down to her. Betsy worried that Bastion wasn't going to play as well as Fett had ... on the other hand, there was Pellaeon. Gil WAS a gentleman, honorable ... and almost as ancient as the hills, smart as a whip or not. The average human lifespan in the GFFA WAS 100 years plus, admittedly, with a great deal of those more functional than on Earth. But Gilad Pellaeon was still Gilad Pellaeon. Betsy knew she was taking a chance, trusting the old man to leash Daala ... to leash the Moffs. But he was needed. One last time. She drifted off, not noticing the dark tendrils of farsense which peeked underneath her door, then under Ben's, and retreated ... to a red and black tattooed figure watching the Beviin-Vasur farm from atop a nearby ridge, cloaked. She activated her secure com and said, "Braddock and the boy are asleep. He is fully human again, yes." The Sith tilted her head, nodding, and added, "As you command, Lord Krayt. "Bastion it will be, then ... a meeting of blades." --------------------------------------------------- tbc ...