"The prisoners are through this way, sir." The Mirilian Commander motioned to the door. "The ship had a registration we could not trace. When we stopped them they insisted they were looking for someone. After they were contained, we started searching the data contained on their computers. There was *a lot* of information on Orian, sir. We thought it was best we call you."

Bentre looked at his Warhost comrade for a few moments, licked his lips and then drew a slow breath, his features twisted in thoughtful scowl. "Why didn't you think to call Sanguinius about this while you were at it?"

"Well, sir, I thought that you would want to speak to them first. I think you will understand as soon as you speak with the pair of them."

"There are two of them?" Stahoes growled the question. "And you kept them together?" Looking off to the side, the Sith clacked his teeth together in frustration. An angry flush filled his cheeks as he glanced back at the soldier. "We will have words about this later, Telum."

"Aye, sir. May I be dismissed?"

"Go," The Corellian Sith did not look back to see if Cephas obeyed the command. Pushing the doorway open violently, he stepped briskly through the doorway. As his eyes adjusted to the lights, he saw an older woman, her brown hair tinged with lines of grey. Her companion sat beside her holding her hand. The older man tilted his head questioningly as he considered the Sadowan.

"Welcome to Orian space," Bentre adopted a falsely cheery tone, "I hope that my good friends in the Warhost have been keeping you very comfortable." He smirked as the man's mouth twisted in a display of displeasure. "Though, there are a few things that we do need to-" Stahoes motioned in the air as though reaching out to grasp his next words, "clear up. Minor details, I assure you. If all goes well, you might even be able to leave our system.Eventually."

"As we told your thugs, we don't have any real interest in your space, we just-"

"**Why**," Bentre punctuated the word with a near-yell, "then do your navicomputers contain so much information on our system?"

"Well, we are trying to tell y-"

"Do you want to know what I think?" Stahoes interrupted again, jabbing a finger accusingly. "I believe you are working for the Inquistiorius, prepared to fell those resisting *Pravus*."

"Who is Prevus? For that matter wh-" the older man started.

"Or *perhaps*," the Versea Patriarch chortled, "you are yet another agent of the Dominion, as they struggle to remove the rightful masters of our space."

"No," the male prisoner's words were now pleading, "we are looking for-"

"Secrets or intelligence?" Bentre interrupted again, his words growing cruel.

"No!" The female prisoner yelled, "we are looking for our son!" Her voice broke with the last few words. This stopped Bentre Stahoes stop completely for a moment. He looked more seriously at the woman, some of the cruelty gone from his eyes. "We lost our son many years ago. He disappeared from our home city, and we have been searching for him ever since.

"Too bad that you decided to stumble into our space."

"We had tracked through all sorts of space." The woman shook her head slowly as she spoke, appearing to be stressed by the memory. "We use some professional connections, and we finally got word of him on a planet. We traced appearances of our son and used what little information we had on departures and the like and then finally we triangulated several departures to find your space." Bentre nearly interrupted again, but he wanted to hear the end of this tale. "All we want is to find our boy, We lost him so long ago."

"You mean, we abandoned him." The old man's voice was bitter.

"Garhas," the woman's tone was reproachful,"you know we had no choice in what happened."

Bentre's gaze slipped between the pair, realization dawning in his eyes. "So you are Garhas," he pointed to the man before pointing at the woman, "which would make you- let me guess- Damasa?"

Real fear could be seen in the woman's eyes. "Who are you," her voice became a near whisper, "and how do you know who we are? What have you done to our boy? What did you do to our Bentre!?"

"Lots of things have happened to your son. He lost an eye to a monster, an arm in combat and then soon enough, he saw the light."

"What do you mean? What did you do!?"

"Don't worry, man and Lady Stahoes." Bentre let loose a nearly childish giggle. "I have done far more horrible things than my parents could ever cope with. You will have plenty of time to learn, however." Confusion filled both prisoner's eyes. "Don't worry your head though, mum. You and Dad will see in time."

"You cannot be my boy," the man shook his head, "he would never do the terrible things we have heard of. The murders alone are unthinkable of our boy."

"Oh, that is just the beginning da'." Bentre laughed at this point before he continued, his eyes becoming wide with a mania, "Would the two of you like to hear about some of them? Or are you prepared to deny leaving Corellia without me?"

The older woman took a quick breath. "You really are my little Benny?" Tears began to fill her eyes. "What has happened to you in all these years?"

"Went to war for my new family, got married into a new family, battle scars, madness, had a baby of our own," Bentre listed off the items seemingly nonplussed, "but don't worry mum, we will have plenty of time to catch up. I promise you that."

"Really?" Her words were hopeful, and the hopeful smile pulled at the corners of Damasa Stahoes' mouth.

"Oh yes, just let me take care of a few things, and we will have lots of time together." With a slight bow and a knowing smile, Bentre turned back for the door. He closed the door softly behind him, then pulled a commlink from his pocket. "I have spoken with the prisoners in holding point CP-33, and have determined they may be a threat. I want them moved to a proper holding cell with all the necessary equipment. The Proconsul is going to want to interrogate these prisoners at length, personally. Give it fifteen minutes, and then follow through with the transfer to the cell. Proconsul Stahoes, out."

Putting the commlink back, Bentre smoothed his clothes out thoughtfully. Few children got the chance to find long last parents after so long. He really should have been more thankful he supposed. Perhaps he should have at least had a meal with his parents before getting into the festivities. He could not forgive the pain they had caused him, but they were his parents after all.

Reunions could be so complicated.