The assassins in black dropped into the throne room like giant birds of prey, each one hiding behind an inhuman mask, finally here to carry out their last and final directive.
They had Ben’s height, Ben’s broad shoulders. Ben did not have their muscle mass, their combat training or experience.
They all wielded the force with a deliberate viciousness that Ben did not possess (Ben’s viciousness was often accidental), eagles and vultures to the awkward and gangly waterfowl that was Ben.
They came so suddenly and without warning. The Imperial bodyguards had their blaster fire deflected right back at themselves. The Stormtroopers standing at attention crumpled inside their own armors. Even Moff Phasma, who got off one lucky shot in all the confusion, was thrown bodily against an onyx pillar. The officers and councilmen scattered, some by their own cowardice, others flung violently by the Force.
Hux ducked behind the throne, dragging Ben (who woke extra early that day, and insisted that it was a ‘Take Ben to work day’ despite his stomachache) with him, and drew his own blaster, little good this would do for him against so many Force users, each of them a shadow crept forth from the past.
But Ben, absent-minded, impulsive, stupid as ever Ben, made Hux loosen his grip on his skinny arm, and stepped out into the open.
“Well pfassk, so it was a disturbance in the Force that gave me that stomachache all last week, instead of the seasonal flu I usually get this time of the year… Eh… Hello RN-0089 to RN-0112, with a few missing in the middle,” waved Ben at the flock of Kylo Rens. “Wow this is the first time I’ve met any of you with an over 0100 serial number face to face. How exciting!”
Ben was unsteady on his feet, for the lack of big toes took away his balance. Ben could not even grip a spoon or pen easily, never mind a weapon of any sort, for the opposable digit was ever so crucial to tool use. And Ben would never have the musculature he so envied in others, a lifetime of malnutrition behind him, no matter how Hux and his mother fed him, and Phasma yelled at him in her private gym.
But when the RN units, no, the much hated Kylo Rens (Ben was here first, and Hux was Ben’s keeper. Ben’s!) that Hux occasionally dreamed of now and again in fear and anger, sometimes in regret and frustration, and very rarely, in lust, all raised their sabers and tightened their semi-circle around Ben and the throne behind him, Ben touched the collar around his neck (with the shock function removed, and hand-inscribed carefully with ‘Ben, ward of the estate of Brendol Hux II’ in the Emperor’s flowing cursive, instead of the clinical block letters of ‘RN-0000, property of the New Galactic Empire’), and felt a flow of strength rushing into his core, light and dazzling, dark and empowering.
And the Force was with him fully, this child descended of the Force itself.
Many Cuckoos in the Nest [6]
The assassins in black dropped into the throne room like giant birds of prey, each one hiding behind an inhuman mask, finally here to carry out their last and final directive.
They had Ben’s height, Ben’s broad shoulders. Ben did not have their muscle mass, their combat training or experience.
They all wielded the force with a deliberate viciousness that Ben did not possess (Ben’s viciousness was often accidental), eagles and vultures to the awkward and gangly waterfowl that was Ben.
They came so suddenly and without warning. The Imperial bodyguards had their blaster fire deflected right back at themselves. The Stormtroopers standing at attention crumpled inside their own armors. Even Moff Phasma, who got off one lucky shot in all the confusion, was thrown bodily against an onyx pillar. The officers and councilmen scattered, some by their own cowardice, others flung violently by the Force.
Hux ducked behind the throne, dragging Ben (who woke extra early that day, and insisted that it was a ‘Take Ben to work day’ despite his stomachache) with him, and drew his own blaster, little good this would do for him against so many Force users, each of them a shadow crept forth from the past.
But Ben, absent-minded, impulsive, stupid as ever Ben, made Hux loosen his grip on his skinny arm, and stepped out into the open.
“Well pfassk, so it was a disturbance in the Force that gave me that stomachache all last week, instead of the seasonal flu I usually get this time of the year… Eh… Hello RN-0089 to RN-0112, with a few missing in the middle,” waved Ben at the flock of Kylo Rens. “Wow this is the first time I’ve met any of you with an over 0100 serial number face to face. How exciting!”
Ben was unsteady on his feet, for the lack of big toes took away his balance. Ben could not even grip a spoon or pen easily, never mind a weapon of any sort, for the opposable digit was ever so crucial to tool use. And Ben would never have the musculature he so envied in others, a lifetime of malnutrition behind him, no matter how Hux and his mother fed him, and Phasma yelled at him in her private gym.
But when the RN units, no, the much hated Kylo Rens (Ben was here first, and Hux was Ben’s keeper. Ben’s!) that Hux occasionally dreamed of now and again in fear and anger, sometimes in regret and frustration, and very rarely, in lust, all raised their sabers and tightened their semi-circle around Ben and the throne behind him, Ben touched the collar around his neck (with the shock function removed, and hand-inscribed carefully with ‘Ben, ward of the estate of Brendol Hux II’ in the Emperor’s flowing cursive, instead of the clinical block letters of ‘RN-0000, property of the New Galactic Empire’), and felt a flow of strength rushing into his core, light and dazzling, dark and empowering.
And the Force was with him fully, this child descended of the Force itself.
**