Prologue: Goodbye (Yavin IV)

They said goodbye three minutes ago.

It should have been a farewell kiss and a clean break; battlefield flings are always messy, especially one based on a truce that expires in an hour. It shouldn't even have been a kiss. She knows better.

But if one's going to be damned, Cipher Nine supposes, one might as well do it thoroughly.

So instead of readying her ship for departure, she's pressed between Theron Shan and a crumbling shard of a stone ruin near the War Table, his hands buried in her hair, mouth hot against her neck and his jacket half-off. Her back holster pushes uncomfortably against her spine. She doesn't care.

In the distance a sharp snap echoes through the jungle, a broken branch or a rifle shot; they both freeze, statue-still. After a split second's pause, Theron grabs her around the waist and pulls her off her feet, away from the edge of the wall; she lands in a crouch in the one still-standing corner of the ruin and drops to one knee. He's in front of her before she can rise, one hand reflexively moving toward his blaster, eyes scanning the treeline.

"Theron," she hisses and reaches forward, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, pushing down before he draws. "Truce, remember?"

He exhales and refastens the retention strap, mumbling under his breath. "I was thinking Massassi, but-"

"It's alright. You've got good instincts." She peers around his hip, seeing nothing but leaves rustling in the hot wind, and prods lightly at his flank with one fingertip for good measure. "You're sure I can't convince you to defect?"

"Pretty sure, sorry." Theron swats at her absently, still looking out into the distance. "No one would believe me, anyway- the Grand Master's son turned traitor? Be serious."

He does have a point, though she hates to admit it- he'd be marked as a mole from day one. Force, even she would have marked him as a mole, and she's seen him interact with Satele enough to know that they aren't exactly close.

You can't blame a girl for trying.

"I'm perfectly serious." She shifts, still pressed tight into the corner. "Anyway, I think we're clear. I don't see anything, and the perimeter sensors didn't sound."

"Didn't they? I turned my implant off, so I'll take your word for it." He shrugs. "Kept getting called to the ship, but we don't launch for an hour- figured I'd let them think I'm taking a walk."

"A walk, hm?" Theron's still too close for her to move away from the wall; she nudges her knee into the back of his calf. "I'm rather enjoying the scenery, myself."

One eyebrow raised, he glances back and down over his shoulder- and blushes, taking a quick step away from her and turning to offer her a hand up. "Um. Yeah. Sorry. Drawback of close quarters cover, huh?"

"And they said chivalry was dead in the Republic," she says as he pulls her to her feet, momentum carrying her forward until she catches herself against his chest.

"Imperial lies, clearly. Shameful."

"We don't do shame in the Empire." She grins. "Guilt, on the other hand… in any case," her fingertips rise and fall, ever so slightly, in time with his heartbeat, "if you wanted me on my knees, you could have asked."

His pulse quickens beneath her hand.

Two beats later they're back against the wall, fumbling at buttons and buckles and harnesses (she makes a mental note to find whoever designed his belt buckle and commit slow, painful murder), teeth and nails grazing sharp along exposed skin.

"You know this is crazy, right?" Theron murmurs in her ear. "We'll probably never see each other again. What are we-" The rest of the words are lost against her mouth.

"Isn't this how you say goodbye-" she arches her back as he slips a hand beneath her waistband- "in the Republic? I knew that cultural briefing didn't sound right-"

He grins against the gasp that follows. "And I haven't exploded yet- bad intel all around."

"Yet. Give me a few min-"

Crack- another broken branch, closer this time, and the perimeter sensor between the camp and the War Table shrills a steady chime into her earpiece until she lifts her hand to silence it.

Shit.

They both swear and spring apart; she closes her eyes with a frustrated huff, processing the input from the sensor. "Two on foot, inbound from base camp- likely looking for you, since they can't raise you on comms."

"Me? It might be a random patrol."

She shrugs, voice low. "Patrol of what? Everyone's packing up to leave, and you said yourself that you kept getting called back to dock."

"Damn her." He sighs, and whispers back. "I thought we'd have more time."

"We've still got time. They haven't found you yet, Theron, and they won't find me unless I let them." Her belt, undone by his clever hands, hangs loose off her hips and when she snaps it closed her stealth generator hums to life and her outline wavers, flickering in and out of focus for a moment. "The question is whether you want to be found."

"Whether I want-" he looks back over his shoulder toward the treeline, then back to her with a shake of his head. "I won't turn, Cipher. I told you. I'm sorry."

(She didn't miss her name when they took it from her; she knew, when she was made Cipher, that there were things she would not be permitted to keep, and she has a thousand aliases and a hundred faces at her disposal. But there is a faint regret in his voice when he answers, a mask slipping for a moment that makes her wonder- if she could remember her old name, how would it sound on his tongue?

She purges the thought from her mind. That is a very, very dangerous question.)

She pulls the backup unit from its slot on her generator, raising it to eye level between them. "That's not what I'm asking. There's a scuttled Imperial transport on the far side of the clearing- Massassi fragged the engine so it's stripped down to four walls and a floor, but we can make it there in a few minutes. It's locked down tight, so they won't be able to get in. We could be alone."

"We could-" Theron nods, and swallows. "Yeah. How tough's the lock?"

"Impossible, technically. Unless you know the algorithm," she clips the little device to his belt, "which I do. Now answer me." The sound of troopers' boots draws closer along the gravel path. "Do you want to be found?"

His answer is a kiss, mixed lust and fear and anger and something sweeter hiding underneath but still so hard she tastes blood on her tongue. "No," he says, "I don't. Force help me, I want you, but we need to move."

She flips the switch and takes his hand.

Even stealthed they have to take the long way around, behind the great stone table and off the paths, so they reach the abandoned shuttle just as a pair of helmeted figures pass through the far archway. She signs at him in smugglers' cant- get in cover. I'll get the door.

He arches an eyebrow, hands moving at chest height. You speak cant, too? You really are-

Never mind!

He ducks behind the landing gear as her stealth field dies and she syncs her implant to the ship's computer, fingers dancing along the control panel: shock field reset, check; EMP burst reset, check; autoturret reset, check; door lock, disengaged. The heavy door slides open with a soft hiss and they dart up the ramp.

She slaps her palm against the door panel as soon as she's through and drops to one knee, reaching down through a narrow gap in the floor grating. The reset lever still's out of reach- she flattens herself onto her stomach with a shiver (her jacket's still unbuttoned and the floor's cold, despite the heat outside) and buries her arm to the shoulder in the space under the floor until, finally, her fingertips hook the lever and she pulls back with all her strength.

"System resetting. Security parameters engaged." The metallic voice of the ship's computer echoes through the cabin.

She wriggles backward until she's clear of the grating, rolling onto her back with a sigh of relief. "You didn't see that."

Theron's leaning against the wall beside her, arms folded across his chest, his facial expression shifting between relief and insouciance. "Nope. Too busy staring at your-"

She grabs him by one dangling belt strap and pulls him down.