(Nearly Two Weeks Later)

Voices drifted through the muggy jungle air, mingling with the smell of smoke from a campfire and the gravid stillness marking the coming night. Dusk was rapidly fading and soon the double moons would illuminate the nocturnal struggles of the native Cilpar creatures. The ronks were already starting to hunt.

She knew from experience that she had to find shelter soon as she was no match for the native predators - but that was fine; she had reached her destination for that night. A scant dozen meters ahead of her, the entrance to the cave glowed with the light from the campfire deep inside. Shadows danced as if they were the predators and the flame was the prey. There was no guard and no early warning systems set. Flyboys! she thought with a mental eye roll. They need a little more commando training.

Announcing herself would probably be a wise course, but she needed some intelligence. Caution had been her main defense the last two weeks. Caution that included a total comm blackout. Somebody had betrayed the resistance and she didn't know who it was. Until she reached the Rebel base, she couldn't afford contact with the locals. She was reasonably certain the cave contained the X-Wing pilots she saw crash earlier that day but she couldn't be sure they were alone. The amount of smoke and the sound of a distant explosion had concerned her at first until she saw the second X-Wing glide in low after the first. A rescue. Exactly what she needed. But if she had seen it, others might have, too.

It had taken several hours to make it to this point. She had hustled as quickly as she could, but even with a dry creek bed as her road, the footing had been treacherous and the journey arduous. Cilpar was an agriworld in the Colonies Region just outside the Galactic Core. It was a planet of vast fields growing everything from Mundis to Puerco, but it also had forty percent of its land mass covered in dense forestation and mountainous elevations. It was through just such an area that she made her way now.

She was relieved that she made it in time but she was also on the verge of exhaustion. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she was honest enough to admit to herself. Losing Aranis had been bad enough, but losing Gates was somehow worse. Aranis had signed up for this dangerous duty. Gates had been a simple shopkeeper just trying to be free to live his life. The incredible triumph she had felt at the news of the Emperor's death one month before had been shattered when she watched Gates die at the hands of a petty tyrant with delusions of grandeur.

But it had also strengthened her resolve, if that was possible. She saw now that defeating the Emperor alone was insufficient. As evil as he had been, the galaxy was full of an endless supply of idiots who wanted his job and were willing to inflict whatever pain and evil was necessary to get it – and enjoy themselves in the process. She shook her head in disgust at the thought, her lip curling as she recalled with perfect clarity the excitement in Moff Tascl's voice as he ordered the Stormtroopers to open fire on the town of Tamarack. Sometimes she wished her recall wasn't quite so perfect.

Her back stiffened as she sought ways to complete her mission despite this setback. Her goal was clear – destroy Tascl and bring Cilpar into the Alliance. Making it to the Rebel base would be the first step. Then she just needed to find a way to bring down Moff Tascl and his lackey, Governor Norquest. A big task to be sure, but she wouldn't give up. She would find a way. She had to. A dangerous smile lit her face as she imagined Tascl hanging like he had hung Gates. Now that was a mental picture she would be happy to recall.

A loose rock under her foot almost made her twist an ankle and forced her attention back to the task at hand. Crouching down beside a thick, leafy bush, she slipped her pack off her back and dropped it to the ground. Pulling her datapad from her pocket, she made sure the security code was set and tucked it in a waterproof pocket. There was nothing of strategic importance on it – all mission details were kept in the datapad she called her brain – but if things went bad, she wasn't about to make anything easy for them.

She shoved the pack deep under the bush, making sure not to break any branches or leave any other signs an observant tracker could spot. Pulling the decrepit blaster from her holster, she crept through the shadows surrounding the dark maw leading from the oppressive forest to the cool dampness of the cave.

"Hey, Tycho, you were with the Imperial Navy, weren't you?" one of the pilots was asking.

"So were most Rebel pilots," came the answer.

Such quick confirmation that they were neither locals nor Imps! Her eyes strained against the ever changing contrast of dark and light on the jagged cave walls and jutting boulders. When she heard no new voices, she crept farther in, hoping to find a suitable vantage point from which to visually confirm that the Rebel pilots were alone.

"…I'm hallucinating," the first pilot was saying in a slurred tone that made the listener believe he probably was. "I think I see Princess Leia standing behind you with a blaster."

"You've got a fever all right…" the second pilot started.

She didn't wait for him to finish. Feverish or not, she had been spotted and she needed to take control while the situation was still calm.

"Shut up and turn around." She emerged from the darkness to find the two pilots on either side of a large fire, a carcass roasting on a spit over top. The first pilot was on the far side with a thermal liner covering the lower half of his body and bandages wrapped around his chest. He must have been the pilot that crashed. The injuries explained his slurred speech and strained tone. The second pilot was nearer, reclining on a large, rounded, low-laying boulder with a large drumstick in his hand. Not expecting company, apparently.

"Wha--? Highness! What are you doing here?"

A quick survey told her there was no one else near the fire. She turned her attention to the blond pilot rising in front of her. As usual, people saw only what she wanted them to see. The familiar, comfortable mask of a noble Princess was firmly in place. She knew she looked like her. She had been chosen because of it. She had turned her retinal implants to brown, covering the green of her own eyes. The dye she had risked raiding from the one lonely farm house she had encountered on her long trek here completed the effect. But the imitation, the impersonation - that she had been perfecting since she was a young girl when she had made the protection of Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan her reason for being. This was far from the first time she had been mistaken for her. Usually that was exactly what she wanted.

"Holding a blaster on you and asking the questions. And if I don't like the answers, I'm going to start shooting."

She said it more for the benefit of anyone else that might be lurking in the shadows than for the Rebel pilots, but the truth was her weariness made her vulnerable and she didn't like being vulnerable. It made her downright cranky.

The blond pilot's expression turned from startled to confused to suspicious in the space of two heartbeats. "Tycho Celchu, Lieutenant, Republic Space Force. Serial Number 68970024."

He stood slowly, taking in her sweat-stained utility uniform, grimy speeder headgear and low slung blaster belt in what she could only call a tactical assessment. Sharp blue eyes glared piercingly at her from a lean, almost gaunt face. His bleached hair and tan skin spoke of recent terrestrial outdoor exposure unexpected in a man who flew starfighters for a living. The orange jumpsuit he wore on his wiry form was devoid of identifying patches, but it was identical to those favored by Rebel pilots.

The other pilot, almost delirious in his fever, sputtered and slurred. "Come on, Tycho – it's Princess Leia! What's with the P.O.W. act?"

The man – Tycho - and the woman remained frozen, appraising each other. She could tell he was calculating options, assessing alternatives, searching for a way to outmaneuver her, but she kept her face schooled in her best Princess-Leia-in-charge look, hoping he wouldn't try anything foolish. Just in case, she tightened her grip on her blaster. It was set to stun. If she had to, she would risk his future anger and resentment for present gain. Such were the bargains she made routinely in her missions.

Finally Tycho broke the spell and with a healthy dose of nonchalance and pilot swagger, threw his jacket over his shoulders. "You know what they can do with plastiforms, Wes," he shrugged. "She could be anybody."

Despite herself, the corner of the woman's mouth twitched ever so slightly. It wasn't often that the Princess Leia act didn't work. Most men were overwhelmed by the thought of entertaining Leia, whether for good or evil. This Tycho Celchu garnered a few points in her book for not immediately succumbing to the deception. Besides, he was right. She could be anybody. She was anybody.

She hoped she wasn't slipping, though.

"That's right. It so happens I'm not Princess Leia Organa."

She hesitated for a second, unsure of how much to reveal, but decided she had enough data to credibly conclude they were secure. "Dame Winter, at your service."

"Dame?" he challenged immediately. He obviously wasn't convinced he could trust her yet. "Did you get lost on the way to the Royal ball?"

Winter frowned in frustration. She hadn't meant anything by mentioning her peerage. She didn't know why she had been so formal. Inclining her head slightly, she acknowledged the taunt. "The House of Alderaan." Her voice turned bitter. "Unfortunately, it is not I who is lost."

"Well, what do you know!" the other pilot – Wes, Tycho had called him - slurred from the other side of the fire. "Hey, Tycho! She's from Alderaan, too!"

The fire crackled in the stillness and shadows danced on the cave wall. The smoke trailed a thin whisp along the ceiling before disappearing into the darkness. Outside, a creature howled into the fully formed night, echoing in the silence that now reigned inside the cave.

Winter and Tycho stared at each other, both plunged briefly into the nightmare image of the hideous destruction of Alderaan. The rippling muscles in his clenched jaws were the only outward signs of Tycho's reaction while Winter's countenance lost the Princess-in-charge mask and a desperate hollowness threatened to overwhelm her as it always did whenever she thought of Alderaan. Their eyes remained locked for several long moments, sharing the poignant grief of their mutual loss.

Oblivious to the tension in the air, Wes cooed and muttered to himself, occasionally wincing in pain when he coughed.

Slowly, the sharpness in Tycho's eyes faded, replaced by a thoughtful air as he considered the woman before him who looked like his Princess but wasn't. "I see," he said slowly, filling those two short words with paragraphs of meaning. "So you truly are lost in the woods."

Winter quirked an eyebrow at his nuanced comment. "A true son of Alderaan, I see. Layers of meaning packaged in a single pointed comment."

"We do love our discourse," he agreed. "Though you'll find I'm not your typical Alderaanian." He waved his hands in front of him, palms up, inviting her to look at his uniform. "I like to fight."

"You like it?" Winter challenged immediately.

"It's necessary." Tycho's face took on a guarded air. "And it's what I'm good at."

Winter understood exactly what he meant. She wished she didn't. "I find that we have all been forced to use talents we didn't know we had, or wish we didn't have."

"I rather like my talents." Tycho countered with a grin, shifting nuance again. "Of course, I could do without the killing, but the contest, the challenge… that's delicious."

Winter regarded this man with a penetrating gaze, trying to decipher his comments. He seemed to be a man in control of his words and actions, as was typical of Alderaanians. She wondered if he could sense her desperate determination and was trying to put her at ease or whether he despaired too and just couldn't bear to face it.

Oddly, she found herself wanting to take the time to find out exactly what made this man tick. The yearning for a human connection – a beautiful, life-affirming human connection to counter the image of evil and death that filled her mind now - burst upon her with unexpected ferocity. It snuck around her carefully built walls of narrowly focused duty and struck at the foundations of her tightly-held principles, creating a sudden conflict she was completely unprepared – and unwilling – to face.

"Alright, Tycho." Winter broke the moment, pushing the unsettling emotions as far back as she could. That was another thing she was good at. "Enough philosophizing. Just what are you cross jockeys doing out here?"

She knew the answer already, of course, but she needed to buy some time to get the situation under control. Prudent verification and careful planning was called for. No time for personal distractions. Results were what mattered. They should be sharing intelligence, calculating new mission parameters and formulating a plan. She could just order him to cooperate. She would be within her authority to commandeer their resources, including the pilots themselves, but a plan was beginning to form and she had the feeling this blond pilot would be able help her… if she could convince him.

She watched his eyes subtly travel the length of her body and thought she saw appreciation in them. Could it be that easy? She was annoyed that she felt both flattered and amused, though she had to admit, he was rather handsome – in a typically brazen flyboy sort of way.

Silently, passively, a desperate neediness stalked the palisades of her psyche.

Her perfect holographic recall brought Bria Tharen's words to mind. "Human males can be..manipulated… by woman, sometimes all too easily. I don't like it, and it doesn't make it right, but it's the results that count. I've learned that, over the years."

So be it. If this was the game, she could play too.

Suddenly, Tycho tensed and raised a hand. "Dame Winter, there's some kind of carnivore creeping up behind you. We had some trouble with them earlier…" His eyes strained against the darkness, trying to pick out more details on the intruder.

"Oh really, Lieutenant," Winter scoffed, wary at the abrupt change in subject. "Do you expect me to fall for that?"

"He's not kidding," called Wes from across the fire. "I see something really scary behind you."

Winter didn't know whether the injured pilot was loopy from the pain medicine or whether this was a planned maneuver of a seasoned wingman. For a moment, she feared she had just made a huge mistake.

Then she heard a scraping sound behind her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she felt the presence the men were telling her about. Suddenly the fetid odor of parasite-infested fur and putrid breath washed over her.

"Wes, can you reach your gun?" Tycho's eyes didn't leave the creature as he gestured toward Wes. "One of us should be able to wing it…" He paused and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. ".... if Winter doesn't kill us both."

Without warning and without taking her eyes off of Tycho, Winter reached across her body and fired a shot directly behind her. She caught the creature square in the chest just as it started to pounce. Its attack screech died in its throat as it fell to the ground, the forward momentum countered by the energy of the blaster shot.

Calmly, Winter holstered her blaster and raised an eyebrow at Tycho. "I believe you."

Tycho looked impressed. He went to inspect the creature that had just threatened them. Prodding it with his foot, he could see that the fearsome feline was larger than the one he and Wes had already taken out but was in all other respects identical. Looking back at the seemingly imperturbable agent, he saw only serene composure and control.

"Beautiful and deadly," he drawled.

Unsure whether Tycho was talking about the creature or her – but quite certain he intended it that way - Winter went to assess Wes' condition. Her medical training was much more advanced than the typical pilot's training so she felt the universal healer's obligation to help an injured being.

Wes let out a weak victory whoop. "What was that thing?"

As she helped him to an upright position so he could breathe better, she explained. "They're called ronks and they're attracted to the light."

"No wonder they've been crawling in here! And here I thought it was just me." Tycho quipped.

Winter threw him a long-suffering look and rolled her eyes. "Can you turn down your lantern – and your ego?"

She glanced at the carcass roasting over the fire on a makeshift spit. "Is that a ronk?" she asked incredulously. "You are brave – or incredibly stupid!"

Wes huffed defensively. "They don't taste bad. I was hungry and it seemed pointless for it to go to waste."

Winter finished tightening Wes' bandages, then gestured toward the carcass on the spit. "You're lucky. You must have killed a male. The flesh of the female is instantly fatal."

"May I?" At Tycho's nod, she reached out and pulled a strip of meat off the most cooked side of the carcass. The truth was she was famished. She had been skirting civilization for two weeks now, living off of field rations and the few indigenous fruit and berries she knew were safe. Gingerly, she tipped her head back, opened her mouth and tasted the meat with her tongue.

"Oh! It's hot!" Winter rounded her lips into a perfect "O" and blew on the strip several times before once more tasting it with her tongue. Satisfied, she drew the whole thing in her mouth and chewed – delicately at first, and then with more gusto as the flavor reached her tastebuds.

"Mmm. Fortunately for you, the male is considered a delicacy." Winter licked her fingers and looked over at Tycho with innocent enthusiasm. "My compliments to the chef."

Tycho ducked his head, carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression and mumbled a barely passable "Thank you." Turning his body away from her, he leaned into his survival kit to pull out a cup. He poured some Oratay and offered it to Winter.

Winter graciously sipped the Oratay and managed not to grimace. Like most pilots, Tycho liked his drinks strong. She watched him through her peripheral vision as they sat in companionable silence around the fire.

She reviewed in her mind her mission and her resources. She was supposed to be organizing the distribution of Imperial supplies acquired as part of the deal for Cilpar to join the Alliance. That deal was dead now. The situation had changed drastically when Tascl attacked them. She was operating off the grid now. What the Alliance needed most right now was intelligence. Tascl was hunting the local resistance for a reason – and the Alliance needed to know what that reason was. He must have had a better offer – and that meant somebody in the Empire with a lot of resources. The Alliance needed to know who that somebody was and what sort of threat they represented. Right now, Tycho and Wes represented Winter's best chance to get that intelligence. They were unknown and unanticipated by Tascl. They were in the perfect position to infiltrate the Imperial base at Kiidan.

Wes let out a loud snore on the far side of the fire and then grimaced with pain when he startled himself awake.

Winter immediately re-assessed her resources. Tycho Celchu represented her best chance to get that intelligence. Wes was injured and wasn't going to be helping anybody infiltrate anything.

Winter returned her attention to Tycho, who still reclined against the cave wall. He had given up pretending not to watch her and now sat patiently regarding her with a bemused half-smile on his face.

"Don't stop on account of me," he said, motioning for her to continue her meal.

She realized then that he was not fooled by her seduction act. So it wouldn't be that easy after all. Nevertheless, transparent or not, she had to get his cooperation.

"I need to go get my pack. I'll be right back." Winter left the cave to retrieve her small bag of supplies. Her datapad contained an Imperial public records database that would tell her more about these pilots. In particular, she needed to figure out a way to approach Tycho about her plan. If she just had enough information she was confident she could find a way to persuade him.

Tycho moved to the fire and rotated the carcass with a stick. He re-filled the pot with water from his canteen and added some dried Orotay fruit. Settling down opposite Wes with his back to a rock, he watched the entrance for Winter to return.

"I saw her first," he said to Wes with a grin.

"Point of fact you didn't." Wes chuckled weakly and closed his eyes. "You're just lucky I'm injured. You'd stand no chance against a fully armed and operational Wes Janson!"

--ooOoo--

Winter exited the cave cautiously with her blaster drawn. Ronks were always on the prowl at night. She sidled eastward toward a big tree with some bushes growing close to the base. Reaching down, she pulled out the pack that she had hidden there containing all the resources she had at the moment.

Keeping one eye to the dark forest around her, Winter rummaged through the pack and pulled out the datapad. She punched in the names Tycho Celchu and Wes Janson and sat there silently for a moment, reading the information on the screen.

In the distance, a creature howled at the double moons, urging Winter to hurry her return to the cave.

Reaching the Imperial Academy personnel files, she frowned as she saw that Tycho had a fiancé. So he had been avoiding the topic, after all. She had been on Alderaan when it was destroyed, Winter read.

Winter knew better than to believe everything she read in Imperial files. Their penchant for misinformation combined with classic incompetence made anything but their Imperial Intelligence files suspect. His fiancé could still be alive. For all Winter knew, she could be his wife already. It didn't matter. His personal life was not her concern. All that mattered was his loyalty and competence.

"Find what you were looking for?" Tycho emerged from the entrance to the cave, two cups of tea in his hands and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. "Anything I can help you with?"

Winter covered her guilty startle with a smile. "I've got my pack, yes." Smoothly she slipped the datapad into the pack and pulled out a ration bar. "I would offer you one but I'm actually down to my last one. It's a good thing you can take care of yourself." She accepted the cup of Oratay to wash down the ration bar.

"I'd say travelling through these woods alone for two weeks certainly qualifies you as self-sufficient," Tycho observed wryly. "How did you do that?"

Winter shrugged. "I've been fully trained in survival techniques. There are many good books on the subject."

"A book? You learned it in a book?" Tycho asked incredulously.

Winter blinked. "I recall everything. I'm quite good at translating the imagined into action."

"Are you now?" Tycho's eyebrow arched pointedly.

Despite herself, Winter almost blushed. "Yes," she plowed ahead firmly. "For example, I imagine you are quite the adventurous soul. You joined the military from a pacifist culture, you rejected the evil you found at great risk to yourself, and now you participate in dangerous missions for the sake of free beings everywhere. When action is called for, I imagine you will be willing to step up and do what it takes every time."

Tycho cocked his head and smirked knowingly. "Alright, Winter. What's going on? We were told this was going to be a milk run."

"We?" Winter challenged. She couldn't resist one last test of the Rebel pilot. "Who's your commander?"

Tycho pursed his lips and looked at her steadily. He knew revealing operational information would commit him to this course of action one way or another. With a clear voice he stated, "Wedge Antilles."

Winter's eyes widened slightly in delight. "You're Rogue Squadron?"

"Yes," Tycho said, acknowledging her recognition and responded with the standard contact protocol. "And I'm betting you're our contact. Would you identify yourself please and authenticate lambda resh?"

"I authenticate lambda mark five," Winter replied promptly. "Code name Targeter." Winter approved of the Lieutenant's professional demeanor, adding it to the list of characteristics she liked about him. "I should have known you were flying for Wedge. He has a talent for picking the best." Flattery was another technique that often worked well. Even better when it was honest flattery.

Despite the official tone of his words, Tycho's manner still radiated a puckish air. Winter realized that this man might have the rhetorical discipline typical of Alderaanians but his body language was another matter. She thought if she studied his face long enough she could read him as well as a Jedi reads the force. Once again, she found herself wanting to do just that.

"May I say I am glad we are on the same side?" Tycho's tone was playful but the words penetrated just the same, yanking jarringly on that thread of yearning winding itself through the core of Winter's being.

Winter found herself swimming in the deep blue of his eyes, lost in unfamiliar emotions and long-confined needs. She felt the heat of passion sweep away an emptiness she hadn't known existed within her. The full double moons bathed them in soft light and a cool breeze carried the sounds of the jungle as the two Rebels stood absorbed in the glow of each other.

Soon, the silence grew more than Winter could bear. "Let's go back inside. We have a lot to discuss."

--ooOoo--