Chapter Five: Orbits
Ziost's orbital station was never meant to hold this many people.
The evacuation was an utter failure; the Republic blockade had kept anything bigger than a shuttle grounded, and only a handful of Ziost's citizens had resisted the Emperor's influence long enough to make it off the planet's surface. Even so, the docking bays are packed three ships deep, every inch of floor space seemingly full of evacuees, and when the soldiers who'd met their shuttle carry their cots toward the medical bay she can hear whispers from the crowds in all directions.
Is that-
A Jedi! Three Jedi- where's my holo? Take a picture-
Lana, striding purposefully alongside her cot, rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath. "All this showmanship. Ridiculous."
"Marr's doing?" She tilts her head very slowly upward, which lets Lana's face stay mostly in focus. The stims are definitely wearing off. Her fingertips are tingly.
"Hardly. Darth Marr is en route, but the lieutenant governor's in charge at the moment. He thought this little parade-" her tone is withering- "might boost the evacuees' morale."
"We'll be having executions in the public square next."
Lana smirks. "Let's not give the man ideas, hm? The sooner we get this lot to the infirmary and the negotiations complete, the sooner we can put this mess behind us."
"Shouldn't you be coming too?" The tingling's spread up her arms now, and when she lifts one arm experimentally her muscles feel heavy and sluggish. "That doorframe looked like it hurt."
"I've had much worse. I'll see to myself. Would you prefer the staff doctor, or one of your people?"
The hallway's crowded, too, despite the soldiers' repeated admonitions- keep clear! Out of the way!- and their little cortége stops abruptly; the pauses jostle their cots, and somewhere ahead of her she hears Theron hiss in pain. She closes her eyes before she shakes her head. "No one touches me but Lokin. And tell him to bring his implant kit."
"As you say. You did well today. I don't think I could have… " Lana's hand rests on her shoulder, so briefly she might have imagined it, and her voice fades into silence. "I'll go and fetch him."
The infirmary, when they reach it, is rudimentary- four beds, two kolto tanks, just enough to stabilize wounded or ill travelers long enough to survive the journey to Ziost's hospital. The Jedi occupy the first three beds, Theron the fourth; her stretcher ends up on a prep table along the back wall. When the grumbling staff doctor finally makes his way over to her he flashes his handheld bioscanner's light, bright enough to make her blink, in both her eyes. Whatever he sees, he doesn't like it.
"Hold out your finger, please." He isn't even looking at her when he says it, tapping irritably at the device's touchscreen.
She doesn't move. "No. Why?"
"Pregnancy test. Standard protocol."
"Rather judgmental of you," she says, inclining her head toward the other women. "You didn't check either of them."
"They're Jedi, aren't they? Didn't think they went in for that sort of thing."
"You clearly haven't met many Jedi." She's pretty sure that Theron just snorted. Her ears've started ringing, though, so she's only pretty sure.
The doctor pulls a capped lancet from his pocket. "No, but I've met plenty of Intelligence agents. Finger out."
"Then you ought to be aware of the compulsory contraceptive implant." Middle finger extended- he didn't specify which finger, so she offers the one he deserves after that comment- she raises her hand up off the cot and cocks her wrist back. "But if you want to waste your time, fine."
She barely feels the sharp little lancet or the drop of blood that wells on her fingertip before it's drawn up into the machine, which hums for a few seconds and beeps, once.
"Hmph. Negative." A folded cloth tunic lands on her chest. "Kit off, then, and into the scanner with you." By the time she sits up the doctor's already turned away from her.
Her legs dangle off the edge of the table as she removes her weapons (they'd disarmed Theron and the Jedi properly on arrival, including the communicator she'd given him, but she's still an Imperial citizen and they'll pry her guns from her cold dead fingers, even in medbay) and shucks off her boots and socks, gloves, belt, jacket and undershirt, leaving them on the cot beside her, piling her chrono and her earpiece on top. The sterile tile floor of the infirmary is cool under her feet as she half-stands and pulls her trousers down, revealing bruise-studded thighs and an angry-looking burn she didn't know she had, likely courtesy of Master Surro, on the back of her left knee.
Modesty's a virtue she's never held much stock in; stripped to her underclothes, she leaves the hospital tunic with her discarded armor. Step by careful step, she makes her way to the scanner- that fucking doctor staring at her ass the whole way, despite all his moralizing- and onto the backboard, and when she settles onto it it slides into the enclosed tube.
She's still in there, one foot tapping in time with the steady thump-thump-thump of the rotating scanner, when she hears a familiar long-suffering sigh.
"You're going to kill yourself one of these days, you know." Two fingers press against her wrist, checking her pulse (still rapid, mostly regular- she feels it fluttering in her chest), and she can sense Doctor Lokin's disapproval leaching into her skin. "Stealth devices have safety controls for a reason. You're lucky you didn't give yourself a stroke."
She knows, but wiggles her fingers dismissively anyway. He rolls her hand flat against the board; a slender needle bites deep into her vein, cool liquid streaming upward until her chest unclenches and her vision clears.
"Bloody Ciphers. Too reckless by half, the lot of you." He swats her foot. "And stop moving. You're blurring the image."
Twenty minutes later the scanner quiets and stops its rotation. As she waits for the all-clear she can hear Master Surro's quiet keening somewhere to her right, then shouting, followed by a loud thud and a metallic slam.
"Everything alright out there?"
(She learned quickly not to move before Lokin reads the scan report. The first time she did it, he threatened to staple her to the backboard.
The second time she moved, he did- only her thumb, but still.
She didn't do it again. He's brilliant, the only doctor she'll let anywhere near her after what the Intelligence medics did to her, but she ought to have remembered that what he gained in rakghoul he lost in sense of humor.)
The machine chimes cheerfully as the table slides out.
"You're clear, Cipher. Brain undamaged. Now if you'd kindly come over here, I could use an extra set of hands." When she turns her head toward Lokin's voice the room's no longer spinning. He's standing next to Theron's cot, beckoning her over. "You're due for another injection, as well."
She slips down off the table- her legs are steadier, too, and her stomach more settled- and surveys the room again. The tanks are full, now, Landai in the right one and Onok in the left, both floating peacefully. "Be right there. Where's the other doctor?"
"I caught him attempting to poison the kolto tanks. It likely wouldn't have been a lethal dose, but still, surrendered prisoners? Poor form." Doctor Lokin clicks his tongue disapprovingly, setting down his own portable scanner and arranging his instruments in neat rows on a silver tray. "He's been relieved of duty."
"By which he means he threw him through the door." Theron, laid flat on the examining table with his eyes closed and his jacket and shirt folded under his head, points vaguely with his working arm, and when she follows the gesture the left-hand door panel's cracked and hanging half-open. "Literally. Are you sure this your doctor?"
"He's multitalented." And holding up another syringe for her, too- she reaches out for it, finds a vein in the crook of her elbow and depresses the plunger. "Don't worry. He only experiments on himself."
(She's never bothered to ask what's in the blend he uses for stealth-sickness. The chemistry involved is too complicated, too far beyond her skill set to wrap her mind around, but she couldn't have made the IX serum without him, either, and she hasn't gone feral yet so it's an acceptable risk.
He was also the one who pointed out that they'd named the serum after her.
She supposes she ought to be flattered.)
"Scans are negative for fracture. Now if you would just let me sedate you, Agent Shan, we could get that shoulder back in place and that implant seen to." Lokin snaps his carrying-case shut, tucking it back into his jacket pocket, and raises the head of the table until Theron's nearly sitting upright.
"No sedatives. I don't-" Theron opens his eyes, looking between them. He pauses when he sees her. "Am I hallucinating, or are you not wearing clothes?"
She grins- today's no exception to her usual fieldwork undergarments- standard issue black, unfrilly and utilitarian- and gestures downward. "If I'm a hallucination, you've got awfully boring taste in lingerie."
"That…" He considers. "That might actually be true, but- never mind. Do what you need to, but no drugs."
"Let the record state that the patient declined sedation." Lokin reaches out, scratches the back of Theron's left hand. "You can feel that, I hope?"
Theron nods.
"And this?" Another scratch, this one along the back of his upper arm.
"Feels fine."
"Then we'll begin. Do try to relax." One hand around his wrist, Lokin slowly lifts Theron's arm up and outward, other hand wrapped around the top of his shoulder with thumb pushing firmly against the wayward bone. "Cipher, I'll need your assistance. Stand behind him with both hands above mine, please, and press downward." He nods when she moves into position. "Yes. Exactly. Now, Agent Shan, take a deep breath-"
At the same time Theron inhales, she feels his shoulder roll under her hand and he flinches, breath hitching in his throat with a high whine like a wounded animal; she holds him steady. After a moment, something shifts.
"-and exhale. Very good." Doctor Lokin winds a long bandage around Theron's upper arm, making figure eights around his chest and shoulder, and ties the ends into a makeshift sling. "You'll need something sturdier, but this will serve for the time being. That implant's another story."
"It's a permanent socket." He shifts. "It needs to be capped, or-"
"-or you'll end up with an infection." Lokin lowers the table again. "Assuming you don't have one already, with all that exposed wiring, and that the socket isn't cracked. I'm well aware. Still no medication, I assume?"
Theron shakes his head.
"Look right, then." Hooking one foot around the base of the instrument tray to draw it closer, he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. "And don't move."
There's a reason she doesn't do permanent implants, and watching Theron's face while the doctor works reminds her exactly why. He can't help it; his left arm's tied down by the sling, but as the wires lengthen and detach and the broken circuits spark against his skin his right hand starts to drift upward in pain-driven reflex. She reaches out, pins his wrist against his chest.
"I changed my mind." He looks up at her. "Give me the sedative."
Lokin gestures toward the tray with the handle of the laser scalpel. Careful to avoid the other instruments, she palms the autoinjector with her free hand and presses it into the side of Theron's neck.
Five minutes later he's dozing on the table, eyes heavy-lidded and half-shut, looking past her and out the station window at Ziost below and the stars beyond. Without his restless twitching the work goes faster; before long, Lokin taps the last of the socket caps down (no deep cracks, mercifully), applies a bandage, and slides his tools back into their case. "I'll clean these on the ship, Cipher. I've got samples that need rotating or I'll lose two weeks' research, and I've done as much as I can here." He sets a little bottle and injection kit and another prefilled syringe on the counter behind him, along with the bagged shards of the implant. "I'll leave his antibiotic here with your last treatment. Run it in slowly, or it'll sting."
"What about her?" She inclines her head toward Master Surro on the far bed. Sometime during their work the woman had finally quieted, her breathing steady but her expression somehow anxious even in sleep.
"Her body will heal." Lokin shrugs. "Beyond sedatives, what her mind needs is beyond me to provide. Much as I hate to admit it, this is Jedi business."
"Too much of that lately, I think."
"Quite." He pauses at the door, awaiting her dismissal. When she waves him away he slips, silent, into the hall.
The infirmary's quiet now, just her and the others and the beeps and chimes of the kolto tanks and monitors as she prepares the medication, the powder in the glass bottle mixing with water to dissolve into milky white liquid that she draws up into the syringe. This would be easier to do on herself. After years of battlefield medicine she knows her own body as well as she knows the floorplan of her ship or the pieces of her rifle, but her crew generally see to themselves and she's gotten spoiled by familiarity.
Theron barely stirs when she wraps the tourniquet above his elbow, sliding her fingers along in search of a likely vein. Even when the needle pierces skin he only flinches, but when she unknots the tourniquet and presses down ever so slightly on the plunger, the antibiotic's only just started flowing through the tubing before he's already pulling his arm away.
"I thought I said no- ow!" He's awake again, though slurring a bit, and one good twitch away from dislodging the needle. "What is that? Poison?"
"It's an antibiotic, unless you'd prefer a brain infection. If I wanted to poison you you'd be dead."
"Somehow I don't find that-" he flinches again- "reassuring."
She keeps slow pressure on the syringe, nearly half-empty already. "Would you rather we'd left you down there?"
"I can handle myself just fine."
With a skeptical glance at his bandages, she resists the temptation to poke him in the ribs. "The Republic must have an interesting definition of 'fine'."
"I'd've survived. Or not. But my people needed out, and I was short on options besides surrendering and hoping Lana's not the backstabbing type- seriously, ow. Are you almost done?"
She keeps going. "Nearly. And you know she isn't. You'll be back with your people before long, I'd guess... three Jedi Masters and an SIS whatever-your-title-is-now? We haven't had negotiating power like that in a while."
"Vice-Director, believe it or-" He stops. "'s why I didn't want a sedative. I shouldn't have said that. But it depends who's doing the talking on our end. If it's the Chancellor, she'll let me hang to prove a point."
"What about your moth- Grand Master Shan?"
He makes a face, and the dressing on his temple pulls up at one corner; she lets go of the syringe and reaches up, unthinking, to smooth it down.
"The only thing that's saved me so far is that almost nobody knows we're related, so she can't lecture me in public. She'll know what to do about Surro, but I'm not sure that makes things any better for me," he says, "all things considered."
She pulls the needle free from his arm and patches over the puncture site. "She needs Force healing?"
Theron nods agreement, struggling one-handed to settle himself into a seated position. "That was the plan. Once I can get them back to Tython-" he stops, squinting at her. "I shouldn't have said that, either."
"Relax, would you?" She slips her arm behind his shoulders, pushing him upright as he shifts to let his legs dangle over the edge of the table. "Of course they're going to Tython. It's not as if I don't know where the Jedi Temple is."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the prisoner here. For all I know, they're all Korriban-bound and I'll be in a cell on Dromund Kaas until I break." He eyes her again. "For all I know, you're a hallucination and I'm already in a cell on Dromund Kaas."
"We're still on the orbital station above Ziost, Theron. Lana's negotiating your release. And I'm not a hallucination."
"I hope not. It's either that, or my subconscious is really messing with me."
She smirks at him and walks back to her cot. "I'm flattered, really, but if I'm confusing you, I'll get dressed." After replacing her chrono and earpiece, she picks up her trousers; there's a hole in them after all, just under the thigh plate at the back of the knee, matching the burn she still doesn't feel. "Your Jedi owes me new armor."
"'s an occupational hazard, I think."
"Tell that to my operations budget." She's got them halfway on when Lana walks in.
"The Republic contingent will be here in half an hour," Lana says, attention focused on the broken door, "so we'll need to have everyone ready to move down to the lower level dock to make the exchange in about fifteen-" she finally looks up at her. "Cipher, is there a reason you're nearly naked?"
Theron mutters under his breath. "So I'm not hallucinating."
"Spite, mostly. Your doctor had a very low opinion of the moral character of Intelligence agents and I was proving a point. Also, I don't like hospital gowns." She fastens her waistband and pulls her undershirt over her head. "Then I had to play nursemaid after his little stunt."
"I heard about his attempt on the Jedi, yes. Thank the Force he wasn't successful. Which reminds me," she turns away for a moment, hand to her ear, "this is Minister Beniko, calling detention block A. I'm invoking protocol 12 on our prisoner, effective immediately."
He mouths at her behind Lana's back. Protocol 12?
She signs back at him- airlock - and runs one finger across her neck.
He winces.
"Since you know what happened, Theron, I don't expect that this will stay quiet. At least you can tell your people honestly that the offender has been dealt with. His behavior was unacceptable," Lana turns back toward them, her tone crisp, "but at least the negotiations went smoothly. As it turns out, Saresh never quite bothered to request authorization from the generals before she relocated the fleet. Once their Supreme Commander got word, we barely had to send the prisoner roster before they agreed to a full withdrawal."
"You spoke with Commander Malcom?" Theron rubs his forehead.
"Only indirectly. Darth Marr and I spoke with our counterparts- no one can raise the Chancellor, and apparently she's not actually with the Republic force here, but we were able to contact Director Trant and, surprisingly, Grand Master Shan."
(She can't quite hear him over the sound of Lana's voice, but Theron mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like they're both going to kill me.)
"Their closest representatives on the fleet will manage the transfer," she continues, "and we've allowed them thirty minutes more to withdraw the blockade before our ships arrive. Very tidy, I think."
"I'm impressed. We may salvage this yet."
Clearly pleased, Lana smiles. "Thank you. I need to meet Darth Marr, but we'll be back with the escort team when we're ready to move. Will any of them be able to walk, do you think?"
Looking at the three Jedi, she shakes her head. "They're stabilized, but I wouldn't bet on it. Theron?"
"I'll manage."
"Three cots, then." Lana nods. "I'd like you to be present at the transfer, Cipher. There's no indication we'll have any sort of issue, but the Republic's sending a three-person team and we ought to match them."
Her fingers fumble at her boot fastenings- she's due for her serum dose. "Fine. I'll finish dressing after my last treatment."
"Please do. I'll be back shortly. And Cipher?" Lana gestures, and the broken side of the door shifts, straightens, and slides open with a gentle whirr at her approach; she inclines her head in Theron's direction as she passes through into the corridor beyond. "Behave."
She waits until the door closes behind Lana before she rolls her eyes.
"I have the feeling I missed something there." Theron's standing next to his table, trying and failing to pull his shirt over his bandaged shoulder.
"That was the short version of the lecture." Crossing back to the counter and uncapping the last syringe, she runs her fingers across her left forearm but the vein there's blown, a fresh bruise radiating out from the injection site. "The long version involved such choice phrases as 'poor judgment' and 'compromising your objectivity' and rather a lot of disapproving sighs."
He's still mostly drugged, so it takes the pieces a few moments longer than usual to fall into place. She can see when the last one clicks by the way his face changes.
"You mean- you told her about-" He sits down again, exhaling hard. "Nine. Why?"
"No!" It comes out louder than she means it to. She still can't find a vein and her hands are starting to shake; she switches sides, searches her right arm blindly while she stares at him. "I didn't tell her. She…" She sighs. "You know Lana can read minds, right?"
"Yeah. She tried it on me once or twice at the start, back when we first started looking at Darok and Arkous, but like I said, I've had practice dealing with that kind of thing. Eventually she gave up. What does that have to do with-"
"That's how she figured it out."
Of all the possible reactions Theron might have had, she does not expect him to laugh.
He braces his hand against his ribs. "I can almost picture it. Sounds like you got an earful."
"Once she could talk again." She finally finds a good vein in her right arm, sinks the needle deep. Her fingers won't stay on the plunger. Damn it. "She was incoherent for a solid minute."
"Why'd she try to read you in the first place? Me, I get," he says, "but Lana trusts you."
"She didn't mean to- she'd noticed a bruise-" her fingers slip again, "-and got a fairly detailed idea of how it got there. You were… enthusiastic, if you'll recall."
"Me? I had scratches for the better part of a week."
"I do try to make an impression."
"Oh, you did." His grin reminds her of then, too, and the way he looked at her when she pulled him down. "Can I ask you a question?"
"I suppose. I can't promise I can answer it." Even with her arm braced against the counter, she still can't manage left-handed; she scowls at her uncooperative fingers in frustration. "First, though, will you help me with this?"
When he starts to move he's unsteady, but he makes it over to stand beside her, wraps the fingers of his good hand around the flared end of the barrel and sets his thumb on the plunger. "I was waiting for you to say something. Tell me when."
"Go ahead."
She's looking down at her arm, so focused on not shifting the needle that she doesn't even see him lean in until his mouth meets hers. If she'd been paying better attention she could have controlled her response, tempered it into something more appropriate to the situation at hand. As it is, her brain shuts off entirely for the first ten seconds he's kissing her and only the rush of the serum hitting it makes her realize she's reciprocating.
Reciprocating, to borrow her own phrase, enthusiastically.
Shit.
"I'm going to blame that on the drugs, Theron." She pulls back, takes a deep breath and a step away, out of arm's reach, and drops the syringe onto the counter. "This isn't like last time. You're going to get us both killed."
"That was what I expected to hear." He doesn't follow her. "But I think I prefer your first answer."
"That was your question?"
He shrugs. "Not exactly. I wanted to know if Lana was right."
"Right about what?"
"Objectivity. Mine's shot to the Void, Nine, and I think you know that, but how's yours?"
Lana'll be back any minute and she's still in her undershirt; she takes another few steps away from him toward the last of her armor, slips her arms back into her jacket and buckles it, slings her belt back around her hips. "You know I can't-"
"It's alright. I know. So- ugh, dizzy again. So," he closes his eyes, braced against the counter, "what do we do?"
He's worryingly pale and, by her estimate, about thirty seconds from collapsing.
"First, you need to sit down." She grabs a rolling chair from one of the workstations and drags it back toward him, gets him settled on the seat. "We aren't doing anything. You're getting on the shuttle and taking your people to Tython. I'm going back to Dromund Kaas."
"Is that what you want?"
His eyes are still closed, so he can't see the way her mouth twists. "We're both Intelligence, Theron. You know as well as I do that what we want is irrelevant."
"I know." He leans against her, right shoulder against her hip, keeping himself upright.
She lets him.
As they look out the window the station rotates and Ziost passes back into view.
"Cipher, I need you. Something's wrong." Lana bursts through the door, her portable holo clutched in one hand. "We've lost all planetside communications."
She steadies Theron with one hand on his shoulder as she takes a step away. "What? When?"
"Just a moment ago. I'd finally reached the spaceport, but then-" In that moment, Master Surro sits bolt upright and screams, and Lana's holo falls from her grip and shatters into a dozen pieces on the tile.
"Lana? Lana, what's happening?" She can barely hear herself; the Jedi's still screaming, and Lana's standing, transfixed, staring out the window.
Theron reaches up, grabs her wrist. "Look. It-"
The power flickers and dies, but even in the darkness she can see the shockwave, see the soft blues and greens of Ziost's surface fade to sick, pale gray.
"Force help us all."