In the Blood

Alderaan. 21 ATC.

"He's dying."

Nine turns around, leaning back against the lab bench more to keep herself upright than anything, as Theron comes in from the hallway. "Yes, he is. Cancers. Plural."

(It was a long night, just her and Kaliyo tending to him; he'd argued even as they lifted him onto the bed, as she stripped him out of his soiled clothing and Kaliyo fetched a washbasin- a cooking pot, really, full of hot water from the lab, but it would serve- and a few clean rags.

"Eckard," she'd finally said, turning him carefully, avoiding the spines that protrude like needles through his fragile skin, "you cleaned blood and worse off me more times than I care to remember. Let me return the favor this one time.")

"What if we bring him back to Odessen?" He peers over her shoulder at the diagrams on the screen. "With the tech we've got there, I'm sure we could-"

"It's a little more complicated than that. With his-" rubbing her eyes, she sighs. "Well, you've seen him now. The rakghoul genome thrives on radiation exposure, and I've honestly no idea what chemotherapy would do with his genetics this unstable. If he couldn't work out a fix with all the specimens here, I'll never manage it. It's not as though there's precedent for any of this."

"The specimens? You mean the rakghouls?" Theron hooks a stool with one foot, pulling it over toward her, and gestures for her to sit. "I saw Kaliyo feeding them when I got here."

She nods, settling onto the seat. "We talked about it a little overnight. He used Scritchy-" she nudges the little rakghoul, asleep under the bench, with the toe of her boot; he rumbles and flops over onto his other side as Theron jumps back in alarm. "Oh, relax, won't you? He's perfectly tame. He used to keep vermin off the ship."

"You say that now. He tried to eat me when I got here."

"He did not. He was just saying hello."

He makes a face. "You get my hesitation, though. I've had enough near-misses recently without going full feral-"

Cutting his words off abruptly, Theron covers his mouth with one hand as she shakes her head and tries to hide her smile. "It's fine. I know what you meant."

"Sticking my foot in my mouth has been the trend this week. But it was kind of a jerk thing to say, all things considered."

She shrugs. "It wouldn't offend him. We always knew it was a risk, but- well, as I was saying, he kept himself stable for years with serums developed from rakghoul cells. By the time he realized he needed a broader sample he was too sick to travel, though, and his smuggler contact didn't follow instructions. The lazy shit probably just dropped a shock net on a nest and hauled in everything he caught."

"So much for genetic diversity, I'm guessing."

"Exactly." She points over her shoulder to the schematics scrolling behind her. "Lokin had it all mapped out: where to go, what to look for. Force, what a mess."

Theron takes a step back toward her, pauses the screen with the press of one finger. "Well, where to go's easy. Taris. Full of rakghouls."

"In theory. But I don't think I could manage it by myself, and he's still too unstable to move. Cancer notwithstanding, if he turns while we're shipboard-"

"Tee-Seven and Kaliyo could stay here and watch him." Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he pulls her head against his chest. "I know you're going to go anyway. You've got that look on your face. Take me with you."

Eyes closed, she leans against him. She really could use some sleep. Or a drink or ten. "I don't have a look. But yes, you're right. I have to try. I owe him that much."

"You have a look," he mutters. "And he was your doctor- of course you feel like you owe him. Though I do have to say this makes what happened on Ziost Station make a lot more sense."

"It's more than that. He-" she frowns, shifting on the stool, a restless creeping discomfort growing in her chest, the same way it always does when she thinks about Taris, about Hoth, about Quesh. "When I broke my conditioning, Doctor Lokin recreated the original serum they'd used. I literally couldn't explain what the formula was, where I got it, why I needed it- I tried, and the words wouldn't come. But he never questioned. He just did it. If he hadn't, if I didn't have him to help me, I'd-"

She'd still be on Hunter's leash, even now.

(That, or dead- she might have figured out a way around all the behavior controls eventually. She was never allowed to hurt herself- that was one of the first ground rules, after Hunter caught her looking too long at the shards of a broken mirror. A misjudgment, of course; she didn't want to hurt herself then, not yet. She wanted to hurt the rest of them.

Those months were bad enough. A lifetime of those games, of how they hurt her, of coming back to herself after hours spent unaware. Always wondering what they'd made her do, what Hunter had done to her, when she was locked away inside her own head-

She would have found a way to die, eventually. There are things worse than dying. That would have been one.

Valkorion might be one too.)

"You don't have to explain." Theron kisses the top of her head. "I'll go with you. It's only a few days to Taris from here."

"All right." She nods. "All right. There's enough vaccine doses here to protect both of us. I'll update Lana and talk to Kaliyo about-"

"Speaking of Her Sithness, the holo's fixed like you asked. And talk to me about wha-" Kaliyo sticks her head through the doorway into the laboratory, a few torn strips of electrical tape dangling from her collar; she'd gone to start repair, with the droid's help, when Theron took over watching Lokin. As she catches sight of them, her eyes roll halfway back into her head. "Ugh. You really did go domestic on me."

(Lana, by the look of it, was in the middle of a working dinner with Koth- that'd make the third this week, by her reckoning, though she stopped teasing her after the second; Lana deserved a spot of relaxation, whatever form it might take.

She only made a little bit of a face at the change of plans, though it'd leave her in charge at least another week longer than they'd originally planned. I'll manage, Lana said, as long as you need. Do try not to get bitten too badly.)

Once she's locked Nightshrike- her ship's engine's faster than his and the lab needed to preserve any samples they might manage to retrieve, and they can break atmo in stealth and hopefully dodge the surveillance satellites- into the hyperspace lane that will carry them to Taris, she turns the pilot's chair to face Theron.

"So," she says, folding her arms across her chest, "about Coruscant."

He sighs. Clearly, he was hoping she'd let it go. He ought to know better than that by now. "Here comes the lecture."

"It's not-" She probably does look like she's about to preach at him- all she'd need is a raised eyebrow and her consonants clipped to needle points and she'd be any of her old Academy instructors. Sitting up, she uncrosses her arms, reaches across the console for his hand. "No lecture. That'd require a level of hypocrisy I don't think I'm capable of any more, and Force knows I see now why you didn't want to tell me beforehand. What did you ask to make him so angry?"

"I didn't even get the chance." Fists shoved deep in his pockets, he sinks down into his seat. "Though you'd think they would want that Star Fortress gone as much as we do-"

"But you had a plan."

Theron nods. "Artillery. Two guns at the the canyon mouth meant a less than one percent casualty rate when I had SCORPIO run the projections. Can't get much better than that-" he does have a point, she has to admit, but stars, how could he have been so reckless?- "but obviously, we don't have that kind of firepower. But the Republic does."

She makes a face- she can't help it- and he sighs again, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"I know. I know. But I thought-"

"I thought we were looking at the clifftop plan."

"I hit a dead end there. The estate up there and all the land around it's owned by House Rist- but I couldn't find out who specifically, and they're not biting." Still slouched deep into the chair, he turns his head to look at her. "So I had to try to get creative."

Ah, stars, she doesn't know whether to hug him or shake him. "You ought to have told me. I've got Rist connections I can leverage. I'll make inquiries." It might mean significant favors owed- the noble houses were never prone to give information away for free and the Rists less so than most, but the old Intelligence poisonsmaster was born to the house and, better, had a keen ear for gossip. It was worth a call to her, at least.

"I thought I could leverage one of my own for once- I burned so many bridges when I quit the SIS I haven't got much to offer any more. I'm sorry you got dragged into it, but-"

"He didn't believe I hadn't sent you."

He shakes his head. "I wouldn't have walked out of there if I hadn't called you, I don't think. Jace was- my father was-" Theron doesn't know how to word it, she thinks, and his eyes close for a second. "We never had time to really get to know each other, but I thought we-"

He trails off again, words lost to the noise of the accelerating engine; she waits, silent.

"Never mind," he says after a moment, rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth. "I was wrong, obviously. Though that wasn't how I meant for you to find out."

"And if he wasn't keen to work with us before, he certainly won't be now. I'm sure he's convinced I turned you deliberately." Her hand's still resting on the console between them and he's not even looking at her, now, eyes open again but staring out the window as the stars blur and they pick up speed. Standing, she steps around behind him, wraps her arms cautiously around the back of the chair, draping her hands over his shoulders.

(Ah, families.

When she looks up, Valkorion's sitting in her just-vacated seat, smirking.

I had such hope for my own family, you know. But as it turns out- he gestures, fingers extended elegantly in their direction- the only thing one can breed reliably is disappointment.)

"Let him think that. Like he doesn't know a thing or two about battlefield affairs."

With Valkorion's words echoing in her head she blinks, needing to reorient herself; thankfully Theron's still not looking at her, though he tilts his head so his cheek presses against her forearm. "Was that how they met? Your fath-" She can feel the face he makes, and backtracks. "Your parents?"

"Yes and no. They met at the beginning of the war, when Korriban-" he clears his throat, rephrasing. Old habits die hard- "when the Sith retook Korriban. But years later, Satele saved him from Darth Malgus on Alderaan, and… well. I don't know the details, only a little bit of what Jace told me the first few times we met."

She chuckles softly. Like father, like son. "I see why he'd have a soft spot for Alderaan. Though I do have to ask- your parents being who they are, how in the Void did you end up in the SIS of all places? I would have thought Military Intelligence, at least, if an officership didn't suit."

"Funny story, actually." With a glance up at her out of the corner of his eye, Theron wrinkles his nose- they've probably got the same definition of funny. "I'll tell you later, if you want. But I was seventeen when the SIS picked me up, and Jace only found out I existed during the mission to take down the Ascendant Spear almost ten years later . He was putting the team together and read my dossier, found out my birthday. Then when he found out who my mother is- he did the math."

"That's-"

"Yeah." His hands wrap around her wrists. "Shitty way to find out you've got a son. But he did make an effort in those first few years. We got drinks together a few times, had dinner. But the Republic was always his first priority."

She frowns, leaning over further until her cheek rests in the stretched curve of his neck.

She never thought to miss her own family, not really; even starting off in Intelligence it was made perfectly clear that family was a liability that ran both ways, a cord to be severed, and she remembers so little of them now there's nothing left to miss. She doubts Theron would ever have been close to his mother- if Satele even cared to try, which was a different question- but he might have had a chance with Jace.

Not now, though, thanks to her. Not now.

"And then you left."

"And then I left. And no, I don't regret it, so whatever you're thinking," Theron says, "stop it."

Her objection comes out an indignant huff and he shifts as her breath glances across his skin, a smug little noise his only response. After a moment he lets go of her and raises one hand to her cheek, nudging her with gentle pressure to come around the chair; in two steps she's beside him and he draws her down onto his lap.

For a moment she stiffens. He can talk circles around it all he likes but he should never have gone to Coruscant; it was stupid and reckless and he might have ended up in a cell, facing two days' imprisonment at least before she would have been able to get anywhere near him- a day and half, maybe, if she went in guns blazing which would probably have gotten them all killed-

-but Theron winds his arms around her waist and she can't help it and lets the last of her irritation go, softening into the curl of his body. Oh, she's missed him.

"That's better." His words come out muffled, his mouth against her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nine. I meant for all of it to make less work for you, not fuck things up and piss you off."

"I'm not angry."

"You were."

"I was-"

(She was. She was furious with him for dropping her in the middle of that mess with no warning and leaving her to talk their way out, for leaving her to pace and fret and curse for the entire hour of his flight from Coruscant, a thousand worst-case scenarios playing like holovids in her head and- oh. There it is.

She wasn't supposed to be afraid of things. In her third year at school they spent hours and hours on emotional regulation- for all the good it does now when her nightmares come- learning to channel fear and anxiety and all their other maladaptive emotions into something more productive; there were fewer students by the end of that year, more cries in the night echoing along the dormitory rows and empty beds when morning came.

She wasn't supposed to be afraid of things.

But she'd been afraid for Theron. She'd just forgotten how to let herself feel it.)

"I was worried about you," she says, quiet, as his arms tighten around her. "A little angry, yes. But mostly worried."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Turning a little, she presses one finger to the tip of his nose, teasing. "You idiot."

He grins. "Not used to that, I guess- somebody worrying about me. If it'll help your mood at all, I'm not too proud to resort to bribery. I picked you up something before I got chased off-planet."

"You already mentioned the caf, and bribery's not necessary. Though I do like presents."

"I brought some of the caf along, yeah, but I got you something else too." Theron shifts beneath her. "You're going to have to let me up, though. It's in my bag in quarters."

"Spoilsport. I'm rather comfortable here, you know."

When she slides forward off his lap he pushes himself up off the chair and stands up behind her, then catches her around the waist again, turning her and pulling her in close. "I guess I'll just have-" he always surprises her, still, with how strong he is; he lifts her up over his shoulder in a messy sort of rescuer's carry and she laughs in surprise, holding on around his waist as she dangles over his shoulder- "to make it up to you."

Two hours later, Theron finally remembers the present- to be fair, she'd nearly forgotten about it, too; he'd done a very thorough job making it up to her- and crawls out of bed to fetch a ribbon-bound little box from his duffel. She hadn't even thought he'd known what cosmetics she used; he only winks up at her and kisses her stomach, his head resting in her lap as, her gift unwrapped, she winds the ribbon teasingly around one of his wrists.

"I am a spy, you know. It's sort of my job."

"Oh, yes," she says, tying a loose knot. "Ever so skilled, you. Shall we see how you are at escaping?"

Taris. 21 ATC.

Taris hasn't changed much in the years since she's last been there, still the same rakghoul-infested shithole.

They set the ship down in the wreckage field of the Endar Spire. It won't be noticed there, probably, one more bit of ship in all of that scattered debris; Theron looks across at the ruin and shakes his head.

"Even here," he mutters, "still can't get away from my family, can I?"

She remembers, too late, a little of its history- a Republic ship, brought down by Imperial fire just before the final bombardment of Taris, an escaped Jedi prisoner named- oh, what was the name? It's been ages since she last read the planetary file. Something with a B, she thinks, and her last name was-

Her last name was Shan.

Oh.

She makes a face. "Sorry. I didn't think we'd be welcome at either base, given the circumstances."

"No, no, you're right. Just thinking out loud." They walk down the ramp together, guiding the heavy speeder down from the storage compartment beneath the ship, gear loaded and her old sniper rifle in the weapon rack. "You know this place better than I do. Where should we start?"

She never realized how much rakghouls look the same.

There are several subspecies, according to Lokin's notes, but all the creatures here seem to be the same as the ones back on Alderaan, greyish-skinned and without spines on their faces. The ones they need are larger, spikier, red in color- and scarely to be found, apparently, here or in any of the other four locations they've checked so far. She draws back from the scope, lowers the rifle with a sigh.

Theron looks toward her, one eyebrow raised, as she shakes her head in reply. With a nod, he pulls up their planning map on his datapad; he needn't have. They've only got one nest left to try and only seven vials in the specimen container- they'll have to hit the last one, too. She'd saved the largest nest for last deliberately, hoping they'd have enough samples by then, that they wouldn't need to go there at all. But they need a dozen unique specimens, at least, to craft a cure. She doesn't have a choice.

She circles it with one fingertip- Dynamet General Hospital.

Ready? Theron signs at her.

She doesn't have a choice. Let's go.

The ride to the hospital grounds is quiet, mostly. She remembers that the access tunnel was full of rakghouls, years ago, and bypasses it in favor of an old service route that runs through a collapsed outbuilding; the larger speeder barely fits with both of them riding astride, but they squeak through a narrow gap and Theron picks off the few creatures that chase after them (none suitable for sampling, more's the pity) with a series of precise blaster shots.

There's no other way into the hospital building itself, not anymore. The rest of the doors were demolished years ago, more to keep everything trapped inside than to keep anyone out- there wasn't much in the way of scrounge left and anyone stupid enough to brave the nests without the protection of Lokin's homebrewed vaccine was more likely to end up a new resident than rich on salvage- so it'll have to be the main entrance; she pulls the speeder behind a pillar. Theron takes the sample kit, she the rifle. One last chance.

Ten years and the damn corridor hasn't changed at all. The nest's deep inside the main building, down in the sublevels, and the turbolift probably broke three hundred years ago when the bombs fell. We'll take the stairs, she signs to Theron. This way.

He's just started to reply when they round the corner and time stops.

("After you forced me to come here, I should let you die." She stares down at Chance as he curls onto his side against a makeshift duracrete barricade, gasping, blood frothing on his lips. Her people- the Imperial patrol that'd driven him here- had shot well. A collapsed lung, she thinks, his hand clamped tight over his ribs. If she doesn't act now, he'll never make it.

His mouth moves silently. Please. Please. Onom-

He doesn't have the breath to say it, nor the strength. She could turn and walk away right now; he'd be food for the rakghouls and there'd be one fewer pair of hands holding her leash. But-

But she remembers the way he looked at her, the first time he saw her code word used to hurt her. It was just the three of them on Taris, her and Chance and Hunter: she'd mouthed off in response to some offhand comment and Hunter'd locked her in place with a word, slapped her square across the face and all she could do was stand there, blinking placidly as she seethed. Chance shook his head, and when Hunter stepped out he broke the command and handed her a cold pack for her swollen lip.

"But I won't." She crouches down beside him, pulling an empty syringe and two vials of kolto out of her belt pouch. The lung first, then. She opens his jacket, feeling for the space between his ribs. "Though you'd better brace yourself, Chance. This is going to hurt."

She drives it home, and-)

What an intriguing memory. Valkorion's voice hisses in her ear, building pressure inside her head until she staggers forward, clutching at the crumbling barricade with her gloved hands. You know how they used you, little Cipher, and yet you saved him. Why?

She grits her teeth. Her nose is bleeding; she can feel it running down her face. He only used me because he thought he had to. He didn't deserve to die there.

And what of me? When she looks up she can't see him. It would not have been my choice, taking up residence inside this crowded mind of yours, but for my serpent of a son and your bullet through my heart. Do I not merit mercy?

You? Blood on her lips, sour on her tongue when she licks them. No. I'm going to kill you.

When she comes back to herself Theron's pulling a wad of gauze out of the medkit at his waist, pressing it hard against her face, still not speaking but his expression tense and questioning as he pinches the bridge of her nose. She taps two fingers to her temple and he scowls.

"When did that start?" He whispers hoarsely as she steps back from the stone. "Bad enough he's in your head but he's hurting you now, too?"

"It's nothing." She spits into the gauze. "I'm fine. We should keep going."

"You're not- "

Something's coming, a chorus of howls at the far end of the corridor, moving fast up the stairs. Rakghouls. They must have smelled the blood- it's probably been ages since they've had prey that wasn't rats or tachs. Shit, shit, shit.

She pushes his hand down and braces the sniper rifle against the slab. Six shots before they get too close. Maybe eight. Then she's got her main gun and Theron's got his pistols.

It should be enough.

"You're not fine," he finishes, still trying to tend to her until she pushes him away again, harder this time, pointing down the barrel of the rifle at the first of the rakghouls cresting the top of the stairs; he swears and draws, letting the gauze fall to the ground. "We need to talk about this."

"Not-" the first shot's loud enough to make her ears ring in the confines of the hallway and it catches a huge red rakghoul clean through the forehead. One more sample for the box, at least- "right-" another, smaller, but the same color, another clean shot as it collapses over the first- "now."

All in all they kill fifteen in the corridor.

It wasn't as bad as she'd thought it would be. After the first few, the rest coming up the stairs were penned in by their fallen nestmates and it was more like a shooting gallery than an attack, the two of them firing in synchrony until the howling stops and an eerie quiet settles back over the building.

Six of the red rakghouls lie among the dead. As Theron keeps his blasters raised she picks up the sample kit from where he'd set it down beside her, drawing out a handful of syringes as she starts down the corridor toward the stairwell and the pile of bodies.

"Come on," she says. Her nose's still dripping; she wipes it on the back of her gloved hand. "The faster we get this done, the faster we can get out of here."

When she looks back at him he's frowning. "Let me at least clean you up a little. We've still got to drive all the way back to the ship and you look like a plague victim."

"Still better-looking than them." She gestures toward the creatures and crouches, uncapping the first syringe and plunging it deep, drawing back until the thick dark sludge that passes for rakghoul blood flows into the tube. "And it's only a nosebleed. It'll keep for a moment."

Tucking the now-full syringe into the kit, she moves on to the next and then the next and then the one after that, siphoning a vial from each until the container's full and she latches it closed. Fuck, she hates rakghouls; she'll never get the smell out of her nostrils, even over the scent of her own blood. But if it's the only way-

Well, she owes it to Lokin to try, the canny old bastard.

(She didn't think he was even awake when Theron arrived on Alderaan, but when she came in to tell him about the plan Lokin shot a glance toward the hall.

"Your SIS friend from Ziost- so you managed to bring him over after all, did you?" When he smiled he almost looked like himself, if she ignored the hollows under his eyes. "Good girl." )

The container strap slung over her shoulder, she stands, wipes her nose again and walks back toward Theron, who finally takes his eyes off the far doorway and holsters his blasters. "All right. Shall I sit?"

He pats the barrier in front of him. "C'mere, and keep pinching. It'll never stop otherwise."

She sighs, perching on the duracrete, fingers on the bridge of her nose, and tilts her chin up so he can scrub at her face with a proper cleaning-cloth.

"Okay. What happened?" Theron holds along the angle of her jaw, wiping beneath her nose and across the margin of her lower lip. "You stood there staring for the better part of a minute, then I thought you were going to fall over. You're starting to scare me."

"It's nothing to worry about. Really."

"It's not nothing-" he gets her upper lip next- "and if you're allowed to worry about me I'm allowed to worry about you. How long has this been happening?"

She shrugs. "A few months? I told you, Valkorion likes to go exploring, and here- I've been here before. Coming back triggered an old memory that he felt obliged to drag to light."

His expression's a question as he folds the cloth to expose a clean corner.

"Chance."

The cloth raised back to her face, he stops, still for a long moment, just looking at her. She knows he knows; he told her so, the night of that first party. "You should have told me," he finally says. "We didn't need to come here. We could have looked harder at the other sites."

"If I avoided every place that might trigger a bad memory, half the galaxy would be off limits." She glances down. Her head's aching, probably from the rifle fire, but she doesn't particularly want to tell him that- he'll only fuss more, and she's tired of being treated as though she's made of glass. "To say nothing of Zakuul. But seeing as we have a war to win, I don't have the luxury of-"

"It's not about the war!" Theron snaps, words echoing down the corridor as he cleans the last of the blood from her skin. "You're not a martyr. What good's killing Arcann going to do if your brain's a scrambled mess before we ever get there?"

"Do you think I know?" It's past time they headed back to the ship; the moment he steps back she pushes up to her feet, shouldering the sample container, and grabs the rifle. "I'll figure it out. I've got plenty of experience on that front."

He reaches out for her other hand, brushing at her sleeve as she starts to move past. "Nine-"

She takes another step forward. She needs air and light to clear her mind, not this awful place, and the longer she stands here the more her head throbs. She needs to get out.

"Nine, please." Theron's fingers close around her wrist; she turns her head to look at him, and-

It's dark. Why is it so dark? She can't see, she can't-

She can't-