“Speaking of uncharted terraform,” Addy said suddenly, “I suppose I should talk about why we’re here.”

“Ah yes.” Eriaas leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass of perfectly vinted wine to his lips. “The Archeti project, yes? You’re still on that?”

Was that supposed to be a slight? Even if it was, Addy remained unphased. Frankly, she was better at this than he thought. Her willingness to ‘play the game’ and her cajoling charm was reminding him unpleasantly of his brother.

“ — and we’ve got the infrastructure of New Genisi nearly ready to go,” she was saying to him, her voice smooth and light like she could think of no better way to spend her evening. “We’re starting to build at last.”

“That’s fantastic!” Eliaas cried, lifting his wine glass to them. “I’m glad to hear it.” He leaned forward on the table and lifted a brow at her. “Don’t need my money anymore then, huh?”

Addy opened her mouth, then closed it. “Well — “ but Eliaas cut her off with a laugh.

“I jest, I jest, my dear. You know I’m more than happy to help you out.”

Cyrus caught Addy’s eye briefly as she grinned at him, relieved.

“What happened to that poor planet is awful,” Eliaas sighed. “As long as a remarkable mind like yours is on the job, I’m more than happy to assist in any way I can.” And then — Cyrus watched it, as though in slow motion — he caught Addy’s hand in his.

Cyrus stared fixedly, unable to help himself, as Eliaas’ thumb ran over the back of Addy’s hand. He probably shouldn’t have been mad. He had no legitimate claim on Addy. They had a daughter together, they lived together, they worked together, they were ‘together’ in the very broad sense of the word, but if she wanted a handsome rich guy to squeeze her palm like that, something that was, in effect, harmless, that was her choice. Right?

And yet when he glanced down at Kalli who, surprisingly, was staring at them too with her usual wide-eyed wonder, he couldn’t help himself.

“It might assist if you’d actually visit the planet for once,” he said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. Everyone turned to Cyrus, awed. Addy’s hand was freed now and holding the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes narrowed with warning.

Cyrus felt a rush of embarrassment, but he went on strongly, “I don’t know, having an actual investor on the ground could help a lot. Help morale, help order, help get things done…”

His voice trailed off as everyone else in the room continued to stare at him blankly. Addy pursed her lips and gave him a stern look that he recognized without question: he was in trouble.

But fortunately, it was Eliaas who broke the silence at last. “Maybe,” he said lightly, and then added, “But I’m afraid my schedule is booked for quite some time. I’m a busy man, you understand. Can’t just be making visits to all of my benefactors.” He grinned his sparkling grin and refilled his wine glass.

The gesture made Cyrus want to punch that stupid grin right off his face.

But before he had the chance, the attention was gone. Eliaas lifted Addy’s hand to his lips, said, “Perhaps one day, you’ll visit me for a reason other than investments?” and kissed it.

Cyrus suppressed a groan. It was going to be a long night.

———

“We smoked ‘em. Smoked ‘em good. Cap’n had the whole place locked down in minutes, shoulda seen it.” Rhys described the event with all the tenacity of a man a few drinks deep, his hands making grand gestures in the air and his eyes lit with inspiration. “Shoulda been there, Lena.”

“Leta,” Leta corrected, amused.

Eve, seated at her side, scoffed a laugh. “Don’t think our doc woulda cared for it much, Rhys. Not a lot of raids I cared for myself…” She shook her head and took a long sip from her glass. “Good work though. We’re doin’ good work. Believe that with all my heart.” She nodded firmly and Leta smiled.

“That base was turned into a refugee camp. Its housing hundreds of displaced families now, so I’ve heard. It is good work.” Whether or not it would remain good in the long run, she couldn’t be sure, but after the past week, Leta was tired of dwelling on politics. For now, she was much more interested in hearing about the heroics of old friends.

“Know what though, doc, cap’n ever tell ya ‘bout the first land on Ascendia?” Eve asked suddenly. Leta raised her brows and shook her head. Eve’s eyes lit up, she cast a glance at Rhys who squirmed in his chair with excitement, and started to tell the tale.

It was strange, Leta thought, being back on the Dionysian again, lounging around the mess hall as the ship plummeted across the Span, chatting with its permanent fixtures. A lot had changed since her time aboard. Without Cyrus, Corra, Nikkolai, Amora…It was quieter. The crew was small. The air was a little harsher than it used to be, more serious. This ship had seen a lot, Leta knew, in the past five years. Things it wouldn’t soon recover from.

But there was still Rhys with his ill-advised drinking. Still Eve, ever vigilant. Richelle, who had blossomed into a capable engineer, was helping Maya who had, of all things, taken cooking lessons from Fiearius in his few spare moments. It was easy to tell, Leta thought as the woman laid a plate in front of her on the table, given just how spicy it smelled.

Leta hadn’t realized how much she had missed this place.

“Are you telling the Ascendia story again?” Maya asked as she sat down across the table. “We’ve heard it a thousand times.”

“Leta hasn’t,” defended Eve.

“They snuck around for a few days and then took over city hall, just her and the cap’n and a couple Carthians, it was very impressive,” Maya spoiled with her usual dosage of snark.

Eve growled, “Better when I tell it…”

It was then that the faint sound of approaching footsteps met Leta’s ears. None of the others at the table looked up from their meals, this was such a clockwork occurrence to them, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the door as the ship’s captain and his assistant entered the room.

Finn tilted the murky bottle against his mouth, then thudded it onto the surface of the bar. It was either his fourth or ninth beer, but he couldn’t be sure — he’d let the hours bleed by, morning into afternoon. He knew he shouldn’t have been daydrinking, especially alone in a dive bar, but he decided he wasn’t just daydrinking alone. He was scheming. And thinking.

He had a lot of thinking time, after all, since he’d been kicked out — or forcibly removed, as Daelen would say — from his own ship three days ago. It was official now: led by Alyx, the Beacon had left without him.

It hadn’t been a ceremonious send-off. Finn had grabbed his jacket from his room, found his wallet, and left down the cargo bay ramp.

Still — when he pictured Alyx’s face, his stomach twisted into guilt. She’d probably never speak to him again. Now he had no vessel, no bridge to take charge of, no captain’s chair. He had nothing but some fraudulent credits to his name and, well, his current beer.

Surprisingly, the thought did not embitter him. He really had no bitterness left. Instead, he snorted an uneven laugh to himself as he swirled the last dregs of his bottle, watching the liquor swish around.

Behind him, the bar’s front door opened and shut, letting a warm breeze sweep in, followed by new voices.

” — usual, please, Reggie,” a man was saying to the bartender as he dropped into a stool. Finn spared the man a sideways glance and noted, with interest, that his wallet was visible in the pocket of his jacket.

Well, Finn thought, bemusedly, he had to start somewhere. Pick-pocketing wasn’t as glamorous as it was when he was in his young twenties, though — really, he should have been stealing ships, not loose change. He hadn’t hotwired and stolen a passenger vessel in years, but he supposed he could manage it. Maybe he’d head over to the docks …

The door opened and shut a second time. Another warm, sandy breeze blew through. Finn reached for his beer, ready to polish it off so he could leave and get to work — and then it happened. Mid-swig of his drink, he glanced toward the door and he could do nothing but cough up half his beer.

Eyes watering, hacking up his lungs, Finn could sense the bartender eyeing him oddly, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure who had just walked in the door.

She was petite and curvy, her black hair cut short. There was no mistaking those round doe-eyes anywhere.

“You’ve got,” Finn managed at last, “to be shitting me.”

Corra’s mouth curved into a tense smile as she slowly made her way towards him, her hands locked behind her back. “Hey there,” she greeted through a bit of a nervous chuckle. “Long time no see, huh?”

Finn stared. He was torn between the impulse to laugh and the impulse to yell, and in the end, his voice was toneless. “What’re you doing here?”

She broke eye contact with him and glanced awkwardly at the bar. “Getting a drink?” she guessed. “And looking for you of course.”

“How the hell did you even find me?”

“I’ve got people with eyes and ears all over. Plus you’re not too hard to track.” She slid onto the chair beside him, like they were old drinking buddies meeting up again, like old times, like nothing had changed. “Finn — I need to ask you. Do you know what the Transmission is?”

Finn slid a look toward his near-empty beer bottle. Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought. “What?”

“The Transmission,” she pressed. “It’s this old–I don’t know, tube thing? I don’t know what it does, but that’s what it’s called and–”

“No. What — are you kidding me?” Finn cut her off suddenly.

Corra looked surprised. “No? I–”

“Tell me you’re fucking kidding me,” Finn grunted, slapping his palm on the bar. “You disappear. For five years. After — god, the worst day of my life, without a fucking word. And you show up again to ask me a goddamned question about–what the fuck, Corra?”

Corra’s mouth fell open in shock, but then she clamped it shut again. Until, “Finn–”

“You’re ridiculous. And you came to find me because you need something? Corra.” He barked a dry laugh. “Whatever it is you need, you’ve come to the wrong person.”

Silence lapsed for a moment, and Finn wondered if she would get up and leave, disappearing again like a ghost, never to see her again. Then she said, “So you don’t know anything about it?”

Finn held the bridge of his nose with his fingers, overwhelmed and suddenly exhausted. He could not believe Corra was sitting at his side, after all this time, let alone demanding information from him.

“What did you say it was called? Transmission? No, I don’t know anything about it. What are you up to, Corra? Are you in trouble?”

Corra didn’t meet his eyes. “Maybe…” Before he had a chance to respond, she slid off her chair and tucked her arms behind her back. “It’s okay, I can take care of it. Thanks anyway. And–” She looked up at him, albeit briefly. “I’m sorry. For bothering you. And…” She swallowed hard and bowed her head a little. “Everything else.”

Just as she was turning to leave, Finn reached out and grabbed her arm to halt her.

“Hang on now. It’s been years. I know you’re some secret Conduit agent who can’t tell me anything now–” He ignored her sudden look of alarm at the company around them, “–but we can’t at least catch up a little?”

She looked hesitant and she was still poised towards the door, but then a memory flashed across her face and she said, “Oh, right, I wanted to ask. My contact tracked you here, but I didn’t see the Beacon anywhere in the docks. Where is she?”

Finn’s expression sunk a little. He had imagined a hypothetical situation in which he’d have to explain this to Corra one day, but it had been hypothetical. Now that she was standing in front of him, blinking innocently in his direction, the explanation came a lot harder…

“Yeah. About that…”

Her captor glowered and slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t you fuckin’ use that name you ungrateful shit.”

Corra recovered from the blow quickly, shaking off the blood from her mouth and looking up at him. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell you,” she said, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “I hid it. I hid it in–” She mumbled something unintelligible and his face twisted in annoyance.

“Louder, kroppie, where is it?” he growled, but leaned in anyway.

“I hid it–” she mumbled again and this time he leaned closer. Just enough.

“ — Up your ass,” she finished shortly and, before he could react, she rocked back and forward again, slamming her head into his.

The man reeled backwards, clutching his head as Corra shifted forward, landing her feet square on the ground and lifting the chair she was still attached to behind her back. As the other man’s shock wore off and he came at her, she spun around and swung the legs of the chair right into his torso. He flew into the wall with a thud as she spun again, knocking the first man off his feet.

“Thanks, I got all I need,” she told them cheerfully before jumping as high as she could manage and letting herself (and her chair) fall on top of the one below her. The wood splintered and snapped apart on impact and she easily slipped out of the wreckage. The knife the man had been using glittered enticingly on the ground and she used it to slice away the ropes they had binding her while her captors groaned in pain, immobile for the time being.

Her bones protested as she headed for the door before that changed and her body felt the beginning stages of bruising, but there was no time to worry about her aches and pains. She had to get back to her ship and fast.

———————–

An agent of the Conduit had lent Corra the Spirit a few years ago for a single mission to a nearby planet. The ship was just big enough to carry her and just small enough to be hidden easily. Her dull grey exterior which blended in to practically any environment certainly helped. She’d often suspected the agent had wanted the Spirit back, but Corra had fallen in love with the tiny vessel the moment she first laid her hands on its controls. And conveniently, she had just happened to never run into that particular agent again…

Currently, she was parked amongst a heap of retired service shuttles in the city’s ancillary shipyard. No one noticed the small woman as Corra silently vaulted over the fence and made her way across the yard, finding easy cover amongst its residents.

She couldn’t get aboard the Spirit soon enough. She needed ice for her bruises, bandages for her cuts and more than anything, she needed to find that–that thing.

When she stumbled aboard into the small brightly-lit chamber of the ship, however, after the long run across the entire city, her first desire was to collapse on the cold metal ground in relief. She was safe, she’d made it, everything would be okay. But she forced herself onward to the storage area where she began digging through the cabinets.

When she’d taken care of Callahan and his men a few weeks ago, she had an urge to take something with her after the fact. She’d felt she deserved it, after all he’d done. After the hunt he’d lead her on. The ear was satisfying, she thought, as she found the jar she’d stored it in and pushed it aside. A little grim, but satisfying. Though not satisfying enough. There had been something else in that room that had caught her attention.

It had sat on his desk, glimmering at her enticingly. A deep red cylinder encased in some kind of golden cage, no bigger than her fist. It looked old. Perhaps even ancient. And honestly, it was just shiny. She’d figured she could sell the thing somewhere along the road when her credits ran dry.

But after tonight, she was convinced the thing was more than just the trinket she’d taken it for. Those men had certainly reacted when she’d said Callahan’s name, he definitely fit their description and this, she thought as she wrapped her fingers around the object and pulled it out of the cabinet into the light, was the only thing she’d taken from him.

The Transmission? She turned it over in her hand. What did that even mean?

Taking the object with her, she returned to the front of the ship and fell heavily into the pilot’s seat. Surely someone knew about this. Surely there was a trail here she could follow. A path to figure out what, exactly, she’d been storing on her ship unknowingly.

She tapped a command into her console and looked up at the screen that projected before her. Admittedly, it wasn’t the greatest search term. She scrolled through the results, finding nothing of interest before trying something else.

Well, those men had known what it was.

And sure enough, it didn’t take long to find the bounty on her. Corra whistled at the price. Whoever wanted this thing wanted it bad. But any mention of the ‘object’ that needed ‘retrieval’ was vague and unhelpful. She didn’t want to risk reaching out herself to find out more, but maybe someone else could. Maybe someone amongst her network could uncover more information. Maybe someone already knew, maybe–

And suddenly, a face came to her. A face surrounded by smoke and fire and ship debris, looking up at her with desperation, fear, concern.

Finn.

At once, it made sense. That was why he’d been there. He knew about the bounty. He’d come to the ship preview to warn her. And that meant…

She lifted the mysterious red tube to her eyes. He might know something about the Transmission too.

It was settled then. She wouldn’t be able to go back to Lars’ estate anyway, not like this. A beat-up ally would raise far too many questions. She’d put in a call to Raisa and have them expedite a rescue without her. It’d be more challenging and a lot more expensive, but she had faith that the work she’d done there and the information she’d gathered would lead it to be successful and her latest family would be free before the night ended.

So instead, she hit the switch to fire up the Spirit’s practically silent engines and tapped a few keys to make a call. “Hey,” she greeted when the line connected, “Sorry for the late hour, but I need to find someone.”

————

“So what, now you’re kicking me out?!” He sounded like he might laugh, but his eyes were humorless.

“You need help, help I can’t give you,” Alyx snapped. “Help that you’re sure as hell not gonna get here.” She took a deep breath and fixed him with a desperate stare. “So yeah, Finn. I am. Get the hell off my ship.”

————-

Corra’s feet landed with a loud thump on the marble flooring — louder than she’d anticipated. Freezing on the spot, she grimaced and peered down the hallway, praying that there were no figures lurking in the darkness to overhear. Or worse, see. She couldn’t imagine what someone might think observing Ranson Lars’ most obedient ally climbing through one of the mansion’s outer windows. She didn’t want to imagine what would happen next.

Fortunately, the coast seemed to be clear, all of the house’s staff and residents fast asleep by now. So as quickly as she’d entered, she straightened herself up and started toward the servant quarters as though that was what she’d been doing all along. If anyone asked, she’d simply remembered a task she’d neglected in the kitchen. And ideally, no one would have noticed she was even gone.

Admittedly, a few days before the big escape she had planned was not the best time to go sneaking off in the middle of the night. Usually, Corra wouldn’t have taken the risk. But when she’d heard the news feed describing a grim situation on Vescent earlier today while she served drinks to Lars’ guests, she couldn’t wait either.

It wasn’t safe to make a call on the mansion’s grounds, but Corra had discovered a quiet public console station only a few blocks away that allowed her to make the call to Leta discreetly. And she was glad she did.

“I know you can’t tell me where you are, but you’re safe, aren’t you?” Leta had pressed.

Corra had laughed grimly as she’d considered her current situation. Embedded as an ally and intent on staging a mass rescue in a few days. ‘Safe’ wasn’t a word she’d choose. Finally she’d muttered, “Safe enough. But I called to talk about you, not me. Tell me about Vescent. The news we heard here was a little skewed…”

“It was bad, Corra,” Leta sighed. “We had riots two years ago, but not as bad as this. I won’t be making it back there anytime soon … “

“So you’re staying on the Dionysian?” Corra couldn’t help but smirk at that, glad to know that even after all these years, she could still count on Fiearius to have as much invested in Leta’s safety as she did.

“I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not sleeping with Fiear.”

“I didn’t say anything! Nor would I,” Corra laughed. “Just making sure you’re okay is all. Are you hanging in there?”

Leta laughed. “Barely, but yes, I am,” she said, which was the most assurance Corra could have hoped for. Their calls were infrequent and never more than a few minutes, but she relished them.

Corra wouldn’t describe herself as lonely, exactly. How could she have been — she was constantly busy and surrounded by people. She enjoyed the company of the allies she worked to free. With each new ‘owner’ she situated herself under, she gained a new family of sorts.

And yet, none of her new families seemed able to fill the hole that had appeared in the center of her chest. No one had managed to come close to the kind of relationships she’d used to kindle and she still felt pangs of regret when her mind turned to Leta, to Cyrus, to Addy, Alyx, to Finn…

The image of Finn’s face came to her mind’s eye, staring up at her from the wreckage of that ship that had plowed into the grandstand. His voice calling out to her. Her sudden need to flee. She still didn’t know what he was doing there or how such a coincidence (if it even was one) could have occurred. But as much as she knew she had to get out of there at the time, there was a part of her now that wished she could have answered him…

She shook the thought from her mind as she gently eased open the door to the servant’s quarters and slipped into the hallway inside. There was no time to feel remorseful about days long past. She had a job to do and an important one at that. In two days, she’d be leading all of these people into freedom. Slipping up now wasn’t an option.

She was almost to the door to her assigned barracks when she noticed that she wasn’t the only one awake in this section of the mansion. Hushed whispers were coming from up ahead, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying and, in this darkness, she could see little more than featureless figures coming her way.

Corra slowed her pace, peering towards them as they entered into her view. They didn’t look like anyone she knew, nor did they hold themselves like allies. Guests of Lars? She didn’t like to imagine what some visiting dignitaries or businessmen would be looking for in the servant’s quarters at this hour. But they weren’t dressed nearly well enough to fall into Lars’ usual range of friends. And then, suddenly, their whispers silenced and they stopped where they stood.

Out of instinct, she too stopped. They’d seen her. And then one of them said a word she didn’t expect to hear: “Corra?”

They were–looking for her? And they knew her actual name? Lars’ people only knew her as Ava. Were they from the Conduit?

The two men were coming towards her as she tried to figure out what was going on. No one other than Raisa knew where to find her, perhaps she was trying to get in touch? Something must have been wrong for them to show up now.

Still, Corra stood defensively as they approached, holding her head high and keeping her hands firmly at her sides. “Corra?” one of the men asked again.

Corra regarded him carefully, unsure what the right answer was. If he was from the Conduit, she could tell the truth, but if not–

Unfortunately, she never got the chance to make her decision. Suddenly, the other man growled, “It’s her!”

Before she could think, a dark figure rushed towards her face, lifted his arm, and then everything went black.