Exhaling shakily, Leta paused against a sooty brick wall to gather her courage. Just across the street, the jet-black glass defense building arched high into the air, glittering eerily in the night. Inside that building was the missile controls that could end this battle.

She was close.

Unfortunately, Fiearius had been right. The Society had been prepared to defend this very spot from a barrage of Carthian soldiers. A circle of agents surrounded the front entrance, armed to take down any offense. Leta had no options, no way of distracting the guards. If only the crew was here to occupy them like they planned. If only the crew hadn’t been injured. If only the ship hadn’t crashed.

Panic fluttered in her chest. For a moment, she flattened herself against the brick wall, closed her eyes and heaved a slow, deep breath. She could do this. She could find a way past them, surely. She just had to find a distraction or a sneaky way around them, or —

Suddenly, movement to her right caught her eye. The sound of boots on pavement. In one motion, Leta snatched her gun from her hip and directed it at the figure in the alley, cold as ice.

But an odd scene met her eyes. It wasn’t one person; it was a whole circle of men and women, looking dirt-streaked and frenzied, all of them armed with rifles and pistols and swords. But they did not advance. Instead, the group exchanged looks and the leader, a young but sturdy man, held up a hand in surrender.

Still, Leta held her weapon steadily. The figure in front grunted his disapproval.

“Stand down, Sochy, you’re outnumbered.”

Leta’s eyes shifted over the crowd curiously. Each of them wore blood-red bands tied around their upper arms. These aren’t agents, she realized with a jolt.

They were rebels.

“Sochy?” she repeated, lowering her gun an inch. “I’m not with the Society. I’m — “

“Leta?”

Someone gasped. Then a young woman pushed forward in the crowd, looking thunderstruck. She had thick dark curls and a familiar heart-shaped face …

It was the woman who had housed her and Cyrus the last time they’d been on Vescent.

“Delia?” she breathed in shock.

Leta could hardly believe it. Delia was a Society loyalist and when Cyrus had (a little foolishly) exposed their less-than-friendly relationship with the organization, she hadn’t reacted well. And yet here she was. With a group of rebels in the streets of a chaotic Vescent.

“What’re you — how — What’re you doing here?”  Leta managed, loosening her grip on her gun but not relinquishing yet. She was still desperately outnumbered.

But Delia threw her arms around Leta as if greeting an old friend. “I could ask you the same thing. After you guys left, I don’t know. I couldn’t get what you said out of my head. It just kept gnawing at me and suddenly I started seeing things. Things like you said about the Society. Around the city, on the Titan. And then I met up with these guys,” she gestured over her shoulder, “And that was that. And here I am.”

“Dee, you know this Sochy?” grunted the leader.

“I’m not a Sochy,” said Leta at once.

“She’s with the resistance, Bran,” Delia said, turning around. “She knows the Rogue Verdant.”

At once, a wave of interest rippled through the group.

“The Verdant?” the man demanded, eyes blazing. “Is he here?”

Leta opened her mouth, but hesitated.

“He is,” she said at last. More gasps. “He’s here. We were in the small ship that crashed on the west end.”

“I knew it!” Delia cried, voice thick with emotion. “I just knew you’d all come back. Bran — she’s telling the truth. She’s close with the younger Solivere. She’s the doctor they travel with.”

Leta met the man’s eyes squarely, willing him to believe it. Bran visibly relaxed, but his eyes burned on her face.

“The Rogue Verdant. If he’s really here — can you bring us to him?”

“Yes. I can,” she said, and everyone stirred. Gods, maybe these people could go to his aid — maybe they could help him bring down Ophelia.

“But first, I — I need your help.” She stepped forward, lowering her weapon at last. “See over there? I need to get into that building to shut down the city’s defense systems. Do you think you could provide a distraction? Or maybe just–”

But she didn’t need to finish. Bran held up his long rifle, cocked it noisily, and nodded.

“The defense building. Not a problem. Leta, was it? If you’re really with the Verdant? We’ll get ya in there.”

“Stay back for this part,” added Delia, flashing her a nervous smile as she joined the throng.

All at once, the rebel squad cocked their guns and drew forward around the alley, excitement buzzing between them like they were headed out to a sporting event.

“On my mark, “ Bran said. “Three, two — “

Then, in a flash of motion, yells of mirth and anger exploded into the air as they all stormed toward the agents, guns ablaze.

Leta watched in amazement as chaos flooded the street. Then she tore her eyes away to do her job: she carefully navigated the fight as the resistance battled the guards. All around her, guns were firing, blood was spilling, both rebel and agent alike, but she didn’t have time to watch, to aid them, to help the wounded as her instincts demanded. She headed straight through the fray towards the main entrance which Bran had already reached and yanked open for her.

Forcing herself not to look back, she plowed through them and kept running. She didn’t even realize Bran and Delia had followed until Delia called to her, “Do you know where you’re going?”

Leta knew too well. She spent most her childhood alone in the atrium of this building, waiting on her absent father to take her home from school. And when he didn’t — when he made her wait until past dinner time, until it was dark out, until it was past her bedtime — she took to wandering the halls, lonely, tired and curious. Once or twice, a security guard took pity on her and even gave her a tour.

And even as a child, she’d always wondered what the large metal door on the second floor held behind it. She hadn’t been surprised though when the Verdant’s blueprints had labeled it the defense control room. So she headed straight for the stairs.

Fortunately, it seemed that the building’s defense had mostly been stationed at the doors. No one was around to stop them as the three ran through the clean white halls of the administrative building. They didn’t even see a soul until Leta charged onto the second floor landing. There was the door. Right up ahead. And two guards right beside it.

She had her gun up before the closest one even noticed her. She’d fired it before the second could move. The agent cried out in pain, seizing her bleeding leg and doubling over.

Bran was on the last one standing like a whirlwind before Leta even knew what was happening. He tackled the man to the ground, using his rifle as a battering ram. Delia joined him only moments later, seizing the weapon from the agent’s hands and throwing it across the floor. Leta went straight for the door, praying the CID Cyrus had given her would work. Supposedly it was identical to Fiearius’, save for the extensive database (in case it fell into the wrong hands of course). Still, she found herself holding her breath as she held it up to the keypad and–thank the gods–the door slid open.

In her urgency, she failed to prevent the woman she’d shot from lifting her COMM to her lips. “Code 640, I–I repeat, code 640, there’s–” It was only a moment before Delia had slapped her gun in the woman’s face, knocking her out, but it was enough.

“Code 640?” repeated Delia. “They must know we’re here. They’ll send reinforcements.”

Bran turned to Leta. “Do what you gotta do.” He nodded towards the control room. “We’ll buy you some time.”

Leta looked between them, heart clenching. If Society reinforcements came here? To fight just the two of them? There was no way they could–

But Delia cocked her rifle in her hand and took up position facing the stairs. Bran was swapping the clip of his own. And with the end of this right behind her, Leta couldn’t argue.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

In a rush, she turned and slid inside, pulling the door shut behind her. Darkness plunged the room and it was a moment before her eyes adjusted: windowless and dark, lit only by the bright screens lining the walls. But there was no mistaking the main console screen, brightly lit up in the center of the room.

Leta darted right to it and scanned the CID. In only seconds, the Society’s librera blazed alive on the screen.

Quickly Leta dropped her fingertips to the keyboard, but something made her freeze. The back of her neck chilled.  Just as she straightened up, she heard an oily, interested voice break cleanly through the room.

“Well,” said a man, sounding as if his curiosity had been aroused. “I wasn’t expecting you, Leta.”

A yell locked in Leta’s throat.

In a half-second, she threw out her hand to grab for her gun, just as the brawny figure eased forward into the light. He was round as a boulder, his shining bald head nearly touching the slanted ceiling as he walked a circle around her, observing her with glinting silver eyes.

The sight of her seemed to please him: his nostrils flared out, and his face flushed red and oily, like he’d been carved out of wax. Finally, a smile slithered across the Vescentian Councillor, Arleth Morgan’s, face. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

Just then, a vague, far-away shout reached Leta’s ears — it was coming from the broken consoles. Hastily she shoved aside a pile of metal and debris, letting Cyrus’ voice come in through the static.

“– be okay. Fiear? Leta? Dionysian, anyone? Please come in. Please–”

“Cy!” Leta answered, hitting the COMM. Her own voice sounded foreign and strange to her ears.

“Leta! Oh gods, you’re okay. You’re alright. Is Fiear there? Is–”

“He’s fine, we’re fine.”

“Dionysian, come in! Come in, Dionysian,” said a third voice through the static. A Carthian officer. “Are you able to complete the mission?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” growled Cyrus, “They were just in a damn spaceship crash and you–”

“No, he’s right,” Fiearius coughed, unsteadily pushing himself out of his chair and stumbling a few feet forward. He looked to Leta. “We made it to the planet. Somehow. There’s not a lot of time, we need to get moving.”

Leta stared, shell-shocked. He was right, but —

“Fiear, the crew. They could be injured if they weren’t strapped in, I need to check  — “

But Fiearius silenced her, dropping a hand on her shoulder. She thought it might have been a gesture of affection but a moment later, as he raised the COMM to his mouth, it seemed more like he needed her support to not topple over. “Can anyone hear me? Come in.”

A long, heavy silence replied in which Leta waited with bated breath and Fiearius beside her. Surely they couldn’t have been the only survivors. How hard had they crashed?

But finally —

“Cap’n? I read you, cap’n.”

Fiearius released a sigh of relief. “Harper. Thank the gods. You alright? Is anyone with you?”

“We’re alright, cap’n,” said Eve. “Lil shaken. One of the deckhands didn’t strap in soon enough, got a bit beat up. Few cuts and scrapes, nothin’ fatal. We’re alright.”

Relief rushed over Leta.

Fiearius went on, “Harper, change of plans. I need you to stay here and look after the crew and defend the ship.”

“But Cap’n–”

“Tend to the crew. Defend the ship,” Fiearius said again, sharper this time. He turned to Leta and unholstered his gun. “Let’s get you to your final destination, shall we?”

———————–

Her city was unrecognizable.

As Leta led Fiearius through the cobblestone streets of Fall’s End, a picture of what had happened here became very clear. Gone were the white stone benches, sparkling fountains, and lush gardens. Now, buildings were charred black from gunfire and explosions. Wood slats barred windows and doors. Society propaganda posters screamed on every wall and lightpost. Smoke rose through the streets; it smelled like burning garbage. The aftermath of the riots lay everywhere.

But it wasn’t only aftermath. People still took to the streets even now. They had worried about resistance once they’d landed, but as they charged down streets and through back alleys, it seemed the Vescentian people themselves were taking care of the agents on the ground. Or at least keeping them occupied. Masses of them, armed with signs, bats and defended by piles of furniture and the remains of felled shuttles fought for their city as Leta and Fiearius traversed it. Mostly, the Society agents seemed overwhelmed, ill-matched for this much raw rage and desperation. One battleground they passed, not so much. It took all of Leta’s willpower to keep going as she watched these people, her people, mowed down by Society firepower.

The battle overhead, though far away, was just as horrifying. The blasts from Carthian and Society ships lit the skies as glimpses of great sweeping vessels plowed through the clouds, dust and smoke.

Quickly and carefully, Leta climbed up the rungs of a metal rusted ladder onto a rooftop, eager to avoid a particularly crowded square, when she heard it. The great crack from above. She pulled herself to level ground on the roof, her hair whipping around her face in the violent wind as she looked up just in time to see the bow of a Carthian destroyer, alight in flames, plummeting out of the grey haze.

Leta’s breath caught in her throat as it fell and kept falling. But just before the great impact could occur, a burst of red flashed across the sky and before her eyes, the ship, once a great heaving mass, was vaporized into little more than smoke and debris. She only caught a glimpse of it before the shockwave hit. She braced herself against it, shielding her eyes with her forearm.

“That’s what we’ve gotta switch off,” said Fiearius, suddenly beside her, once the dust had settled.

“I can see why,” Leta admitted, in quiet horror. Gods, that ship, those people…Gone, just like that.

“We close?” he grunted.

Leta nodded toward the topmost glittering spire of a building in the distance. “We’re almost to where we were supposed to land.”

Without waiting for his response, she started off again, carefully making her way across the rooftops. This strip of apartment blocks were all connected, making them an easy path to stay out of the way and unseen. They just had to make it to the end of the row, lower back to ground level, head a block north and —

She saw the flash out of the corner of her eye before she heard Fiearius’ shout.

“AGHH – SHIT!”

Leta whirled around to find him yanking a small knife from his shoulder. Blood gushed from the wound, but he quickly looked up at her, eyes wide and frenzied. “Leta, look ou–”

She spun around just in time and stumbled backwards as the blade swung at her, barely missing her abdomen. It swung again and she took another step back until Fiearius seized her arm and dragged her backwards, behind him. Only then, was she able to get a look at what or who was assaulting them. That flip of platinum blonde hair as a nimble leg suited in black, shot out and knocked Fiearius’ pistol from his hand just as he fired it.

Ophelia.

Leta didn’t understand. They had left Ophelia tied up in Blackwater shortly before Quin’s ships had destroyed the Society base for good. There was no way for her to be here. She had died there. She couldn’t have survived.

“Leta, go!” Fiearius yelled, gritting his teeth as the woman came at him again with her blade. He managed to catch her wrist to hold it back, but she only used his momentum to deliver another kick to his side.

Leta rooted in place, shocked. She had to go, but she had to help Fiearius. He was still battered from the crash, his headwound still shining with blood and now his shoulder was dark red. She had to–

“Go!” Fiearius shouted again, taking only a moment to glare at her as he tried to wrestle Ophelia to the ground. He was succeeding. For the moment. “You need to finish this! I’m fine, just go!”

Leta met his eyes for a fleeting, piercing second. Then she forced herself to turn and run.

———————-

Fiearius only glanced at Leta’s back long enough to make sure she was retreating and even that was too long. In his negligence, Ophelia’s talons seized his hair and used it to slam his head into the roof below their feet. If he wasn’t already whiplashed and bordering on a concussion, he certainly was now. But as she raised her blade above her head to deliver the crucial blow, he jumped unsteadily to his feet and staggered out of her way. The metal hit concrete in a clash, but it was only half a second before it was coming at him again.

Fiearius gritted his teeth and dodged the attack, trying to get in one of his own, but she was quick. She side-stepped him and the hilt of the sword jabbed his back. He spun towards her, she sliced again, he dodged, she countered. As they fell into the pattern like a sort of dance, Fiearius growled, “How–the hell–are you–” She managed to connect her fist with his cheekbone. He stumbled backwards and glared up at her, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. “Not dead?”

For the first time since she’d appeared on the rooftop, Ophelia paused her onslaught to regard him with a kind of cold fury he hadn’t ever seen before. She paced a slow circle around him, her eyes never leaving his face, her ponytail in a frenzy as the wind bit at her from every direction. “You always did count me out too readily, Soliveré,” she growled beneath her breath, before spinning the blade in her hand, repositioning her grip and taking a clear run straight towards him.

This time, he was better prepared for her. As she charged, he charged back, narrowly avoiding the sharp end of her weapon and planting an elbow in her side. This only seemed to enrage her further as she lashed out with her free hand at his knee, weakening his stance. She used the leverage to force him back again where he laid half his weight into keeping from falling onto the ground and the other half into holding back her arm as she tried to plunge a sword through his chest.

“You’re on the wrong side,” he growled, wondering why a woman who surely couldn’t be more than half his weight was so difficult to keep at bay. “The Council–you really think they won’t turn on you too?” Either his grip was slipping or her resolve had strengthened because the blade slipped an inch closer. “Varisian, haven’t you been paying attention?” he growled.

Now his grip was definitely getting weaker. She was pressing all of herself into that weapon and the point of it was poking through his shirt and into the top layer of skin.

“They’re manipulating–” He strained to keep it from going any further. “–an entire population. They destroyed--a planet.” It sunk a little further. He fought to keep the sting of it from reaching his face. “You’re just a pawn to them.” He met her icy blue eyes fully. “You’re just as expendable as me.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his words that got to her or if she merely experienced a short bout of fatigue from the near constant barrage she’d been throwing at him, but it was enough. For just an instant, and likely not longer, she was lighter. Or at least just light enough that when he pushed himself from the ground, he was able to throw her to the side onto her back.

She fumbled — the slip-up was as much a surprise to her as it was to him it seemed. But as Fiearius, bleeding freely from all his wounds, struggled just to get onto his feet, she had already found her next move. When he finally righted himself and turned to meet her next swing, he was met instead with the end of his own gun pointed directly at his head.

“Drop something?” she mused.

——————–

“Smartest in engineering, not child-rearing,” Cyrus insisted.

“Doesn’t matter, you love her, you’ll love this baby, you’ll figure it out,” Fiearius argued before releasing his grip on him and continuing off down the hall.

But Cyrus wasn’t finished. “And what if we don’t? What if we can’t?” he snapped, following after him.

“You can,” Fiearius answered simply. “And you will.”

“But–the war and the ships and where are we gonna live and how are we going to raise a child with the Society after us–we can’t just figure it out, it’s not that easy.”

“Good thing you’ve got seven months then,” Fiearius pointed out.

“We’ve only been together for two months, and we weren’t even actually together for most of it, what if it doesn’t work out? What if she decides she hates me?”

“Well then you’ll figure that out too.”

Cyrus drew in a deep breath, presumably to argue some more, but Fiearius suddenly stopped walking and spun around. Cyrus would have plowed right into him had he not seized his shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “Cyrus. I know it’s scary. I know it’s bad timing. I know you’re worried. But you have to have faith that you are going to be an amazing father. However things play out.”

Skepticism masked Cyrus’ face. He continued to glare at him as Fiearius released him again and started to walk away.

He’d only made it a few steps before he heard Cyrus mutter begrudgingly, “I don’t believe you.”

Fiearius grinned and called back over his shoulder, “I know. But you will.”

——————

It was strange to be back in the mess hall, surrounded by the Dionysian’s crew. With her pack slung over her shoulder and a small bag of luggage in her hand, she looked even more out of place than usual: merely a temporary traveler amongst this rabble of a family. But despite appearances, the familiar faces greeted her with as much enthusiasm as ever. Amora had wrapped her in a bear hug, Rhys called out to her “Lyra!” and even Maya gave her a warm smile.

She was unsurprised to hear that the crew was all gathered here at the request of their captain. No doubt he wanted to make some sort of dramatic speech to rally them. It was just Fiearius’ brand of narcissism. So she’d happily pulled up a chair and sat back in eager anticipation with her old friends until at last she spotted Fiearius as he strode inside the doorway, Cyrus hovering behind him.

“Alright, listen up!” Fiearius shouted, and all conversation stopped simultaneously. Every eye trained on the captain as he walked forward into the center of the room. His tone was calm and reflective as he went on, “My crew. My dear faithful crew.”

His eyes scanned the room in one large swoop, taking in all the faces around him. He took in a deep breath. “You’ve all followed me into some real shit and back. It probably won’t surprise you that I’m not really one for open-faced gratitude. I don’t say it often. But I appreciate it. I appreciate everything, all the danger and all the recklessness and all the crap you’ve put up with. And I’m here to ask if you’ll put up with it one more time.

“We all have different reasons for being here,” he went on. “For some of us, that reason is that we can’t go home. And for some of us…we’ll never be able to.” His gaze traveled to Eve who was seated solidly in the front, listening with heavy intent, and beyond her, Nikki who was huddled under Javier’s arm, so distraught he barely even looked like himself. Leta felt her heart clench. The loss of Archeti was visible everywhere, even here.

Fiearius drew in a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re docked to a Carthian station. And you might have wondered ‘what the fuck are we doing? Carthis is a piece of shit’. And you’re right. But!” He raised a finger in the air. “With Carthis we’ve been given a chance. A chance to get our homes back and to make sure no one else loses theirs. And we–I–am going to take that chance.”

“Tomorrow the Dionysian heads for Vescent,” he said decisively. “Our main objective is to deliver someone you might recognize to where she needs to go.” He gestured to Leta. “But we’ve got people, we’ve got weapons and we’re pirates for fuck’s sake, so to hell if taxi service is all we’re gonna do. We’re gonna fight. We’re gonna make sure Leta gets there safe. And we’re gonna win.”

There was a general murmur of excitement and interest around the room. The crew glanced around at one another, shuffled in their seats, muttered their thoughts, but they died off as quickly as they’d started.

“Tomorrow,” Fiearius said again, his voice more hesitant this time. “The Dionysian takes a step forward it can’t turn back from. Tomorrow, we’re starting a war against the Society. Some of you have no qualm with the Society. Some have even more cause to hate them than me. But this could be an extensive campaign. I’ve made my decision and this ship’s in it for the long haul. Til the very end, whatever that end may be. If you want no part in this, speak up now. We can have you put on another ship and taken wherever you need to go. No problem.

“But. Regardless of your history with the Society, we all saw what they’re capable of this week. And I don’t think anyone in this room can doubt that they need to be put down. Tomorrow the Dionysian goes to war. But she’s nothing without her crew. I ask that you stand with me. One more time. Stand with me and we can end this. Stand with me and we can change the Span. Stand with me and let’s make this shitty old rustbucket part of history.”

The mess hall went up in a cheer of fervor. Rhys let out a whooping yell. Eve jumped to her feet and seized the captain in a crushing hug. And despite herself, Leta couldn’t stop from beaming at Fiearius as he joyously rallied his crew around him. As soon as she realized, she wiped the grin off her face lest anyone see, but perhaps it was too late. When she looked back up, she found Fiearius watching her, a smile of his own lighting his face. A cocky one. He raised a knowing brow at her and she frowned good-naturedly in response, crossing her arms over her chest.

Relenting, she made her way towards the thinning crowd around him as they presumably moved off to engage in one of their traditional Dionysian celebrations.

“Nice speech,” she remarked dryly as he finally wrenched Eve away from him and turned towards her.

“Liked it, huh?” he asked. “Knew you would.”

Leta just rolled her eyes. “Listen–I’d really like to go over the map with you one more time, make sure we–”

But Fiearius was no longer paying attention. “Richelle!” he called out to the young brunette as she wandered towards the kitchen. She glanced back at him in surprise to hear her name and turned their way. Despite her rather…odd induction onto the ship, Leta couldn’t help but like the girl. She’d certainly grown a lot amongst the crew and now, it was difficult to believe the circumstances of her first day aboard had even happened.

“Need something capitaine?” she asked cheerfully.

Fiearius jutted his thumb towards Cyrus who was still silently sulking behind him. “I hear this guy’s been giving you engine lessons, huh?”

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “Thrice a week.” She smiled proudly. “I absolutely love it. Who knew?”

Fiearius hardly seemed to be paying attention to her answer. “He says you’re a natural at it.” Richelle beamed. “How confident do you feel about manning it alone?”

The beaming stopped instantly.

Cyrus, who perhaps hadn’t been listening at all before, was suddenly tuned in. “Wait–what?” he demanded, stalking forwards into the circle.

But Fiearius spoke over him. “You think you could handle it on the trip to Vescent and back?”

Richelle glanced between the two brothers nervously. “Well–Alone? I don’t know if I’d–”

“What are you talking about?” Cyrus snapped. “I can’t–she’s not ready to–”

“We can get Cy set up with a COMM to keep in touch from the station,” Fiearius explained calmly.

Cyrus was anything but calm. “The station? You’re leaving me here?!”

Truthfully Leta wasn’t at all sure of what was going on, but it certainly seemed as though Fiearius had simply lost his mind. Cyrus had always run the engine on the Dionysian. The ship didn’t move without him. “Fiear,” she muttered, “is that a good idea?”

Fiearius ignored her and put a hand on his sibling’s shoulder affectionately. “Cy, Addy needs you right now. You have a responsibility to her first, so yeah. I’m leaving you here.” He patted him firmly. “Besides, you’re in no shape for this kind of operation and you know it.”

Cyrus was dumbstruck. “But–But the Dionysian–”

“Will be fine without you,” Fiearius assured him. “If you can, take Richelle down to the engine and give her one last lesson of yours. It’s a simple trip with the possibility of a little tiny bit of maneuvering involved. She’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.” He grinned at the both of them. “Get to it.” And then added to Leta as he turned to walk away, “Maps, you said? Maps. Great. Let’s do it.”

Leta felt a tad shell-shocked, but not nearly as much as Cyrus and Richelle looked. They stared at each other in worry and, in Cyrus’ case, exasperation as Leta hurried down the hall after the captain, feeling perplexed. Funny, she couldn’t help but think. Chasing after Fiearius in a state of confusion before a horribly dangerous mission? It felt just like old times.

Hiding. But the words dried up in his mouth when he came to look at Addy. Even in the dim light, he could see sudden raw pain shining in her eyes.

“What is it?” he pressed, stepping towards her. “Is it Finn? Is everything alright?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” she replied softly. “No, it’s not Finn, I haven’t heard anything new. It’s … are you avoiding me?” she added suddenly, and his mouth fell open.

“N — no! No of course not. I mean–okay, maybe a little, but it’s not you. I’m just avoiding — well, everything. I’m sorry, Gods, I’m so sorry, I’m–” He knotted a hand into his hair. “I’m kind of a mess right now.”

She nodded, just once. “Archeti.”

He dug his palms into his temples. “Every time I close my eyes…” He glanced up at her, sure that he looked just as desperate and pathetic as he felt. “I’m not avoiding you, really. Gods, I would never.”

He hoped the storm would clear from Addy’s face. But instead, she continued to gaze at him, looking thunderstruck and shaky, and Cyrus could sense it: danger was looming.

“I need to talk to you about something,” she said at last, an odd tremble in her voice. “You might want to sit down.”

Cyrus’ chest seized up. As he sank to the edge of the bed, he knew what was coming: she was done with him. The long distance thing was never going to work out. Or maybe the past few days without him made her realize she just didn’t care for him after all. Or worse, she just didn’t want to be with someone who’d caused a genocide.

They were all valid reasons and he was holding his breath waiting for which she chose when she sat down beside him and said only two words.

“I’m pregnant.”

Like an icy wind, silence descended over the room. Addy gazed at his face, waiting for him to say something. White noise was filling his brain, and all he managed was, “You’re what?”

————-

With a long, torturous yawn, Fiearius lifted himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head as he left the bridge alone. He’d spent the last few hours making final preparations for Leta, for Quin, for the other ships of his other allies he’d called in to assist. Everything was set. Everything was ready. Maybe tonight he’d manage to sleep for more than twenty minutes, but first he had to talk to his crew. They were all waiting in the mess hall.

He was about to head for the stairs when he found Cyrus was climbing down the ladder from his quarters. He hadn’t seen Cyrus since they’d landed on the station, and he forced cheer into his voice when he said, “Hey, lil brother.”

“Quiet,” was all Cyrus said, gesturing at the hatch above him. “Addy’s sleeping.”

Fiearius searched over his brother. Darkness circled his eyes, his hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled. His eyes were glazed, like he was in a constant daze. Like he wasn’t even here, but just walking around in a dream.

“Have you been sleeping?” he asked, continuing down the hall and gesturing he follow.

Cyrus fell into step beside him. “No.”

Fiearius waited for a typical Cyrus-style explanation or justification, but he received none. Not that he needed one. He knew what was plaguing him.

“Cy, it wasn’t your fault,” he insisted. “It wasn’t you who killed those people.”

Cyrus didn’t even skip a beat. “But it was me who built the device that did it,” he said simply, his tone flat. Clearly, he’d had this conversation in his head many times before.

“But not you who used it.”

Cyrus shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The whole thing was my idea. If I’d never pitched Nautilus, Archeti would still be there.” He said it with such even confidence, like there were no other facts in the Span as true as these, that Fiearius barely even knew how to fight him on it.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Fiearius took him by shoulder, pulling him to a stop.

“Cy, how could you have known how that would end up? You pitched something you thought would help people. You never meant it to be used this way.”

Cyrus’ stare was hollow and unending. “Good intentions don’t negate fault, Fiearius,” he muttered coldly. “You, of all people, should know that.”

The words felt like a knife in the chest, especially from Cyrus, but Fiearius forced himself to overlook them. His brother was going through something horrible. The last thing he needed was a fight. So instead, he said simply, “What I know is what it’s like to be used by the Society.”

Cyrus grew quiet and looked away. And then suddenly he asked, “How’s Finn?”

Fiearius had been trying not to think about his best friend and how he was likely laying on his deathbed. He’d visited once only to be shooed away by medics and told there was no news. He’d just have to trust Finn to pull through in the meantime.

“Not good.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“He’s not dead yet,” said Fiearius with wry amusement. Eager to change the subject to something lighter than death, he added, “How’s Addy doing?”

It wasn’t immediately apparent that his plan had backfired. But then Cyrus looked up at him, still with those same dazed, wide eyes, took a deep breath and said, “Oh, she’s pregnant.”

Fiearius felt his jaw practically hit the floor. Cyrus regarded him, unenthused. “Yeah that was pretty much my reaction too,” he pointed out.

“She’s — is it yours?” Fiearius finally managed to ask.

Cyrus scowled. “Of course it’s mine.” Then he let out a crazed, tortured laugh and started to walk away down the hall. “First I’m a mass murderer, now I’m going to be a father. Funny, isn’t it.”

Fiearius found himself too stunned to even follow after him. Cyrus. Knocked someone up.

But at last he forced his legs forward and followed after his brother. Cyrus went on, “We figured out when it happened, y’know.” His voice had been empty before, but now there was a slight manic edge to it that made Fiearius nervous. “The second time we had sex. Which was the morning after the first time. One night. That’s all it took. Twice.”

Fiearius frowned. “Technically all it takes is once.”

But Cyrus wasn’t listening. “Most people — most people seem able to, y’know, date someone for a while, maybe move in together, consider marriage and then have children. It’s a process. It makes sense. But me? No. No, of course, I get a long-distance girlfriend for two months and skip a few steps right to the end.”

“It happens,” Fiearius muttered, but Cyrus almost seemed like he wasn’t even in the same room anymore, like he was a madman talking to himself. Fiearius grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. He looked over at him as though just realizing he was there. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Cyrus repeated faintly, clearly growing more and more hysterical. “Am I alright? Am I–? No! No, I’m not alright!” he cried, with a fresh bout of frenzy that was shocking to hear. His features marred with disgust and disbelief. “No, I am not alright! I destroyed a planet full of people, Fiearius! I haven’t slept in days! I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t focus. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come to terms with it! And then! Then! Just to add onto my plate of fun, I’m going to be a dad! A dad! Me! I just spent the last hour telling my girlfriend that everything will be alright and we’ll work it out and it’s all fine while she wept on me until she fell asleep. But it’s not fine! What the fuck am I gonna do?! I don’t know how to raise a kid!”

The sheer desperation in his voice was alarming. It was a rare sight to see Cyrus so very worked up. And it was a sight Fiearius didn’t find comforting in the slightest. “Cy,” he began, trying to mend it, “Look, it’s not–”

“I don’t even like kids!” Cyrus yelled, digging both hands into his hair. “I mean, yeah maybe I thought I might have one eventually, but now? Now? Now, when we’ve basically just started a damn war.”

“Cy –” Fiearius tried again.

“And what about Addy? We’re not even on the same ship, how are we going to have a baby?! Do we get a house somewhere? Should I marry her?” Finally, Cyrus seemed to realize Fiearius was still standing there. He looked over at him, panic in his eyes. “Shouldn’t I marry her?”

Fiearius grimaced. This whole scene was starting to seem a little familiar. Too familiar. “No. She needs your support, Cy, not a ceremony,” he answered evenly. Fiearius moved towards him and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Alright listen. Do you love her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do…”

“Good.” Fiearius patted him on the shoulder cheerfully. “Then you two’ll be fine.”

Cyrus looked up at him, dumbfounded. “What? How is that helpful?”

“Cy, no one is prepared to be a parent, you know that? Even the most prepared person isn’t prepared. But have you ever noticed that we’ve been figuring it out as a species for some hundreds of thousands of years?” Cyrus eyed him skeptically. “I was 22 when we had Denarian. You think I wasn’t terrified? You think I had any idea what I was doing? Of course not. But let me tell you, they put a baby in your arms and tell you to go take care of it? No matter how clueless you may be, you figure it out.”

“That’s your answer?” Cyrus deadpanned. “Instincts? Instincts will make everything okay.”

“Actually, yes,” Fiearius agreed. “Instincts and the fact that you are one of the smartest people in the damn span. And you’re having a baby with one of the other smartest people in the damn span.”