The look Fiearius gave him in return was even more out of place. It was as if he didn’t even recognize him for a moment. His pupils were wide and fuzzy and he appeared less angry now than just plain confused. Though only missing a few beats, he finally managed to yell back, “Nothing! What the fuck are you doing?” though a little half-heartedly. He then turned back towards the house and shouted, “Get the goods and let’s go, now!” Without hesitation, he’d hit the cowering merchant with the butt of his gun, clomped down the stairs and made for the street. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Fiearius had then gone through a great deal of trouble to pretend that nothing had happened, but it was a flimsy mask to say the least. However, Cyrus had been willing to perhaps overlook it had not the condition gotten slowly worse. Over the next two days, more than once, Fiearius had been subject to random bursts of emotion before apparently feeling faint and storming away before anyone could do anything. This morning, however, having found his brother talking to himself alone in the bridge of the ship for a good twenty minutes, switching between uncontrollable laughter and incalculable anger every couple seconds, Cyrus decided it was time to actually do something about it. Delirium, he was pretty sure, was a bad sign, even for someone as volatile as Fiear.

It didn’t take long for Cyrus to figure out what the problem was, after confronting his surprisingly accommodating patient. Fiearius had even admitted that he wasn’t feeling well, though that admission had been delivered in the form of a tortured laugh. Just one touch of his skin told the story and it was a story of an unbelievably high fever. The story behind that wasn’t too hard to figure either, once Cyrus managed to unwrap the bandages on his brother’s arm, revealing the purple and green, swelled, veiny mess of a very infected wound, the likes of which had spread from the simple gunshot Cyrus had forgotten about, all the way down his arm. He pointed out that he needed to see a doctor immediately. Fiearius just laughed and said, “It’s okay, little brother, I’ve been to the circus before, I know.” Which was when Cyrus decided it was time to take helm of the ship.

And now, who knew if Fiearius was even up for flying her? But if the low rumble of the ship’s walls was any indication, they would soon find out.

In the hallway, as he hurried toward the staircase, he mercifully intercepted Corra, who was walking (much less worriedly than he) in the opposite direction.

“Corra,” he said, catching her arm, “can you help the doctor here with the passenger seats? Or, I don’t care what you do, survive take off. Figure it out. I have to go before he pushes her into critical revolution just to piss me off.” Grumbling under his breath, he turned towards the stairs down to the engine room and ran off.

–  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –

Corra. Yes, that was her name. This was the same girl from the ramp. Names and faces were coming a bit easier to Leta now that some of her shock was wearing off, although she still felt like she was being led through some kind of twisted circus show, meeting the various performers along the way.

But this girl, at least, had on a friendly face. She was a head shorter, but built in a way that suggested boyish strength. Her black hair was tied back in an unkempt bun, her dark skin sprinkled with darker freckles. Although Cyrus and other crew members were shooting off in urgency, Corra seemed nothing but relaxed and casual. In fact, she smiled broadly and stuck out her hand.  “Corra. Chief arms master. You’re the doctor right? What’s your name? Probably not a bad thing, having a medic around. Considering how much we seem to get shot at.”

Fiearius stared at the girl for a long moment, a small crease between his brows and a harsh hint of judgment in his eyes. Finally, he agreed, “Fine, bring her. Corra, lock up the hatch, we’re in atmo in under 120 seconds or someone’s getting fired.”

As Corra hurried off, Fiearius turned on his heel and stormed away towards the bridge and Cyrus, cursing himself a thousand times over for fucking up this badly, returned down the ramp and, a little forcefully, in case she tried to make a run for it, took the young doctor’s arm.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he told her under his breath, not meeting her eyes as he led her up into the ship. “Please just play along and I swear I will figure this out and make it up to you later.”

–  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  —  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –  –

Kidnap, Leta realized in alarm, as the captain stalked off before her eyes and the young man’s hand closed around her upper arm to guide her up the ramp. Surely, that’s what this was, by all accounts. A kidnapping.

She should have ran and she knew it. Wrenched her arm free and dodged toward the hatch before it closed behind her. Yet, as her feet staggered to a standstill in the interior of the ship, she felt, in painfully equal measures, the impulse to burst into tears and burst into laughter. Bring her? Take her? Is that what he’d said?

“But I’m not allowed off planet,” she protested, laughing, though her laughter died rather quickly. “Like come with you? Are you nuts?”

Dazedly, she recognized, her presence was needed rather urgently. The captain’s wound — she couldn’t help but notice it, even with the chaos of the ramp — was wrought with raging infection. Now, feeling somewhat ill, she swept her eyes through what was, clearly, the cargo bay. The room resembled a bustling warehouse, with a half a dozen crew members shooting off in different directions. Preparing for an emergency departure. With her inside.

She was doing some very fast, very panicked thinking as she nearly stumbled over her feet beside Cyrus. How many times, thought Leta wildly, had she envisioned her departure off of Vescent? It certainly looked nothing like this. How many times had she hoped for it? Fought for it? It’d been two months since she was allowed near a registered departing vessel. Beneath her wall of shock, she’d found her heart was starting to pound in her chest as realization spread through her. This wasn’t a registered vessel.

This might have been the ticket she needed.

Standing there numbly, she moved her lips, but it was a moment before she found her voice. “How can we leave?” she asked suddenly, and then, with more strength than she actually felt, she demanded, “Won’t they follow? Where’re we going?”

As soon as she’d spoken, across the room, the captain halted, suddenly, at the top of the stairs. He turned on his heel and locked eyes with her as the bay fell into silence. Without breaking eye contact, he raised a brow and remarked, “This is why I didn’t want a doctor. They ask way too many questions.” He then smirked grimly and shouted to the room at large, “Wasn’t kidding about those two minutes. Move, people!”

With that, just as Leta furrowed her brow in immediate defense, she felt another tug at her arm. Apparently ignoring the captain’s orders, the same young man (the captain’s brother? Was that actually true?) drew her to the side and halted before her, his expression creasing in a wince. Now that she was able to look him fully in the face, he looked just as alarmed as she felt.

“Listen,” he sighed shakily, “I know you’re probably pretty confused right now and I will clear things up, honestly. But for the immediate moment, I think I need to make one thing very clear. At this current point in time, I really don’t care whether you’re, well…” His eyes moved hesitantly back toward the hatch, the Society banner still visible in the air. “One of them. Not right now. Doesn’t matter. But it is vitally important that under no circumstances do you mention it to Fiearius, whatsoever. He will kill you. No questions asked. He’ll kill you.”

“For now, don’t worry about treating him,” he continued, just as Leta opened her mouth in shock. “Once we get in the sky and things smooth out, you can do your thing, but until then, I strongly suggest you sit down and hold on,” he told her, a little less seriously, backing out of the alcove and making to turn towards the main wing of the ship. “Come on, I’ll show you to the passenger lounge.” Before he began to walk away, he paused to add, “Oh, by the way. I’m Cyrus. Welcome aboard the Dionysian.”

At once, Cyrus felt a wave of relief rush over him. Someone willing to help? Progress, finally. Moving forward. It was all going to be okay. Which is the exact phrase that he kept repeating over and over again as he turned around and headed straight for the exit, his saving grace of a doctor miraculously on his tail. In the meantime, as he took to the streets once more, he had to figure out just what, exactly, to tell this woman.

There was the truth, obviously. But some people, particularly those on the alpha planets, tended to be a little alarmed by the idea that out there in the far reaches of the span, other people were shooting one another. Even if they weren’t alarmed, they started to ask questions. Why was he shot? Who shot him? And why, exactly?

She had said she was a trauma specialist though, so perhaps she would be able to handle it better than others. Besides, she was going to find out when she looked at him anyway.

“You said he was wounded,” the young woman prompted, her eyes on him as they fell into step and cut across the city’s main square.

“He was shot,” he told her over his shoulder. “A couple weeks ago. I think he got the bullet out, but he must have missed a piece or I don’t know. All I know is that it looks like something out of a zombie picture. That and he’s got a fever high enough to make him start talking to himself and forget where he is.” As they crossed through the iron gates to the ship’s docks, he glanced back and added breathlessly, “I appreciate this. I really do.”

He appreciated it even more when they strode down the length of the wooden pier and, ahead, his ship loomed in view, that bulky junk of metal roughly the size of a house. She imposed herself amazingly against the other sleek metallic vessels around her. But it wasn’t the sight of his rusty tin-can of a ship that halted him sharply in his tracks. As they approached, a more horrible scene met his eyes.

Somehow, things had gotten even more complicated.

The ship’s main hatch was open, and at the very top the cargo ramp stood the tall figure of the captain, conscious once more, and beside him, the smaller, womanly figure of Corra nearby, apparently trying to contain his rage. But Cyrus’ eyes were on the captain — his brother — so easily identifiable by his towering lean figure and fiery red hair and the fact that he was waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs.

Standing as a shell-shocked witness at the bottom of the ramp, Cyrus awaited the young doctor at his side to bolt. Who the hell would want in on this? But all she did was mutter, dryly, “I take it that’s our patient.”

It wasn’t even the shouting that was most alarming. Fiearius shouting was not exactly a rare sight to behold. It was what Fiearius was gesturing to up in the sky that caused the pit of dread in his stomach.

Above their heads, across one of the tallest buildings in the skyline, a long banner billowed in the sea breeze. It read something about welcoming travelers to Vescent, and underneath it was a symbol, displayed proudly. A symbol Cyrus had seen many times. Fiearius himself wore it in bitter pride on his upper arm. And with that, Cyrus knew he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

At the ramp, Fiearius stopped shouting, dropped his hand and looked over at his brother with the coldest glare of rage he had ever seen.

At his side, Corra simply sighed. “Sorry, Cy-cy,” she called easily, “I tried to put him out, but I figured you didn’t want me to shoot him again.”

Cyrus spared her a short glance, but he was far more concerned with the more immediately pressing issue. The two brothers stood as complete statues before finally Fiearius breathed furiously, “What the hell have you done?”

Cyrus stared back at him, and managed, “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You didn’t have a choice?” Fiearius repeated, his tone far more mocking this time. “Really, Cy?” He waved his hand at the massive banner. “You didn’t have a choice. Really.” He lowered his hand and let his expression sober into a pure, sharp face of anger as he stalked down the ramp to face the acting captain directly. “What’s the one rule we established when we left? The one thing we’d never do?” he asked coldly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We never. Ever. Ever. Land on an occupied alpha planet. Ever.” His grin was sick and sarcastic as he spread his arms as though presenting a prize. “And yet. Here we are.”

“I didn’t have a choice, Fiearius,” Cyrus gritted out, almost equally as angry now. Angry to the point that he was willing to sink to the same level of primitive sibling arguing. “You were out of your mind and needed a doctor. Not to mention you look like your gun arm’s about to fall off.” He gestured to the bandages crudely applied to the captain’s upper arm, only barely hiding the veiny, discolored mess of infection and blood hiding beneath. “And then you’d be completely useless.”

Surprisingly, Fiearius laughed, though it was less a laugh of humor and more of sour bitterness. “Well that’s real smart, little brother, but unfortunately it won’t matter how useless I’ll be. Because soon? We’ll all be useless. Because we’ll all be dead.” He again grinned the sickening grin. “So, we’re leaving. Now. But let’s be honest, we probably won’t be going very far since they’ve already probably flagged us and they’ll be on our tail the moment we lift off. I do hope it was worth it.” He wiped the grin away with a flash and looked over Cyrus’ shoulder at the wide-eyed, silent girl behind him. “That your doctor?”

Cyrus was about to reply with the snarkiest remark he could think of when it hit him just what would happen if he admitted that he had found this Vescentian doctor in a Vescentian clinic. Vescent was a Society planet. There was no telling whether or not the doctor he’d picked up had Society ties as well. In which case, having her even here right now was a serious problem. On the other hand, though Fiearius was apparently lucid enough for the moment, there was also no telling how much worse his condition could get and they were still days from a neutral planet. He needed treatment. But if he even thought that she might be in with his ultimate enemies, he’d kill her in an instant. And he’d be probably right to. But right now? Cyrus was thinking short-term. He’d deal with a potential Society threat later.

“She just got off a small merchant ship, said she’d have a look,” he lied, hoping she would have the good sense not to argue with him.