At last, Javier realized he’d overheard quite enough of this. This was very personal. He’d always hated when his little sister had spied on him and his friends back at home, and now he realized he was doing practically the same thing.

Quietly as he could, Javier backed away from the door and crept back down the hallway, feeling unsettled. He wasn’t as close to Corra as a few people aboard, like Cyrus and Leta and Niki, but still, she had a lively spirit about her. Everyone liked her — a fact he both admired and felt envious of.

Distractedly, Javier returned to his task. He was going to find Niki. Perhaps he was on the observation deck again? That was where they had spent the previous night. Niki had snuck food from the pantry and set up a whole picnic for them for no reason at all, except, apparently, because they were such good friends. Although Niki had also said the view of the stars was “very romantic,” which didn’t seem right, exactly, for two friends. Javier had obliged only with a nervous laugh.

Javier was just considering that confusing moment (he was trying to forget it, actually), when he suddenly froze again — this time, it was out of sudden alarm.

Around the corner, he could hear Fiearius talking low and harsh. And someone else barking back at him. Ludo? Was that Ludo? He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the gunhand actually speak before. Generally, Ludo took his meals alone in his room, followed Fiearius out the door when he was ordered to and didn’t bother anyone, as far as Javier knew, although a few of the few female deckhands had remarked that he was creepy. He was practically mute.

Apparently, he actually had much to say. His voice was low, rough and steady. Javier had never heard anyone speak like this to the captain.

” — been four months and still haven’t seen a single fucking credit to my name,” the man was gritting out. Javier had the sense he was holding back roiling anger with difficulty. “Do I work for you or not?”

Fiearius shot back, his voice venomous, “Look, if I had any credits to give you, I fucking would, believe me.”

“And why aren’t we making any? This is supposed to be a business, captain,” Ludo growled, “and instead of making money,  we’re stopping on Dune for — goddamn parties — ”

Fiearius laughed once, sharp and humorless. “A damn party and a lead on a smuggling job out on the edge,” he spat impatiently. “I’m not a fucking idiot, Ludo. I’ve got this, okay? You’ll get your damn paycheck.”

“I’ve been on this ship a year and a half. A year and a half doing everything you ask! And I’ve never gone this long without going on a job. You’re bringing doctors with you now!”

Javier peeked around the corner just in time to see Fiearius roll his eyes, “Yeah, well it made sense at the time. And I’ve already paid for the mistake enough, thanks, so I don’t fucking need to hear it from y — “

Then Fiearius raised his hands, as if forcing himself to calm, and said more slowly, “Look, I appreciate you’ve been aboard that long. And I appreciate all the help you’ve given over that time. But since you’ve been here that long, you should know by now what this business is like. We’re in a dry spell. It happens. Just enjoy the vacation while it lasts ‘cause I’m sure there’ll be plenty of shooting to be done soon enough.”

“Will there? Will there, Fiearius?” Ludo demanded. “And yet — “ His voice was lighter, taunting. “In the meantime, you’re just sitting on a bounty right now. Waiting to be cashed in.”

There was a very heavy, pointed pause. Javier had no idea what he was talking about, but Fiearius clearly did.

“I don’t think you wanna suggest what you’re suggesting,” he said coldly.

“That girl’s got a reward on her big enough to pay our wages for months!” Ludo suddenly roared. “And that reward is dead or alive. Give the doctor back to the Society already. We don’t need her. We don’t need a doctor. What we need is fuel. She’s got a bounty on her h — “

“Yeah, and so do I,” Fiearius barked. “Wanna turn me in too? Bet I could find someone who’d pay for you as well. How ‘bout that?” Before Ludo could answer, Fiearius leaned in closer, looking like he wanted nothing more than to smash his head against the wall. “We don’t betray our own.” His voice was threateningly low. “Don’t ever fucking ask for that again.”

Javier waited for this to end. Surely, it was over now. But somehow Ludo wasn’t done. When he spoke again, his voice was full of warning. “We don’t get paid soon,” he challenged, “don’t be so sure that the crew won’t take matters into their own hands.”

Javier wished desperately he hadn’t heard a word of this. He wanted to forget the whole thing. Were they threatening one another? They were definitely threatening one another. Leta sounded like she was in danger, too.

Shakily, Javier stepped backwards on his heel, but then, his hand slipped in exactly the wrong way against his leg. His sketchbook fell to the metal floor with an audible thwap at his feet. Both pairs of eyes shot to him.

At once, Fiearius’ face darkened. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he growled, turning toward him sharply.

“I wasn’t — nothing!” cried Javier at once, hurrying backwards. “I w — ”

“Then why don’t you go the fuck — ”

But suddenly Javier felt a hand reach out and grab his arm from behind as a cheerful voice rang out.

“Oh hi, cap’n!” Nikkolai greeted, a massive grin on his face that made Fiearius falter. “Good to see you!” he went on, obviously scraping to pull conversation out of nowhere. “Isn’t it a beautiful day? Evening. Night? Not that it matters on a spaceship, right?” He blurted an uncomfortable laugh. Fiearius’ glare didn’t lighten. Hopelessly, he added, “We were just leaving,” and before Javier could speak, he was being dragged away by the arm.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Nikkolai said, “You know I’m all for being adventurous, but eavesdropping on the captain? Probably not the best idea. What were you doing?”

“I was looking for you! And I didn’t mean to overhear, it was an accident!” Javier protested, his voice shriller than normal as he checked over his shoulder to be sure Fiearius wasn’t chasing them down.

His mind reeling over what he’d just witnessed, Javier was still short of breath when they made it to stairs and he said shakily, “But you wouldn’t believe what I just heard … ”

“ — mean it, Cy,” Leta was saying in an undertone, “just ask her out. Next place we land safely. See what happens.”

“I can’t ask her out,” he groaned. “Not again. I tried taking her out once. It was awkward and I could tell she didn’t want to be there. I’m not putting either of us through that again.”

“But that was awhile ago now, wasn’t it?”

“Well yeah,” he admitted, “it was a couple years back…”

“Maybe just — see what happens? The worst that could happen is you stay as close as you are right now … ”

“Or she gets freaked out and stops talking to me altogether,” Cyrus mumbled skeptically. “Which, by the way, is essentially what happened last time. It’s only really been the last few months that we’ve gotten close again. I don’t wanna wreck that…”

“She obviously cares about you and you’re good friends. You owe it to yourself to have a conversation with her about how you feel, at least.”

Javier glanced over his shoulder and saw Cyrus frown in thought. “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I guess…you could be right. Maybe I’ll give it another try. Maybe. I’ll think about it … “

Unfortunately, it was then that Javier realized he’d sidestepped too closely, stupidly holding one cabinet open to stare at a row of soup bowls. Casually as he could, he glanced to the side.

Both Leta and Cyrus were staring at him expectantly.

“Hi Javier,” said Leta curiously after a moment, smiling slightly. Past her shoulder, Cyrus was simply watching him, one eyebrow high on his forehead. “How are you?”

“Oh, just fine,” said Javier lightly, pretending to survey the soup bowls again with interest. “I’m doing just fine.” After a moment, apparently satisfied by what he’d found, he nodded and slammed the cabinet closed. “Well, see you at dinner,” he added wistfully, drifting casually back toward the door. Never mind that they’d already had dinner an hour ago …

Once his back was turned, Javier grimaced and quickly dodged into the hallway. Subterfuge had never been his strength.

Eager to put distance between himself and the mess hall, Javier hurried downstairs toward the crew deck. Passing down the hallway, he glanced distractedly to the rooms on either side of him, glad to see all the doors were closed. He didn’t need more of an audience, thanks.

He stopped to crack open the hatch to Nikkolai’s room, but he found it empty. Where was he? Perhaps Aiden would know? He always knew what was going on, far more than Javier ever did.

Turning around, Javier raised his fist to knock on the door to Aiden’s room. Aiden, of course, had the best and largest room in this hallway, and deservedly so with the kind of crap he put up with (Javier’s quarters were scarcely larger than a bathroom stall, in comparison). But Aiden needed the large space because he so often held an audience in his room. He was always lending a patient ear to the crew.

Now, it seemed, was one such instance. Javier’s hand paused before the door as he heard two voices behind it.

“It’s not that I don’t like it here even,” said the voice. It was Corra, sounding terribly worried. “Things have actually been really great recently with Leta around and Cy-Cy acting normal again.”

Javier hesitated, then leaned in closer to listen.

“It’s just…I guess I just don’t know what I’m doing,” she went on. “In, you know. the long-term. The Dionysian is great and it’s home and I love it, but…I can’t just stay here forever playing around in the armory, can I? Don’t I need to do something with my life?”

“You don’t feel you’re doing something with your life right now?” asked Aiden, his tone mild.

“Well…I am, I guess,” Corra went on slowly. “But also no. I guess when it comes down to it, I help the people I care about. Which is important. But…”

“But?” prompted Aiden, so low Javier had to lean in closer to hear.

“But I feel like I should be doing something more.” Corra’s voice grew fainter. Javier had never heard Corra — typically so dynamic and loud and friendly — sound so sad. “After what happened on Kadolyne, I guess it hit me. Leaving all those allies behind. It’s not fair. It’s not right that I get to be free because of the whim of some crazy ship captain and yet all of them are just…stuck.”

Aiden was quiet for a moment. “Is it that you wish to help them?”

“I don’t know what I want. Of course, I’d love to help the other allies. I’d give anything for that whole industry to fall apart, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon, with or without my help.” She heaved a sigh. “I think I just feel I should be doing something better with my freedom than handing guns to a criminal. I have all this opportunity to go out and be something and do something, opportunity that so many people never get and I just…” A lapse of silence passed before she muttered, “Waste it.”

Leta barely registered the banter of her two companions. Since she’d generated this plan, she could think of little else than how to do it — of how to talk to Casner the right away. She had to engage him, she had to find out about Ren, and she had to do so without revealing who she was. Fiearius hadn’t shown any other interest in the idea, except when he’d seen the three of them departed the Dionysian earlier that evening.

“Surely there must be some mistake, finding these shining beacons of beauty and class exiting my ship,” he’d said to Leta and Corra with a dramatic flourish of his hand, before adding, gesturing to his brother, “And with this.” He’d let out a loud bark of a laugh and strode past them carelessly.

But it didn’t matter what Fiearius thought about their appearance or anything else. Now, it was time to execute. With an inhale of breath, she shifted the bodice of her long purple gown — an item she’d picked up with Corra earlier in the afternoon — fixed the mask on her face, and stepped into the hall.

At once, Leta had to squint her eyes. The hall was larger than a cathedral and every painting and wine glass and woman’s gown glinted in the light. As she stepped down the ornate staircase, Leta drew her long gloves higher up over her forearms, effectively concealing the Society tattoo on her her skin. Though, if there were any place where that mark on her arm would be admired, it would be here. Resisting the urge to glower, Leta kept her lips in a smooth, thin line of indifference as her eyes shifted over the large oval room beneath the mask.

She scanned over the sea of gowns and suits, and suddenly, a problem struck her. By the looks of it, she was the only person unaccompanied, absent a partner to curve her arm around, and as such, she stuck out: she was going to draw attention as a single young woman. It wasn’t a terrible hindrance, but nonetheless, she felt a stab of annoyance at, of all people, Fiearius. He was supposed to be her goddamn date.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Leta stood tall and still, just another wealthy guest at this party. For now. “I’m going to get a drink,” she told them. “Let me know if you see him.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Corra assured her, though her attention had wandered up to a glittering, tremendous chandelier on the ceiling. Still holding her arm, Cyrus provided Leta a weak smile and nodded quickly. Well, at least one of them would probably be paying attention.

Satisfied, Leta drifted toward the opulent, half-moon bar in the corner, its rows of liquor bottles glistening like jewels. She rested her elbow on the shining surface, her eyes behind her mask moving through the room for any signs of Casner. Was he the gracious type, she wondered, who would start greeting guests at the the door? Or was he going to be loud and raucous and command attention from a table?

Her thoughts were interrupted a moment later by a gray-haired gentleman in a fine suit (at least twice her age, Leta noted) who brushed her arm. He bent low to speak in her ear.

“You, my dear, are drawing every eye in this room.”

Sure fucking hope not, thought Leta at once, but she forced a smile all the same. She managed to exchange all the right pleasantries with this man, the traces of her Vescentian accent and demeanor surely helping her cause. At least her until he said, “May I buy you a drink?” and gestured toward the premium liquor.

And with that, Leta couldn’t help herself. “But it’s an open bar,” she said bluntly, snorting, and then regretted it immediately. That was a comment someone from the Dionysian would make, but not an affluent young woman with millions who just loved these sort of events. Luckily, after giving her a curious look, the man seemed to think Leta was being coy and chuckled appreciatively before having a flute of champagne delivered to her.

Leta picked up the glass, sipped it and smiled stiffly. As soon as her back was turned, the smile dropped off her face. If this was how the whole night was going to be, she needed to corner Casner soon.

But he wasn’t near the tables, Leta noted, nor was he on the dance floor — though it was hard to tell once the orchestra struck up a lively tune and more couples joined in. Leta tilted the rest of the champagne into her mouth, furrowing her brow as she regarded two security guards near the wall. She had the sudden sense that Casner was nearby — he must have been, this was his party —

And that was when it happened. Just as she reached to deposit her emptied glass on the bar, there was a strong grip on her upper arm and someone had tugged her away from the bar and steered her decisively toward the dance floor.

Leta was about to yell in protest, but it caught in her throat when she glimpsed the stranger who held her at his side. The man was tall, dressed in formal wear and his face was covered in the most obnoxious orange and red feather bird mask. No one else in the room was wearing an animal mask of that size. But it was his subtle smirk that gave it away.

“What’re you doing here?” she hissed to Fiearius as he pulled her into a dance.

“But you’re not wrong about one thing,” he went on. “Dune’s a good place for business. So if it’ll make you shut up, we’ll head there. Go to your fancy party. I honestly hope it works out for you.” He paused thoughtfully. “It won’t. Since I hate hope so much.” He shot a quick glare at Corra. “But go on and try.”

“So you’re not coming,” said Leta bitingly. “Even though we have more of a chance of finding out anything with you there?”

Fiearius mustered a smirk. “There’s little chance that anyone in that room won’t have noticed the Society’s database of bounties in the last four years…” He grimaced apologetically. “And I’m just a bit recognizable. I’ll pass.” He stood up to his feet, kicking his chair aside on his way toward the door.

“But please, go. I shall live vicariously through you as I get some real work done so you can afford to go dress shopping,” he went on casually. “Oh and good luck getting Cy to go with you,” he added, letting out his bark-like laugh. He left the deck to go set the course, leaving Leta looking shocked, and really quite hurt, at the table.

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

Once Fiearius left, Leta put her face in her hands and allowed herself exactly three minutes of hatred, anger and swear words so vicious that Amora, the cook, gasped in horror as she entered the mess hall. But Leta wasn’t listening to Amora. She had half the mind to stalk after the captain on his own ship and slap him across the face for promising to help her and now acting completely useless.

Finally, with several deep breaths, she shook it off. She didn’t need him now. She had work to do.

So, with Corra on her tail, Leta marched to the command deck where she crawled up the ladder, knocked twice on the metal hatch to Cyrus’ room and called, “You awake in there?” Without waiting for a response, she pushed it open and climbed inside, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. Just as shamelessly, Corra clambered in afterwards.

Leta’s first impression of Cyrus’ room was that it looked less like sleeping quarters and more like a workshop. Blueprints covered the walls, drawings lay in piles, and his desk was covered in textbooks. Leta glanced over the walls curiously before she looked to the figure in the bed, who had just sat upright, alarmed, his hair a mess.

“What the–?” said Cyrus incredulously, his face reddening as he secured a sheet around his middle. With his other hand he fished for his glasses off the nightstand.

“We come bearing coffee and good news,” said Corra cheerfully, plopping onto his bed beside him, as Leta reached to hand him the mug, which he accepted wearily.

“Coffee and news are great,” he muttered, “but what I really would love is some privacy…“

“You’re not too hungover to listen, are you?” said Leta, hardly able to contain herself as she lowered to the edge of Cyrus’ bed. “Because something’s happened. And I wanted to ask y — wait, are you really naked under there?” she demanded suddenly, as she glanced down at the blanket with an irked brow, laughing at the fresh redness in his face. “Whatever, never mind. Listen — I found out the name of the guy who captured Ren. And I’m going to get him to talk to me. He works for the Society and he lives on Dune, and every month he holds these parties in his mansion. And I want to go to the next one. I want to talk to him. I have to talk to him.”

If this was too much information for Cyrus at this early hour, he did not appear to mind. In fact, he frowned thoughtfully. “But how will you not get caught?” he asked after a moment.

“We’ll be in disguise,” Corra put in helpfully, casting him a hopeful grin.

“And you know how to get in?”

“That’s easy,” said Leta at once.

“Identifying the guy?”

“Covered!” chimed Corra.

Cyrus glanced between them and fell into a contemplative silence as he considered the notion. For a moment Leta’s heart sank: he would turn them down, just like his brother had. He too would call the whole thing stupid and cast them off. But then he muttered thoughtfully, “That’s not a bad idea. It’s probably worth a shot, right?”

“See! I knew I liked you better for a reason,” said Corra, beaming and grasping his shoulder.

Leta, sighing in relief to finally have real help, went on, “So you’ll add us to the guest list,” she continued, trying to calm herself, though her fingers drummed atop her knee as she stared intently at him. “And you — you could stand watch while I make nice with these people and talk to this asshole. You’re smart and helpful and you know how to use a gun and Fiearius refuses to help, so — I was hoping you’d come with.”

Cyrus paused in mid-sip of his coffee, slowly lowering the mug. “Oh — no I — I don’t think so,” he answered, sounding characteristically nervous. “I can’t see how I could help. And she’s much better with a gun than I am.” He gestured to Corra. “I don’t think you need me. I’d probably just get in the way.”

Corra, busy examining her nails, pointed out, “And you hate large social gatherings.”

“And I hate large social gatherings,” Cyrus agreed, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll help you get in. But unless you get Fiear on your side, I think you two are gonna have to take on the rest alone.”

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

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Cyrus sighed, nervously adjusting the collar of his formal jacket as he stood in the gardens beside Leta. All around them, couples stood in line to enter the gala, chatting and laughing. “I can’t believe — “

Before he could finish, Corra hooked her arm around his, elbowed him in the ribs and lifted her chin confidently, using her free hand to swish her new dress. “Shush,” she scolded, grinning through the mask on her face. “What if the cap’n’s right and we do get into trouble? Won’t you be glad that you came?”

“If I’m not dead,” Cyrus muttered, and then winced when she squeezed his arm too tightly.

At once, Corra flared up at his other side. “Leta’s awesome, you leave her alone! She stole us drinks and she does surgery and she is the best.”  Her words slurred, but they were still enough to make Leta suddenly beam drunkenly with pride. Then, Fiearius felt a mild pressure in his ribs that he could only assume was Corra’s attempt to attack him. He feigned a grimace of pain on her behalf.

Finally, it was with one last drunken stumble that they made it up the ramp into the open cargo bay. The rest of the ship lay in sleepy silence, although probably not for much longer if Corra and Leta kept shouting at one another about how cute that bartender had been or whatever they were saying. It was difficult to discern amongst the giggles.

Finally Corra pried herself away from his arm and started to wind dizzily over to the stairs. “I bid thee a good night, mine cap’n,” she declared with dramatic flair. “Mine friends.” She giggled. “Shall we be off?”

“Just one second,” Leta called back, and to Fiearius’ surprise, she slipped away from Cyrus and caught his forearm in her hand, pulling him back towards the open door. As Cyrus wandered off after Corra, Fiearius watched with interest as Leta set down her prized bottle carefully near her feet, then stood up with sudden authority, staring at him avidly in the semi-darkness.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. Her voice wavered, but her eyes shone with seriousness. “About things.”

Curiously, Fiearius surveyed her through narrowed eyes: she was swaying slightly on her feet, her cheeks were flushed pink and she seemed to struggle to hold her gaze on him. He raised an eyebrow. “Think now’s really the best time, kiddo?”

Surprisingly, it was with a clear, cold voice that she said, “Please, don’t call me that. I’m not a child. I’ve never felt less like a child in my life, actually.”

Unable to decide if he was annoyed or impressed with her sudden bout of lucidness, he only smirked. “Still look like one, though.”

“You — you’re seriously insulting my appearance now,” she said blandly. “That’s where we’re at with each other? I  really don’t think you want to play that game with me, captain,” she laughed, but it was a maddened one. There was a definite strain of hysteria in her voice he hadn’t really heard before, and he had to admit he was intrigued to see where this was going, at least for the moment. “But, guess I should expect that from you by now, right?” she rambled, “Even if you really have  — ”

But whatever it was about him, he never found out. She cut herself off, suddenly looking up at him with an odd look of loss in her eyes. As quickly as the look appeared, she went on, with an abrupt snap back to her usual manner, “Nothing. Fuck it. Let’s just get this over with.” Suddenly, she pointed at him accusingly, rather like a lawyer might confront a witness. “You need to tell me if I’m wasting my time on your ship. Because I deserve to know that. You’ve been avoiding answering me all week. So are you going to help me with Ren or not?” she demanded. “Because otherwise, I need to be left at the next stop.”

Fiearius couldn’t decide how he wanted to answer her. Then, he realized he wasn’t interested in this drunken conversation after all.

“It’s late,” he said shortly, starting to step around her. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

Unfortunately, he only made it a half-step to the side before Leta was in front of him again, blocking his path with a fire in her eyes. “No, you don’t get to tell me what to do. I’m not part of your crew.”

Pausing, Fiearius squinted innocently at her. “Have you told Corra that? ‘Cause I believe she thinks differently,” he said, starting to veer around her other side. But she was in front of him at once, making them do some sort of zig-zag around one another. Now she looked as if she’d been slapped in the face.

“Oh leave her out of this,” she snapped. “Corra knows why I’m here, she wants to help me. And you’ve made it pretty clear you won’t, so I am wasting my time, aren’t I? Just tell me so I can finally leave and plan my next move.”

Fiearius observed her in a dull, sarcastic admiration. The scrawny young woman stood blocking his way to the stairs with the confidence of a warrior. “Gods,” he couldn’t help but grumble good naturedly,  “you’re pushy, ain’t ya?”

“Terribly,” she admitted. “But what do you — “

This was definitely not when he wanted to talk about this. Not here, not now and definitely not to this belligerent woman who looked like she was either about to slap him in the face or sink to his feet and pass out. “You’re not. Just go to bed. We can talk about this later,” he finished gruffly, and he was about to elbow her out of the way when she elbowed him first.

“I’m not?” she repeated heatedly. “I’m not what?” Apparently, she was sharp even in her drunken state.

But that wasn’t enough to keep him from rolling his eyes. “Wasting your time. You’re not wasting your time.” Though you are wasting mine, he thought bitterly, thinking fondly of his bed waiting for him on the command deck. But now, as she continued to stare up at him intensely, he could only think of one way to end this conversation.

“Look,” he growled finally, clasping a hand in his hair and stepping back from the stairs. “I may be a dirty rotten criminal, but I’m a man of my word. If I tell you I’m gonna do something, you gotta trust me to do it. But since apparently you don’t … “ He dropped his hand to the side in defeat.

“Your boyfriend’s on the Baltimore,” he stated shortly, causing her to blink in surprise. “Cy got me the coordinates, I did a bit of digging in Society records and that’s what came up. The Baltimore. One of the better prison ships in the fleet. I don’t know where on the Baltimore or how to get on it or how to get someone else off of it yet, but it’s a start. It’s a start,” he paused for dramatic effect, “that I will think about. As I told you. Multiple times. Thinking about it.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “Okay? Satisfied?”

It was clear this woman was hanging on his every word, absorbing what he said with a shocked look on her face. It was actually difficult to witness: for the first time, hope glinted in her eyes.

“He’s on the Baltimore?” she said at last, one hand clasping nervously her mouth. “We know where he is?” A shaky sort of exhale escaped her, and for the first time since he’d known her, she looked stricken and somehow much more human than usual.

“So that’s — so that’s where we have to go then,” she whispered, her eyes growing distant, until she spared him a look of apology. “Sorry I just attacked you,” she added quietly. “But it’s just — ”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted before she could finish the thought. He eyed her warily in silence. It was hard to fault the girl, really, no matter how annoying she was. When it came down to it…

“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “If I were in your position, I’d do the same.”

“How’d they die?” she asked quietly.

Cyrus blinked his eyes slowly, as if Leta was barely in focus. “How did they–” he began. “I don’t know. They just…they died. They were dead before I knew they existed. Got shot I think. I don’t know by who. Or why. Or anything really.” It didn’t exactly sound like an honest response, but Leta didn’t press it. After all, this was Cyrus’ sister-in-law and niece or nephew.

“That’s terrible. That must be why he left Satieri then,” she said wondrously. “Or part of why. And explains why he’s so … “

“Look,” Cyrus interrupted, fixing her with a drunken, worried stare. “You really can’t tell anyone about this. Not even Corra.”

“I — alright, I won’t,” said Leta, tearing her eyes away from him. “I’ll keep it to myself. I guess. But why’s he keep it such a secret?”

Cyrus hesitated, finding something fascinating about the way his fingers looked knotted together in his lap. “If the wrong people find out what happened…” he muttered at last, but before he could finish the thought, he was cut off suddenly by a tiny, but powerful burst of energy barreling into him.

“Alright, I’ve had it,” Corra scolded, steadying herself on Cyrus’ shoulders and barely talking over her laugh. “If you guys are just gonna sit here looking miserable, we’re going somewhere else. You coulda just told me you were bored, y’know.”

“Oh — that’s alright,” said Leta quickly. Her lips twitched toward a wry smile. “Cyrus was keeping me entertained. What now then? Because I could use another strong drink.”

A rather worrisome grin twisted its way onto Corra’s face. “Oh, I have an idea.”

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

This street of Tarin lay in an odd, ghostly silence, save for a drip-drip from the gutters and his own footsteps on the cobblestone. As he wove through the maze of empty markets, his senses strangely attuned, Fiearius couldn’t help but imagine the figure of Desophyles in every shadow he passed — leaning against every building, or perhaps observing from a high window —  waiting for his moment to strike.

But it didn’t worry him. It should have worried him, but just for the moment he was immune. He was almost tempted to call out Dez’s name and he genuinely expected him to answer. He would see the massive shape of his once friend step into the street and raise a gun to his head and–

But every time his imagination got that far, the gun was suddenly in his own hand and it was not his face he saw gazing into the nozzle. It was the pleading, tear-filled stare of a woman he’d never met about to die.

A shiver ran down his spine, although the evening was a warm one. It didn’t used to affect him like this. It wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe he really was getting too old for this kind of job.

He was just shaking off the thought when he heard the commotion a few streets over. So he wasn’t the only one out in the streets at this hour after all. A bubbly, long laugh cut through the night and he froze. He’d recognize that laugh anywhere: Corra.

The bizarre, complacent state snapped away. Quickly he veered down an alley and made for the source of the noise. Of course she’d disobey his orders and leave the ship. He’d expected that. But to be raising a racket in the middle of town at this hour? She was just asking to get kidnapped or ransomed or worse. Had that girl no sense whatsoever?

As he rounded the corner into the town square which was practically ringing with laughter now, he quickly found she was not alone and realized he should have expected that too. In the center of the square, at the base of the tremendous, circular fountain lounged not just Corra, but his brother and the doctor with her. Wasted. All of them.

Taken by frustration, Fiearius marched across the square towards them, his brow creased in anger. “You do realize,” he snapped when he was close enough, “that I can hear your sorry asses three streets over.”

Cyrus was the first to notice him. He sat on the ground, slumped against the fountain. He picked up his head and gasped, shocked to be caught, the same guilt in his eyes he’d had when he’d stolen and wrecked Fiearius’ favorite toy spaceship when he was a child. It was Corra who spoke first, quite excitedly at that.

“Cap’n!” said Corra, swinging Leta’s legs off her lap and jumping to feet. “You made it!” she cried happily. Below her,  laying horizontal and sprawled over the edge of the fountain, Leta raised her head and grimaced at him, clapping a hand over her eyes.

“Good to see you too,” Fiearius muttered to her, before turning back to Corra, the obvious ringleader of all this. “I suppose I don’t need to point out that this is basically exactly what I asked you lot not to do.”

Corra stuck out her tongue with a mighty ‘pfft’ and clapped her hands on her hips in defiance. Sounding accusing, she started, “Well I suppose I won’t point out that you don’t follow the orders that are given in the … pointing to you…usually,” and then she trailed off, quite lamely.

“She’s right,” Cyrus added seriously, coming to her defense at once. “You don’t always do the pointing.”

As dangerous and stupid as it was for them to be out here, acting like this, especially after the day’s events, Fiearius was finding it difficult to be angry with a group of people too drunk to put together coherent sentences. Nothing he said would sink in anyway, and clearly, Dez, for whatever reason, wasn’t interested in rounding up Fiearius’ intoxicated crew. Too predictable of a move, perhaps?

They deserved a good lecture, of course, but right now, it would have been a waste of effort. “Alright, enough with the pointing,” he grumbled. “Up. All of you. Back to the ship.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder.

The three of them groaned, like he’d just told them recess was cancelled.

Nonetheless, Corra lowered herself down from the wall. She let her whole torso hang despairingly as she dragged her feet a few steps forward. “Why you gotta ruin all things?” she sighed, but before she could get her answer, her foot caught on the edge of a stone and she fell forward, straight into Fiearius, who caught the woman who was hardly tall enough to reach his shoulder. Inwardly, he sighed: the stories of daring spaceship captains he’d heard as a kid had always left out the part about babysitting.

As he righted Corra to her feet, Leta was helping Cyrus, swinging his arm over her shoulders amid painful groans and laughter. At once, Leta staggered under his weight, but not without yelling, at the top of her voice,”We’re fine! I’m — we’re completely fine, it’s fine,” she added, her voice trailing off uncertainly as she hooked her hand around Cyrus’ wrist.

In a sloppy sort of caravan, they started off toward the ship docks. They’d only made it a few feet when Leta arrived at Fiearius’ side and suddenly brandished something in his face with her free hand: it was an emptied liquor bottle. In a sly, proud voice, she informed him, “I stole this.”

Blinking in surprise, Fiearius first regarded the bottle, and then the girl attached to it. His annoyance slowly waning into amusement, he was unable to resist a smirk. “That’s good stuff. Well done. Looks like we might make a criminal of ya yet.”

She snorted a derisive laugh, while swinging the bottle happily in a circle.  “Yeah, that would be a great use of my education. Although I am pretty damn good. I nicked it from behind the bar at this swanky club while Corra distracted the server, and we drank it all together right out here,” she finished with satisfaction, examining the bottle fondly as if she’d found a new friend.

Fiearius couldn’t help but snort a laugh. Apparently the uptight doctor did, infact, know how to have a good time. He peered around her to Cyrus. “I think I like her better like this.”

Now, Fiearius furrowed his brow, surveying her. “What?” he asked blankly, and Leta wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard, or just didn’t care.

“Someone who knows you!” she went on impatiently. “He cornered me in the marketplace — he had the librera on his arm — ”

“No, no, I heard you,” Fiearius snapped, swinging his feet off the console and leaning forward in his chair. “Librera, whatever, forget that. Did he have the ti’ata?” At Leta’s confused stare, he hurried on, “The ti’ata. The–ugh–these.” He pointed at the thick black rings circled around his upper arm.

“Wh — I think so, yes, he did,” said Leta quickly. “And he — ”

“Dark skin, black hair, massive?”

“Yes, who is he? He knew everything — ”

But Fiearius ignored her and sunk back into his chair. His eyes widened and the color drained from his face. He seemed to entirely forget that she was there, instead choosing to stare at the wall in shock.

“Fiear?” she said tentatively. “He knew that I’m a doctor on your ship  — ”

But suddenly, Fiearius looked at her in a way he never had before. He jumped to his feet, came closer and demanded in a low voice, “What did he do to you? Are you alright?”

Leta, momentarily startled by the concern blazing through his eyes, managed to answer, “He didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you mean. Actually, he said, ‘I’m not here for you.” What the hell does that mean? Who is this guy?”

Leta watched, dumbfounded, as Fiearius turned away from her, put his forehead in hand and started pacing through the cabin, muttering what sounded like sharp Ridellian curses under his breath.  His usual confidence and bravado was gone. He looked lost, his eyes darting around in confusion. She’d never seen him so distraught, not even when they’d been cornered by three gunmen.

“Who is he?” she said worriedly. “How does he know who I am? Did — did you work with him in the Society? Is that how you know him?”

Fiearius paused halfway across the room and looked back at her emptily. “Dez was my partner,” he said in a hollow voice. “Partner turned…I don’t know, hunter?” Turning away, he took another few steps forward and muttered, “Roh’sien tehima, how the hell did he catch up?”

“Partner? Sounds like things ended really well then,” said Leta sarcastically, crossing her arms. “What, now he wants you dead or something?”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Fiearius grumbled, “Not exactly. Returned, more like it.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t explain why he knows everything about me. He asked if I was making a ‘fair trade’ about joining the ship —  ” Suddenly, the words clicked together in her mind, and she breathed in shock, “Wait. If he knows all that, he must know about Ren.”

The captain was not looking at her, but over her shoulder. “We need to get out of here,” he muttered, more to himself. “We need to–” His eyes went down to the bridge console he’d been using when she came in and stayed there. “Shit, the job.” He cringed and his fists clenched. “Dov’ha kar’iat, Desophyles.”

For the first time, Fiearius was reminding her strongly of his younger brother, in all of his worry. “Listen,” she said, stepping closer to him. “He said he wanted to ‘see where this goes’ — that means Ren, doesn’t it? He wants to see what happens about going after Ren? What if he knows about him, like where he is?”

But Fiearius only muttered in distraction, “Just get it done, quick, and we’ll leave. Mattei fi tolési nai’e. Just one night. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be–”

“Fiearius!”

Her voice filled the cabin. She knew this was the wrong way to handle his panic attack, but bedside manner had never been her strength. “Fiearius, calm down, tell me who he is! Tell me why he knows about Ren!”

For the first time, he looked at her and seemed surprised to find her there. After a moment, his expression contorted into anger and he growled, “I don’t know! I don’t know and I don’t care! There’s a way bigger issue here than your damn boyfriend, don’t you get that?!”

Shocked, Leta stared at him, before anger suddenly burst through her at the injustice of it all.  “Excuse me? I’d like to know why this friend of yours was stalking me!”

“Friend?!” Fiearius repeated incredulously. “He’s not my friend. He wants to drag me back to Satieri and throw me to the wolves, I don’t see where you’re getting ‘friend’ from that.”

“Why?” said Leta without a beat of hesitation. “Why does he want that?”

For a moment, Leta thought he might actually respond honestly. In the heat of his anger, he was poised to answer, but at the last second, he caught himself. “It doesn’t matter why!”

“What?! It matters to me if this guy knows about Ren and is following everything I do!”

Again, Fiearius opened his mouth, as if considering a real explanation. But then, with a dirty glare and infuriating tilt of his head, all he said was, “You know what? I have more important things to worry about right now,” and stormed past  into the hallway, leaving Leta alone in the bridge.

“What the hell,” she began conversationally, lifting her grand prize, “do you think this is supposed to be?”

Corra scrunched her nose. “A man I think?” she guessed with a shrug. “A man who got mauled by a pack of stray dogs.” She snorted a laugh and held up her own prize: a short, finely-tailored dress in deep maroon. “What doya think? Kinda my style, yeah?” Before Leta had a chance to answer, Corra declared, “I’m gonna try it on!” and hurried off into the back of the stall.

As Corra darted away, Leta grinned to herself. She had personally avoided the array of dresses, gowns and lingerie — she could not imagine she’d have any reason to dress up anytime soon.

Dropping the sculpture with a clunk, she reached for a small half-moon shaped brass lever, or maybe it was a tool. She was turning it over in her hand, trying to imagine what it could possibly be for, when a low voice spoke in her ear.

“It’s a Poitan festival harp. Missing its strings perhaps. But still a harp.”

Leta looked over her shoulder to find a broad-shouldered man standing directly behind her. He wasn’t tall, but built broadly enough to part the crowd around him, his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was not recognizable to Leta at all.

“Oh?” she said dismissively.

“Difficult to replace, too,” he went on. “The strings. Made only from the finest silks in Synechdan.” The man lapsed into a brief, thoughtful silence. Finally, he looked up at Leta and stated, “Forgive me. You’re probably not interested in the minute details of instrumentation in an aging artform.”

“It’s alright,” she said after a moment’s pause, wondering quickly why this man was still engaging her. “I don’t mind learning something new.”

Politely, she started to turn away, but it was then that her eyes passed over him and she noticed a familiar symbol on his arm, and went very still. The black Society librera was displayed proudly on his shoulder. Well, that didn’t take very long, she thought as cold panic snapped through her. She’d gotten far from Vescent, but not far enough to evade her previous affiliations.

The harp fell from her hands and into the bin, and she wondered if it was even worth it to try and run. Even here, they’d found her after all —

“Relax,” said the man shortly, decidedly less friendly than before. “I’m not here for you.”

Her mouth was very dry. “Who then?” said Leta sharply, with more strength than she actually felt.

The man’s stare cut right through her, and he ignored her question. “You are an interesting case, though,” he remarked casually. “From your upbringing….to a criminal ship. From a scalpel. To a gun.” His eyes moved down to the holster hanging from her hip and rested there. “I wonder. Do you believe you’re making a fair trade?”

The noisy crowd moved around them, oblivious to the young woman who was fighting back fear. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“For now?” said the man calmly, finally lifting his eyes and blinking slowly. “Just an observer. I’d like to see where this goes.” He looked away from her, casting a mildly curious glance over her head, as if he were considering something as innocent as the weather. “Give your captain my regards.”

Just as Leta opened her mouth in shock, Corra’s cheerful, oblivious voice called out to her, “So much for the prowess of Tarinian craftsmanship! Pretty sure that dress was made of cardboard.”

Leta blinked, and the man was gone. He must have melted back into the crowd, for she could see him nowhere, even as she gave a jolt and turned in a frantic circle to seek him out in the flood of people.

“Hey,” said Corra as she approached, grabbing her arm to still her in place. “You alright, chika? You look even paler than usual.”

Shaking her head, all Leta said was, “I need to talk to Fiearius.”

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

She found him in the bridge. He was lounged back in the pilot’s chair, scrolling through a screen, his long legs propped up over the console. He turned his head as Leta entered, looking immediately annoyed at her interruption.

“Met a friend of yours,” Leta said at once, eyeing him for signs of recognition. “In the marketplace. A Society agent, he had all the same tattoos.” Technically, it was the same librera Leta had hidden under her sleeve on her arm, too, but she wasn’t quite ready to admit that. According to Cyrus, Fiearius would kill her for it.