“So you’re going to store your ship here?” she asked, her voice bright and cheerful. “What kind of ship is it? What are you even doing here anyway? Sorry, I just can’t believe you, of all people, came into this garage. The span is smaller than I thought, huh?”

“Suppose it is,” Cyrus muttered, still feeling bewildered by the last ten minutes. He trailed after her, though it was hard to keep up with her brisk pace; she had a lot of energy.

Forcing friendliness into his voice, he added, “So — Atelier’s daughter? You worked with your dad?”

“Oh yeah.” Pride lifted her voice. “Worked in his garage since I was three years old.”

“How’d you end up here then?”

“I feel like asking you the same thing,” she mused. “But as for me, well … Paradiex isn’t exactly the same place it was when I grew up.” There was something sad in her tone that made Cyrus look up.

“What do you mean?”

“The Society. I don’t know if you’re familiar with what they’ve … “

“I’m familiar,” Cyrus assured her fervently.

“They’re more present in Paradiex than ever before. My dad can’t finish a single project without them knocking on our doors to see what he’s up to.” She heaved a sigh, wrinkling her forehead with distress for a moment. “Anyway, he wanted me to get off-world for awhile, and Carthis seemed the safest bet so here I am.”

She planted her hands at her hips and nodded at the garage laid out before them. It was the messiest workshop Cyrus had ever seen.

“It’s not like, my dream job or anything,” she added, darting him a nervous look. “But it’s hard to find work, y’know. It’s just a temporary gig until, y’know, I  …. find somethin’. I mean, I’m an engineer, not a mechanic. To be honest I’d much rather be on a ship … “

Cyrus nodded. It occurred to him moments too late that she was weary of him judging her.

“But this — this is good too,” she added quickly, brushing strands of hair behind her ear nervously with her wrist. “Anyway, let’s get started, yeah?” She pressed toward the ship’s ramp, swinging her screwdriver out of her pocket once more.

“I was trying to to tell him about the core power problem,” Addy went on, jerking her head in the older mechanic’s direction, “but he wasn’t exactly open to the idea. But maybe we — “

But Cyrus was only half-listening now. His mind was churning with an idea. Cyrus knew Atelier. He was a gifted engineer with an eye for innovation that Cyrus had always deeply respected. And this was his daughter. He stopped abruptly on the edge of the ramp. “Hang on. You said — you said you’d rather work on a ship?”

Addy turned around with another shining grin. “Oh yeah. Definitely. I’d love to see more of the span — this is actually my first time off Satieri, ever, believe it or not.” Her smile slowly faded with question. “Why?”

“Because, well, if you’re serious about it — “ An image of the Beacon’s engine room arrived in his mind. “I know a ship that’s looking for an engineer.”

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

In all her months aboard, Leta had never seen the Dionysian’s mess hall so crowded and lively, especially at this hour of the night. It seemed the crew had found reason to celebrate wildly after months of low morale: the captain was back on his feet, and just as important was a proper send-off party for Corra and Finn.

And for that reason, the liquor was flowing. Shots were thrown back, music was playing, and Rhys was already staggering on his feet as he told rambling, incoherent stories to Amora, who humored him with a shifty look in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Leta stood against the counter and kept close to Corra, nursing her third bottle of beer and trying to keep her mood light.

“Who’s that?” she asked Corra suddenly, lowering her beer. “Over there talking to Cy?”

Across the room, Cyrus was deep in conversation with a young blonde woman Leta did not recognize. He made a gesture with his hands, and she looked surprised, then laughed; whatever they were talking about, it seemed to be going well.

Corra peered in her direction for a moment and then grinned. “Oh, her! That’s Adrasteia. She’s the Beacon’s very first engineer,” she declared proudly. “Cyrus brought her by a couple days ago and told me so anyway. I wasn’t really in any position to argue. They just went down to the engine room and nerded out together for about an hour. Fine by me, but I’m pretty sure there’s an ulterior motive in the appointment. What do you think? Have I been replaced already or what?”

“There’s no replacing you, Corra,” Leta assured her laughingly, but her laughter soon faded into a sincere sigh.

“What’m I going to do without you?” she added, looking away and watching dully as Rhys poured a shot for Javier, who took a tiny sip and was immediately overcome with a violent coughing fit.

“Just come with me,” said Corra at once, leaning over and slapping Javier merrily on the back as he hacked away. “I mean it, chika. Join the Beacon crew.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time Corra had made this suggestion: every few hours, Corra excitedly sprung this idea on her and every time, for some reason, Leta felt herself hesitate. She could not bring herself to answer.

“Have you decided yet? If you want to come with us? No pressure,” Corra added, swigging her beer with one hand and patting Leta’s shoulder with the other. “I mean, a little bit of pressure, because we leave tomorrow, but y’know … “

Leta mustered a smile. “Well you are already taking Daelen away from me,” she noted wryly, glancing over the room toward her old friend, who was talking with Maya. He’d already happily agreed to join the Beacon’s crew as their tending physician (“Not like I have any desire to go back home!” he had declared with a grim laugh), a fact that made Leta sleep a little easier: at least her best friend would be surrounded by an able-bodied crew.

“We can never have enough doctors, though,” Corra teased in a sing-song voice, elbowing Leta in the ribs with such eagerness that Leta nearly staggered backwards. “Eh? Eh?”

Snorting into her beer, Leta pushed her off. Deciding to steer the conversation away from these waters, she asked briskly, “So. What’s the Beacon’s maiden voyage, captain? What’s the first run going to be?”

“Finn’s got something lined up,” she remarked, shrugging. “He was very excited about it so I let him take the lead on this one.” She leaned over and smiled at Leta impishly “Y’know. To keep his ego intact.”

“I heard that,” came Finn’s voice as he approached, shaking a long green bottle at his side. He was not looking at them, but over their heads. “Where’s Fiear? I need to spray him with champagne and remind him how much better my ship is,” he said, and then crossed through the room importantly.

Leta hadn’t actually seen Fiearius all evening, nor much over the past few days. His triumphant (if still somewhat unexplained) return to health had been somewhat soured when he found out about Corra and Finn’s departure. As good as it was to see him on his feet again, Leta got the distinct feeling that he may have been avoiding her. For what purpose, she couldn’t begin to fathom and with Corra halfway out the door, she had put her concern on the backburner for the time being. He’d probably seen enough of her over the past two months in the infirmary anyway.

Leta was fairly certain then that Fiearius wouldn’t be in the mess hall with the rest of the crew, but sure enough, she spotted him then leaning in the doorway, beer hanging loosely in his hand, already smirking at Finn. But he never got the chance to actually act on his bubbly threat: just then, Dez, of all people, stepped into the room, and nodded for Fiearius to join him in the hallway. Fiearius’ smirk dropped off his face, but he followed him, and they disappeared from the mess hall.

Leta could hardly believe her eyes. “Did you see that? What’s Dez doing out of the brig?”

“Fiear let him out this morning,” said Corra, shrugging her shoulders. “Dunno why exactly … that guy’s a total whackjob.”

Leta certainly agreed. And what was he doing with Fiearius?

Suddenly tossing her beer bottle into the garbage can with a thud, she followed them.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

 

“So here’s what I was thinking,” Leta announced importantly, slicing her hand through the air to ensure that Cyrus, who walked at her side down the Dionysian’s hallway, was paying careful attention. They were headed to the bridge so Cyrus could check on the Dionysian’s fuel levels, but first, they had a plan to execute. A very important one.

Cyrus nodded, looking gravely serious, so she continued, “First, I’ll distract Finn. No wait, I’ll get someone else to distract Finn. A pretty girl would do it. So I’ll distract Corra. Then you run downstairs to the Beacon’s engine room. How fast can you sprint? You know how to fix an engine which means you know how to break one,” she reminded him, lifting her eyebrows keenly. “So the Beacon will be here forever. It’ll be our secret. No one will need to know.”

“That’s one way to do it,” Cyrus agreed, but then he blanched. “But break an engine? Are you asking me to use my talents for evil? ‘Fraid I can’t do that. With great power comes great responsibility … “

He trailed off, and then, both of them sighed in unison. When Corra departed, they would soon be united in loneliness. Leta’s heart was already aching with loss. Of all to happen in the last two weeks — and it had been another tumultuous, strange stretch of time — Leta found the idea of Corra leaving hardest to manage. But, as Leta kept telling herself repeatedly, it wasn’t really goodbye. Hell, maybe she’d even be joining Corra when she left. Everyone needed a doctor, or at least everyone needed a best friend.

And how could she blame Corra at all? She had a ship in her hands, a pilot in Finn, and she had no reason to stay stagnant here forever …

Unfortunately, there was more to Corra leaving than just missing her presence. Cyrus seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“You know, the Beacon is the only thing keeping the Carthians from kicking us out,” he muttered as he started up the staircase. “Don’t think the military would appreciate having a renegade ship harboring multiple fugitives parked on their main docks. We’ll have to find another way to hide the ship when she leaves.”

“Maybe Corra won’t want to leave right away.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to hold her back,” he admitted. “I’m going to look into maybe moving the Dionysian to a local mechanic’s hangar. They have the space, they have the privacy, all I have to do is find a way to compensate them for borrowing it. And I have a master’s in engineering from Paradiex.” He shrugged. “How hard could that be?”

Leta was sure Cyrus’ plan was just fine, but she couldn’t muster much of a response. She only nodded as they rounded a corner to reach the command deck. Cyrus knew her too well: he seemed to know exactly what was on her mind.

“Hey, so,” he prompted quietly, sliding her a glance. “How’s Ren doing? Heard from him lately?”

“I just did yesterday, actually,” she said. “Heard from a few of his caretakers, too. It sounds like he’s doing well.”

It was then, however, that the conversation came to a staggering, startled halt. Down the hallway, in the bridge, came sudden noise that told them they were not alone in this part of the Dionysian after all.

She heard footsteps, the squeak of the captain’s chair, and the humming of a system console. And even more than that, she could sense the room held an occupant who belonged there. There was little argument as to who it was. Before she knew, she knew.

“Well Amora’s right,” said Leta to Cyrus bluntly, after a considerable, heavy pause. “The ship’s haunted.”

Yet, as the curious young woman carried forward, apparently fearless of ghosts, she was given newfound reason to halt sharply in the doorway of the bridge.

It was him, it really was Fiearius sitting there in the captain’s chair, like he used to, realer than real, apparently busy with — something. He scrolled through the console screens with one hand, lounged back casually, just like the old days.

The sight of him there went straight through her like a knife, and for a moment, Leta, shocked into pale expressionlessness, could do little more than stare.

Cyrus was at her side, equally as dumbfounded.

Fiearius glanced over his shoulder, spotted them, and smiled. “Hey! How’s — “

“What’re you doing up here?” Leta breathed, unsure if she should have felt alarmed, thrilled, both, or neither.

Cyrus sounded rather fearful. “Fiear. How’d you get up here?”

“I walked.”

“Without your cane?” said Leta in disbelief. “All the way up the stairs? By yourself?”

“Looks that way.” Fiearius started to push himself up to his feet, and immediately Leta and Cyrus launched forward to help him.

“I’m fine,” said Fiearius, brushing them off and laughing. “Really.”

“No you aren’t,” said Leta, “your legs — “

“Little achey,” he admitted. “But I feel great. Better than I have in months.”

“How?” said Leta, clasping her temple. “Fiearius, you barely made it along the docks the other day. You had to use me for support. And Daelen said — “

Daelen had said it was unlikely he would ever walk again. She swallowed those words and continued.

“Did you take more painkillers or something?” she asked, circling around him to survey him up and down, full of skepticism. “Are you — you’re not drunk, are you?”

But Fiearius just laughed at her again and tilted his head to the side, brow raised. “Of course not. I just…I don’t know, feel better. Ain’t gonna question it if that’s alright by you, oh kiddo, ye of little faith.”

She could only shake her head, still in shock. She would have to unravel this mystery with physical tests — she’d check his heart rate, his blood pressure, run a scan …

But was it possible — was it actually possible — that he had a breakthrough? Daelen had said his mental health needed treatment as badly as his physical wounds. And now, here he was, looking steady on his feet, with healthy color in his face, his warm brown eyes sparkling with mischief. He even shaved a little.

She couldn’t fight the hope blossoming in her chest. “But — what’re you doing up here?”

“Well what do you think I’m doing?” he said gruffly, dropping his elbow on the captain’s chair with an air of his usual arrogance. “I’m takin’ back my ship.”

Finn could hardly believe the readings on the console screen. The efficiency grade, the fuel storage, the surveillance capabilities — this ship was unlike any other he’d flown before. He felt like he had actual hearts in his eyes.

It was no wonder, then, he hadn’t left the Beacon’s bridge all afternoon. The more time he spent here, scrolling through her diagnostics, examining the field of controls, the more he felt like he was falling in love with a beautiful, exotic woman. Who just happened to be outfitted with some of the best long-range weaponry he’d ever seen.

Vaguely he heard the bridge door glide open behind him, but he didn’t look up from his spot in the pilot’s chair. As it turned out, it was Corra, who approached his side and greeted, “Hey, Riley,” over his shoulder.

“Hi. You know, with a little mech tinkering, this beast could be the fastest of its kind?” he said reply, swiping his hand across the screen to show her. “See this? She’s completely unmatched in premium fuel and speed standards.”

Corra paused to stare at the screen, then she glanced toward Finn. “Okay….” she muttered patiently.

“I’m serious, just look at these readings I’m getting, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he went on as she lowered into the co-pilot’s chair, crossing her legs and gripping her ankles as she leaned forward. Finn couldn’t help but notice there was an excited light in her eyes, though he didn’t think it was due to the Beacon’s cloaking ability, for some reason.

“Great,” she breathed suddenly. “So hey, remember that night on Paraven?”

At last, his attention was captured. He turned his chair toward her, a devilish grin spreading over his face. “You mean with the tequila and the moonlight? Oh I remember.”

“Oh shut up, not that part,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “The other part. Before. When we were talking. About ships.”

“Ah.” He nodded. This, of course, was a bit fuzzy in his memory. “Vaguely.”

“Vaguely?!” she demanded indignantly. “I bare hopes and dreams to you and all you can remember is making out on the beach? Typical.”

“Hey, I remember a little,” Finn defended, scratching his hair. “You were talking about leaving the Dionysian.”

“Oh there ya go,” she remarked, looking mildly impressed.

“Something about you wanting a ship of your own. Having adventures on your own bird … “

“Right, and?” she prompted.

A long stretch of silence sat between them. Finn gazed at her blankly.

“Close enough,” she declared, and then she bounced up in her seat. “Well guess what!”

“You — ah — did it?” Finn guessed, startled. “Got a ship?” Then he narrowed his eyes as realization hit him hard. “Wait. This ship?”

“I got this ship!” she yelped, actually jumping to her feet with her hands in the air. “I talked to Cyrus, and he doesn’t want it and Fiear doesn’t want it and nobody wants it, so he said I can take it!”

Finn stared as she danced in a circle of joy around him. He felt she was missing a rather important puzzle piece here. Dryly, he muttered, “‘Nobody else’ wants it huh?”

Corra, mid-bounce, stopped and flung her hands back to her sides.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” she ordered shortly. “I haven’t forgotten about you. And I’ve got no intention of prying you out of here.” With a wide grin spreading across her face, she casually stepped around behind his seat and put her hands on his shoulders. “In fact,” she went on, leaning down to speak into his ear. “I was just thinking how much I could use a pilot.”

Finn lifted his eyebrows with intrigue. “A pilot? And here I thought you learned to fly her overnight.” He paused, and added casually, “So … you got someone in mind?”

\

“Maybe,” she cooed, leaning her elbow on his shoulder and her head in her hand. Dreamily, each word soaked in sugar, she went on, “There’s a candidate I’m looking at that knows so much about her already and about ships in general and would be such a great asset to my crew, I’d really love it if he’d join me.”

Finn wrinkled his forehead, feigning confusion. If Corra was going to bait him, then he was going to play dumb.

“Wait, who is this guy?” he asked suspiciously. “And what makes you think he wants to pilot for you, eh?”

She blanched and said bluntly, “Because his alternative is to go back to an aging decrepit rust bucket that can’t even reach a decent cruising altitude without nearly exploding?”

Well, it was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

“Fair point,” he admitted, turning to face her. “So is this a real offer? An official offer? ‘Cause you’re gonna have to ask me all official-like, you know.”

Corra sighed, rolling her eyes as she drew herself up importantly. “Finnegan Riley, will you please come with me and be the Beacon’s official pilot?”

“Of course I will, why didn’t you say so?” he said at once, grinning at her. He leaned back in his chair and slid his hands behind his neck. “I’ll accept. With a few terms.”

“Terms?” She planted her hands at her hips. “What kinda terms?”

“Term one,” said Finn briskly, “I want a say in the crew we bring aboard. The Beacon will need about 100 hands, y’know.”

“I’m aware, thanks,” Corra grumbled. “Go on.”

“Term two. I’m not signin’ a contract of any kind. Nothing that says I can’t leave. I can bail at any second. Alright? But,” he added, lifting his hand, “I do promise to land the bird before I ever do that.”

Corra did not look impressed. “Commitment issues, huh? Couldn’t see that coming.”

“And finally. Let’s discuss our titles.”

Corra barely blinked before she said, “I’m the captain.”

“You — what?” Finn laughed, but he was not joking when he said, “You mean co-captain. Seeing as you can’t fly it without me, ma’am, I’ve got just as much right to this ship as you do.”

“You do not.” Corra gaped at him. “If you wanted it so bad, you should have done something about it. I did. So I’m the captain. You.” She prodded him in the chest. “Are the pilot.”

Finn scoffed in disbelief. “Not only the pilot. Co-captain.”

“Fine,” she relented, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Lead pilot.”

“I’m the only pilot.”

“You’ll be my first mate, then.”

“Not a chance.”

Corra was stumped for a moment, but only a moment. “Sub-captain!”

“That,” said Finn, pointing at her, “is not even a thing.”

“Fine.” Corra crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine…You can be … “ But then she trailed off and grumbled nonsense under her breath, averting her eyes to the side.

“Sorry, what was that?”

Corra groaned. “You can be co-captain,” she said again, her voice both loud and bitter. Finn beamed.

“Well ya don’t hafta shout. And thank you kindly.” He threw out his hand to shake hers, which she did begrudgingly. But still, he could see a small smirk growing on her face.

“We oughta celebrate,” he decided, jumping to his feet as he looked around the bridge with newfound love in his eyes. “Drinks?”

Fortunately, Finn knew just where to look. The captain’s quarters, which he’d taken the liberty of exploring for himself, boasted an impressive bar. A few minutes later, he returned into the bridge, swinging a green champagne bottle at his side.

“To the Beacon,” he said, filling not a champagne flute, but a coffee mug – it was the only glass he could find quickly – and passing it over to Corra. He poured another for himself and tilted the mug against hers. “Cheers, cap’n.”

“Cheers,” said Corra, grinning brightly as she took her sip — but then she added, under her breath, “Pilot.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As soon as they were out of earshot, Leta pressed, “What is it?”

Daelen paused before her, rubbing his chin. “How long ago did he sustain the injury?”

“Just over six weeks ago.”

He nodded, then lifted his eyebrows at her. “And walking still produces a 7 pain level? Even exaggerated that’s…” He shifted his lips thoughtfully. “Concerning…”

“It is,” Leta agreed quickly. “But I also lowered his dosage of painkillers. And he’s moving much more than last week.”

“That’s good to hear,” Daelen said, though he didn’t look any more relieved. “Any progress is something worth celebrating. But at this point…” His voice faded off until he asked suddenly, “You said you weren’t able to treat the wound until a few days after the incident?”

“Right. That’s why the wounds are so severe.”

“It’s possible that the damage from that initial period is more permanent than I’d hoped,” he admitted, his tone growing more quiet. “And what of his mental state? He seems…agitated?”

“Oh — he’s always like that,” Leta assured quickly. “Trust me.”

Daelen spared her a short smile, but it soon swept from his face. “And the hallucinations?”

“They’ve — well, he’s still having them,” Leta admitted.

“That,” Daelen sighed, “is what I was afraid of.”

He took to pacing around her, full of thought. “In my experience, in these kinds of situations, the physical state can be held back from full recovery by mental or emotional barriers. If a patient doesn’t believe they can recover, if they don’t want to recover, if there’s a significant stress getting in the way of their recovery, that takes a physical toll. I can see it in your patient clearly. Even when he’s speaking to you, he doesn’t always seem like he’s entirely present. I’m afraid that until he’s able to reign in these ‘nightmares’ as you say, he may not be able to truly recover.”

He paused, and looked at her directly. “Leta, I’m — I’m afraid he may never walk without support again.”

But that was hardly part of the plan, thought Leta at once, as if correcting him. Visions of Fiearius sprinting up the Dionysian’s ramp passed through her mind.

She found she couldn’t speak; she said nothing. Was this, she wondered, how her patients felt when she talked to them back in the clinic? Did her bedside manner hurt as badly as this?

Daelen studied her face, terrible worry in his eyes. “There are options,” he went on gently, composed as always. “First and foremost, he’ll need a psychiatrist. Perhaps someone who knows about these ARC treatments.”

“No one knows about the ARC treatments,” said Leta at once, sounding more impatient than she would have liked. “That’s the problem. They’re Society experiments; no one outside the Society knows anything about the program.”

Daelen went on mildly, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Then, our next step will be finding him a specialist. He needs a someone with experience in muscular recon–”

“How would we get a specialist, Daelen?” Leta interrupted hotly, her voice straining with despair.  “A specialist from a Society institution, you mean. He can’t just walk into a hospital, he’s a wanted fugitive.” She shook her head, feeling exasperated, exhausted, and most of all, scared. She’d spent six weeks with Fiearius in the infirmary, and it may have been for nothing.

Daelen went to reply, but Leta raised her hand sharply.

“Look, I’m all he’s got,” she said, her voice shaking. “So that’s going to have to be enough.”

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

He hadn’t meant to overhear. He wished that he hadn’t. But as Leta and Daelen argued quietly in the hallway, Fiearius could not stop himself from tilting his head in their direction and listening as their hurried voices carried his way.

What he heard made him freeze in place.

So he really wasn’t getting better then. The news did not shock him: in fact, he felt like nodding along in agreement. Even as he sat on that crate, watching people trudging along the snowy docks just outside, he could feel his sickness creeping in on him. He was learning to cope. The visions and reality were more easily separated. But if Daelen was right and they were keeping him from walking…

But that prognosis wasn’t what was making him want to sink to the floor in defeat. The part that truly got to him, that made his stomach clench in discomfort and shame burn behind his eyes, was the sinking despair in Leta’s voice.

She had been trying so hard to make him well. The past month and a half, she’d dedicated her existence to helping him. And yet he failed her over and over and would keep failing her until he could rein in this mania.

It was that thought that made him unable to just sit there by himself any longer.

Planting his cane against the Beacon’s metal floor, he painfully pushed himself back to his feet, wincing as he did. He didn’t know where he was going, but he started walking nonetheless, deeper into the ship’s maze of halls and stairways. It was a slow trek and he found himself clutching the walls for support as his feet lead the way.

He eased himself down a set of stairs until he finally stopped, of all places, in the brig. It was a long hallway of cells, all of them empty save for one.

Steadying one hand against the wall, Fiearius eased toward the chamber that held Dez. A pane of thick clear glass separated them. Inside, Dez sat lounged against the back wall.

He raised his eyes toward Fiearius expectantly, like he knew it was only a matter of time before he arrived here. Fiearius hadn’t seen him since he’d affronted him in the infirmary over two weeks ago.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. At last, words fell from Fiearius’ mouth before he could consider them.

“Why did you help me escape from Satieri?”

Dez blinked his eyes, his expression stoic. “Because you weren’t supposed to be there.”

It was about as unsatisfying of an answer as Fiearius could have received. He tiredly put his hand to his forehead. “I really wasn’t looking for your Ridellian ‘path of the dov’ha’ bullshit, Dez,” he groaned.

“It’s not bullshit,” Dez said simply, coming to his feet. He stepped closer to the glass. “And that wasn’t what I meant. Do you remember the night you left Satieri?” he asked suddenly, taking Fiearius by surprise. “The night you fled, once and for all. When you asked me to come with you?”

Fiearius snorted indignantly. “How could I forget? You left me a damn reminder on my face.” He pointed to the thick scar across his brow and down his cheek

Dez’s brow creased in mild thought. “If it’s any consolation, I think it makes your face less forgettable.”

“It’s not,” Fiearius growled. “Get to the point.”

“When you asked me to leave,” said Dez, “I should have said yes.”

At that, Fiearius froze. In all his years of knowing Desophyles, he had never shown an ounce of remorse or regret. For anything. He was unfeeling, and he simply did not operate that way.

Dez continued, “It took time to realize, but I understand now. To the Society, we’re all disposable. You. Me. Aela, Denarian, my brothers, may the dov’ha claim their souls. It’s always been that way. But seeing your life about to be tossed away, I knew. I knew there was another option. I knew that we, you and I. We can fight back. That’s why I helped you escape.”

Fiearius simply gaped at him. Then, he barked a single-note laugh. “Yeah, Dez, you and me can take down a centuries-old institution, absolutely. You’re fucking insane, you know that? Insane and, frankly, wrong. You can’t fight them. That other option you discovered? Is to run.”

“For you, yes. For me, yes. But for us.” He lifted his brows. “Do you realize the power you have embedded in your wrist? You are their Verdant, Fiearius, whether they want you to be or not. You have more influence than you believe. And I. I have worked closely with the Council for four years. I can teach you how to use it.”

Fiearius scoffed indignantly. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a coward.”

Fiearius’ glare narrowed on him before he finally rolled his eyes and looked away. But as much as he wanted to leave the brig, his feet didn’t move. There was a reason he came down here. It was in the back of his mind, nagging. He just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.

After a careful pause, Dez asked, “Why are you down here, Fiearius?”

Fiearius shut his eyes and told himself to walk away. To go back upstairs. But then he thought of the infirmary, the walking lessons. Leta’s utter defeat. His worried brother.

“You were right,” Fiearius grunted, opening his eyes. “For once. About what you said a few weeks ago. They’re not going away. The…nightmares, hallucinations, whatever they are. I can fight them off, but…they’re still there. I can’t do this anymore.”

Dez did not look at all surprised in the slightest. He nodded along, even when Fiearius stared him straight in the eye and said, “I don’t trust you. And this changes nothing between us. And I’m not fucking help you fight the Society. But…if you’re sure it works. If you’re sure Flush will fix this….” He took a deep breath. “I’ll take it.”

Snow crunched underfoot as Leta walked along the ship docks, leading Fiearius at her side. It was his very first walk outdoors in the winter air, and his arm looped around Leta’s so he could balance his weight, his other hand propped up on a cane. Possibly it was the slowest she’d ever walked in her life, and every few steps, he winced or inhaled a pained breath, but nonetheless — seeing Fiearius anywhere but the infirmary was making Leta’s heart stir with real, actual hope.

Progress.

And there was another reason her heart felt lighter: she had more help now. Daelen, one of her oldest friends from Vescent, had arrived an hour earlier via passenger vessel. Now, he walked along Fiearius’ other side. Leta kept stealing glances at him, hardly able to believe she had a familiar face here with her. When she left, she thought she’d never see him again.

“So how was the trip here?” asked Leta, her arm tightened around Fiearius’ as they took another step forward gingerly. “How difficult was it to get through Vescentian border control?”

“Not the worst security I’ve experienced,” Daelen mused. “Though certainly a lot different than the last time I ventured off-world. They made me answer so many questions about the patient I was visiting, I’m almost sure I broke confidentiality.” He glanced back at Fiearius and smiled kindly. “Don’t worry, I lied.”

Fiearius lifted his brows in vague interest.“‘Preciate it. And thanks for comin’ out here at all. Don’t know how she managed to convince you.”

“Wasn’t that difficult actually,” Daelen claimed with a laugh. “I’ve been looking for a reason to leave Vescent for a while now. And what better reason than to help an old friend?”

“See, not everyone finds me as insufferable as you do, Fiear,” Leta added. She slowed on the edge of the docks. “Let’s stop here for a second. How do you feel?”

“Like a ninety-seven year old man,” Fiearius grumbled, glaring down at his cane, though he didn’t protest taking a break.

“At least you’re outside, yes?” said Daelen, his voice cheerful. Leta had always liked that about him: even back in med school, he found being optimistic much easier than she ever did. “Must be nice to get fresh air after being on the ship so long.”

Naturally, Fiearius cast him a look of disbelief. “Nice? It’s fucking freezing out here. How could anyone actually choose to live on this planet?”

“Hey, what’re you talking about?” Leta swept her hand toward the tall snowy evergreens. “Look at this place. I think it’s beautiful.”

“I think you’ve got a few screws loose.”

At that, Daelen chuckled and started to drift forward once more. “You know, when Leta described to me her situation, she failed to mention half the challenge would be listening to you two bicker.”

Leta sent Fiearius a pointed look, to which he smirked.

“Sorry,” she said to Daelen, grinning sheepishly as she fell into step beside him. “Tell us more about Vescent. How’s home?”

“Well, let’s see. It’s approaching summer now so the weather’s turning up,” Daelen replied conversationally. “They finally built a bridge across the West Ciene Canal which has made my commute vastly more enjoyable. I’ve been visiting the clinic a lot recently. They still miss you. No one’s managed to beat your suturing record yet.”

“Of course not,” said Leta, lifting her chin with pride. “I doubt anyone has beaten my whisky-shot record, either.”

“Never,” Daelen agreed, laughing. But soon his laughter faded and he drew his brow together in thought.

“There’s — there’s been a lot of strange things happening in the past few months, though,” he went on, his tone growing more serious. “Ever since the Society opened up a few new departments. They’re really settling in now that they’ve gained control of the parliament. People have started disappearing.” He glanced at Leta apologetically. “Well…even more than before. And curiously, the news has said nothing of it…”

Fiearius grunted. “Sounds like you’ve got your own little Internal Affairs formin’.”

“Yes, I think that was one,” Daelen remarked, casting him a slightly confused look before pressing on, “People are starting to get scared. I’m sure you remember walking along the bayside on a spring night and finding the whole city out there doing the same?” Leta nodded. “Nowadays, it’s dead. The city shuts down when the sun sets. One of my patients was just telling me last week that he’s begun taking the trains home even though it’s just a ten minute walk and a lovely one at that. It’s worrisome.”

“That’s not the Vescent I remember,” said Leta, feeling quietly horrified. She shifted her shoulders, unsettled. “Daelen, you haven’t … you haven’t seen my dad around, have you?”

“Not in a long while, no,” Daelen admitted, frowning at her. “Right after you left, he came by my office a few times to see if I’d heard from you, but I haven’t seen him personally since. He was publicly supporting a few of the Society candidates for election a couple months ago, but he’s disappeared from the public eye as far as I can tell.”

“That’s — well, that’s good, I suppose.” Leta sighed, her breath turning white in the air. “Good that you haven’t seen him, that means he’s off-planet or in hiding. The Society must want him dead now, thanks to me.”

“Thanks to me, you mean,” Fiearius put in, half-sarcastic, half-apologetic. Leta looked over at him in surprise, but he went on to Daelen, “So that’s why you up and left? Abandon ship before it sinks?”

Daelen grimaced. “Somewhat. Though there are a few…well…personal reasons too,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Personal?” said Leta quickly. “What’s the matter? Is Rosietta alright?”

“Oh no, she’s fine,” he assured her at once, waving her off. “Better than ever even. I’m sure she’s quite content traveling with her new southern artist lover.”

“With her what?” said Leta, balking in surprise. She’d met Rosietta Orsada a handful of times and always found the woman pleasant and friendly; always with her arm around Daelen, always smiling up at him fondly.

Fiearius nudged Leta, looking confused. “Girlfriend?” he whispered.

“Wife,” Leta clarified.

“Ex,” Daelen corrected with a sigh. “The divorce was finalized about a month ago. Like I said…I was looking for a reason to get out for a bit.”

Fiearius grimaced in understanding. “Yeah I bet. Gotta fill that void somehow…”

Daelen nodded in agreement, but then suddenly threw Fiearius a more curious look. “You were married? Or are? Sorry, I noticed the–what is the word for that again? The Ridellian matrimonial mark. On your palm.”

Fiearius released his grip on Leta’s arm to glance down at the crudely drawn circle that seemed to be painted on his skin. Leta had noticed the mark before and assumed it was just another tattoo. But apparently, it symbolized marriage.

The realization gave her pause.

“Chi’tauri. And yeah. I was,” Fiearius confirmed, though he said nothing else. He dropped his hand and quickly circled his arm around Leta’s once more. Daelen seemed to take the hint.

“Well let’s just say your message couldn’t have come at a better time, Leta,” he went on breezily, brushing over the awkward pause.

They reached the outside of the Beacon and started up its long ramp, Leta’s arm still closed around Fiearius’ as they trekked up the angled floor carefully. Now that they had completed their entire walk on real terrain and made it all the way into the warm cargo bay, Leta swept out a hand in victory.

“What do you think, Dr. Orsada?” she asked, pointing at Fiearius’ legs. He was still leaning half of his weight on her, but he’d walked nearly the entire way, and for that, she was eager to ask, “What’s the prognosis on our patient here? Am I a miracle worker or what?”

Daelen glanced at Fiearius’ legs, then forced a cheerful smile. “Well let’s see, how do you feel, Mr. Soliveré? On a scale of one to ten, describe your pain level?”

Fiearius blinked at him. “Just call me Fiearius, thanks. And uh, I don’t know. Seven?”

“I see,” said Daelen, his tone mild and unreadable. “So moderate to severe, then?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Daelen nodded, then gestured toward a crate against the wall. “Well why don’t you take a break and have a seat over here for a while?” Completely ignoring Fiearius’ look of suspicion, he went on, “Enjoy the fresh air a little longer, it’ll be good for you.”

Fiearius agreeably lowered to the crate, but not without throwing a look of questioning toward Leta. She had no opportunity to assure him, however, because Daelen met her eyes and gestured pointedly toward the hallway.

Leta walked with him, already sensing something was off, something was on his mind. Daelen didn’t look merely thoughtful, he looked worried.

Each step forward was excruciating. It stole the breath out of his lungs. It wasn’t just his legs — his back tinged with soreness, his hips ached. Leta was right: he really needed to move more.

“Halfway there,” she said at his side.

Painfully out of breath, Fiearius couldn’t help but mutter, “Oh for fuck’s sake — “

“We can take a break.”

Fiearius snapped, “No. No. Let’s just — get this over with.”

Hours later, or so it felt like, Fiearius’ hands gripped the edge of the counter. Pain lifted from his feet as he leaned all of his weight on it. Then, he let out a crazed, breathless laugh.

“And to think, I used to dominate track races in high school. Just look at me now. A whole day to walk twenty feet.”

“You’ll get back there,” Leta assured him, her voice relieved. “It just takes time. And hey — you’ve earned this.”

Using the sharp edge of the counter, Leta propped up the bottle of beer and handed it over with a flourish. Fiearius snatched it out of her hand and glared, but then he took a long, achingly cold swig and his eyes closed in utter satisfaction. Motivation, indeed.

He lowered the bottle and released a long sigh. “So. You’re an expert in teaching basic locomotion, huh?”

“Actually, no,” said Leta, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the counter. “But a good friend of mine is. Daelen Orsada — we were lab partners through med school. He’s got a lot of experience in physical therapy. He’s agreed to fly out here and lend a hand as well as coaching me in the meantime. Between the two of us, you’re bound to get back on your feet eventually.”

“Another doctor? One is enough, thanks,” he sighed, as Leta smirked. “And since when are you so optimistic?”

“Well, the way I figure, things can’t possibly get much worse around here,” she noted, and then reached for the other beer and took it for herself.

He laughed in agreement. “That bad out there huh?”

“Things are better, I suppose,” she mused, tilting the bottle against her mouth for a drink. “Cyrus is doing really well. He’s really coming into his own as the Dionysian’s new captain.”

“Hey, I’m not dead yet,” Fiearius grumbled. “Still my ship. And you got loverboy all checked in with Carthians, yeah?”

“Corra and Finn took him there two nights ago, yes.”

Fiearius couldn’t help but notice Leta took a much longer, indulgent drink at the mention of Ren. And she didn’t elaborate.

“Well, great,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Maybe we’ll both get back on our feet.”

“That’s the idea,” Leta agreed quietly. “So — how’s it feel to be out of that bed?”

Taking curious note of the sudden change of subject, Fiearius took a deep breath and looked down at his legs, still sending throbbing pain up every nerve.

“Kinda like I’d prefer you to amputate right about now.” He cracked a smirk. “But less so than before. So I guess that’s progress.”

“That is progress,” said Leta, genuine relief touching her voice, and Fiearius thought perhaps she was deciding to spare him her clinical questioning for once. But then she said, to his shock, “And how about the nightmares? Still having them?”

He lowered his beer and balked. “Nightmares? How’d you — ?”

“I saw you,” Leta admitted quietly, looking apologetic. “I saw you thrashing in your sleep.”

He considered the visions, memories, hallucinations, whatever they were, and he realized he could still see the dark alleyway in the corners of his vision, closing in on him. Hastily, he clamped his eyes shut and answered, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re still there.”

“What’re they about, exactly?”

Fiearius slowly opened his eyes to find the infirmary still the infirmary and let out a sigh of relief. Before it could come back, he forced himself to focus on Leta, repeating her words in his head thrice before he was able to answer.

“Satieri, mostly,” he muttered at last. “Internal Affairs jobs. Some mine. Some…not mine.” He fell quiet, recalling the images of blood-splattered walls and fresh corpses.

“But they feel real,” he added suddenly. “All of them. The ones I remember. And the ones — planted there, I guess? I forget where I am. And when I am. Who I am…” He furrowed his brow and looked down at his hands. “One moment you’re here and the next, it’s another life. For a while there, I couldn’t get back to the right one…I got so caught up in the others, I just…couldn’t see the way out. But. It’s getting easier now. To differentiate. I think, anyway…”

Leta went quiet, regarding him closely — too closely — with a frown on her face.

Fiearius recognized that look. It was the look she gave right before she prodded him with a needle or pushed medicine on him.

“Lemme guess,” he muttered, “you gonna go write that in your doctor diary now?”

“What? No.” Leta bristled. But then she admitted, “Not when you’re here, anyway,” and grinned.

He shook his head, taking a longer drink. A comfortable silence fell between them until Leta lowered her bottle and said abruptly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Since when do you need my permission?”

“Why did you agree to help me?” she asked, her lips tugging toward a frown. “All those months ago. Why’d you agree to go to the Baltimore?”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. And he wasn’t sure he had an answer — at least not one he felt entirely comfortable giving. Perhaps stalling for time, he took another long swig from the cold bottle in his hand before he finally spoke. “Because I know what it feels like losing everything to the Society. And maybe I just wanted to win for once.”

She faltered for a moment. Then she pressed, “So — did we? Do you think we won?”

Suddenly, she didn’t look quite like the Leta he knew: sadness struck her face, her eyes reflecting the artificial lights overhead, as she leveled him a long, piercing stare.

Guilt stirred in his chest. It certainly didn’t look like they’d won. A month after the Baltimore and the Dionysian was still in as dire a situation as it had been before.

Somehow, he mustered a smirk. “We’re all still alive, ain’t we? That’s somethin’. And you got your boyfriend back.”

“Fiance,” she muttered dully. Then she averted her eyes to the side. “Well, not anymore. We — ended things the other night.”

The bottle of beer in his hand paused mid-way to his mouth. Shock passed through him — not unpleasantly so, but not happily, either, when he saw the emptiness in her face.

“Well — shit,” was all he could say at first. “You okay?”

She shrugged, and a sigh passed through her lips, heavy enough to stir the hair on her forehead. “What I wanted was to get him out of there alive, and we did that. But I never thought — I mean, this is just not what I expected for us.”

The air shifted between them. He felt suddenly odd. What was the right answer to a statement like that? Especially all things considered.

Half to fill the silence and half because his curiosity got the better of his tongue, he provided her an uneasy, lopsided smirk and asked, “Hope that’s not my fault…?”

To his relief, she shook her head, looking surprised. “No. It’s not. I never even told him about — ” Her eyes flashed up to his, then looked away. “Any of it. With everything else going on, it seemed less important.”

This was the closest either of them had come to acknowledging what had happened, or didn’t happen, That One Night. They’d both been quietly ignoring the fact that Leta had been in his bed, though the memory had crept into Fiearius’ consciousness on more than one occasion — like when she brushed alongside him unexpectedly, or when her eyes blazed with fire, or when her face flushed pink as she yelled at him. It was not easy to forget how close they’d been.

To hide the rather incriminating thoughts in his head, Fiearius spoke over them, feigning concern. “So just to clarify, I don’t need to worry about him dropping by to beat the shit out of me?”

Leta rolled her eyes, snorting. “Very funny. No, he ended it because of me. Something about not liking who I’ve become or something,” she muttered, and then grabbed for her beer again, rather urgently.

“Well it’s his loss,” said Fiearius fervently. Another silence unfolded as Leta drank slowly, her eyes averted. Determined to stomp it out, he asked jokingly, “So you’re single now, huh? No wonder you weren’t around yesterday. Too many dates lined up?”

He was glad to hear her laughter ring around the room. “What? No. Seriously? It’s been like a day. Although Finn has been asking me out for awhile,” she noted, sounding both amused and irritated, “so I suppose that option is on the table. For me to ignore.”

Despite himself, Fiearius laughed. “Ignore? Why? Thought you liked him.”

“I tolerate him,” Leta corrected. She looked puzzled. “What makes you think I like him?”

“You told him about the whole, y’know — “ he waved his hand vaguely at her, “dying thing. When you were sick. He knew before anyone else. I don’t mind or anything,” he added quickly. “Just figured you guys had a special bond or somethin’.”

Leta looked quite wonderfully thunderstruck. “Bond? No, no — no. No. No.” She paused, and then added, for good measure, “No. He found out I was sick only accidentally. He read a note I had lying in the infirmary that had my diagnosis on it. I didn’t tell him.” After a moment, in a much different voice, she pressed quietly, “You really thought I told Finn and not you?”

Fiearius was feeling suddenly very foolish, and particularly exposed. “Well … yeah … “

“Really?” Leta looked like she was biting back a knowing smile with difficulty.

He wanted her to stop. “Whatever, it’s not unreasonable,” he muttered, quickly draining the rest of his beer. He let out a sigh and thudded the bottle back to the counter, where it looked particularly wrong beside all the medical tools.

“You know,” he muttered, almost accusingly, “most doctors don’t give their patients alcohol.”

Leta shrugged one shoulder in a tired sort of way. “I guess I’m not most doctors.”

“Nah,” he agreed, casting her a smirk. “You’re really not.”

She smiled slightly, shaking her head. “C’mon. Let’s walk you back.”

Dripping water hollows out stone — not through force, but through persistence.

Fiearius stared at the words on the wrinkled page, completely unsure what he had just read. So he read them again. And once more. Still, nothing.

Fiearius had confessed to his brother the day before that he’d been having trouble focusing and staying in the present moment. Time was slipping away from him. His surroundings made little sense.

Cyrus hadn’t been able to conjure a real solution to the problem, but he had handed him a small red book entitled The Little Book of Ancient Wisdom. “Maybe you just need something to exercise your mind,” he’d suggested. “This should do it.”

So far, Fiearius had managed to get through about twenty pages of quotes from authors long dead and the only thing it had done was make him feel like he was back in school and failing terribly. As if he didn’t already have problems reading, the phrases seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Frustrated, he moved onto the next one which read, “Not to unlearn what you have learned is the most necessary kind of learning.”

Feeling like the book had now taken to mocking him, he snapped it shut and pushed it aside. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the pillows and looked up at the ceiling lights flickering above him.

It was quiet this morning in the infirmary. He hadn’t seen anyone since the night before when Cy had brought him dinner. Richelle had dropped off his breakfast before he woke up and he could only guess it was Finn that had come by after to rearrange the eggs into a lewd shape. But for the most part, he’d been alone. He hadn’t even seen Leta since before they’d left to Carthis nearly two days ago.

Though he couldn’t blame her. She was probably tending to Ren now that they were on Carthis. Naturally, he’d be on the backburner. But it was fine. He was getting better, wasn’t he? And besides, this wasn’t exactly the kind of place girls like her should hang out. There was no telling what could happen. Or who might saunter around the corner of the dark, shady alley, a knife in his hand and malice in his eyes.

Fiearius gripped the knife tighter and looked back at the streetlamp overhead, just barely casting a sliver of light onto his black-cloaked figure as it buzzed incessantly. Gods, it was loud. And getting louder. So loud it began to hurt his ears. But no, it wasn’t the buzzing that was filling the alley, was it? It was the scream. The scream he desperately tried to quell, clapping his hand over his mouth as he dug the knife deeper into the man’s chest.

And then it was the buzzing again. Just the buzzing as he stared down at a corpse he barely recognized, blood still pooling out below him. Fiearius glanced up to find another figure standing in the light at the end of the alley. He knew it should be Dez, but it wasn’t Dez. The figure was faceless and shouted something unintelligible.

“Jowan Tardi, age 46,” Fiearius responded without hesitation. “Knife-wound to the chest. Discovered dead in the alley behind 896 Gordy Way, October 9th, 1860.”

Behind him, a door, unattached to any wall, swung open and the clicking of shoes on pavement met his ears. Turning, he watched emptily as Leta marched towards him, her step full of purpose.

When she reached him, she put her hand on his blood-soaked arm.

“Fiearius?”

And suddenly Fiearius blinked his eyes, the nightmare came crashing down and realization flooded his senses: he was in an infirmary. On a ship. His ship, the Dionysian. Which was on Carthis. In 1861. Cold sweat touched his skin and suddenly Leta was standing beside him, her head tilted at him curiously.

For a moment, she was all pale lines and emerald green eyes. He blinked her back into focus.

“Are you alright?” Soft skin — the palm of  her hand — touched his forehead. “You look pale. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, though he didn’t brush her away until a second later.

She noticed the book at his side. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “Have you been reading?”

“Sort of,” he muttered. “Did you know water dripping is like a force of persistence?” She glanced at him, puzzled. “Yeah I didn’t get it either. By the way, this is what Cy does when you ask him to look after me for a day: gives me books with useless sayings. Possibly the first time I’ve ever missed your treatment plan.”

Leta abruptly put the book back down and looked up at him.

“Well good, because it’s back on now. It’s time to get moving again, captain.”

Fiearius raised his eyebrows, unsure if he even wanted to know what that meant.

“You’re going to walk,” said Leta briskly. “Get out of that bed and really walk. It’s been too long. Here, I even brought you some motivation.”

Leta crossed toward the counter and pulled something out of her knapsack. With a soft thud of glass meeting counter, she placed two dark bottles atop the surface in his line of vision.

Beer. She’d actually brought beer. He hadn’t been near it in over a month and he could practically feel his mouth watering.

But then his eyes moved back to Leta and eyed her skeptically. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“Yes,” Leta said bluntly. “Yes I am.”

He shook his head in disapproval, but then he noticed the particular shining, inviting label on those bottles. Thra’ki Brew, the best from Satieri.

“Hang on. How’d you know my favorite beer?”

Leta lifted her shoulders in an all-too-innocent shrug. “If you want one, all you have to do is walk from the bed, to this counter. And then you can have a beer.”

Possibly she didn’t realize how much she was asking. The wounds behind his knees had closed, but the injury was far from healed. She was asking him to scale a mountain, or move the Dionysian using only his hands. He gaped at her.

“You sure you don’t want to give me alcohol before you make me do this?”

Leta joined him at his side, grasping his arm to help him ease down. Groaning, he shifted his legs to the edge of the bed, inch by inch. Palms flat against the mattress, he gingerly lowered his bare feet onto the cold metal floor, wincing at first only at the temperature. But then pain gripped his entire bottom half and he could hardly breathe.

“This — this ain’t happenin’, kiddo,” he informed her. “Not today…”

Naturally, Leta persisted.

“I know it hurts. A lot. I can see it. But you have to do this, just a little each day, starting now. If you don’t, your gait parameters will suffer. That means when you are fully healed, you still won’t walk correctly or efficiently. And you want to be able to run again, don’t you?” she said earnestly. “And strut and swagger around like you used to? And dance with women in bars? And sprint off to escape in the Dionysian?”

Fiearius stared at her. Her shining eyes were so sincerely hopeful in this moment, it was almost hard to look at her. “You are a cruel monster, you know that?” he growled, before readying himself to try again. As he started to lower himself once more, he sighed, “The things I’ll do for a beer…”

Leta caught his forearm, her fingers closing around his tightly just as his feet found the floor.

“One hundred kilometers away,” Finn shouted over his shoulder at Cyrus. “Ninety. It’s comin’ in fast, Cy.”

“I know! Just keep giving me its location!” Cyrus snapped as he dug through a mess of wires in the darkness — all the overhead lights had shut off, plunging them into shadow. The life support still hummed quietly, but the alarms had all gone silent. The room had filled with nothing but nervous anticipation and Cyrus’ own heart racing as fast as it ever had. And occasionally, the sound of Finn’s voice.

“Eighty,” he read off, jerking his knee up and down in anxiety. “It’s the Imperium. Heading up our starboard side.”

“Shit,” Cyrus growled and added quietly, “Well at least they’re not firing anymore…”

“Yeah, because we’re not moving!” Finn pointed out. “Sixty,” he read as Cyrus fumbled with a connector. “Cy, it’s closing in. What the hell are ya doing? We’re sitting ducks.”

“Just one more minute,” Cyrus grunted, ripping one of the wires out of the panel and tossing it over his shoulder.

Finn watched the trajectory of the wire in mild horror. “Are ya sure we don’t need that?”

“Location!” Cyrus growled again.

“Thirty,” Finn answered obediently.  “One shot at this range? We’re gone. I don’t know what you’re planning, but — ”

“Just tell me where it is.”

“–we don’t have a lot of time–”

“Where is it?”

Finn didn’t respond. The whole bridge went quiet. So Cyrus asked again, “Where is it?!”

“Take a look.”

Frustrated and panicked as he was, Cyrus spared one glance toward his pilot and then froze in horror. Just outside the bay window was the shimmering black mass of a ship, a silver librera emblazoned across its bow. It seemed to be staring straight at them, entirely still, just waiting for them to make their move.

“Not to rush ya or anything but…” Finn prompted quietly, but Cyrus was stunned in place. What the hell was it doing? If the ship was hailing them, they’d never know with the COMM line disconnected. But he got the strangest feeling it had no interest in contacting them. He got the sensation that it was sizing them up. Just watching to see what they’d do.

And then suddenly it wasn’t. Two weapons ports opened up on either side and started to beam with light as they loaded up.

“Never mind, now I’m rushing you!” Finn yelped, shaking the controls desperately to no response. “Cyrus!”

Cyrus didn’t bother to respond. He practically fell back into the electrical panel and went straight for the piloting controls, jamming the wire back into its place. It wasn’t quite ready, but–

“Go! Now!” he shouted as the screens beneath Finn’s fingers switched back on.

“Fucking finally!” he yelled, shoving the ship forward just as those lights came barreling towards them.

The black ship disappeared out of view above them as the Beacon shot downward away from it, faster and faster. The inside of the cabin started to shake violently, the clatter almost deafening.

“They’re locking on again!” Finn warned.

“Just keep hitting the main thrust!” Cyrus shouted over the racket, stumbling over to the nav console and tumbling into the seat where he splayed himself out in relief. “We’ll be out of range soon.”

“Out of range?” Finn repeated incredulously, “How fast are we–” His eyes dropped briefly to the screen beside him. “Holy shit. Two hundred kilometers. Two fifty. Three?! How did you–”

“Well I siphoned all the ship’s power into the engine’s backup generator to overload the –” Cyrus started to explain, but Finn cut him off.

“Never mind, I don’t care,” he sighed in exhaustion, leaning back in his seat. “Just glad it worked. Y’know, Cy,” he mused, “you could give Fiear a real run for his money.”

“If he ever gets back on his feet, I’ll be sure to tell him you said so,” he grumbled as he tiredly swiped his hand across the nav console before him. “For now, let’s just get to Carthis.”

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

Snowflakes drifted slowly from the night sky, like falling ashes. Leta stood on the frozen ground beside the Beacon’s ramp, letting the frigid breeze pass through her limbs. The cold almost felt good — refreshing — after ten hours of urgent travel. But they’d made it: the Society ships had not followed them here.

“So this is Carthis,” said Ren at her side, breaking the stony silence. His breath turned cloudy in the air. Leta could feel his eyes on her. “And this is — what? Goodbye then?”

“Something like that,” Leta muttered. Her voice was hoarse and scratchy. “For a little while.”

Below the docks, a mile into the city and through the Carthian gates, were the rehabilitation facilities. Corra and Finn would take him there without her.

“I’d come with you,” she reminded quietly, “if I could.”

“I know.” Somehow, Ren almost smiled. “I know you would. But it’s better if you don’t.”

A heavy laugh escaped her lips. “Better for who?”

“Both of us. I need to get well, or so you keep telling me. But especially — especially for you. You’ve got a life put together now, one that doesn’t involve hunting me down. So I won’t take your time from you anymore. And I — if you’re at peace with all this,  then — “

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Leta knotted her scarf between her hands, then released it. “This? Us.”

He went quiet for several seconds, which Leta had to interpret as a yes.

Surprisingly, she did not feel loss plunge through her, nor grief. What she felt was tired — like she could lay down on the ground and sleep right there.

“I wish,” he murmured, “that I could make things right between us.” He took a step closer in the snow and grasped her wrist. “Because you did — you saved my life. You saved my life and I don’t know how to repay you.”

Leta could think of nothing to say. Exhaustion was tugging at her eyes.

“Just get better,” she managed at last, looking up. “Alright? Get better, so we can at least see one another.”

Behind her, she heard dueling footsteps: Finn and Corra were coming down the ramp, both of them ready to leave with Ren. Corra leaned in and whispered, “You okay, chika?” as she walked past.

“I think so,” Leta heard herself reply, as if the words were not her own, but she knew them to be true somehow. “I think I am, actually.”

“It’s a short walk,” said Finn, turning his wrist over and glancing at his watch. “Shouldn’t be long, and we’ll let you know when we get there, alright?”

Ren squeezed her hand for several more seconds, then locked his gaze with hers and nodded as he walked backwards a few step. Leta’s eyes were dry as she watched him turn and fall into step with Corra and Finn, disappearing down the path, out of view.

Leta darted down the stairs of the Dionysian. Overhead, deckhands pounded the floor, running around frantically in preparation for take-off, but she went straight to her quarters, stricken with worry at what was next.

Inside, Ren was pacing the floor.

“What’ve you been doing?” she demanded at once, breathless and angry as she flew into the room. “You didn’t do anything else did you?”

“What do you mean?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. This was the expression he wore when, in their old life, they got into debates: he would try to run over her emotions with logic.

“Leta,” he went on calmly, almost scolding her, “I was helping — “

Leta could not keep her voice down. “By contacting the people who want us dead?!”

With a growl in her throat, she turned on her heel and marched back into the hallway, hardly able to look at him any longer. It wasn’t his fault he was unwell, she knew that, but the sight of his mildly puzzled, concerned expression — like she was a misbehaving child — was infuriating.

She started down the hallway and he followed behind, spouting questions in an impatient voice.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “Tell me, where — “

Leta was actually going to the infirmary to check on Fiearius, but Ren didn’t need to know that. “We’re going to get you help,” she said. “The ship’s taking off right now, we’re leaving to get you help.”

“Help? I don’t need help!” He stepped forward and grasped her wrist. “Leta, you just need to listen to me. For once. You need to trust me.”

“Trust you?” Leta repeated, slowing to a halt. “How can I? After what they did to you? After all this time?”

“Leta, I’m the same as I’ve always been.” He laughed sadly, once. “It’s you. I hardly know you.”

In the dim light of the hallway, Leta searched over his face in disbelief, hardly able to grasp his words. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what he even meant.

Quickly, she stepped back and withdrew her arm and steered herself toward the staircase.

Ren started to yell her name, but he was drowned out: suddenly, the metal walls shook violently, the floor slanted sideways and terrified yells filled the ship.

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

“I guess they weren’t bluffing!” shouted Finn over the blaring alarms. Bright red emergency lights flooded the room and the whole cabin was shaking. The black of space was flying past the window.

“So, just how bad are we?” Finn called to Corra who stood shakily over the stats console, her eyes wide.

“What?!” Corra cried, baffled by the flashing screen before her eyes. “I don’t know how to–what does this–?!”

At once, Cyrus was at her side, grasping onto the edge of the console for dear life and peering down at the flashing diagram. “Minor hull breach on Deck G!” he shouted out, scanning through the diagnostics screens. “Just auxiliary controls. We’re okay!”

“For now,” Finn told him. “They’re readying another shot.”

“Can you scatter their lock-on?”

“Tryin’!” Finn jerked the controls sideways.

As the ship began to shudder louder and Cyrus could feel the sway from Finn’s erratic maneuvers, he turned to Corra who looked both terrified and desperate to act. Cyrus was more than happy to provide her a solution. “Get down to the lower decks. Check on the crew. Get everyone onto the Dionysian and seal her off. Just in case.”

She gave a quick nod and fled from the room. She had only been gone a second when suddenly the ship shook violently again. Finn cursed from the pilot’s seat, but Cyrus’ eyes went straight to the diagnostics. “Just a scratch!” he called. “No breach. Keep it up.”

Finn let out a rather tortured laugh. “Oh-ho, you say that like it’s easy.”

Cyrus responded with a tired smirk of his own, but this was no time for laughing. He glanced down at the radar. All three ships were closing in. The Beacon was fast, but if they kept taking damage, she wouldn’t be fast for long.

The ship shuddered again as a burst of white light flew past the bay window and kept flying out into the endless black before them.

“Little close for comfort!” Finn called, his voice straining with hysteria. “Say, you don’t have any genius ideas on how we’re gettin’ outta this do ya? Sure would be nice right about now…”

Cyrus paced the floor. He knew about this ship. It was an older model than those he’d worked on, sure, but he’d studied vessels just like this. He knew this ship. He knew he could solve this. He had to.

“Weapons!” he said at once, pulling his hands from his hair. “She’s gotta have some weapons on her. We can fire back.”

Finn released one hand on the controls for but a moment to tap a command onto a nearby console. “We surely can’t. Weapons, Deck G…” he grumbled and then let out a yelp, seizing the controls once more as another blast narrowly missed contact.

Growling at himself, Cyrus dug his hand frustratedly in his hair. “Can we pull a slingshot? To lose them?”

“A full turnaround?! In a beast this size?” Finn laughed again, loud and humorless. “Cy, come on — “

“No, no, no,” Cyrus snapped at himself, ramming his palm into his temple. He could do this. He could figure this out. It was right on the edge of his vision, he just needed to hurry up.

The ship made a sudden lurch and the alarms overhead got louder.

“Cyrus!” Finn shouted.

Maybe it was the jolt or the panic or perhaps just desperation setting in, but suddenly it clicked.

“I’ve got it!” he cried, darting towards an electrical panel at the side of the bridge. “She’s got a 8000B series core,” he explained as he ripped open the panel. It was a mess of colors, barely organized into their respective categories. Whoever had been in here last had left it in disarray. But disarray was something Cyrus was more than familiar with. He started digging through them. “They’re perfect for manual re-routing. I built the Antigua off an 8000B base.” Unceremoniously, he ripped a wire from its socket.

“No offense, Cy,” Finn called through gritted teeth, “But right now I really don’t ca–Uh…we’re slowing down!”

“I know,” Cyrus called back, disconnecting another set of wires.

The pilot consoles in front of Finn shut down instantly. “Uh…Cyrus–” he began.

“I know!” he said again, snipping one last set before glancing over his shoulder. “Just hang on. And get ready.”

– – – – – – – – – – – –

“Look, we don’t have time for this, okay?” Leta growled through gritted teeth as she stormed up the stairs, Ren on her heels. She had to make sure Fiearius was alright and then she had to head to the bridge, but Ren was proving himself sharper and more forceful than he had in a month. It was a shame he’d picked this moment to truly come alive and argue with her; she would have welcomed the liveliness otherwise.

But instead —

“How about you talk with me, Leta?” he called after her, yelling over the noise of the trembling ship — it hadn’t stopped shaking since the first hit. “Okay? Talk with me instead of, say, Fiearius, for once — “

At that, Leta spun around. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she cried, but then, her voice faltered weakly: perhaps she didn’t want to know what he meant by that, either. Her expression fell toward despair and she turned forward again, but Ren was far from done.

“You won’t tell me a damn thing about what’s going on, but you sure seem fine talking to everyone else on this ship. How about you clue me in? Instead of treating me like a mental patient.”

Leta couldn’t help the words that flew through her mind: but that’s what you are.

Finally clapping a hand over her eyes, she stopped in place. “What, Ren?” she breathed. “What do you want?”

He halted, studying her face harshly through the shadowy darkness and noise. “I want to know,” he muttered, “what’s happened to you. You keep saying I’m different. But you — “

“What do you mean?” asked Leta sharply. “What, just because I don’t buy the Society bullshit now?”

“No. Not that.” He shook his head, looking pained as he steadied his voice, eerily calm. “Leta. Look at yourself. You live on a ship that earns livelihood from stealing from the poor. You let all your friends on Vescent think you were killed or dead. You keep guns under your bed — ” He exhaled sharply, “ — and I know you’ve — gods, I don’t want it to be true, but I know you must’ve killed — “

He broke off, shaking his head. “I never asked you to do this for me. Any of it. I’d never want you to kill for me. Gods, when I heard you were on a pirate ship, I worried about you being hurt. I never worried you’d become one of them.” Pity filled his eyes. And he wasn’t finished. “And that captain,” he said softly, “that you seem to admire so much, that you risked your own life for, can’t you see that he’s a cold-blooded m — “

“Enough!” Leta gasped, pressing her palms into her eyes. It felt like she was being assaulted on all fronts. “Enough, Ren!”

The hallway went quiet, save for the rattling of metal pipes overhead.

“See? You’ve changed,” said Ren quietly, accusation sharp in his voice, “and you can’t even see it.”

Leta pulled her hands away from her face, anger boiling beneath her skin.

“I spent the last year,” she breathed, “doing what I needed to do to survive. That means I made a lot of difficult choices. Alright?”

“It’s not alright.” Ren looked positively startled, as if the sight of her alone alarmed him. “I don’t know who you are anymore. And I don’t like who you’ve become.”

The words went through her like a knife. But then her defenses rose.

“Well this is who I am now,” Leta snapped, “like it or not, so maybe we’re just wasting our time, thinking this can still work between us.”

Ren lifted his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t considered the idea until now, but found it mildly interesting.

“I think maybe we are.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Before Cyrus could think of an answer — what could he possibly say? — a voice overhead stole their attention.

“Heya, Corra and interim-cap’n.”

It was Finn, on the catwalk above, leaning his arms on the railing. “Quick question,” he said casually, in a voice that indicated he had no idea he’d interrupted a serious conversation. Brightly, he asked, “How close are we to raising enough to get off this dump of a planet?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes and went back to organizing his tools. “Well, I’m about to go offer discount engine tune-ups to the other docked ships. If that gives you any idea…”

Finn looked amused. “So we’re in pretty bad shape then eh.”

“Even if could leave, I’m not sure where we’d go,” Cyrus went on, more to himself than anyone else as he distractedly dropped another wrench in the box. “Not unless Fiearius suddenly gets any bright ideas … “

“Hey, it could happen,” Corra put in, forcing cheer into her voice.

“She’s right,” Finn remarked as he started down the staircase, dragging his hand down the railing. “Any minute now, I bet, he’s gonna start shouting orders out to the lot of us.”

Cyrus glanced toward the open ramp door. He wasn’t sure he could stomach another conversation about Fiearius. “Yeah if he ever remembers how to open his mouth, sure,” he muttered, turning for the ramp — but it was then that Leta’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

“He already did.”

All eyes in the room turned to the other door just as Leta stepped through it, looking her usual pale, tired self — but with more energy in her step. A tentative smile passed her lips, and her eyes were brighter. Something, it seemed, had happened.

“I just talked to Fiearius,” she clarified.

Cyrus’ jaw slackened in shock. “He spoke? How’d you do it?”

“Of course it’d be the pretty doctor who got him to talk,” Finn scoffed. “Fiear is so predictable.”

Leta glanced at Finn but chose to ignore the comment. “He’s even starting to sound like himself again, here and there. He’s getting there. He made real progress today. I’m — well, I’m hopeful.”

It was as if everyone exhaled in relief, all at once. Corra beamed and clapped her hands to her face. Cyrus, for one, could barely speak.

For the last month, it was as if Fiearius had never left that cell on Satieri. He was so vacant, so absent, that Cyrus was trying to familiarize himself with the fact that might never get his brother back.

So to hear from his own physician’s mouth that there was finally, at long last, a change, that things could get back to normal, that there was an end in sight? It was more than Cyrus could hardly believe.

“Well,” said Finn suddenly, “that makes this a whole lot easier then. ‘Cause earlier today I got news from Carthis.”

At once, Leta’s eyes lit up. “You did?” she asked, going so quickly towards him that he took a step back in alarm. “What’d they say about Ren? Will they help him?”

In all the commotion, Cyrus had nearly forgotten that Finn was contacting his old friends in the military. To be certain, the Carthian forces were enemies of their enemies — but how charitable were they, really?

“I have good news and I have bad news,” Finn went on, a lopsided smirk on his face. “The good news is that they’re willing to help.” Apparently unable to stop herself, Leta stepped towards him again, her eyes widening. Corra too took in a pleasant gasp.

Cyrus, however, was skeptical. “And the bad?”

“The bad,” said Finn, “is that they want nothing to do with the Dionysian.”

Leta flared up at once.  “What?! They won’t help the Dionysian, or they won’t help Ren? Then how — “

Finn held up a hand. “Hang on a second, doc. Carthis ain’t no friend to the Society, hell, they’ve been fightin’ since they seceded centuries back, but that don’t mean they wanna give ‘em reason to start an all-out war.” He tilted his head at Leta. “Takin’ in high profile fugitives? Needless to say, Carthis ain’t willing to risk it…”

“So what can we do?” Corra asked.

But it was Cyrus who answered. “Don’t send the fugitives.”

Finn smirked and pointed at him. “My thoughts exactly. You all stay here. I’m not popular with Carthis but I’m no fugitive. I can just take Ren to Carthis on the Beacon and get him the help he needs. In the meantime, keep the Dionysian here ‘til fugitive number one,” he jabbed his thumb in the direction of the infirmary, “can get back on his feet.”

“So you’ll — you’ll go with Ren?” said Leta tentatively, as if trying this idea on for size. She looked tremendously uneasy. “Finn, that’s incredibly generous of you, but I don’t know if I can just give Ren over to another institution I don’t even know if I can trust.”

“I’ll go too,” Corra said suddenly, reaching out and taking Leta’s hand. “The Society doesn’t want me. Carthis won’t care if I’m there. I’ll go and I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure everything’s okay.”

Leta squeezed Corra’s hand. At long last, she nodded.

“Alright,” Cyrus said at last, slamming the toolbox shut and heaving it off the crate. “Finn and Corra take Ren to Carthis. The rest of us,” he glanced as Leta with a grimace, “Keep doing what we’re doing I guess.” Taking a deep breath, he nodded slowly. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Then we can ready the Beacon to leave.”

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

After the conversation broke up, Leta headed down the hallway toward her room, her mind buzzing. She couldn’t really send Ren to Carthis, could she? Without her? But then again, that might have been the only way he’d ever get the treatment he needed …

Steeped in worry, Leta eased open the hatch to her room and slipped inside, unsurprised to find Ren sitting on her bed, flipping through yet another book. In between meals in the mess hall, he always stayed here. It was odd: the Ren she remembered from home was social, lively, much more extroverted. The Ren she remembered would have been in the crew lounge, laughing, talking, making friends with everyone aboard.

But this version of Ren simply looked up at her blankly.

“Hey,” she sighed, stopping in place, “I need to talk to you about som — “

But before she could finish, Ren did something he hadn’t done once since Vescent: he pushed himself up to his feet, letting the book fall from his lap. Then he took a step forward, and then another step forward, and lifted his arms to hug her waist gently.

At first, as his arms went around her, Leta was too startled to move: this was the most physical they’d been since he was kidnapped. Her heart raced with anticipation and worry, until at last she softened against him, her arms wrapping around his back, her mouth against his shoulder. They fit just as well as she remembered.

Except Ren, she noticed, was tense. He stood stiff as a board. Still, he hadn’t spoken.

“You okay?” she said quietly in his ear, pulling back to look at him. His eyes shifted worriedly over her face.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He stepped back fully, his eyes widening. “Leta, I did something that will make you upset. But I had to. I had to do it. Okay?”

He began to pace the small space of her room, knotting a hand in his hair.

“You had to do what, Ren?” Leta pressed. “What happened?”

“I — you have to understand,” he pleaded. He grasped her hands a moment, then dropped them quickly. “You have to understand why I did it. Okay?”

He dropped onto the edge of the bed in defeat. Perplexed, Leta shook her head and lowered to sit beside him. “What did you do?”

“I contacted them,” he confessed, his voice heavy with regret. “I didn’t mean to, but I had to. I felt like I had to, like it was my job. I — I contacted the Society. I told them where we are.”