“Ah, no,” Corra answered. “I mean yes, I was, but he’s not, see I have–we have–our own ship now and–”

But Quin had already moved on and was now admiring Finn, looking him up and down as one might examine a slice of meat they were about to purchase from a butcher. “Well aren’t you a tall drink of water,” she cooed affectionately. She brought a hand to his cheek. Finn did not seem perturbed.

“Your face looks familiar. We met before?”

“I’ve known Fiear for years, yeah.”

“No no no, not that.” She patted his face, twice. “It’s somethin’ else. What’d you say your name was?”

“Finnegan Riley.”

“Riley?” she repeated. “That’s right. Riley. I’d know those eyes anywhere.” She turned away and directed herself toward the bar in the corner of the room. “Can’t say I’m too fond of your father, Riley,” she said over her shoulder as she poured herself a refill from a crystal decanter.

Finn grinned. “Can’t say I am either, ma’am.”

Suddenly, Quin froze. “I ain’t no ‘ma’am’,” she said so coldly that Corra thought they were about to be kicked from the room.

But whether it was out of mercy or interest, the storm left as quickly as it had come and Quin gestured to the second sofa. “Get in here, you two. Have a seat. Tell me what I can do for ya.”

Terribly relieved, Corra did as she was told. She sunk into the couch as Quin leaned back on hers gracefully, stirring her drink and not looking at them.

“Well,” Corra began, as confidently as she could, “We were hoping to talk to you about those Society frigates we helped you steal.”

Quin paused her stirring and glanced up at her, raising a brow high on her forehead. “Look, sweetie, those arrangements were signed and sealed. You don’t feel you got your fair share, you take it to Soliveré, not me.”

“No, no it’s not that,” said Corra quickly. “We were just hoping to buy one from you.”

Without missing a beat, Quin asked, “Why?” so sharply, that Corra was taken aback. Unconsciously, she looked to Finn for help. But Quin went on. “You just said you had your own ship. Why you think you need one of mine?”

“Nah, we don’t need it,” said Finn, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “The thing is — “

“Someone else wants it,” Quin guessed, cutting over him. “Someone else sent you here to buy it for them.”

Finn grinned slowly. “What makes you think that?”

“‘Cause you two been workin’ for Callahan and he’s been tryin’ to get one of those frigates all week,” she said bluntly. Even Finn went quiet with shock.

Quin, however, looked amused. “What? You don’t think I know what goes on in my city? Who’s doin’ business with who?” She sighed and shook her head before taking a sip of her drink. “Got a lot to learn, the both of ya.”

“That, I agree with,” said Finn. “Yeah, we’re here on behalf of Callahan to negotiate for the freighter.”

But she just shook her head. “Already told him I wasn’t interested.”

“But he’s willing to pay,” Corra pleaded. “Really well.”

“I want nothin’ to do with that man’s dirty money,” Quin growled, rolling her eyes.

“There’s something we can do to change your mind.”

“Sure ain’t,” she said shortly.

Corra felt her heart sinking. Every time they got one step forward there was something else standing in their way. But this time, she wasn’t willing to let it go. This time, she was going to fight.

“Please,” she begged suddenly, emotion pouring into her voice. “Please, you may not need his money, but we do. Our crew hasn’t been paid, our rations are running low, and if we can’t make this work, our ship’ll be grounded for good.” Her voice was cracking and she was doing her best to make water form in her eyes as she added, perhaps a little desperately, “He might even kill us if we fail.”

For a long moment, Quin was silent, watching Corra with the fascination of a woman watching an exotic creature she’d never seen before. Seriously? Corra thought, wiping the crocodile tears from her eyes. She was that heartless?

But finally, a smile formed on her face and a chuckle rolled from her throat. “Mighty convincing, sweetheart,” she congratulated. “I woulda left off that lie at the end, but you got some real talent there. Not my style, but it could do ya some good down the road.”

Corra smiled up at her and Finn asked, “Could it do her some good now?”

Quin laughed heartily and reached forward to pour two more drinks. Only when they had each taken theirs and taken a sip did she finally answer, “I like you two. You got spirit. Been a while since I’ve seen any of that around here.” She looked between the two of them and sighed. “Alright. I’ll sell that scumbag his ship.” Corra couldn’t stop the grin spreading over her face.

“But,” Quin added suddenly, “Only if you do me a favor first.”

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

It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. Fiearius sat beside Leta on the bed as she searched through the tablet in her hands. He’d flashed his Verdant chip to access the Society’s database and then sat back to let her read in privacy. She hadn’t said a word since. Her eyes just scanned the screen diligently, her eyes cold and her body still and slowly he’d become more and more worried of what it was exactly that she had found.

When Leta spoke at last, she sounded positively numb with shock, like moving her lips was an effort.

“Ella May-Adler,” she mumbled, her eyes on the screen. “Age 45. Director of the Department of Biology at Carmen University, Fall’s End, Vescent. Wife to Tritius Adler. Mother of Leta Ella Adler. Deemed a potential liability by the Vescentian Department of Internal Affairs on November 22, 1848.  Solution carried out by 2nd Division Agent Cartier November 25, 1848 by way of administering toxic substance … time of death, 10:02 PM.”

Fiearius felt his insides clench. He flicked his eyes at the screen, then up to Leta’s face. Her expression was empty.

“So it’s true. They had her killed.” She seemed frozen. Unmoving. Fiearius gently took the tablet from her hands, setting it out of sight. Then he pulled her hands into his.

“Why?” Her voice was hoarse with tears. “I can’t see why they would hurt her. She was such a good person. A teacher. How could she be a potential liability? I don’t even think she was involved in their politics. Why would they?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, tightening his hold on both of her wrists. Tears slid down her face, her eyes distant and out of focus. He’d never seen Leta look so lost.

“This whole time, I thought … “

Fiearius drew her in just as her face twisted with grief. She sank against his chest, her forehead against his neck while his arms wrapped around her. He pressed his lips into her hairline. He could think of nothing to say – no words seemed worthwhile.

But it was Leta who broke the silence. She lifted her head and spoke hoarsely, but burning with more determination than he’d ever heard.

“We have to get back at them, Fiear.” She shifted in his arms. “We have to.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Actually. There’s something else. Something he said. That was…weird.”

Leta frowned.

“You should sit down,” he heard himself mumble. He put his hand on the curve of her shoulder and joined her on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t really know what this means,” he went on, trying to meet her gaze, which was boring straight into his face. “And I don’t know if it’s true, but I think you should hear it. Despite your father thinking otherwise.” His inhaled a deep breath. “He said he would never work for the Society again. Not after what they’ve threatened to do to you. And…what they did to your mother.”

Silence descended between them. Then Leta gave a horrible, sharp laugh. “What? My mom?”

“That’s…what he said, yeah,” he went on quietly. “I don’t — “

“He said something happened to my mom?” Her voice gave one definite shake. “But that’s not true. It was an accident, that’s how she died.”

“I–I’m not a hundred percent sure of anything, alright? All I know is that he said… “

Leta’s eyes were round and hollow. “That the Society killed her.”

Fiearius shut his mouth tightly. He didn’t have an answer to give.

Then Leta jumped to her feet. “And my dad never told me?” she breathed, her voice panicky as she wrung her hands together. “I can’t believe he — “

“I’m sure he was just trying to protect you.”

Leta spun around, throwing him an ice-cold glare that cut straight through his chest. “Don’t. Don’t defend him. Don’t — “

“I’m not,” he vowed quietly. “Trust me on that. I’m not.”

Leta shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Fiear. This can’t be true. She took the wrong meds is all. There was an autopsy … “

At a Society hospital, Fiearius guessed silently.

Leta seemed to be thinking along the same lines. In a trembling voice, she spit out, “I don’t believe it, I can’t believe this,” and turned back to him, full of questioning.

“Did they really kill her?”

Fiearius stood slowly up to his feet and hazarded a step closer to her, his hand slipping to hold her waist. He could feel her shaking.

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “But if you want … we can find out.”

– – – – – — – – – – — – – – – –

The capital city of Archeti was just as miserable as Corra remembered. Sagging houses, overgrown brown lawns, and sticky humidity thickening the air. Corra walked alongside Finn, kicking aside gravel as they passed rows of rotting porches. Home sweet home, Finn had said cheerfully when they’d arrived.

They’d landed this morning to meet with Callahan. The meeting had gone about as well as she could have hoped for.

She knew Callahan thought nothing of her. Callahan thought Finn owned her. So while they had discussed their next job, Corra had refused to break eye contact, refused to let him think he (or Finn) had power over her. As often as Callahan’s words still burned in the back of her mind, she was determined now. She would prove him wrong.

In spite of it all, Callahan had been quick to reward the Beacon’s captains and offer them another job. A local one this time. Word had gotten out that a nearby Genisian gang lord had acquired a few Satieran frigates. And that Corra and Finn were acquainted with her.

“I want one of those ships,” Callahan had said, leaning back in his barstool. “Do you know how hard it is to get your hands on one of those?” He cast a bemused glance at Corra and she stared back solemnly. Little did he know that she had actually been involved in Quin getting her hands on those.

“I want one,” he said again. “And I’m willing to pay well.”

“Alright, sure,” Finn had said, relaxed and casual as always. “But why ya want us involved? Quin lives on the other side of the city. Why not go straight to her?”

“Unfortunately Ms. Utada and I don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Callahan mused, lifting his drink to his lips and looking up toward the ceiling. “She’s refused to meet with me. But you,” he looked back to Finn and Corra, “have some friends in common, do you not? Go to her. Convince her to make the trade with me. Do whatever it takes. And there’ll be more of that,” he gestured to the case of credits he’d just handed them for the last job, “headed your way.”

That was something that the Beacon couldn’t afford to say no to. So as low of a job as it was, they had accepted and now they were crossing town to pay a visit to Quinida Utada. Not that Corra minded. She’d always rather liked the woman, powerful and intimidating as she was. She had no idea if Quin felt the same.

“Y’think she’s gonna agree to this?” she asked Finn skeptically as she turned the corner, directing them toward Quin’s crumbling apartment building. “If she really doesn’t like Callahan that much? It’s not like we have that much sway with her. She may not even remember us.”

“Who could forget this face?” Finn scoffed, to which Corra snorted.

“A powerful Genisian gang lord, that’s who.”

“Yeah, but who your friends are say a lot about you. Utada trusts Fiear, Fiear trusts us. She’ll agree to hand over the ship.”

Corra had to shake her head in disbelief. “Who knew putting up with Fiearius for four years would be an asset to offer?”

“Hey.” Finn arched his eyebrows at her. His look was warm and inviting. “That’s not the only asset you have to offer.”

Corra couldn’t help it: she whacked him on the arm, but she laughed, too. Leave it to Finn to bring that up in such an elegant way. In fact, they hadn’t mentioned their tryst at all since that night. After it happened, Finn had gathered his clothes, kissed her on the cheek and left. He hadn’t even stayed the night. Exactly how she preferred it.

“I thought we agreed we aren’t bringing that up again,” she pointed out.

“You said I can’t bring it up in front of other people.”

“Right.” Corra slowed to a halt outside of Quin’s building. “And particularly not clients.”

“Never.”

“Good,” she decided promptly. She straightened herself up with importance. “Let’s at least try to be professional here.”

For one full second, they managed composure. Then they caught eyes and they snorted laughter. Professional. Right.

Minutes later, they crested the stair to the top floor of Quin’s building. As they passed through the door, two broad-shouldered men were leaving with their eyes down. Both of them were nursing bloody noses.

Corra exchanged a look of mild alarm with Finn. Well, hopefully Quin would feel more generous toward them …

Inside, Quin was lounging on her sofa, drinking from a clear martini glass and looking disinterested. Nearby, Aeneas  — her assistant — was wiping the blood off his hands. Corra knocked on the door. When neither of them looked up, Corra ventured, “Um–Ms. Utada? Is–is this a bad time?”

Quin lifted her eyes slowly. For one horrible moment, she gazed at them with absolutely no recognition in her face. Aeneas lowered the cloth from his hands and eyed them readily.

But finally — thank god —

“Oh I know you,” said Quin, standing and walking towards them. A smile was coming to her face. Despite being no taller than Corra, her presence was nearly toppling. Aeneas relaxed in the background. “You’re one of Soliveré’s, aren’t you? He back here already?”

“If I can track your ship, so can anyone else.” Adler put his drink down with a heavy thud. “And as of now there are new threats. I don’t care how clever you think you are with your ‘tactics’ — you’re putting Leta in danger.”

“Well sorry, buddy, but we needed fuel. And this port was the safest bet, all there is to it. Don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“Not leave her wandering alone, for a start.”

“She can take care of herself, y’know. She knows how to use a gun. She doesn’t need me nor want me to babysit her.”

“No one’s doubting her abilities,” Adler snapped, his gaze thinning dangerously.

Fiearius frowned. Well, he couldn’t exactly expect Leta’s father to like him, but even this felt unfair.

“So what’s your deal anyway?” he asked suddenly, veering the conversation away from how incompetent he apparently was. “Last I heard, you were helping bust me out of HQ in Paradiex. Which I suppose I should thank you for, by the way.”

“Don’t fool yourself.” Adler nearly smiled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I never assumed otherwise,” Fiearius muttered. “Still — that’s an act of high treason. Yet I know there’s a nice thick librera somewhere under that suit that cost more than my ship. So tell me. Whose side are you on anyway?”

Adler glanced at him in annoyance, as if he were a pesky fly. “No one’s side.”

A generic answer, and not one Fiearius found satisfying. “I don’t buy that. If you were at all loyal to them still,” he muttered, “wouldn’t you have just turned around and given me back to the Council again? I’m sure I’d be a nice bargaining chip in getting your daughter out of their minds.”

To Fiearius’ shock, Adler said simply, “Yes, I’ve attempted making that deal. You for her safety. The Council wasn’t interested in the negotiation.”

Somewhat stunned, Fiearius moved his eyes away. “Okay. I stand corrected. I guess you are still with them…”

With a snarl in his voice, Adler said, “I would never work for the Society again. Ever. Not after what they’ve done to my wife and threatened to do to my daughter.”

The comment was so swift and biting, Fiearius almost missed it. Almost. After a moment, he swung his eyes back to him.  “Hang on — your wife?”

But Adler had gone suspiciously quiet. He was holding his glass near his lips — it was shaking slightly in his hand.

Meanwhile, Fiearius was stunned. Leta had told him her mother had died when she was sixteen. Of an accidental overdose. Mixed medications. A mistake. A tragic mistake. But now —

“The Society killed her?” Fiearius breathed, hoping to the gods this was untrue.

But to Fiearius’ horror, Adler muttered, “You can’t tell her,” and downed the rest of his glass and swallowed. It occurred to Fiearius, suddenly, that this man must have had a drinking problem. How else could he bear to keep secrets like this from his daughter?

“Leta doesn’t know,” he muttered darkly. “She doesn’t need to. Don’t tell her a goddamn thing about it — “

“No way. I’m not going to be the one who keeps secrets like that from her.”

“I’m certain you keep plenty from her. Just add this to the list. This is for her own good. Her own well-being — “

Fiearius opened his mouth, angry and prepared to argue, but a voice arrived in his ear. It was Cyrus over the COMM.

“Hey,” said Cyrus, his voice coming in over the static. Fiearius touched the piece in his ear, annoyed by the interruption.

“So. I’m in this store. And this woman came up to me and started talking to me about ships and–”

“Cy, aren’t you a little old to be asking for flirting advice?” Fiearius growled. He could feel Adler watching him closely.

“No no no, it wasn’t that — “ Cyrus went on. “No, she started asking me questions. Weird questions.” He hesitated. “About Leta.”

Fiearius’ eyes widened and at once, he looked to Adler. They met each others’ stares for only a moment, both understanding exactly what needed to be done: find Leta. And quickly.

Adler only paused to slide a stack of credits onto the countertop before he too stalked from his seat and the two of them fled for the door. Without even speaking, they headed their separate ways: they’d cover more ground that way.

As he ran down the hallway, he pushed his COMM. “Cy. What did she look like?”

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

It wasn’t exactly her favorite errand, but anything to help Amora, Leta thought, as she stood in the aisle of a grocery store, regarding a mammoth-sized wall of canned goods. Hopefully, volunteering for the re-stocking job would prevent Amora from asking more nosey questions about her love life. (“You don’t actually like the captain, do you, dear?” she inquired worriedly that morning over breakfast.)

Just as Leta picked a can from the shelf, a friendly voice chimed in her ear.

“I’d go with the blue label,” said the woman behind her, tilting her head to the side. Her auburn ponytail swung sideways in a friendly kind of way. “Doesn’t spoil as quick.”

“Oh — really?” said Leta warmly. “I don’t know anything about cooking. So thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Leta piled a few cans in her arm, and the woman continued.

“Sure as hell, keeping food stocked is a problem we all face out here, huh? Ain’t easy to make it to port that often.”

“No, it’s really not,” Leta agreed, and she was just leaving the aisle when she sensed the woman following on her heels.

“You been a spacefarer long?”

Leta spared her a short, sideways look. “Not long, no.”

“It  took me a long time to get used to the food,” the woman laughed. “That, more than anything. You miss bein’ on-planet?”

The woman was still following at her side. Her warning instincts were kicking in, so Leta purposely veered toward the front, the busier part of the store.

In an indifferent voice, she said, “Sometimes.”

“I miss it every day,” the woman went on, unphased. “The food, the stability, all of it … “ Suddenly, she stepped forward and cut in front of Leta, her eyes gazing hard onto her face. “But — duty calls.”

Leta stopped short, suddenly on guard.

The woman’s hand moved to her hip — to retrieve a weapon? —  but then, a tremendous crash filled the store. In a flash, a bottle of liquor had slammed against the back of the woman’s head, her eyes slid out of focus, and she dropped to the ground at Leta’s feet. Patrons screamed around them and the cans dropped out of Leta’s arm in shock.

It was Fiearius. Of course. He stood there with the unbroken neck of the bottle in his hand over his head, and his expression looked, actually, somewhat guilty.

“My mother always said not to hit people smaller than me,” he muttered, his eyes on the woman. But then he looked up at Leta. “We need to get out of here, c’mon.”

He dropped the bottle’s handle, seized her wrist and turned for the door, yelling “Sorry about that!” over his shoulder to the owner. Patrons rushed out of their way as Leta darted after him, shocked but somehow still unsurprised by what had just occurred.

She knew she was being closely followed. This simply confirmed it.

“That woman,” Leta called, “was she a — “

“Yep!” called Fiearius.

“Here?”

“Looks that way.”

“Are there more?”

“Probably!”

One hand still circled around her wrist, Fiearius stalked through the sea of people, parting the crowd for them. His other hand jumped to the device in his ear. “Attention Dionysian crew. Code green. Get back to the ship for immediate take-off!”

“I’m not going to say I told you so,” said Leta darkly, throwing Fiearius a haughty look, which he returned with a small, wry grin.

Together they crested a flight of stairs to get to the docking area. It was only when they’d made it to the Dionysian’s ramp that Fiearius finally let go of her hand.

Confused crew members filled the cargo bay, readying for take-off, including Cyrus, who looked pale and tremendously relieved to see them.

“Seal her up,” Fiearius ordered as he marched past toward the bridge. Cyrus quickly went to the door controls, and Leta crossed over the room to help him — but something over her shoulder caught her attention, and she wheeled around.

Far away in the bustling sea of people Leta saw a flash of gray hair, a stiff black suit, and an aged, familiar face gazing straight at her. His expression was sullen. She only had a few seconds to see him before the ramp doors closed, sealing them inside.

Her heart was beating hard. Shock electrified her veins. Her father?

“Look, you seem like a nice guy, as far as guys who sit in bars and commiserate about relationships with strangers go,” he said sharply. “But that? That’s none of your godsdamned business.” He raised his brows at the man, indicating this conversation was over and turned back to his drink.

And for a moment, Fiearius thought it was. Silence fell between them, until —

“But she’s right,” said the man after a moment. “Bounty hunters flood this port.”

The hair on the back of Fiearius’ neck was tingling. He felt himself straighten up, ready for wherever this was going.  “If I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it.”

“But you’re willing to put her in danger, aren’t you?”

“Don’t think for one second I can’t protect my crew.”

“While you sit here at a bar?” he pressed. “Don’t you know how easy it would be for someone to just take her away from — “

Fiearius shot up to his feet, suddenly flooded with adrenaline. He seized the man’s collar and dragged him closer until they were face to face.

“Is that a fucking threat?” he breathed. “Listen you son of a bitch, I don’t know what he’s paying you, but I guarantee it’s not worth crossing me. You go anywhere near her, I will happily rip you to shreds, dump the pieces off that balcony and watch the blood splatter eight decks down.” He shoved the man back toward his seat, breathing hard. “And you can tell those other bounty hunting shits the same,” he added, stepping back toward the door.  He had to go find Leta. Now.

The man did not look shocked. He did not look scared or even alarmed. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his eyes sharp, expression darkened with anger.

“I’m not a goddamn bounty hunter,” he growled, and suddenly Fiearius realized what was so familiar about him. “I’m her father.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As he lingered in the back of the shop, Cyrus turned the hefty metal casing over in his hand to look at the price tag. What he saw made him grimace. That much? For such an innocuous little device? It almost didn’t seem worth it. But it would fix that clattering problem the Beacon was having.

And after all Addy had been doing for him lately, helping with the huge influx of consulting work he had coming his way, it only seemed right he could do her such a simple favor. She deserved it. And he had sought out this particular machine shop at the very top of the port specifically to buy it for her. He had to get it, no matter the cost.

But before he could make a final decision, suddenly there was a voice behind him. He jumped in surprise. He hadn’t even thought there was anyone else in here.

“You got a 500V?”

He turned around. The young woman was about an inch taller than him, with thick auburn hair pulled into a ponytail high on her head. She smiled at him kindly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya. I was just lookin’ at that part in your hand and assumed you must have one. That thing only works in the 500’s.”

“Oh,” said Cyrus blankly. Awkwardness washed over him. He’d never been good at talking to pretty girls, let alone pretty girls he didn’t know. Hurriedly, he looked away from her and down at the part in his hand. “Yeah. It does. But oh. No. I don’t have one.” He laughed once. “It’s for a friend.”

The woman nodded. Her eyes moved away, her attention started to drift and though he didn’t know why (seriously, why did he care?), he found himself suddenly striving to get it back.

“I wish I had a 500 though,” he blurted, internally kicking himself for being so pathetic. Are you really that starved for female attention? he asked himself. “My friend’s is–well, working on it is a dream, specially compared to my own ship.”

“Oh yeah?” She actually looked interested. “What do you have?”

“It’s a–uh–TRC 203?” She tilted her head in confusion. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of obscure. No one really flies them anymore. For good reason. You’d know it if you saw it though. Big old rusty thing parked up on deck 42? Can’t miss it, it’s an eyesore.”

She nodded thoughtfully, but now she was eying him with a certain intensity Cyrus couldn’t quite place.

“Big crew?” she asked.

“Eh, not really. A captain, an engineer, a doctor, cook, some six or seven hands.”

“And they’re not here with you?”

Cyrus frowned. What a strange question. “Mm, nope. They’re all out doing their own errands I think. We were running low on rations.”

And then things just got stranger. “See, I ask ‘cause I could really use a doctor. You said you had one right? D’ya know where she is? I’d love to talk to her.”

A frown creased Cyrus’ brow. He had never mentioned that the Dionysian’s doctor was a ‘she.’ A spark of panic started to rise in him but he somehow managed to suppress it as he answered, “I don’t know, I’m afraid.”

“Shopping for groceries you said?” she pressed on. “Or do you think she’s back at the ship by now? Deck 42?”

Now that panic was raging like a fire. Still, he just shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, I really have no idea.” And then a seed of bravery. “But I know the port has a med station. Maybe you could check that out. Deck 20.”

The woman eyed him one moment longer, her eyes growing cold.

Finally, she muttered, “Hmm yeah. Maybe I’ll head there.” She looked him up and down once before remarking, “Thanks,” and sauntering from the shop.

Which was the precise moment when Cyrus gave way to his panic. He dropped the part onto the shelf, rushed towards the backroom, as far away from the woman as he could get, and pressed the button on his COMM.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“Does your daughter know you’re here?” asked Fiearius, his voice strained with desperation. He dropped his forehead into his palm and stared at the man to his side. Now that he knew, he noticed all the resemblances: the man had a thick Vescentian accent. Leaf-green eyes like Leta’s, though his lacked the usual brightness. And an even icier demeanor than his daughter.

Adler raised a finger to the bartender to refresh his drink. Then he said coldly, “Of course she doesn’t. I reach out to her only when absolutely necessary. Anything else will put her in needless danger.” He shot him a rather pointed look, rather like Fiearius was the definition of needless danger.

“And you found us…how exactly?” Fiearius prompted slowly.

Adler snorted into his drink, full of bitterness. “You really think I don’t keep close tabs on her? I’ve been tracking you since Archeti. Which was one of the most foolish moves I’ve ever witnessed. Even from you.”

Fiearius’ mouth inched toward a humorless smile. “Again with the unwanted opinions. So are you here just to ream me for everything you think I’m doing wrong, or what?”

“I didn’t intend to speak with you now, or ever, if possible,” he said in a clipped tone, tilting his glass toward his mouth. “But now that you’re here, I can ask you exactly why the hell you thought it would be safe to dock your ship at one of the busiest ports on this side of the span.”

“Because I’d much rather the Dionysian be one of a thousand docked ships than one of eight,” said Fiearius darkly, not particularly in the mood to explain himself to this man. “We fly under a false flag and hide in plain sight. It’s what we’ve always done. It’s what we’ll keep doing. Worked so far.”

Leta sat up, suddenly wide-awake. “Did Cyrus break the lock-down?”

“Sure did. But there’s some, ah, bad news,” he said, and Leta’s eyes narrowed. “We still can’t dock the Dionysian and the Mariah together without risking a permanent attachment.”

“So … what does that mean?”

“Just get to the airlock, I’ll meet you there.”

Leta quickly pushed herself to her feet and hurried toward the airlock doors. Dez followed, but Leta altogether ignored him as she pressed her hands to the glass and gazed out.

What she saw made her stomach practically fall through the floor. Separating the Mariah from the Dionysian was at least six feet of open air — open space. Endless darkness, like a blackhole ready to swallow her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Across the emptiness, Fiearius was visible in the doorway of the Dionysian’s airlock, suited up once more. She saw his mouth move before his words reached the speaker in her ear.

“C’mon, it’s just a little jump.”

“Through empty space!” she cried, her voice shriller than usual.

“I can’t get her any closer,” said Cyrus over the speaker. “Not without possible hull damage.”

At her side, Dez hit the dial, and the airlock doors opened before her. She was a foot away from the edge when she felt the air around her evacuate the room, and her breathing became rather sharp and nauseated: she had never liked heights.

“You can do it,” Fiearius assured her, holding out his arms. “I’ll catch you, I promise. It’s just like that job on Kadolyne. The jump out the window? That was fun, yeah? Remember that?”

“I’d rather not,” she breathed, and Fiearius laughed.

She hazarded a cautious step toward the edge, but did not move further.

Behind her, Dez muttered near her ear, “Do you need me to throw you?”

When she glanced at him, she saw the mildest of sneers curling his mouth.

With that, Leta cut him a look of pure, cold fury and suddenly burned with anger. In one furious motion, she turned forward, dug her heel into the floor and leapt the distance between the ships in excruciating slow-motion. All the breath froze in her lungs as time seemed to stop — it felt like hours, but it was mere milliseconds until Leta was collapsing against Fiearius’ embrace.

They staggered backward a half-step in the airlock, but Leta’s feet found mercifully solid ground — the magnetic soles of her boots attaching to the floor of the Dionysian. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry with relief, so she simply shut her eyes tightly, as if willing away every single one of the past 24 hours.

Behind her, she heard Dez joining them in the airlock, and the doors sliding closed. The cabin quickly began to re-pressurize — at last, they’d been freed.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt Fiearius unlock her helmet and slide it over her head, smoothing her hair back with his hand as she took her first breath of air.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he said, and she could feel him grinning at her. “Safe and sound.”

Half of her mind was still on what Dez had told her. Eyes still closed, all she said was, “Let’s hope so.”

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

“And you’re sure your intel is correct?” asked the gruff, smoke-laden voice of Arleth Morgan as he reached to tap a few keys in his console. He was so flustered with excitement that his gnarled, aged hands were trembling and he was having difficulty typing.

On the other end of the line, Ophelia Varisian’s voice arrived coolly through the speakers.

“Yes, sir. I’ve confirmed the Dionysian’s last known location and evaluated their status to determine their most viable next move. They’ve been floating in the black for nearly two weeks. Even running minimal processes, they’ll need to refuel before taking additional action.”

“So they’re going to a port,” said Arleth, making himself sit back in his chair. “And you — what is it then — you intend to stage an attack on one of these ports?”

“Only if the opportunity arises, sir. I’ve determined a pattern in their most frequented refueling locations, and will do my best to connect with the ship, but my chances of choosing the correct one are still only one in eight. More likely, I will access surveillance at all possible ports to pick up their trail and engage in a more appropriate arena in the coming weeks.”

“I want updates throughout the process,” he barked, jumping up to his feet — he could not sit still. “Keep me apprised. Of everything. And Varisian?” He paused coldly. “As far as the other Councillors are concerned, this conversation never happened. Do you understand me?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Pursing his lips, Morgan quickly disconnected the call. Then, with a glint in his eye, he picked up his COMM again. This time, no less than ten of his newly-hired bounty hunters listened expectantly on the other end.

“Listen. All of you. I’m forwarding you the Dionysian’s potential next coordinates. Get to the ports and keep an eye out. And be quick about it. You’re not the only ones hunting this ship and it’s imperative you get to them first. Find Leta Adler and bring her to me. Alive.”

A murmur of understanding rippled over the line. Morgan stood back and crossed his arms.

“Report back once you’ve found her,” he added, then disconnected the call with a jab of his hand.

The rest of the Council stupidly wanted Adler either killed on the spot or taken back to Satieri in chains. But Morgan would have none of it. He clenched one of his fists, digging his nails hard enough to draw blood into his palm.

She belonged on Vescent. She belonged to him. It was his punishment to issue.

He unclenched his fist, lowering his hand back to his side, as he slowly approached

his favorite wall of his office. Photos of Adler of all ages spanned an entire wall, tracking her life, her connections, her whereabouts. It would only be a matter of time until she was within his grasp. Until he could spill her blood across the steps of the Capitol and the Span would see just what happened when you crossed Vescent.

“I would hardly say Aela was good for him. Aela was toxic from the day she walked in the door,” Dez chuckled. “As for you, Dr. Adler, that remains to be seen. Though by how many close calls the Dionysian has had since you came aboard, evidence isn’t exactly tilting in your favor.”

Leta slung her bag over her shoulder and smiled bitterly. “You’ll forgive me for saying your judgment means absolutely nothing.”

“Need I remind you that Fiearius and I have a history longer than you have even been alive, let alone known him. Your naivete might appear cute to others, but I assure you, it is nothing but what it is. Naive. I have only Fiearius’ best interests at heart and always have. Merely my understanding of what those interests are have changed.”

Leta let out a dry laugh. “How is turning him over to the Council in his best interests, exactly?”

“I no longer have any intention of turning him over to the Council. My loyalty towards serving them is, shall we say, shattered.”

Rolling her eyes, Leta walked past him into the doorway. His gaze followed her and he kept talking evenly.

“In fact, I have made quite some effort to do the opposite, if you recall,” he went on, speaking over his shoulder to her. “The breakout on Satieri. The acquisition of the Archetian frigates. The intel on the Society expansion plans. Fiearius may have access to a great deal with that Verdant chip, but there are some things that only the Council themselves can reveal. The Council and now, myself.”

Leta was on the verge of disappearing down the stairs when she felt herself slow in place. Curiosity halted her feet, and she turned around in spite of herself.

“You’ve spoken with the Council?”

Dez did not look surprised at her inquiry. “I used to, often. Not face to face, of course. No one speaks with them face-to-face.” Silence descended between them, and then Dez prompted, “You have questions for me.”

Leta wanted to keep walking. She knew she should have. But her curiosity got the best of her and she turned around fully.

“Ren told me he’s picked up some information. He believes he knows who the Vescentian councilor is — that he’s discovered his identity.”

For the first time, genuine curiosity came to Dez’s face. “Interesting. Ren Calimore was put away for breaching high-level intel, though I wasn’t aware what, specifically, that intel was.”

“So you think it’s possible,” said Leta bluntly. “Possible that Ren knows who the Vescentian councilor is.”

“To end up on the Baltimore rather than an unmarked grave, whatever he found would have had to be…special. Something worth investigating so that the hole he found in security could be filled. So what was it? Who does he think he is?”

“A man named Arleth Morgan. Do you know anything about him?”

Dez pursed his lips in a frown. “The name is not familiar, no.”

Leta walked a few steps closer. “Fiearius and I looked at the Verdant database. It said Morgan was in Internal Affairs.

“Not exactly a key identifier, but it would fit.,” said Dez, rubbing his chin in thought. “The Vescentian Councillor I’ve spoken to was a little less than…civil. An ‘ends justify the means’ sort of man. He has a lot of sway with the Council though as he was instrumental in the acquisition of Vescent. In nearly every conversation, he found a way to remind his fellow Councillors just who got the Society’s politically opposing candidates out of the way.”

“He — what?”

“The Wellian outbreak. That spread through the Vescentian Parliament,” Dez said simply. “Ten years ago. You were fourteen at the time, I believe? Perhaps you don’t remember.”

“No, of course I remember,” said Leta, swiping her hand impatiently. “It was all over the news. Half of parliament died from it. One of the diplomats got it when she visited Archeti, and she spread it through all of — “

But Dez was shaking his head. “The virus was planted. At a dinner party, I believe.”

“Planted?”

Leta did not want to believe it, but she felt odd, shaky — somehow, she knew Dez was telling the truth.

She started to pace the floor, her nervous habit. “So Morgan was responsible for those deaths. All those politicians. Their families.” She shot Dez a look of alarm. “That outbreak went on to kill hundreds of people! ”

“As I said,” Dez sighed, “the ends justify the means.” After a pause, he looked at her and added, “There’s something else I recall about the man. He had a particular interest in you.”

Leta halted. Slowly, she lowered herself to sit on a bench in the hallway. “What do you mean?”

“Once you boarded the Dionysian, he was insistent that I focus my attention on returning you to Vescent, rather than my primary objective of recapturing the Verdant. The Council disagreed. But he continued to press the matter.”

Leta snorted, though she found no humor in the situation. “Well, Ren said he’s after me now like he never has been before,” she said quietly. “That he’s using a network of bounty hunters.”

Dez lifted his eyebrows wryly. “Interesting. Contracting independent bounty hunters. You must be worth a great deal to deserve such a diversion from protocol.”

“But I’ve been wanted in Vescent since I left,” she mumbled. “Don’t suppose you have a theory as to why this is happening now?”

Dez directed his gaze at the ceiling. “Perhaps he thinks you, too, hold the knowledge that put your fiance behind bars.”  Ex-fiance, Leta corrected silently. “Perhaps he was right. In any case, if the Vescentian Councillor is still set on your return, it could prove problematic to our own operations. Combatting the Society is one thing. Simultaneously fighting off a network of bounty hunters is something else.”

Leta gave a dark, twisted smile. “So you’re saying I’m putting everyone in danger.”

“I’m saying perhaps Fiearius needs to reevaluate the risks of his situation.”

In this case, Leta thought, the risk was her. Leta did not want to think it, but she could not help herself: perhaps going after the Society was a bigger mistake than she’d thought.

– – – – – – – – – –

The hours bled on. It may have been hour fourteen — or eighteen? — when Leta slumped in a corner of the cargo bay, knees drawn up her chest, her head slanted against the wall as she drifted in and out of restless sleep. Nightmares punctuated her mind — swirling, dizzying images of bounty hunters, the stone landscape of Vescent, and a figure whose face she could not quite see, no doubt that of Morgan —

“Hey,” said Fiearius’ voice in her ear. “You awake?”

Leta cracked open her heavy eyes. Around her, the cargo bay lay still and silent. Dez was sitting against the opposite wall across the room, but besides that, absolutely nothing had changed.

“I’m here,” she managed, her throat hoarse with dehydration.

“Good.” Fiearius’ voice became sly. “So … what’re you wearing?”

For the first time in hours, Leta almost felt herself laugh. “Still a fucking spacesuit, Fiear.”

“Good. Keep that on, you’re gonna need it in a minute.”

The bridge fell quiet as its occupants absorbed what they’d heard. Well it certainly hadn’t quelled any of Fiearius’ misgivings about this place. Now, he wanted to leave more than ever.

“Well,” Dez said at last. “Looks like that plan didn’t work out very well for him.” He gestured towards the body against the wall.

“The real question,” Cyrus cut in, “is who that was on the other end of the call. Did they ever even make it here? Why did the captain sound so nervous when supposedly they were getting help?”

The hairs on the back of Fiearius’ neck tingled. “Does that really matter?” he asked, feeling shaken now. “There’s nobody here, nobody to help, nothing left for us to do, let’s just leave this floating tomb in peace.”

“After we take a look around first?” suggested Eve, looking hopeful. “Just to see what they’ve got in their armory?”

Fiearius rolled his eyes. “Make it quick.”

“I want to know what happened to the crew,” said Leta quietly, determination in her face. “What this infection is and how it wiped out twenty people.” She crouched down beside the fallen captain and realized, with a jolt, “Wait…this a gunshot wound. To his side, here. Look.”  With deft fingertips, she peeled back part of the man’s jacket, making Fiearius wince. Then he met her eyes in confusion.

But neither of them ever reached a conclusion. The walls of the cabin suddenly shuddered, like a grand beast trying to shake them out of the room. Even the floor tilted sideways. Eve yelped, Leta gasped, and Fiearius grabbed the doorway to keep from staggering over.

“Cyrus,” he growled, “What the hell was — ”

But Cyrus’ voice was filled with panic. “Oh no. No no no. Fiear, get out of there.”

“What?” said Fiearius, yelling over the sound of the shaking walls. “What’s going on?”

“Get off the ship,” he breathed. “Get back here now. There’s no time, just run!”

Fiearius exchanged one wild look of confusion with everyone in the cabin before they all bolted toward the door. In a panicked group, they jostled into the hallway and pounded down the stairs. Fiearius managed to breathe, “We’re running, Cyrus, care to tell me why?” into his helmet.

Amidst the sound of hurried typing, Cyrus’ voice was shaking with panic. “Someone is locking down the ship. Trying to trap you inside.”

“What? Who?”

“I don’t know! It’s a self-triggered protocol.” A trap, Fiearius realized with horror. “Hurry, get back here — I can only hold off the lock-down for a minute — “

Suddenly, at his side, Leta staggered to a halt. “Wait,” she breathed, eyes round. She turned on her heel. “I just have to see — I just have to get back to the ward. It’ll take a just a second — “

“What?”

Horrified, Fiearius’ first instinct was to snatch her arm, but she twisted herself free and darted back into the ship, shouting an explanation over her shoulder.

“We need a sample from those cadavers, Fiear! We need to see what the disease is so we don’t catch it from them!”

Fiearius watched in a frozen kind of horror as Leta disappeared back into the ship to the medical ward. He rushed forward after her but then he saw it: in the corner of his eye, the airlock doors were sliding closed.

With a lightning bolt of panic, Fiearius threw himself at the airlock, jamming himself in between the doors and pushing at the edges with all his strength. Straining with effort, he yelled, “Whatever you’re doing, Cy, it’s not working!”

Eve dropped her weapon and joined him, heaving her weight to keep the heavy metal doors open. Her help afforded him a moment: frantically, he glanced around for the others, but Leta was nowhere in the cargo bay. And neither was Dez.

“Shit, Fiear, the Dionysian’s getting leeched,” said Cyrus in his ear. “You need to get out of there!”

Fiearius gritted out, “No — not yet — we don’t have everyone!”

Finally, thank the gods, Dez rounded the furthest corner with Leta behind him. Fiearius had one moment to register the sight (Dez had gone back for Leta?) when suddenly, the ship gave a tremendous tremble of metal and the floor toppled beneath him. His footing was lost: he stumbled into the passageway between the ships and then, just as he looked up, the airlock doors slid shut smoothly before his eyes.

With Leta and Dez on the other side.

A rush of air blasted him, ruffling his hair, as the Dionysian disconnected from the ship and the chamber depressurized. Shaky with panic, Fiearius pushed himself to his feet, clutching onto the walls desperately as gravity started to weaken. He could do nothing but watch as Leta’s helmet pressed up against the window, her fist pounding at the door, her mouth shouting soundlessly as the ships slowly began to drift apart.

But the Mariah was empty of any sign of life. A half-inch of dust covered the crates; it looked like the room hadn’t been touched in weeks.

Edging forward, Eve suddenly called, “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?” into the empty maze of the ship. When no voices responded, she mumbled, “Doesn’t sound like anyone’s here.”

“Goodness, isn’t that surprising,” Dez muttered sarcastically.

“Well, let’s keep lookin’,” said Eve, waving him off. “Someone could still be here. Someone could be real hurt.”

“Exactly,” added Leta sharply.

Standing in that deathly quiet bay, Fiearius sure as hell didn’t savor the thought of venturing further into this ship, but nonetheless he picked a hallway and started down it, gun hanging loosely in his hand. Unease crawled along his skin, although that might have been a side-effect: he purposely hadn’t taken any Flush this morning. Not when he had Leta’s company. Now, he wondered if that had been a mistake.

He didn’t have much time to consider it. Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, it hit him: the smell.

“Dov’ha tia’rte, the hell is that?” Fiearius growled as Leta grimaced and Eve slammed her forearm over her visor; the odor was foul enough to penetrate their suits. The sour stench of decay filled his lungs, making him cough. “Cy, where are we?”

“You should be right outside the medical ward,” came his brother’s voice in his helmet. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Wait,” Leta hissed quietly, brushing past him into the ward. “It’s coming from — ”

Fiearius followed. What he found made him freeze.

Inside the ward, under a single flickering light, were rows upon rows of bodies laid on beds, on the floor, anywhere they fit, all of them their skin rotting, their fingers gnawed on by ship rats, and streams of dried, caked-on blood spilling from the corners of their eyes. Fiearius was stunned into cold, eerie silence. Nausea swam in his stomach.

At his side, Eve reacted much more vocally, with a string of curse words. ” — fucking shit!” she finished with a gasp. “What the hell happened to them? I never … never seen anythin’ like that … ”

Leta was shaking her head, eyes widened with disbelief. “This must be the crew.”

But what the hell had happened to them was beyond Fiearius. The smell was making his stomach churn, and he couldn’t stand the sight any longer.

“Guess that explains the lack of welcoming party,” he muttered and tilted his head towards the hallway. “Let’s start with the bridge. See if there are any survivors up that way.”

Dez snorted his disapproval, but nonetheless followed Eve as she filed out. Leta, however, lingered, examining the bodies with discerning, narrowed eyes. She circled around the stained floor, wrinkling her forehead in thought.

“I don’t know what could’ve … ” She shifted between speaking aloud and speaking in her head. “Some kind of … that wouldn’t match the decay rate, though … Unless — “

She looked up at Fiearius, perplexed, and shook her head as she left the room to follow the caravan.

As she fell into step beside him, she said quietly, “There weren’t any gunshot wounds or signs of foul play on any of those people. What killed them — definitely disease. A fast-spreading one. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

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

Guns at the ready, Eve and Dez led the slow, uneasy caravan toward the command deck.  Fiearius felt ready to bolt back to the Dionysian. This ship and its silent, empty halls, was giving him the creeps, but he knew they first had to at least check the bridge. If there was anyone left alive on this ship, surely they would stick close to the main COMM, just in case somebody managed to get through. Somebody had to send that distress signal after all.

But when he cracked open the door to the bridge, Fiearius had to hold his breath: the smell reached him again, fainter this time, but still putrid.

In the shadowy corner of the room, a man was slouched against the wall, eyes wide and staring, clearly dead. Affixed to his shoulder was a gold pin, an old tradition that the leadership of some civilian vessels followed.

“Captain on deck,” Fiearius muttered darkly under his breath, exchanging a look of alarm with Leta.

Eve kicked the fallen man with the edge of her foot. “Poor bloke.”

By now, Fiearius felt he’d seen enough unexplained dead bodies for one day. Keyed up and edgy and ready to leave, he remarked, “So I’m willing to bet he was the last.” He glanced at Leta. “Guess we were a bit late.”

“Well hang on,” Cy pitched in suddenly. “Do me a favor. Check the communications records from before the system went down.”

Fiearius turned toward a console, flipping through the screen quickly. “There’ve been no new messages logged since…September 30th. A voice call.”

“Play it,” said Leta at once. “Maybe we can see what happened here.”

Or maybe, Fiearius thought, we should just get the hell out of here. Throwing her a pointed look, he hit play.

“Oh thank god,” the voice said, followed by a cough. “Thank god someone picked up the signal.”

The recording dipped into silence. It seemed the other end of this call hadn’t been saved. After a moment, the first voice spoke up again. “Oh, you can’t even imagine. We need medical attention. Desperately. We picked up a disease, I don’t know from where, but it’s running its course through the whole crew. We don’t have a doctor aboard. Can you help?”

Another silence passed and then. “What? I–I don’t understand.” The voice began to sound worried. “N-no I didn’t–Well, yes of course.” When it spoke again, it was downright hopeless. “Please, we’re just a cargo vessel, we aren’t equipped for– Yes. Yes alright. I understand. I just want my crew made well, that’s all. Alright. I’ll meet you outside the airlock.” There was hesitation before the final, “Thank you,” and the click of a disconnect.

“But how can you really know that?”

“I just do,” he assured her. “Think about it. Why would he go through all the trouble of pulling me out of Satieri just to tip off Varisian so she can bring me back in? It doesn’t make sense, not even for a crazy bastard like him.”

“That’s just it, Fiear. He could change his mind at any second.”

But Fiearius was shaking his head. “I really don’t think he will this time,” he said with a surprisingly firm conviction. “And even if he does, I’m keeping tabs on him. There’s nothing he can do to us without me knowing about it. I promise.”

“Can you at least acknowledge that you might have a blind spot when it comes to him?” said Leta pleadingly. “He’s your oldest friend. And now — ”

“It’s not a blind spot,” Fiearius defended at once. “He’s been trying to kill me for the last four years, I’m not an idiot, I didn’t forget that. I just understand him a little better than–”

“You need to come to the bridge.”

The voice suddenly broke over the mess hall. Fiearius sat up, startled, as Leta swung her eyes to the doorway and saw Cyrus in the doorway, looking worried.

Once he’d quickly regained his cool, Fiearius frowned at him tiredly. “Dare I ask why?”

“We picked something up,” said Cyrus, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I think you should see it…”

Fiearius cast a worried glance at Leta before pushing himself from the table and following his brother into the hallway.

– – – – – – – –

“A distress signal?” Fiearius demanded in disbelief as he scrolled through the bridge’s main console screen. “How? From where? We’re alone in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

“Apparently we’re not,” said Cyrus, hovering behind him. “It’s coming from a small ship not too far off from us.”

Leta crossed her arms over her chest. “How long has this been broadcasting?” she asked, feeling unpleasant worry stir through her as she read the screen: Transmitting signal … DISTRESS CALL. URGENT. DISTRESS CALL. URGENT. M00112 …

Cyrus shrugged. “Hard to say. We’re the only pingback recorded, but that doesn’t mean much. We are in essentially dead space. We could have been the only receiver in range for days, weeks, months, these things can keep going for years if the generator’s still running.”

“I know this signal,” said Leta, stepping closer to the flashing screen. “It’s a code for ‘medical emergency.’”

“And a low fuel signal, yeah,” Cyrus agreed. “Nasty place to run out of bandages…”

But Fiearius looked unconvinced. “Would be, if it were true,” he muttered and without another word, he pressed the dial for the intercom and spoke into it. “Dez, get up here.”

Leta and Cyrus exchanged a startled glance. Then, seconds later, Dez arrived in the doorway. He was possibly the last person Leta wanted to see, and she did not bother to conceal it, as she rolled her eyes.

Wasting no time, Fiearius pointed to the screen. “Recognize this Vessel ID at all?”

Dez peered at the number and shook his head. “Not one of theirs, no.” He paused and tilted his head. “Not that it would be.”

Fiearius grunted agreement. “Exactly what I was thinking. Ambush?”

Dez nodded. “Ambush.”

Fiearius turned to Leta and Cyrus and shrugged, like all was well. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll be out of range soon.”

Cyrus looked perplexed. “Wait, what just happened?”

“We have no idea what’s on that ship, Cy,” Fiearius pointed out. “And given our status as, y’know, fugitives, I’d rather not find out, would you?”

“You — what?” said Leta in alarm. “You think it’s a trap?”

Fiearius met her eyes meaningfully. Leta knew what he was thinking: Ren’s warning, from the night previous. A fresh wave of bounty hunters on their tail.

But this simply didn’t add up.

“It can’t be a trap,” she went on seriously. “There’s no way the Society or anybody knows we’re on this side of space, how could they just magically know to plant a distress call here?”

Fiearius opened his mouth to respond, but to Leta’s surprise, Dez spoke over him. “Our location has little to do with the possibility of Society interference,” he explained in his cold monotone, looking not at her, but at the screen. “In fact, a more remote location further from bases would be a more agile staging position due to the very logic that a planned attack is improbable.”

“We can’t ignore the call,” Leta said in disgust, rounding on Fiearius. “We have to answer. Remember when the Dionysian’s engine was broken and we were stuck in the middle of nowhere? We would’ve killed for anyone to answer us. We have to go, we have to see what they need.”

“Wait,” said Cyrus, sounding lost in this discussion, “are we seriously considering this ship being some sort of Society scheme? It doesn’t even have any fuel for gods’ sakes.”

“That it’s reporting. You of all people should know how easy that is to fake,” Dez replied simply. “It also is suspect that the ship is transmitting a medical emergency code specifically.” His cold eyes shifted toward Leta. “The Society is no doubt aware of who they are baiting. The medical staff aboard this ship and the tendencies of that staff towards situations such as these have been well-documented — “

It was then that anger darkened Fiearius’ face. “Dez … ” he muttered warningly, while Leta flared up at once.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“In addition, Society or none, distress signals are common tactics of bandit ships to lure in–”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Fiearius interrupted suddenly, holding a hand out in front of Dez, who went icily quiet.

“How about we just call it in?” Fiearius suggested, hoping to find some happy medium between the three of them. “There’s gotta be an emergency team stationed somewhere. They can come out here, check it out for themselves and we’ll just get out of the way. Okay?”

“That could take days,” said Cyrus, exasperated.  “Weeks even. Did you see the radar? There aren’t any ports around here.”

“If the signal is recent, whoever’s on that ship could be long dead by then,” said Leta. “There’s no time. It has to be us. We have to go see what that ship needs.”

Fiearius eyed her, his face softening. She was sure he was on the verge of agreeing when Dez cut in yet again, “While your crew’s empathy is admirable, it is foolish and impractical. An investigation is a decision we may not return from. Any view otherwise is naive.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s naive,” said Leta, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Your word doesn’t mean anything on this ship.”

Dez lifted his brows at her curiously and turned to Fiearius, as if expecting him to refute. Leta and Cyrus’ eyes followed. Fiearius, however uncharacteristically, seemed unwilling to make the call himself.

Clenching his jaw, Fiearius said at last, “We’ll check it out. Briefly. But we’ll put the Dionysian in a running dock in case we need to disengage quickly.”

“That, I can do,” Cyrus agreed. He turned on his heel and left for the engine room.

Dez spent another moment gazing hard at Fiearius. “I guess logic and backbone have no meaning on this ship either,” he muttered before he took a deep breath, declared dutifully, “I’ll ready the weaponry,” and headed out.

“You sound like you’re happy, Leta.”

“Something like that,” she conceded. Leta thanked him for calling, bid him goodnight, promised him she’d keep her head down. Minutes later Leta was back upstairs in Fiearius’ room.

She closed the hatch quietly and was just lowering to the edge of the bed when Fiearius stirred awake, lifting his head to squint at her in the darkness.

“Everything alright?” he asked gruffly, his voice hoarse.

Smiling slightly, Leta smoothed back his hair, assured him everything was fine, and pulled up the sheets to slide in beside him. She was asleep before the blankets were even warm.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“So is the name familiar to you at all?” Leta asked, scrolling through the tablet in her hand. With her other hand she lifted a mug of strong black tea to her lips. It was early afternoon the next day and most of the crew had eaten Amora’s breakfast already. Leta and Fiearius, after spending most of the morning in bed, were in the mess hall alone.

“Arleth Morgan,” Fiearius repeated from the kitchen. He flipped an omelette over in the pan before he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Ren’s completely convinced that he’s after me,” she muttered. Then she hesitated . This was insane, surely, but she had to know what Fiearius thought.

“And,” she added carefully, “that he’s a Councilor.”

The kitchen suddenly grew quiet. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, until suddenly, the spatula hit the pan with a clang.

“Wait, a Councilor? Like, a Society Councilor? A Society Council Councilor?”

“I know. I thought it was crazy too,” Leta admitted. “But he sounded so sure that this ‘Morgan’ definitely is one. So much so that I–well, I almost want to believe it.”

Frowning, Fiearius moved towards her and leaned his shoulder against the doorway. “Councilors don’t have names or identities. They kill their names when they take the job. Nobody’s ever managed to link an actual human being to the position. So how, exactly, did he come to have this belief?”

“I don’t know, but he has a knack for putting pieces together. This is exactly how he ended up in prison in the first place.” She scrolled through the tablet once more. So far, she hadn’t been able to find much of value, except that what Ren said was true: Arleth Morgan was reported dead years prior, leaving behind a wife and no children.

Exasperated, Leta put down the tablet. “Is it possible there’s something more interesting on him in the Verdant database?”

“If he was a Society agent at all? Probably. Unless they obliterated him from existence, but even then, this database is suspiciously inclusive.” Fiearius shrugged, then wandered over to the kitchen’s console and held his wrist to it. Moments later, the screen turned black and a silver Society librera formed in its center. As the database loaded, Fiearius grunted, “All yours.”

Leta pushed herself to her feet at once. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Ah yes, the true secret to a woman’s heart,” said Fiearius, crossing back toward the stove to finish cooking. “Homemade breakfast and unrestricted access to high-level government secrets.”

But Leta was hardly listening to his banter: she stepped closer to the screen, absorbing every word. “Here he is. Department of Internal Affairs, 2nd Division agent.”

“Ooh, one of ours,” Fiearius muttered curiously.

“He was implanted as an undercover operative in the Carthian military. But get this.” Her eyes widened as she read, “‘Demonstrated above average leadership and organizational abilities, however, extracted from Carthian project due to non-adherence to undercover protocol and tendency towards anger-based violence. At recommendation of supervision, retired from field work and re-instated as Director of Internal Affairs, 1847.’”

“And he died…?” Fiearius prompted, picking up the plates and hovering behind her.

“‘Of natural causes.’ 1851.”

Fiearius nodded once. “Same year as the acquisition of Vescent.”

Leta regarded him skeptically. “That could be a coincidence.”

“Or he could be a Councilor. He could’ve faked his death under the Society’s guidance. It wouldn’t be the first time they covered something up,” he added, mouth twitching toward a smirk.

“This seems too easy,” Leta sighed, overwhelmed. “If they’re really that anonymous, that secretive, that protective, why is this information available at all? And even if it’s only available to the Verdant, how did Ren find out?”

“Maybe Morgan wasn’t quite as good at disappearing as he should be. Maybe he left some dangerous clues somewhere. Maybe Ren just saw it in a vision. Either way, I think that’s something you’re gonna have to ask him,” Fiearius said, dropping to the table. “Now c’mere. Sit. Eat.”

Leta made herself move away from the console and sit down across from him. She picked up her fork, though she was too deep in thought to eat.

“So how is he anyway? Ren?” Fiearius asked as he dug into his food, eyebrows raised. “The Carthians treating him okay?”

“He’s doing well. Really well.” Leta twirled the fork in her fingers. “He might be out of rehabilitation very soon, by the sound of things.”

Fiearius only nodded. His eyes slid out of focus and then he diverted his gaze toward his plate.

“What?” Leta prompted.

“Nothin’.”

But Leta could read Fiearius well by now. He was deliberately avoiding her eyes, and she knew why. A knowing smile came to her face.

“It’s completely over, you know,” she told him earnestly. “Ren and I.”

Fiearius lifted his gaze and shrugged one shoulder, a skeptical smirk on his face. “I didn’t say anythin’.”

But there was no denying he looked more relaxed after that.

“Besides, Ren will probably stay on Carthis if that’s where he’s safe,” Leta added, almost to herself. She slid her fork into her food as her gaze wandered toward the open window. A canopy of stars floated past — empty space. “Where are we headed next, anyway?”

“Actually, I was just talking to Quin a couple days ago. She’s very enamored with those new ships we helped her get. She’s promised a very good cut if I can acquire her some more so I’m having Dez do some research. He’s putting together a list of low-security Society shipping routes.” He grinned proudly. “Gonna do some real pirating.”

Leta did not quite share his enthusiasm. “Do you really think listening to Dez on anything is a good idea?”

Fiearius frowned. “Listening to Dez is a terrible idea,” he agreed. “Don’t misundertand me, I can’t trust the guy as far as I can throw him, but he does know things, statistical things, data things, that would take me a helluva lot longer to find out on my own.” He shrugged. “But I’ll be scouring anything he hands me three times over, don’t you worry.”

“It’s not just that, Fiear.  We can’t trust his insight at all. He has an end-game here. He could turn on us — you — any second.” Leta set down her fork.

Fiearius met her eyes calmly. Too calmly. “He won’t. Don’t trust him, but you can trust me. He won’t. I’m sure of it.”

“You have no reason to believe that,” Leta pointed out, heaving a sigh. “I’ve been thinking, actually … “

Fiearius’ brows raised on his forehead. “Uh-oh,” he muttered before shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“On Archeti, Ophelia found us. And we don’t know how. Someone could have reached out to the Society.”

“And you think it was Dez.”  It was another moment before he swallowed and added, “It wasn’t.”