She sounded wistful, full of longing. Perhaps he should have gotten Leta on the line after all.

“We’d probably go out to some sketchy dump of a bar,” Corra went on, smiling sadly. “Cy would be too scared to talk to any girl there. Leta and Fiear would argue loudly to mask their shameless flirting. We’d all get drunk. And I’d probably get laid.”

As he sat down beside her, Finn snorted into his drink. Corra swung her eyes at him.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothin’. You just make it sound so romantic,” he said sarcastically.

Corra frowned at him. “Romance is all well and good for other people. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take a good love story any day, but for me? No way. Too messy. I like simplicity.” She shrugged and raised her glass to her lips, but it paused an inch away as revelation crossed her expression. “God, it’s been ages since I last got laid.” In despair, she dropped her face into her free hand. “No wonder I’m so tense.” When Finn chuckled, she cast him a sharp look. “I mean it. Ages, Riley.” Drama filled her voice. “Ages.”

“No, no, that’s a serious problem,” Finn agreed heartily. “I just find that hard to believe. You?” He nodded at her in appreciation. “Not getting laid … “

“Well, according to you, I’m a captain now. I don’t have time to just mess around,” she chided, waving him off like he was being absurd. “And I, unlike Fiearius, am making a vow not to fool around with my crew.”

Finn made a noise of agreement. “Very admirable, captain,” he said and tilted his glass toward his lips, letting the bourbon scald his throat. Perhaps it was the liquor, perhaps it was the long exhausting day that had taken a toll on him — but suddenly Finn found himself saying boldly, “You know what though. Technically, I’m not crew.”

Corra lowered his glass to gaze at him. She looked, more than anything, curious.

“And,” Finn went on slowly, “I’m not really sure what the captain-and-captain protocol is on this ship yet. So … “

A long silence lapsed between them. Well, that was stupid, Finn couldn’t help but think and he was about to retract the comment as a joke when Corra tilted her head to the side. Slowly, a smirk spread over her face. “Are you flirting with me, Riley?”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

An hour later, after the sheen of sweat cooled his skin, Finn released a long sigh out of his bare chest and folded the palms of his hand behind his neck. He lay flat on his back on the dining room table, gazing up at the ceiling with a tired, happy sort of pride — in his humble opinion, they’d found the perfect way to turn this night around.

Beside him, he could feel Corra smirking. Hell, what a weird 24 hours, he thought to himself. He certainly hadn’t expected the night to end this way and he doubted Corra did, either.

“Hey, so … thanks,” she sighed, lifting herself up on an elbow. Her free hand strayed to his hair, smoothing it back, making him grin lazily. “I think I really needed that.”

“Ah, anytime,” he replied absently, as if he’d just bought her a case of beer. After a moment, he amended, “Really, anytime at all,” more pointedly, a grin spreading over his face as he enjoyed the sight of all her bare skin.

Rolling her eyes, Corra sat up and reached for her shirt, which had been tossed across the table, and pulled it on over her head. Taking his cue — he was probably overstaying his welcome now — Finn shifted his feet to the floor and started to gather his clothes. He seized a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

“So … we’re okay, right?” said Corra suddenly from her spot on the edge of the table. She looked hesitant. “You know, to…eh…overlook this? Not mention it to our loving and devoted crew? Or Fiearius, or … anyone?”

Finn almost replied normally, but he could not help himself.

“Oh-o, I see what this is now,” he said, his tone muffled from the cigarette. He was full of good-natured accusation. “Your service boy, that what I am? Is that all? Fly the ship, show up in you room? Well now I just feel all cheap-like and dirty.”

Corra smirked. “That sounds about right, yeah.”

If there was any seriousness at all in his tone, it was extinguished the moment he grinned broadly at her. Reaching for the rest of his clothes (his shirt in particular had made it halfway across the room), he tugged it on over his chest and pulled on his shoes and then breathed a sigh.

“Nah, I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry about it. We’re probably going to have to deal with situations a hell of a lot weirder than this, don’t ya think? I mean, definitely wish I could go brag to the all the deckhands right now … and I sure love upsetting Fiear …. but cross my heart, I’ll restrain myself,” he assured her, regarding her in amusement for a moment.

Then, holding his jacket in one hand, he started to cross toward the exit, but not before pausing to lean in toward the table to kiss her briefly on the lips. It was chaste and polite, a clear end-note that lasted only a moment before he went to the door and called plainly, ”Night, cap’n,” over his shoulder.

“Yes, for her sake,” said Callahan coldly. “I was willing to overcome my inhibitions of allowing a kroppie to represent me at all, but now I sincerely regret that decision. You, your employees and your actions on their behalf all reflect on me, do you understand that? And on all accounts, I am ashamed — “

He went on, but Finn tuned him out, watching as Corra suddenly pushed herself to her feet and fled the bridge.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

When Finn knocked on the double-doors to Corra’s quarters some twenty minutes later, he did not expect an answer, although he was certain she was inside. He waited a beat, and then opened the door himself and slipped inside.

The captain quarter’s on the Beacon were quite extravagant. A bedroom, a dining area, a lounge and full kitchen. His eyes scanned over the sleek bookcases and furniture. The space appeared empty.

And then he noticed her. Corra sat on the rug against the wall, knees pulled to her chest. She was not crying in this moment but she clearly had been; her face was clouded and she was eyeing him with a reddened, glassy gaze.

Talkative as he was, no words came to him. Resisting the urge to bolt back into the hallway, he crossed through the room and slowly lowered to sit cross-legged beside her shoulder.

Silence hung between them. He wanted to ask if she was alright, but clearly she was not.

At last, in a stuffed, hoarse voice, Corra said, “I didn’t think Callahan knew.” Her fingers gingerly played with the crop of her ear.

“Ah.” Finn waved a lazy hand in the air, then dropped his wrist on his knee. “He’s past it. Angry, but that’s not your fault at all. It’s mine and Mica’s. ‘Sides, Callahan isn’t dropping us or anything; I smoothed it over already.”

He thought this would help matters, but Corra let out a watery, bitter laugh.

“Of course you did. Of course you fixed it already. You’re actually qualified for this job.”

Finn would have liked to accept the compliment and agree, but he glanced sideways and saw fresh tears filling her eyes. So instead he said, firmly, “No I’m not. I’m not at all qualified. I got kicked out of military school, remember? I don’t have a pilot’s license and I’ve definitely never captained a ship before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she moaned. “You have it down. All the jobs you choose go well, the crew respects you, the clients respect you, the Beacon itself respects you. Doesn’t matter if you don’t have a degree or experience, you’re meant for this. Me?” She snorted. “Mica’s right. I’m just a dumb kroppie playing make-believe on a spaceship.” Finn winced at the word, but Corra didn’t notice. She simply concluded, “I never should have left the Dionysian. This was a huge mistake.”

“Hardly. Getting off that death trap was probably the best thing you’ve ever done.”

“But everything has gone so badly,” Corra breathed wondrously. “Ever since I boarded this ship. We barely have any money. We can’t string two jobs together. None of our clients  think I’m worth anything and they’re right. I have no idea how we’ll afford to grow our crew, build our client base, any of it. I don’t want to be captain. I don’t deserve to be captain.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it though?” she snapped, finally looking up at him with watery eyes. “You’re not stupid, Riley. You know as well as I do how unqualified I am. I give up. The captainship is yours, entirely. I’ll just go back to being a gunhand like I’m supposed to.”  She dropped her head back into her knees and her voice became garbled by tears. “At least then no one will question me. It’s a fitting task for someone of my status.”

Finn regarded a spot on the floor. Mostly, he wanted her to stop crying. Please stop crying. Fleetingly, he considered suggesting reaching Leta on the Dionysian — she’d be better at this, right? More equipped? As her best friend?

But then a second later, just when he’d made a longing glance toward the COMM device in the wall, he looked away and inwardly scolded himself for being a cowardly jackass. Still pulling the same old shit, aren’t you, he thought, almost laughing sadly. The urge to leave when things got serious was always there and probably always would be which was why, according to Elsa, he’d never have a real meaningful relationship ….

This time, he managed to stifle that impulse to bolt or keep things light and stupid.

“Here’s the thing,” he stated quietly, surprising even himself, “that I realized only very recently. Everyone’s faking it. No one knows what they’re doing. Everyone. Fiearius. Me. Everybody. No one has their shit together.”

He heard her sniffle at his side and draw in a shaky breath. Carefully, she peered up at him from beneath the shield of her hair. Recognizing a window of opportunity, he went on, “I’m serious. Everyone out here is just frantically grasping at straws hoping that something works out. Praying for that one break that’ll separate them from success and failure. What makes the difference is the act. The lie.” His hand reached out to grasp her shoulder in comfort. “You’re doing fine at this. You just have to convince yourself, first.”

With that, Finn pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the stocked captain’s liquor cabinet across the room.

He picked through the collection and seized the fanciest, most expensive-looking bottle he could find — it had a brilliant gold label, surely that meant something — and turned around, nabbing two glasses with him.

“Bourbon,” he muttered, lifting the bottle and flashing its shining label. “I think that’s what this is, I can’t read this language … actually, not even sure what language this is … but it’s fitting for any decent captain.”

He handed her the glass and lowered to sit beside her again. “Drink,” he ordered and tentatively, she sipped the liquor. And then she coughed harshly, seized with disgust. He almost laughed, but he had a feeling they had not quite made it to the other side of this conversation yet.

“Look,” he muttered, his tone lowering with significance. “For what it’s worth. I’ve been on a lot of ships and worked with a lot of captains. But I’m really fucking glad it’s your ship I’m on.”

“Our ship, you mean,” Corra corrected quietly, the lightest touch of humor in her face. It faded as she shook her head. “I just — miss when things were easy. I miss the Dionysian. I miss Leta and Cy.” She sipped her drink for a few seconds and breathed out shakily. “You know what we’d be doing right now, if we were on the Dionysian? We’d be celebrating. Celebrating a job well done. Well — things never went well on the Dionysian. But we did alright.”

Truth be told, she would have much rather just disappeared with Callahan’s ship than do this job. Something about it just wasn’t sitting right with her and hadn’t been ever since they’d agreed to take the assignment. Perhaps it was the notion of smuggling such large, valuable cargo across volatile Ellegian borders. Or perhaps it was the deal location itself, a high profile, high population metropolis that teemed with possibility of disaster. But in all likelihood it was neither of those things that had been keeping her up at night with worry. It was more likely the man who’d given them the job, halfway across the span by now. Callahan himself. The way he’d acted towards her, the manner in which he’d disregarded her. She could still hear his biting tone even now and it made the pit of discomfort in her stomach throb.

Apparently Addy had noticed. “Hey,” she said suddenly, putting her hand on Corra’s shoulder. “You okay? You went all quiet there.”

At once, Corra shook it off. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Just a little worried about this job is all.”

“You think it won’t go well?”

No, Corra thought instinctively. But she said, “I’m sure it will.”

“Of course it will,” Addy said. “And it’s not like you’ll be alone. No matter what happens, if anyone can handle it, it’s Finn.”

Right, thought Corra, feeling bitter. Finn could handle anything. Everything she couldn’t.

Did Addy think her incapable, too?

Corra just forced a chuckle, agreed, “Hope so,” and continued through the bay towards where Finn and Daelen were lingering near the Beacon’s airlock. Finn was leaning against the doorframe, a plume of smoke rising above his head. A foul smell reached her nose and she pulled a face.

“Are you smoking?” she demanded. “That’s disgusting.”

“That’s why I’m doing it outside,” said Finn dramatically, swiping the cigarette out of his mouth and sticking his hand out the door.

She turned on Daelen. “You’re a doctor, shouldn’t you tell him not to do that?”

“He has,” Finn promised, grinning.

Daelen shrugged at her with his arms crossed. “There are only so many times I can argue with people’s personal decisions to ignore good advice.”

Corra glared at Finn a moment longer. Then she asked, “So how was the inspection?”

Finn sighed out a wisp of smoke. “Well Mica’s guys came here, they looked her over,” he gestured towards the shining black ship parked inconspicuously in the Beacon’s bay, “and they left. So I’m guessin’ everything checks out and the deal’s still on.” He took one last drag, and then tossed his cigarette out the door. “Mica said he’d meet us at his nightclub. You ready to go?”

Corra took a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she grumbled.

– – – – – – – – – – – –

The club was called Heat, at the furthest end of the strip under a glowing white neon sign. A hanging velvet rope circled around the entrance, a detail Corra found cute as she stepped over it and walked straight past the bouncer.

Inside, electric red light doused the dance floor. Booths lined the walls, and in the heart of the room was an elevated stage, filled with dancing women and men. Corra honestly wasn’t sure, judging both by their state of dress, if they were patrons or strippers. It was hard to tell in this town.

“Classy joint,” said Corra, over the noise.

Finn smirked. “C’mon, that’s him in the corner there.”

The furthest booth was dark, quiet and and rimmed with thick red curtains, no doubt for under-the-table business meetings just like this one. Men and women in various states of dress sat around the table. In the middle of them was Mica himself, in a cheap-looking suit, lounging back with one arm hanging casually over a woman at his side.

He looked to be in his late-thirties, with a sunken gaunt face and short trimmed beard, which he grinned through as they approached the table. “About time you two showed up,” he said smoothly. He nodded toward the crowded stage. “Thought perhaps  you were just enjoying the dancing.”

In a neutral voice, Finn said, “Not when business calls, unfortunately,” and sat down. Humming with anticipation, Corra reeled in her nerves and calmly lowered to the seat beside him.

“So you know why we’re here then?” she asked in an even tone.

“Naturally,” Mica agreed, flicking a dull glance in her direction. “Callahan told me you’re his newest hires.”

“S’right,” said Finn, his voice impossibly relaxed, like they were meeting new friends for brunch. “Finnegan Riley, and this is Corra, captains of the Beacon.”

“Captains?” Mica repeated in disbelief. “That so?”

Corra could not help but notice that Mica shot her a particularly amused look. One of her fists balled under the table. “That’s right,” she said, keeping her voice calm. “Captains. Captains with a rather busy schedule, so maybe let’s get started?”

Mica’s lips curled. He did not bother to introduce anyone else at the table. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. Let’s cut through it, shall we?” He looked at Finn. “It’s my understanding you have quite the deal for me. Tell me about Callahan’s ship.”

“Sure. Although you know a lot about it already,” said Finn at once, one eyebrow shooting higher on his forehead. “Your people came poking around to check it an hour ago.”

Mica’s smirk broadened. “Well, you don’t expect me to go into this deal blindly, do you? Now — tell me what I don’t already know. Why, exactly, is it worth my money?”

A sea of busy people hurried along the main docks, restocking supplies, refueling their ships, barking orders at deck officers. Cyrus had never much cared for the chaos of space ports, but now he wasn’t sorry at all the Dionysian and the Beacon had docked here for the night.

Mostly because of the company.

“It’s peaceful way up here, isn’t it?” said Addy at his side, sounding wistful. Together they sat on the edge of an overhanging catwalk above the chaos of the main floor, drinking beer and people-watching.

“Yeah. It is,” said Cyrus sincerely, tilting the bottle against his lips and sighing. “Thanks for bringing me up here. And for the beer.”

“Thank Finn, I stole it from his room,” she said with a wicked grin. “We should toast to our victory, shouldn’t we? And all those new ships you have now?”

He shook his head. “My brother handed the ships over to Quin. We’re sticking with our floating tin can. Which — thanks,” he said suddenly, “By the way. For helping with that.” He looked away and could feel his face turn slightly pink as he added, “You did great.”

To his surprise, Addy’s face lit up with excitement. “Really?! I did? I’ve never done anything quite that illegal before. Always kinda wanted to,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Really? I can’t say this line of work was ever something I considered getting into … “ He trailed off. “I don’t think you ever mentioned,” he said suddenly, “why you agreed to help. I know you said you left Satieri because of the Society, but … why?”

It was only after he asked that he realized how personal of a question that might have been. Quickly, he added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. I was just curious, but–”

“It’s okay,” said Addy at once. “Really.” She drew in a deep breath and lowered her beer. “A couple years ago, the Society contacted us — my dad and me — to test out some engine prototypes for them. Real fancy stuff, my dad was so excited to have such a big client. Turns out, they’re the worst client we ever had.” She smiled, but it did not meet her eyes. “Wanted complete control over the whole process, wouldn’t let us back out … dropped in unexpectedly to see how it was coming along. We tried to back out several times, but they ended up seizing all of my dad’s work and never paid him. And, well,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, “we needed — need — the money.”

Cyrus nodded, as if he understood at all. In his old life, his life before the Dionysian, he’d been a lead engineer at Sonnete Industries; he’d made more money than he knew what to do with. Credits flooded his account and he could have vacationed every year if he wanted. But he only nodded at Addy, who was pressing her fingers into her forehead, suddenly pained.

“It gets worse. A few months ago, while I was working late in the garage one night, they — well — we’ll never be able to prove it was them. But these men with guns, they came in and raided the whole place. Destroyed everything, all the work we were doing. Our garage is still in shambles.” She bit down on her lip, not looking at him. “My dad, he’s not the type to be easily intimidated, but — well, that really scared him. That’s why he made me leave. For Carthis. Thought it’d be safer for me.”

Cyrus felt anger flashed through him. Fiearius, Leta, Cyrus himself and now Addy. Who hadn’t the Society injured in some way or another? No wonder she had been so quick to volunteer to help on this job.

“Gods, that’s awful,” he said quietly, stunned. “I’m so sorry. ” Though he was worried he might touch on something even darker, he couldn’t help himself. “Your dad, you’ve talked to him since you left? He’s…he’s okay?”

“He’s okay. He’s still on Satieri,” said Addy, smiling sadly. “Because he’s stubborn, he refuses to leave. Well — can’t blame him, I guess. Paradiex isn’t an easy place to leave … as you well know, you’ve been gone a long time,” she added, throwing him a look of understanding. She wrinkled her forehead and frowned, a look he had never seen from her. She did not frown much.

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked wonderingly. “Missing home.”

What he wanted to tell her was yes. One day she would be glad she left Paradiex and no longer reminisce about the lights of the entertainment district brightening the skyline or the huge festivals in the streets for every Ridellian holiday or the massive tech conferences that brought together the greatest minds of the Span. But as of  that moment, he just didn’t think it was true.

So instead of reassuring her, he said, “It sucks. It really sucks being away from home.” He felt her curious stare, which he returned with a weak smile. “But it’s not all bad. I miss Satieri all the time. But truth be told, there are a lot of things I wouldn’t give up about the Dionysian either.” A more genuine smile started to form. “It never goes away and it doesn’t really get better. But I do think, as time goes on, it becomes easier to appreciate what you’ve got. Which makes the missing seem a little bit less bad.”

“I did have fun the last couple of weeks,” Addy admitted slyly. “Thanks for letting me help out on all the really illegal stuff.”

“You should probably get used to that,” Cyrus laughed. “I doubt Corra and Finn are planning on the Beacon being free from criminal activity.”

“Doesn’t seem that way, no,” Addy agreed. “Though I don’t know about this next job. We’re just transporting an old cargo ship for some guy. Seems harmless.”

“Oh it’s not,” he assured her. “Just wait. Something about the job breaks at least ten shipping regulations, I can guarantee it.” Her pleasant laugh reached his ears.

“So d’ya think your ship and my ship will cross paths again any time soon?” she asked.

Cyrus could only pray that she couldn’t tell how pink his cheeks had become. “Not sure,” he said, averting his eyes. “I usually make a point not to involve myself in the Dionysian’s schemes … “

“Well,” said Addy, her voice light and suddenly careful. “I really hope they do.”

Somewhat surprised, Cyrus glanced back to see her smiling sheepishly at him.  “Me too.”

“ … Everyone in the department knew that Varisian would succeed us eventually. Though most were polite enough not to mention it,” said Fiearius, breathing a tired sigh. He slumped on the edge of the exam bench in the infirmary while Leta tended to the gash in his shoulder, courtesy of Varisian herself.

Now that the Dionysian and the Beacon were safely in the air and Quin had been left to handle the situation on Archeti, they had a moment to debrief on their last moments of the job. The problem was Fiearius was having a hard time explaining. It still felt somewhat surreal, otherworldly. He should have been celebrating a victory. And yet …

“Did you know her well?” Leta asked, giving a painful tug on the stitching wire, making Fiearius grimace.

“Not really. But I knew she was good. Everyone knew she was good.”

“Ophelia was promoted to Internal Affairs Prime after your exile and my reassignment,” said Dez from his spot against the wall.  Usually, Leta ignored Dez’s presence entirely, but this time she glanced at him with interest.

“One of the most successful Primes in recent history,” he went on steadily. “She toppled our record in under three years. It’s no surprise the Council picked her to go after you now.”

Leta tied the wire into a swift knot. “So how did she find us then?”

Fiearius shook his head. “Wish I knew.”

“You’re not difficult to locate,” Dez pointed out. “The Council has eyes and informants everywhere. And you never fail to draw attention.”

Suddenly, Dez’ presence felt rather unnecessary. “Is that meant to be helpful?” Fiearius grunted.

“No. Informative. And perhaps something to consider in planning your next move.”

“Our next move is to hide,” said Leta at once. “This Varisian woman must’ve reported this by now. We’ll have to lay low for awhile.”

“Yes. We will.” Dez set his eyes on the doorway, pushed himself from the wall and crossed through the room. “I’ll see about landing us at a port off the grid. We need to refuel and regroup.”

Fiearius was not sorry at all to see him leave. After the door fell closed, he dropped his chin to his chest, exhaustion sinking through him as Leta worked quietly: applying salve to his cuts, finishing stitches in his arm. She was just cleaning blood from the beds of his nails with a damp cloth when her voice wound toward his ears.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently.

He lifted his head. Her bright green eyes were searching over his face, so he forced his mouth toward a heavy smile.

“I’m okay. Just a little shaken maybe.” He drew in a deep breath and had to admit, “But we did it. We actually did it. We won,” which made her expression lighten.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? And no one even got hurt.” Her gaze slid toward the stitches in his shoulder. “Well, not too badly anyway.”

Suddenly, his stomach twisted. He knew exactly what was bothering him.

“That’s…not entirely true,” he muttered, and Leta looked up again. Her hand was still holding his wrist, but she went still.

“There was a woman in the bridge,” he said quietly. “The captain of the frigate I was on. She was a Society agent, but…there was something different about her.  She–she didn’t make it. Varisian–”

Well, he didn’t need to repeat what had happened.

“ — got to her. But before she died, she said things to me that–I don’t know, they were strange.” He shook his head, bewildered. “She didn’t think I was a traitor. She said she admired me. That people were talking. That I’m not alone.”

Leta was surveying him intensely. Her expression was unreadable until she demanded in amazement, “People on Satieri are talking? Admiring you … ? Fiear, that’s — that’s really good. That means not everyone believes the propaganda the Society is spinning.”

“But whether they believe it or not doesn’t matter if they’re too afraid to do anything about it,” he couldn’t help but mutter. But Leta was not deterred.

“Who says they aren’t willing to do anything about it? Maybe not now. Not yet. But you’d be amazed how people will fight back when they’re given a shot.”

This was feeling rather familiar.

“Like you did,” he pointed out, and she smiled sadly.

“I don’t know if fleeing Vescent counts as defiance.”

“But teaming up with a crew of traitors?” he suggested. “Breaking someone out of a high-security prison? Raiding Society headquarters to halt an execution?” He grinned. “Not to mention befriending half of their Most Wanted list.”

“When you put it like that,” Leta laughed. “I’ve accomplished a lot lately.”

The smile faded from her face as she tilted her head, eyeing him knowingly. Too knowingly.

“Fiear, I’m sorry about the captain. Sounds like really she believed in something.”

He sighed. “I think she might’ve.”

Leta rested her forearm on his unwounded shoulder, her fingertips sliding up into the back of his hair affectionately. “Well, for what it’s worth — and I can’t believe I’m even saying this — “ She heaved a trouble sigh. “But, I’m proud of you.”

Suddenly, Fiearius felt more like himself. He could not resist: a smirk filled his face.

“A little,” Leta said quickly. “A little proud. Don’t let this get to your head — “

“You’re proud of me?” he demanded, sliding his palm to the small of her back. “You?”

Leta shook her head, but smirked at him as Fiearius wound both arms around her waist, pulling her close enough so their foreheads touched. “Well then. If it makes you so proud, maybe we should do jobs like this more often.”

“You want to make a habit of raiding Society ships?”

“Why not? We pulled in a decent haul to keep us going for a while, strengthened our relationship with a valued associate. And personally, I gained a large sense of satisfaction from the experience. Besides,” he scoffed. “I’m a legend now apparently. Gotta keep up my image.”

“The Society will get smarter about this,” Leta warned. “They won’t let it happen again. But,” she muttered, arching her eyebrows, “it is tempting … “

“Exactly. So we’ll hide for a bit …  let this pass …. spend some quality time in the privacy of the command deck,” he added slyly, his grinning mouth just barely grazing hers. “And maybe you can elaborate more on how proud you are of me.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The bridge sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment too long until finally Eve asked boldly, “If you wanted to leave the Society too, ma’am, why don’tcha?

The captain grimaced. “It ain’t that easy. Lot of us don’t have the resources to try and leave. Nor the bravery…”

Bravery? Resources? Was this woman nuts? Fiearius wondered. It wasn’t bravery nor resources that lead him to flee. She had no fucking idea. No fucking clue what had happened. No clue who had to die to bring him to this. “But you have a ship,” he pointed out suddenly, feeling his confusion turn towards irritation.

“Well, yes, but–”

“You have a ship, you have free reign to just go whenever you want,” he snapped. “An old, crappy ship they won’t even chase you down to take back.” A wave of rage rushed over him. “You’re free. They don’t give a shit about you. You are so fucking free, there is nothing stopping you from leaving, how fucking dare you make excuses?!”

He hadn’t realized that he had taken a step closer, adopted a more threatening stance, tightened his grip on his pistol until he saw the woman’s expression change, very quickly, from excitement to utter fear.

“P-please,” she begged quietly, holding up her palms to him. “Please don’t kill me. I have a family. A husband. Two little boys. Please. Take the ship, just please don’t kill me.”

Fiearius’ stance slackened, the heat of anger leaving him. He took in a deep breath and let out a sigh, his arm dropping to his side. “I’m not gonna kill you.” He shook his head. “I just–” Lost control of myself for a moment. Must have been the pill he’d taken a few hours ago, getting the best of him. Fucking Flush. Even ‘free’ from the Society as she seemed to think he was, he was still caught up in their hold.

“I’m not gonna kill you,” he said again, shoving his pistol in its holster at his hip. “Just–promise me one thing.” The woman looked up at him, relaxing, if only a little. “Go home. Get your family. And leave.” Before it’s too late, he added silently.

“How?” the woman breathed in disbelief. “W-where do we go?”

That’s not my fucking problem, Fiearius wanted to reply. But after a moment, the answer hit him. “Carthis,” he said shortly. “Go to Carthis. You’ll be safe there.” And without really knowing what he meant, he added, “Tell the others too.”

The woman seemed to understand. She nodded seriously. “I will. I promise.”

Fiearius turned his back to her, unable to look at the woman any longer. Sighing, he put his hand to his ear and spoke into the earpiece. “You know my routing number, Quin. Think you owe me some credits.”

“That so, Soliveré?” came Quin’s voice in reply. “Got your bridge all secure?”

“Sure do,” he replied, glancing at the woman who was quickly gathering her bag and supplies. “The captain was surprisingly cooperative.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Quin mused and after a moment, added, “I had to shoot mine.”

Fiearius raised his brows in surprise and glanced down at the captain who, horribly, heard that. She dropped her bag in shock.

Fortunately, Quin provided a distraction as she went on, “C teams, head in to secure the ships. A and B teams, meet on the docks for debrief.”

Eve and Dez moved toward the hallway. Fiearius lingered for a moment, his eyes on the captain.

“Follow me,” he told her suddenly. “I’ll make sure you get passage back to Satieri.”

“Are you — are you sure — ”

“Do it,” he snapped, and she slowly nodded her head, looking thunderstruck.

“Thank you, I don’t know how — “

He nodded grimly, ready to end this, but then she put her hand on his arm. “I’m not the only one, y’know,” she whispered. A smile pulled across her face. “You’re not alone.”

Silence passed between them; Fiearius could think of nothing to say. Not alone? What did that even mean? Was the Society losing control? Could it mean —

Suddenly, behind Fiearius, both doors slid sharply closed with a thud of metal, blocking Dez and Eve in the hallway. Tensing his hand around his gun, Fiearius spun around, ready —

A rush of black clothing went past his eyes and then, before he could blink, before he could move at all, white-hot pain was exploding down his shoulder. The intruder had sliced him clear open with a blade and he let out a guttural yell as hot sticky blood flooded down his arm.

“Who is it?” cried Leisa, wheeling around, thinking perhaps the intruder was one of her own. “Stop! Stop, whoever you — “

Gritting his teeth, Fiearius manically scanned the room, trying to catch up with the figure that was darting behind walls, crouching behind consoles, expertly dodging in and out of sight. Wounded he may have been, but he was more prepared: another rush of dark clothing passed his eyes, and he ducked out of the way as a blade swung over his head. He shot out his leg, making contact with a thigh.

He jumped back to his feet and grabbed his pistol. This time when the figure darted past, he glimpsed a blur of slick white-blonde hair. There was something familiar about it …. About her …

He had no time to search his memory. The strikes were unrelentless, untiring, again and again he ducked from her blade, blocked her blows. The blade knicked his arm, sliced the back of his hand until finally he gave up defending and suffered a nasty cut on his neck for the chance to deliver a forceful punch to the figure’s head. She was knocked off balance, and her blade clattered to the floor.

Seizing the moment, Fiearius stood upright, squeezed the trigger halfway and then — as soon as he got the first true look at his assailant — he froze. The blonde hair, the tight jawline, the tattoo on her neck. The cruel narrowed eyes staring him down. Recognition flooded his senses.

“ … Varisian?” he breathed, like he’d seen a ghost.

Ophelia Varisian. That was her name. On Satieri, she’d been the next rising star in Internal Affairs before Fiearius’ abrupt departure. Quick, deadly, clever, she was more motivated than any of their contemporaries: while the rest of the department was drinking in the Entertainment District on a Friday night, she could be seen in the HQ gym, training alone. She’d even refused to work with a partner. On one memorable occasion, she cheerfully informed Fiearius that she intended to become the next Prime once he’d been killed. He’d laughed at the time, though it was decidedly less funny now.

Because here she was: on Archeti, ready to kill him.

Ten feet away, the captain Leisa suddenly let out a shaky cry. Ophelia crouched and picked up her fallen blade gently from the floor. Before Fiearius could move, the blade flashed past his eyes, flew through the room and embedded itself directly into the captain’s chest.

Transfixed, horrified, Fiearius watched as Leisa fell to her knees. She went eerily still, then dropped face-forward into the floor.

Ophelia turned back, gun in one hand and blade in the other.

“Dov’ha rei’ja, Soliveré,” she said coldly, bidding him a final Ridellian farewell as she raised a gun to his head.

But it was then Cyrus interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait,” short of breath, anticipation flooding his voice. “The sub-set blockade? Is it the same one they use on the–”

And then Addy let out a squeal of excitement. “The Barralions! Yes!”

“So that means we can just–”

Addy laughed. “Crash the blockade and trigger the failsafe monitors boot. Oh man, yes! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

More hurried typing filled the line. Cyrus relayed the steps to Leta until all at once, the screen before her simply shut off.

“That’s supposed to happen,” Cyrus assured her. “We’re in. We got it.”

Leta felt dizzy with relief. “Let’s go shut down the communications,” she breathed, pulling away from the console and hurrying down the hall with Finn on her heels. She touched her earpiece.

“Security’s done, on our way to shut down communications now,” she said to Fiearius. “How’s it going over there?”

– – – – – – – – – – – –

“Peachy,” said Fiearius through gritted teeth as he darted down the long row of the docks, marched up the ship’s ramp and swung his fist into the surprised face of a junior Society agent. He careened backwards into the ramp so easily that Fiearius almost felt pity for the young man: these were just agents-in-training, after all. Barely armed, barely aware of what was going on and entirely unprepared. Meanwhile, Dez and Eve were firing their weapons rapidly, but just over the agent’s heads — making them scatter like insects.

“Everything alright on your end? Run into any trouble?” Fiearius asked over the chaos and noise, hoping Leta and her team was making short work of them too.

“Yes. The trouble is Finn,” said Leta dully. “Can I ask why you’ve paired me with the biggest pest — “

“No trouble over here, mate,” interrupted Finn’s loud voice. “Taking real good care of Leta! Y’know, your girlfriend — “

Then, as if this call weren’t frivolous enough, Corra’s voice suddenly chimed in. “I didn’t tell him! I don’t know how Finn knows! It wasn’t me! I’m serious!”

“Just finish the job and get out of there, alright?” Fiearius growled, to murmurs of agreement.

“You be careful too,” added Leta sternly, and then the line cut out.

Turning around, Fiearius marched through the ship’s entryway as more agents flooded into the cargo bay, the poor blokes. Although, as one brave soul came plummeting towards him with a knife and a battle cry, Fiearius supposed it was better to been over-prepared than under-prepared and he whipped his pistol out from his hip and shot him in the leg.

Free from mild danger, Fiearius glanced back at Dez who was ramming the butt of his rifle into an agent’s side. Nearby, Eve, perhaps in an attempt to pass her test run with flying colors, had hopped up onto a shipping crate and was making good use of her rifle, firing off rounds with booming authority.

Fiearius nodded at her, impressed.

Minutes later, they had practically chased off all the young agents. A couple unfortunate bodies lay scattered across the dock. A few more wounded writhed around in pain, but most of the agents seemed to have gotten the message pretty quickly: run.

“We good to board?” Fiearius asked into his earpiece.

“We’re good,” replied Cyrus briskly. “Lockdown’s been lifted. Should be able to make it to the bridge unhindered.”

“Unless you run into anybody,” Addy added, worry in her voice.

“Nothin’ we can’t handle, right cap’n?” said Eve at his side, cocking her gun and beaming up at him.

Fiearius nodded into the ship. “Let’s go.”

Fortunately, whether they could handle it or not wasn’t an issue. As the group rushed through the great cold halls of the Satieran frigate, ready to fire at anything that moved, they passed barely a single soul.

At last, they stalked into the bridge. It was a wide, circular room — so unlike his cramped space on the Dionysian. But as large as it was, there was only one woman inside at the captain’s chair. Instead of putting up a fight, she stood up with her palms in the air.

“Hands up, weapons down, step away from the console,” Fiearius shouted, crossing toward her with his gun aloft, directly at her chest.

“Right, yes, of course, I’m unarmed,” said the woman quickly, voice shaking. She dressed head to toe in Society’s wear, the black librera stitched near her shoulder.

Fiearius nodded towards the console and Dez started over to it. “Oh I didn’t contact anyone, the communications are down anyway, and I — ”

“You the captain?” Fiearius barked. “What’s your name?”

“Y-yes sir,” she replied obediently. “Leisa. Leisa Fardan.”

“Where’s the rest of your crew?” Fiearius demanded, still not lowering his own gun from her in case she changed her tune. Judging by the fear in her face, he doubted it.

“After the attack started, I told them to evacuate,” she breathed hurriedly. “They’re just kids y’know. Didn’t want ‘em to get hurt — “

Fiearius eyed her skeptically, but it didn’t seem like she was lying. The agents on this ship were just kids, trying to meet one stupid requirement to secure an easy desk job. If he were her, he would have done the same. Gradually his grip on his pistol started to loosen.

But as Fiearius was considering her, her mouth fell open in shock as recognition filled her eyes.

“You — you’re him, aren’t you?” she whispered, making him blink in confusion. “You’re that rogue Verdant! But you’re supposed to be dead!”

“Well,” Fiearius muttered, wrong-footed. He tightened his grip again. How much did she know? He suddenly felt very much in dangerous territory. “Obviously I’m not.”

But if this woman knew what being Verdant meant, knew that she was a few feet away from taking all the power of the Society in her hands, she didn’t show it. If anything, she showed, confusing as it was, excitement.

“Wow, I can’t–” she began, stumbling over her words. “This is so incredible, I can’t believe it. You’re — you’re a legend!”

Fiearius could only stare at her, perplexed. He glanced sideways: Dez looked puzzled, and Eve just raised her brows at him curiously.

“I’m a traitor,” he reminded the woman carefully.

“To the Council maybe,” she admitted. “Always been a legend to me and mine.” She lowered her arms, but when both Dez and Eve repositioned their sights on her, she threw her palms back in the air again. “The way you escaped, the way you just kept on eluding capture even after all that time and all those people they sent after you — people are talking,” she added in an excited whisper, as if her employers might swoop down at any moment.

“Talking?” Fiearius muttered.

“You’re an inspiration, sir! Really.” Suddenly, her face fell with sadness. “When we heard they’d finally gotten ya, we were so disappointed. Maybe gettin’ outta this nasty web wasn’t as possible as we’d hoped.  But–” The grin returned. “Here you are. In the flesh. I can’t believe it.”

Neither could he. Dez and Eve was looking to him for instruction, but all Fiearius could do was stare at this strange woman. Society agents, his old colleagues, actually admired him? People were, as she said, ‘talking’?

With a murmur of conversation, the group dissolved and everyone left for their positions — everyone but himself and Leta, who both lingered as people hurried past them.

“Sorry I told Corra,” she muttered, a small smirk at her lips. “I couldn’t help it, she’s been pestering me for news. She did say she wouldn’t tell anyone else, so … “

“So it’s only a matter of time before the whole span knows,” Fiearius finished. “Have you met my crew? S’alright — I didn’t expect this to stay quiet for long anyway.” He smiled, but it faded from his face. “So. You ready for this?”

A determined light came to her face. “Ready to take a swing at the Society? Oh … I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Let’s just pray it doesn’t end up biting us in the ass,” he muttered, his first outward display of worry, and he felt her fingertips brush gently against his forearm at his side. He met her bright green eyes steadily and felt a lift in his chest. A seed of hope maybe, but more than that. The reminder of why he was doing this at all. All that the Society had taken from him. From her. All that it continued to take, day by day. And all that it would take in the future if he didn’t act.

No, he was done being complacent.

“Well if this doesn’t work,” he told her, “I’m blaming you for telling me it was a good idea.” But she only grinned.

“I can live with that.”

“Soliveré,” came a bark behind him. It was Quin, all business as she approached his side. “It’s nearly time. You ready?”

Before he could answer, Quin’s attention moved to Leta. Interest lit up her eyes. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Quinida Utada.” She held out her hand, which Leta shook briskly.

“Leta Adler. Nice to meet you.” As the crowd began to move toward the doors, Leta added, “Sorry, I better go find Finn — see you afterwards,” she added toward Fiearius, catching his eye meaningfully. He lifted two fingers in a lazy salute, then she disappeared.

As Fiearius followed Quin toward the A-group meeting point, Quin mused, “She’s mighty pretty.”

“Don’t,” Fiearius muttered under his breath, but Quin chuckled and patted his back.

“Good for you, Soliveré. ‘Bout damn time.”

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

Fiearius paced back and forth outside the warehouse doors, too keyed up to stand still. Adrenaline was starting to flow through his veins, which usually served him well on jobs like this.

Dez stood at his side, calmly adjusting his rifle.

“Are you able to focus?” was what he asked suddenly, a question that made Fiearius halt. It was the same question he always asked years ago, whenever he’d been spending time with Aela before a job or whenever he took Denarian to the park on a morning they had work in the evening. There were many things he didn’t miss about Desophyles; the passive aggressive judgment was certainly amongst them.

In their younger years, this would have spiraled into a heated fight. Now, Fiearius just snapped, “Of course,” and turned away from him. As much as he wanted Dez beside him on this operation, he was hardly in the mood for his commentary.

Fortunately, a distraction arrived.

“Soliveré, I nearly forgot,” said Quin as she approached once more. “This is Everett Harper, one of my best gunhands.”

Beside Quin stood a middle-aged woman — early 40s, perhaps — with dark skin, short mousy brown hair, and dirt-streaked clothes. She looked like she’d seen her fair share of fights as gnarled, deep scars masked her face, and she was heavily armed, guns at her back, hips, and one resting in her hand.

“Hey, cap’n,” she said, freeing one hand from her gun to shake his. “Good to meet ya.”

“She’s decided to leave my little outfit and seek employment off Archeti, unfortunately,” Quin explained. “She’s served me well for fifteen years so I would like to make sure she ends up somewhere worthy of her talents. Your little rustbucket came to mind.”

“Well, the Dionysian could certainly use another gunhand.”

“Figured as much. What d’ya say she joins your team on this run? Give her a test drive. I promise she won’t disappoint.”

Fiearius lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Sure, why not? Welcome to the team, Harper,” which made Eve suddenly beam with pride.

“Just you wait, cap’n. I’ll show ya how good I am.”

Quin suddenly straightened up, pressing her ear to listen for the signal. “The ships have landed,” she said to Fiearius after a moment. “C teams are heading in.”

“Affirmative, B teams,” Fiearius called into his own COMM. “Ready?”

“Ready,” came the somewhat shaky voice of Cyrus into his ear.

“Ready,” said one of Quin’s engineers.

“Ready,” said Leta.

“On my signal,” Fiearius told them, tense in anticipation. He looked over at Quin who was frowning at the floor, listening to the signals in her ear. Minutes passed that felt like hours before finally, she glanced up at him and nodded firmly. “Go. Now,” he ordered at once. An array of confirmations flooded into his earpiece as the B teams headed for the ships.

Leaving only them. Quin stepped over to him, swinging her rifle in her hand. “What do you say, Soliveré?” she mused, impossibly calm as always. “A thousand credits to the first of us to make it to our bridge?”

Fiearius frowned, but only in thought. “Make it two thousand. I could use some easy cash.”

Quin grinned. “You’re on.” Briskly, she  turned to face the door and cocked her rifle in her hands. “Let’s go kick us some Sochy ass, shall we?”