Of course, Dez wouldn’t see it that way. “Excuse me, I think I just saved your life?” he pointed out, feigning offense.

“And I’m appreciative,” Fiearius snapped, looking around. “But now you need to go.”

“Why?” asked Dez suspiciously. “If it’s Carthis, I’m not afraid of–”

“It’s not Carthis,” Fiearius insisted, “you just have to go, okay?” There were few people capable of ignoring Fiearius when he got down to pleading. Unfortunately, Dez was one of them.

“Always so grateful, aren’t you?”

Pleading wasn’t going to work then. Fiearius groaned in frustration and, without meaning to, started to pace tight circles in the grass. “Grateful? It’s your fault that psycho did this to begin with.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Fair? Fair.” Fiearius shook his head in disbelief. “If you had just listened to me and taken her back to the ship instead of–gods, I don’t even know what you did, lock her in a cell and try rehabilitative therapy? She wouldn’t be out there trying to set me on fire every six months!”

Dez’s stare narrowed. “I did what I thought was right, Fiearius. You would have just handed her over to Carthis and–”

“Carthis wouldn’t have tried to ‘fix’ her,” Fiearius growled.

“It was you who gave me the idea,” Dez argued, but Fiearius ignored him.

“Nor would they have been fooled into trusting her or releasing her and they definitely wouldn’t have told her about the goddamn Rowland case.” He stopped pacing and looked over at Dez, dropping his hands at his sides. “Why the hell did you tell her about the Rowland case?”

Dez didn’t meet his eyes when he shrugged and admitted, “It seemed relevant at the time.”

Fiearius could do nothing but groan once again and roll his eyes. “And you say I’ll do anything for a pretty face.”

The comment only seemed to confuse Dez who muttered, “My decisions had nothing to do with–”

A fearful voice broke through the air.

“Fiear!”

It was Leta, coming down the hill. Smoke stains streaked her face and arms but she looked otherwise unharmed. He caught her by the forearms and slowed her to a halt; he could feel her shaking.

“Are you hurt?” she breathed. “What happened in there?” She noticed Dez over his shoulder and went rigid. “You! What’re you doing here?”

“Is she the reason why you wanted me to leave?” Dez asked behind him and Fiearius was about to respond when Leta suddenly tore herself from his grip and advanced on Dez.

“It wasn’t Ophelia who caused this, it was you!”

“It wasn’t,” said Fiearius and Dez in unison and Fiearius felt Leta’s glare turn to him.

“What? It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that he just happens to show up right when this happens? You said it was Ophelia, but where the hell is she? If she was here to kill you, she certainly hasn’t tried very hard.”

Fiearius opened his mouth to respond, but Dez beat him to it. “Because she’s not trying to kill him.” The statement was met by a glare of confusion, but Dez said nothing else.

“We’re not really…sure what she’s playing at,” Fiearius told Leta slowly. “But every time she’s caught up recently, all she’s done is play a bit of arsonist and disappear again. She hasn’t really tried to kill me since–since Vescent I guess.” He shrugged. “I can’t get a read on her.”

“Personally I think she’s just lost her marbles,” Dez put in unhelpfully.

“No thanks to you, I’m sure,” Fiearius grumbled, casting him a glare.

But then Fiearius felt Leta’s hand on his arm and he looked down to find her staring at him seriously. “I didn’t even know she was still out there. I knew about the fires, but the reports — they said they’re chemical or — accidents, not –” Her grip tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

To that, Fiearius just smiled at her kindly and smoothed her hair with his other hand. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

Before Leta could respond, movement caught his eye as it approached. Leta followed his eyes and she too watched as Ren, his face darkened, came to a halt before them. He stood silhouetted by the cackling flames in the background and Fiearius felt Leta’s hand drop away.

“Everyone in this building has been happy and safe for years,” said Ren suddenly, his voice level but angry, “and you two are here for a few hours and look what happens. Gone. Just like that.”

Leta stepped toward him. “Ren–”

But he cut her off. “And what am I supposed to do now? Stay here? In the charred remains of the life I wanted for myself. Try to rebuild what you’ve corrupted. Or give in. Get on that ship of yours and do what you want.”

Fiearius furrowed his brow. “This — we didn’t mean for this.”

“No,” Ren laughed. “But it’s what you knew would happen, isn’t it? Trouble follows you wherever you go. And now it’s left me with no choice. Was there ever? You told me yourself, Admiral, you couldn’t leave here with a ‘no’. Well I guess you’ve found your ‘yes’ then. I’ll help you find your Councillors.”

The words had been spoken before Fiearius could even think to stop them. At his side, Leta gave a start. She threw a look of alarm at Dez. “Ren — “

But it was too late. Dez was already frowning in thought, looking bemused. “Find the Councilors?” he said to Fiearius. “So that’s what you didn’t want me to hear.”

He shook the image from his head which was becoming increasingly lighter each passing second he traversed the smoke-filled atmosphere. Fiearius didn’t know what he was looking for exactly. Gordon? Garbin? In retrospect, he thought, as he vaulted over a burning support that had fallen in his path, he should have asked for a few more clues for where to look. Fortunately, it turned out he didn’t need them.

Suddenly, he became aware of a noise amidst the crackle of flame, the creaking of wood and his own footsteps. It was barely audible, but distinctly human.

Fiearius froze at once, losing at least one of the noises to try and hone in on the new one. He peered through the thick clouds of smoke, holding his arm over his mouth and blinking back the water that was filling his red eyes. His head turned one way. Then the other. He could still hear the cries, drowned out as they were, but he couldn’t see their source. He couldn’t see anything.

And then, by some cruel miracle, another wall came down.

Fiearius braced himself as the shockwave of dust and debris came roaring at him, but in the instants that followed, a cold gust of wind from outside blew in through the gaping hole, clearing the air. Just for a moment. But a moment was all he needed.

“Hang on!” he shouted to the figured huddled in a ball in the crumbling hallway as he bolted towards him. The young man seemed fine, just paralyzed in fear, until Fiearius got close enough to see what the problem was. A support had fallen on his arm, pinning him to the ground with its weight.

“Thank God!” the man cried when he saw Fiearius hovering over him. “I was trying to get out when–”

“Save your breath, kid,” Fiearius warned him as he eyed his obstacle. He didn’t have much time. This room was likely to come down any minute, with two more stories of apartments on top of it.

“Alright, count of three then you make a run straight out that opening,” Fiearius ordered, pointing to the most recent hole in the building. It was blocked by a pile of debris, but the flames there had died down in the cool air. It could be scaled. The young man nodded in obedience and Fiearius readied himself. “One. Two. Three!”

Fiearius seized the pillar which seared his palms immediately and yanked it with all of his strength. The boy’s arm pulled free and in a flash he was on his feet and tumbling towards the exit.

Fiearius dropped the pillar with a thump on the blackened ground and, ignoring the pain burning his hands, turned to the way out himself.

But then it happened: just as he staggered the first steps toward freedom, a tremendous crash overhead made Fiearius jump sideways for the floor, throwing his arms over his head as debris and wooden beams rained down on him. The crash seemed endless, like a freight train, and dust filled his nostrils and eyes and mouth.

He could feel searing painful cuts on his back and neck, and something hard was digging into his leg, but he seemed alright enough. At last the crashing settled. Dust swirled in the air like fog. Surely it was over.

But then, he tried to push himself up, and a yell of pain ripped through his throat. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw more wooden beams that weighed like a mountain of concrete on his back and legs.

Well, fuck, he thought. He was trapped.

Gritting his teeth, tasting blood in his mouth, he tried again and found his arms shaking with effort. He sucked in a gasp of breath, but it was full of dust and smoke and made him choke. What now? Unfortunately, as was so often the case lately, when his life was seeming to come to its long-delayed close, his mind went to the most unhelpful place of all: what would the headlines say? ‘Rogue Verdant crushed to death while saving helpless in burning building’?

Better than last week’s ‘Admiral Soliveré gets shot in the back of the head by a Society intern because he forgot to close a door’.

Just as he was shaking the thoughts from his head and trying instead to focus on a way out of this, a noise reached his ears. Heavy footsteps, coming his way. Someone was kicking aside the debris. The weight on his back became lighter and lighter until finally, Fiearius was able to turn his head and see his savior. Ready and willing to scold Leta for coming after him, he squinted through the smoke and saw, with a bolt of shock, it wasn’t Leta, but the lumbering figure of Dez shoving the debris off his legs.

“Come on,” he heard Dez shour through the roar of flames. “This place is coming down, we need to move.” He held out his hand and Fiearius, feeling confused but willing to live another day suddenly, seized it and pulled himself to his feet. Stumbling slightly, he followed Dez through the smoky din. He, at least, seemed to know where he was going.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Fiearus coughed, “but showing up at the last minute is getting to be a bit of a habit for you, huh?”

Pushing aside fallen beams, stepping over spurts of flames, they finally found clean, fresh air. They stumbled over a collapsed outer wall and out in the grass, twenty feet away from the building, Fiearius sank to a crouch. He could feel blood running down his neck and soot coating his face as he gasped for breath that wasn’t laden with burnt remains.

Dez stood over him. “Are you alright?”

“Been better,” Fiearius growled, his voice hoarse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Tracking Varisian,” Dez answered.

Fiearius looked up at him, a frown crossing his face. If Dez knew Ophelia was coming here… “Coulda warned me, y’know…”

Dez lifted one arm in a half shrug. “She was headed to the middle of nowhere and you’re supposed to be on Vescent. How was I supposed to know you needed warning?”

Fiearius could barely think, his mind was a fog. But then it hit him: why he wasn’t on Vescent. He’d come to get information from Ren. Information about the Councillors. Which was part of a plan to kill the Councillors. Which Dez couldn’t know about.

“You gotta get outta here.”

It wasn’t so much a matter of trust that made the idea of Dez knowing his plans so unappealing. Over the years, Fiearius had somehow ended up recultivating a lot of the trust that had once been lost between them. There was still bad blood, that would never go away, but he knew by now that Dez’s intentions, at the very least, were in line with his own. No, this wasn’t a matter of trust, it was a matter of — though it killed Fiearius to recognize it –politics.

If Dez knew that Fiearius was intending to personally assassinate the very heads of the Society, he would want a part of it. And why wouldn’t he? His hatred was just as strong and as far as assassinations went, none were so successful as those that both Fiearius and Desophyles had embarked on together. Fiearius would actually be glad for the help, in truth. But it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen. Leta was right. Carthis, and thus much of the span, saw Desophyles Cordova as a terrorist. Fiearius couldn’t risk what would happen when some upstart reporter got a shot of the two of them together standing over the dead body of their enemy.

“Luck isn’t what I’m concerned with,” said Fiearius, his tone low and his brow furrowed as he watched Ren start to shake his head a little too much, a little too fast.

“My research on the Councillors is what got me thrown in jail to begin with. If I look into it again, it’ll probably kill me.” Leta caught Fiearius’ look of alarm, but Ren went on. “But it’s not that — it’s the thousands of others that will suffer — ”

Leta got to her feet and took a step towards him. “We’ll help people, Ren,” she said gently, desperation clinging to her voice. “Your research will help. We need — “

“I KNOW what you need!” Ren yelled, voice exploding as he suddenly banged his fist on the table, making the glassware rattle and Leta’s wine glass crash to the floor. In a flash, Fiearius, his face dark and dangerous, stepped closer to put himself between Leta and Ren.

Ren was breathing hard, his eyes sliding out of focus as he dug his hands into his hair. “I’ve killed enough — I’ve killed enough, Leta, don’t you see? I can’t have any more blood on my hands. If you really care, if you really want the suffering to stop — end the war!”

Gasping for air, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and backed out of the room.

—-

Hours passed, and the night wore on, and Ren did not reappear. The door to his bedroom remained shut and neither Fiearius nor Leta dared open it, though Leta had knocked and called to him a number of times.

In his absence, they passed the time quietly debating the war, discussing plans still in motion and eventually merely swapping stories about their daily lives. It was nearly midnight by the time Leta had seemed to give up; she was nodding off on the couch, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Fiearius sat in an armchair nearby, wondering to himself how the hell he was going to fix this.

He was toying with the idea of just kicking down Ren’s door and demanding he hand the information over when that very door opened and a figure slipped out.

Ren said nothing. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge that Fiearius was there. He simply stepped out of his room and headed straight for the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Fiearius gazed at Leta’s sleeping form for a few seconds and then rose up to his feet and followed.

Outside, the evening wind blew through the trees. Even in the darkness, it was a rather beautiful view of the foresty landscape, the tops of trees swaying in the breeze. Fiearius sensed Ren tense at his presence, but they stood by side, neither of them saying anything until Fiearius grunted, “Next planet I go to is gonna be warm. Gettin’ real tired of this cold shit.”

Ren glanced sideways, a vaguely amused glint in his eye. “What are you talking about? It’s perfect out.”

“Please, I just left where you grew up. Your definition of ‘perfect’ is clearly skewed.”

Ren snorted and looked back out over the dark expanse of trees. Again, they fell into silence, but silence wasn’t going to cut it. Fiearius took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier–”

“It’s fine. It happens.”

“Well it shouldn’t,” Fiearius said simply and Ren looked back at him, first in alarm and then in slow, dawning realization. His eyes narrowed.

“If you’re going to turn my illness into a message then–”

“One, it’s not an illness,” Fiearius corrected him. “And two, I don’t want to. I wanted to do this right and proper and nice, but the plain fact of the matter is that I can’t walk away from here with a ‘no I can’t help you.’ So if nice and good ain’t gonna work, we’re gonna need to try something else.”

Ren rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Listen. We need your help,” Fiearius went on. “If you don’t help me, we’re gonna lose this thing. All of it.” Fiearius took a step forward, leaning against the railing and trying to catch his eye. “And then there’ll be a lot more people with that ‘illness’ of yours.”

“That’s all very dramatic, Admiral, but as I said, I follow the news and you seem to be winning just fine,” Ren pointed out.

“Sure, technically we’re winning,” said Fiearius, crossing his arms. “But the thing is, no matter how much we win, the Society’s not losing.”

Ren regarded him sideways and Fiearius thought perhaps he’d piqued his interest. “They’re strategically sacrificing, that’s all. They know we can’t go after their major footholds, after Ellegy, after Satieri. We won Vescent only because they weren’t expecting it, but now, they’d see any big move coming. We’re stuck hacking away at bases, at supply stations, trade lines, small fish in a big big ocean. This isn’t a war to the Society. It’s a rebellion. A rebellion they’re just waiting to tire itself out so they can crush it.”

“So you want to kill the Council. Because it’s a big move they can’t see coming.”

“And it’ll shatter internal Society structure,” Fiearius added. “At least long enough to gain the advantage.”

“And how exactly do you expect to manage that? Even in all my research, I was barely able to scratch the surface of the Council. How do you expect to get close enough to murder them?”

Fiearius snorted and turned around to lean his back on the railing, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh don’t worry. They made sure I’m good at that.”

Another silence fell. Wind whistled through the trees. And then, out of nowhere, Ren barked a laugh — a genuine, if slightly pained laugh. When Fiearius raised his eyebrows, Ren said, “I just — it’s just funny, is all. That life has turned out this way. I’m hermitting in the woods, Leta shows up with the assassin she’s dating … ”

Fiearius let out a barking laugh. “I’m not an assassin, least not anymore,” he corrected. “And Leta sure as hell ain’t dating me.” He tilted his head and spared a glance at the sleeping woman on the other side of the window pane. “Not anymore.”

Fiearius could tell by the look on Ren’s face that he’d clearly surprised him.

“Really?” he asked after a moment’s pause. “Fooled me.”

Fiearius could do nothing but shrug. Ren went on quietly, “I owe her a lot, you know? Leta.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Fiearius agreed in the same hushed tone. They lapsed into silence until Fiearius cracked a lopsided grin and ventured, “Maybe you could repay that debt by helping us?” The glare he got in return was exactly what he’d anticipated. “What, can’t blame me for trying.”

But Ren let out a heavy sigh. “I want to help her, I do. But I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Fiearius asked seriously. When Ren didn’t answer, he pressed, “Look, what can I do to change your mind? You don’t want to look at the shit again? Don’t. Just hand what you have to us, we’ll manage it. Don’t trust Carthis? Great. Neither do I, they won’t see a word of it. No one but the Councillors will be hurt, I swear it. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be saving — gods, hundreds? Thousands? Maybe you have no reason to trust me, but trust her.” He pointed towards Leta. “Help us.”

Ren met his eyes firmly for long enough that Fiearius almost thought he’d broken through. But just as quickly as he’d started celebrating, Ren tore his eyes away and marched across the balcony in frustration.

“I can’t,” he said for the thousandth time and it was all Fiearius could do to not groan. But then he went on, “Even if I would, and I won’t, I can’t. My research, my journals, you think I have them with me? What you need — I’ve no idea where it ended up. What I remember I can’t–” Here, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. “I can’t–I can’t say. I can’t–” He tore himself from the rail and shook his head violently, as though shooing away a fly buzzing in his ear.

But unlike before, he managed to pull himself together. He stood up straight. He crossed his arms over his chest. And he said, “I’m sorry Admiral, I can’t help you.”

Fiearius met his stare straight on. He felt disappointment, anger, frustration, worry starting to stir in his chest. But before he could respond, Ren’s face crinkled unexpectedly into disgust. “Is that–do you smell smoke?” he asked suddenly.

Fiearius did smell smoke. Just as the building’s alarms detected it. Both men turned to the sliding door and even from there, they could see the warm glow of flames starting to seep under the door from the hallway.

For the first time in weeks, Fiearius forgot about the Councillors entirely. “Shit.”

The niceties had to end at some point, Leta thought, as she reached across the table and seized the bottle of wine to refill her dwindling glass. She, Ren and Fiearius sat around his dining room table, empty plates around them, flames from the candles casting dancing shadows along the walls. Leta sipped her second glass of wine, hoping it would smooth over her edgy mood: the longer they talked, the more she couldn’t help but feel they were headed toward rocky waters.

“ … So I help around here where I can,” Ren was saying, his eyes resting on Leta for a moment before he tore them away and answered Fiearius. “Mostly I read a lot. Write sometimes. Help the other people who live here.” He shrugged. “Nothing that thrilling. It’s a relaxing life. Just what I needed really…”

“I bet,” said Fiearius, and, to Leta’s surprise, she couldn’t detect sarcasm in his tone. Before today, Fiearius and Ren had never exchanged more than a few words. There might as well have been a brick wall between them: Leta suspected Fiearius did not forgive Ren for leading them all to the Baltimore, and she suspected Ren did not forgive Fiearius for all that had happened with Leta.

And even besides that — they couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried. Ren was bookish and academic; he’d been in law school once upon a time, and now he desired a private life away from the war. While Fiearius was leading it.

But first Fiearius had displayed actual gratitude and humility for Ren allowing them into his home, and now he was making expert small talk? Leta wasn’t even sure this was the same person she’d walked in with. It couldn’t be. The Fiearius she knew couldn’t go two minutes without snarky comments or dry, needless wit.

And yet, he didn’t sound snarky or witty when he said, “You’ve recovered from ARC though, haven’t you?”

“Mostly. I have relapses and — bad symptoms sometimes … but it’s manageable. Carthis was very kind to treat the immediate effects and they were thorough. Just…after a while, I felt it best I leave and seek my own methods. Their treatment started to feel — ” He grinned, and heaved a sigh, “imposing.”

Leta couldn’t help herself from mumbling, “Like everything Carthis does,” into her wine glass. When both of them looked over at her curiously, she just shrugged. “What? Someone in this room has to be honest.”

Ren cracked a smile, then turned back to Fiearius. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to learn about my latest chess tournament with the neighbor downstairs.”

Fiearius gave a laugh that must have been fake, but sounded so real Leta started to question it herself.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admitted. “I’m sure you follow the news closely?”

“Of course,” said Ren. “I may have distanced myself from your war, but I can’t ignore it, or —

“It’s our war, Ren,” said Leta suddenly. “Yours too. All of ours.”

Ren gave her a swift, searching look through narrowed eyes. A look she recognized, one she certainly hadn’t missed. The one that made her feel like a child who’d spoken out of turn on a subject she didn’t understand.

“Maybe we’d better debate this another time,” he said slowly, and Leta sat up straighter.

“What’s there to debate?” she demanded. “They unjustly imprisoned you. They took over our home. They killed — gods, how many of our people?”

“Leta–” Ren warned and it only made her angrier.

“How can you even say it’s just ‘our war’? After what they did t– “

“Leta.”

It was Fiearius this time and when she caught his eye, ready to argue with him too, she stopped. It wasn’t anger clouding his face, it was pleading. And worry.

Ren stood up and walked into the dining room to retrieve another bottle of wine and in his absence, Fiearius, his eyes still locked on hers, mouthed, “We need him.”

Leta glared back, resilient, frustrated and annoyed that these two men, both so passionate and open and honest when she knew them, were now suddenly preferring to dance around and play this stupid game with one another instead of getting to the root of things.

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her wine glass.

“As I was saying, yes, I keep up with the news,” Ren went on suddenly, rejoining the circle, but this time he did not sit down. “I’ve read quite a lot about what you’ve been up to, Admiral.” And now, where before there had been only kindness, there was the tiniest hint of malice in his tone.

“Don’t believe everything you’ve read,” said Leta.

“So you didn’t lead a group of mercenaries into a civilian zone? Or sign off on the air strike over a populated city? Tell me, Admiral, have you visited the refugee camps? The people that your actions put in those camps?”

Leta scoffed. Wine or simply Ren himself was making her crave argument. Especially since Ren didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t there. He didn’t have the information Fiearius had sitting here in his cabin in the woods away from everything. She was about to tell him as much when Fiearius beat her to it.

“I have. I do. Often,” Fiearius admitted. “And I don’t like them any more than the people who live there do. I don’t like the camps, I don’t like the air strikes, I don’t like raids or battles and, though everyone seems to believe otherwise, I do not like to kill people who at one point were friends simply because of a mark on their skin.”

“Then why do you do it? If you really hate it that much, why not end this sham of a war?” asked Ren.

“Sham?!” Leta cried, indignant.

“Everyone knows it’s just Carthis’ play to gain territory,” said Ren darkly. “That’s been obvious since day one. They say they want to defeat the Society, free the people, but they just want the clusters and all the resources that come with them for themselves. It’s a sham.”

“It is,” Fiearius admitted before Leta could get another word in. She was so surprised to hear him say it that she was stunned to silence. “Of course it is. Why would they sink so much money and energy and lives into something that’s not gonna come out with them on top?” He shrugged. “On Carthis’ part, the whole liberation thing is a total sham. But not on mine.”

Fiearius stood up then and crossed the room to meet Ren face to face. “This matters to me. Not because I’m gaining anything. But because it matters. I wanted to see Vescent freed. I want to see Ellegy freed. I want to see Exymeron freed. I want no one ever again to live the life I lived on Satieri. So you ask why I do it, I have to do it. I have to fight this war. Because someone has to.”

Ren stared at him. Seconds passed. Leta was certain he wasn’t buying this. He certainly didn’t look convinced. But apparently he seemed convinced enough for Fiearius to take his shot. “Look, I want this to end just as much as you do. More, even.” He frowned. “A lot more. But that’s exactly why I’m here.”

Without hesitation, Ren said, “You want my research on the Councillors.”

When both Leta and Fiearius regarded him with surprise, he furrowed his brow. “Why else would an admiral visit me? Not like I have anything else of value.”

Fiearius stumbled, but he recovered smoothly, “With that research, we can hunt them down. Cut off the head of the Society. We can stop plowing through towns and cities and people and get straight to the source and end this once and for all. You’re the only person out there who might know their identities. With your help, we can finish this war.”

Ren nodded solemnly, gazing down at his hands. Then he looked up, met Fiearius’ eyes, and said, with a strange manic edge that hadn’t been there before, “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“What?” said Leta softly.

“I won’t dive back into my research. Yes, I know how important it is!” he added, when Leta opened her mouth to retort. His eyes had suddenly grown wider, even scared. Breathing faster, he said, “Listen to me. What I know about the Councilors? It won’t help you win this war. It’ll just get you killed. You killed one of them, Leta, and you won’t get lucky again. Either of you.” He shot a look toward Fiearius.

Fiearius continued to stare at her, so she went on hurriedly, rolling her eyes, “His name is Liam, he’s a freelance investigative journalist, he grew up on Vescent, he’s my age, he dropped out of school. His writing is supportive of the war but seems too loyal to Carthis and I’m not interested in him.”

“For someone who’s not interested, you sure did your research.”

“Of course I did.” Leta snorted. “But I’d never date a journalist.”

“I should hope not. You? Fraternizing with the press?” He smiled at her. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Leta muttered, and then she polished off the last of her drink in one shot. Whiskey burned warmly down her throat and she sighed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time all day. Perhaps it was the liquor, or maybe it was the way she could feel Fiearius watching her, but Leta felt no reservations in suddenly musing quietly, “Besides, if I started dating someone, who would keep you company when you visit Vescent?”

He did not look surprised by the comment, but he did regard her with a new, certain level of interest. Light brimmed in his eyes.

“Certainly would have thrown a wrench in some things,” he admitted quietly.

They exchanged a silent look before Leta asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

——————-

It was fortunate that the far corner of the base lay quiet and deserted, which meant no one glimpsed two figures moving quickly across the bridge in the pouring rain, their hands clasped together as they discreetly went inside the building. No one witnessed Leta hastening to unlock the door to her room, nor she and Fiearius slipping inside quickly, not even bothering to turn on the light before they started a staggering, clumsy kiss towards the bedroom.

His hand pressed against the small of her back as he walked backwards, his mouth pressing urgently against hers, again and again and again. Breathlessly, Leta wound her arms around the back of his neck, her mouth pressed to his so hard it was almost painful. Her fingers slipped up into his hair to deepen the kiss, as his hands dug into her back beneath her sopping wet shirt.

They fumbled in the darkness before the back of Fiearius’ knees hit an armchair, and he sank into it, pulling Leta down with him. It was quiet in her room, but breaking the heavy silence of nighttime was their shirts hitting the floor, her sharp gasps of breath and Fiearius’ groan in her ear when she lowered to his lap and straddled him in their chair. Their lips were pressing clumsily and heatedly together, and she could taste the whiskey on their breath.

A corner of Leta’s mind was protesting this, but the voice was growing dimmer and dimmer in her mind as they progressed as they had a thousand times before. It was a familiar dance between them, and starting not long after the Battle of Fall’s End, it happened every six months, or every ten months, or whenever they saw one another on the station, or on Vescent. They had never fully reunited as a couple — Leta knew they couldn’t — but they seemed to have a silent agreement that this level of intimacy was acceptable. Consenting adults who trusted one another deeply: what was wrong with it, really? Leta didn’t particularly want to date anyone, but company in bed and the companionship of waking up with someone — well, she missed that, sometimes. And Fiearius treated her well. Their agreement was mostly unspoken, but neither of them voiced any regret after their trysts. They would wake up together, Fiearius’ lips against the nape of her neck, untangle themselves, get dressed, say goodbye for months, and get on with their lives.

In this moment, Fiearius drew her hips closer on the chair. Her hand went to fumble with the waistband of his pants, but that was when it happened: Fiearius grasped her wrist, halting her in place. His mouth was pressed against her collarbone as he muttered, “We can’t do this.”

Leta froze, stricken with surprise. Fiearius pulled back, his face clouded with distress.

“We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Okay,” said Leta slowly, her voice shaky. “That’s — never stopped us before … but — ”

“No no, you don’t understand.” He pulled his hands off of her and dug his palms into his eyes. “It’s different. It’s different this time. I — shit I should have told you earlier — ” He groaned and then blurted out, “I need you to come with me. On the Dionysian. That’s why I’m here.”

“What?”

Alarmed now, Leta pushed herself off of his lap and stood up to her feet, somewhat unsteadily.

“We’re not making enough leeway in the war,” said Fiearius, staring at her in the darkness, looking horrified with himself, “so we want to try and cut off the Society’s head by going after the Councillors, but we don’t know who they are or where they are and the only person out there with any clues is Ren Calimore but we don’t know where he is either and he wouldn’t want to talk to us anyway so–” He dragged one of his hands away from his eye to look at her. “We need you. I need you. I need you to come with me.”

“You need me to come with you on the Dionysian and find Ren so we can chase down Councilors?” Her voice was oddly shrill, hysterical. “And you’re telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!”

“Because we’re trying to keep it quiet! The only people who know are me, Gates and now you. We can’t risk this getting out. It’s too big. It’s too important. I needed to wait until we were alone.”

Leta opened her mouth, horrified. They were more than alone; they were both shirtless in her living room.

“Good job with that,” she snapped. Then she reached for her blouse from the floor, hurrying to pull it on over her head.

“This — wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” Fiearius said, catching a hand through his messy hair. “And no, I don’t want you to chase down Councilors, I want you to convince Ren to tell me where they are so I can chase them down. Look, when he was released from ARC rehab, Ren pretty much took Carthis’ subsidy and ran. No one’s seen him or heard from him since. But you know where he is.” Fiearius leveled her a meaningful stare that she couldn’t ignore. “Don’t you?”

Leta wanted to tell him to leave, but she couldn’t — not when he looked so desperate, eyes shining in the shadowy darkness.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “I do. And you’re right, you do need me, because there’s no way Ren would trust you or Gates with anything.”

Fiearius’ mouth twitched like he wanted to retort, but then thought better of it. Shifting uncomfortably, he stood to his feet, and that was when Leta found his shirt on the floor and tossed it to him — or rather, threw it a little unnecessarily hard at his chest. He caught it and blinked, narrowing his eyes.

“So. That’s a yes? You’ll come?”

“Maybe.” Leta crossed her arms. “On some conditions.”

“I figured.”

“You need to bring me back here right away. I can’t leave my clinic.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“And when I’m on your ship, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That’s fair.”

“And — ” Leta shifted on her feet. “Tell Gates to give my apartment back.”

Fiearius opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but decisively shut it again. “I’ll…see what I can do,” he grumbled, eying her skeptically.

“Then fine. I’ll help,” she growled, “but next time you’ve got some big mission to take me on — you open with that, alright?”

“So you have been in contact with him. I knew it.”

“Leta –” he warned.

“Dez, his whole group — they’re terrorists, Fiearius!” she protested under her breath.

“According to Carthis.”

“According to everyone. They bombed that temple on Ascendia.”

But he was shaking his head. “They didn’t. They were just the easiest group to pin it on.”

“There was proof, their ships were there when–”

“ — when the bomb went off, yeah,” Fiearius finished for her. “But that doesn’t mean we were the ones that did it.”

Leta opened her mouth, then hesitated, suddenly stricken.

“We?” she repeated, and clearly Fiearius hadn’t even realized he’d said it. He regarded her with his jaw clenched, and Leta said, with dawning realization, “You’re working with them, aren’t you?”

His eyes darted around the room at once, desperate to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, the bar was nearly deserted.

Still, Leta lowered her voice to barely a whisper as she said, “Fiear, what the hell are you doing working with Dez? Does Gates know?”

“Gods, no. Of course not. He’d fucking murder me.”

“For good reason! Can you imagine what would happen to the war effort if it got out that its main admiral is working with branded terrorists?”

Fiearius sighed, exasperated. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like that. I’ve lent them a hand a few times. I’ve given some advice a few more. And they’re not terrorists. They’re on our side.”

“But not on Carthis’ side.”

“So what, you gonna go tell ‘em now?” Fiearius demanded, full of challenge. “That I’m a traitor? That I support terrorists?”

Leta shot him a warning look.

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” she said darkly, and then sighed. “Besides — I’m not exactly on good terms with Carthis these days, either.” She inhaled sharply. “They’re seizing my clinic. I found out this morning.”

Fiearius looked surprised, and then unsurprised.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“It’s not that I’m not appreciative for everything they’ve done. Removing the Society strongholds, stabilizing Vescent, they’ve supported me and my efforts too, but…”

“But they’re beginning to wear down their welcome,” he muttered. “Even without rioting in the streets, that’s pretty obvious.”

“But Gates said they’ve started meeting on an exit strategy,” Leta insisted. “He said they’re finally looking into pulling out.”

Fiearius’ eyes were locked on hers. His mouth twisted toward a smirk. “You believe it?”

“I have to.”

Uncomfortable silence fell. Fiearius went to respond, but suddenly the door to the bar swung open and a group of men and women in uniform strolled in, laughing amongst themselves as they moved to a booth nearby. Fiearius downed the rest of his beer, put the glass down on the bar and waved for a refill. For now, at least, the conversation was dropped. It had to be dropped, with Carthian ears so close by.

So Leta changed the subject.

“I almost forgot,” she said, straightening up. “I have something to show you.”

From inside the fold of her jacket, she withdrew a handheld console, switched on the screen and slid it over to him. A headline blazed on the screen.

Rogue Verdant Returns to Fall’s End! You won’t believe what (and who) he’s brought with him!

“Don’t suppose you saw this masterpiece of journalism?” she posed innocently. “I stumbled across it working today. There’s something in there about you bringing your newest conquest with you. A new girlfriend.”

Fiearius squinted at the screen, but didn’t bother reading the article before he pushed it away from him in disgust. “This exact kind of garbage is why I keep getting in trouble.”

“I doubt articles can take all the blame for that.”

He ignored her. “Did I tell you about this? Gates called me in for a meeting about a month ago. I thought it was just a debrief from the mission, but oh no. No it was not. It was about–” He leaned toward her and quoted, with absolute disgust in every syllable. “Professional and personal conduct.”

Leta snorted. “Because of that woman who wrote about her date with you and got picked up by the mainstream feeds? That was a fascinating read. Very well written. Descriptive.”

“For the record, most of that wasn’t even true. But fine, okay, I date around a bit, and sure, I don’t have the best judgment about which of those dates are secret wannabe journalists, but c’mon. Do I really deserve to be lectured by this guy about how my ‘behavior’ was ‘inappropriate for my station’? That, as a ‘key player in the war’, I had a responsibility to keep my ‘personal desires’ in check? Key player or no, I’m only human.”

Leta glanced down at her drink, which was nearly finished. Perhaps that was why she felt bold enough to ask, “Speaking of, how’s Quin?”

Fiearius arched an eyebrow at her, and Leta knew she’d startled him. “Quin? She’s fine. Ran into a bit of trouble on one of the border planets a while back, but she’s back in business and running a scouting trip as we sp– ”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you and her? How are you two?”

Fiearius looked distinctly uncomfortable. Brow furrowed, he grunted, “How’d you find out?” to which Leta felt some grim satisfaction. She’d had a feeling in her gut that Fiearius and Quin were sleeping together, although she couldn’t pinpoint how, exactly, she knew.

So all she said was, “Did you forget that both of our assistants are terrible gossips?”

His mouth flinched in disapproval and he took another drink. “Look, it’s not really like that. There’s no ‘two’ of us. We’re partners. That’s the main thing. And sometimes, when things are rough especially, we find some alternative forms of comfort in one another because we kind of always have.” He hadn’t been looking at her, rather staring at the empty glass in front of her, but now he met her eyes and smirked. “It’s not like Quinida Utada would be my girlfriend.”

Leta returned his smirk, as if she was more amused than she felt. “But would you want her to be?”

“Gods, no, she scares the shit out of me,” Fiearius laughed. “I like her and I respect her more than anyone else in those damn war room meetings. We’ve been through a lot together, especially over the past few years. But whatever you’re implying? Two of us? Together? Like that?” He blanched, and threw a nasty glance toward the glowing screen. “You can tell Vescent’s star journalists that they should rethink their sources.”

“I’ll pass the word along.”

“What about you then? Since we’re on the topic. It’s only fair. Anyone special in your life?”

Carefully sipping her whiskey, Leta shook her head. “I’ve got needy patients. I’ve got Nikkolai pointing out every attractive Carthian soldier we see. I’ve got a journalist following me around. That’s about all the attention I’m getting from men these days.”

Fiearius barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

He squinted at her face and went on, “Well, I can’t see you with a soldier, so I guess that’s out. And we both know how strict you are about doctor patient relationships,” he said with a smirk. “So the journalist then. Tell me about him.”

“He just wants an interview,” said Leta composedly. “We barely know one another.”

Finn, however, wasn’t concerned with their chatter. His eyes were locked on the street addresses that they passed. Thirty one, thirty two, thirty– He stopped suddenly. “We’re here.”

The apartment building was non-descript, innocuous — a bit run-down, perhaps, but a woman was hanging laundry out of her window and children were playing on the stoop. Clearly, Callahan had taken refuge here as a regular citizen. Just another soul trying to make his place in the world and not someone who sold and traded living people. Not the monster he was.

Without hesitation, Finn moved inside the foyer and bounded up the dark narrow stairway (“Apartment twelve,” Alyx had said). He found the number on the door, he marched right up to it and shifted his balance, about to kick it down with all the rage in his body when Alyx grabbed his forearm.

“Finn, hang on,” she whispered angrily. “Look.” She nodded toward a small device above the door. Finn hadn’t noticed it. It was hidden in the shadow of an overhang, a small, shiny black thing. A security camera. “He’s probably ready for us. We need to take this carefully.”

Finn’s expression darkened. Carefully? If Alyx thought he was going to wait one more second to give a vicious ally-trader what he deserved, she was crazy. “Maybe there’s another way around or–” she was saying, but he didn’t care. Shaking his head, he muttered, “‘I’m ready for him,” under his breath and then, in one motion, much to her chagrin, he swung his heel against the weakest point of the door, making it crack and fall with a thud.

Alyx groaned her distaste, but her gun was in her hand in an instant and she didn’t say a word as she followed Finn over the broken door, and inside the apartment. It lay silent — eerily silent. Finn glanced at Alyx. Alyx glanced at Cai. Cai shrugged and then they split up, each taking a different path into the dimly lit rooms.

Slipping his own gun into his hand, Finn pressed through the apartment, ears alert for any sound. The carpet crunched underfoot, he could still hear the children from the street, but the inside of the apartment was plunged into quiet. It was a normal sort of apartment. The walls were a non-offending light tan, the furniture, what little of it there was, was non-descript and generic. It didn’t seem like the home of a vicious criminal, it could have belonged to anybody.

But whoever it belonged to, they weren’t here. The bedroom was empty, the kitchen was empty. He whipped open a pantry door and found nothing but shadows and cobwebs. The hallways, too, were quiet as a tomb. The more he searched, the more Finn’s hopes plunged and his desperation rose.

Finally, after digging through a pathetically empty closet, he marched, frustrated, back into the main room. Both Alyx and Cai were standing by the front door. Cai had already holstered his gun and Alyx, a woman who was on her guard even in comfortable situations, looked practically relaxed. Clearly, their searches had been just as fruitless as his.

“No,” Finn muttered, practically seething as he approached them, “No no no, this cannot be happening.”

Alyx exchanged a worried glance with Cai. “Finn…” she began, hesitant.

“Don’t tell me he got away. Don’t tell me he’s left already,” Finn growled, pacing the living room furiously, feeling an incredible urge to puncture a hole in that perfectly nondescript tan wall.

“Maybe we can figure out where he’s headed next,” said Alyx quietly, but Finn just groaned his frustration.

“No, you don’t understand!” he insisted. “This was it. This was supposed to be it. Today. We were so close!”

“I know, believe me I know, but–”

“Where the hell is he?!” Finn demanded, but before Alyx could answer, Cai, looking suddenly alarmed, crossed straight through their conversation across the living room, stood before a set of tall green curtains and looked down.

“Uh. Guys — “

Raising his eyebrows, Finn hurried after Cai and what he found made him halt so sharply Alyx nearly ran into him. Amongst the light coming in beneath the curtain, playing across the carpet, was something else. Something dark. Something red. Blood.

Finn found himself holding his breath as he tore back the curtain, revealing the open door onto the balcony beyond. And sprawled out on the concrete balcony floor was the limp body of Callahan, his limbs fallen over the ground at odd angles. His eyes were wide, startled, and vacant. Crimson pooled from his middrift, a river of blood flowed toward their feet.

“God,” Alyx breathed, breaking the tense silence at last. “This — this must’ve just happened — look how fresh the wound is … “

“And I can take a guess why,” said Cai quietly. Their eyes fell toward one detail in particular: part of Callahan’s ear had clean chunk chopped out of it. Just like an ally. But that wasn’t all.

“He was stabbed in exactly the same place he stabbed me,” Finn muttered, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck as his hand subconsciously rose to touch the spot where the scar still ran across his chest.

As he stood there, gazing at the body, Finn felt nothing — no pity, no sympathy and no validation. It may have been a victory, but it didn’t feel like a victory. Callahan was dead, that was what he wanted, right? Then why did this sight fill him with such a vicious sense of wrongness? And before he could think to do differently he heard himself growl, banging his fist on the balcony railing, “Who the hell did this?! Who else was here? How did this happen?!”

Unsurprised by Finn’s unpredictable moods, both Cai and Alyx simply blinked at him.

“Well, if my source knew he was here, he had to find out from somewhere — who knows where else the information went?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“The important thing is that he’s dead,” Cai suggested softly, but Finn yelled, “No! You don’t get it! I was supposed to do it. He was mine!”

Cai regarded him with a mixture of concern and confusion, but Finn couldn’t look at him anymore. He couldn’t look at Alyx. He couldn’t look at Callahan’s corpse either. He tore back into the living room, brushing past the both of them. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! This isn’t how I wanted it. Five years! I gave five years to killing this man and someone else finishes him?! How? Who? I fucking need to know who did this!”

“Well, we might be able to find out.” Alyx caught his eye meaningfully, then tipped her head upwards. Finn looked up and saw what she was looking at. Something small, black, shiny. The security cameras.

In the blink of an eye, Finn rushed through the apartment to the bedroom where he’d seen a console screen. Cai and Alyx crowded beside him, and Alyx typed something into the keyboard. And there it was. Hours upon hours of security footage. She chose a recent one, from only the night before. The screen showed Callahan moving around the apartment, speaking on his COMM, reading a book. Alyx scrubbed through the footage, and then, it happened so fast Finn almost missed it — a shadow moving behind him —

“Stop,” Finn hissed. “Play it there.”

They all froze as the footage continued: Callahan was picking through his bookshelf and didn’t notice as a small hooded figure crept up behind him and suddenly, as far as Finn could tell, held a blade against his neck. They struggled, and the hooded figure was small but powerful and confident in the way they rammed their knee into Callahan’s stomach, grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him into a wall, making the bookshelf overhead rattle.

In the struggle, they moved off-camera toward the balcony. There was no sound on the footage so Finn leaned in, his nose almost touching the screen. He watched as the hooded figure withdrew their blade and planted it right where it belonged: Callahan’s gut. Whoever they were, this person could fight. There was something oddly familiar about them …

As Callahan writhed on the ground at their feet, the figure re-sheathed their blade swiftly and briskly, business-like. Their hood had fallen off in the fight, and when they went to adjust it, that was when Finn caught a glimpse of the assassin’s face and his chest stilled.

Corra.

Leta stopped in the hallway abruptly and Fiearius nearly plowed into her as she glared up at him. “Fiear…Why are you here?” she asked again, more sternly this time.

Fiearius  glanced at Cyrus and tilted his head, which was a message he seemed to understand. “Alright, we’re gonna go get settled in,” said Cyrus. “Guest quarters still in the same place?” he asked as he took Kalli’s hand from Leta’s.

“Yeah, just tell the cadet on duty who you’re with, they’ll find a place for you,” Leta assured them, her eyes on Fiearius.

As they walked away, Cyrus leaned down to add to his daughter, “And then maybe we’ll look into sledding,” which made the little girl shriek in excitement and put a smile on Leta’s face.

But then she turned back to Fiearius and the smile vanished once more. “Okay. Explain yourself.”

Fiearius laughed and shook his head as he kept on down the hall. “Still as demanding as ever I see.”

“If you’re on Vescent in the middle of winter, you must have a damn good reason and I want to know what it is,” she said simply. “If that means ordering an admiral about then–”

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Captain,” he corrected, matter-of-factly, “Not admiral.”

“Sorry, Fiear, but you are an admiral, whether you like it or not. You command a fleet in a war. You rank equal to Gates. You’re an admiral.”

But Fiearius just brushed her off. “I prefer captain.”

For a moment, Leta considered arguing further. But then she realized it was probably fruitless. “Fine. Captain,” she emphasized, “Last time we spoke, you were out by Ascendia tearing apart a Society base. And now you just show up here? Without even a word of warning.” He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. “And it’s not because you think I like surprises. Why are you here?”

Somehow, miraculously, he seemed to recognize that he wasn’t going to get out of this one. So he sighed, looked down at her and admitted, “I’m only here to see you actually.”

Leta’s brow furrowed at once, suspicious.

“Business, not pleasure,” he amended quickly and then grinned. “Don’t get too excited.”

Fiearius’ ‘business’ was not something Leta was sure she wanted to be involved in. Most of it took place on the front lines, sneaking onto Society bases, assassinating Society leaders, flying reconnaissance in Society space. Leta had always gotten the impression that Gates and the other Carthian higher-ups would have preferred their partnering admiral take on more of a command role. He should have been in offices and war rooms and strategy meetings to determine where best to send the vast fleet of rogues and criminals at his beck and call.

But in traditional Fiearius fashion, he ignored all of Gates’ requests and continued to barrel head-first into whatever danger presented itself to him. And who were the Carthians to argue? Their agreement put Soliveré and his fleet separate to their direct control so they had no ground there. Fiearius’ heroics had brought in waves of good press and support they could never have garnered on their own. And besides all that, he’d been hugely successful. Or so she had thought until now.

“What kind of business?”

“Important business,” he answered carelessly. “But not time sensitive. It can wait.”

Leta closed her eyes, exasperated. It was just like Fiearius to assume she had all the time in the span to spend being humored by his antics. “Not time-sensitive to you, maybe,” she sighed. “You can’t just come in here and disrupt everything for me, alright?”

Maddeningly, he laughed.

“Glad to know this war isn’t ruining your terrible sense of humor,” Leta muttered bitterly.

“Listen,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder as they walked and leaning a little closer to her ear. “We’ll get to it, I promise. But not here.” He tilted his head towards a group of Carthians as they passed.

“Where then?”

Fiearius no longer seemed to be paying attention. “I’ve gotta meet with some people about a thing,” he said, ignoring her question. “And no doubt you’ve got places to be.”

“Actually, yes, I was on my way to–”

“Is that funky little bar still around? The one just outside the walls?” He didn’t even wait for her answer. “Nine o’clock?”

“I can’t do nine, I’ve got–”

“Nine,” he said again, firmly, catching her eye.

“So you’re asking me to turn my whole schedule upside down for you.”

Fiearius grinned and turned down a hallway to part ways. Before he disappeared around the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder and called, “It’s good to see you,” and in spite herself, Leta softened.

—————-

For the first time in months, Finn had awoken at an early hour — not with a raging hangover, nor surrounded by empty bottles. Filled to the brim with energy, he got dressed quickly and was downstairs in minutes. Everything was laid out before him. He felt clear-headed and more focused than he’d been in months.

He was going to find Callahan today, and he was going to kill him.

Crew members watched curiously in the cargo bay as Finn strapped a gun to his hip, then a knife, then slipped another gun into the waistband at the small of his back. Seconds later he was trekking down the open ramp of the Beacon and into the city of Tarin, Alyx and Cai at his side (Daelen had refused to come). All around them, the city square bustled, oblivious to the three people crossing quickly down the path with purpose in their steps.

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” Alyx asked Cai, and it was true that Cai rarely came along for jobs that could turn bloody – and this one most certainly would. Though his skittishness in the face of danger had faded, he still had an unshakeable tendency to freeze under pressure and his busted leg wasn’t the most useful in a quick getaway. Typically, Alyx and Finn took on the more dangerous jobs alone.

“If he’s got any Un-Frees around or information on the whereabouts of any, I need to grab it for the Conduit,” Cai explained and then flashed Alyx a knowing grin. “Besides, who else is going to save you two when you get into trouble?”

Alyx mustered a polite, but skeptical laugh. “Right. Just…stay behind us, okay?”

“Addy?” he called, ducking through the door into what they’d affectionately dubbed as the dining room (in actuality, it was far too grand a title for the tiny space of the modular metallic home in which they had simply shoved a table). Addy was standing over an array of blueprints, talking through them with a man named Petro who would be taking over for their duties while they were gone. Cyrus was supposed to helping, but he was distracted.

“Addy, have you seen the purple boots? The ones with the — y’know — ” Cyrus was looking for the word ‘fluff’ but he couldn’t find that either so he just made a poofy motion with his hands.

But Addy just shook her head. “Sorry, sweetie. Have you checked under her bed?”

Cyrus mumbled a vague response before sliding past her to look through the wall cabinet as she went back to explaining, “So we need to make sure the team designing the main square leaves room for this unit.” She tapped the blueprints. “They keep fighting us on it because they want the space for, I don’t know, another restaurant or shop or something.”

Petro tilted his head at her. “How are they expecting to power any of these restaurants and shops if they don’t have the energy inlet?”

“Exactly!” said Addy. “They’re being stubborn and greedy. The coalition heads likely won’t make a decision ‘til after we’re back, but we need you to keep putting pressure on them so this doesn’t slip through the cracks, okay?”

Petro nodded, typing a quick note on his tablet. “Of course. It’s ridiculous though. You and your husba–I mean, partner, sorry–you’re New Genisi’s energy experts, and yet they really continue to fight you on this?”

On his knees on the floor, as he dug through a cubby hole(that held everything from Concordia decorations to miscellaneous bits and pieces he’d ripped out of their shuttle), Cyrus snorted. “If people just listened to scientists, this whole city would have been completed a year ago.”

It was probably an exaggeration. In truth, New Genisi had come an impressively long way. After the terraform had stabilized a few years back, the surface of Archeti had been an empty, untouched landscape, rough and wild and devoid of animal or human life. Today, it was home to some three hundred thousand people, mostly refugees, sprinkled with a handful of aspiring families and business-owners looking to start fresh and of course the ever present vultures looking to feed off the struggling vagrants. But where Genisi once stood a proud and sturdy city, it was now mere clusters of prefabricated portable buildings amidst neverending construction sites. It had come a long way, but it still had a long way to go.

Cyrus had been involved with the project from the get-go. Rebuilding Genisi had been on the table from the day it fell and he had known, even then, that he was going to lend his knowledge and experience towards it. He hadn’t known, however, that he was going to end up jumping in head-first. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it right, which meant New Genisi would not be the smouldering pit of a city it once was, but rather a shining beacon of technology, efficiency and modernity.

Energy was Cyrus’ ‘thing’, so to speak. It had been his area of study all through school and continued to be his focus at Sonnete. He knew the fastest, cleanest, most efficient ways to spread power through any ship you put in front of him. A city, he was a little less familiar with, but really, he’d thought four years ago, how different could it be?

Very different, as it turned out. It wasn’t just the planning that was difficult, it was the bureaucracy. Everyone had an opinion on what went where and how and why and unlike a ship where Cyrus had the power of final decision, New Genisi was a public beast. Those other opinions mattered. Even if, as far as Cyrus was concerned, they didn’t make any sense.

Fortunately, he had Addy. “They’ll listen,” she was saying, smiling down at him. “Eventually. We might just need to stop appealing to their heads and take a few shots at their credits.”

She was his rock, to say the least. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d told her that he wanted to go to Archeti as their energy consultant. But if he had to choose a reaction, her actual “Let’s all move there and I’ll be a consultant with you,” would be the one he picked. And after three years living in this tiny little tin can of a house together, he didn’t know what he could have done without her.

“Noted,” said Petro, jotting more on the tablet. “You two don’t have to worry at all. I’ll handle everything while you’re away. Hell, when you get back, the whole thing will be installed already, just you watch.”

“Then you’d be a miracle worker,” Addy laughed, grasping his shoulder. “If you need anything, we’ll be a call away, alright? Don’t even hesitate.”

“Nonsense, I’m not going to spoil your family vacation,” Petro shook her off as he headed for the door. “Have a great time, I’ll see you when you get back!”

“Thank you!” Addy called as he walked out and Cyrus stood up to join her at her side. They stood there in silence for a moment, watching his back, before Addy turned to him at last. “You still can’t find them?”

“They’re not here,” Cyrus insisted with a heavy sigh. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

“They have to be, where else would they be?” Addy pointed out, crossing into the living room to check the closet he’d already checked three times. Cyrus hovered, defeated, in the doorway, ready to say ‘I told you so’ when she came up empty.

“Why can’t we just pack these instead?” she asked, producing a pair of black boots from the abyss, but Cyrus shook his head.

“Those aren’t warm enough. It’s winter there, remember? She’ll freeze!”

“We’re raising her on Archeti, dear, she doesn’t have our sensitive desert blood y’know.”

“Our blood is exactly what she has,” Cyrus argued, “She’ll freeze, she needs the purple ones.” Addy just eyed him a beat longer before he added, “And those aren’t waterproof.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Emerging from the closet, Addy stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Well. We’ve got to get to the docks. Is everything else ready to go?”

“Of course. Everything’s packed except the boots, it’s–,” Cyrus began to assure her, but was cut off by a sudden shriek from outside.

Both Addy and Cyrus bolted out of the room, to the front door that was wide open, and felt the panic drain. Kalli was standing on the threshold looking up at the sky. Well, standing wasn’t right. Bouncing.

“Ti’hma! P’ahti!” the four year old cried in elation, seizing both her parents’ hands as her dirty blonde curls danced up and down around her face. “Look look!”

Cyrus followed her line of sight to where the dark shape of a ship was descending towards the planet. It was still a ways off and difficult to see, but he squinted his eyes and could just barely make out the rusted patchwork body of the Dionysian.

Cyrus smiled and leaned down to hoist Kalli into his arms. She giggled with delight and continued to bounce as he held her. “You excited for our trip, issyen?” he asked and she only bounced harder in response.

It had become a sort of running joke around the New Genisi settlement. No wonder Cyrus and Addy were the local experts on power, they’d say, when they spent all of their time raising a literal ball of energy at home.

Cyrus felt Addy’s hand at the small of his back. “Sweetie?” she cooed softly. “I think I know where the boots are.”

Cyrus looked over at her in confusion, but Addy was glancing at Kalli’s feet. Her feet which were contained in what looked like chunks of pure mud. But as he peered at them, he could just barely see something beneath the brown gunk: a hint of purple fluff.

Cyrus groaned and Addy sighed, turning back into the house. “I’ll go get the hose.”

——-

“How’d it go?” said Nikkolai eagerly, his voice breaking the static through the COMM device in Leta’s ear. “What happened? Did you fight? Did you win? Did you yell?”

“A little,” Leta admitted, somewhat amused. She held her fingers against her ear as she zig-zagged through the crowded hallway toward the base’s exit doors. She’d already wasted half her morning here, and she was eager to get the clinic. “I’ll tell you everything when I see you. What’s happening over there?”

“Everything’s good,” said Nikkolai, and she could hear distant chattering voices behind him — a busy morning, no doubt. “We’ve already restocked the pantry, and the waiting room is crowded, but nothing urgent. And another round of flu shots came in, tomorrow we’ll … ”

But Leta wasn’t listening anymore. She’d just seen something that halted her in her tracks.

The broad glass window to her right overlooked the ship docks, and unless she was very much mistaken, she could spot a rusted warm orange-brown metal monster lowering into place. It was like a mirage, or a ghost, and Leta felt like she’d been punched in the gut. It’d been nearly a year since she’d seen it. The Dionysian.

” … still have plenty of left, but we’ll never finish –” Nikkolai was saying.

“I’ll call you back,” said Leta hollowly, lowering her hand from her ear. Eyes widened, she crossed toward the doors and stepped outside. Icy wind gusted against her flesh, tossing her hair across her face, but Leta felt nothing but shock as she watched the ship’s ramp lower slowly, creaking and groaning with age.

She was still reeling (what was it doing here? Was something wrong? Why hadn’t anyone told her it was arriving today?) when a high-pitched “Leta!” rang out from the cargo bay and tiny footsteps pounded down the ramp. Leta’s mouth fell open, partly to respond, partly to laugh, and partly in just pure surprise at how big Kalli had gotten as she bounded towards her, but the little girl only made it a few steps before she was snatched into her mother’s arms.

“Hang on now, you don’t even have your scarf,” Addy scolded, though she chuckled as she expertly draped the purple cloth around Kalli’s struggling form.

“Hey, Leta,” was the second greeting, from Cyrus as he strolled down the ramp after his family as casually as if they saw one another every day.

And finally, there was the flash of red as the Dionysian’s captain descended from the ship. Though not as much red as she remembered. The roots of Fiearius’ hair had taken a sharp turn toward grey since they’d last met. He’d only aged a year, but the war and admiralship had taken its toll on him physically. Still, behind the tired eyes and gaunt cheekbones, there was the same hint of mischief she recognized.

Leta could do nothing but stare at each of them in turn, unable to process that these people were actually standing before her, until Kalli, with a wide grin that matched her father’s, shouted, “Surprise!”