“So with the exception of this,” Fiearius gestured to the command center around them and the hangar beyond, “the base is defunct. Perfect.”

“Let’s finish it off then,” said Dez, lifting his rifle like a bat and readying to slam it into the console he stood before. Before he could complete the arc, though, Quin cut him off.

“Hang on there, muscles,” she called, raising her hand. “Let’s not be hasty. Maybe we should leave this room intact.”

“”Til we get the hangar door open would be good,” Leta suggested, glancing at Dez in distrust.

“No no, not just the hangar door,” Quin corrected, shaking her head and drawing a circle in the air with her palm. “This whole thing. Might come in handy y’know?”

Fiearius raised a brow at her skeptically. “What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying, these ships are real nice, but a place to store ‘em would be even nicer don’tcha think?”

“No,” he said shortly. “No, that’s not what we agreed on.” He holstered his gun and folded his arms over his chest. “You help us disable the base, you get the ships, we never said anything about the hangar.”

“Well that was before I saw the damn thing,” Quin said simply. “And I ain’t only talkin’ about the hangar either.” She glanced to the door. “Rest of the base ain’t so bad itself.”

“And what about the two hundred agents still inside?” Leta demanded, her eyes slitting dangerously. “Doubt they’re just going accept new management.”

Quin eyed her in confusion as though she’d just asked  the most basic of questions. “They ain’t gonna have to. All rounded up like that, you’d be surprised how quick we can take care of ‘em.”

Leta threw a hand in the air. “Are you out of your godsdamn mind? They’re low-level employees. They don’t know who they’re working for. They don’t deserve whatever it is you — “

“Hang on, just hang on.” Fiearius lifted a hand between them. “We’re not killing anybody. That’s not what this is about.”

“She shouldn’t be taking the ships either,” came Dez’s voice unexpectedly. All eyes turned to him. “Utada can’t take the ships.”

Practically pushing past Fiearius, Quin stalked towards Dez, the fury in her face so strong that even Dez took a step backwards. “Excuse me?!” she demanded. “What did you just say?”

If Dez was alarmed, it certainly didn’t prevent him from keeping his mouth shut. “If you take the ships, we look like petty thieves only in this for material gain. Mere criminals. The people will have no reason to side with us. It sends the wrong message.”

“Message?” Quin repeated. “Message?! I didn’t haul a hundred of my people through the jungle for two days for a fucking message.” Dez looked about ready to argue, but Quin swung her attention to Fiearius. “Is this what you think too?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Fiearius defended at once. “The ships are yours, we already agreed to that–”

“They’re hers only at risk of undermining the entire effort,” Dez muttered sharply.

“Undermining?” Quin growled. “Soliveré, you best keep this Sochy pet of yours under control or I’ll–”

This was unraveling, and it was unraveling fast. Fiearius knew it. So did Leta. She stepped between them and growled, “Would all of you stop? We need to get out of here!”

Shouting filled the room, the voices yelling over one another. Then another sound stole Fiearius’ attention. A distant booming sound, far off, but getting clearer.

He looked up. The ceiling that was starting to vibrate as the deep booming got louder and louder. Or rather, closer and closer.

“Hey,” Fiearius began hesitantly, his voice nearly drowned out by all the other sound in the room. “What is–”

All other noise was suddenly halted as the speakers in the control room erupted with a voice that overrode all of them.

“Attention intruders,” it stated in a bass that shook the walls. “This is the dreadnought Legacy. We have your position locked. You’re surrounded. Surrender and you may be permitted to live.”

The voice dropped off and the four occupants of the room stood in stunned silence.

Finally, Leta whispered, “I thought we shut off communications and security, how did they know–”

“We must not have been fast enough,” Fiearius answered under his breath.

They fell silent again, listening only to the great boom of the ship that must have been directly above them. Finally, Quin took a deep breath, spit on the ground and declared, “Well hell of a reason to slow down now.” She hoisted her rifle onto her back and started for the door. “Our rides outta here are ten miles away and there’s a goddamn sky-beast in between us and them. Don’t know about you lot, but I ain’t waitin’ for ‘permission’ to live.”

Fiearius turned towards her. “The ships,” he said. “Get your people into the ships. I’ll get the door open and you can all get the hell out of here.”

“Oh I’ll do ya one better than that,” Quin agreed. “You.” She pointed at Dez. “Help me rally up the troops and get ‘em into those fighters. To hell with your damn ‘message.’” As she ran out the door, Dez cast Fiearius one more glare before following after her, leaving only himself and Leta in the control room.

Leta turned to him, panic hiding behind her eyes. “You know how to work the controls?”

Fiearius mustered a nervous smirk. “Not a clue. Lend me your eyes, would ya?”

At once, they stepped toward the front consoles. Fiearius found the interfaces familiar but the content was anything but. The most advanced Society programming Fiearius had ever touched certainly couldn’t control the docking protocol of near a hundred fighters. Out the window below them, they started to see Quin’s people rushing into the hangar, climbing into ships that were still locked into place. Leta, apparently, wasn’t having much luck either. And it was only minutes before they had a helpful reminder of how long this was taking.

“Intruders,” boomed the speakers so suddenly that Fiearius clamped his hands over his ears to shield them from the sound. “I repeat. There is no way out of the base. Surrender or face the consequences. We are poised and ready. Do not force our hand.”

Leta cast him a wide-eyed sideways glance. “Are they going to — do you think they’ll attack the base?”

Fiearius grimaced. Attacking their own base? Murdering all the personnel within for the sake of eliminating four intruders? Didn’t sound as farfetched as it should have.

“Fuckin’ hope not.”

Another voice suddenly erupted around them. This one a little friendlier. Only a little. “My people are ready to go, why the hell isn’t that door open?!” shouted Quin.

“Working on it,” Fiearius growled, forgetting or maybe subconsciously neglecting to hit the button that actually connected him to the ships’ COMM lines.

“Found it!” Leta suddenly exclaimed, making him jump. If the room wasn’t booming before, it certainly was then as the massive steel door started to lower, shaking the entire structure.

“Thank ya kindly, Soliveré!” came Quin’s cheer as the ships in the hangar started to lift off. “See ya on the other side.”

Now that the ships were free (and he could already hear the first few shots being fired as the fighters climbed out of the base and up into the Legacy’s sky), there was only one thing left to do.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

They shared one last look of alarm before he turned for the door. But he’d only made it a step outside when Leta called for him in a voice he hoped to the gods he’d never hear again.

“Fiear — !” she cried, her voice choking, and he spun around with his gun in his hand.

They were not alone after all.

He never wanted to see this woman again, but there she was. Ophelia Varisian stood tall and poised behind Leta, who had been forced down to her knees. Leta struggled, but Ophelia dug her fingers roughly into her hair, holding her in place. Fiearius could hardly absorb the sight.

How had she gotten here? It must have been that the sleek black destroyer Cyrus had spotted docking in the base. A sleek black destroyer reserved for elite agents. A sleek black destroyer that had already chased him halfway across the Span.

But it didn’t matter how she’d gotten here. All that mattered was that she was holding a shining pistol against Leta’s temple.

“Drop your weapons, Soliveré, or I’ll end her,” Ophelia said coldly.

Leta’s eyes were fearful, but she gritted her teeth. “Don’t, Fiear.” Her voice was somehow steady. “Don’t give her your gun.”

When Fiearius didn’t move, Ophelia tugged on Leta’s hair and pulled her closer. “Now!” she yelled, just as Leta cried, “Don’t, Fiear, she’ll just kill you too!”

But in the end, it wasn’t a question at all. He was cornered. He had no back-up plan, no expert pirate savviness to get them out of this. Leta had a gun to her head. He had nothing.

In his defeat, he held up his hands., “Alright. Alright. Okay, I’ll do what you ask just…don’t — don’t go pullin’ any triggers…”

Carefully as he could, he crouched to lower his gun to the floor, and then righted himself to his feet. He lifted his brows at her indicatively, but Ophelia just glared at the weapon and flicked her eyes to the side.

Fiearius groaned. Gently as he could, he slipped his foot underneath the gun and kicked it aside so that it slid all the way across the floor and hit the wall.

“Happy now?” he asked, meeting Leta’s eyes only for a moment before forcing himself to look away. They were at an obvious disadvantage. A disadvantage that, as of this moment, he didn’t have any idea how to get out of. He was on the verge of failing her and they both knew it. Above them, ship fire blasted every few seconds, booming through the hangar and shaking the very mountain they were beneath, and all he could do was stand there, uselessly holding his hands up, and wait for Ophelia’s next move.

But she didn’t move. She only stood there, gun still on Leta and glare still set on Fiearius. Perhaps she hadn’t thought this through either. There were calculations blazing behind her eyes.Who to kill first, perhaps? Speed and accuracy of aim after she fired a bullet through Leta’s head?

His mind was racing, his heart was pounding, but his gun was a good 5 seconds away, a well-aimed shot another 10 and Leta would be dead before the bullet even caught flesh. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch her die. And yet he couldn’t do anything else either.

It was over.

But then, in the eternal tick of a second, Varisian turned her gun from Leta across the room to Fiearius and finally making her decision. She squeezed the trigger.

The bullet blasted by Fiearius’ head — he could feel it ruffle his hair. It was nearly a perfect shot, but not nearly enough and as it zoomed past his ear, embedding itself in the concrete wall, her mistake became quickly apparent. As soon as the nozzle left her temple, Leta reached back and managed to seize the hilt of a small dagger Varisian had strapped to her hip.

Fiearius watched as, nearly in slow motion, Leta lifted the knife and swiftly struck it back into her captor’s thigh.

A scream of pain, and then Ophelia doubled over, dropping the gun as Leta tried to put some distance between them. But Ophelia had the advantage of Internal Affairs. She had the advantage of Flush. She recovered quickly, yanked the blade from her flesh and swiped at Leta, catching her on the arm and leaving a thin line of red.

“Okay well when you’ve got a more positive conclusion on that, let me know,” Fiearius said. “For now, let’s get on with it.”

“We’ll keep in touch, Cy,” said Leta. “Stay safe.”

“Yeah, you too,” Cyrus said, his voice hollow. He disconnected the COMM and settled his sights on the ship, now descending behind the mountain into the base’s hangar. It still didn’t feel right, regardless of what Fiearius thought. He only hoped he was wrong.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Fiearius wasn’t much for planning. Generally, he preferred to throw himself into the chaos and then decide on the course of action. Studying had never been familiar to him. He’d never sat down and studied anything in his life, as far as he could recall. So when Cyrus had suggested — insisted — that they spend a number of hours hunched over the Blackwater’s blueprints to memorize the best route from the ventilation ducts to the main entrances, he had groaned and only complied begrudgingly.

Now that he was actually inside the base, though, he was glad he’d done it. Beside that first guard on the way in who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, they hadn’t run into a single agent. Maybe that nerd was onto something after all.

He and Leta had crossed first through the maintenance areas, where the workers wouldn’t be about until much later in the day. Then they’d taken the back route through the barracks which had been abandoned for the morning fitness routine. It wasn’t until they hit the living quarters that they even saw another human being and even then, it wasn’t a very threatening one.

“Ya think we should write something on his face?” Fiearius whispered to Leta as he stood over the couch where a young agent was sprawled out haphazardly. His limbs were splayed out in all directions, his mouth hung open and a line of drool was dripping from it onto the pillow.

Leta cast Fiearius a glare and held a finger over her lips to shush him.

“Oh relax, he can’t hear me. Can ya?” he asked the sleeping man. His uniform shirt was crisp and new. The librera tattoo on his arm was still shiny and fresh. A new recruit. Who, by the looks of him, had suffered the new recruit treatment. Fiearius had never been on a Society base himself, but the scene was still familiar. Nostalgic, even.

“If all they’ve got to offer is Captain Hangover here, I can’t say I’m that intimidated,” Fiearius muttered, looking back at Leta who had already crept to the other side of the room and was gesturing for him to follow.

“Can we please move on?” she whispered hurriedly.

He joined her as they moved on into what must have been the cafeteria. Lining the walls were posters Fiearius had seen before, many years ago, but never in this magnitude. They showed images of Carthian cruisers and battleships exploding in midair, their military’s insignia in a circle with a thick line through it, Carthian officials standing before Society prisoners. Emblazened across them were pointed slander, empowering calls to action and warnings to watch out for traitors. But what got his attention most were the handwritten additions. The thick pen marks scribbled over the Carthian faces, the angry slurs jotted down beside them. Blatant propaganda as the posters may have been, they were clearly doing their job.

Leta must have noticed too.

“I didn’t know the Society hated Carthis this much,” she muttered as they made their way across the cafeteria carefully.

Fiearius shrugged. “Well Carthis used to be part of Exymeron. They defected right around when the Society came to power.”

“Doubt that’s a coincidence,” Leta remarked.

“The Council didn’t think so either,” Fiearius agreed. “Nor were they happy about losing all that territory. Which is why the two have been slowly fighting over it for the past century. Carthis wants its border planets back and…well, Exymeron wants the whole damn thing back.” He gestured to the area around them. “Thus the base.”

“Sure, I’d expect that from the Council,” Leta admitted, as they passed more propaganda posters. “The everyday people though…”

“It’s kind of just part of the culture. If you’re in Exymeron, you’re supposed to hate Carthis. All of our economic problems are blamed on them. Anyone goes missing, it’s a Carthian spy who did it. Bank gets robbed? Carthians. Even in school, they teach the 2nd Division War with them as flat out villains and Exymeron as dashing heroes of the disenfranchised. We’re just ingrained to despise them.”

“And yet your best friend is ex-Carthian military.”

Fiearius grinned at her as he gently eased open the door into the corridor. “What can I say, I’m a rebel.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, another voice reach his ears. At once, he pulled the door to a quiet shut and went very still. The voice (voices? One sounded male, the other female) were coming closer, growing louder.

“Well what the hell is an A-class destroyer doing here?” the man said as Fiearius sidestepped against the wall beside the door, his hand on his gun. Leta went very still, sliding him a look of alarm.

“I don’t know,” said the woman. “No one knows. Her pilot won’t even say. Not even to the commander. And I guess the clearance is high enough that there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The voices were close now, just outside the door. Fiearius’ grip on the gun tightened. “You think it’s a spy?”

“What? No way.” And they were coming closer. “No way some Carthy scum could get a hold of one of those.” And closer. “They’ve got the best security out there.” Fiearius heard the thud of hands meeting the door. “The thing’s one of ours, for sure.”

Before his eyes, the door swung open. Fiearius’ breath caught in his lungs and his body stiffened against the wall. The click of heels hit the floor as the two figures marched into the cafeteria.

But if they knew anyone was watching, they didn’t show it.

“Anyway, whatever’s going on, we’ll probably never know,” the woman went on as the two continued on, oblivious of the two intruders not ten feet behind them. “If it’s that high level?” She scoffed indignantly. “Let’s just find Patterson and get back to our post before we all get in trouble.”

They were halfway across the room by now. Fiearius felt his shoulders loosen and Leta beside him slowly let out a quiet breath she’d been holding. He met her eyes briefly and nodded towards the door beside them. She nodded back and as silently as he could, he put out his arm and pushed open the door just enough for Leta to tiptoe through it. As soon as she was in the corridor, he slipped through behind her and the last thing he heard as the door slid shut was, “I can’t believe how drunk they got him last night. I’ve never seen someone puke so much in my life.”

Now safely in the hallway, Fiearius finally released his hold of his gun and let out a sigh.

“That was a little too close for comfort,” Leta whispered. “What was that about? That ship? They said it was high level. Do you think Cyrus was right about it?”

“Could be,” Fiearius mused, though he’d shifted his attention to figuring out exactly where they were. He stalked a few paces down the hall where the path split in two. “But we’re already here so I guess we’ll just have to find out the hard way. All the more reason to let the cavalry in as soon as possible.” He glanced back at her. “I’m afraid this is where we part ways. We should hurry.”

Leta nodded. Amazingly, she did not look particularly worried.

“You know the way, right?” he said.

“Of course.” Leta furrowed her brow. “Wait, do you?”

“My memory’s not that bad,” he told her with a frown. “Alright, let me know when you’re in your position, I’ll let you know when I’m in mine. We should try and get the doors open at the same time and keep a similar pace if we really wanna catch ‘em off guard. Attack from both sides of the complex at once.”

“And meet back in the center, right.” Leta nodded.

For a moment, Fiearius felt himself soften. This was the first time he’d sent Leta off on this kind of mission alone. He knew she’d be fine. No one fought as hard as Leta at anything — she’d certainly been through enough by now to come out of this okay and there was nothing like a strong motivation to keep someone fighting. She would be completely fine. But logic aside, he couldn’t stop the smallest swell of worry that this was a final goodbye.

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Take care of yourself, okay, kiddo?”

Leta just smirked. “Don’t call me that.”

She put her hand over his, squeezed once and said, “I’ll see you soon,” before turning down the hallway.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Adrenaline spiked through Leta’s veins as she crossed down the other hallway, darting as quickly and quietly as possible through the maze of corridors. Now that she’d parted with Fiearius, she felt her senses sharpen as she strained to hear every footfall and voice, but the path was quiet, just as well planned as the first leg of the journey. She’d have to thank Cyrus for his diligence later.

Occasionally she heard a far-off mumbling or the sound of footsteps on the level above her, but never did she see any matching figures. Only long concrete halls and creaky pipes all the way. She honestly believed she might really be able to complete this mission without a single hiccup. Right up until she turned the corner towards the entrance corridor and her heart went still.

Two guards. Flanking the double-doors. They were clad in all black, their expressions sullen and bored as they paced around, but they were heavily armed.

Naturally, Leta’s first encounter with armed agents happened when Fiearius was already several hallways away. He could’ve made short work of these two. But no matter. She’d prepared for this. Though her main assignment was shutting down a couple security systems and a locking mechanism, she’d known there was a chance of more human element blocking the way.

She had just hoped there wouldn’t be.

Crouched on her legs, Leta carefully slid out her handgun from where she’d tucked it into the small of her back. Then she inhaled tightly through her nose, stood tall to her feet and crossed forward as if intending to burst through the doors, guards be damned.

As predicted, both men wheeled around and then jolted in alarm, registering nothing but shock as they reached for the guns at their hips.

“Sound the alarm! She’s — not — sound the alarm, sound the — !”

But Leta never gave them the chance to sound the alarm. In one swift motion she directed her pistol at one of the man’s hips and squeezed the trigger, and then again at the other man’s leg. Two decisive metal ‘plinks’ erupted through her silenced pistol and dissipated through the corridor, and then Leta was stepping past them as they dropped to the floor, bloody and howling in pain. Fortunately, she didn’t think anyone was nearby enough to hear them.

But they would be alright. They were hurt and for the moment immobilized, but she knew where to pull the trigger so the bullets wouldn’t prove fatal. As accustomed to the Dionysian and the ‘space pirate’ life as she may have become, never would she kill in cold-blood: she did just enough to injure the men, enough to keep them out of her way, as she pulled open the double-doors to the entrance corridor and threw them closed behind her. At once, their wailings were silenced.

Still, injured as the men were, that did not mean they wouldn’t recuperate and call for backup. But she was so close to backup of her own, it hardly mattered.

Quickly, Leta took stock of the new setting: it was a long corridor ending in one of the only two doors into the base and it was momentarily empty. Leta crossed over the shining floor to where a console was embedded into the wall.

Just as she started typing away as Cyrus had taught her, Fiearius’ voice crackled in her ear.

“Hey, I’m at my console, not a damn soul in sight. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Run into any trouble?”

“Only a little.”

“Alright, cameras and alarms are off on my end.”

“Mine too.”

“You ready?”

“Let’s do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Leta hit the unlocking mechanism and the double-doors at her side glided open soundlessly. Outside, in the bright light, stood Quin. Surrounding her was her small army of at least fifty gunhands, and Leta could not help but grin as she said, “Hey, come on in.”