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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve spoken with the Council?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He — what?”

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

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

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

“Planted?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – – – – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fiearius rolled his eyes. “Make it quick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Who?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Leta and Dez on the other side.

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly,” added Leta sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

Fiearius followed. What he found made him freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But how can you really know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You need to come to the bridge.”

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

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

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

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

– – – – – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dez nodded. “Ambush.”

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

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

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

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

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

But this simply didn’t add up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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