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

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

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

“You think it won’t go well?”

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

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

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

Did Addy think her incapable, too?

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

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

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

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

“He has,” Finn promised, grinning.

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

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

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

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

– – – – – – – – – – – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mostly because of the company.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fiearius shook his head. “Wish I knew.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” she asked gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was feeling rather familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed. “I think she might’ve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –