The sight sent Fiearius barreling towards them. Coming up behind her, he grabbed Ophelia’s wrist mid-swipe as Leta fell backwards in order to avoid it. Varisian was fast and small, but in a match of pure strength, she was outnumbered by her predecessor. Fiearius twisted his grip and her hand loosened the blade, which fell on the floor in a clatter.

At once, Leta seized it and took another swipe at the woman’s legs as Fiearius held her in place. She got in one good cut before Varisian managed to wrench her wrist free and slam her elbow into Fiearius’ ribs. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. She spun around in that one half-second of distraction and cracked her fist across his face.

It wasn’t the strongest punch by far, but by the time his own fist came flying back at her, she had the advantage again. She ducked easily out of the way, hitting him again in the torso. He tried to grab her, but she slipped out of his grip. She landed another attack square in his chest, but as she avoided what would have been a magnificent right hook, she stepped back instead right into Leta’s dagger as it swiped viciously and deeply across the back of her ankle.

With another cry, Ophelia fell backwards. Leta rolled out of the way, her hand groping the floor for the gun.

“Fiear!” she called, tossing the weapon into his hand.

In a flash he cocked it and aimed it  at Ophelia’s head. It was only another moment before Leta had righted herself and pulled her own gun. On the ground and unarmed, Varisian, leaning back on her palms and looking up at them with an expression of pure hatred, said nothing. She did nothing. She had made a mistake. And now she was paying for it.

For their part, Fiearius and Leta were still breathing heavily, their lungs and hearts trying to catch up to what had just happened. Fiearius’ mind was even further back. This is how it had to end, right? Varisian was a problem. She was a danger. This was right. But looking at her now, on the floor and defenseless, stubborn and unwavering til the very end, for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

He still hadn’t made up his mind when the entire base shook violently. And kept shaking. And suddenly the control room was bathed in natural light and dust and a terrific crash as a quarter of the hangar roof gave way. The base, Fiearius realized in horror. It was coming down.

But he was only able to afford it a moment’s attention before turning his sights back on Ophelia. But if she had intended to use the distraction as her out, she’d failed. She, too, seemed too shocked by the sight of crumbling debris and bright sunlight to make a move. And that was when the COMM kicked in.

“–iear?” it buzzed as it slowly regained reception. “Fiearius?! Can you hear me? Can you–”

“Cy?” Fiearius responded. “Cy, what–”

“Oh geez, finally!” Cyrus interrupted. “What the hell is going on? All your communications cut out when you entered the base! I didn’t know what happened! And then this huge ship showed up and then all these fighters started shooting at it and the mountain is collapsing and what the hell is going on?! Do you even see this?!”

Fiearius shot a quick look at Leta to make sure she’d stay in place watching their captive as he rushed to the window and peered out. Thick dust still filled the air, but he could see the sky through the hole left by the attack. Or rather, he could see what was in the sky. The biggest ship he’d ever seen, a huge monstrous shape, surrounded by tiny fighter ships, Quin’s people, firing at it. His heart stopped in his chest. It was then and only then that Fiearius realized just how out of his depth he was.

“Yeah,” he muttered weakly into the COMM. “Yeah, I see it…”

The building around them shuddered violently again. “Fiear, we need to get out of here,” Leta called.

She was right. But as he tore his eyes from the behemoth above and scanned the rubble below, an even more worrisome realization hit him: the only remaining ships had been directly under the now gaping hole. They were covered in rubble. Well there went the exit strategy.

With no other ideas in sight, Fiearius hit the COMM again. “Cyrus,” he began calmly. “I need you to come get us.”

The line was silent. Until —

“Wait. What?!”

“I need you to take the Dionysian. And fly it over here. And get us.”

“Take the Dionysian, fly it over there? There, with the massive heavily armed warship? You want me to fly this ship, this ship I can hardly fly on a good day, over there to the center of hell and chaos and pick you up?!”

Fiearius took a deep breath. “Yes, Cyrus. That’s what I want you to do.”

“Are you fucking crazy?! I can’t do that!”

“Well you kinda have to, Cy!” Fiearius snapped, losing patience. “Put her down outside the hangar, we’ll be there.”

“Put her down?! Fiearius, you can’t seriously think I can–”

“Just do it, Cy! Get my ship here now or pretty soon it’s gonna be your ship!”

Cyrus didn’t respond. Fiearius could only hope it was because he was doing as he was asked. Which left them about eight minutes to get down there themselves. He turned back to Leta, but she had her own concern.

“What about–” she began, nodding towards Ophelia, still patiently awaiting judgment on the floor.

Shit. There wasn’t time for this. He marched towards her, raising his gun again to her forehead. He just had to do it. He just had to end this so they could leave. He just had to pull the trigger and walk away.

But his finger wouldn’t budge.

“Fiearius–” Leta prompted and he glanced at her as though only just remembering she was there. But as he looked at her, something past her caught his eye. Something on the wall. He tucked the gun behind his back and marched over to retrieve it.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” he muttered.”

He felt Leta’s curious eyes on him as he brought the cord back and kneeled down beside Ophelia. He made quick work of it, but the binds around her wrists tying her to a nearby pipe were strong and solid enough to hold her in place.

When he was finished, he stood up and looked down at her. “Know that this is my one act of mercy. You won’t get another.” He seized Leta’s hand. “Let’s go.”

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

The hangar was in shambles. Concrete crumbled to the ground, dust clouded the air and every second was filled with booms that shook the ground beneath their feet as Leta and Fiearius ran across the huge expanse of the hangar towards the open door looking out into the jungle.

At his side, Leta, whose hand he was still grasping for dear life, looked up as the huge shadow of the Legacy passed over them. “Gods…” she whispered. “Is Quin gonna be okay?”

A hundred fighters against the Legacy? It was hard to imagine a positive outcome. But yet again, Fiearius replied, “Fuckin’ hope so.”

They kept on, pounding the ground beneath them, dodging rubble that had settled and avoiding debris still falling. They were almost out. But the space just beyond was empty. Tentatively, Fiearius hit his COMM.

“Cy?” he called hopefully. “We’re almost there. How’re you doing?”

He could feel Leta’s eyes on him, expecting, waiting, probably praying just as hard as he was that the Dionysian hadn’t already gone down either by the Legacy’s fire or Cyrus’ sheer incompetence at flying her.

But there was no reply. No counter to the fear that the worst had happened. No relief that they were not just going to run out of this base and be faced with no way off this planet.

It was getting ever closer. And closer. And still their trajectory was nothing but trees. “Cy?” Fiearius called into the COMM again. “Cy, can you hear me?”

“Fiear, what if he’s–” cried Leta as another blast shook the base.

“He’ll be there!” Fiearius called back to her. “He has to be!” He better be, he thought.

Another shot hit and the shudder was so intense, Fiearius almost lost his footing, but Leta’s decisive pull on his arm was enough to keep him upright.

“I don’t think this base can stand much more of this!” she shouted over the racket of concrete crumbling.

It couldn’t. It wouldn’t. They were practically outside now. The dirt ground of the jungle was a mere two hundred feet away. The hangar was on the verge of collapsing. And Fiearius tried one last time. “Cyrus, please, please, please, just don’t be–”

But his message was interrupted. Just as their feet crossed the threshold of the door, they were met by a blast of wind that nearly knocked them back. A blast of wind caused, it seemed, by the clunky descent of a ship filling the clearing. A familiar old rusty ship. The Dionysian.

“I-I’m here!” cried Cyrus over the COMM. “I’m here, get on!”

Allowing himself only one breath of relief, Fiearius powered on as the ship hovered some twenty feet in the air haphazardly before them, the ramp slowly opening.

“Get her lower, Cy!” Fiearius called as they approached.

The ship dropped suddenly, only barely missing the ground, for just enough time for the two of  them to leap onto the ramp. They clambered up it as the ship wavered to and fro, unhappy to be held in this kind of stasis. As soon as he hit the top, Fiearius slammed the ramp controls to closed and kept running. Leta was on his heels.

“We’re aboard, go! Now!” he ordered into the COMM and the ship jolted. Leta grabbed Fiearius’ arm to keep herself steady. He grabbed a railing. And as the ship started to rise, they continued to climb through the ship, passing its confused and shaken crew who were holding on to anything they could get their hands on. They didn’t stop until they pounded into the bridge.

“I-I did it,” Cyrus muttered as soon as he felt Fiearius’ hand hit the back of his chair. “I d-did it. I did it,” he said again, as though he still couldn’t quite believe what was happening himself.

“You did, now keep doing it,” Fiearius told him.

“What about Quin?” Leta asked. “Dez? The Legacy, what about –”

As if answering her question, the ship was suddenly pushed forward in a burst of air followed by the sound of a distant explosion.

Cyrus gripped the controls tighter. “W-what was that?!”

“I don’t know, turn her around so we can get a better look!” Fiearius yelled. Shakily, Cyrus followed the order.

The skyline outside shifted as the ship made an about face. Fiearius was prepared to see the worst, but he could have never been prepared for what they found on that horizon.

Filling in the air like birds, near a hundred fighter ships hovered above the base. The two Satieran frigates Quin had brought along had joined them in the battle. And the Legacy, that great ship thrice the size of the frigates combined, was shrouded in fire and smoke. In truth, Fiearius was only able to catch a small glimpse of it as it plummeted into the ground. No, into the mountain. The mountain which gave way to its size and crumbled beneath its impact in an explosion of dust so great, it was impossible to see where it ended and the clouds began.

Fiearius could find no words. Leta and Cyrus were agape. The base. Blackwater. It was…gone. The Legacy. Gone. Any agents still inside, likely dead. They had gone into this attempting only to dismantle the place. Cause a bit of trouble and steal some ships. It was meant to be more annoyance than harm.

But they had destroyed a Society dreadnought. Worse, they’d destroyed a Society stronghold.

Finally, the crackle of the COMM speaker broke the heavy silence.

“Soliveré, you still alive?!” It was Quin. In the background behind her voice were joyous cries of victory. “Did you fuckin’ see that? Did you see that?” Her voice was muffled as she apparently spoke to someone else. “Hey Cordova. How’s that for a message, huh?” She let out a raucous laugh. “Let’s head back to Relara, eh, Soliveré? I’m buyin’ you a drink. Two drinks. I’ll buy your whole damn crew a drink. So long Blackwater! So fuckin’ long!”

The COMM clicked off and the Dionysian’s bridge was plunged back into silence. Fiearius could not believe what he was seeing. Though they had all made it out alive, the mission had technically been a success, but Fiearius didn’t share in Quin’s feeling of victory. He didn’t feel relieved. What had once been a small act of defiance was now so much more than that and somewhere inside him, he knew that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Finally, at long last, he looked over at Leta and said the only two words his racing brain could form. “Well shit.”

“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.