For moments longer, as she concentrated on preparing the syringe, Leta was quiet. As far as kidnappings went, this was about as tame as she could imagine. Fiearius didn’t care if she stepped off the ship in two days. And now, with what he’d said about the Society, she wasn’t sure if she would.

It had been a long time since she’d had an ally.

Once the shot snapped in place, Leta merely looked up, murmured, “I guess we’ll see then, huh?” and stuck the needle sharply into his arm. Perhaps a bit sharper than necessary.

At once, Fiearius flinched and grumbled some unintelligible curse at her, though she withdrew the needle without a word. In the corner of her eye, then, she noticed movement near the door.

The figure of Cyrus tentatively sidled up where it waited in the shadow of the hallway, hands clasped nervously behind his back. Once Fiearius had recovered from his antibiotics, he followed Leta’s line of vision and looked over at the door frame expectantly.

It was apparently all the cue Cyrus needed.

“We’re on course,” he said. His eyes were on his brother. “I did some rigging that should scatter our signal. We’ll be way out of range by the time they manage to sort through even half of it,” he explained, his voice cold and professional as he stepped deeper into the room. “I’m still gonna push her through the night just in case though. We should be in orbit morning after next. Little ahead of schedule.”

“That’s fine,” Fiearius replied briskly, an answer that made Cyrus visibly twitch with frustration. Leta, meanwhile, chose to say nothing as she carefully disassembled the syringe in her hands. Unapologetically curious, she glanced back and forth between the pair.

Looking uneasy, Cyrus glanced at her, then to his brother’s arm and finally asked, “So, how’s…” His finger indiscriminately waved towards them. “That?”

“Fine,” Fiearius said again, watching the referenced arm curiously as he shrugged. It must not have felt quite as fine as he claimed, however, as the action caused him to wince ever so slightly. “It’ll be fine,” he amended, casting a pointed look at Leta. “By the time we land. It’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Cyrus said, knotting his hands even tighter and making strict eye contact with the floor. “That’s…good…”

Another silence unfolded, interrupted only by the clank of metal as Leta dropped the syringe back into the cart, and kept unfolding.

“Well, if you’re done,” said Fiearius abruptly “I’ve things to do. Places to be. People to harass.” He grinned maniacally before adding, “Sleep to catch up on…” Rolling his eyes tiredly, he pushed himself from the edge of the bed and made his way towards the door. On the very threshold, however, Cyrus stopped him.

“Fiear,” he interjected suddenly, catching both his brother and Leta by surprise. She looked up just in time to see the elder sibling pause and the two of them stand there in the doorway, staring at one another, neither speaking a word.

Leta wondered if this was finally about to escalate into shouting. But they said nothing, and she had to wonder what possibly could have been passing between them. Finally, Cyrus said, quietly,  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to land.”

To Leta’s immeasurable surprise, the captain did not snap. He did not retort. He smiled more kindly than seemed possible for him and said softly, “It’s okay, little brother.” He rested a hand on his sibling’s shoulder before sauntering past him out the door and disappearing into the shadowy depths of the ship.

As the footsteps on the metal grating died away, Leta stood there a moment longer, nearly forgetting Cyrus’ presence until he heaved a sigh. Gradually, he brought his eyes back to Leta and, here, his brow creased.

“I owe you an apology too,” he began. “A few, actually. And some gratitude.” He glanced hesitantly over his shoulder in the direction Fiearius had gone. “I’m sure he’s not the easiest patient to put up with. But thank you. I wish there was some way I could repay you, but…” His face twisted into a grimace. “We’re about as broke as we’ve ever been. And I don’t think we’ll ever be going back to Vescent in my lifetime, so I can’t exactly offer to take you home.” The grimace faded into a weak, sheepish smile. “I’m afraid you’re a bit stuck here for now. But I promise, I’ll try and make this up to you. Probably not today. And probably not tomorrow. But somehow. Somehow, I’ll fix this.”

Did he expect her, Leta wondered, to scream and cry? As any true kidnapped victim would? Truthfully, that had seemed like a strong possibility before. But it was no longer. Now, as she regarded the young man across the room — he looked strikingly earnest — she was feeling something quite foreign and different; it took her a moment to place the feeling.

Hope. That’s what it was.

“WeIl, I think I might believe you,” said Leta finally. She backed up a step, and edged herself onto the patient’s bed. “And since I’m going to be here a little longer than I thought — I should explain a few things.”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Fiearius corrected her instantly, now finding more interest in the wall than in her again. “You just happened to be on my ship when I decided it was leaving. Not my fault you weren’t paying enough attention to get off before that happened.” He turned his head slightly to face her, his eyes narrowed. “And yet you think you’re entitled? That’s cute. How ‘bout we scratch that and you just go ahead and tell me what kind of doctor my brother dragged onto my ship? Off a merchant vessel, he said? What were you doing on Vescent?”

“Research,” replied Leta at once. Technically, it was not a lie. She’d just also been living on Vescent while she’d done this research.

Trying to ignore just how tense she was feeling, she gathered a cloth in her hand and poured salve solution into it. It was a basic easy routine, but inwardly, her mind was racing. This was a game, she realized. She had to be careful.

“I’m not sad to leave,” she continued, relieved to hear her voice was more relaxed. “The feds are a bit — uptight there.” As she leaned in to swab the wound, her eyes flashed toward his tattoo, the primary symbol of those feds. “No offense.”

Fiearius’ eyes followed her own to the marking on his arm where they rested in thought. “None taken. Your little ship must not get around much though,” he commented briskly. “That ain’t exclusive to Vescent.”

“I know.” Carefully, she placed the cloth back in the cart at her side. “Vescent. Acendia. The Society’s spreading through Ellegy.” Her voice might have been wistful, were it not for the bitter smile at her lips. She stared down at the rusty tools in the tray, ready and waiting to be picked up and used.

But first, she could stand it no longer. Casting her eyes to him, she held his gaze. “But you have the mark. Are you with them or not?”

Fiearius’ eyes narrowed even more and settled upon her face as though reading it for something hidden. “They just sent six fighter birds after me and more to come, isn’t it obvious?” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow brow at her.“No. Not anymore.”

Leta blinked her eyes slowly, now a perfectly captive audience. “Why?” she asked at length, a tug of desperation in her voice. “What’d you do?”

There was a long passage of silence as Fiearius just glared at her curiously. A passage so long, it seemed he might never answer at all. Even when he did, in fact, he did not. “You here to fix my arm or interrogate me, kiddo?” he asked harshly, deepening his glare, which Leta ignored.

“The Society’s no friend of mine either,” she continued, trying and failing to contain the lift in her voice. She knew it was important to not be too eager, but it was no easy feat. “To say the least. And people don’t just ‘quit’, or leave. Those people end up in bodybags. Not captaining spaceships.”

“Well,” the captain replied cheerfully, despite the look of apathy engraved in his features, “Maybe I’m just special.”

Leta was not deterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “Special enough to evade them. Some people — ” she hesitated then, choosing her words carefully as her expression tinged with sadness, “aren’t quite as lucky. So how?”

“Do I have to say it again?” he growled, jabbing his finger towards the still unattended wound. “I need this thing to stop being a problem by the time we land in two days. I’ve got a job to do. People to feed. Ship to run. So let’s hurry it up, shall we?”

This time, silence fell between them, sharper now. He’d given her more questions than answers. Her curiosity was burning.

But, with an intake of breath, she told herself to wait. For now. She’d waited three months for answers, she could wait a bit longer. After a long, stiff pause, she reached toward the cart and slowly withdrew another vial and, this time, a syringe.

“Well it’s not doable in two days,” she told him flatly. “Try weeks. You need antibiotics. Long-term treatment.”

“I don’t have weeks,” Fiearius replied grimly. “I don’t care what you have to do to make it work. Give me all the antibiotics you want, cut me open, slice me up, whatever, I just can’t show up with my arm falling off. Two days.” He glared at the purple and green infected mess of his shoulder. “Figure it out.”

“I am. This is preliminary work,” she deadpanned, adjusting the needle carefully before half-glancing back at him. “Unless you’re planning to drop me at this next stop.”

A small chuckle rippled out of his throat. “I don’t think you’re gonna wanna be at this next stop,” he remarked, visibly amused at his unexplained joke. “I ain’t gonna keep ya if you’re so damn desperate to leave though.” He glanced back at her, knowingly. “I ain’t gonna stop ya from stayin’ either. Do what ever ya damn please. I leave it to your wise doctorly discretion.”

From her far corner of the cabin, Leta glimpsed the side of Fiearius’ face and the broad smirk that arrived on it. “That’s what I thought,” he said, satisfied. “Route all the power we can spare out of the engine and into shields.”

“Fiearius, don’t–”

“Just fucking do it, Cyrus,” he snapped, and with a growl in his throat, he pulled the gear into the sharpest swerve yet. Now, the view of the bay window shifted in a flash as the Dionysian was spun directly around 180 degrees. Now the ship faced the blurry blue-green mass of a planet and, in the foreground, the six fighter ships.

Directly.

Before she knew what the captain was going to do, Leta knew what the captain was going to do. “He’s not — “ she started, though it was in that moment that the ship surged forward into the assailants and the metal rattling within the cabin drowned out any other noise.

Leta anticipated every excruciating second of the impact. She squeezed her eyes shut and, below, her chair went from humming, to vibrating, to positively shaking in protest beneath her grip. Through the slits of her eyes she saw the silhouette of Fiearius, and beyond him, the peak of the Dionysian break through the fleet, a half-dozen silent explosions in the darkening sky as the walls roared and roared around them.

Dimly, Leta thought she could see, now, how this might be satisfying, in a terrible, destructive, awful sort of way. Even with the grimace masking on her face, she glimpsed one the metal sheets imprinted with the Society symbol blast apart as easily as beach-glass. It flew past the window of the ship and was lost, lost into the black of space.

The moment of peace was short-lived.

Easing her eyes open fully, Leta realized three things just as the cabin swam into view. First, the walls had slowed their shaking. Second, Fiearius was laughing like somebody had just told him a particularly off-color joke.

And the last thing she noticed was her stomach. It was lodged somewhere in her throat.

Hands shaking, body trembling, Leta fumbled to pull the seatbelt off her waist and pushed herself to unsteady feet. Her legs wobbled as she crossed to the door and staggered out of the cabin into the hallway. Behind her, dimly, she heard raucous yelling echoing from one end of the ship. It must have been the crew. Celebration, perhaps? Or perhaps, pain from that impact.

She picked the other direction.

The grated metal floor was rocking up and down like a boat on water and the air was as thick and heavy as she staggered forward. The pit in her stomach was not shrinking, but growing and growing, and before she could think to do otherwise, she stopped short, she grabbed the nearest railing and her mouth filled.

It was too much.

Leta could not truly remember the last time she’d gotten sick. She certainly couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten sick in public. Coughing, eyes watering, she bent over the railing for several agonizing seconds longer until, finally, cool, steady air began to inch into her lungs.

Behind her, as her senses returned, she heard the approach of forceful, pounding footsteps. Cyrus, she realized, as she glanced with streaming eyes over her shoulder and the young man stalked past her in a furious rush toward the bridge.

Seconds later, just as Leta was shakily wiping her mouth with her wrist, the hallway near the bridge erupted in shouting. It was undeniably Cyrus’ voice that yelled, probably at his brother, “What the fuck was that?!”

Leta straightened herself up and watched as the party of three — Fiearius, Cyrus and Corra — exited the bridge. Something of a swagger was in Fiearius’ walk while Cyrus followed, muttering darkly behind him, “You are damn lucky our shields held. They’re meant for minor debris or stray rocks. Not for high-class fighter ships moving forward at full sp– “

“But it did work,” Fiearius replied, smiling.

“Do you know what it means to have a hole in your ship at a hundred twenty thousand feet?!” Cyrus yelled, tossing his hands in the air. “‘Cause I promise you won’t like –”

“Relax, little brother,” sighed Fiearius, putting his hands on his brother’s shoulders as they walked. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine–”

Merely a stunned observer, Leta was frozen against the railing as she watched the three of them approach down the hallway without sparing her a look. It occurred to her as their conversation continued (“I don’t know, Cy-cy, we are still alive,“ Corra was saying now), that they were going to stride right past her lest she wave her arms and yell.

The realization caused a sort of sudden anger in her chest. Anger she did not she even possessed. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself away from the railing and forced herself in front of them. The trio awkwardly stumbled to a stop before her like dominos as she glared at each of them, most especially at Fiearius.

“You need treatment,” she growled. She ignored their stunned looks. “And I need off this ship.”