Before Finn knew what was happening, one of the guards pressed the COMM in her ear. “Control, we need backup at the gates.” The other pointed his gun at Finn’s chest and said, “Step away from the Free.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Finn growled, holding up his hands in surrender and taking a step away from Cai anyway. “This is ridiculous.”

Cai himself tried to amend the situation. “Really,” he assured the guards, “It’s not like that at all. He’s a friend, honestly, he hasn’t –”

“Sorry, sir, we can’t take that risk,” said the guard as she tapped something on her tablet. “Now if we can just get your ally ID–”

“But — ugh, 210544 — please, this is really unnecessary–”

“Ah, here you are, Cailean, is it?”

“Yes, but listen–”

“Not to worry, sir, we’re well equipped to handle this situation–”

Finn watched them argue back and forth, his frustration mounting. This was so stupid. Not to mention a waste of time. All he needed was to see Raisa for five minutes. Maybe less. And yet he was stuck at the entryway, accused of keeping slaves. He internally groaned.

“Please, I know you’re just doing your job, but–” Cai was saying to the guard when suddenly Finn saw a way out of this. The woman he was speaking to hit a few buttons on a keypad and the pair of doors behind them slowly creaked open. The guard with the gun on him was talking to someone on his COMM, hardly paying attention to Finn. And when the woman told Cai, “Go right ahead, sir, you’ll be well-protected inside, I guarantee it,” Finn decided that he was fully tired of waiting.

In a flash, without bothering to give it a second thought, Finn frowned, turned on his heel, and bolted through the doors.

“Captain!” he heard Cai yell over his shoulder as he dodged his way through the crowded Conduit marketplace. “No!”

It was only moments before Finn was out of sight of the door. He slowed his pace, stepping easily into the throng and disappearing amongst them.

Well he was inside. That was a start. But as he looked around the market and down the hallways beyond, he realized with some discomfort that the truth was — Finn didn’t know where he was going.

As he chose one of the hallways at random, he realized something else: there were more guards, their guns ready and their eyes searching as the COMMs in their ears probably barked Finn’s description.

As he continued down the hallway, he ducked out of sight of one, sped past the back of another and then made the most unfortunate eye contact with another.

He froze in place. So did she. And then, in a flash, her hand went to her COMM, she barked, “Found him!” and Finn did all he could do: run.

Fortunately, the further into the Conduit he ran, the less people he had to avoid ramming into. Unfortunately, the further into the Conduit he ran, the less people he could hide behind. His feet pounded the metal floor, echoes bouncing across the walls and only barely behind him, a slowly growing barrage of pursuers. He could only be thankful that none of them seemed willing to fire off any rounds into the steel tube they ran through. At least not yet…

Still, as fast as Finn could run, they were gaining on him and he needed to reach Raisa before that happened. All he needed was a chance to explain himself. In twenty minutes, they could all be laughing about this.

But for now, he took his chances that he was going to find his salvation down the fork to the right.

Well, he was half right.

In front of him, some 30 yards, was a door that lead into the main command hub of the ship. Standing in that door was, he recognized from the calls Corra used to have with her, Raisa.

The downside was that standing between them was six more guards, far more armed than their counterparts and those arms were pointed directly at him.

Finn stumbled to a halt before them, his hands raised in surrender. His eyes locked on Raisa’s. “Listen, I need to talk to you, it’s –”

But before he could speak further, before he could smooth all this over and explain the situation, the stout older woman raised her own hand to silence him. Her forehead was creased into a frown as she barked, “I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do, but it ends here.”

Finn opened his mouth again, determined to get out his reasoning, but then the sound of six guns cocking met his ears and suddenly the words were lost on his tongue.

Someone else, however, found them.

“Wait! Don’t shoot!”

Finn swung his head around to find the source: Cai, gasping for breath and hobbling towards them on his busted leg.

“Don’t–don’t shoot him, he’s a friend!” he went on. “A friend of Corra’s.” Finn’s eyes swung back to Raisa to gauge her reaction.

Her frown hadn’t left, but she was regarding Cai with something a little more akin to curiosity. At last, she refocused on Finn. “Alright. But you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

Not particularly in the mood to hear how genius Ren was — especially from Leta — Fiearius grunted, “It’s fine. Just get us the journals, we’ll handle the rest.” Leta opened her mouth to protest, but Fiearius caught her stare and shook his head. The last thing they needed was another ARC-induced outburst.

She asked Ren, “Where did you hide them then?”

“Remember that old library we used to study in?”

Fiearius wished he hadn’t noticed the pink flush in Leta’s face.

“Of course. You hid them there? But that place is huge, where–”

“Where do you think?”

They paused, and the deep blush in Leta’s neck was impossible to ignore.

“I was sort of hoping one day you’d find them,” he said quietly.

Finally, Fiearius decided he couldn’t take much more of this exchange. He pushed himself to his feet. “Well,” he muttered, looking around at them all. “Back to Vescent then.”

———–

Seconds after the Beacon’s ramp lowered to touch ground in the vast, dusty hangar of the Conduit — the old abandoned ship that now acted as a homebase for freed allies — Finn was stalking down it, face clouded in determination. Without hesitation he started to the main doors where the guards were already watching him with curiosity. The Conduit didn’t particularly like visitors, but Finn had no choice but to invite himself inside: if anyone knew where Corra was, it was the Conduit’s leader and Corra’s mother-like figure from her own enslavement, Raisa. He was sure of it.

Of course, he’d asked Raisa before. When he realized his co-captain had disappeared without a trace, Raisa was among the first people he’d called. If Corra wasn’t with Leta on Vescent and she wasn’t on the Dionysian with Cyrus, she most certainly had fled to the Conduit to offer her help. It was the obvious choice. Raisa, however, had been less than accommodating, informing him that she was not at liberty to discuss Conduit members with outsiders. The matter, since, was dropped.

But this time would be different. This time she would answer.

Footsteps followed him down the ramp. Finn spared a glance over his shoulder and was surprised to see Cai starting after him, eyeing him uncertainly. Daelen and Alyx were nowhere in sight. Hell, he hadn’t even seen Alyx in days. Finn knew he was being reckless, potentially careless, but he didn’t care — not when he was this close to having answers. He had to know how Corra had found Callahan. How she’d killed him. What she’d been up to. And why she’d left when he needed help the most.

The armed guards flanking the door eyed him as he approached. One of them nodded at Finn and asked, “Hello. Your ally ID?”

But then he glanced at Finn’s right ear and noticed that it was fully intact — absent the cut that signified enslavement. The man set his jaw with suspicion. “Who’re you? What can we help you with?”

“Finnegan Riley. I need to speak with Raisa.”

The two guards exchanged bemused glances.

“Sorry sir, outsiders need prior approval to enter the facilities.”

Finn bristled with irritation. The Beacon must have still been in the Conduit’s approved-for-docking list. Apparently, that didn’t extend to its captain. “I have approval and I need to talk to her,” he lied simply, but neither of them seemed to buy it.

Cai, who had been hovering behind Finn, finally stepped forward. “It’s concerning an ally who may be here,” Cai put in, considerably more polite than his counterpart.

One of the guards fixed her attention on Cai and Finn could tell even from here where her eyes traveled. “You’re welcome to come inside and look for yourself, sir,” she offered to Cai.

Before Cai could answer, Finn stepped in front of him in a haste and cut in harshly, “No, I need to be there. I have to talk to Raisa.”

Which was apparently the wrong thing to do. The male guard adjusted his grip on his gun threateningly. “Is this man bothering you, sir?” he asked Cai, though his eyes never left Finn. “Know that inside these doors, you are granted full amnesty, freedom and protection from people like this.” He jutted the end of his gun in Finn’s direction with such an expression of disgust, he immediately jumped to his own defense.

“What?!” he demanded. “I’m not–god, I’m not a slaver, I–”

And that was apparently the wrong word to mention.

Of course, Dez wouldn’t see it that way. “Excuse me, I think I just saved your life?” he pointed out, feigning offense.

“And I’m appreciative,” Fiearius snapped, looking around. “But now you need to go.”

“Why?” asked Dez suspiciously. “If it’s Carthis, I’m not afraid of–”

“It’s not Carthis,” Fiearius insisted, “you just have to go, okay?” There were few people capable of ignoring Fiearius when he got down to pleading. Unfortunately, Dez was one of them.

“Always so grateful, aren’t you?”

Pleading wasn’t going to work then. Fiearius groaned in frustration and, without meaning to, started to pace tight circles in the grass. “Grateful? It’s your fault that psycho did this to begin with.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Fair? Fair.” Fiearius shook his head in disbelief. “If you had just listened to me and taken her back to the ship instead of–gods, I don’t even know what you did, lock her in a cell and try rehabilitative therapy? She wouldn’t be out there trying to set me on fire every six months!”

Dez’s stare narrowed. “I did what I thought was right, Fiearius. You would have just handed her over to Carthis and–”

“Carthis wouldn’t have tried to ‘fix’ her,” Fiearius growled.

“It was you who gave me the idea,” Dez argued, but Fiearius ignored him.

“Nor would they have been fooled into trusting her or releasing her and they definitely wouldn’t have told her about the goddamn Rowland case.” He stopped pacing and looked over at Dez, dropping his hands at his sides. “Why the hell did you tell her about the Rowland case?”

Dez didn’t meet his eyes when he shrugged and admitted, “It seemed relevant at the time.”

Fiearius could do nothing but groan once again and roll his eyes. “And you say I’ll do anything for a pretty face.”

The comment only seemed to confuse Dez who muttered, “My decisions had nothing to do with–”

A fearful voice broke through the air.

“Fiear!”

It was Leta, coming down the hill. Smoke stains streaked her face and arms but she looked otherwise unharmed. He caught her by the forearms and slowed her to a halt; he could feel her shaking.

“Are you hurt?” she breathed. “What happened in there?” She noticed Dez over his shoulder and went rigid. “You! What’re you doing here?”

“Is she the reason why you wanted me to leave?” Dez asked behind him and Fiearius was about to respond when Leta suddenly tore herself from his grip and advanced on Dez.

“It wasn’t Ophelia who caused this, it was you!”

“It wasn’t,” said Fiearius and Dez in unison and Fiearius felt Leta’s glare turn to him.

“What? It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that he just happens to show up right when this happens? You said it was Ophelia, but where the hell is she? If she was here to kill you, she certainly hasn’t tried very hard.”

Fiearius opened his mouth to respond, but Dez beat him to it. “Because she’s not trying to kill him.” The statement was met by a glare of confusion, but Dez said nothing else.

“We’re not really…sure what she’s playing at,” Fiearius told Leta slowly. “But every time she’s caught up recently, all she’s done is play a bit of arsonist and disappear again. She hasn’t really tried to kill me since–since Vescent I guess.” He shrugged. “I can’t get a read on her.”

“Personally I think she’s just lost her marbles,” Dez put in unhelpfully.

“No thanks to you, I’m sure,” Fiearius grumbled, casting him a glare.

But then Fiearius felt Leta’s hand on his arm and he looked down to find her staring at him seriously. “I didn’t even know she was still out there. I knew about the fires, but the reports — they said they’re chemical or — accidents, not –” Her grip tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

To that, Fiearius just smiled at her kindly and smoothed her hair with his other hand. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

Before Leta could respond, movement caught his eye as it approached. Leta followed his eyes and she too watched as Ren, his face darkened, came to a halt before them. He stood silhouetted by the cackling flames in the background and Fiearius felt Leta’s hand drop away.

“Everyone in this building has been happy and safe for years,” said Ren suddenly, his voice level but angry, “and you two are here for a few hours and look what happens. Gone. Just like that.”

Leta stepped toward him. “Ren–”

But he cut her off. “And what am I supposed to do now? Stay here? In the charred remains of the life I wanted for myself. Try to rebuild what you’ve corrupted. Or give in. Get on that ship of yours and do what you want.”

Fiearius furrowed his brow. “This — we didn’t mean for this.”

“No,” Ren laughed. “But it’s what you knew would happen, isn’t it? Trouble follows you wherever you go. And now it’s left me with no choice. Was there ever? You told me yourself, Admiral, you couldn’t leave here with a ‘no’. Well I guess you’ve found your ‘yes’ then. I’ll help you find your Councillors.”

The words had been spoken before Fiearius could even think to stop them. At his side, Leta gave a start. She threw a look of alarm at Dez. “Ren — “

But it was too late. Dez was already frowning in thought, looking bemused. “Find the Councilors?” he said to Fiearius. “So that’s what you didn’t want me to hear.”

He shook the image from his head which was becoming increasingly lighter each passing second he traversed the smoke-filled atmosphere. Fiearius didn’t know what he was looking for exactly. Gordon? Garbin? In retrospect, he thought, as he vaulted over a burning support that had fallen in his path, he should have asked for a few more clues for where to look. Fortunately, it turned out he didn’t need them.

Suddenly, he became aware of a noise amidst the crackle of flame, the creaking of wood and his own footsteps. It was barely audible, but distinctly human.

Fiearius froze at once, losing at least one of the noises to try and hone in on the new one. He peered through the thick clouds of smoke, holding his arm over his mouth and blinking back the water that was filling his red eyes. His head turned one way. Then the other. He could still hear the cries, drowned out as they were, but he couldn’t see their source. He couldn’t see anything.

And then, by some cruel miracle, another wall came down.

Fiearius braced himself as the shockwave of dust and debris came roaring at him, but in the instants that followed, a cold gust of wind from outside blew in through the gaping hole, clearing the air. Just for a moment. But a moment was all he needed.

“Hang on!” he shouted to the figured huddled in a ball in the crumbling hallway as he bolted towards him. The young man seemed fine, just paralyzed in fear, until Fiearius got close enough to see what the problem was. A support had fallen on his arm, pinning him to the ground with its weight.

“Thank God!” the man cried when he saw Fiearius hovering over him. “I was trying to get out when–”

“Save your breath, kid,” Fiearius warned him as he eyed his obstacle. He didn’t have much time. This room was likely to come down any minute, with two more stories of apartments on top of it.

“Alright, count of three then you make a run straight out that opening,” Fiearius ordered, pointing to the most recent hole in the building. It was blocked by a pile of debris, but the flames there had died down in the cool air. It could be scaled. The young man nodded in obedience and Fiearius readied himself. “One. Two. Three!”

Fiearius seized the pillar which seared his palms immediately and yanked it with all of his strength. The boy’s arm pulled free and in a flash he was on his feet and tumbling towards the exit.

Fiearius dropped the pillar with a thump on the blackened ground and, ignoring the pain burning his hands, turned to the way out himself.

But then it happened: just as he staggered the first steps toward freedom, a tremendous crash overhead made Fiearius jump sideways for the floor, throwing his arms over his head as debris and wooden beams rained down on him. The crash seemed endless, like a freight train, and dust filled his nostrils and eyes and mouth.

He could feel searing painful cuts on his back and neck, and something hard was digging into his leg, but he seemed alright enough. At last the crashing settled. Dust swirled in the air like fog. Surely it was over.

But then, he tried to push himself up, and a yell of pain ripped through his throat. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw more wooden beams that weighed like a mountain of concrete on his back and legs.

Well, fuck, he thought. He was trapped.

Gritting his teeth, tasting blood in his mouth, he tried again and found his arms shaking with effort. He sucked in a gasp of breath, but it was full of dust and smoke and made him choke. What now? Unfortunately, as was so often the case lately, when his life was seeming to come to its long-delayed close, his mind went to the most unhelpful place of all: what would the headlines say? ‘Rogue Verdant crushed to death while saving helpless in burning building’?

Better than last week’s ‘Admiral Soliveré gets shot in the back of the head by a Society intern because he forgot to close a door’.

Just as he was shaking the thoughts from his head and trying instead to focus on a way out of this, a noise reached his ears. Heavy footsteps, coming his way. Someone was kicking aside the debris. The weight on his back became lighter and lighter until finally, Fiearius was able to turn his head and see his savior. Ready and willing to scold Leta for coming after him, he squinted through the smoke and saw, with a bolt of shock, it wasn’t Leta, but the lumbering figure of Dez shoving the debris off his legs.

“Come on,” he heard Dez shour through the roar of flames. “This place is coming down, we need to move.” He held out his hand and Fiearius, feeling confused but willing to live another day suddenly, seized it and pulled himself to his feet. Stumbling slightly, he followed Dez through the smoky din. He, at least, seemed to know where he was going.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Fiearus coughed, “but showing up at the last minute is getting to be a bit of a habit for you, huh?”

Pushing aside fallen beams, stepping over spurts of flames, they finally found clean, fresh air. They stumbled over a collapsed outer wall and out in the grass, twenty feet away from the building, Fiearius sank to a crouch. He could feel blood running down his neck and soot coating his face as he gasped for breath that wasn’t laden with burnt remains.

Dez stood over him. “Are you alright?”

“Been better,” Fiearius growled, his voice hoarse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Tracking Varisian,” Dez answered.

Fiearius looked up at him, a frown crossing his face. If Dez knew Ophelia was coming here… “Coulda warned me, y’know…”

Dez lifted one arm in a half shrug. “She was headed to the middle of nowhere and you’re supposed to be on Vescent. How was I supposed to know you needed warning?”

Fiearius could barely think, his mind was a fog. But then it hit him: why he wasn’t on Vescent. He’d come to get information from Ren. Information about the Councillors. Which was part of a plan to kill the Councillors. Which Dez couldn’t know about.

“You gotta get outta here.”

It wasn’t so much a matter of trust that made the idea of Dez knowing his plans so unappealing. Over the years, Fiearius had somehow ended up recultivating a lot of the trust that had once been lost between them. There was still bad blood, that would never go away, but he knew by now that Dez’s intentions, at the very least, were in line with his own. No, this wasn’t a matter of trust, it was a matter of — though it killed Fiearius to recognize it –politics.

If Dez knew that Fiearius was intending to personally assassinate the very heads of the Society, he would want a part of it. And why wouldn’t he? His hatred was just as strong and as far as assassinations went, none were so successful as those that both Fiearius and Desophyles had embarked on together. Fiearius would actually be glad for the help, in truth. But it wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t happen. Leta was right. Carthis, and thus much of the span, saw Desophyles Cordova as a terrorist. Fiearius couldn’t risk what would happen when some upstart reporter got a shot of the two of them together standing over the dead body of their enemy.