Leta sat up, suddenly wide-awake. “Did Cyrus break the lock-down?”

“Sure did. But there’s some, ah, bad news,” he said, and Leta’s eyes narrowed. “We still can’t dock the Dionysian and the Mariah together without risking a permanent attachment.”

“So … what does that mean?”

“Just get to the airlock, I’ll meet you there.”

Leta quickly pushed herself to her feet and hurried toward the airlock doors. Dez followed, but Leta altogether ignored him as she pressed her hands to the glass and gazed out.

What she saw made her stomach practically fall through the floor. Separating the Mariah from the Dionysian was at least six feet of open air — open space. Endless darkness, like a blackhole ready to swallow her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Across the emptiness, Fiearius was visible in the doorway of the Dionysian’s airlock, suited up once more. She saw his mouth move before his words reached the speaker in her ear.

“C’mon, it’s just a little jump.”

“Through empty space!” she cried, her voice shriller than usual.

“I can’t get her any closer,” said Cyrus over the speaker. “Not without possible hull damage.”

At her side, Dez hit the dial, and the airlock doors opened before her. She was a foot away from the edge when she felt the air around her evacuate the room, and her breathing became rather sharp and nauseated: she had never liked heights.

“You can do it,” Fiearius assured her, holding out his arms. “I’ll catch you, I promise. It’s just like that job on Kadolyne. The jump out the window? That was fun, yeah? Remember that?”

“I’d rather not,” she breathed, and Fiearius laughed.

She hazarded a cautious step toward the edge, but did not move further.

Behind her, Dez muttered near her ear, “Do you need me to throw you?”

When she glanced at him, she saw the mildest of sneers curling his mouth.

With that, Leta cut him a look of pure, cold fury and suddenly burned with anger. In one furious motion, she turned forward, dug her heel into the floor and leapt the distance between the ships in excruciating slow-motion. All the breath froze in her lungs as time seemed to stop — it felt like hours, but it was mere milliseconds until Leta was collapsing against Fiearius’ embrace.

They staggered backward a half-step in the airlock, but Leta’s feet found mercifully solid ground — the magnetic soles of her boots attaching to the floor of the Dionysian. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry with relief, so she simply shut her eyes tightly, as if willing away every single one of the past 24 hours.

Behind her, she heard Dez joining them in the airlock, and the doors sliding closed. The cabin quickly began to re-pressurize — at last, they’d been freed.

She kept her eyes closed as she felt Fiearius unlock her helmet and slide it over her head, smoothing her hair back with his hand as she took her first breath of air.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he said, and she could feel him grinning at her. “Safe and sound.”

Half of her mind was still on what Dez had told her. Eyes still closed, all she said was, “Let’s hope so.”

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

“And you’re sure your intel is correct?” asked the gruff, smoke-laden voice of Arleth Morgan as he reached to tap a few keys in his console. He was so flustered with excitement that his gnarled, aged hands were trembling and he was having difficulty typing.

On the other end of the line, Ophelia Varisian’s voice arrived coolly through the speakers.

“Yes, sir. I’ve confirmed the Dionysian’s last known location and evaluated their status to determine their most viable next move. They’ve been floating in the black for nearly two weeks. Even running minimal processes, they’ll need to refuel before taking additional action.”

“So they’re going to a port,” said Arleth, making himself sit back in his chair. “And you — what is it then — you intend to stage an attack on one of these ports?”

“Only if the opportunity arises, sir. I’ve determined a pattern in their most frequented refueling locations, and will do my best to connect with the ship, but my chances of choosing the correct one are still only one in eight. More likely, I will access surveillance at all possible ports to pick up their trail and engage in a more appropriate arena in the coming weeks.”

“I want updates throughout the process,” he barked, jumping up to his feet — he could not sit still. “Keep me apprised. Of everything. And Varisian?” He paused coldly. “As far as the other Councillors are concerned, this conversation never happened. Do you understand me?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Pursing his lips, Morgan quickly disconnected the call. Then, with a glint in his eye, he picked up his COMM again. This time, no less than ten of his newly-hired bounty hunters listened expectantly on the other end.

“Listen. All of you. I’m forwarding you the Dionysian’s potential next coordinates. Get to the ports and keep an eye out. And be quick about it. You’re not the only ones hunting this ship and it’s imperative you get to them first. Find Leta Adler and bring her to me. Alive.”

A murmur of understanding rippled over the line. Morgan stood back and crossed his arms.

“Report back once you’ve found her,” he added, then disconnected the call with a jab of his hand.

The rest of the Council stupidly wanted Adler either killed on the spot or taken back to Satieri in chains. But Morgan would have none of it. He clenched one of his fists, digging his nails hard enough to draw blood into his palm.

She belonged on Vescent. She belonged to him. It was his punishment to issue.

He unclenched his fist, lowering his hand back to his side, as he slowly approached

his favorite wall of his office. Photos of Adler of all ages spanned an entire wall, tracking her life, her connections, her whereabouts. It would only be a matter of time until she was within his grasp. Until he could spill her blood across the steps of the Capitol and the Span would see just what happened when you crossed Vescent.

“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.