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.

“But how can you really know that?”

“I just do,” he assured her. “Think about it. Why would he go through all the trouble of pulling me out of Satieri just to tip off Varisian so she can bring me back in? It doesn’t make sense, not even for a crazy bastard like him.”

“That’s just it, Fiear. He could change his mind at any second.”

But Fiearius was shaking his head. “I really don’t think he will this time,” he said with a surprisingly firm conviction. “And even if he does, I’m keeping tabs on him. There’s nothing he can do to us without me knowing about it. I promise.”

“Can you at least acknowledge that you might have a blind spot when it comes to him?” said Leta pleadingly. “He’s your oldest friend. And now — ”

“It’s not a blind spot,” Fiearius defended at once. “He’s been trying to kill me for the last four years, I’m not an idiot, I didn’t forget that. I just understand him a little better than–”

“You need to come to the bridge.”

The voice suddenly broke over the mess hall. Fiearius sat up, startled, as Leta swung her eyes to the doorway and saw Cyrus in the doorway, looking worried.

Once he’d quickly regained his cool, Fiearius frowned at him tiredly. “Dare I ask why?”

“We picked something up,” said Cyrus, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I think you should see it…”

Fiearius cast a worried glance at Leta before pushing himself from the table and following his brother into the hallway.

– – – – – – – –

“A distress signal?” Fiearius demanded in disbelief as he scrolled through the bridge’s main console screen. “How? From where? We’re alone in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

“Apparently we’re not,” said Cyrus, hovering behind him. “It’s coming from a small ship not too far off from us.”

Leta crossed her arms over her chest. “How long has this been broadcasting?” she asked, feeling unpleasant worry stir through her as she read the screen: Transmitting signal … DISTRESS CALL. URGENT. DISTRESS CALL. URGENT. M00112 …

Cyrus shrugged. “Hard to say. We’re the only pingback recorded, but that doesn’t mean much. We are in essentially dead space. We could have been the only receiver in range for days, weeks, months, these things can keep going for years if the generator’s still running.”

“I know this signal,” said Leta, stepping closer to the flashing screen. “It’s a code for ‘medical emergency.’”

“And a low fuel signal, yeah,” Cyrus agreed. “Nasty place to run out of bandages…”

But Fiearius looked unconvinced. “Would be, if it were true,” he muttered and without another word, he pressed the dial for the intercom and spoke into it. “Dez, get up here.”

Leta and Cyrus exchanged a startled glance. Then, seconds later, Dez arrived in the doorway. He was possibly the last person Leta wanted to see, and she did not bother to conceal it, as she rolled her eyes.

Wasting no time, Fiearius pointed to the screen. “Recognize this Vessel ID at all?”

Dez peered at the number and shook his head. “Not one of theirs, no.” He paused and tilted his head. “Not that it would be.”

Fiearius grunted agreement. “Exactly what I was thinking. Ambush?”

Dez nodded. “Ambush.”

Fiearius turned to Leta and Cyrus and shrugged, like all was well. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll be out of range soon.”

Cyrus looked perplexed. “Wait, what just happened?”

“We have no idea what’s on that ship, Cy,” Fiearius pointed out. “And given our status as, y’know, fugitives, I’d rather not find out, would you?”

“You — what?” said Leta in alarm. “You think it’s a trap?”

Fiearius met her eyes meaningfully. Leta knew what he was thinking: Ren’s warning, from the night previous. A fresh wave of bounty hunters on their tail.

But this simply didn’t add up.

“It can’t be a trap,” she went on seriously. “There’s no way the Society or anybody knows we’re on this side of space, how could they just magically know to plant a distress call here?”

Fiearius opened his mouth to respond, but to Leta’s surprise, Dez spoke over him. “Our location has little to do with the possibility of Society interference,” he explained in his cold monotone, looking not at her, but at the screen. “In fact, a more remote location further from bases would be a more agile staging position due to the very logic that a planned attack is improbable.”

“We can’t ignore the call,” Leta said in disgust, rounding on Fiearius. “We have to answer. Remember when the Dionysian’s engine was broken and we were stuck in the middle of nowhere? We would’ve killed for anyone to answer us. We have to go, we have to see what they need.”

“Wait,” said Cyrus, sounding lost in this discussion, “are we seriously considering this ship being some sort of Society scheme? It doesn’t even have any fuel for gods’ sakes.”

“That it’s reporting. You of all people should know how easy that is to fake,” Dez replied simply. “It also is suspect that the ship is transmitting a medical emergency code specifically.” His cold eyes shifted toward Leta. “The Society is no doubt aware of who they are baiting. The medical staff aboard this ship and the tendencies of that staff towards situations such as these have been well-documented — “

It was then that anger darkened Fiearius’ face. “Dez … ” he muttered warningly, while Leta flared up at once.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“In addition, Society or none, distress signals are common tactics of bandit ships to lure in–”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Fiearius interrupted suddenly, holding a hand out in front of Dez, who went icily quiet.

“How about we just call it in?” Fiearius suggested, hoping to find some happy medium between the three of them. “There’s gotta be an emergency team stationed somewhere. They can come out here, check it out for themselves and we’ll just get out of the way. Okay?”

“That could take days,” said Cyrus, exasperated.  “Weeks even. Did you see the radar? There aren’t any ports around here.”

“If the signal is recent, whoever’s on that ship could be long dead by then,” said Leta. “There’s no time. It has to be us. We have to go see what that ship needs.”

Fiearius eyed her, his face softening. She was sure he was on the verge of agreeing when Dez cut in yet again, “While your crew’s empathy is admirable, it is foolish and impractical. An investigation is a decision we may not return from. Any view otherwise is naive.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s naive,” said Leta, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Your word doesn’t mean anything on this ship.”

Dez lifted his brows at her curiously and turned to Fiearius, as if expecting him to refute. Leta and Cyrus’ eyes followed. Fiearius, however uncharacteristically, seemed unwilling to make the call himself.

Clenching his jaw, Fiearius said at last, “We’ll check it out. Briefly. But we’ll put the Dionysian in a running dock in case we need to disengage quickly.”

“That, I can do,” Cyrus agreed. He turned on his heel and left for the engine room.

Dez spent another moment gazing hard at Fiearius. “I guess logic and backbone have no meaning on this ship either,” he muttered before he took a deep breath, declared dutifully, “I’ll ready the weaponry,” and headed out.

“You sound like you’re happy, Leta.”

“Something like that,” she conceded. Leta thanked him for calling, bid him goodnight, promised him she’d keep her head down. Minutes later Leta was back upstairs in Fiearius’ room.

She closed the hatch quietly and was just lowering to the edge of the bed when Fiearius stirred awake, lifting his head to squint at her in the darkness.

“Everything alright?” he asked gruffly, his voice hoarse.

Smiling slightly, Leta smoothed back his hair, assured him everything was fine, and pulled up the sheets to slide in beside him. She was asleep before the blankets were even warm.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“So is the name familiar to you at all?” Leta asked, scrolling through the tablet in her hand. With her other hand she lifted a mug of strong black tea to her lips. It was early afternoon the next day and most of the crew had eaten Amora’s breakfast already. Leta and Fiearius, after spending most of the morning in bed, were in the mess hall alone.

“Arleth Morgan,” Fiearius repeated from the kitchen. He flipped an omelette over in the pan before he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Ren’s completely convinced that he’s after me,” she muttered. Then she hesitated . This was insane, surely, but she had to know what Fiearius thought.

“And,” she added carefully, “that he’s a Councilor.”

The kitchen suddenly grew quiet. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, until suddenly, the spatula hit the pan with a clang.

“Wait, a Councilor? Like, a Society Councilor? A Society Council Councilor?”

“I know. I thought it was crazy too,” Leta admitted. “But he sounded so sure that this ‘Morgan’ definitely is one. So much so that I–well, I almost want to believe it.”

Frowning, Fiearius moved towards her and leaned his shoulder against the doorway. “Councilors don’t have names or identities. They kill their names when they take the job. Nobody’s ever managed to link an actual human being to the position. So how, exactly, did he come to have this belief?”

“I don’t know, but he has a knack for putting pieces together. This is exactly how he ended up in prison in the first place.” She scrolled through the tablet once more. So far, she hadn’t been able to find much of value, except that what Ren said was true: Arleth Morgan was reported dead years prior, leaving behind a wife and no children.

Exasperated, Leta put down the tablet. “Is it possible there’s something more interesting on him in the Verdant database?”

“If he was a Society agent at all? Probably. Unless they obliterated him from existence, but even then, this database is suspiciously inclusive.” Fiearius shrugged, then wandered over to the kitchen’s console and held his wrist to it. Moments later, the screen turned black and a silver Society librera formed in its center. As the database loaded, Fiearius grunted, “All yours.”

Leta pushed herself to her feet at once. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

“Ah yes, the true secret to a woman’s heart,” said Fiearius, crossing back toward the stove to finish cooking. “Homemade breakfast and unrestricted access to high-level government secrets.”

But Leta was hardly listening to his banter: she stepped closer to the screen, absorbing every word. “Here he is. Department of Internal Affairs, 2nd Division agent.”

“Ooh, one of ours,” Fiearius muttered curiously.

“He was implanted as an undercover operative in the Carthian military. But get this.” Her eyes widened as she read, “‘Demonstrated above average leadership and organizational abilities, however, extracted from Carthian project due to non-adherence to undercover protocol and tendency towards anger-based violence. At recommendation of supervision, retired from field work and re-instated as Director of Internal Affairs, 1847.’”

“And he died…?” Fiearius prompted, picking up the plates and hovering behind her.

“‘Of natural causes.’ 1851.”

Fiearius nodded once. “Same year as the acquisition of Vescent.”

Leta regarded him skeptically. “That could be a coincidence.”

“Or he could be a Councilor. He could’ve faked his death under the Society’s guidance. It wouldn’t be the first time they covered something up,” he added, mouth twitching toward a smirk.

“This seems too easy,” Leta sighed, overwhelmed. “If they’re really that anonymous, that secretive, that protective, why is this information available at all? And even if it’s only available to the Verdant, how did Ren find out?”

“Maybe Morgan wasn’t quite as good at disappearing as he should be. Maybe he left some dangerous clues somewhere. Maybe Ren just saw it in a vision. Either way, I think that’s something you’re gonna have to ask him,” Fiearius said, dropping to the table. “Now c’mere. Sit. Eat.”

Leta made herself move away from the console and sit down across from him. She picked up her fork, though she was too deep in thought to eat.

“So how is he anyway? Ren?” Fiearius asked as he dug into his food, eyebrows raised. “The Carthians treating him okay?”

“He’s doing well. Really well.” Leta twirled the fork in her fingers. “He might be out of rehabilitation very soon, by the sound of things.”

Fiearius only nodded. His eyes slid out of focus and then he diverted his gaze toward his plate.

“What?” Leta prompted.

“Nothin’.”

But Leta could read Fiearius well by now. He was deliberately avoiding her eyes, and she knew why. A knowing smile came to her face.

“It’s completely over, you know,” she told him earnestly. “Ren and I.”

Fiearius lifted his gaze and shrugged one shoulder, a skeptical smirk on his face. “I didn’t say anythin’.”

But there was no denying he looked more relaxed after that.

“Besides, Ren will probably stay on Carthis if that’s where he’s safe,” Leta added, almost to herself. She slid her fork into her food as her gaze wandered toward the open window. A canopy of stars floated past — empty space. “Where are we headed next, anyway?”

“Actually, I was just talking to Quin a couple days ago. She’s very enamored with those new ships we helped her get. She’s promised a very good cut if I can acquire her some more so I’m having Dez do some research. He’s putting together a list of low-security Society shipping routes.” He grinned proudly. “Gonna do some real pirating.”

Leta did not quite share his enthusiasm. “Do you really think listening to Dez on anything is a good idea?”

Fiearius frowned. “Listening to Dez is a terrible idea,” he agreed. “Don’t misundertand me, I can’t trust the guy as far as I can throw him, but he does know things, statistical things, data things, that would take me a helluva lot longer to find out on my own.” He shrugged. “But I’ll be scouring anything he hands me three times over, don’t you worry.”

“It’s not just that, Fiear.  We can’t trust his insight at all. He has an end-game here. He could turn on us — you — any second.” Leta set down her fork.

Fiearius met her eyes calmly. Too calmly. “He won’t. Don’t trust him, but you can trust me. He won’t. I’m sure of it.”

“You have no reason to believe that,” Leta pointed out, heaving a sigh. “I’ve been thinking, actually … “

Fiearius’ brows raised on his forehead. “Uh-oh,” he muttered before shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“On Archeti, Ophelia found us. And we don’t know how. Someone could have reached out to the Society.”

“And you think it was Dez.”  It was another moment before he swallowed and added, “It wasn’t.”