“All right, I can see what this is,” Aiden began evenly, clapping Fiearius on the shoulder warmly, as if this were a meeting he’d intended for all along. “I know you’re worried, I know you’re scared. But there’s no reason to pit anyone against anyone else. Fiearius has been keeping me updated every time he talks to Cyrus — ” This wasn’t exactly true in the strictest sense, Fiearius thought to himself. “And I’ve been giving everything I know straight to you. Everyone on this ship is on the same playing field. We’re concerned and, frankly, we have too much time on our hands.” He smiled.

“But captain’s been lying to us, Aiden,” said Maya quietly. “Said people on Satieri will kill him.”

“They will kill me,” Fiearius admitted bluntly, somehow finding another measure of calm. “And they’ll kill you too. They’ll kill all of you. If they had the chance, they’d kill everyone who I’ve ever said a single word to. You,” he added sarcastically, “are my wonderful loyal crew. Even if you don’t always look it…” He scratched his hair tiredly. “You’ll all be at the top of that list. You may not trust me. And that’s fine. But look at it this way. What reason would I have to lie to you? I don’t have time for useless mindgames. Why the hell would I make this up?”

“No one’s accusing you of making anything up,” Aiden said measuredly, before his eyes narrowed into a subtle glare of warning on the crew. “No one should be.” He let that warning hang pointedly in the air for a moment before he pressed on, glancing over the crew as though he was honestly a little confused by their intentions.

“We’re going to be fine,” he sighed earnestly. “Do you realize that yet? At least, we will be as long as we don’t continue to accuse and berate one another.” At this, he sent a look toward Maya. “I’m not sure where this pessimism is coming from, honestly,” he admitted. “We’ve gotten out of a lot worse than this.”

“You really believe that? That we can get outta this?” Palia pressed him worriedly.

“Of course I do.”

Then, Aiden stepped to the side, holding his hand toward the door, making it clear this meeting was, in fact, over. “Go on. We can revisit this when everyone’s cooled off,” he offered calmly. “And I’ll be in my room all evening if you want to talk privately.”

To Fiearius’ amazement, the crew began to file from the cabin. Amidst much grumbling, they left for the hallway, even Ludo, throwing Fiearius dirty looks along the way.

“I’ve got shit with you, Aid,” grunted Arlo as he left.

“And I’d be delighted to hear about it,” said Aiden politely. “Come by later.”

Leta was the last to leave. She lingered in the door wringing her hands together as she sent Fiearius a concerned, searching look, before slipping into the hallway.

Fiearius gazed after her for a few seconds and finally dropped into his captain’s chair at last, clapping a hand over his face.

“So this is going well,” he muttered. A dazed, mirthless grin spread over his face. And to think, soon Aiden would be leaving the Dionysian for good. “Bet you can’t wait to leave for that teaching job now, eh?”

“I haven’t accepted it yet, actually,” said Aiden as dropped into the chair beside him. He leaned back and sighed, “Yes. Things seem bleak, it’s true. But this will shake out the way its meant to. You’ve never led your sheep astray before.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard of sheep throwing a rebellion against their shepherd,” Fiearius muttered grimly, running a hand through his hair and stretching out his legs in front of him.

“They’ll come around,” said Aiden after a thoughtful pause. He sounded so sure. “They had their moment, and now they’ll come around.”

Fiearius cast him a dull, disbelieving glance. “Sometimes I think you’ve got too much faith in people, mate.”

Aiden was gazing out the window, silent for several seconds until he frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe you don’t have enough.”

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

In the hours following the crew’s confrontation, tension clouded the ship’s hallways like smoke, thick and stifling. There was no longer any ignoring the dwindling food supply, the worried looks, the confusion, the unknown. Leta had told herself not to think in absolutes or desperation, but it occurred to her horribly that the crew might have been right — this might have been it. And if that was the case, she’d have to send everything she knew about Ren’s whereabouts to his family  . . .

It was a sick thought. Pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand, Leta picked up the serving plate of food with the other and swept toward the stairs without even thinking, like clockwork. Feeding Cyrus was rather like feeding a pet, she thought — but then again, pets were vocal when they were hungry. Cyrus probably wouldn’t have noticed if herself or Corra had skipped bringing him a meal.

But of course, they never had. As she went downstairs to the engine room, Leta didn’t even glance toward the console; she didn’t need to in order to confirm Cyrus’ presence. Cyrus was a fixture in this space. Every time she saw him — or saw his back turned to her, more like — Leta barely resisted the urge to really check up on him: shine a flashlight in his eyes, shake him a little, make him shower and sleep, something.

“Dinner,” she announced, injecting some warmth into her tone as she reached for the emptied plate left behind (good, she thought, he was still eating). She was on the verge of turning for the exit once more when her eyes fell to the side, and she noticed Cyrus was not there.

Curiously, she cocked her head to the side, checking if he was elsewhere in the room, under the engine perhaps.

“Cy?”

Somehow, Leta doubted that it had been something positive that had drawn the engineer out of his cave. Leta slid the empty plate onto a workbench and hazarded a few steps toward his usual place, her eyes focusing on the row of consoles.

Only one of them was lit. Text blazed on the screen.

NO HARM WILL COME TO THE ENGINEER,

AS LONG AS NO HARM WILL COME TO THE CREW.

WE AWAIT RESOLUTION IN THE CARGO BAY.

Leta’s heart jumped into her throat and all she could do was stare, aghast. This was a ransom note. Staggering backwards, she kept her eyes on the console as her free hand dodged toward the wall, her fingers crushing the dial of the intercom to the bridge.

“Fiear?” she demanded into the cackling speaker. “You need to get down here. There’s a note, a note from the crew, it says they’ve got Cyrus — “

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

Shock and adrenaline flooding her veins, Leta half-jogged to the cargo bay, her feet pounding the metal floor. She dodged to the door and nearly made it inside when a hand jerked her arm backwards.

It was Alistair. He gripped her elbow, his eyes shining in worry. “Leta, please, before you go in there … please, understand what we’re going through — “

“Where’s Cyrus?” Leta demanded, feeling close to panic. But then anger burst through her like wildfire and she wrenched her arm away. “If you’ve hurt him, I swear to — “

“Course we didn’t hurt him!” he cried. “And we don’t want to. But — “

Growling in her throat, Leta suddenly shoved his shoulder back, making him hit the wall with a thud. She fled past him into the cargo bay and a horrible scene met her eyes.

So this was what it had come to, she thought in shock: mutiny. Strong and united, the dissenting crew stood together in a neat half-circle in the middle of the room, their eyes on the main doors, awaiting the arrival of the captain. Behind them on the floor sat Cyrus, slumped against the wall, his wrists tied to a metal pipe. True to Alistair’s word, Cyrus did not appear harmed; he simply looked exhausted to the point of sickness, his eyes closing drowsily.

“Cy!”

Leta began to cut forward, her eyes on his bound wrists, and for the moment Maya and Arlo and Tihla seemed too stunned by the authority in her step to even react. But then someone closed in on her and blocked her path like a boulder: Ludo.

“No, not a chance, doctor,” he said with a rough laugh. “This is the only card we have to play. You ain’t ruining that.” He used the gun in his hand to gesture to the stairs. “Go on, go back up there now.”

Leta eyed the barrel of his gun for a moment before lifting her eyes. “I’m not moving,” she said coldly, and that was when alarm rippled over the room like a cold breeze. “Untie him. Untie him right now.”

Murmurs of worry swept over the crew, and then Javier cried out, “Wait!”

He edged closer, looking very white in the face. Leta realized that someone had given the kid a gun; he gripped it tightly with both hands.

 

“There you are,” said Leta, exhaling sharply as she found Fiearius in the hallway. He was just exiting Aiden’s quarters, walking toward her with his typical long stride and scowl on his face. Leta ignored his expression, as usual, and said briskly, “I need to talk to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Fiearius tried to edge past her. “Now is really not the best time to talk about saving your boyfriend.”

“Fiance, and this isn’t about him,” said Leta. “It’s about the crew.”

Leta abruptly seized Fiearius’ upper arm and steered him toward a more private alcove. Fiearius staggered after her, glancing down at her hand, then up at her, looking more confused than interested.

“Fiear, this is stupid,” began Leta, surveying his face in the shadows of the quieter area of the hallway. “But — you didn’t take those breathing masks that are stored in the infirmary, did you?” she asked sincerely. “Or tell anyone else to? All of them are missing.”

Fiearius’ eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully and then moved away toward the wall in contemplation. Clearly, he was uninvolved. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said simply. “Life support’s running fine. Cy says it’ll be months before the generator would even start losing power. Why would someone steal oxygen masks of all things?”

“Because,” she said simply, “people are getting scared.”

The corner of Fiearius’ eyebrow twitched in irritation.

“Well they shouldn’t be. Everything’s fine,” he said bluntly, and turned to walk away. He only got a half step away before Leta grasped his arm again to tug him back.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” she said testily.  “The crew knows you’re hiding something from them, Fiear. People can sense these things. And now they’re starting to act on their fear.”

Fiearius stopped abruptly and dropped his hands to his side. His expression shifted, or perhaps softened.

“I know,” he muttered tiredly. “I know. I already got all that from Aiden.” He gestured to the door down the hall. “I don’t need it from you too. I know they’re scared, I get it.” Annoyance colored his expression, but he spoke unusually calmly, particularly for him. “But my engine’s still broken and my options are still absent. The hell am I supposed to do?”

“They need to hear from you,” said Leta wearily. “Even if it’s not good news you have to give them, they need it from you. Otherwise, there’s hearsay. And blame. And … weird rumors,” she mumbled, glancing sideways, unwilling to admit that she was quite sure those weird rumors were mostly about, well, the two of them.

“Rumors or not, I’ve got no news to give them,” he grunted, clearly dismayed as he clasped a hand to his temple. “The ship. Is broken. That’s all. That’s it. There’s nothing more.”

Leta crossed her arms over her chest. “But there is more.”

Fiearius groaned, dragging his hand down his face. Through his fingers, he opened one eye to peer at her and muttered, “Well you know that and I know that, but they certainly don’t.” Dropping his hand to his side, he added, “And they don’t need to. If I tell them we actually could land, what do you think they’re gonna do? And then when I tell them we can’t because it’s Satieri? When I tell them that planet is even more of a deathtrap than this ship?” He shook his head. “It’s easier this way. What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

Leta exhaled tightly out of her nose. “Do you even have a plan here, Fiear?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “I’m not a moron. I got in touch with Finn yesterday. He’s on his way with a ship to ferry people off if it comes to it.”

“Then tell the crew that,” said Leta, her impatience flaring as she tossed her hands in the air. “Because they can sense you’re holding back. People are mistrustful and starting to take sides.” To her frustration, Fiearius was not looking at her, but gazing boredly over her shoulder. Leta raised her voice, “Fiearius, listen to me. They think you’re really hiding something! And that you’re not doing anything to help them, which is why they’re acting out and stealing oxygen masks, and that you’re — “

But Fiearius didn’t seem to listen. Of course. Suddenly, Leta growled in her throat and clasped her palm to her aching forehead, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. The first painful tinges of a fever prickled beneath her flesh and, all at once, Leta felt more tired than she had in months. Exhaustion sank and sank through her, and just when she was considering turning to leave, Fiearius’ voice freed her from her thoughts.

“You okay, kiddo?” he muttered. He looked oddly worried, his brow knit, and his hand was curved around her upper arm. “You don’t look so hot.”

Gingerly, Leta pulled her hand away from her forehead and stared at Fiearius in surprise, practically awaiting his insult or punchline. “What?” she demanded quietly before hastening on, “Yes. I’m fine. Except … I am sort of tired of defending you.”

Fiearius wrinkled his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to defend me,” he replied, though his tone wasn’t angry, but confused.

“You didn’t have to,” she admitted quietly before she could stop herself.

Abruptly, Fiearius let silence fall between them — heavy, curious silence that he made no effort to fill. It held a degree of expectation Leta wasn’t sure she liked, and as it stretched on, Fiearius was regarding her, his eyes searching her face curiously in the shadowy darkness. She’d never noticed before, but he had a very intense, burning stare; it made Leta suddenly very aware of herself.

Swaying uncertainly on her feet, she broke the spell of silence. “Just — talk to your crew, alright? Captain?”

At last, a familiar grin unraveled across his scruffy face. “Or you could talk to them.”

“Yeah, or not,” Leta snorted. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling this is all going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Yeah,” Fiearius muttered in agreement, dragging his hand through his messy hair. “Just gotta hope Cyrus gets the engine running again before it comes to that … “

But ghosts weren’t her main worry as she walked toward the engine room.

Corra knew it was wrong, but she still hadn’t spoken to Cyrus since the incident on their ‘date’ the previous week. She’d wanted to talk to him the next day, but then this whole technical issue had happened and Cyrus had disappeared into the engine room to never come out. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself furiously. She was forced to delay.

But this morning when she woke up to find the ship still not moving and that pit of discomfort still lodged firmly in her stomach, consuming her thoughts any time the ship’s engineer was mentioned, she had decided that she could delay no longer, engine trouble be damned.

Unfortunately, her resolve had lessened somewhat throughout the day and although she had demanded that she be the one to deliver his dinner rather than Leta for once, even as she approached the engine room, tray in hand, she didn’t know what she was going to say. She had played out hundreds of conversations in her head over the past week, but now that she was here, she forgot all of them. Hopelessly, she stood outside the door a moment longer, trying to conjure something, anything. Her mind was uncharacteristically blank.

Finally, she took a deep breath and slipped inside and settled on a meek, “Hey there.”

Cyrus was hunched over a console screen, frantically skimming through data readings. He did not look up. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his forehead was creased as he swiped the screen desperately, moving from page to page to page and back again. Behind him, the massive shape of the engine sat still and silent.

Corra watched him work a beat longer, unsure if he’d heard her arrive, so she tried again. “Cy-cy?” She stepped further into the room. “I brought you dinner.” She lifted the tray to show him.

But he said nothing to her, his eyes focused on the screen as if they were miles away from one another. Disgruntled, Corra opened her mouth to try again, but just as she did, he cut her off.

“Thanks, just…put it over there,” he muttered, not looking up and waving in the general direction of the wall. Then he started to mumble numbers to himself, ignoring her once again.

Corra’s heart sank. Was he so upset with her that he couldn’t even look at her? God, how badly had she screwed up?

No, she assured herself. No, of course not, he was simply frustrated with the engine. This had nothing to do with her. He was probably the same to Leta …

Even so, her paranoia wouldn’t allow her to let it go. What she wanted to ask was ‘can we talk?’ or ‘do you have a minute?’ or even, more bluntly, ‘are you still angry with me?’, but what came out was, “So…how’s the engine?”

It was a question she immediately regretted when Cyrus stopped mid-motion and looked over at her like she was insane. “Sorry, I mean–” she corrected hurriedly, “I mean, do you…do you know what’s wrong with it yet?”

“If I knew what was wrong with it, it would be fixed,” Cyrus said shortly, focusing back on the screen again.

“Oh. Right.” Corra faltered, looking down at the tray of food in her hands in despair, desperately trying to convince herself it was just stress. He was frustrated. It wasn’t her. It definitely wasn’t her.

But as much as it wasn’t her, she couldn’t stop herself. “Cyrus, I’m sorry,” she blurted out suddenly.

Again, Cyrus paused and stared at her, but his eyes were much softer this time. A little confused, perhaps, but not hostile. Even so, Corra wanted to shrink away from his stare as he mumbled, “Corra…not now…”

Slowly, he stepped away from the console and approached her. He gently took the tray, for a few awkward moments they each held either side of it, until Corra lowered her hands.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said quietly, trying to meet her eyes. “I’ve gotta keep working on this.”

Corra felt her face turn red in embarrassment. Of course he had way more important things to worry about right now than that dumb date with her. Feeling a strong urge to go bury her head in the dirt somewhere and never unbury it, she nodded quickly and muttered, “Yeah, definitely, absolutely, good luck,” and before he could stop her, she turned on her heel to flee the room, wondering how long things could be this awkward between them.

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

That evening, eager to leave behind the bickering crew, Leta slipped quietly downstairs alone. Dinner hour had been tense: everyone was impatient and snappish while awaiting an update from Fiearius. But they never got an update, because Fiearius hadn’t shown up to dinner at all. Aggravation burned under her skin: when was he going to answer for himself? His silence was giving the crew more and more ammo against him …

Downstairs, the infirmary lay mercifully empty and silent. Leta closed the door behind her with a soft snap, and then crossed the room and opened a cabinet, reaching for a bottle of pills. The medication fought fevers and infection; she’d started taking them after the combat ring, when that man had dug that filthy knife through her flesh.

Glancing down at the bottle, Leta shook it, and found there were only a handful of pills left. One problem no one considered with the ship’s broken engine was the dwindling lack of medication … thankfully, Fiearius’ shoulder was healed now, but she didn’t have many resources left to stave off fevers …

Well, she thought briskly, twisting the cap back on, she’d likely be fine; she didn’t need to take any today. The pills were mostly preventive anyway. And no doubt Cyrus would have the ship running again in a few days.

Just when Leta went to close the cabinet, however, she suddenly froze in place. Something wasn’t right here. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the shelves, still packed in the order she preferred it … except …

With a jolt that, she realized: the neat stack of oxygen masks was missing. Not where she’d left them. Gone.

She always locked the cabinets, as well as the door each night. She hadn’t touched the masks. Perhaps Fiearius had? Though that did not seem likely. Leta did not like to think it, but the word crept up into the back of her mind: stolen.

By whom? Did the crew take the masks — did they think their life support systems were in danger?

Wrong-footed and startled, Leta eased the cabinet door closed and backed away.

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