“He worked with them most of his life. Happily, I think. I don’t know, we didn’t speak for some ten years there in the middle. Apparently, everything was fine though. He lived in the entertainment district and he was good at his job and made a decent amount and he had no problems with the grand old Society for Intergalactic Unification. They treated him well. Until about three, four years ago now.” Again, Cyrus’ voice trailed off and his eyes moved not just on the ground away from her, but now to the wall in the opposite direction. “Something…happened…” he muttered at last, reluctantly. “Something bad,” he went on, turning his head back around to meet her gaze firmly at last. “And we got this ship and we fled. Just….picked up everything we could and left Satieri forever. Never once looked back.”

“But,” he added suddenly, raising a brow at her. “You said it yourself. You got lucky. You had connections that allowed you to disassociate yourself cleanly? Yeah, we didn’t have that.” A bitter smile touched his lips. “We ran, but it took all of six hours before they were on our tail. And three, four years later?” The bitterness faded into simple disappointment. “They’re still just one step behind. Always chasing. And we’re always running.” The sad tonality culminated in a heavy sigh before he shrugged it off and continued thoughtfully, “So that’s why we couldn’t land anywhere in Exymeron to get treatment. And that’s why even Vescent was a bad idea. And that’s why I couldn’t bring him to the clinic and why I lied about where you were from and why we had to leave so quickly and why he hates the Society.”

“And sorry about that, again,” he added hurriedly. “About all of that. But, hey.” He smiled hopefully, though not without a distinct hint of nervousness. “At least you’re not with them anymore.” He gestured vaguely to the mark on her arm and the smile disintegrated into a grim realization. “I don’t like to imagine what we would have done to you if you still were…”

“Me either,” said Leta quickly, determined not to be put off by something as slight a threat on her life. Not now. Not when she had all of this to digest. Not when she had found an actual ally here. Unable to stifle the eagerness in her voice, she said, “I guess I ended up on the right ship then. Because — I doubt I need to tell you now what I want to do,” she continued, a little bemusedly so, though her eyes were cold. “I want to get Ren out of there. Wherever he is. But I’m getting nowhere alone.”

“Ah,” Cyrus responded at once with a swift nod of his head. “Right. Of course. Naturally.” He hesitated, but the wheels in his head were visibly turning as his fingers tapped on the edge of the bed. “I can’t promise anything. If it’s not already obvious, I don’t call the shots on this ship. But, hey, you helped us out. It doesn’t seem unreasonable we could help you back. And hey, Fiear’s always game for taking cheap shots at his old buddies. It’s not impossible.” He paused. “Also, the message you said you received. Do you have the data? It should be possible to dig up its source. It might be buried, but in my experience with Society data encryption, it probably won’t be buried that deep,” he remarked. His voice was almost boastful as he offered, “I could take a look at it if you’d like.”

“Y — really?” said Leta, suddenly startled. She thought nothing could surprise her anymore, really. But the look of thoughtful curiosity on Cyrus’ face, his eager tone of voice, that stunned her breathless. Someone willing to help? After three months of screaming at bureaucrats? Unthinkingly, words tumbled out of her. “That’d be — well, I’ve tried that, but it’s never really — and it’s been a really long while si…”

Before she could think to do otherwise, Leta slid down from the bench, her feet came to the floor, and her arms found the man’s shoulders in an embrace that startled them both. Cyrus especially so. When she felt him stoop awkwardly and his hand pat her back, twice, decisively, she couldn’t help but smirk. Still, nothing could keep her from grasping his shoulder warmly as she pulled back and smiled at him out of pure relief.

“Yeah,” was what he said after, not meeting her eyes and apparently attempting not to act as bewildered as he was. “I mean, yeah really, it’s not that big of a deal. I can at least give it a shot. I’m…” He frowned briefly before smiling at her in false humility, “kinda good at that kinda stuff. Shouldn’t be a problem. But hey, in the meantime, since you’re stuck here.” Again, he looked away shamefully and muttered once more, “Sorry. I can find you some empty quarters to stay in. I’m sure you’re probably tired. Long day of being abducted and all.” A wide smile came across his face in hopeful cheeriness as he stood up from the bed and made for the door, perhaps a little hurriedly, Leta noted. “Better luck tomorrow maybe?” he added over his shoulder.

“Well, I guess we’ll see,” said Leta, flashing a hesitant smile at his back as she followed after him. For a moment, she could not help but linger in the doorway that led to the rest of the ship, a pause of inward bewilderment. If everything Cyrus said was actually true, she’d be aboard longer than she’d thought.

“But he wrote you,” said Cyrus. “From…wherever he’s being held? How do you know for sure it’s really from him though?” he added, sounding hesitant it seemed to even speak the words.

Leta was not offended. But, for the first time, she did falter. Here we go, she thought uneasily. But what did she have to lose at this point? For seconds longer, she kept her eyes on Cyrus before, finally, reaching to the side and grasping the long sleeve of her blouse. She pulled back on the fabric, pulling the tattoo on her forearm into view.

Immediately, Cyrus’ eyes widened as he took it in, that all-too-familiar sight of the black angles of the Society Librera. The same mark his brother wore.

The silence dragged on and on, quite painfully so, until he muttered, “Oh,” blankly. “Well.” His face compressed into a concerned frown and he nodded ever so slowly. “You should probably just…keep that to yourself.” He passed her a sheepish and apologetic smile. “Whether you’re with them still or not, it doesn’t make too much of a difference, really. Best to just not let that out around here. We’ve yet to run into anyone with that mark that my brother left breathing.” He grimaced at his own words. “He has…trust issues. What is he always says? If he were still working for them, he’d be lying about it too.”

“I’m not with them,” she said quickly, tugging down on her sleeve once more and attempting to absorb what Cyrus had said invisibly and quickly. “I worked in a medical research division for a year, then I met Ren. But I don’t anymore. Obviously. I’m not anymore. I got lucky. Because of my dad,” she admitted, uneasy once more. “He’s one of their latchkeys. He’s a speech writer. He’s worked for the Society my whole life. Political advising, mostly. Never important enough to make a difference, but he knows enough. He’s the one who told me.  I guess the guilt got to him, because a few weeks after the funeral, he told me what I already knew. That he was alive.”

Because these were words Leta had spoken before, because it was a story that she knew every detail of, it was easy to swallow the lump in her throat. It was easy to keep her gaze evenly on Cyrus, even when he looked surprised.

“But now it’s your turn,” she said quietly. This was the part Leta was eager for. She sat up straighter.  “Your brother. Your brother hates the Society too. Why?”

Instantly, Cyrus’ expression of intent listening blanched with discomfort. The crease in his forehead and the nervous tapping of his fingers against the edge of his seat said it all. It was a question he did not want to answer. Or perhaps, she thought, he just didn’t know how. He’d warned her that Fiearius would go so far as to kill her if she mentioned the Society. Did the same rule apply to his own brother? Or was Cyrus not hesitating out of mistrust of his sibling, but rather mistrust of her?

“It’s a long story,” he began lamely, finishing the statement with a tired sigh and casting her another apologetic smirk. “Not really my story to tell, either. There’s a lot of reasons for him to hate them. Well, you’ve seen the mark.” He tapped his own upper arm knowingly. “And you saw the nice welcome we got back there,” he added grimly, jabbing his thumb back over his shoulder as though towards Vescent.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug and his voice faded off again so that she thought he was just going to leave it at that. The same, vague answer the captain himself had given her. The non-answer. Cyrus, however, wasn’t done.

“My brother joined the Society back on Satieri when he was young. Fourteen, fifteen, I don’t know,” he explained dutifully, still frowning seriously at the ground. “I don’t know what kind of work you do for them when you’re that age. Delivering messages or making coffee runs, no clue. What I do know is that he eventually ended up with Internal Affairs.” His voice softened considerably as he added, “I do know what they do. I just don’t like to think about it.”

Internal Affairs. Internal Affairs? The name stirred something in Leta’s mind — something vaguely uneasy — but nothing immediate came to her. Before she could add that to her dozens of burning questions, Cyrus continued.

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.”