Cyrus’ stomach turned over. Surely the answers he had were not the answers she wanted. He had never known Delia that well, but he knew her well enough to know that ‘We’re part of a pirate group trying to take down the Society’ would not appease her. Not when she bore a Society librera on her uniform. But she was giving them a chance, a chance they sorely needed. All he needed was an answer she’d want to hear. All he needed was a sob story.

Fleetingly, he glanced at Leta who gazed back at him in alarm. Fiearius had always been better about coming up with lies, but suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Delia,” he said, fixing her with an earnest stare. “Do you remember me telling you about my brother?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leta stiffen in alarm, but surely, it was useless to try and hide his relationship to the infamous Fiearius Soliveré. The surname was hardly common. It was bound to come out eventually. Might as well be now.

“Left home to join the Society, disappeared? I’m sure you’ve seen his name in the news recently…Rogue Verdant and all.” One of the other crew members gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Cyrus ignored her and pressed on.

“He didn’t disappear forever. He showed up again while I was at Sonnete. And he–well, he forced me to go with him when he fled the planet. Put a gun to my head and demanded I get him a ship to leave. I didn’t have a choice.” He gestured to Leta. “He kidnapped her, too, a while later because he was injured and needed a doctor. He’s been making us do these raids ever since. We’re just pawns in his scheme.”

It felt rather nauesating to lie about Fiearius. As if he didn’t already have a bad enough reputation amongst the Society. But he’d rather a little libel than admitting that Cyrus and Leta too were treasonous enemies of the Council. Unfortunately, one of them thought they were a little too opposite of that.

“Well this is good then, isn’t it?” the man pointed out, finally lowering his knife. “If he kidnapped you, you can seek asylum here. We’ll tell the captain and–”

“No,” Cyrus cut him off suddenly, a wave of panic running through him. “No, you don’t understand. If the leadership knows, they’ll just use us to get to him. We–” he glanced nervously at Leta “we know too much. There’s no way we’d come back from that…They’d use us and dispose of us after…”

His stare moved back to Delia. “Please, we just want out of this mess. Just let us take a shuttle out of here. I’ll do anything. I just want to go home.”

As he spun the tale, Delia’s face began to soften and when she finally spoke, it was with a heavy sadness.

“Cyrus, I’m sorry. I believe you, but–you can’t take a shuttle. Even if I said you could, the shuttles are closely monitored, command would know right away. You wouldn’t make it fifty feet.”

His heart began to sink, but slowly a comforting smile formed on Delia’s face. “But I want to help you,” she said, and added, “We want to help you.” She shot her two companions a glare and they reluctantly murmured their agreement. “So I’ll tell you what I can do. I can find a safe place for you to hide until we land and get you off the ship. Then you’re free to go wherever you want.”

Cyrus could almost not believe his ears. Of course, he was grasping onto hope, but he hadn’t actually thought that this woman, these people, would risk their jobs, their careers, hell, their lives to help them. Especially when — well, he had never been particularly kind to Delia in the past. She owed him nothing. And yet —

“Follow me,” she said, gesturing for them to follow as she made for the door. “I know just the place no one will find you.”

As Cyrus obediently fell into step behind her, Leta seized his arm and whispered into his ear, “We can’t trust her, Cy. I know she was your friend, but — ” She locked her eyes on Delia’s back. “But she’s still one of them, okay?”

Cyrus swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know. But right now, she’s our only chance of making it out of here.”

Leta frowned at him and then suddenly called to Delia, “Where’s this ship headed anyway?”

“Oh!” Delia exclaimed as though she had simply forgotten to offer them tea. “Right. We’re headed for Vescent. Have you ever been there?” she went on conversationally as all the color drained from Leta’s face.

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

Hours later, once the Titan landed smoothly into the docks and the crew departed, it became clear to Leta: this was not the Vescent she remembered. It was not the same place she’d left behind.

The main city square was no longer bustling with people. The harbor wasn’t crowded with boats. The main street of cafes and restaurants and coffee shops were dark, and many of them were shut down or replaced with sterile-looking office buildings. It was summer in Fall’s End, it was only early evening, the air was warm, but hardly anyone was outside.

“It’s past curfew,” Delia explained hurriedly. “We have special exception since our ship docked so late, but … ”

But she still hurried them along. Leta could not take her eyes off the foreign landscape. Her impulse was to stop and stare like they’d arrived on a foreign moon, but Delia shuffled them urgently from the ship to her nearby apartment, taking great care to avoid the watching eyes of higher Society agents.

As they passed through the cobblestone streets, Leta gazed at the posters pasted to the brick walls. Beware the Rogue Verdant! one warned. ATTENTION VALUED CITIZENS OF VESCENT: City curfew in effect …

In the center of the square, Leta actually stopped and gazed at a trifecta of flags blowing in the breeze, each of them proudly displaying the librera. Cyrus quickly steered her away.

When they crested the stairs to the top floor of Delia’s apartment building, Leta hardly heard what her two companions were talking about. Her mind was racing. For the first time since she’d stepped foot on the Dionysian nearly a year ago (she still remembered it vividly — seeing Fiearius yelling at the top of the ramp was burned into her mind) … she was home. She really was home. Or was she?

“We should hurry,” said Delia, fumbling with her keys and dropping them twice before finally opening the door.

Delia’s apartment was clean and comfortable, and barely lived-in; clearly, she traveled a lot for her Society employers. Leta stepped inside numbly, barely taking in her new surroundings. She felt Delia cast her one weary look, as if fearful for what she would do next. Then she turned back to the door and secured the lock, in a rather paranoid fashion. At last, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’ll be safe here for now. I think. Just um — make yourself at home,” she offered, offering Cyrus a weak smile.

Cyrus returned the smile but it faltered. “Delia, thank you, that’s–that’s very kind of you, but we can’t stay here. If they find out we’re here … we can’t put you in that kind of danger.”

“But we’ve got to stay off the streets,” Leta pointed out. “They’ll recognize us. Or me, at least.”

“See? You’re way worse off out there than in here,” Delia agreed. She moved into the kitchen and began fussing with a kettle. “There’s no reason for anyone to search my apartment. You can stay here until you figure out how to–” she faltered and tilted her head at them. “I don’t know, whatever you’re planning to do.”

Cyrus glanced at Leta uncertainly. “What are we planning to do?”

“We need to get a ship out of here,” she said sharply.

“I somehow doubt it’ll be that easy,” Cyrus pointed out.

“The docks are the most secure area of the city,” Delia called from the kitchen, “especially for outgoing ships. And most of those outgoing ships are Society ships. Getting you out went okay, but getting you back in a ship will be a lot harder.”

“So what do we do then?” Leta asked, frustrated. “Just wait for someone to come save us?”

This struck her as the most frightening scenario. Fiearius would chase down the Society ship if it meant getting them back. If it meant getting himself killed.

It was almost assuring and terribly frightening for Leta to murmur, “They probably don’t even know where we are.”

Cyrus frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose, the surest sign he was thinking hard. Finally, he said, “No. But I think I have an idea that’ll fix that.” Turning to the kitchen, he called, “Delia? Would you mind if I used your console?”

Frantically, he looked around for a place to hide, but the hallway was devoid of any nooks or crevices. The only thing around was a lifeless Society agent, curled in the fetal position, still holding her hand over the glistening wound in her chest. And as the voices got closer, she gave him an idea.

“Get down!” he whispered and dropped to the floor, face down, letting his body go completely limp. He heard the thump of Leta doing the same beside him. Playing dead. Like animals, he thought bitterly.

The footsteps came closer, then stopped. Cyrus stilled his breath, but nothing could still the heart pounding in his chest. One of the voices said, “Shit. It’s Larson.”

They must’ve meant the agent.

“Godsdamn,” said the other. “She was just a rookie.”

“Well, she knew what she was getting herself into with this mission,” said the first.

The other person released a sigh. “Yeah I guess. Still. Didn’t deserve it.”

The men started to move again, coming closer, only inches from where Cyrus lay. One set of footsteps walked right on by, but the other. The other, horrifyingly, came to a stop beside him. He could feel eyes on the back of his head and inside, his mind screamed to stay quiet, to not move, to blend in.

But just as he was sure he was about to be discovered, the man hovering over him muttered, “Damn pirates,” and instead Cyrus felt a sharp pain in his stomach as a booted foot planted itself there. It was all he could do to just let his body take it and keep in the cry, but even if he had tensed, the man’s footsteps started again and he walked away, unnoticing.

Reeling from the pain, Cyrus still forced himself not to move until the sounds of the men had finally faded off into the distance of the hallway. And then Leta was above him, grabbing his arm and lifting him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” she breathed as Cyrus stumbled to his feet, clutching his arm over his stomach.

“Yeah,” he choked, shaking his head and hobbling onward. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Let’s just…get to the shuttles.”

The stairs were right around the corner and, thank the gods, empty. They flew downstairs and Cyrus breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the starboard corridor of Deck F also seemed devoid of life. They were almost there. They could get out of here. This was almost over.

But as he hit the controls to open the bay door, his heart sank and the dream of leaving became distant once again.

The shuttle bay was a mess. The Titan’s support ships were in pieces, strewn across the cold metal flooring, some tipped over, damaged, a few even destroyed entirely. Evidence of explosives littered the area. Bullet holes and blood riddled the scene. There had been quite a firefight here and by the looks of it, it had ended badly. Even the shuttles still intact were risky. If its hull was breached and its sensors didn’t pick it up and they flew out of here into the black of space? They’d be better off on the Titan.

But just as the thought materialized, the span decided to remind him otherwise.

“Hey, you think we should check the shuttle bay?” called a voice past his shoulder, just outside the bay doors. “Might be someone hurt in there.”

Cyrus froze. And then he grabbed Leta’s arm and dove for cover behind the nearest crumbling hull as the doors slid open, allowing entrance to a small team of agents.

His heart lodged painfully in his throat as he crouched down to hide, shielded by the pillar of one of the shuttle’s legs. His hands were shaking terribly but he closed them around the metal bars and told himself to be still. Paralyzed as he was, he hardly dared to breathe as he watched with stricken eyes as the agents made their way into the bay.

What he expected was more gunmen. More of the lethal Society agents dressed in their slick all-black attire, heavily armed, ready to pick apart the ship limb from limb to gleefully find their prizes. And the reward — to then bring them to slaughter. If that were so — if execution was inevitable — Cyrus silently told himself he would not go down without his last shred of dignity. Not to the Society.

But it was not gunhands who entered. It was a group of people dressed in dark crew uniforms that could have belonged to any other passenger vessel, with a small silver librera stitched into the shoulder. No weapons in sight. Their voices carried through the room.

“Gods, I hope there’s no one else, the med bay’s already full as it is,” a woman was saying. Cyrus recognized the accent at once. Satieran. “I still can’t believe this even happened.”

“Makes sense though, doesn’t it?” added another voice thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” asked another.

“Well, how weird command’s been acting lately,” said the other. “Think about it. All the extra security, the weird route, releasing the cruisers? I thought it was strange, but now it makes total sense.”

Perplexed, Cyrus darted a look toward Leta. Were they trapped? Could they slip by these people? Remain hidden? He knew one thing: if Fiearius were here, and it was a group of lowly unarmed crew members, they wouldn’t have been hiding. They would have been on the offense.

But even with the element of surprise, Cyrus knew he was in no shape for an attack of any kind. They wouldn’t get anywhere. Just when he managed to take a low breath and told himself to think, he heard it: a voice that was much, much closer.

The first woman laughed bitterly. “Wow, rumors spread fast apparently. You’re really buying into that bait theory Marshall came up with?”

“I’m not buying into anything,” said the other voice. “You know it’s true.”

“Sure,” the woman laughed. “Well, I don’t think there’s anyone down here. Just a whole lot of wreckage.”

To Cyrus’ horror, the woman rounded the corner of the ship. Cyrus caught a flash of her appearance — petite, curly jet-black hair hanging loosely in a bun, olive-tinted heart-shaped face — before the woman gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. She was just as startled to see them as they were to be caught. Her eyes were wider than a whole planet.

In a shaky voice, she lowered her hand, and said the least likely greeting imaginable.

“Cyrus?” she gasped.

Cyrus head spun and with a jolt, he realized: he knew this woman. The curly hair, the wide green eyes.

“Delia?” he breathed, his mouth falling open. It really was her. They’d both worked at Sonnete years ago, though she had been little more than a receptionist at the time. But she had always greeted him with a smile as he passed her desk each morning, even when he was too busy, tired or cranky to return it. And now, here she was. Standing before him. On the Titan.

“What are you–” he began, just as Leta muttered, “You know her?” with her eyes wide and thunderstruck. By now, the other agents were rushing over, both of them shielding the woman from Cyrus and Leta as though they might attack at any moment. One of them drew a utility knife on them and it was enough to break Cyrus’ distraction.

Helplessly, he held his hands in the air. The armed man near Delia growled, “They’re raiders! Someone call security.”

The other woman pressed the button on her COMM and opened her mouth, but Delia held out her hand to stop her. “No, I know him!” she yelped, staring at Cyrus.

“They’re armed, Dee!” gasped the man with the knife, gesturing towards the pistols on both of their hips. “We need to report them.”

Feeling he had very little to lose at this point and desperate to cling onto any hope available, Cyrus muttered, “It’d be really nice if you didn’t…” and locked his pleading eyes with Delia. Her confused expression softened for a moment, it snapped right back.

“What — what’re you even doing here?” said Delia in exasperation, holding each side of her face in despair. Alarm shone in her face as she added, “Cy — did you — were you hurting those people? Were you part of — ”

“Of course not,” said Leta at once and Cyrus nodded fervently in agreement.

“Dee, you can’t really believe this,” said the man. “They’re armed. They’re not one of us. They’re obviously part of the raid. And we need to report them.”

“Arker’s right, they could be dangerous,” the other woman said.

But, thank the gods, Delia shook her head. “If we report them, they’ll be killed,” she groaned. “Do you want that kind of blood on your hands?” Both Arker and the woman looked away from her in shame. Apparently, they did not. Satisfied, Delia turned back to Cyrus. “Me either. But what I do want. Is answers. What’re you doing here, Cyrus?!”

It didn’t help matters that he could barely make himself focus. Three days had passed since he’d last taken one of those tiny white pills. He’d been wrong — he should have just given in this morning. He would’ve been on top of his game, but he’d felt moral obligation to resist, rather stupidly, he thought now. He’d congratulated his choice at the time. Now? Now his vision was blurring, his ears were ringing, his response time was delayed and people were dying. Now, he damned his choice to hell.

“Just hang in there,” he growled, clenching his fists around the edge of the console screen. “I’ll get back-up to you as soon as there’s bodies to spare.”

“May find nothing but bodies by the time they get here,” Rax snapped.

“How’s your brother doin’ with the blast doors?” came another voice — Quin’s. Judging by the background din, things were not faring well on her end, either. “Could sure as hell use ‘em right about now.”

Fiearius took a deep breath. “Status report, Cy?” When no answer arrived, he growled, “Cy? Cyrus, come in. Leta? Where the hell are you two — ”

“The command center’s blocking their transmissions,” Dez explained. “I was just there. He’s having trouble, the system appears to be predicting his actions and blocking him.”

“Sounds familiar,” Quin grunted. “This lot’s been predicting our actions and blocking our movements since we fuckin’ boarded.”

“It’s probably not a coincidence,” Dez added smoothly. The line went momentarily silent.

“Well of course it’s not a damn coincidence, ya genius, it’s–” said Quin, but Dez cut her off.

“They knew we would come.” His voice was cold, unsurprised. “And they were ready for us.”

Fiearius opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. “No way. No way they could have known. We were halfway across the Span last time they saw us. All the ships involved have the Society’s own damn stealth technology. They couldn’t have seen this coming.”

“No,” Dez agreed, his voice oddly calm. “Unless they put the ship here to make us come.”

Fiearius wanted to feel disbelief. He wanted to refute the insulting idea. But what he felt was a terrible, twisting shock in his chest.

The logic slid into place. They’d been winning so often. So easily. They had taken so many ships, downed bases, stations, remote checkpoints, of course the Titan seemed the ultimate prize. Of course they’d go straight to it. And of course the Society would put it right within their grasp.

“Shit — it’s a set-up,” Quin breathed, reading his mind. “They’re just planning to wipe us all out in one fell swoop — “

“And they’re fuckin’ succeeding,” added Rax angrily.

Dez’s voice cut through the others like a knife. “We need a plan.”

“Soliveré, the fuck do we do now?” shouted Quin.

“You’ve got that special chip thing,” said Rax, his voice rising with panic. “Can’t you do something with it?”

But Fiearius could barely grasp their voices. They were coming at him like waves, and he could feel himself sliding away from the moment, drowning in his own head. How — how — had he let this happen? Cyrus and Leta were on the ship, and he was here, and —

“Soliveré!” Quin shouted again.

“Fiearius, a course of action.”

Course of action? He could hardly plot the course of his finger as he moved it to press the COMM button. “Uh –”

“That’s not a fuckin’ answer, Soliveré, don’t you go still on us now!”

Answers. Solutions. Of course. Finally, the fog started to clear.

“Retreat,” he barked. “Back to the ships. Undock and fire at will. We need to get the hell out of here.”

—————

Leta paced across the command center floor, her figure periodically appearing and disappearing from Cyrus’ peripheral vision as he furiously tapped away at the console. “Please tell me you’re getting somewhere with this,” she begged.

Cyrus twitched in irritation. No matter what he did, no matter which method he tried, he just kept getting error after error after error. Every trick he knew kept yielding the same negative results and despite Leta’s hopes, he really was getting nowhere.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he admitted as he hit the return and got the same blinking red screen. “It’s too secure, I can’t break into it. It’s–”

Abruptly, the floor beneath him began to tremble — slowly at first, then more urgently. Then the console screens flashed, the lights on the ceiling brightened, and a tremendous sound of electricity — like it was seizing and surging, powering up — overtook the room.

“Cy.” Leta grabbed onto a wall as the floor rattled below. “What’s happening?”

“It’s — it looks like — “ His eyes flew over the screens. He could barely answer her. “This ship, it’s about to make a jump.”

“What?!” Leta’s voice was shrill and horrified. “With us on it? Cy, stop it, you have to — “

“Stop it?! I can’t even access the basic oxygen recycling functions, let alone navigation!” he cried, one hand digging into his hair as his other flew over the keyboard.

Just then, a cool, calm female voice erupted over the intercom, making them both freeze. Please take your seats and prepare for jump. Please take your seats, and prepare for jump. Please prepare for …

“We need to get out of here,” Leta breathed, pushing away from the wall and grabbing Cyrus’ wrist in one motion. Together they flew into the hallway, which was mercifully empty now.

As they ran, Leta shouted into her COMM, “Fiearius? Fiear, are you there? We need you!”

The speaker crackled, and Fiearius’ voice broke through. “Leta? What’s going on?”

“We’re in the B-deck of the Titan and it’s about to jump out of this system, you need to guide us to one of Quin’s ship’s — “

Fiearius’ voice crumbled in disbelief. “One of Quin’s–but you’re on one of Quin’s ships. They saw your team board the Lagartha, Eve and–’

Cyrus and Leta exchanged a look of naked horror. “Fiearius,” he yelled, “Eve’s not with us!”

“Then where the hell are — ”

But then, Fiearius’ voice began to fade in and out, dissolving into crackling, hot static. Leta kept calling his name desperately into the COMM, but Cyrus felt himself going numb, enveloped by shock: around them, the dark metal walls of the ship gave a warm rumble, the floor seemed to jut out below them, and bright starlight streaked in long, horizontal lines past the nearest window. In one second, Fiearius and the Dionysian and Quin’s ships had become galaxies away.

“Cute, real cute, now can we focus?” said Eve, coming to a stop so sharply that Cyrus nearly staggered into her. It was obvious why Eve was joining he and Leta; she was the muscle and weapon. Her favorite assault rifle was clutched readily in her hands. “Cap’n, where to?” she said to the piece in her ear, and seconds later, Fiearius’ voice filled the line.

“Command center is around that corner. To the left. It’ll be — ”

But then, Fiearius’ words were drowned out by a thunderous, rumbling of metal, like the Titan had fired off one of its cannons.

“What was that?” said Leta.

“Don’t worry about it. Just get to the command center, alright?”

“That’s reassuring,” said Leta dryly, dropping her hand from her ear and crossing forward quickly. “C’mon, this way.”

Cyrus followed Leta as she rounded the corner toward the command center entrance, but they didn’t find the deserted hallway he’d been hoping for. Instead — his eyes widened — it was a growing firefight. Down the hallway, Society agents ducked down against the walls as Quin’s people (considerably less organized) stormed down the stairs, gunfire zinging around them …

For a full ten seconds Cyrus was paralyzed — until he felt Leta steer him towards a console in the wall. “Cy, get the door open!”

“Wh — right, on it,” said Cyrus quickly, stepping toward the screen and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In his peripheral, he felt Leta keeping watch over their corner of the hallway, her gun in her hand at her side. Meanwhile, Eve was stalking up and down the corridor, rifle at the ready, like an extremely protective watchdog.

“Snap to it, would ya?” she grunted as his fingers flew over the screen. “This fight’s gettin’ closer.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Can ya work faster? Don’t reckon the captain would appreciate anything happenin’ to either of you.”

At last, with a rush of air, the doors to the command room glided open. Cyrus hurried inside, his companions on his heels, and quickly closed the doors behind them — they were barricaded in safely. For now.

“Leta, watch those security screens,” he ordered, moving toward the main row of consoles. “Make sure no one’s coming this way.”

“And what about me?” said Eve curiously, like Cyrus was telling her what to bring to the family picnic. Then she added helpfully, “Your brother usually has me on headshot duty. Y’know, keep people from comin’ up behind him and shooting him in the head.”

“Well … do that,” Cyrus said blankly. “Yeah, keep doing that.”

Then he quickly started tapping away at the screen of the main console. This should be easy, he thought to himself. Just a few minutes. There was always a very simple trick to Society systems that made them practically childsplay to override. All he had to do was type in that and hit this and–

But where he expected to see the full access control screen, he instead saw an error. He started to try again when Leta caught his attention.

“Hang on, someone’s coming — “ said Leta, and when Cyrus looked up in alarm, she added, “Wait, it’s Dez,” with an expression of relief and confusion on her face. Frowning, she hit the controls to open the doors.

In marched Dez, like a determined soldier. His face was hardened with seriousness as he said, “What’s going on? Have you accessed the ship yet?”

“No, it’s–” Cyrus began in frustration, but shook his head. He didn’t have time to explain this. “They’ve caught on and closed the backdoor I use. I’ll have to find another.”

“How’s it going out there?” Leta asked, but Dez clenched his jaw grimly.

“Badly. It’s a bloodbath. My team’s pinned down. We’re losing ground and quickly. Haven’t you been getting my COMM messages? I’ve been calling for back-up for the last ten minutes.”

Fleetingly, Cyrus glanced at the COMM piece in Leta’s ear. Its usual green glow had switched to red. “This room’s too sealed, must be blocking our signals.”

“Sorry, Dez, couldn’t help ya anyway,” said Eve, shouldering her rifle. “Cap’n specifically told me not to leave these two. Have to find help elsewhere.”

“The captain ordered that before we started losing,” Dez grunted.

Eve pursed her lips. “Dez, I like ya, but I don’t take orders from anyone but Fiearius.”

“Time is running out, Harper,” Dez barked coldly, stepping toward the door. “We’re dropping like flies, and you’re doing nothing in here?”

“Go,” said Leta suddenly, to Cyrus’ surprise. “Eve, you should go. We can handle ourselves here. We’ll catch up to you, okay?”

Eve hesitated. “Adler, the captain told me personally to watch you real close — ”

“I’m sure he did.” Leta smiled. “But go. I promise, we’ll be fine.”

At last, she clenched her jaw and nodded.

Dez snorted his approval. “See, they’ll be fine, let’s go.” He headed for the door and Eve reluctantly followed, her eyes trailing back on Leta and Cyrus as she entered the hallway and disappeared.

As Leta crossed the room to seal the door again, Cyrus couldn’t help but mutter, “Hope we can keep that promise.”

———–

This was not how this was supposed to go.

This many ships on their side, their army of people, it should have been enough. Mathematically, it should have been enough to take on the crew of the Titan. They had done this so many times before now. They were good at it. They should have been winning this. Easily.

Fiearius knotted his fingers in his hair, clenching his eyes shut as he stalked around the Dionysian’s bridge. Why was everything going so wrong? He felt like he was ready to snap in half, and it didn’t help when Dez’s voice came through the speakers.

“They’ve cut off access to the bay. We can’t get through.”

Fiearius groaned. “Double back to the C5 corridor, there’s another entrance.”

“Send ‘em back our way!” shouted Rax, his voice nearly drowned out by gunfire. “We’re getting slaughtered over here. Four men down, ten injured from that proximity blast.”

Fiearius lowered his hand from his hair, trying to absorb this news while fighting the urge to kick over the captain’s chair.