Caelum Lex Pt. 3 Chapter 49: Refuge (part 1)

Leta grit her teeth and steadied her hand as she pushed the needle through the flesh and expertly tied it off. “There you go, all done,” she told the little girl who opened one tear-filled eye to peer down at the stitches in her arm. “You were very brave.”

The child sucked in a breath, her father provided Leta a word of thanks and the two of them headed out of the shelter into the camp just as Daelen, carrying a huge box of supplies that covered his face, walked in.

“You should be resting,” he told her, not for the first time, as he slid the boxes on top of the spent ones.

“I’ve rested enough,” Leta shot back without hesitation, already hovering over the crates before he even opened them. “Did you bring me more gauze? I’m running low.”

“I brought whatever they could spare, which wasn’t much,” Daelen replied, nudging her away as he tried to organize. “I’ll check some of the other locations later. There’s bound to be a surplus floating around somewhere.” Standing up and stepping back, he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “You’d think there would be a more central system by now. It’s been over a week, someone must be looking to organize.”

Leta snorted her disbelief. Satieri was in such disarray, she hardly thought organizing medical supplies was on anybody’s short list. Of course, there were plenty of wounds to treat and plenty of injuries that needed attending, but the pop-up ‘clinics’ (if they could even be called that) dotting the many refugee camps spanning the city were substantial enough for now. People went to whichever doctor was closest to where they were. And where they were was wherever they landed.

Shuffling past Daelen, Leta peeked out into the daylight. For her part, she’d somehow ended up in the camp at city center. It was no doubt the largest of those she’d visited so far, although she’d heard rumors about one at the edge of the packing district that spanned for miles upon miles.

Exymerian neighbors had shipped in temporary shelters within the first 48 hours of the attack, essentially long metal tubes with some dividers and a door on each end, to house the millions of Paradexians that had been displaced by the battle. It was a bit of a sad sight, the rows of grey boxes lying among the rubble of a once great and powerful city, but spirits had seemed surprisingly high since day one. Despite everything these poor people had been through, Leta still saw smiles and heard whispers of optimism for the days to come.

But as positive as the refugee camp may have felt, there was one dark spot on the Satieran skyline. A literal one, even, that Leta’s eye couldn’t help but be drawn to every time she walked outside. The sky was clear except for there, where the clouds were dark and swirled menacingly over a chunk of the city.

The Nautilus Void, they were calling it. A strip of half-terraformed land that had once been homes and cafes and shops, now uninhabitable and highly dangerous to even approach. Researchers had quelled fears that it was growing early on, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying to look at. Especially not to Leta who continued to relive the Nautilus’ fall any moment she wasn’t otherwise occupied…

Which is what she should have been right then…

“Next,” she called out to the small gathering of patients waiting on her. A young man with heavy gauze over his eye hobbled forward. “Hey Nial,” she greeted as she stepped out of the way for him. “Time for new bandages, huh?”

“Might be the last time you change ‘em,” Nial said, sitting down on the kitchen table Leta had been using as an exam bench.

“Oh?” She went to work unwrapping the soiled gauze from his face.

“Heard they’re opening up access to my district tomorrow,” he went on cheerfully. “All secured and everythin’. I’m goin’ home.”

“That’s great,” she told him and raised a cleaning cloth towards his eye. “This’ll sting.”

The man winced, but perhaps not from the pain. “Thought you might be a lil more upset…”

“Why?” she asked without thinking, putting the cloth aside and digging into the last remaining gauze stock. “The sooner they can clear the areas that aren’t gone, the sooner they can start rebuilding those that are and get all these people back to normal lives.”

Nial gaped at her for a moment then promptly shut his mouth and turned his good eye away, his cheeks flushing pink. Behind her, Daelen chuckled and Leta looked between them, confused. Until it hit her. Why. Gods, maybe things really were getting back to normal. She couldn’t remember a time in the recent past when someone had the time, guts or good mood to actually hit on her.

So she couldn’t help but smile as she told him, “Oh I see. Well yes then, I will definitely miss treating the big hole in your face.”

Nial seemed unconvinced. “Don’t have to lie to me, Dr. Adler. We all saw the picture in the news last week. I get it.”

Now it was Leta’s turn to flush for she knew exactly which picture he was talking about. Apparently someone in the crowd of onlookers following the Nautilus’ crash had fancied themselves a photographer. Every media network in the Span had run the photo, at least it felt that way.

“Hush,” she scolded, pushing aside her embarrassment. “Now whether you’re going home or not, keep cleaning this alright? We don’t want it to get infected.”

“‘Course not, doc.” Nial slid from the table and headed for the exit. On the precipice, he turned around and gave her a dramatic wave. “May our paths cross again, Dr. Adler. You are, as always, a sight for a sore eye.”

She didn’t resist the laugh and called, “Good luck, Nial,” after him as he walked out into the camp.

Leta took a moment to pick up the dirty bandages and rearrange her medkit for the next patient. “Now I really need gauze,” she reminded Daelen who groaned.

“Give me a few more minutes, I’m exhausted,” he complained. “I had to carry all those crates here from all the way on the other side of camp. To get more I’ll have to go to the Business District. Do you know how big this city is? None of the PIT trains are up and running yet, the shuttles are too crowded for cargo, it’s a very long walk to--”

“Do you want to switch?” Leta interrupted suddenly, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow at him. “You treat the patients, I get the supplies.”

“Yes, I’d love to,” Daelen replied, “But then you wouldn’t get this great opportunity to work on your bedside manner so--” He shrugged. “Here we are. Give me a minute.”

Leta rolled her eyes. “Fine, a minute, but if this next one has to settle for paper towels to stop the bleeding, I’m blaming you.” She strode to the front of the shelter, leaned her hand on the door and was about to call for the following patient when she realized there was already someone standing immediately in front of her in the doorway. He looked older and more tired, but she knew him right away.

“Hello, Leta.”

Her mouth dropped. “Dad?”

---------------

A few days ago, Cyrus would not have thought he could feel nervous about anything ever again. He had braved a secret mission to reclaim Satieri. He had jumped out a ship. He had killed a Society Councillor and flown a cruiser through a horrendous storm and stood below a terraformer. Surely that meant that Cyrus was no longer the cowardly engineer he once had been. He was brave and courageous and a hero now.

Yet when Addy told him that after a week of searching, she had finally tracked down her father and they were headed to meet him, his knees shook.

Otra Atelier had not been easy to find. Though Atelier Industries had miraculously been untouched in the chaos, the Atelier home had taken a direct hit from a Carthian bomb early in the conflict. Addy had been convinced, though, that her father had not been inside when it had happened. Cyrus didn’t know what made her so sure, but who was he to argue? He’d just done what he could to help.

In the end, it was Corra who had pulled it off though. Through contacts, she explained without much elaboration, she’d discovered that Mr. Atelier had been staying in the refugee camp by the southwest docks, supervising the construction of temporary housing for displaced citizens and organizing an effort to provide transport to off-worlders and Satierans with family elsewhere in the Span.

Of course he was, Addy had beamed with pride. Otra Atelier, as she described him, was the most generous and giving man she knew. Of course he was helping his people. He was amazing.

Which only made Cyrus even more nervous as they rode in the crowded public shuttle towards the camp. Sure, Addy had always kept in touch with her father over the years, so Otra Atelier already knew all about him and about the little girl Cyrus currently held in his arms, but it didn’t seem to change anything. There was still something very terrifying about meeting the man whose daughter he had accidentally impregnated…

When the shuttle landed at the edge of the camp and the passengers spilled out of it into the equally crowded square, Cyrus put Kalli down on her own two feet and grasped her hand in his. The southwest dock district had never been the nicest area of the city, but now, it was barely a city at all. It had been hit hard by the initial bomb wave and as it was close to the Nautilus Void, it was in even rougher shape than most places.

It wasn’t raining now, but it had been recently. The metal awnings made of whatever salvage they could find dripped from their edges into the puddles that filled every indent in the ground. One of which was now spraying him in the leg as Kalli jumped in it and laughed.

“Iss’yen!” Cyrus scolded, tugging on her hand and casting an apologetic grin to the woman on her other side that had taken a full splash to the thigh. “No jumping in puddles, okay?”

Kalli looked up at him, confused, but before he could elaborate that it was rude, there were lots of people around her, people who had recently lost their homes and their loved ones and were sad and didn’t want to be covered in dirty rain water, Addy seized his arm.

“There he is!” She pointed somewhere through the crowd and ran off before Cyrus got the chance to see exactly where he was. Still, he clutched Kalli’s hand tighter and hurried after her, following only the flick of her blonde ponytail.

The nerves were starting to worsen now. What was Otra going to say when he saw him? Suddenly, another thought struck him. Did he remember that meeting they had way back when Cyrus was right out of college? Did he remember that he turned down the job he’d been offered? Cyrus had nearly forgotten that had happened at all, but it was all flooding back to him. Gods, as if the child attached to his arm wasn’t bad enough, Otra had every reason to hate him.

Cyrus steeled his expression, took a deep breath and reminded himself of that day a week ago. Jumped from a ship. Killed a Councillor. Fought a terraformer. Brave. Courageous. Hero.

But as brave or afraid as he was, when he finally caught up to Addy to find her embracing an older man with greying hair tied back behind his neck, a Ridellian hood looped around his shoulders and his traditional Satieran garb ripped and torn and dirty, he tried his very best to appear as normal and unterrified as possible.

When Otra looked up at him and smiled, it became a little easier.

“Well well, if it isn’t Cyrus Soliverè!” he exclaimed, releasing his daughter who was grinning from ear to ear and, without any further ado, walking over and throwing his arms around Cyrus as well.

Cyrus, cursing himself for his awkwardness, patted the man on the back and immediately wondered why. “It’s -- eh -- great to meet you again--” He stumbled over his words. “Sir?” This wasn’t the first time they’d met. “Again.” Wait, didn’t he already say that?

But before he could figure it out, Otra laughed heartily and released him. “Please, I know it’s been a long time, but you’re family now, my name is fine.”

“Right, of course, sir--uhm...Mr. Atelier?” Cyrus cringed as Addy chuckled quietly and looped her arm in his. Fortunately, Otra had already moved on to the main attraction.

“And you, oh my.” He crouched down to be on level with Kalli who blinked back at him, her eyes wide and curious. “Look how big you are! From the pictures alone it was hard to tell. But here you are!”

The look on Kalli’s face Cyrus recognized instantly. Fortunately, she first glanced up at her parents for permission. Addy grinned and gave it to her. “Iss’yen, this is your ippa.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “Ippa?” She looked back to Otra. “I have an ippa?” He nodded and her grin broke out. “I have an ippa!” She seized his hands and bounced them up and down. “Ippa ippa ippa!”

Otra’s laugh was warm and friendly and for a moment Cyrus forgot how nervous he was. How could he be when his daughter, always the charmer, was busy winning him over on his behalf. How could he hate Cyrus when his mistake had lead to such a bundle of energy and excitement? Yes, they should have used protection that one time they forgot. But come on, the end result was pretty good, right? he prepared the joke in his head.

Just as he was starting to feel relaxed, Otra got back to his feet, or tried, given that Kalli was still clutching his hand and pulling him down, and gestured to the main overhangs of the camp. “Come with me, I’ll give you the tour.”

Addy fell into step beside her father and Cyrus behind them as they made their way through the crowd towards the cluster of rooftops and salvaged ship hulls that made up the shelters. “I’m sure the camps you’re used to seeing nearer the city center are more robust than this one,” Otra commented, hopefully not because he could see the mild disgust in Cyrus’ face as he watched a young man shoveling human waste out of a pit they had dug for a latrine.

“We were still waiting for the emergency shelters to make it here days back, but it was storming every few hours. We couldn’t wait any longer so we made our own. This area was hit hard. People here were poor. Not much to work with, but we’re doing our best,” Otra went on. “And not just here. I’ve been reaching out to anyone who’s good with their hands. We just need people working together to build and rebuild and just keep going. It’s fortunate we’re a city so full of engineers.”

“All the people from the shop are helping with this?” Addy asked him as they walked past a crudely fashioned pile of junk that, Cyrus realized a moment later, was serving as a generator. Well that was something the fancier camps didn’t have.

“All from Atelier, definitely, but more even. Sonnete’s people reached out to me after it all happened, said they had a lot of people wanting to help but didn’t know where to start. Even Society engineers if you can believe it.” Otra gestured to a group of people underneath an overhang leaning over an array of blueprints. Cyrus counted two libreras among them. “The whole organization’s a little lost until the big restructure happens, but they don’t want to sit on their asses in the meantime. All in all, we’ve got some two hundred planners ready and willing to start redesigning this city.”

They finally entered one of the makeshift shelters where Otra had apparently been staying. The makeshift walls were covered in drawings, pictures, plans. They were so crammed full, it was hard to imagine he’d only been living here less than a week and not years.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Addy was saying, stepping up to a wall and admiring some of the sketches. Kalli let out a squeal as Otra finally let go of her hand and she ran a full circle around the shelter.

“It is,” Otra agreed, carefully taking a seat on a block of ship metal he’d turned over to serve as a chair. “But...we could always use more. Especially two people who’ve already been so vital to rebuilding New Genisi. Their expertise would certainly come in handy.

Cyrus met Addy’s eyes and neither of them needed to question the other on their stance. It was obvious. They had disagreed about many things over the years, but this was the one thing they were unequivocally united on, always and forever.

“Of course we’ll help,” Addy answered for them both as Cyrus nodded his agreement. “This is home. We’re here, we made it, we’ll do whatever we can to make it work.”

--------------------

Corra watched, expressionless on the docks, as the horde of Society personnel carried crates of supplies down the Beacon’s ramp. Or ex-Society. Or still Society? Leta had loosely explained a plan to keep the organization in tact and simply revamp their entire mission statement, but she hadn’t absorbed the details. Whatever they were, in her book, they would always be one thing: the people who took her ship.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned away, unable to watch this any longer, only to come face to face with Finn. She stumbled back a step and wondered briefly how long he’d been standing there before he said, “This sucks.”

Corra snorted her agreement, but couldn’t help providing the same argument she herself had been given. “We did steal it from them to begin with.” He lifted a skeptical brow at her. “And they do need it more than we do right now.” The Beacon had been on a constant ferrying schedule to and from nearby planets for whatever they could spare. She was feeding half of the entire Satieran population on her own. Her medical supplies went straight into the clinics that needed them. She was serving an important purpose.

Not to mention the fact that she had become the command ship for the three massive arks hovering in Satieri’s atmosphere ensuring no second attack.

Finn shook off the logic. “We stole her fair and square. Years ago. She’s ours now.”

“Was ours.” Corra glanced back over her shoulder at the Beacon once more before shaking her head and walking away. Finn hesitated then followed after her, a mischievous smirk already lighting his face.

“Well…” he fell into step beside her, taking long strides for every two of her short ones. “Y’know....we could always take her back.” Corra’s eyes widened and he threw up his hands in defense. “Not yet! Not now, obviously. They can use her while they need her of course. But when things cheer up a bit? When this place gets back on its feet?” He nudged her with his elbow. “What does it need one more frigate for?”

Corra gaped at him a moment longer then shook her head and rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Plenty, I’m sure…”

“C’mon.” He nudged her again, but no matter how much he grinned at her, she didn’t feel his enthusiasm. If anything, the suggestion made her anxious rather than excited.

Gradually, his smile dropped from his face. “I thought you’d be into this idea.”

“Yeah, well--” She shook her head. Maybe she should have been, but at that moment -- “I don’t know."

The future had never seemed less certain. With the Beacon gone, the Spirit destroyed, the Transmission out of her grasp, all the paths that had been open to her were closed. She’d been indecisive before and now she was just -- lost.

She was glaring down at her feet when she felt a warm hand slide over hers. “Hey. Talk to me.” She looked up to find Finn watching her closely. “What’s goin on, huh?”

A sigh passed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said again. “I just--don’t know what comes after this I guess.” She looked around at the ships in the docks and then peered out at the refugee camp she was headed back to, full of people who belonged here, whose homes were here, who were trying their damndest to fix it. “No offense to Satieri, but I don’t really want to stay here. I’m of no use to the reparations. I’m just sitting here using resources not even meant for me. There’s no point to my being here.”

“Where do you wanna go then?” Finn asked.

“I have no idea,” Corra admitted. “Nor do I have the ability to get there, even if I did. I suppose I want to go back to helping the Conduit. That was the most fulfilling work I’ve ever done and -- god, now’s the time.” She shrugged a shoulder towards the mess that was once the greatest city in the Span. “In the aftermath of a war? Ellegy had our most uncrackable cases. I should be taking advantage of this before they get back on their feet, before the trade gets back under way, I should --”

“Hey.”

Corra stopped and looked up at Finn who was tilting his head at her curiously. “What?”

He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout and crossed his arms over his chest in disapproval. “You didn’t ask what I want.”

Despite the accusation of rudeness, Corra couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright,” she chuckled. “What do you want?”

His joking childish frown turned into a bit of an impish smirk. “I wanna go where you go.”

She chuckled again. “Riley--”

But the smirk fell away and suddenly he was watching her far more intensely than she was comfortable with. His grip on her hand tightened. “I’m serious,” he told her, his voice low. “If working with the Conduit was the most fulfilling for you then, great, you should be doing that. But -- being around you, being on your team? That was the most fulfilling for me so -- if you’re gonna go running off to save all the allies and change the Span, don’t just disappear again. Take me with you.”

Corra opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She didn’t quite know how to respond. She just stared back up at him, at that stupidly ridiculously boyishly handsome face of his as it stared back down at her, her cheeks no doubt turning a bright shade of pink.

Finally, she got a hold of herself. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced an awkward laugh. “Doesn’t matter either way when we don’t have a ship.”

Thank God, the intense stare ended as Finn stood up straight and glanced back at the Beacon, still overflowing with Society agents. He let out a long ‘hmmm’ and then said, “Y’know. We may have stolen the Beacon from the Society. It is rightfully theirs. I suppose. But--” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “The Transmitter? Or -- what, Ark Assist, whatever the fuck it is? And the Caelum Lex?” He frowned at her knowingly. “They’re ours.”

Corra considered it for a moment. “You’re right,” she decided at last. “We found those things fair and square, we hooked them up, we put all the work into it.”

“They’re ours,” Finn said again, more sternly this time and Corra found herself agreeing.

The two of them stood on the edge of the docks, hand in hand, the wheels in their heads turning in unison.

“Think they found the secret starboard airlock hatch and locked it yet?” Finn asked after a moment.

A grin spread across Corra’s face as she tightened her grip around his fingers and started to head back towards the Beacon, as casually as she could manage.

“I doubt it.”

-------------------

“Look, change the name all you want, it doesn’t need rebranding, it needs reorganizing.”

“I agree with you.”

“Great, then why are you still here?”

It wasn’t difficult to locate Fiearius in the camp, Leta had found. He was always where the most noise was. Not simply from the construction that he tended to gravitate towards, inserting himself into any effort that involved primarily pushing, pulling, lifting or breaking things, but also from the amount of yelling at people he did while performing the aforementioned tasks.

Today, Leta discovered as she rounded the corner of a shelter to where a group of people were building a more permanent one, at Varris La’aren, former leader of the Satieran rebellion and current unofficial head of Satieran reparation efforts.

Her hands were on her hips and her tone was impatient as she said, “Because you know what you’re talking about. You understand the Society and how it functions better than anyone. If we’re going to tear it apart and rebuild it from the ground up--”

“No,” Fiearius cut her off, turning away from where he was drilling a hole in a wall to point at her with his index finger. “No, you shouldn’t tear it apart. It’s fine set up as it is, you just need to redirect it.”

His argument seemed only to help hers. “See?” She spread her hands in front of her. “You know what you’re talking about. We need your help. We need you on the Council.”

“No,” he said shortly, going back to his work. “Absolutely not. There are plenty of other people who get the Society just fine. Ask them.”

“But you’re the Verdant.”

He shot her a glare. “I’m not. I gave it to you.”

Varris did not seem impressed. “You and I both know owning that chip means nothing. You’re more than just a data center, you’re a symbol.”

“Well I don’t want to be.”

“Lil late for that,” she pointed out. “You’re a symbol and people trust you and we need you involved for people to trust us. If we’re going to successfully restructure the Society, elect a new government, fix everything that is broken, we need you on our side.”

“Okay, I’m on your side, congratulations, you have my full support to carry on as you see fit, go forth with my blessing,”

Varris’ fingers massaged her temple. “We need you involved.”

Fiearius gave her a second of consideration and then, “I’m gonna tell you this one last time, okay?” He grinned. “I’m retired.”

“Admiral, please--”

He dropped the drill on the ground and threw his hands in the air. “Not an admiral! You see any ships? No? Not an admiral. Not a Verdant. Damn well not a fucking politician. Retired!”

“Soliveré!”

“Retired!” he said again, stepping away from her towards Leta who hadn’t even realized he’d noticed her hovering off to the side, watching this exchange with growing interest. Varris, apparently, now did.

“Dr. Adler, can you please talk some sense into him?” she begged and Leta let out a nervous chuckle.

“Stop wasting your time, La’aren!” Fiearius continued to taunt back at her as he spun around once he reached Leta and kept walking, gesturing she follow. “Quit bothering me and get some real work done, maybe you’ll actually make some progress, huh?”

Leta watched Varris let out a hefty groan, put her head in her hand and then stalk away in a huff, before she turned to Fiearius and hurried after him as he continued to stalk through the camp, apparently abandoning the construction site he’d been helping with. No one argued. No one ever argued.

Fiearius moved around the camp like a ghost, coming and going as he pleased as the people around him either pretended not to notice him at all, out of respect, or stared wide-eyed like they couldn’t believe the apparition before them. For his part, he seemed not to notice the whispers and gasps that followed him wherever he went. ‘Seemed’ being the operative word, Leta assumed.

“Can you believe that woman?” he asked incredulously when she caught up. “Still on this, really.”

“She’s doing her best,” Leta countered.

“Her best is ‘refusing to take no for an answer’?” Fiearius snorted.

“Probably what she thinks,” Leta admitted. “It’s not easy, rebuilding a whole system.”

“I never said it was. Hell, why do you think I want nothing to do with it?” He shuddered at the thought.

“It does seem odd that you went through all of -- everything -- only to not care at the very end, to not see it through,” Leta remarked, more curious than accusatory.

“I do care,”he argued at once. “Of course I care. But I’ve talked to Varris. At length. I’ve talked to the Council she’s putting together. I’ve given them my thoughts and they’ve given me theirs and guess what. They’re the same. And, unlike me, they’re actually patient enough to deal with the political bullshit to make it happen. I wasn’t kidding. She has my full support and I trust her to get it done. I’m seeing it through by getting the fuck out of the way.”

Leta could think of no response so she just made a small, “Hm” and left it at that. It was a moment before she realized he was staring down at her, suspicion written all over his expression. “Let me guess. You’re gonna try and convince me to do it, aren’t you? To help her?”

Leta creased her brow in consideration, glancing at Fiearius then over her shoulder at where Varris had disappeared. Finally, she decided, “Nope,” which seemed to shock him. “You’re right, I think. And even so, you’ve done enough. If you want to take a break, you deserve a break.”

She followed him into the shelter he’d claimed as his own. It had to be one of the oldest in the whole camp, small, beat up and falling apart. But it was private as opposed to the other shared units, which she thought summarized his reasoning. No one had argued that either. She pitied anyone who had to be roommates with Fiearius Soliveré.

“Never would have expected that answer from you, but thanks,” he muttered, clearly a little taken aback by her decision as he fell backwards onto the cot he’d secured for himself. “I appreciate the vote of support.”

Leta just shrugged and leaned against the opposing wall. “You’d make a horrible politician anyway.”

The surprise wiped away in an instant and he laughed his barking laugh. “Exactly! Thank you for seeing logic where some people won’t.”

“I can picture the headlines now,” she mused, waving her hand in the air to paint the scene before her eyes. “Satieran legislature erupts into fistfight after someone insults Councillor Soliveré’s bill. Is democracy dead?”

He laughed again and reached under the cot to pull out, to Leta’s surprise -- “Beer?”

“Fiear,” she scolded at once.

He gave his best face of innocence. “What?”

“Did you buy those off the looters? We’re not supposed to support them, you give them money, they’re just gonna loot more and--”

“I didn’t buy them,” he cut her off, pulling out two beers regardless and standing up to hand her one. “They gave them to me.” He could likely read the skepticism on her face because he clarified, “Okay, fine, I made them give them to me.” He pushed the bottle towards her hand. “But I didn’t buy them.”

She rolled her eyes, but the idea of even a lukewarm beer right now was more appealing than she could resist. She took the bottle from his hand and picked up the tablet he’d left on the table in the center of the tiny room to skim through the day’s news she might have missed. There were updates coming in every minute, it was hard not to let them pass by. Carthis had retreated into their own system, forced back by a fully united Society fleet, but there was still tumult on Ellegy from the remaining troops, Ascendia trying to reorganize, trouble on Vescent…

But the moment she reached the Exymerian System News Core, she was hit not with updates from around the Span, but her own image. There she was, standing on the edge of the Nautilus’ crash site, torn and battered and bruised and, worst of all, held tight in the embrace of Admiral Soliveré. One of his hands cradled her head, the other held the small of her back while both of her arms clung to his waist and her head was buried against his chest. It was not the embrace of colleagues after a victory. It was not even the embrace of friends. It was perhaps the most intimate photo Leta had ever seen of herself and thanks to the News Core, everyone had seen it.

Still, embarrassing as it was, she couldn’t help but admire it a moment longer. She looked so content, standing there in his arms, and he in hers. It looked right. And it was, wasn’t it?

Things had been a little fuzzy regarding anything resembling ‘relationships’ this past week. They had been busy, both of them, incredibly busy. There wasn’t time or brainspace to sit down and hash out titles and officialities and even if there was, Leta wasn’t sure she’d bring it up. Even now, as she glanced over at Fiearius leaning against the doorframe and looking out into the fading light of the camp, she wasn’t sure how to breach the topic.

It would have been challenging enough under normal circumstances, but this week, Fiearius hardly seemed like himself at all. Sure, he made jokes and teased her and maintained a pretty convincing illusion of good spirits, but she knew him better than that. She saw past the stubborn facade to the quieter moments when he looked positively lost in his own head. And at this point, who could blame him?

So now had not been the time to ask for definitions. All Leta knew was that one night, before they’d come to Satieri, played in her head over and over. Three words that were nothing, really, but felt like so very much. For now, she had been content to let things play out as they were. Leta had her own shelter, one she shared with Corra and Alyx, nearby, though in the week since the battle, she’d only spent one night in it and only because Fiearius had been deep in discussion with Varris La’aren and the new Council til morning. She kept finding herself here, with him, and he was always more than happy to welcome her.

But looking at that picture on the screen, she had to wonder. Did that really mean anything?

“Hey.” Fiearius’ voice startled her out of her thoughts and she quickly shut off the tablet before he could see the image on it. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” she lied easily, but he didn’t buy it even for a moment.

“Okay.” He sat down at the table across from her. “What’s on your mind?” he asked again.

Leta met his stare and realized she couldn’t keep it from him forever. He had to find out eventually. And soon.

“My dad’s here.”

Fiearius tilted his head at her, genuine surprise rising in his features. He didn’t ask, but she explained anyway, “He was on Vescent until recently. He was there when the Society, when you--we--reclaimed it from Carthis. He’s gathered up what’s left of the Vescentian government and they’re making an effort to rebuild in the chaos. He says it’s not going so great. It’s rough there. Things are...shaky.”

Fiearius was nodding as she spoke, but all he said was, “I’ve heard that.”

So she kept stumbling onward. “The rebels there don’t want to work with him because they don’t trust he won’t just...turn things back to the way they used to be. But they’ve been having talks and he thinks there’s hope, they just need some more convincing. He wants them to feel like they have friends amongst his group, but his group doesn’t want to let any of the rebels in. They say they’re too radical, violent -- it’s just delicate.”

He was still nodding. “Sure, absolutely.”

“But he has hope,” she went on. “He thinks they can reach an agreement. He thinks with the right setup, they can get along and make the progress they need to make to get things on track. With the right mediator maybe.”

She didn’t dare look at his face. She didn’t even want to say what she knew she had to say. There was a part of her that just wanted to bury the conversation she’d had with Tritius Adler earlier today and just keep living her life here oblivious to what was going on on Vescent far far away. But there was another part of her that wanted to do the opposite. And Fiearius must have known it.

“So when are you leaving?”

The question startled her more than it should have. She glanced up at him to find his expression entirely unreadable. “I didn’t say I was leaving,” she pointed out.

“But you are, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You are.”

Looking down again, she ran her hand through her hair. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Horribly, he laughed. “Yeah you have. So when is it?”

“My dad’s ship leaves tomorrow morning.”

Fiearius grimaced and sucked in air through his teeth. “Damn, that’s quick. Not a hell of a lot of time to say goodbye.”

“I’m not even sure I’m going yet.”

Again, he laughed. It was beginning to make her angry. “Yes you are.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

“You will.”

“It’s not up to you.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “It’s up to you. And you’re gonna go.” Before she could argue further, he raised his hand and started listing things on his fingers one by one. “It’s your home. You haven’t been back in ages. It needs your help. You can work with your dad. You can work with the rebels. You can fix it. You’re gonna go.”

Leta snorted indignantly. “Last I was there, the rebellion hated me.”

“That was before you betrayed Carthis and freed them all,” he pointed out with a dull stare. “You’re gonna go. It’s Vescent we’re talking about. Why wouldn’t you?”

The stress and indecision finally got to her. Frustrated, Leta slammed her palm on the table and stood up so fast that the chair she sat in was tossed backwards against the wall. “You know why I wouldn’t,” she snapped. “You know.”

His confidence faltered a little towards apology. “Leta--”

“You know or are we just pretending that didn’t happen?” she demanded. “Just back to normal, dancing around the fucking obvious because gods forbid we’re honest about something. Is that it? Do you want me to leave?”

“What--no!” He too stood up now and reached out to seize her hands. “No, of course I don’t. I want you to stay, of course I want you to stay, but I also want you to do what you need to do. And for fuck’s sake, I know you, you can’t just sit here while Vescent needs your help. You can’t. Not for me, not for anybody. You have to go back and to hell if I’m going to try to stop you.”

“Then what about us?” she wanted to know, taking her hands from his and crossing her arms over her chest. “I go to Vescent, you stay on Satieri, what happens to us?”

His delayed answer was hardly reassuring. Finally, he grimaced and muttered, “Well...we have, what, twelve hours?”

“Fiearius--”

“Okay, okay, I don’t know,” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know what happens to us, but -- we’ll figure it out.”

“Figure it out?” she repeated incredulously. “That’s all you’ve got? Figure it out? Fall’s End and Paradiex are on completely opposite time maps. You can barely keep in contact with your own fleet, let alone friends or anything else. Have you ever maintained a relationship without the physical part of it? Can you handle that? Do you have any idea how hard long distance it? I--”

“Leta,” he interrupted suddenly, reaching out to drop his hands on her shoulders.

“No, Fiearius, this isn’t just some simple thing you can write off as--”

“Leta,” he said again, gripping her tighter. She frowned at him, but her anger was hard to maintain as he gently massaged his thumbs against her collarbone, just as he fucking knew she liked it.

“Look.” He spoke plainly and calmly. “You’re going to Vescent tomorrow. Come on, we knew this was gonna happen at some point, didn’t we? Vescent was always your goal just as Satieri was mine. And you’ve gotta see it through. You have to. You know that, I know that. So you’re going. And sure, that’ll put a strain on what we’ve got and that sucks because fuck, we finally got somewhere and, yeah. That really sucks. But--” He shook his head. “You have to go. So..we’ll just have to figure it out.”

Leta looked down at her feet as she let him rub away the anxiety in her shoulders. “And what if we can’t…?”

“Then we can’t,” he admitted. “Maybe it won’t work. Maybe I’ll fuck it up again. Maybe you’ll fuck it up, that’d be a nice twist, huh?” He squeezed her shoulder and she couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. “But I have a feeling,” he went on, sliding one hand under her chin to lift her face to his. “Even if we do go out in flames or out in a pathetic puff of smoke...it won’t matter in the long run. We’ll find our way back. We always do…”

Leta wasn’t entirely appeased. She didn’t feel nearly as sure of this plan as Fiearius sounded. And she wasn’t convinced even he was. He was just saying words, providing comfort because it was what he felt he should do, keeping up the confident facade that she saw cracking at the edges, he didn’t mean it.

But she didn’t argue either when he tilted her chin upwards and drew her lips against his, soft and warm and inviting. For just that moment, her worries left her. She felt he was right. They had all the time they could ever want. Nothing could change that. No span of space could truly tear them apart. For that moment, she believed. They could figure it out.

When he drew back, he was smirking. “So. Twelve hours?”

Leta’s eyes were still shut, but she opened one and pursed her lips. “We could probably push it to thirteen.”

A grin spread over his face. “That’s what I like to hear.” But instead of deepening the kiss, instead of pulling her towards the cot and sliding his hands under her shirt and down her back as she’d expected, he drew away and started rustling through a sack of his meager belongings.

“What are you doing?”

He turned back to her, brandishing a rather alarmingly large pair of wire cutters. His smile was impish when he said, “Did I tell you I know how to get into the closed districts of the city? This may be our last chance. Want a tour?”

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CONTINUES! See description