Caelum Lex Chapter 50: Defeat

All at once, Society agents flooded the hallway, grasped Leta by both arms and dragged her into their fold. Dez strode ahead of them, swinging his sword at his side with an air of utmost casualness. Beside her, agents seized Cyrus and Ren too, and Leta's mind raced with one thought: please don't let us be separated, please don't separate us, please don't ...

For better or worse, all three of them were marched down the long hallways and through the same metal black door marked TEMPORARY CONTAINMENT UNIT. Inside, the walls were sterile and cold, the pure-white floor filled with chairs and metal benches. With a jolt of her heart, Leta saw one of the chairs was occupied.

Fiearius.

But he looked nothing like the Fiearius she knew. His back slumped in the seat, held upright only because his wrists were bound to the chair. His empty gaze was set across the room, unblinking. Worst of all was the shining blood. The lower part of his legs splayed uselessly, drenched in red. A blade had cut him cleanly right behind the knees. He wouldn't be able to walk.

So he wasn't out there freely planning an expert move that would stun them all, like she'd been praying. No, he'd been caught. And it wasn't just that. He was hurt. Badly, badly hurt.

Leta stared, aghast, until the agent at her back prodded her into a chair and tied down her wrists.

"Fiear - Fiearius," said Cyrus breathlessly, torn between relief and horror. "What happened?"

It was several seconds too long before Fiearius responded, his eyes flickering in their direction. "I was reckless," he responded. "And stupid. That's what happened."

An agent had to push Cyrus' shoulder down to get him to sit and bind his wrists, but that did not prevent him from whispering, "Ok, so what's the plan?"

But for the first time in Leta's memory, Fiearius didn't intend to conspire. He didn't bark out instructions. A tired, bitter laugh rolled out of his lungs.

"There's no plan, little brother. We lost."

Cyrus nearly leapt out of his seat. "What?"

Fiearius simply leveled him a long, even stare and said quietly, "You heard me."

Pleading filled Cyrus' face. "But how the hell can you say that?"

"You knew this couldn't last forever, Cy," Fiearius sighed, an exhausted, sad smirk passing over his face. "It was only a matter of time. We've lost. It's over."

Cyrus opened his mouth to protest and at last, Leta could take no more of their conversation.

She turned to Ren, who had been directed toward a seat at her side - he took it obediently without a word of protest. He seemed ignorant of everyone else talking in the room. The agents were barking back and forth over their heads, but Ren's eyes were shining on her, reflecting the fluorescent lights of the ceiling.

"You must have known," he said quietly, "that this would happen." Because it was Ren, because he was the kindest person she'd ever met, it was not an insult. He only gazed at her, full of sadness.

Leta shook her head, her throat tightening. "It was a risk I was willing to take. And you must have known I would come after you."

"I thought - I thought you would try." Ren's mouth jerked toward an affectionate smile. "Knowing you." But then his expression dissolved again, worry marring his brow. "How did you - how did you even find - ?"

Of course he had questions. Of course he wanted to speak with her. No doubt they had mere minutes left, if that.

"I tore apart your apartment," said Leta softly. "After you went missing. I did it before the authorities could. I also got into the vault in your office. I read your journals. It all added up - that you knew too much." Her eyes moved toward Cyrus and Fiearius. "I boarded their ship. They've ... they've been helping me find you … "

And now they could be killed for it. All at once, Leta was flooded with nausea, her worry far beyond tears. She was simply forced into a choking, stunned silence, her chin touching the top of her chest as she held in a scream. It was only when Ren spoke - so clear, so confident - that she looked up again.

"They won't hurt you, Leta."

Ren looked, of all things, encouraging. It was the same expression he wore when he once tutored children in math, or when he spoke to his nieces and nephews: full of warmth and reassurance. "The Society won't hurt you. They won't h - "

"What?"

In the corner of Leta's eyes she could still see blood pooling on the floor from Fiearius' legs.

"Ren," she said, feeling hysterical, "the Society on Vescent wouldn't let me off-planet because I spoke out. My dad was terrified they were going to kill me. Don't you remember what it's like there? What have they done to you?"

"It was a misunderstanding, Leta." That strange, eerie light returned to Ren's eyes. "They just wanted your help. They need your help - "

"Stop, Ren," Leta interrupted, breathing hard. "Stop saying those words."

"You can be a great help to them." Ren nodded at her eagerly. "They could really use your help. Remember when you worked for them? Remember how much happier you were? You can help - "

"Stop!"

Leta's scream rung around the room.

Calm and amused, Dez stepped between them.

"Yes, please do," he muttered dryly. Still holding his sword at his side, he glanced over Ren disinterestedly and then looked over to Fiearius. "You've administered the ARC fluid, yes?" he said, addressing an agent nearby.

"Yes, sir," responded the woman promptly. "Ten minutes ago exactly. The dosage appears to be affecting him as we predicted, sir." Dez continued to watch Fiearius curiously as though he expected something to happen any moment.

ARC fluid? Dosage? What was this about? Cold fear rippled through Leta, like an icy breeze. It couldn't have been … it couldn't have been …

Abruptly, Dez was standing before her, delivering orders to the agent nearest. "What were you thinking?" Theatrically, he swept a hand toward Leta. "She doesn't need to be restrained. Release her."

Confused, Leta looked between the two guards as they stepped forward to untie her.

"You did well," said Dez, smiling at her as the bindings fell from her wrists. "I had my doubts that you'd be able to pull it off at first, but lo and behold, here we are. Congratulations. The Council will be made aware of your good work." A grin with a hint of malice spread across his face. "I do hope the experience wasn't too traumatic for you."

"What?" Leta bit out through gritted teeth, meeting Dez' cold, dark eyes and refusing to look away. "What the hell are you even talking about?"

"Now, Ms. Adler, there's no need to pretend anymore," Dez told her simply. "The Soliverés are in our custody. As agreed, Mr. Calimore will be returned to your care. And we can all go home." His smile sweetened, and horrible dread spread through her veins. He was playing her, he was truly playing her - and in front of an audience.

In front of Fiearius.

"I'm not - !" she gasped. "I don't work for you! I would never - "

"You don't have to hide who you are anymore," Dez went on gently. Just as Leta went to jerk her forearm away, Dez reached for it: carefully, meticulously, he rolled up the end of her sleeve, inch by inch until the solid black lines of the librera were visible.

The whole room went still. Leta could feel Fiearius' avid stare, realization dawning over his face, as he gazed, fixated, at the shining librera on her arm.

A smile spread over Dez's face as he regarded his old friend. "She's good, isn't she?"

And with that, a fierce growl burst from Leta's throat and she tore her forearm free. "It's not like that, Fiear!" she yelled at once. "Not anymore, I don't work for them anymore and I would never turn you in - "

"I'm still impressed you never found out," Dez interrupted, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. A knowing grin touched his face as he added, "Especially with how close you two are…"

"He's lying, Fiear!" Leta's throat was raw from yelling. "He's lying, don't you fucking believe him -" But Fiearius said nothing. His expression was empty, his eyes boring onto hers, stunned into silence.

"Say goodbye though, Fiearius. We've got a long journey back to Satieri." Dez nodded to the guards who moved over to lift him from his chair.

As they lifted him from the chair, finally Fiearius seemed to lose his sense of shock. The confusion on his face swept away, his expression darkened. A storm arrived in his eyes as words ripped from his throat.

"You," he began, sounding breathless, his eyes fixed on Leta and filled with fire. "You fucking lying bitch!"

Leta could hardly breathe. "It's not true! Dez is playing you, Fiear!"

"Fiearius - " Cyrus interrupted meekly, but Fiearius roared over him.

"This?!" he went on, struggling against the grip of four men as though he wanted to lunge across the room at her. Something strange was in his eyes. A haze, of sorts, one that he seemed unable to break through. "After-dov'ha pe'stieren ti dah hes'ziah! After everything! After all I did for you?! This is what I get in return?!"

"I don't work for them," Leta cried as muddled Ridellian curses continued to spit from his mouth "- not anymore, I didn't lead you here, I wouldn't turn you in - you know me, Fiearius!"

In a pleading voice, Cyrus broke in. "Fiearius, you can't really believe this shit?"

Fiearius' fury swung towards him. "You-you knew, didn't you?!" he growled, malicious masking his face. "You were in on this too?!"

In the corner, Dez observed with curious interest, his eyebrows arched.

"What are you talking about?!" Cyrus gasped. "There's nothing to be in on!"

"Bullshit," Fiearius growled as the agents tugged on him again, finally on the threshold of the door. "I trusted you!" He turned back to Leta viciously. "I trusted you." With one final heave, the agents wrenched him through the door, but his voice still carried down the hallway as he shouted, "I hope you're fucking happy! I'erna le si ca'edie fi'et!"

Stunned silence enveloped the room for several long seconds, punctuated only by one dry sob heaving from Leta's chest.

Cool as ever, Dez cocked a brow and muttered, "Effective…" After a moment, he turned back toward his agents in the room. "I'm sure they'll want to send the girl back to Vescent soon," he instructed calmly. "Under careful monitoring, of course. And the brother, we'll send him wherever he'll be most useful. For now, secure the three of them in temporary cells. An agent with the proper jurisdiction will follow up with instructions."

With one cursory glance over the room, he turned and followed Fiearius' fading yells.

Leta was screaming, screaming her lungs out, but Cyrus could barely hear her. Numb with shock, he watched, transfixed, as Fiearius was pulled through the door, struggling and wrestling the whole way, his guttural yells echoing down the hallway as he was torn from view.

He'd never seen his brother so desperate. He was, quite literally, fighting for his life.

Unthinkingly, Cyrus jackhammered out of his chair. To do what, he didn't know, but it didn't matter: an agent grabbed his arms at once. Two more did the same to Leta and Ren and in a flash, they were all being marched into the hallway.

Leta was not going quietly, even as Ren assured her, his voice pleading, "they won't hurt you, Leta, I promise it's okay - "

But he was right, thought Cyrus. They wouldn't be harmed, they couldn't. Dez said it himself: Leta would be sent home to Vescent, to her father, to be watched and monitored and scrutinized by a team of therapists. He himself would be assigned to some engineering team, forced to continue the work he'd abandoned four years ago. They wouldn't be hurt. But they would be imprisoned.

Fiearius, however, would not enjoy the same fate. The Verdant CID embedded in his arm. They would want to reclaim it. He wasn't useful alive like Cyrus or Leta. If he was going to Satieri, he was going to be -

"Executed," Leta breathed at his side, wrestling the agent at her back. Her voice shaking so badly she could barely form words. "They're going to execute him, aren't they?"

The words shook something within Cyrus' chest. Something dark, something - alarming. Before he could think to do otherwise, he let out a growl, pivoted on his foot, wrenched his arms away and slammed his bound wrists into the agent's face.

Startled, the agent stumbled backwards and Cyrus went in for another hit, adrenaline rushing through him, and then another, and then another. His wrists may have been bound, but they weren't useless. They pounded into the guard's neck, his knee found his stomach, his elbows rammed his side.

Bleeding and shouting, the agent scrambled for his gun, sending panic flying through Cyrus. He lowered himself, braced and rammed his shoulder into the man's stomach downwards. His back collided with the metal ground with a thump and Cyrus at once pinned him there with his knees, reaching his tied hands for that holster on his hip desperately.

But before he could even lay a finger on it, he felt a rough hand dig into his shoulder and drag him upwards. Still clawing at the gun's grip uselessly, Cyrus was lifted back to his feet and spun around to face the woman who'd been leading Ren just as her disapproving frown gave way to a distorted cry of pain and she crumbled to the ground, blood spurting from her leg.

She'd been shot - but how? Cyrus wheeled around, half-expecting to see his brother towering there, in all of his heroic glory.

But it wasn't Fiearius, it was Leta, holding aloft a stolen gun. It seemed his scuffle had given her just the distraction she needed to arm herself and turn the situation in their favor, at least fleetingly.

While he stood in place dumbly, feeling stunned, she rushed over to him and hastily untied his wrists, then did the same to Ren.

"Leta," said Ren, carefully, watching her as if he'd never met someone so insane in his life, "Do you know what you're doing?"

"No." Leta crouched down, retrieved another gun from the floor and passed it to Cyrus. "No, of course not, now let's go."

Blindly, gun in hand, Cyrus turned and bolted down the hallway and kept bolting until his feet found the metal floor of the airy open hangar once more. All around him, enormous ships the size of houses were parked side by side and Cyrus dodged beneath their wings and pillars. It wasn't too late, he told himself desperately - it wasn't too late to get to Fiearius.

Only dimly aware of Leta and Ren running behind him (Ren was protesting, Leta pulling him along), Cyrus suddenly stopped short at the sight of one vessel in particular. Larger than a cathedral, it must've been half a mile wide - but that wasn't what suddenly made Cyrus' heart stop.

He recognized this ship. It was a Satierian ship. And Fiearius was headed to Satieri.

He must have been inside.

Gripping his gun with determination, Cyrus shot forward, ran up the ship's ramp and into the large, open cargo bay. It was empty and quiet, at least five times the size as the Dionysian's.

"What ship is this, Cy?" said Leta desperately, her hand circled around Ren's wrist, leading him forward like a confused child. "Is Fiearius aboard, are you sure he's aboard this one?"

"It's the BKN-550," said Cyrus as he rushed through the bay, his eyes flitting back and forth for signs of movement. "But they call her the Beacon. A Satieran frigate." The ramp was beginning to close behind them and he could feel the low vibrations from within the ship radiating out beneath his feet. She was getting ready to leave. "Fiearius has to be here," he gritted out, though it was more an assurance to himself than it was to Leta.

Without looking back, Cyrus ducked into one of the Beacon's smaller hallways, determined to reach the bridge and stop the ship before it could leave the Baltimore. He couldn't let it. He didn't exactly have a plan yet. March right into the bridge and demand Dez let Fiear go didn't sound like it would work all too well. But he had to do something. Cyrus wouldn't even humor the notion of losing him and what that would mean. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he slunk through the maze of cold metal hallways as quickly as he could, Leta and Ren on his tail. The ship was mercifully quiet enough to avoid confrontation with the few Society agents he caught a glimpse of. It seemed to only be running with a skeleton crew. Well, how much crew did the frigate need to simply transport a passenger to an execution? he thought grimly.

What the Beacon lacked in crew, however, it made up for in size, an obstacle in itself. Cyrus wasn't convinced he would ever find the bridge at all let alone make it on time until he turned a corner into a hallway and laid eyes on it.

Hope leapt in his chest. There was still time. Without a second thought, he cocked his gun and began down the hallway only to have Leta snatch his arm and draw him back.

"Cyrus," she hissed. "What're you doing?"

"We have to take the bridge," Cyrus answered at once, looking back at her. "We have to stop the ship."

"How?" Leta pleaded, her eyes shining with horror. "There are at least four agents in there."

Cyrus glanced back towards the bridge door. She was right. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn't just walk in there, he'd be captured or killed instantly. But what else could they do? They were outnumbered regardless and if they didn't act fast, they'd take off and be on the way to Satieri and they'd never find Fiearius and get back to the Dionysian like they planned.

Cyrus had never felt quite like this before. Reckless desperation was unfamiliar to him, but it was enough to give him a sudden confidence he'd never before had.

"We'll just rush in and take the ship," he told her, his voice hardly sounding like his own. "We'll catch them by surprise. We'll take it and we'll stop it and we'll get my brother back and everything will be okay." He heard the hysteria in his words, but he still went on, "Everything will be fine. Everything will be normal."

"Cyrus…." Leta breathed, her voice cracking. But just when he felt she was going to back away or tell him to give it up, she too lifted her gun, cocked it and nodded at him.

"Ready," she whispered quietly.

"Stay close," he told her and, in perhaps the stupidest move he'd ever made, he hurtled towards the open bridge door with all the speed and momentum in his entire body before he burst into the room and found six surprised crew staring back at him.

For a moment, just a moment, he panicked. What was he doing? Fiearius could shoot six men before one could even draw their weapon. Corra could shoot a thimble off a finger from 500 meters away. Cyrus couldn't even hit a single unmoving target on a wall without five minutes of aiming first. If anyone was suited for this, if anyone could save Fiearius, it wasn't him.

But he was all there was. So he fired. Right into someone's chest. And he fired again into someone's arm. And as a bullet from Leta's gun embedded itself in another's head, the other three in the room hastily reached for weapons of their own and panic ran through Cyrus. A yell ripped out of his throat and he fired again. Again. Again. Unthinking and uncaring and relentless.

He was still shouting to his own deafened ears when his finger pulled the trigger and his gun clicked uselessly in his hand. Empty.

But just when he expected gunfire straight to his chest, he vision cleared and he saw Leta: breathing hard, gun in hand, one foot pressed into an agent's chest as he sprawled on the floor. Ren was behind her; she'd thrown herself in front of him protectively.

"Are you okay?" she asked Cyrus, short of breath, eyes blazing.

He almost nodded. But then he looked around the room. One, two, three, four, five bodies. Five? Where was-

A quiet whimpering sounded from the far end of the room, and a few stray strands of hair stuck up from behind one of the front consoles. One left. He glanced at Leta. She nodded and carefully crept forward.

"Hands up, drop your weapons," she ordered when she was close enough, holding her gun to the young man's head. Immediately, the whimper turned into a wail and two skinny hands shot up in the air.

"P-please, I'm unarmed," his shaky voice declared, tears running down his face. "I'm just the pilot, please-please don't kill me."

Cyrus marched over towards them and held his own gun to the man's head, useless as it was. "Where's Dez?!"

Confusion flashed over his face. He blanched. "Who?"

"Dez!" Cyrus barked, hardly sounding like himself. "Desophyles Cordova. Where is he?!"

"C-Cordova? H-he's not on this ship!" the man despaired.

Cyrus shook his head. No, it had to be this one. It had to. One of his hands dug into his hair and he yelled, "Are you carrying a prisoner to Satieri?! Fiearius? Fiearius Soliveré? Is he - "

"N-no! We're headed to Ellegy for a pick-up!" he cried.

Dread knotted his stomach. "Cordova's ship," Cyrus said at once, his eyes growing distant. "Is it still docked on the Baltimore?"

The man looked up at him with watery eyes. "I-n-no. We were delayed so it could take off. J-just a few minutes ago."

With a raw, angry growl of loss, Cyrus suddenly shouted and threw his spent gun across the room, making it crash in the corner. He stalked away, digging his palms into his eyes. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a mistake.

"This isn't over," came Leta's trembling voice from across the room. She was standing there hollowly, her eyes wet. "We're not losing Fiear. They can't have him." Cyrus could barely look at her when she ventured, "So what's our next move?"

Cyrus turned away. Fiearius' words echoed in his mind. 'We lost'. 'It's over.' But no. It couldn't be. After all they'd been through, everything they'd overcome, all that had happened, it couldn't end this way. He wouldn't let it.

"We go to Satieri," Cyrus said before his mind even caught up. He dropped his hands from his face. "We go to Satieri and we get him back."

In a rush, he stalked to the main console and furiously tapped the screen until the COMM channel opened up. "Dionysian, this is the Beacon, come in," he shouted into the receiver. "Corra? Finn? It's Cyrus. Come in. Please, fucking please, come in - "

It was only seconds, but it felt like hours, until the speakers crackled and a familiar voice filled the room.

"Cyrus?! What's going on? What happened?" Corra sounded panicked, even from this distance. "What-you're on another ship?!"

"Corra, I'm going to bring down the barrier from here," he told her matter-of-factly. "You're going to need to synchronize your exit with ours. Take the Dionysian back to where we left the crew. Wait for us there."

"Wait, what?! You're staying on another ship?!"

"Yes," he said bluntly. He glanced at Leta, who nodded for him to continue, "Get the bridge door sealed. There are still other agents aboard, it's only a matter of time before they figure out something's wrong."

"Cyrus, what the hell is going on?"

"You," he addressed the young man still cowering behind the console. "Pilot? Get her ready for take-off."

"Cyrus?!" Corra cried, but Cyrus talked over her: "Finn, don't forget you need to disengage the forward throttle immediately after the first push in takeoff or you'll stall the engine-"

"Cyrus! Explain what is happening right now!"

At last, Cyrus mustered a sigh and lowered his head.

"Fiearius was taken," he informed her, his voice hardened. "I'm taking this ship - " He caught Leta's furious glance and corrected, "We're taking this ship to Satieri. We're going to get him back."

Stunned silence filled the other end of the call. Cyrus could just imagine the horror on their faces.

But he could not imagine their response.

"Right," said Finn finally. "We're coming with you."