Caelum Lex Chapter 51: Saving Fiearius

Only tense silence filled the bridge as the Beacon began its landing sequence to Satieri. Finn was seated at the main navigation console, putting his military-pilot skills to use as he quickly operated the controls, muttering madly to himself. Behind him, Corra paced the floor, throwing anxious glances in his direction. Meanwhile, Cyrus simply sat in a chair, his eyes on the main window.

At last, a jagged skyline crept into view, as the capital of Paradiex unfolded before their eyes. It was a fast-paced, overpopulated city in the heart of a hot sandy desert, known as the leader in technological advancement and, of course, the proud founding place of the Society. The scenery was so eerily familiar, it was like he'd never left at all.

For the first time in four years, Cyrus had made it home.

Well, unless his plan hadn't worked. They'd spent the last three days on the Beacon, with the Dionysian parked safely in her hangar. Cyrus had disguised the Beacon, overwriting the ship's ID to hide its status as hijacked. But it was still entirely likely Society agents would flood the ship the moment it touched Satieri ground. Unless -

"Well, they didn't flag us," said Finn abruptly, breathing a sigh as he dropped his hands and spun around in his chair. He patted the control panel affectionately. "Guess this beast still reads as a friendly ship. Nice work, Cyrus."

But Cyrus was barely listening now. Outside the window, he had a full view of Satieri's capital city. He could still picture the streets on which he used to walk to school, the central campus of his university, the corner where he'd lived in his first apartment and of course, the massive complex of Sonnete Industries where he'd gone to work every day for years.

Now, it was the most dangerous place possible for him to be. But it was the only place he could be. And while the ship was making its descent, he found himself taking some comfort in the fact that even if he died here, even if both he and Fiearius died there, at least they were dying where they belonged.

Cyrus stood to his feet to depart, but it was then he realized Leta had materialized in the doorway, silent as a ghost. In the two days aboard the Beacon, they had exchanged only a handful of words: he had nothing to say to her. Each time he glimpsed her, he burned with anger - whose fault was this, anyway, that they'd lost Fiearius?

But that was unfair of him. She hadn't wanted this. She'd gotten Ren back, it was true, but it did not feel like a victory.

Now, she was watching the window too, her hand wrung around her wrist. After a moment, Corra asked quietly, "How's Ren doin?"

Leta pulled her gaze from the skyline. "He's - up and down." She exhaled slowly. "One second he's fine, acting normal, asking me a million questions, acting like - like himself. His old self. Like when we were together." Despair tinged her face, but she went on quickly, "Then the next second he's shouting nonsense. About how we can't betray the Society. I don't know what they did to him, but ... "

But it worked, thought Cyrus grimly. Leta looked over to him, meeting his eyes for the first time in days.

"I didn't tell Ren what we're going to do," she told him quietly. "He'd be horrified, he'd probably try to stop us … "

"But what are you going to do?" said Finn suddenly, looking between them with concern in his face. "How, exactly, are we going to get to Fiearius?"

All eyes went to Cyrus, who swallowed before explaining quietly, "He's got to be in the main Society building." If only because Cyrus was unaware of anywhere else they might be keeping him. "I found some old Society identification codes in Fiear's CID database. I'll upload them into our own CIDs and we should be able to walk right through the door. Their security system will think we're agents. Then we'll just have to find him inside and get him out and you can Finn can stay with the ship so when we get back-"

"But Cy," Corra interrupted, her voice shaking, "all of that-it's based on guesswork. You don't know any of it will work. You don't even know he's there. You don't even know if he's still … " She seemed unable to finish her thought, so Cyrus finished it for her.

"Alive?" His voice was bitter and dark, but positively certain. "He is." He looked away from her. "I know he is." Quietly, he added, "He has to be."

Corra's eyes were beginning to fill with tears. In the past three days, it seemed like all she did was cry - for him, for Leta, for Fiearius.

"Cyrus … "

But now Leta crossed her arms, full of resolve. "Corra, no. We can't give up on Fiearius."

"Look," said Finn suddenly, rising to his feet. "I get it." He towered over all of them as he stepped closer, his face dark and serious. "I really do. But, both of you, think about this for a second. It's been two days now since they captured him. Why would they keep him alive longer than they needed to?" Sadness and apology crossed over his face. "He wouldn't want you to go after him. He'd - "

"Well we have to try, okay?" Leta snapped, flaring up with emotion. "It's my fault he got captured at all and I'm not changing my mind, you can't talk me out of this."

"But what's gonna happen if they catch you too?" Corra despaired, tears rolling down her cheeks. "It's a huge risk. Walking right into the Society HQ? Neither of you will make it back from that and for what? What if he's already-"

"I said he's not dead, Corra," Cyrus growled.

"You don't know that!" she cried. "And if you were thinking logically, you'd realize he probably-"

"He isn't," Cyrus said once more, absolutely sure of himself.

Corra buried her palms in her wet eyes. "Isn't it bad enough we already lost one?"

Looking pained, Finn sighed, "We understand, okay? You want to do something. And you've pulled off crazy shit before, it's true. But this? This is just a suicide mission."

Everyone went quiet, save for Corra's quiet weeping. They were right, of course, said the dark part of Cyrus' mind. This was insane. They didn't know what they were doing, they had no proof of anything, this was a suicide mission. And perhaps Leta would agree, maybe she'd stay too . . .

But then Leta shook her head, turned on her heel and started toward the door, cold as ice, full of authority. "Let's get ready to go, Cyrus."

At once, Finn threw a hand in the air. "This is ridiculous," he growled. "So I take it neither of you will believe that he's dead until you see it yourselves."

"And what if you get get there and he is?" Corra muttered, wiping tears from her cheeks and glaring at Cyrus through glassy eyes. "Then what?"

"Then he's dead," said Cyrus shortly over his shoulder as he crossed toward the door after Leta. "But what if he's not?" He returned her glare with a sharp one of his own. "I'm willing to take the risk. Because he'd do the same for any of us."

Light and color blurred past the train window as Leta stood hollowly beside Cyrus' shoulder. They were entering the city of Paradiex by transit, and the scenery was rushing past her eyes before she could see - though she was undeniably curious: this was where Fiearius and Cyrus had grown up. In someone else's life, in another time, she would have enjoyed the opportunity to see it.

Her eyes drifted to Cyrus, who was shifting uncomfortably inside the crowded train. They hadn't spoken in nearly an hour. For a moment, he met her eyes, then he looked away quickly. What was he thinking right then, on the way to rescue his older brother? Did he really believe they could pull this off? No, of course he didn't - Cyrus was logical, reasonable.

Not for the first time, Leta felt the overwhelming urge to apologize to him.

But the words caught in her throat. Now wasn't the time. She only hoped that later on she would have the opportunity to really do it. Or perhaps he could see it in her eyes right then - maybe she did not need to say it.

Just then, the metal train doors glided open smoothly and its passengers flooded out onto the platform. Leta was jostled in the crowd, and then she stepped out into the main city with more purpose.

"This way," Cyrus called after a few moments of walking along a city block, but he didn't need to. The headquarters of the Society was visible a half mile out, the top spires of the building glittering in the fading light.

Of course Leta had expected only the best and most extravagant for the Society HQ, but when they approached, the sight still stopped her quite literally in her tracks. At least twenty stories tall, the building was a half-moon shape of shining, gleaming glass, reflecting the orange-pink sunset. It imposed over an entire block, it demanded respect, reverence, and it exuded brilliance, as though it housed the greatest political minds to ever live in the verse. It was really quite beautiful.

But immediately beyond those doors, Leta knew, were armed guards and their advanced scanning system, both just waiting happily to pick up the slightest stir of misbehavior…

"We'll just walk straight through the security area," Cyrus whispered to her, his voice exuding confidence she was sure he didn't truly feel. "The system will read us as Society agents. We'll be able to go right in. Just act normal."

Leta nodded, clenching her CID in her hand, as if that would actually help. Together they walked on and entered the wide, circular atrium.

Inside, a few people mingled around the lobby, waiting to pass through the security area which was adorned with a wall of detectors and a cluster of armed agents, just waiting to weed out those that didn't belong. Those in line were varied - some in plains clothes, others wearing formal wear with the Society insignia. Did they have any idea there were two impostors among them?

Leta's heart was beginning to pound as she stepped forward in the queue. Cyrus stood behind her, radiating tension. Her breath shaking in her lungs, Leta began to step forward in front of the detector wall - the fake CID code had to work - otherwise this was over before it could even begin -

She never got the chance to find out. Just then, a strong grip tightened around her arm and wrenched her from the line, steering her away. A yell of surprise nearly erupted from her throat, but then she got a good look at who, exactly, was pulling her.

"D - dad?"

She nearly choked on her shock.

Nearly a year had passed since she'd laid eyes on him, but there was no mistaking Tritius Adler: tall, broad-shouldered with graying hair, and dressed sharply in a formal jacket with the Society librera stitched into the shoulder. He carried himself with absolute confidence and authority, all business-like, as he steered Leta forward through the queue without so much as a glance backwards. Cyrus followed behind, bewildered, while Tritius led them directly into a small, private meeting room.

"What're you - " Leta could only sputter as her father slid the door closed behind them. "How'd you - ?"

"You were supposed to land on Vescent two days ago," he snapped as he turned around. (Cyrus backed up instinctively.) "When you never arrived," he growled, "it was easy to guess your next stop. Of course you'd be stupid enough to come here."

Leta only shook her head. Words failed her.

"I've been tracking you since you fled, Leta," he snapped, like it was obvious. "You think I'd let you board a fucking pirate ship -" His eyes flashed toward Cyrus. " - And wait around while everyone else hunted you? You've always needed constant monitoring."

He was not relieved nor happy at the sight of his daughter; he was glaring, stone-faced. How many times in her life had Leta seen that very same expression? He'd wore it at after every disciplinary hearing in school, during every piano recital, after every graduation ceremony. Everyday.

"I'm still loyal to the Society, Leta," he went on harshly. "I can come and go in this building. But you?" His eyes lightened humorlessly. "They realize who you are, they'll gladly add another person to be executed."

Fiearius. He was here. They'd never been closer and yet, further away from him.

But that didn't matter - she would go after him, she would throw herself into the thick of it. There were no other options.

"I'm not going home," she replied at last, her voice even, measured, even as she awaited her father's explosion. "Dad, please. We're not leaving here without him."

But to her immense surprise, her father did not yell, bark nor did he grab her arm. For the briefest of moments, his expression shifted toward - it couldn't have been - pride.

"I know." His voice was quiet. He shifted a look toward Cyrus. "I can get you to where he's being held."

Cyrus didn't know what to believe. He'd known Leta's father was entangled in the Society bureaucracy, and he'd known Leta hated him for it. But here he was now, offering them safe passage through the headquarters, aiding in the release of a most-wanted prisoner. Stoic and business-like, as if they were all headed toward a late afternoon meeting, Leta's father walked briskly down the hallway toward a set of busy elevators.

One set of doors slid open, admitting a handful of people, some of whom nodded greetings.

"Tritius!" yelped a man, staggering back in surprise. "Haven't seen you on Satieri in months! How's Vescent? What brings you here?"

"Tidying up a few loose ends," came Tritius' curt reply as he passed him and swept into the elevator. Cyrus purposely kept his eyes down as he followed in after Leta, who looked just as confused as he felt.

Calm and silent, Tritius reached to hit the correct floor - the one labeled 'ARC FACILITIES.' Cyrus narrowed his eyes curiously, but it was Leta who spoke up.

"What's that mean?" she demanded. "'ARC facilities.' Dad, what is that?"

But Tritius only gazed at the closed doors, perfectly ignoring her.

It was quiet for several seconds until Leta asked her father, in a small voice, "But you're sure - you're sure he's still alive?"

"Yes." Tritius did not look at her. "For now. They can't kill him yet. They're waiting for his executioner to arrive."

For the first time, Leta showed a crack in her armor: her expression dissolved toward grief.

Cyrus glanced over at her and hesitated. Fiearius had often warned him not to tell anyone this particular piece of his history, but now, he was certain, would have to be an exception.

"The Society has a position called the Verdant," he explained quietly, "who's a liaison between the Council and the Departments. They have access to all Society records, a whole database, everything. The Council made Fiearius Verdant before he left Satieri. That's why they hunt him, he stole their database. And the only way to get it back-"

"Is for the next Verdant to kill him," Leta finished, nodding at him, exhaling sadly. "I know. He told me about it. A month ago."

Cyrus could only gape at her. Fiearius had told her that? One of the most personal, dangerous, darkest secrets of his existence? It was unreal, and clearly, he was underestimating how much Fiearius trusted, and cared, about her ...

Leta turned to her father. "Who's this executioner? When will he be there?" but Tritius had gone back to ignoring her.

Finally, the elevator lurched and halted. The doors slid open, revealing a dark, empty hallway. Cold and metallic, it felt as sterile as an asylum.

Leta immediately pushed out of the elevator, looking around frantically for any signs of Fiearius, but Tritius did not move. In fact, he remained in the elevator, reaching to hit the button for another floor.

"I'll leave you here," he said quietly, his eyes on his daughter, who looked alarmed.

"But where do we go from here? And how do we get to Fiear? Is he in a cell? How do we get out?"

"I re-wrote the passcode into his cell," Tritius replied as the doors closed between them. "The numbers to get in - are your birth date."

For several seconds, the words hung in the air as Leta stared after him, agape. Cyrus came to his senses and nudged her forward, and at once, they started down the hallway.

Adrenaline flooded Cyrus's veins now as they half-jogged down the dim, empty corridors. He had the sense they were close, and as they turned a corner, Cyrus felt his lungs freeze up.

In the glass cell, not ten meters from them, sat the figure of his brother on the white sterile floor. He appeared mostly unharmed, except for the unnatural way he sat: his back against the wall, unmoving except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. So he was alive. Oh gods, he was alive.

But Cyrus only caught a glimpse of that familiar rust-colored hair before he saw who was standing directly in front of that glass window. Then, his heart stopped for a very different reason. Dez.

Immediately, Cyrus seized Leta's arm and staggered backwards around the corner. Fortunately, Dez didn't seem to notice: he was conversing quietly with a man beside him, both of them regarding Fiearius curiously, like a science experiment, or a specimen in a zoo.

"Seems like a waste," the man was saying conversationally, tapping a note onto his portable console. Dez glanced toward him and raised a brow in question. "Putting him through the ARC I mean," he clarified, gesturing towards the window. "They're just gonna kill him, what's the point?"

For now, the two men seemed to have no idea they were being eavesdropped upon. In response, Dez just shrugged absently.

The man went on, "Can't really say I understand what we're waiting for anyway. That guy, right? What's his name-Lawry?"

"Yes," mused Dez. "I believe so."

"See, I don't get it," the man continued. "Why do we have to keep this asshole here, taking up space, scaring the crap out of the research staff just waiting for some director from Ri'en to show up and kill him?" He nudged Dez with his elbow. "You caught him, Cordova. Why can't you just do it?"

"I'm not allowed," Dez replied shortly, though his tone had become rather tense. Bitter, even.

"Bet that'd be satisfying though, huh?" The man remarked, stretching his arms out in front of him as he watched the figure beyond the window curiously. "After everything you two have been through."

Dez said nothing. The man at his side let out a heavy sigh. "So this Lawry guy then."

"He's to be the next Verdant."

"So it's true then? This shit." The man gestured toward Fiearius.

"Is the current Verdant," Dez confirmed coldly.

His companion let out a low whistle. "Crazy. The new one's gotta kill the old one? Is it punishment for Soliveré killing the last one? Or is it symbolic or something?"

Dez was silent once more until finally he muttered, "Something like that."

"Well, still," the man finished bitterly. "I don't know why I'm having to waste all this ARC testing on him when I could be using it on someone who'll actually be around next week to study. And they've got my entire team on it, you know that? As if we don't have anything more important to do. It doesn't make sense."

"It does make sense," Dez replied at once. "It's needed. To sedate him."

"Sedate him?" the man repeated incredulously, laughing "He's wounded, bound and locked in a cell. How much more sedative does he need?"

Dez frowned thoughtfully at him, and then back into the window. "You've never met Fiearius, have you?"

The man raised a brow at him, spent another few moments watching Fiearius and finally shrugged his shoulders. "No offense, Cordova," he said at last. "But he doesn't seem all that impressive to me."

Dez tilted his head thoughtfully. "No," he agreed. "But that," he nodded towards the man behind the window, "is not Fiearius." The man looked over at him, perplexed. "Not after what you've done to him."

The man continued to stare at him until at last he let out a barking laugh and asked, "Cordova, you're not feeling sentimental, are you? I know he was your partner and all, but c'mon. The guy's a nutcase."

Dez just watched Fiearius a moment longer until he muttered, "So they say," and turned to leave. His colleague, shaking his head, followed after him. They disappeared down the hallway.

And now was their chance. Perhaps the only one they'd get.

In a rush, Cyrus dodged around the corner and went straight for the glass, pounding on it to get Fiearius to look up, to move - anything. Leta was at the console, hurriedly typing in the passcode.

Suddenly, with a hissing release of air, the glass barrier slid out of the way, allowing entry. Cyrus immediately crossed toward Fiearius, crouched to the floor and began to shake his shoulders.

In a voice very much unlike his own, Cyrus found himself begging.

"Fiearius, Fiear, c'mon, please - we have to go - "

It was moments too long until his brother stirred. Only an inch, but relief flooded over him.

"Fiear - "

"Orlé Sana, age 31," Fiearius muttered in return. His voice was hoarse, barely audible, but he continued as if he were reciting something he'd memorized. "Two shots to the parietal lobe. Both bullets shattered on impact. No exit wound."

Cyrus stared. Dread was returning to him slowly. "What?"

"Found by her husband and seven year old son," Fiearius went on, his half-lidded eyes on the floor, "on the balcony of their westside apartment at 3:26 am, October 11, 1853."

Leta stepped closer, confusion in her face. "What's he saying?"

"I don't know -" Cyrus breathed, surveying his brother in alarm. But then, Cyrus realized there was another voice in the room: not Fiearius, not Leta, but a robotic, mechanical voice from the speaker in the wall, quietly droning on in the background.

As if giving a lecture, the speaker said, "A trail of blood was recorded leading from the balcony inside the apartment to the dining room. Based on the spatter pattern on the dining room table, it can be assumed-"

"-that this is where the first shot was fired," Fiearius finished, reciting along with the speaker, his voice cold and empty. "The trail indicates Ms. Sana survived the first shot and crawled to the balcony where she was shot again."

Cyrus was aghast. Fiearius was saying each sentence in unison with the voice from the speaker, word for word, as if in a trance.

Cyrus looked up to Leta for explanation, but she looked just as horrified. She didn't move for several seconds until Fiearius - in time with the overhead voice - began, "Pentin Quet, age 43, was - "

With that, Leta seized his shoulder.

"Fiearius come on, we're getting you out of here," she barked as she reached down and unwound the bonds around his wrist.

Without hesitation, she started to try and lift him up. Cyrus immediately went to her aid as Fiearius prattled on deliriously, apparently oblivious to what was going on.

"Suppose we can't take the elevator back up," Cyrus grunted as they struggled to drag Fiearius' mostly dead-weight into the hallway.

He glanced frantically around the corridor, knowing that any direction could just lead to a maze. Or a dead end. Or worse, a Society agent. It was bad enough walking through here with just the two of them, but with Fiearius hanging weakly between them, there was no chance an encounter would end well.

"This way," Leta decided and offered no explanation. Perhaps she had none, but Cyrus was appreciative of the direction nonetheless. Together, they hobbled as quickly as they could as Fiearius continued to read off - what were they? - police reports? Homicide records? Cyrus tried not to listen, but even so, the gory details he described seemed to slip through.

Which was why he was grateful for the distraction when Leta suddenly said,"Cy - Cy, I think I'm getting a better idea of what this ARC thing is." She looked over at him, grimacing. "It's what they did to Ren. I found traces of a mild hallucinogen in his system. I think they use it to mess with their minds, I bet that's what they've been doing to Fiear for the past few days too. Remember that shot they gave him on the Baltimore?"

Cyrus regarded Leta with a concerned stare. "What, like - mind control?"

"No, no, more like, amplifying the power of suggestion. Propaganda. Brainwashing. Making them believe - these horrible things. And we all know the Society's not above employing drugs to get people to do what they want."

Cyrus still couldn't stop staring at her in shock. How long had they been doing this? Manipulating prisoners to their will? It sounded cruel at best and inhumane at worst. Though despite that, Cyrus could not say he was that surprised. All he really wanted to know was, "Is it reversible?"

But it wasn't Leta who answered.

"No," said Fiearius quietly from between them. "No no no," he went on, his voice growing stronger as he looked around at them, steadied his feet, and started to pull his arms away. "What are you doing? What are you doing? I need to go back."

Cyrus exchanged a worried look with Leta and suggested hopefully, "Yeah, back to the ship."

"No," Fiearius said again, trying weakly to pull his arms out of their grip. "I need to go back. Take me back." His voice was growing louder as his legs scraped pathetically at the ground, desperate to stop them.

Leta circled Fiearius' arm around her neck and gritted her teeth. "No, Fiearius. Back to the ship."

Fiearius groaned at her, pained. "Why can't you ever do what I ask?"

"We're getting you out of here, Fiear!"

"Don't you know what I've done?!" he shouted. "What I'm still doing? I'm holding the Society back, don't you get it? I need to give back what I took! I need to give it back. I have to!" His voice echoed down the hallway.

"Would you quiet?!" Cyrus whispered, gripping Fiearius' arm tighter. "Someone's going to-"

"Hear the ruckus?" came a slow voice from behind them as a tall lanky man with a long face and crooked nose approached them calmly, two armed guards flanking him. "So this is the famous rogue Verdant, hm?" He glanced to Leta and Cyrus. "Isn't he supposed to be in his cell?"

"Doesn't matter, do it here," Fiearius answered quickly, wrenching his arm from Cyrus' grip and nearly falling over. "Just take it. Do it now."

"Fiearius, what?" said Cyrus, horrified. "Do what now - "

"The Society needs a Verdant, Cy," Fiearius assured him, breathing hard. "This is him." He gestured to the lanky man who was watching this with interest. "I just have to give him the CID. And everything will go back to normal."

Cyrus was speechless. Back to normal? If normal meant - dead.

Abruptly, as if snapping back to life, Leta side-stepped in front of Fiearius, threw out her arms, and yelled, "No!" Fear and anger filled her face, like a roiling storm, even as both guards cocked their guns and directed them at her chest. "No, I won't let you kill him - this can't go on - "

Seizing whatever seconds Leta had afforded them, Cyrus grabbed Fiearius' arm and moved backwards, but Fiearius protested madly.

"Don't you people understand?!" he yelled. "This needs to happen. It's inevitable."

"Shut up, Fiearius!" Leta yelled desperately, but Fiearius roared over her.

"You don't understand! I need this! I need it out of me! I need it gone - just fucking do it," Fiearius demanded, glaring at the guards, "Just fucking kill me and be done with it!"

The man - the new Verdant? - raised a brow thoughtfully and shrugged. Calmly as ever, he pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it at Fiearius' head. "As you wish," he said and a gunshot filled the hallway.

Cyrus' heart halted in his throat.

And then there was another gunshot. And another. Blood spattered on the wall. And the Verdant-elect and his two guards were on the floor.

Fiearius was the first to spin around. "Wha-" he began before taking a fist to the gut. What energy he had left him and Cyrus and Leta only barely managed to catch him as they both looked up, terrified and confused at the face of Dez, his pistol still smoking lightly.

Cyrus didn't know if he should have been relieved or horrified at the sight. "What're you doing?!" he cried, and Dez regarded him calmly.

"Changing my mind," Dez remarked shortly, and then nodded down a corridor. "This way. Follow me."