Caelum Lex Pt. 2 Chapter 20: Hunted

"So what you're saying is, you're giving up," Fiearius snapped as he followed Leta into the sea of people filling the bustling space port. The Dionysian was stopped for the day to refuel, restock and regroup. When they'd landed, the crew had immediately scattered off to explore the array of shops.

Crowded and noisy as the port was, nothing could have prevented their ensuing argument.

"I'm not giving up on anything," said Leta, throwing him a fierce sideways glare. "There's simply no way we can safely go after them now."

Fiearius felt like tearing his hair out. For reasons he could not fathom, Leta thought they shouldn't try to raid any more Society ships after all. It was, in her words, needlessly risky. Stupid. They'd gotten lucky once and it wouldn't happen again.

It was so unlike her to back down on something that Fiearius felt like kicking the nearest bench in frustration. Instead, he scowled and followed after her as she headed toward a grocery store (she was doing an errand for Amora, helping her re-stock the kitchen pantry).

"So we give up," FIearius continued, a nasty sting in his voice, "and go back to low-life, low-pay shit jobs for people who can't string two words together."

"And escape with our lives, yes. The Society has taken enough from me, Fiear. And enough from you too."

"Y'know, last time I checked, that was the very reason we were going to do this," he pointed out. "And the reason you agreed with me. You did say you agreed. Pretty strongly, if I recall."

"I gave it a lot of thought," she said simply, a lift of dignity in her tone, "and I changed my mind."

"Oh no no, you do not just change your mind," he growled. "I know you better than that. Convincing you of anything is like pushing a ship into the atmosphere with your bare hands."

Clearly, there was something more to this. One day Leta was on his side, the next…

Realization hit him.

"It was Dez, wasn't it?" he said suddenly, stalking forward to catch up with her. "The hell did he say to you?"

Leta came to a halt, turning around to face him. She took a deep breath, as if reeling in her patience.

"Well we had an awful long time to talk on the Mariah, if you remember," she bit out. "And I realized what Ren said about Arleth Morgan is true. I asked Dez and the information lines up. He is most certainly one of the Councilors. And he's after me, which means he's after you and Cyrus and all of us, and I'm not going to be the reason why you get hurt," she snarled. "Dez might be right about this one."

"That's funny, since I'm pretty sure you were the one who told me not to trust Dez," Fiearius grumbled.

Leta rolled her eyes and turned around to walk away, but Fiearius hurried to catch up to her.

"Why does that matter anyway? Let's say he's right, big deal. There've always been people after us. Hasn't been a problem so far. Why are you so freaked about it now?"

"There are so many more people after us now, Fiear!" said Leta in exasperation. "The Council. The bounty hunters. Ophelia, who already found us once and nearly gutted you - "

"Hey, she didn't get me that bad - "

" - and we just can't do it, alright? We can't pretend like we're hurting the Society at all. It's us who will pay for it, not them."

"But we've got help. Backup. Quin's people. Maybe others."

"That's not enough to protect us from them. And what's the point in going after them now? Really. What's the point, in the end?"

She glared sideways at him, her eyes blazing on his face. Fiearius was dumbstruck. Somehow, Dez had managed to take the Leta he knew and replace her with someone entirely different.

"What's the point?" Fiearius repeated. "What's the point? The point is, I'm tired of running. I'm tired of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of my only goal in life being to make it to the next day. I can't believe I'm having to explain this to you." He groaned and dug his hand in his hair. "Where do you see yourself in five years, huh? Six feet under in an unmarked grave or actually living your life before its gone? That's the point."

Leta slowed to a halt again. This time, her expression softened with exasperation.

"Fiearius, that's exactly it. You fight them, you'll end up in that grave anyway."

"Rather die trying than to have given up," he muttered.

Leta's lips cracked toward a wry, affectionate smile. "I'd rather you didn't die at all."

It was hard to feel anger towards Leta. She wasn't wrong, of course, and he too shared the fears that were driving her. It wasn't anger, no. It was disappointment.

But it was with a half-hearted smile that he muttered, "Well. Now you're just wishful thinking."

Her smile thinned. "It's not a victory if you get killed, Fiearius," she sighed, her eyes lingering on his face before she turned back to the path and headed into the crowd.

Fiearius watched her retreating back and let out a sigh. The Mariah, Dez, the Council, now this? Gods, he needed a drink.

Luckily, just two doors down was a bar, which he walked into casually. It was half-crowded with people, but what Fiearius noticed first was how swanky it was. Dim lighting, glass chandeliers, a shining onyx countertop. Not at all his usual fare, but as long as there was liquor behind the counter, he could care less what shiny red fabric was used to upholster the seats.

He sidled to the bar, sat down and ordered himself a whiskey shot and a can of cheap beer. He took the shot as soon as it was delivered, let the whiskey scald his throat, and thudded it back to the counter. It was then he heard a man's voice at his side.

"Relationship trouble?"

Fiearius glanced over at him absently. The man was older, his hair silver and his face tanned and lined, but he was clearly fit and lean. He wore a sharp jet-black suit and sat up straight, his eyes gazing ahead, a rocks glass of what looked like expensive scotch in his hand.

Fiearius snorted in vague agreement and looked away. "When is a relationship not?"

The man nodded back over his shoulder. "Well, that looked serious."

"Hm?" Apparently their little argument wasn't without its audience. "Oh that? Nah, it's nothin'," he brushed off easily. "We do that all the time."

"That so?" He sounded bemused, directing his gaze into his glass before he took another drink. "I never fought much with my wife."

A brush of annoyance passed over him. Fiearius paused mid-sip to eye the man sideways. There was something oddly familiar about him, like the way he carried himself upright with a certain smugness. Like he knew more than anyone in the room. Had they met before?

"Well," Fiearius remarked at last, deciding he was just being paranoid. "Aren't you fuckin' lucky."

The man took another long drink, then sighed. "Have you been together long then?"

It took a moment for Fiearius to decide the answer to that. Time became rather fuzzy up in space. "Eh, a couple months or somethin'. Not long."

"Seems early to be fighting, then."

Rather than feel offended, Fiearius laughed. "Mate, we've been fightin' since the day we met and never stopped. It's just the way we work. All day, every day. Hell, we even fight in bed."

Fiearius noticed that the man had tightened his hand around his glass, his jaw clenching. Still, his voice was conversational when he added, "Doesn't seem like the best match."

"Nah, doesn't seem that way, does it."

"But you care about her," he prompted.

A smirk spread over his face. "More than I care to admit."

"If you truly do - " The man lifted his head and gazed over at Fiearius, his eyes cold. "Then why wouldn't you listen to what she was saying?"

But at that, Fiearius felt his smirk become fixed. Perhaps they'd been arguing louder than he thought, perhaps people had noticed - but for a complete stranger to pay that much attention?

A red flag lifted in the back of his head.

"Look, you seem like a nice guy, as far as guys who sit in bars and commiserate about relationships with strangers go," he said sharply. "But that? That's none of your godsdamned business." He raised his brows at the man, indicating this conversation was over and turned back to his drink.

And for a moment, Fiearius thought it was. Silence fell between them, until -

"But she's right," said the man after a moment. "Bounty hunters flood this port."

The hair on the back of Fiearius' neck was tingling. He felt himself straighten up, ready for wherever this was going. "If I wanted your opinion I would have asked for it."

"But you're willing to put her in danger, aren't you?"

"Don't think for one second I can't protect my crew."

"While you sit here at a bar?" he pressed. "Don't you know how easy it would be for someone to just take her away from - "

Fiearius shot up to his feet, suddenly flooded with adrenaline. He seized the man's collar and dragged him closer until they were face to face.

"Is that a fucking threat?" he breathed. "Listen you son of a bitch, I don't know what he's paying you, but I guarantee it's not worth crossing me. You go anywhere near her, I will happily rip you to shreds, dump the pieces off that balcony and watch the blood splatter eight decks down." He shoved the man back toward his seat, breathing hard. "And you can tell those other bounty hunting shits the same," he added, stepping back toward the door. He had to go find Leta. Now.

The man did not look shocked. He did not look scared or even alarmed. He pushed himself back up to his feet, his eyes sharp, expression darkened with anger.

"I'm not a goddamn bounty hunter," he growled, and suddenly Fiearius realized what was so familiar about him. "I'm her father."

As he lingered in the back of the shop, Cyrus turned the hefty metal casing over in his hand to look at the price tag. What he saw made him grimace. That much? For such an innocuous little device? It almost didn't seem worth it. But it would fix that clattering problem the Beacon was having.

And after all Addy had been doing for him lately, helping with the huge influx of consulting work he had coming his way, it only seemed right he could do her such a simple favor. She deserved it. And he had sought out this particular machine shop at the very top of the port specifically to buy it for her. He had to get it, no matter the cost.

But before he could make a final decision, suddenly there was a voice behind him. He jumped in surprise. He hadn't even thought there was anyone else in here.

"You got a 500V?"

He turned around. The young woman was about an inch taller than him, with thick auburn hair pulled into a ponytail high on her head. She smiled at him kindly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya. I was just lookin' at that part in your hand and assumed you must have one. That thing only works in the 500's."

"Oh," said Cyrus blankly. Awkwardness washed over him. He'd never been good at talking to pretty girls, let alone pretty girls he didn't know. Hurriedly, he looked away from her and down at the part in his hand. "Yeah. It does. But oh. No. I don't have one." He laughed once. "It's for a friend."

The woman nodded. Her eyes moved away, her attention started to drift and though he didn't know why (seriously, why did he care?), he found himself suddenly striving to get it back.

"I wish I had a 500 though," he blurted, internally kicking himself for being so pathetic. Are you really that starved for female attention? he asked himself. "My friend's is-well, working on it is a dream, specially compared to my own ship."

"Oh yeah?" She actually looked interested. "What do you have?"

"It's a-uh-TRC 203?" She tilted her head in confusion. "Yeah, I know, it's kind of obscure. No one really flies them anymore. For good reason. You'd know it if you saw it though. Big old rusty thing parked up on deck 42? Can't miss it, it's an eyesore."

She nodded thoughtfully, but now she was eying him with a certain intensity Cyrus couldn't quite place.

"Big crew?" she asked.

"Eh, not really. A captain, an engineer, a doctor, cook, some six or seven hands."

"And they're not here with you?"

Cyrus frowned. What a strange question. "Mm, nope. They're all out doing their own errands I think. We were running low on rations."

And then things just got stranger. "See, I ask 'cause I could really use a doctor. You said you had one right? D'ya know where she is? I'd love to talk to her."

A frown creased Cyrus' brow. He had never mentioned that the Dionysian's doctor was a 'she.' A spark of panic started to rise in him but he somehow managed to suppress it as he answered, "I don't know, I'm afraid."

"Shopping for groceries you said?" she pressed on. "Or do you think she's back at the ship by now? Deck 42?"

Now that panic was raging like a fire. Still, he just shrugged helplessly. "Sorry, I really have no idea." And then a seed of bravery. "But I know the port has a med station. Maybe you could check that out. Deck 20."

The woman eyed him one moment longer, her eyes growing cold.

Finally, she muttered, "Hmm yeah. Maybe I'll head there." She looked him up and down once before remarking, "Thanks," and sauntering from the shop.

Which was the precise moment when Cyrus gave way to his panic. He dropped the part onto the shelf, rushed towards the backroom, as far away from the woman as he could get, and pressed the button on his COMM.

"Does your daughter know you're here?" asked Fiearius, his voice strained with desperation. He dropped his forehead into his palm and stared at the man to his side. Now that he knew, he noticed all the resemblances: the man had a thick Vescentian accent. Leaf-green eyes like Leta's, though his lacked the usual brightness. And an even icier demeanor than his daughter.

Adler raised a finger to the bartender to refresh his drink. Then he said coldly, "Of course she doesn't. I reach out to her only when absolutely necessary. Anything else will put her in needless danger." He shot him a rather pointed look, rather like Fiearius was the definition of needless danger.

"And you found us...how exactly?" Fiearius prompted slowly.

Adler snorted into his drink, full of bitterness. "You really think I don't keep close tabs on her? I've been tracking you since Archeti. Which was one of the most foolish moves I've ever witnessed. Even from you."

Fiearius' mouth inched toward a humorless smile. "Again with the unwanted opinions. So are you here just to ream me for everything you think I'm doing wrong, or what?"

"I didn't intend to speak with you now, or ever, if possible," he said in a clipped tone, tilting his glass toward his mouth. "But now that you're here, I can ask you exactly why the hell you thought it would be safe to dock your ship at one of the busiest ports on this side of the span."

"Because I'd much rather the Dionysian be one of a thousand docked ships than one of eight," said Fiearius darkly, not particularly in the mood to explain himself to this man. "We fly under a false flag and hide in plain sight. It's what we've always done. It's what we'll keep doing. Worked so far."

"If I can track your ship, so can anyone else." Adler put his drink down with a heavy thud. "And as of now there are new threats. I don't care how clever you think you are with your 'tactics' - you're putting Leta in danger."

"Well sorry, buddy, but we needed fuel. And this port was the safest bet, all there is to it. Don't know what you expect me to do."

"Not leave her wandering alone, for a start."

"She can take care of herself, y'know. She knows how to use a gun. She doesn't need me nor want me to babysit her."

"No one's doubting her abilities," Adler snapped, his gaze thinning dangerously.

Fiearius frowned. Well, he couldn't exactly expect Leta's father to like him, but even this felt unfair.

"So what's your deal anyway?" he asked suddenly, veering the conversation away from how incompetent he apparently was. "Last I heard, you were helping bust me out of HQ in Paradiex. Which I suppose I should thank you for, by the way."

"Don't fool yourself." Adler nearly smiled. "I didn't do it for you."

"I never assumed otherwise," Fiearius muttered. "Still - that's an act of high treason. Yet I know there's a nice thick librera somewhere under that suit that cost more than my ship. So tell me. Whose side are you on anyway?"

Adler glanced at him in annoyance, as if he were a pesky fly. "No one's side."

A generic answer, and not one Fiearius found satisfying. "I don't buy that. If you were at all loyal to them still," he muttered, "wouldn't you have just turned around and given me back to the Council again? I'm sure I'd be a nice bargaining chip in getting your daughter out of their minds."

To Fiearius' shock, Adler said simply, "Yes, I've attempted making that deal. You for her safety. The Council wasn't interested in the negotiation."

Somewhat stunned, Fiearius moved his eyes away. "Okay. I stand corrected. I guess you are still with them…"

With a snarl in his voice, Adler said, "I would never work for the Society again. Ever. Not after what they've done to my wife and threatened to do to my daughter."

The comment was so swift and biting, Fiearius almost missed it. Almost. After a moment, he swung his eyes back to him. "Hang on - your wife?"

But Adler had gone suspiciously quiet. He was holding his glass near his lips - it was shaking slightly in his hand.

Meanwhile, Fiearius was stunned. Leta had told him her mother had died when she was sixteen. Of an accidental overdose. Mixed medications. A mistake. A tragic mistake. But now -

"The Society killed her?" Fiearius breathed, hoping to the gods this was untrue.

But to Fiearius' horror, Adler muttered, "You can't tell her," and downed the rest of his glass and swallowed. It occurred to Fiearius, suddenly, that this man must have had a drinking problem. How else could he bear to keep secrets like this from his daughter?

"Leta doesn't know," he muttered darkly. "She doesn't need to. Don't tell her a goddamn thing about it - "

"No way. I'm not going to be the one who keeps secrets like that from her."

"I'm certain you keep plenty from her. Just add this to the list. This is for her own good. Her own well-being - "

Fiearius opened his mouth, angry and prepared to argue, but a voice arrived in his ear. It was Cyrus over the COMM.

"Hey," said Cyrus, his voice coming in over the static. Fiearius touched the piece in his ear, annoyed by the interruption.

"So. I'm in this store. And this woman came up to me and started talking to me about ships and-"

"Cy, aren't you a little old to be asking for flirting advice?" Fiearius growled. He could feel Adler watching him closely.

"No no no, it wasn't that - " Cyrus went on. "No, she started asking me questions. Weird questions." He hesitated. "About Leta."

Fiearius' eyes widened and at once, he looked to Adler. They met each others' stares for only a moment, both understanding exactly what needed to be done: find Leta. And quickly.

Adler only paused to slide a stack of credits onto the countertop before he too stalked from his seat and the two of them fled for the door. Without even speaking, they headed their separate ways: they'd cover more ground that way.

As he ran down the hallway, he pushed his COMM. "Cy. What did she look like?"

It wasn't exactly her favorite errand, but anything to help Amora, Leta thought, as she stood in the aisle of a grocery store, regarding a mammoth-sized wall of canned goods. Hopefully, volunteering for the re-stocking job would prevent Amora from asking more nosey questions about her love life. ("You don't actually like the captain, do you, dear?" she inquired worriedly that morning over breakfast.)

Just as Leta picked a can from the shelf, a friendly voice chimed in her ear.

"I'd go with the blue label," said the woman behind her, tilting her head to the side. Her auburn ponytail swung sideways in a friendly kind of way. "Doesn't spoil as quick."

"Oh - really?" said Leta warmly. "I don't know anything about cooking. So thanks."

"Anytime."

Leta piled a few cans in her arm, and the woman continued.

"Sure as hell, keeping food stocked is a problem we all face out here, huh? Ain't easy to make it to port that often."

"No, it's really not," Leta agreed, and she was just leaving the aisle when she sensed the woman following on her heels.

"You been a spacefarer long?"

Leta spared her a short, sideways look. "Not long, no."

"It took me a long time to get used to the food," the woman laughed. "That, more than anything. You miss bein' on-planet?"

The woman was still following at her side. Her warning instincts were kicking in, so Leta purposely veered toward the front, the busier part of the store.

In an indifferent voice, she said, "Sometimes."

"I miss it every day," the woman went on, unphased. "The food, the stability, all of it … " Suddenly, she stepped forward and cut in front of Leta, her eyes gazing hard onto her face. "But - duty calls."

Leta stopped short, suddenly on guard.

The woman's hand moved to her hip - to retrieve a weapon? - but then, a tremendous crash filled the store. In a flash, a bottle of liquor had slammed against the back of the woman's head, her eyes slid out of focus, and she dropped to the ground at Leta's feet. Patrons screamed around them and the cans dropped out of Leta's arm in shock.

It was Fiearius. Of course. He stood there with the unbroken neck of the bottle in his hand over his head, and his expression looked, actually, somewhat guilty.

"My mother always said not to hit people smaller than me," he muttered, his eyes on the woman. But then he looked up at Leta. "We need to get out of here, c'mon."

He dropped the bottle's handle, seized her wrist and turned for the door, yelling "Sorry about that!" over his shoulder to the owner. Patrons rushed out of their way as Leta darted after him, shocked but somehow still unsurprised by what had just occurred.

She knew she was being closely followed. This simply confirmed it.

"That woman," Leta called, "was she a - "

"Yep!" called Fiearius.

"Here?"

"Looks that way."

"Are there more?"

"Probably!"

One hand still circled around her wrist, Fiearius stalked through the sea of people, parting the crowd for them. His other hand jumped to the device in his ear. "Attention Dionysian crew. Code green. Get back to the ship for immediate take-off!"

"I'm not going to say I told you so," said Leta darkly, throwing Fiearius a haughty look, which he returned with a small, wry grin.

Together they crested a flight of stairs to get to the docking area. It was only when they'd made it to the Dionysian's ramp that Fiearius finally let go of her hand.

Confused crew members filled the cargo bay, readying for take-off, including Cyrus, who looked pale and tremendously relieved to see them.

"Seal her up," Fiearius ordered as he marched past toward the bridge. Cyrus quickly went to the door controls, and Leta crossed over the room to help him - but something over her shoulder caught her attention, and she wheeled around.

Far away in the bustling sea of people Leta saw a flash of gray hair, a stiff black suit, and an aged, familiar face gazing straight at her. His expression was sullen. She only had a few seconds to see him before the ramp doors closed, sealing them inside.

Her heart was beating hard. Shock electrified her veins. Her father?