A/n: Yay! Finally worked up the motivation to write another chapter. Not quite as pleased with this chapter as with the first one, but am getting the storyline to progress, so yay. Thanks to those who reviewed.

Christophe pushed himself to a sitting position in the hospital bed. "Really, Aran, I'm fine." He felt a twinge across his shoulder, and winced.

"Sure you are," Cortes muttered. He was staring down at his brother with a frown. Either he was concerned or trying to conceal anger, Christophe was unsure which.

Christophe had been unconscious until shortly after their arrival at Puerto Angel. Apparently, the Vector had given him something to keep him out. It was a blessing, on more than one level. Unconscious for his arrival – how could he be expected to know the location of Puerto Angel?

"The doctor says you'll be able to leave this afternoon," Cortes grumbled. "I suppose I can sleep on the sofa."

Christophe nodded, then paused and shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. Keep your bed…"

Cortes raised an eyebrow. "You're sure? I can't imagine it'd be very comfortable with your injuries…"

Christophe shrugged, forcibly hiding the pain the movement actually cost him. "I've been shot before, Aran."

A scowl crossed Cortes' face. "Shot maybe. Not nearly burnt alive…

Christophe rolled his eyes. "You're exaggerating."

"What did you say happened again?" his brother snapped.

He'd asked the question five or six times already. Christophe was certain he was trying to catch him out in a lie. He hadn't, of course. Here Christophe could tell the truth. "A Brig shot me. When I came to, the warehouse was burning around me. I managed to get out, just barely." He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing an arm wrapped in bandages. "I wasn't really worrying about getting burnt when my only exit was a flaming door." He pulled the sleeve back down gingerly. "But I told you this already."

"I know," Cortes growled. He sat down on the hard wooden chair at the side of Christophe's bed. He didn't quite meet his brother's gaze.

"But you don't believe me, do you?"

Cortes looked up sharply, then dropped his gaze again. "It's a little difficult to," he grumbled. "The only other… survivor we found said you brought the Sphere there."

"You told me what that boy said… he said someone that looked like me…" Christophe trailed off. He'd thought this through for the last couple of days. Up until now he'd completely denied any knowledge of what the poor kid had been talking about. Aran knew his first instinct was to lie. So Christophe had. Now, he was going to tell his brother the 'truth.'

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes briefly. "He probably did mean me, Aran."

Cortes looked up at him, his eyes narrowing. "What did you do, Christophe?"

"I didn't bring them there, I swear! They were coming anyway. Water inspections, or something. But I did do business with them when they arrived."

"What sort of business? If you in any way caused this…"

"I didn't! God, I hope I didn't. I… look, I don't have the Callisto anymore. I didn't even have enough money for food. I had two leftover canisters of Xcelarium. I was going to sell them, and then that would be the last time. I was going to use the money to buy some rundown ship parts and fix them up… and go from there." He paused, and drew in a breath. "But after they'd taken a look around the bloc, they decided they'd been hoarding water and burnt the whole village down."

Christophe snuck a look up at his brother. He still looked angry. He wouldn't be happy about the Xcelarium. But he appeared less so than before.

"I wouldn't put that past the Sphere," Cortes eventually growled, shaking his head.

"Aran, what reason would I have to lead the Sphere to that bloc? If I did anything that caused them to…" He felt his voice catch in his throat and turned away. This emotion was real and unplanned. He felt a shudder across his shoulders as he tried to gain control. He had to convince Aran…

Christophe felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Chris, I know what the Sphere is like. It would not have been your fault. They would've decided that bloc's fate before they even arrived. But you don't need to sell the Sphere Xcelarium. If you want to start some sort of legitimate business you can stay on Puerto Angel as long as you need to to get back on your feet."

Christophe looked up and forced a smile. "Thanks, Aran."

Cortes cleared his throat and shifted his hand away. "Just don't let me catch you doing anything dodgy…" he muttered. "Look…" His gaze softened. "I know how much you loved the Callisto. And you blew her up for me. It's the least I can do."

Christophe sighed and shook his head. "It was only a ship, Aran."

Christophe stared up at the ceiling, watching a solid edged moonbeam appear and disappear as the room's curtain swayed silently in the night breeze. He felt tired, despite all the sleeping he'd done in Puerto Angel's hospital. But he would not allow himself to fall asleep. His time in the hospital had given him a few days to deliberate on his options. Ha, sure, like he had options! He could wait no longer. He was well enough, and by now the residents of Puerto Angel would be sound asleep.

Quietly, Christophe eased himself out of the sofa. He squeezed his eyes tight and rubbed his shoulder. Yeah, Aran had been right. But he had not chosen the sofa for its comfort. He had wanted the advantage of being able to sneak out without waking his brother.

As he'd expected, Puerto Angel was all but silent. He only saw one light still burning on his way to the Saint Nazaire.

Christophe eased himself into the chair in front of the pirate ship's central computer console. The layout was just like the Callisto; he would have no trouble quickly finding what he needed.

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a disk. He frowned at it and then, after first stealing a glance over his shoulder, inserted it into the softly humming machine. The program the tiny piece of hardware contained immediately went to work. Within moments, Christophe had access to the computer's hard drive. Unauthorised access should have immediately set off alarm bells, but the algorithm on the disk had convinced the computer that this invasion of its hard drives was perfectly legitimate.

The search turned up some files detailing an attack the pirates were planning on a Sphere water carrier route, as well as some communication codes. Of course, Christophe didn't really expect Cortes would be foolish enough to keep extremely sensitive information on the Saint Nazaire. It was the reason he had decided to first attack the ship's computers.

Christophe drew in a breath. "Please let this be enough…" The information would deal a big enough blow to the pirates. They would not expect their plans to be known; they relied far too heavily on the element of surprise.

Christophe paused, gritting his teeth as his hands hovered over the computer's controls. For now, only he saw the information. All it would take was the push of a button…

Christophe pressed a control. The data began to transmit. Tiny, individual data packets flew off into cyberspace, irretrievable. Christophe dropped his head into his hands, blocking out the glow from the screen.

He sat like that for a few moments, knowing the program would complete the transfer without his input. Pretending it wasn't.

A sound. Christophe's head snapped up and his eyes darted around. A steady clanking sound reached his ears, growing louder. Footsteps on metal deck plating.

"Hello?" Mahad poked his head around the door, surveying the Saint Nazaire's bridge. He was certain he had heard a sound, but he calmed; it was only the computer. He stepped onto the bridge, still trying to be silent and looked around.

The computer filled the bridge with a soft blue glow. All was still, save for the chair at the central console spinning slowly.

"Cheng! Are you on the computer this late?"

Curiosity got the better of him and Mahad stepped over to the screen.

A blue progress bar was on the screen. It rapidly filled and emptied as individual operations were completed. A transmission. At two AM? With no one around?

Mahad's heart leapt and he slammed a palm down on the console, aborting the transmission.