Christophe swam in a haze. It was dark and warm, comforting. Slowly, light that gained solidity filtered in, and images started to become clear. Along with this he began to hear a background buzz. Voices, he realised. He was in a bar. Was he drunk? Had he passed out? No, he was still unconscious. This must be a dream.

Christophe looked up, surveying the crowd around him. Though most of the faces were slightly fuzzy he could clearly make out a shorter, red headed girl. She was pushing her way through the murmuring crowd with a determined look on her pretty young face. Yes, this was a dream. More specifically, it was a memory.

The girl finally made her way up to the bar and sat herself on the barstool next to Christophe. Her eyes were blazing as she tossed a thick envelope in front of him, nearly spilling over his drink.

"I thought I told you to quit bugging me, lass." It was the same thing he'd said last time. A part of him wanted to play his part differently this time. But despite knowing how the conversation would go, his words remained the same.

"You said you wanted evidence," she said, glaring at the older man. She slapped the envelope. "There it is."

Christophe slowly drained his glass and thunked it down on the bar. "These things can be faked." He gave the envelope a disinterested glance.

"These aren't," the girl insisted. "I didn't just get scientific evidence. There's photos, letters, a necklace, anything I could find… Please, you have to just look!"

"I like you, Emily," Christophe conceded with a sigh. "I even admire you. You're a great trader and once you get on your feet and maybe get a bit older you're going to do really well. But why are you going to this kind of trouble? My ship is a disgrace and I barely make enough money to survive…"

"Just read it!" Emily implored.

He'd felt sorry for her; decided that it was okay for him to humour her. Then, when he'd thoroughly convinced her he was not fooled, perhaps he could show her how to improve her scam so she could try it on someone more unwitting than him. He'd opened the envelope.

In his dream, he did so again. But this time around he knew what it contained. He did not spend the near half hour he had spent pouring over its contents. He knew what was going to happen when he finished, and he did not want to waste a minute.

He looked up at the girl, blinking slowly. "You're not lying…"

"No…" A grin had started to grow across her freckled face.

Christophe saw movement behind her. He stood up sharply. Brigs. This time he knew why they were here. But somehow they still managed to take the young girl in their grasp before Christophe could do a thing.

"Hey, leave her alone…" Christophe took one step forward, but then faltered. He felt himself held back by an invisible force.

A guardian sauntered from behind the Brigs, arm outstretched and glowing, a lopsided smile on his face.

Emily struggled. "You promised me!" she shouted. "You'd let me talk to him a little first. All I wanted was five minutes!"

"Too late for that now," the guardian's deep voice boomed. "I believe he's already figured out you've betrayed him."

"Don't think I can't escape from a guardian," said Christophe, stiffening. "I've done it before."

"Perhaps. But can you escape and save this girl too?"

Emily was fighting back tears now. "I'm sorry, Christophe! They said they'd kill me if I didn't do what they said. But everything I've showed you is true!"

"It is," the guardian agreed. He smiled again. "And that is why, Christophe, you will not try to escape. You will do exactly as we tell you. Stun the girl!"

"Emily!" Christophe jerked awake. Instantly, he realised he'd woken from his dream. But his circumstances were far from favourable. His wrists caught short, yanking him back as he jolted upwards. He was in a hospital bed, tied down. Adrenaline surged. The Sphere? No, they had released him. So to speak.

He caught sight of his brother then. Aran stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, watching Christophe. He was trying to appear disinterested or unemotional. That didn't fool Christophe – he could see the tension across the man's shoulders and folded arms.

Then the memory of his last few conscious moments came flooding back to him. Christophe tugged against the leather cuffs again, but to no avail.

Aran blinked, but gave no other response.

"Aran!" Christophe blurted out when he realised he had no hope of snapping free. "You have to let me go!"

"Now why would I want to do that?" Aran snarled. "So you can try to steal sensitive information again?" He bristled at his own words. "Information that could put every family on this bloc in danger?"

Christophe clenched his fists. "You don't understand!"

"You're damn right I don't!" The anger broke free; snapping through Aran's folded arms so he threw them in the air as he stepped towards his brother. He reined it in, stepping away to face the window instead. His shoulders shuddered. "Selling Xcelerium is one thing. But this… how could you possibly lie to yourself about the consequences of this? Or didn't you even bother?"

Christophe closed his eyes. He had to tell him. He couldn't possibly save her like this. "Every man has his price, Aran," he said softly.

"And what's yours?" his brother spat, still facing the window. "A new ship?"

Christophe gritted his teeth. "Is that what you think? Then why would I blow up the Callisto for you? Some things are more important than hunks of metal, yes, even to me! Like…" he drew in a breath… "case in point… family…"

"What now you're going to tell me you did this for me?"

Christophe could hear his teeth grating. He could not believe his brother's stubborn mindedness. Couldn't Aran believe his motives were pure? No, maybe not pure… but at the very least couldn't he try to find them understandable? He reached into his pant's pocket and scrabbled around, straining against the leather cuff. "No…" His voice caught in his throat. Suddenly he was gripped by the fear that his brother would simply not care. He'd put the entire bloc at risk. Was that family more important to Aran than a blood brother? But he had no other choice.

Aran spun around. "Then what could you possibly be…"

Christophe held out his hand, a rough edged photo clutched in his fingertips.

Aran snatched it away, and surveyed it a moment. What emotions played across his face? For once, Christophe found that he could not tell. Aran's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a thin line. His eyes snapped up to meet Christophe's. "A woman? She couldn't even be half your age…"

"She's my daughter, Aran!"

Aran blinked and his jaw relaxed. He looked at the photo again.

"The Sphere have her… they would have killed her if they didn't get that information. They still could!"

Aran swallowed hard, then turned on his heel and left the room.

"Aran!" It was useless. He knew it. His brother was still disgusted at him. And how could he be anything but? Nothing justified his actions. What he'd done to that bloc… what he'd nearly done to Puerto Angel. But that wasn't Emily's fault.

Christophe let out a frustrated cry and jerked against the cuffs. The outcome was no different than before. He stifled a sob and let himself crash back down onto the bed, chest shuddering. He'd failed.