Ten years ago…

"Murderer," they whispered.

"Traitor's daughter," they growled.

"It is because of your father that so many people died," they hissed.

For a long time Yalena of Yardeen did not understand why she was so hated. She'd come to the harem with high hopes that her mother had built up after her father had gone missing. She had wanted for nothing before… before her father left on frequent tense meetings, spoke a language Yalena didn't understand, argued with ministers and advisors in the downstairs rooms. He'd left with a pale smile one morning, and everything had changed. Overnight, the milk went sour. Beloved things in the house were taken, and she and her mother no longer lived in the big rooms. Her new room had been in the east tower, which she knew had fantastic views of the rose gardens, but she had no windows to look out of in the basement.

For a couple weeks, every other day she had snuck into the aviary where her birds were now roosting and stroked their feathers while they sat and cooed. Then her pets had flown away and her mother told her she would be moving to another planet. Yardeen will always be your home, her mother had said, but you will live in the Empress's house now.

She had not expected such a beautiful place to be so cruel.

She made no friends, not really. There were only people who were kind to her, as she tried to be nice, harboring no ill will towards anyone. Khlyen was as close to a friend as she had, he was her guardian, her angel who brushed away all worries and fears, and she strove to please him as she had pleased her father with her music and her birds. Khlyen wanted knives and fists, but it really was no different. She had always been intended as a weapon.

When Cilla the ivory girl with golden hair— really the prettiest of all the younger girls in the harem, even if she was common— learned something about Yardeen in her history lesson, she took it upon herself to tell Yalena why she had been abandoned in the Harem.

"Your father let his people be massacred. He lead his people to their death." Cilla stood with her arms crossed on her flat chest, wearing a long violet gown which showed off the delicate skin of her neck and arms. She had her two friends beside her, girls who were of a higher social rank, just above Yalena's, but lacking all of Cilla's charisma.

"There was no war," Yalena said in confusion. "He didn't lead his people to die."

"He surrendered to the Empress without telling them. When the Empire arrived to accept Yardeen into their imperium, they treated it as an invasion and were wiped out." She sneered at Dutch. "So many people were killed they said that every third child became an orphan."

Khlyen had given her strict orders: never use anything she learned from him on anyone he had not asked her to kill. But still she squeezed her fists tightly and imagined beating the shit out of Cilla— smug, beautiful Cilla who was always the favorite of the Harem tutors and guards. Cilla was indulged where Yalena was not, no matter how hard she worked or how nice she was. Resentment burst out of her, Yardeen and her old life were gone.

"You're a liar!" she shouted.

"No, I'm not. Ask anybody."

Gods, she looked so pleased with herself. Cilla would do anything to take the star pupil down a peg.

Yalena then turned to a guard whose name she knew at the time but would forever after be unable to recall.

"Is it true?" Yalena's voice was hoarse.

The guard had been standing there the entire time, but it took her a moment to reflect on what she'd heard before she answered. The pine-green-swathed guardswomen frequently tuned out the innocuous conversations of the children and young ladies who were not yet marriageable. Unless there was a threat, or there was something to spy for, there was no point.

"Yes," was all she said.

To Yalena it felt like her world had collapsed. Any further jabs delivered by Cilla and her cronies fell upon deaf ears, and Yalena found herself kneeling on the carpet, stirred to life only by the changing of the guard some time later. The apothecary's girl came to her then, it must have been an hour or so later, as the sun had moved but little, chasing the shadows only a fraction across the room.

"So they told you," she said.

Yalena nodded.

"Would you like something for the pain?"

Yalena hadn't even known what to call the hollowness that become a gaping maw inside her, but her lips began to wobble, and tears fled her eyes. She nodded again.

The apothecary's girl crawled with her into a curtained nook. She opened her palm to display a small box, dainty and gilt. Not the most precious thing Dutch had seen, but certainly having a prettiness that appealed to her. She was told to open her mouth, which she did, and a small pinch of something was placed under her tongue. They embraced one another in their sorry lot, lying side by side, staying in the cozy hiding place until the moons had risen and the stars were whispering their night music, then they crawled out and snuck into the Spring Garden. It had been a few weeks since Yalena had been out here, but it was even more beautiful than she remembered. With the spirits flowing in her veins, she heard the voices of every star, and every rock orbiting each of them. The solar winds that buffeted the planets were like string instruments, the rotations and revolutions were like solemn clarinets. She cried— it was so beautiful— and it consumed her.

When Khlyen next saw her for their lesson, he found she hadn't been to a single class with her tutors, and had not practiced a single maneuver he'd taught her. It took him two more visits to realize what had happened her, and took her the rest of the year to cure her of her addiction.

In the present…

"Holy shit!"

D'avin woke to find Johnny's looking down on him, mouth dropped open and standing stock-still. Footsteps came running down the hall, and Dutch entered the room breathless.

"By the trees, D'avin," Johnny said more softly. "You came back?"

There was no answer D'avin could give, he felt, that would be sufficient. Of course, he might have said, but the ability to speak seemed to have left him. His brother hugged him, which once would have been unthinkable, and D'avin cried, which he would have thought he was no longer capable of.

Dutch sat on the bed beside them and gently stroked D'avin's back. She was still gorgeous, battle-scars and all. She didn't move to hug him however, and it stung a little, but smelling her again he remembered the fight for her life, and what had preceded it. So when she only offered her hand, he accepted that this was all he would get.

He also believed this was all he deserved.

"Where were you?" Dutch asked. "Were you on Arkyn? It's the only bloody place we didn't look in this damn system."

"Does it matter?" D'avin wanted to know. "I'm here now."

Johnny and Dutch exchanged a look.

"How did you escape?" Johnny asked.

"D'avin, did they let you go?" Dutch asked, a bit more forcefully.

The silence in the room stretched for a long time before he spoke.

"Yes," D'avin said. He looked away to avoid seeing their disappointment.

"Excuse me, did you hear what I said?" Najik's voice vibrated against the metal surface of the table as Dr. Reed removed her comm-piece and laid it down.

Dr. Reed sighed. She was a patient person. She was odd, and she knew it, but she could take most of the shit dished at her by assistants and gofers whose bosses' power had gotten to their heads. Soldiers came and went, but she belonged to Red 17. She'd inherited this project and made it her own. When things came to a head, she knew where she belonged, she knew where she was going. So Dr. Reed was patient. But Najik had trademarked a particular brand of vexation and Dr. Reed needed a break.

"Dr. Reed!" This was Khlyen on the comm now, so she quickly picked the piece up and pulled back thick, black hair to stick it back in her ear.

"Yes, here." She was only breathless because she did not want to lose this job. Najik was nothing, but Khlyen made himself powerful.

"We have a situation, can you access an operative in the field and assess him?"

"Of course." She got up quickly to turn on the visual communication feed and immediately recognized the man staring into his handheld device.

"Mr. Lee!" She smiled brightly. "I hear you're not doing well?"

In fact, Mr. Lee looked too pale, his skin was moist from sweat, and his eyes were a little red.

"I'm having trouble with the… the…"

Quickly, Dr. Reed checked the stats from his neuroradiotransmitters and frowned. His brain was reading at a higher temperature than it should be, though it was only a fraction of a degree, but he had metal in there that conducted heat well, making him sensitive to even the slightest change. He had a fever and more than that, his neurons were cooking in his skull.

"Mr. Lee, how are you sleeping?" Dr. Reed looked back to the video feed. "Mr. Lee, what happened?"

"I'm having nightmares." Mr. Lee licked his lips and his eyes looked franticly at things the camera could not see. "I'm having trouble ignoring things when I need to doze off, so I toss and turn, but I don't get tired. I get sucked into the conversation my downstairs neighbor is having with her hokk bottles."

"What happened when you tried to link up? Was there a problem?"

"I live above a sexer," Mr. Lee continued, not answering her question. "They don't call them that on Qresh, but they exist. They're just as noisy here, too."

He really didn't look good, but Dr. Reed was not only patient, she had good bedside manner, so she didn't let her panic show on her face. His avoidance had less to do with her and more to do with the malfunctioning hardware.

"Mr. Lee, do you want to come in for a check-up?" She asked.

"Huh?" It took a while for him to refocus.

"I'm concerned about you, Mr. Lee. I'd like you to come back to the base and get a full evaluation, and do a de-brief at that time."

He closed his eyes, the heaviness of his situatio weighing on his brow, but he nodded his head with a sigh.

"Okay." She loaded up her data pad and began protocols to retrieve Mr. Lee without betraying their situation. "You will rendezvous as laid out in the retrieval plans." Selecting somethig else with her index finger, she doubled tapped and looked to Mr. Lee expectantly. He nodded again and she knew he'd recieved the info.

"See you soon," she said.

"Thanks, doc." He sounded relieved.

The air was always cool in the lab in which Dr. Reed worked. Khlyen didn't mind the cold these days, but he was aware of it, and when Najik followed him in, she shivered a minute and a half into their meeting. He didn't offer his jacket because she wouldn't accept it and because that wasn't their relationship. She crossed her arms and did her best not to shiver again.

Dr. Reed was taking her time examining the Rack agent they called 'Fancy' Lee. He was dozing off, but constantly waking back up in that way that he once had to learn how to shut off. Fancy wasn't that kind of man. He sat with his proverbial back to the wall, no one snuck up on him. Except this time they had, and he'd been too stubborn to see it coming.

"Mr. Lee." Dr. Reed placed a hand on Fancy's in a comforting gesture. "You need to sleep. I can override your sensitivity to the enhancements for a while, to dull the noise, but you'll need to learn to control it yourself. If you can't 'turn it off' you'll risk serious brain damage."

On some level it bothered Khlyen how familiar Dr. Reed was with the agents who came through Red 17. She knew all of them by name and took each loss personally. True, she had also coached Khlyen though his own prototypical adaptation, he knew how those healing hands were a balm to sooth the darkness, but he saw the risk that posed. She wasn't like any of her subjects, she'd never know how dangerous her humanity was. Khlyen was also thankful there was someone who at least appeared maternal to the recruits, her position was more like a zookeeper who loved her job, though.

"But first, we need to debrief." Khlyen stepped forward, and Najik followed a pace behind.

Fancy's usual swagger was easily picked up again, he shook his head ruefully, turning away to then present them with a mocking smile. "Of course, how could I forget." He began to get dressed again— he did dress very well, Khlyen had to give him that.

"We can do it with a wire override if you prefer." Najik hastily got out the contraption she'd plucked from Khlyen's desk before they left his office. It was useless, but Fancy didn't know that. He blanched, which was her intended effect.

"No, I'll tell you what I saw on Leith."

Dr. Reed withdrew with her data pad, though she was still within earshot.

"True Leithians are riding on the high of the Company's attack, they want to strike while they think Qresh is weak. But not all agree, they think that the Company will be expecting retaliation."

Najik sighed roughly, exasperated and glared at Khlyen a bit too openly.

"Well, I could have told you that."

He'd have to punish her later.

"Go on, Fancy." Khlyen said.

"Leithians don't want Westerlyns moving onto their moon, but many are sympathetic. Who knows what aid they might be willing to send…" He trailed off.

"Any rumors?" Khlyen asked.

"Worries." Fancy shrugged his vest on over his shirt, but before buttoning it thought better and took it off again. Saying, as if to himself, "No, I'll be sleeping here tonight."

"Fancy. You said there were worries?"

"Worries that the next retaliation will be against the Leithians who always supported the rebellion of the moons." Fancy sat down a little wearily. "There is a worry that Leith will spill blood soon. No one there wants that."

Khlyen exchanged a look with Najik.

"That'll do, Fancy. Thank you. We'll let you rest now."

Fancy nodded and turned back to Dr. Reed who directed him to a cot behind a screen. She let him sit before checking his scalp, and Khlyen and Najik turned away.

"What do you suspect?"

"No one knows enough to be a problem."

She still looked worried however.

"Don't you start. I'll keep the pawns in play. We just need to keep an eye on our Queen."

"And the King?"

"On the way." Khlyen smiled.

"What does it mean that Khlyen let him go?" Johnny whispered.

D'avin was standing on the other-side of the wall. He had cleared his mind of all errant thought, pushing the machine noises away and could even hear the creak of the floor beneath their feet as they paced, talking about him.

"How am I supposed to know?" Dutch hissed.

"Because you were his pupil for the better part of two decades."

D'avin himself wasn't sure what to make of his resurrection. He'd noticed how different he felt now, though it was harder to compare with each day that passed. He still found the same jokes funny, still burped the same way after a meal, but it was like he got a split second extra time to consider if he wanted to laugh or burp. He could focus, take in more and truly understand the small signals that he encountered everyday in a way that was innate. He felt thoroughly 'other'.

He had to make a conscious effort to stop eavesdropping and went to the lounge for a drink.

Alvis was sitting on the couch, the sleeping child's head on his lap. He looked up when he heard the door.

"I need to get going soon," Alvis said, unprompted. Yet this, too, D'avin understood: Alvis was unneeded here, had a revolution to attend to. "Just waiting for Fi to wake up," Alvis said.

D'avin nodded because he felt he was supposed to. The child in his lap was obviously 'Fi'.

"You ever feel like you're not in control?" D'avin asked.

Alvis' head snapped up. "What, like fate?"

"No, like…" but he didn't finish the thought. He wasn't sure he wanted to voice his misgivings and worries.

Fi woke soon after. After Alvis had given her a glass of juice, he went to say bye to the others. Fi drank mutely and gave D'avin an uncanny stare she'd probably learned from the monk. When Alvis returned he smelled more strongly of Johnny and D'avin saw he was wearing borrowed clothes, and didn't look at D'avin for more than a second. "Good luck," was all he said.

After D'avin had settled down in bed that night and the ship was quiet, Johnny came to Dutch's room and knocked very softly on the door. He didn't announce himself, but she let him in. Who else could it be?

She met his eyes but didn't say anything, ghosts still haunted her in those dark brown eyes.

"Dutch," he said, the door slipping shut behind him.

She looked away, and he was compelled to come close. He felt the familiarity in this, the want and need to comfort his friend. It was a brittle feeling.

"I'm going to help the Westerlyns get their freedom."

"How?"

He shrugged his shoulders and huffed a little sigh. "I believe in Alvis. They trust him, I can't help but trust him, too."

She smiled, a shadow of herself again. "He's a good man, Johnny. I guess you found that out eventually."

He was not surprised, but embarrassed by the slight blush that snuck up then. It had taken him a long time for him to realize something important about Alvis, and she'd let him take his time. She had his back despite all. Even if she'd been an asshole recently.

"What about you?" He asked.

There she looked away again, this time to her crossed legs on the soft blue cotton-weave blanket. He sat down and covered her fidgeting fingers with her own.

"Who can we ask?"

She didn't look at him, and it was a little foreign to him to be so brash, but he gently coaxed her chin up with his hand, her eyes were lidded, and slow to look up.

"Are we okay, Johnny?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. But his ribs ached, bruises itched where they were still fresh. He knew she felt the same, but… "I'll always have your back, you beserker."

She smiled, and pushed his hands away.

"I need to know why. I can't let him go again, not after what he did to D'avin." Her stare was unflinching. "I need to know why he chose me."

Johnny nodded and was all in. "Of course."

And the days pass…

The first and only time Pawter had been in withdrawal was during the last black rain storm, and she'd gone onto some shitty quality Jakk. Her final dose as a free woman was divine. Now she was on an increasingly meager dose, and frequently irritable. She couldn't complain, really. Though the first controlled dose had been like an insult in its potency, teasing her with not enough sensation and enough aching to make her feel on the brink of death and nothing more, she survived, and she didn't go into shock. Yet everything felt paler and insubstantial and cold. She'd become numb without the drug.

That morning, however, she was sitting in the sun with Yardeeni poetry, an ancient book from a planet she would never visit, waiting for the day's pain to creep up on her. She hadn't been this warm in years, it seemed. She wasn't reading, only glancing at a line now and then, not pushing herself to remember languages she'd once learned while she'd been a Seyah's daughter. It felt like a lifetime ago that she'd lived on this planet, naturally inclined toward a life of luxury, breaking out to study hard in medical school. Still, everything had been more beautiful back then. The last few years of her life were like a fever dream.

When she began to shiver she sighed, laid the book on the spindle table with lace cloth and daisies on it, and pulled the bell cord that would summon a nurse. When the shiver turned into a tremor she laid herself down on her freshly made bed and tried to memorize the room with its plush caramel carpeting, pale blue walls like the sky, and white, cushioned furniture. She gripped the blankets on either side and bit her lip, easily breaking the scab from yesterday's seizure, and blood began to dribble on her chin, into her mouth, and she stared at the contours of the molded ceiling, wanting to focus on the design. Did it repeat? she asked herself. But she could never hold onto it long enough to answer. The nurse had appeared at her side, was tying her fresh, clean curls back, brushing back sweaty hair, and placing a light piece of wood between her teeth as she began to slip away.

Pawter knew what could fix this, and she also knew that if she went cold turkey immediately she would be clean faster, but there was a risk of brain trauma or even worse. Her family could afford to have someone babysit her while she thrashed in a bed, chilled and delirious, and make sure she didn't shatter her teeth or die. Suffering was all she had for a few hours.

The nurse stayed and soothed her, reminding Pawter of the nanny she'd had as a child. When that memory came to her, she knew she'd passed most of the agony. She took the wood out of her mouth herself, tasting the dry metal of blood on her lips and panting the last of the pain out.

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asked. "There's a tuber soup for lunch today."