Ian's not entirely sure what his plan is here.
Even to his currently addled mind, the idea of committing treason to avoid being accused of it seems nonsensical; he blames the extreme lack of alternative options on the fact that his brain is somehow not making the connections it should, a situation which he presumes has resulted from whatever archaic form of technology dragged him here in the first place. Either way, regardless of his brain's current lack of function, he refuses to just sit back and let his life, his future, get stolen from him. He's not a traitor, and he's got no intention of being dragged back in cuffs and accused of being a deserter either.
He remembers enough of them to know that his family's relying on him doing anything but that.
He takes advantage of the fact that he's slightly more lucid than when he arrived to take stock of his surroundings as his captor marches him back towards the docking bay and his Defender. If he had to guess, he'd say they're somewhere at the back of the ship, although he'd expect to hear the engines if that were the case. Instead, there's just eerie silence broken only by his own even, ordered footsteps and the other man's quicker steps behind him. He can feel the urgency in the speed he's been encouraged into, and he ignores it. He counts his steps as he goes, takes note of the doors and corridors that they pass. It won't take him long to memorise this whole ship, and that can only be to his advantage.
When they arrive down in the docking bay, his steps still carefully measured, they're met by a young woman with long dark hair and a ring through her nose. He gives her a cursory glance, and then while she and her crewmate engage in a terse conversation in a language that's both alien and harsh-sounding to Ian's ears, he gives the docking bay his attention.
It's small, as he'd expect from the scans he'd been able to run before whatever it was had pulled him to wherever they are, and with his own ship taking up more than half the space it's fairly tightly packed. There's three small pods that are probably designed to fit one person on short distance excursions, and in one corner there's another ship covered by a dark blue cloth, only recognisable as more than a pile of scrap metal by the shape that the cloth makes over it. There's a small workstation in the corner opposite, and one of the three pods is clearly under repair.
"Hey," the man says, and Ian turns back to look at him. "Eyes to yourself," he continues. "You got a job to be doing down here and nothing else." There's a suspicious edge to his voice, and Ian takes note of it, reminds himself to be more careful if he hopes to survive this. His initial assessment when they'd first come across the ship's energy signature, that it was probably down-on-their-luck traders trying to make a quick buck, is being quickly reassessed. Everything he's seen so far suggests these guys are much smarter than that, and that they possibly have previous experience running into Alliance patrols.
His silence is apparently taken as acquiescence, because then the other man turns back to the girl and says, "Watch him," to her, that edge still in his voice. "And double check whatever he tells you before you go cutting into shit."
"Here was me intending to give him run of the ship and hang off his every word," she responds drily, and Ian has to resist the urge to laugh, which is a surprising and unfamiliar reaction. "Relax, Mickey. I know what I'm doing. I got it."
'Mickey' nods tersely, and turns sharply on his heel back the way they came. The girl looks Ian up and down twice, and then her eyes settle over his face. He shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, which he guesses is probably her intention, and then finally she nods to herself.
"I'm Mandy," she says, and then waits expectantly for a response. He doesn't give one, and she rolls her eyes. "Suit yourself. Come along, No-Name." She inclines her head towards the Defender, and when he doesn't move she adds an eyebrow raise. "You first," she says, as if that much is obvious.
He moves towards the ship, and he hears her steps behind him, heavy and undisciplined like the other man's had been. He can't figure them out—can't place where they fit. It's too disciplined for pirates, not the right MO for Resistance. This is something…other. Mandy and Mickey he assumes are related, siblings if he had to guess—there's something in their eyes that's too similar to be coincidence, a familiarity between them that suggests years of working to each other's strengths. There must be others here though, even on a small ship like this, and Ian wonders absently how many people there are crewing the ship—he's good, but he's not indestructible. He's going to need to find a way to incapacitate them, once he's figured out how he gets his Defender out.
He leads the way up into the ship, Mandy close behind him, and heads into the cockpit. Someone—he assumes Mandy, given her continued presence—has already had all the maintenance panels off, and he shoots a careful, covert glance up to where the concealed space sits above his comms. It's untouched and that at least gives him a sense of comfort, even if he's not sure how he'll retrieve what he needs from it.
"Well?" she says from behind him. "Let's get going."
He nods, in response, and taps a few commands into the comms panel. "It's still emitting a signal," he says, and she sighs.
"I know that. I need to know where it is so I can disable it."
Ian tenses. He doesn't actually know that part. The whole point of the device is as a deterrent to ensure they don't abscond, and all he really knows is that it's supposed to be strong enough that the Alliance can find you anywhere. No one escapes, or so he's heard.
"You don't know, do you?" she asks, and he sets his jaw, keeps his eyes on the panel. She sighs, and he's convinced that's it, she'll haul him back off the ship and have her brother kill him. Instead, she pats him on the shoulder, and then she says, "Ok, so this is gonna take longer than I thought. What does that do?" She points at the control sequence he's got keyed into the comms, and he looks at her with a frown.
"It's a diagnostic," he says tightly. "I'm hoping it might—"
"Oh! It might give us an idea where to look?" Her eyes light up, her face excited. "Brilliant."
Ian just stares at her in disbelief. "I don't— Why are you doing this?"
She shrugs. "I figure you want to be here even less than we want you here. Doesn't seem right to kill you over an accident of velocity."
Ian frowns. "But you could still just hand me over. You could make some money out of me."
She shoots him a look that's both amused and pitying. "What, you think we're not worth something to a bounty hunter? Think there's not prices on our heads? Bounty hunters are dishonourable pricks. They'd take you and us and save themselves the finder's fee."
Ian has to admit that he hadn't considered that possibility. He's aware that there's supposedly no honour among thieves, but he hadn't realised that mentality might actually extend to Outsiders turning on each other for profit.
"Hey," she says sharply. "Don't think that just because I'm giving you a chance it makes me soft. You put my family in danger and I'll float you out an airlock. Won't even think twice."
The casual way she makes the threat would sound ridiculous, like baseless grandstanding, if not for the barely contained ferocity in her voice, the determined set of her jaw, and Ian doesn't doubt for a second that she'd follow through on it without even blinking.
He has to admit that he admires her for it.
"Understood," he says, and she nods.
"Well, we've got work to do. Let's get to it."
Mickey's been on the control deck for thirty minutes when the engines suddenly roar into life, setting the ship back into its familiar vibrations. He lays his head against the head support and closes his eyes, letting the sensation flow through him, ground him back into his body. He hadn't realised how adrift he'd felt with the engines down, but with them running again he's starting to feel a little more normal, even if his head is still pounding uncomfortably.
Iggy arrives five minutes later, grinning triumphantly, and Mickey turns to greet him. "You got them started?" he asks, and Iggy shrugs.
"Wasn't hard. Mandy told me how."
"You mean Mandy already did most of the work," Mickey says, with a half-hearted laugh that seems to die on his lips.
Iggy laughs, a proper laugh that fills the small space. "Same thing, right? Either way, we're good to go when she gives us the signal."
Mickey nods and settles back into his chair. Iggy takes the other seat and looks curiously at him.
"You doing ok?"
"Terrific," Mickey mutters.
"It doesn't make you like him, you know," Iggy says. "If you wanted to kill that guy. He's just a soldier, Mickey. One of them."
Mickey's not sure which is worse, that he had wanted to kill him—and he had—or that he knew, deep down, that if it had come to it, he wouldn't have been able to do it. He's not sure if even the Mickey Milkovich of five years ago, angry and bitter and fuelled by his father, could have shot a defenceless man in cold blood.
The Mickey Milkovich of today definitely can't.
"Doesn't matter," he says. "Let it play out this way."
"Sure," Iggy says agreeably. "And what next?"
"We trade the shit we risked our asses for," Mickey says. "And then we dump soldier-boy first chance we get."
"You sure about that first part?" Iggy asks carefully. "We got no idea who placed that job. Could be walking into something."
Iggy's not wrong. Mickey's already considered the possibility of an ambush, or a trap, or a dozen other things, but when it comes down to him he's damned if he's not going to get something out of the shitshow this has turned into. All they've got to show for the last twelve hours is an unwelcome passenger and a bag of junk, and as far as he's concerned he's due payment for that bag of junk.
The unwelcome passenger won't be so easy, but that can wait. That's going to require some consideration.
"We'll take it careful," he says, in answer to Iggy's concern. "Usual shit. Scope the place, leave someone here so we can make a quick exit. We did the job, we're damn sure gonna get paid for it."
"I got some people looking into who placed the ad," Iggy says. "Might throw up some info."
Mickey nods. "Good," he says, chewing his lip. "Set up the swap. Make it somewhere we know, if you can. I don't want any surprises."
"Sure thing," Iggy says, his hand-held already out. "Then what, we head to Sveta's and lay low for a while? Let it blow over?"
Mickey shoots him a look. "You forget who we got down in the docking bay? No, we need to ditch him first. No way are we taking him near any of our usual places."
"OK," Iggy sighs, resigned. "Let's just hope we ditch his ass sooner rather than later then."
Mickey can't say he disagrees.
Mandy eventually finds the beacon, buried deep within the engine. Ian's surprised by how impressed he is, how the victorious feeling of shared success burns through him when she emerges from the underside of his Defender with tendrils of hair hanging loose, her face coated with a layer of dirt and grease, and a triumphant glint in her eye.
"Got it," she says. "Now we need to figure out how to disconnect it without fucking up the navigational system."
"Can I see?" he asks, and she nods, sliding out of the way to make room for him. It's obvious now he knows where to look, flashing red and dangerous. His blood runs cold just looking at it, thinking about how this is supposed to go. "Can't you just cut the wires?" he asks, and Mandy shakes her head.
"Not if you want the ship to ever be operational again," she says. "It's hard-wired into the navigational and communications systems—apparently you guys don't like to leave things to chance."
No wonder no-one gets away, Ian thinks. Even if you dismantle the thing, it leaves you crippled and alone, and even if the Alliance don't find you, even if you manage to evade the bounty hunters, you'll be left floating in space until nature does its work.
That had nearly been his fate.
"Ok," he says slowly. "Can we get it out, and leave it operational?"
Mandy frowns. "Maybe? Less connections to deal with, but then it's still sending out a signal?"
"No, I know," he says. "But if we left it transmitting, and put it inside another ship then—"
"It would draw the bounty hunters to its location," she says, realisation dawning. "And give us chance to get far enough away."
He nods, waiting for her agreement.
"Need to check with the others," she says. "Wait." She takes out a small comms device, trapping it between her ear and shoulder while she takes another look in at the beacon. "Mickey," she says, and then continues in that harsh language she and Mickey had used before. He listens anyway, tracks her tone and the time between responses and the eventual agreement she seems to get. "Mickey says to go for it," she says, reverting to the Common Tongue, and then she wastes no time in poking her head back in towards the beacon, a different tool in each hand.
Ian rocks back onto his heels for a minute, considering. So there's others, plural, but Mickey's in charge. He'd assumed as much, but it's good to get confirmation.
"Hey," Mandy says from inside the engine. "Can you go back up to the comms panel and make sure this thing just maintains its signal? Don't want to set anything off."
"No problem," he says, and he heads back up to the cockpit before she can change her mind.
He does check the comms panel first—no change, no change, no change, on every screen—but then he eyes the compartment above. This could be his only chance.
Luckily, he's got plenty of experience removing this thing, even if it is an emergency stash. The panel cover comes off clean, and he retrieves his pack while still keeping an eye on the comms. No change.
Working out how to secrete his shit in his clothing is more difficult—eventually he gets the two vials into the inside pocket of his jacket, and the syringe into his trouser pocket, but that doesn't give him much of a dose. Two weeks, at most. He's going to need to find another solution, if he's not back on base by then. He half-wonders if his source will even resupply without him there, but he dismisses that thought as not helpful. He's got to get back first, after all.
"Any change?" Mandy shouts up, and he leans over to double check as he shouts back that it's all good. By the time she shouts him down, beacon in hand, the panel's back in place as if nothing had ever happened.
"You did it!" he says, genuinely impressed.
She grins. "Luckily, I'm a fucking genius," she says. "Plus, I don't think they planned for this. Guessing they don't train you to think for yourselves?" She pauses, and he stiffens, and she carries on as if she hadn't said anything. "Right, let's get started on Phase Two."
They use the pod that's under repair—"It's a lost cause anyway," Mandy says—and she goes as far as to wire it right into the engine. She says it's just to make sure the trick works, but Ian thinks that at least partly she just likes the challenge.
He's never seen anyone work like she does—the techs back on the base have very strict roles, their areas of knowledge and responsibility clearly defined and restricted. Instead, Mandy seems to instinctively understand engines, to the point that he has no doubt that she could learn his Defender, could learn any ship, could probably improve on them. With that in mind, her third pod seems less a lost cause and more an easy sacrifice, and that says a lot. Whoever else is on the ship, they're all family to Mandy. They're all worth the loss of a project, the abandonment of belief.
When it's done, they take a side each and push it right to the mouth of the docking bay. "We make a good team," Mandy says, as she programs a flight path into the autopilot. "Shame we're on different sides."
Ian barely acknowledges her, not even as the bay doors open and the pod follows its programmed path.
If he's honest, he's thinking the exact same thing.