III. Seddu

If Avan thought the station was grim, the surface of Seddu was worse. Hot and dry and barren, its rocky surface lay stretched out to the horizon in bands of red and grey and dark yellow. It was sunset when they stepped off the elevator that they’d shared with monstrous, empty ore bins and a gaggle of workers, loud and rough and cheerful, looking forward to time on the surface.

Cahill looked about as happy, probably lost in some culinary daydream that Avan was sure would be horribly crushed when they did find some place to eat. “Hooligans,” Avan muttered as the men cleared the debarkation platform and jostled their way through rusty gates and onto a packed strip of earth that passed for a road. Above them the sky was red and violet and gold, with clouds hanging thin and wispy near the horizon.

Avan was glad to have a sky above her. To have air that wasn’t recycled, and even if the Ratatosk’s scrubbers cleaned the recirculated air to within an inch of its life, it wasn’t the same as, real, fresh air. She grinned and Sellis glanced sideways at her.

“Don’t shoot anything.”

“Shut up.” She didn’t put any malice in it, and Sellis laughed, a not quite amused sound that was only almost a chuckle.

Lilaey had a list, and names and addresses, but Avan suspected they went something like, ‘follow the road until you find a building with a roof then go and talk to the guy inside.’ Seddu seemed like the sort of place that might not have an overabundance of establishments that warranted proper addresses. She mentioned it.

“Lots of city-states sprung up from mining,” Cahill said, “So who knows? The place could be a proper desert paradise by now. Like how Helen's Port turned into a resort years back," and she wondered if it was a bad time to accuse him of being an Old Space brain, what with the tension between him and Sellis around that slight matter of original geography.

Cahill probably wouldn’t take it as insult, Avan thought, and grinned again as she watched the sky.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Cahill said. He’d been watching her, probably expecting some sort of verbal jab and maybe a little surprised that it hadn’t come.

Avan was surface born; liked the idea of sleeping with real night-time outside her window and not the default darkness of space or the dimness of the quarters she shared with Lilaey, with the lights of Ratatosk’s common room seeping in around the door. She liked the idea of sky and clouds overhead, and the sound of wind whistling around the edges and corners of buildings and rattling windows. Hopefully, it would rain while they were down here.

The thought of sleep made her realize how tired she was. The only one of them who’d had any sleep in far too long was Marsh, and he looked like he could use about a week’s worth more, sluggish and unsteady and looking a little green around the edges now that he was back on his feet. Now that he was walking.

“Doing alright, Marsh?” Avan stopped to fall in beside him, a little worried that he was having to walk at all, but relieved that he was. She kept her voice low, not wanting to reheat whatever hard feelings were still between Cahill and Sellis around the matter, though she thought they’d probably get back into it on their own, without help or encouragement from her or anyone else.

Marsh looked like he was going to snap at her, then saw it who it was and said, “Fine,” a little calmer than she thought he’d been planning to, “Just,” he waved at the sunset, “a little blinded.” And obvious cover, and Avan was impressed that he was still thinking enough to be trying to cover. In the hours between docking at the station and now, his eyes had grown dark shadows. She wondered if that was from the brain fry or just exhaustion. Wondered if the rest of them looked as bad.

“We’ll be there soon,” Avan said, and Marsh shot her a look and said “Good,” in a dry tone that said he was more irritated about the constant check-ins and reassurances than he was bothered by the distance.

A truck rumbled past them, going towards the surface to station lift and kicking up clouds of red dust. They got off the road for it, and walked out a ways onto the uneven rock until it settled, then continued along on the side of the packed earth track.

The first glimpse of the town didn’t do much to improve Avan's impression of the place. The buildings were heavy, dulled metal, sunk more than half into the ground, probably for insulation against hot days and chill nights. Abandoned, broken equipment began littering the sides of the road as they drew nearer, spokes and steering wheels and rusty springs and broken paneling peering out from under mounds of sand and dust. Twice, Avan saw small lizards disappear into the debris, disturbed from their last sunbath of the day. She pointed them out.

“Not a dead planet after all,” Lilaey said, absently, distracted by the expanse of sky and near flat earth, a view that was dizzyingly vast for someone used to stations and ships and a lack of horizons.

“Maybe brought here,” Cahill mused, and no one bothered to ask why anyone in their right mind would transport lizards clear across populated space. Cahill seemed to sense the insults taking shape and being rejected, because he kicked a small rock off the road and changed the subject, “I hope we can find some food before running off on errands. I’m starved.”

Marsh looked at him and smiled slyly, looked about to make a comment, then didn’t. They walked a little further in silence, then Marsh changed his mind again and said, “Should’ve eaten on the ship,” in a deadpan tone that was clearly meant to rile Cahill.

“God sake,” Cahill said, but didn’t retaliate.

“Haven’t seen any chickens,” Marsh said.

“Shut up.”

Closer, the town was clearly inhabited; not a mere clumping of weather-dulled boxes as they’d seemed from a distance. In the murky dimness of late evening, lights stood out brightly by doors and outlined windows. Avan smiled.

“You’re a crazy surface dweller,” Sellis remarked, but he looked just as pleased at the sight.

It was a town. Or as near a one as could be expected, so far out and existing largely by the grace of distant--if gigantic--corporations. But people had, over time, brought their families. There was even a pair of children squatting in the light by an open door, and drawing in the dust with their fingers, dressed only in shorts and with their hair cropped short like the crew of an Old Space ship. Probably too warm down here for longer hair or too much clothing.

“Nice place for kids,” Cahill said and Avan snorted.

. “At least there's no one shooting at you and jumping you back and forth sideways to god-knows-where every ten minutes.”

Cahill said, “Right,” and paused in front of the village gate. It didn’t look like it had been closed in some time. It didn’t look like it could close, all rusted over and with piles of junk stacked on either side of it, jamming it open. He raised an eyebrow at it.

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Avan said, and stepped through. The kids looked up, failed to recognize them, and went wide-eyed but not alarmed. Probably thought them replacements or surveyors, or some form of clip-board carrying flunky. Mining towns like this were out of the way, but hardly forgotten. Money came from these places. Obscene amounts, though it wasn’t apparent by looking at the place.

One of the kids stood up, dusted his hands off on his shorts, and said, “Who’d ya want to see?” in much the same way one might demand “friend or foe?”

Lilaey consulted her list, then stepped closer to let the light fall on it, though Avan thought she’d probably had the whole thing memorized long before they’d stepped off the elevator. “Kall Shae?” she asked, and the kid nodded.

“Verifying maintenance orders?” he asked in a tone that Avan thought should probably instantly endear him to Lilaey.

“No,” Lilaey said, sounding more surprised than endeared. “Looking for replacement parts.” The boy gave them a long, appraising look, gaze lingering on Sellis’s Pilots' Guild jacket. Finally, he nodded solemnly and pointed down the street to another half buried box shape.

“Tell them Bonny sent you.” He called as they walked off, and Sellis turned to give him a thumbs-up.

“He thinks we’re military or explorers,” Avan said, and nodded at Sellis, indicating his jacket. Sellis grinned.

“Lucky I stole this, then,” he said, and adjusted the collar with a couple of exacting tugs in mock imitation of posturing young Old Space nobility.

“Fucking pirate,” Marsh said, when Cahill didn’t.

“Can we please refrain from mentioning piracy while we’re down here?” Lilaey said, and gave Sellis a meaningful look before stepping down to the door of Shae's house--half embedded in the earth like the others. Avan followed, the stairs slippery with grit under her feet.

She waited for Lilaey to knock, said, “Well?” when she didn’t. Then caught up to her train of thought and snapped, “Oh, for god sake, Lil, there's no buzzer. It’s a door,” and reached over her shoulder to rap sharply on the metal.

“Kall Shae?” she called, “Our ship is damaged, and, well. And Bonny sent us.” Someone inside laughed, and after a moment, the door inched open, sand making crunching noises in its hinges.

“I take it you’re not here to verify--“

“No. Looking for parts.” The door opened wider and a dark head stuck out, peered up at the sky.

“It’s late.”

“I know. We’re sorry to intrude, but--“

The man peered at them, at Sellis in particular, “I heard about you. Station called ahead. Better come on in, and we’ll see if we can’t find you lot a place out of the sun.” The door swung the rest of the way open, revealing a well-lit room, small, but with a stairwell in the corner, leading down, deeper into the bedrock.

Shae noticed where she was looking, said, “It’s cooler in the day deeper down. Come in.”

They did, and he poured them water. Avan started to decline on behalf of all of them, except maybe Marsh, who probably needed a drink with the way he was pale again, and sweating.

“Don’t worry about it. There's water. Great reservoirs of it.” He walked over to a corner where kitchen appliances sat, installed in a way that looked decidedly jerry-rigged, and turned a tap. “Most of the houses have wells, pumped water,” he gestured at the lights, “No shortage of sun out here. Solar power runs the towns.” He filled glasses and the water was chill and tasted faintly of dark and stone. Not of storage tanks or filtered into safe tastelessness. Avan sighed in pleasure.

“Turned spacer, eh?” Kall said, and re-filled her glass.

“Oh god, she’s homesick,” Cahill muttered softly, and Shae gave him a look and said, “The lady knows the finer things in life,” which must have irked Cahill, who’d been close to nobility, once, and thought he was the absolute connoisseur of the finer things in life. Avan grinned at him.

“So. You broke your ship.” It wasn’t a question, but Sellis said, “Yeah,” and after a second of silence changed it to, “Yes.”

“What exactly are you after? We’re not short in small parts, but anything bigger and you might be out of luck.”

“It doesn’t get much bigger,” Sellis said, and nodded to Lilaey, who got her list out, scanned it as if she was trying to determine what was likely available, then just handed it over. Shae considered it for several moments, then gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“What have you kids been tangling with?” He wasn’t much older than Sellis.

“Haven’t been.” Marsh was a liar. Cahill had said once that tags couldn’t be, but Marsh proved it wrong too often for it to be coincidence.

“And a tag with you.” Shae’s scrutiny was unnerving. The sharp way he looked them over--as if noting every detail and weighing it before filing his findings away for future reference--made Avan nervous.

“There are tags everywhere, these days,” Cahill said dismissively, which was true. It shouldn’t be any surprise to Shae, and hardly a rare sight. Mining towns tended to abound with tags. Skilled, obedient labor that needed upkeep but no salary, whose death didn’t bring relatives clamoring for compensation and legal satisfaction, they usually outnumbered regular staff by a large margin.

“Yours looks on his last legs,” Shae observed and Marsh said, “Mm” in that insulted, irritated way.

Sellis’s face sort of twisted, then relaxed by degrees. He said, “It’s not a problem,” and Avan thought he was trying to change the subject, but Shae gave him a long, hard look that Sellis didn’t quite return, but didn’t back down from, either. Avan didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she suddenly had to breathe, and tried to cover the gasp in a cough.

“It’s dusty out,” Shae said, and refilled her glass again, then Marsh’s, and nodded at him as he set the glass down on the table, “You need help for that one.” Again, it wasn’t a question, or even an offer. It was just shy of being an order.

“No, thanks,” Marsh said, and restrained himself enough that it came out merely clipped, and not snapped. Shae blinked, looking surprised, and Marsh picked up the glass and said, “No, thank you,” in a friendlier, more polite tone. It didn’t seem to mollify Shae, who shrugged, but whose expression still held traces of that hard look.

“We just need parts,” Marsh continued, trying to steer the subject back to Ratatosk’s repairs, but probably just digging them all into a deeper hole. Cahill had a look about him like he was trying to will Marsh to shut up, and a second after Avan started willing Cahill to stop glaring, Shae noticed it and got a suspicious look.

“Is the tag legal?”

“I have papers,” Sellis said, not with the light tone he’d used with the Shovaol, but gritted out, and Avan knew it cost him every time he had to say it.

“Then what’s the problem here?” A good question. One none of them spent a lot of time on, and Sellis probably least of all. Sellis probably avoided the thought as much as possible.

“There's no problem,” Marsh said calmly when no one else supplied an answer, more composed than he had any right to be with his face sheened with sweat and his eyes shadowed with bruise-dark rings. Cahill slapped him across the head, gently, but probably rougher than he’d meant to.

“Shut up.”

Marsh looked at Shae, finally noticed the man’s expression, and said “Oh,” and picked up his glass.

“He’s brain fried,” Cahill supplied, and Marsh gave a whole body twitch that wasn’t quite a shudder, then went suddenly calm and still and distant.

“You’ll need help,” Shae repeated, firmer than before, and gave Sellis a questioning look. Not questioning whether he’d take him up on the offer, Avan realized, but wondering why he’d reacted badly to the offer in the first place. Then he turned to Lilaey, “I can’t tell you for sure what I have in stock, and it’s late to be bothering the boys down in supply. I’ll see if I can find you lot a place to sleep out of the wind. I think there's a repair station down at the edge of town that’s not occupied by anything but a tractor or two. Hold a minute.” He turned and disappeared down the stairs.

“Marsh,” Sellis said, quietly, guiltily, “I wasn't keeping it from you."

Marsh said, “Sure, Sellis,” and it was even quieter.

o0o

Sellis's voice drifted over from the open doorway of the repair station, a steady rise and fall too soft for Avan to make out the words. Marsh with him, his feet propped against the doorframe and his arms folded, resting on his knees, his chin buried in the crook of an elbow and Avan wanted to go over and smack Sellis just for the spite of it. Wanted to do worse to Cahill for spilling the information so lightly, so suddenly.

“We needed some sort of excuse,” Cahill said, watching her watch Marsh and Sellis.

“For what? Having a back-talky tag? We need an excuse for that?” she snapped, “They have our ship ID. They have Sellis’s name, and probably ours, what did you think we have to hide?”

Cahill shrugged, and looked miserable, but said, “To make Sellis get a psych.”

“What?”

“Psychs. They fix--“

Avan blinked, shook her head, said, “Tags who get their programming tangled. I know. Cahill, I swear to god--“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. My father ran tags. Even high end, back-talky Land’s Child tags like Marsh. Can we stop pretending things aren’t what they are, just to soothe Sellis’s damned conscience?” He made a frustrated noise and picked up a rusty bit of metal, hurled it at the far wall, where it hit with a sharp ping, before it bounced into the darkness, the sound of it duller against the packed earthen floor. “Sellis is getting himself all tied into knots over holding papers, and by the time he gets his damn head out of his ass, god knows what state Marsh could be in,” he threw another bit of metal, a larger piece that hit with a deeper clang, “I’ve seen brain fried tags before, and if Sellis wants to pretend Marsh is anything but a tag, he’s welcome to at any other time.”

Avan said, “Sellis--“

“He won't like it, but he’ll live. And Marsh has probably got a few good psychings under his belt already. Land’s Child doesn’t ship them out half-programmed. Sellis can damn well get used to the idea.” Cahill nodded over to the doorway, where Sellis was getting up, stopping to say something to Marsh, then padding over to where Cahill and Avan sat with their backs against the wall.

“Trouble,” Avan said, and considered clearing out. But when Sellis reached them, he looked more tired than angry, the day finally catching up to him as it was catching up to all of them.

“You checked the place out?” he asked, probably knowing they hadn’t. Probably very aware that they’d been sitting there the whole time, trying to eavesdrop on his conversation with Marsh.

“How is he?” Avan asked, nodding towards the door. Cahill twitched, and Avan was surprised that she didn’t get an elbow in the ribs for bringing the subject up when Sellis hadn’t, when it seemed like they’d dodged the bullet.

Sellis shrugged. Said, “I don’t know.” He gave Cahill a look, then turned and started to walk farther into the repair station, but stopped, took a look back at Marsh, and said, “Keep an eye on him, Avan?”

“Sure.”

“I’m going to go find Lilaey,” he said, and disappeared behind the tractors.

Marsh stayed in the doorway, didn’t move even as the light outside faded from dark, dusty violets into a deep indigo. Avan called, “Marsh?” and got no response.

“He might be out again,” Cahill said, “he wasn’t looking so good back at Shae’s.”

Avan sighed after a moment, picked up a piece of metal and threw it across the room as Cahill had, then got up. Dusted off the seat of her pants and stretched.

“I’ll go see,” she said, and gestured in the direction Sellis had gone, where a warm yellow light now glowed, reflecting dully off the use-worn finish of the tractors in the shed, “Maybe you should go make nice with Sellis.”

Cahill laughed, dry and without humor. “Yeah,” he said, and Avan shrugged and left him still sitting against the wall, tossing bits of metal into the dark.

“Marsh?”

Marsh looked up without really moving his head, and Avan couldn’t tell if he was distraught or just tired.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” It was that flat tone he sometimes used. The one that went with the blank tag expression that always made Avan want to belt him in the head.

“Alright. Fine. If you’re going to be an ass--“

“I’m fine, Avan.” He straightened a little, indicated for her to sit with a weird sort of side-ways head bob that somehow managed to communicate the suggestion. Avan did, put her back to the door frame Marsh’s feet were against and slid down to sit against the inside wall.

He didn’t look fine. He looked barely awake, and Avan was suddenly suspicious that he wasn’t still sitting in the doorway to be alone, but because he couldn’t get up. His hair was mostly stuck together with sweat, damp and standing at odd angles where it wasn’t flat against his skull. “Geez, Marsh,” she said, and he grinned at her worried tone. It looked sickly and strained.

“That jump didn’t quite go the way I’d thought.”

As she contemplated the oddly crooked grin on Marsh’s face and tried to determine if she should say anything to that, a scuffing noise came from outside. Marsh looked up, and Avan got to her feet. Grabbed him under the arm and hauled him upright, and he staggered only a little before getting his feet under him and finding enough balance that grabbing the doorframe with one hand kept him upright.

The person outside was slight. Hardly a threat unless he was armed, and his clothing showed no signs of hiding suspicious objects. Avan put a hand on her hip, pushing her jacket back and out of the way should she need to go for the suspicious objects her own clothing concealed. The man noticed the tension, put his hands out and turned them over to show they were empty.

“I’m looking for Varaday,” he said, “Kall Shae sent me.”

Avan said, “A minute,” and spent that much time debating whether to send Marsh to get him, or leave Marsh alone with the stranger and get him herself. Considered just hollering for him.

Was still considering when the stranger said, “I’m no threat.” There was a dark smudge on his left cheek, and when he stepped back to illustrate his point and maybe to give them some room, Avan saw that it was a thick horizontal line; a long rectangle that stretched from just by the bridge of the man’s nose, across his cheek and around the curve of his face. Straight and somehow stiff, lacking the grace of the sweeping mark that curved under Marsh’s eye and down his cheek.

“May as well go get Sellis,” Marsh said to her, “he says he’s no threat.”

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Tags can’t lie,” Marsh said.

o0o

Sellis leaned his elbows on the table.

Downstairs, the repair station had workers’ quarters; a room that wasn’t large, but not too small for comfort, either, with beds, some chairs, a nicked and peeling table, and a small stove whose ventilation pipe disappeared into the stone above. The floor was covered in a layer of sand so fine Sellis was tempted to call it dust. It coated the rough floor and the faded rug that covered it in a thin coat of reddish grit, and made rough scraping noises under Sellis’s boots.

Marsh sat at one end of the table, absently peeling strips of old paint from it with his chin resting on his other hand, watching the tag with what was either a serious, thoughtful look or Marsh just trying to stay awake. He was steadier than he’d been on the Ratatosk, after jump, and seemed less scrambled, but he was also moving slower and looking more and more exhausted. More exhausted than he should, even considering what the day had been. He looked like a man who’d been sick a week.

The other tag kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He’d brought a bag with him and had set it on the table. Kept fidgeting with the ties on it.

“Have a name?” Sellis asked, when he didn’t say anything.

“Ah. Arn.” He fidgeted a few moments more, “Uh, S9--“

“Arn’s enough.” Marsh said, and flicked paint chips into the corner. Sounding querulous and impatient. Arn looked something between horrified and disapproving. He gave Sellis a look like he expected Sellis to do something about Marsh’s slow destruction of the corporation's property, or maybe about his surliness.

Marsh shot the tag a look, looking vaguely insulted. Probably indignant that Arn thought Sellis should do a damn thing about anything Marsh did. He flicked another paint chip off the table.

"S9--" Arn tried again, and paused, looking uncertainly between Sellis and the ties of the bag he was still fidgeting with. Marsh left off mutilating the table long enough to imperiously wave a hand, giving the tag the go-ahead. Arn looked relieved, and said “S974-2sdh,” all in a rush before he could get cut off again.

Marsh looked at him, then at Sellis, who held out his hand and said, “Sellis Varaday.” Arn took it, his hand surprisingly cold in the lingering heat of the desert. He let Sellis shake it, then extracted himself as quickly as possible, and pulled at the ties of his bag.

“Shae sent me,” he said.

“I figured.”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat, “That is, he sent some things. Wasn’t sure if the stove down here still worked or if there were any blankets. And. And such.” He got up to rummage more easily through the bag, brought out blankets and set them on the table, so close to where Marsh was poking at the weathered surface that it had to be calculated. “There should be cooking implements in the cupboard,” he indicated it, then walked over and checked, pulling open stuck doors to reveal a couple of saucepans and a small stack of plates, “should you want them.”

“Thanks,” Sellis said, even though they had nothing to cook.

“Or you can go down the street to the bar. There's-- That is, one of the officer’s wives runs an establishment. Food. Drink. Still open, most like.” Arn gestured awkwardly in the general direction of the center of town.

Sellis looked at Marsh and thought he’d just send Cahill, and maybe Lilaey or Avan along with him. “Right,” he said, “Will do.”

“Brought this,” Arn continued, quietly, more serious. Almost composed. He pulled a bottle out of the bag and pushed it across the table at Sellis. His eyes were on Marsh, who’d given up destroying their host’s property and had laid his head on folded arms, breathing deeply and steady like he was asleep, but with eyes half-open and sluggishly following their movements. “It’ll help him sleep.”

Sleep didn’t seem to be a problem for Marsh, Sellis thought, picking up the bottle and turning it in his hands. Arn handed him a folded piece of paper. “Instructions.”

“Don’t have anything to keep him awake and useful, do you?” Sellis said, and the look Arn gave him was disapproving and stern.

“It’s better to keep him asleep until arrangements can be made,” Arn said firmly. Actually holding Sellis’s gaze to make sure he understood the importance of it.

“Sure,” Sellis said. He unfolded the paper and after skimming over it briefly tried to pass it to Marsh, who brushed it off with a shrug and a half-formed word that might have been angry or just complaint. It came out as a muffled grunt. His eyes were closed.

Arn sighed, a surprisingly heavy sound from such a fluttery, nervous man. He unfolded one of the blankets and spread it over Marsh’s shoulders. “Shae has interest in a Land’s Child tag,” he said, and Sellis looked at the instructions again.

“The drugs are safe,” Arn said. He brushed Marsh’s hair back from his face, touched the dark mark that curved along his cheekbone. Traced the long triangle that swept down the side of his face with a finger. Sellis narrowed his eyes at him. “Falcon’s mark,” Arn said ruefully, and touched the mark on his own face--a stiff, mostly graceless mark that did not follow the shape and curve of bone or flesh--and shook his head.

“Shae is trying to buy my crew?” Sellis snapped.

“Your tag,” Arn corrected, and sounded puzzled.

“Goddamn--“

Cahill’s entry interrupted his tirade, "Sellis, we've--" he looked at Arn, then at Sellis. Raised an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

“I--that is. I was just communicating an offer. I meant no--“

Cahill looked at Sellis again, then at Marsh. He raised an eyebrow at the blanket draped over him. Said, “I see.”

"A falcon’s mark tag. Pilot. Shae was interested." Cahill held up a hand to stop him. He looked like he was going to laugh.

“The tag's papers aren't for sale.”

“Oh. I see. I’ll give Shae your answer. Um. Well.” Arn fidgeted for a few moments, then said, “Goodnight," and grabbed his bag up.

Sellis said, “Hey,” and gestured to the things he’d left on the table.

“Had nothing to do with the inquiry," Arn said, and just about darted up the stairs.

“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t take his head clean off,” Cahill said, and nodded at Marsh, “Out again?”

“Mostly, I think.” Sellis held up the bottle, “Do you know what the hell this stuff is?”

Cahill looked surprised that he’d been asked, but held out a hand for it and Sellis gave him both the bottle and the paper, and went to see if Marsh was rouse able.

“Looks like a sedative. According to this thing.” He waved the paper, “But don’t take my word for it. I’m no expert. Why?”

“That stuffy little tag said to give it to Marsh. To keep him out till ‘arrangements can made’.”

“Can’t hurt. If Shae wants to buy him, he’s not going about to poison him.” Cahill put the bottle down, and gave the paper another once-over, “Need help?”

“Yeah. He’s not all the way out, but I don’t know if I can get him to move on my own.”

Cahill put the paper down, and weighted it with the bottle. Came over to shake Marsh’s shoulder, “Marsh?” He looked back at Sellis, “You call this not all the way out?”

“Sometimes he grumps,” Sellis said.

“Maybe we can just leave him here till he wakes up. How long did it take him to come out of it last time?” Cahill asked, but pulled Marsh’s arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet while Sellis got the chair out of the way. Together they got him across the room and onto a bed.

“This better not get to be a habit,” Cahill said, sitting on the edge of the bed while Sellis wrestled Marsh out of his jacket and tossed the blanket back over him.

“It sort of feels like it already is.”

“Sellis--“

“If you’re still looking for surface food, there's a place in town. And I’m guessing they don’t stay open late for the crowds, so if you want anything to eat you better hurry. And bring something back. I’ll stay with Marsh.”

Cahill looked like he was going to say whatever it was he’d been about to, then just nodded, “If you don’t need Avan or Lilaey?”

“Take them with you. Avan probably knows what's edible and what's made of lizard.”

Cahill snorted, “Avan probably likes what's made of lizard.”

o0o

It didn’t rain. Avan was disappointed, even knowing how unlikely the chance of it was. It helped a little that the sand blew against the walls with a soft hiss that sounded a little like the sea. She lay awake and listened to it, tired and unable to get to sleep, even with three beers and a huge dinner in her belly. Cahill was already out, snoring softly with a hand on his stomach.

“Pig,” Avan said, and Lilaey laughed, a quiet restrained sound in the half-dark. Avan propped her head up, chin on the heel of one hand, “You’re awake?”

“Sure.” She couldn’t really see Lilaey in the dark, but she sounded like she was shrugging. After a moment, she said, “Wind’s loud.”

Not any louder than the machines that hummed and droned on ships and stations, recycling air and water and keeping the spaces warm and lit and habitable. “It’s just sand blowing,” Avan said, and tugged her blanket up, pulled it closer to her throat. It sounded cold outside. Made it feel that much more warm in the small room beneath the repair station, “And even if it blew the town away, we’re underground. Sort of.”

Lilaey made an irritated noise. Probably didn’t want to think about being under ground or about all the open space over head, or the wind or any of it. Avan considered mentioning the ocean.

“Lil?”

“What?” It sounded grouchy.

“Want to climb in with me? You know. If you’re scared.”

“Shut it, Avan," Lilaey said, and there was a rustle of fabric as she turned her back to the room.

Avan cackled, and settled more comfortably into the mattress. It was old, lumpy, and so dusty that even shaking out small mountains of sand hadn’t done much to keep grit from sticking to her skin.

And still it was welcome. Still it was better than sleeping even on Ratatosk, with smooth walls and filtered air and no sound of wind and sand.

Sellis didn’t seem too uncomfortable with the wide open spaces, sleeping on folded blankets on the floor, having lost the last bed to Cahill. Avan almost felt like she should let him have hers, wide awake as she was. It was a waste of a bed.

“Lil?”

“I’m sleeping, Avan.”

“Fine then. Sleep.” Lilaey didn’t actually sound anywhere near sleep. She sounded nervous and jumpy, and Avan thought she was maybe homesick already for rooms that lit up when one walked into them and temperatures that she could control. “Station brat,” she said.

Lilaey laughed, muffled and soft, “Go to sleep, Avan.”

Outside, the soft hiss of the sand picked up, blowing harder against the metal walls upstairs. Lilaey turned over again, restlessly, and Avan said, “It’s still just wind. Maybe a small storm.”

“Just so long as we don’t have to dig our way out tomorrow.”

Avan considered the possibility, and rolled onto her back, picking out shapes in the shadows the lamp cast on the uneven stone ceiling, “I don’t think so.”

In the morning, there was nevertheless an impressive hill of sand piled up against the wind-ward side of the station, with bits of plant material and scraps of metal poking out of it. Avan examined it with idle interest, waiting for the others to wake up. She picked a leaf out of the mound and scanned the horizon for trees, but saw none. Sellis came out of the station and she looked over and held the leaf up.

“Look.”

Sellis squinted at it, blinking and shielding his eyes from the light. “Huh,” he said, without much interest, and Avan made an exasperated noise and dropped the dry thing back onto the ground. Kept squinting into the distance.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Wondering where the mine is. It’s supposed to be that way, somewhere,” Avan said, and pointed.

“Right. I’d forgotten about your wonderful rapport with the locals. Cahill told me all about it. I think he said ‘flirting’.” Sellis paused thoughtfully, “Or was it ‘throwing herself’?”

“Oh, please,” Avan scoffed, and shook her head a moment after, “Lil still inside hiding from all this?” She made a wide gesture to include the desert and the sky.

“Yes. Cahill’s plotting breakfast. She’s pretending to help him.”

“Right. How’s Marsh?”

Sellis clammed up all of a sudden, the light expression gone from his face. He scowled and pretended to survey the distance, then sighed and winced, and said, “Awake.”

“Not good them?”

“Awake. I don’t know.” Sellis looked like he wanted to shrug and maybe scuff his feet. Instead he jammed his hands in his pockets, and stood frowning at the horizon for a while. “Cahill might be right,” he said, after long moments.

“What's the plan, then?”

“I don’t trust Shae. I want the parts and the repairs and then back to Eriannon as fast as the Rat can get us there.”

Avan sighed, giving the distant wisps of cloud long consideration. “Right.”

“You don’t have to come along,” Sellis said.

“If I was going to stay on a planet, it wouldn’t be this planet. I want a beach.”

“There’s sand,” Sellis offered, as she stepped past him on her way back inside the station, “and blue, blue skies.”

o0o

Arn came back as they were finishing breakfast; some greasy fried dish Avan and Cahill had brought back from the bar while Sellis and Lilaey went over what parts they absolutely needed, what they could do without and what they would try for if they could.

Marsh poked at the remainder of the meal, eyes heavy with sleep that should have been satisfied by now. “Hope you’re not too disappointed, Cahill,” he said, voice muzzy.

“What?”

He held up a fork, waving the white sphere impaled on it, “This doesn’t look like it came from chickens,” he said.

“For god’s sake.”

Marsh grinned and ate what Cahill hoped was at least an egg of some sort, chewing slowly for emphasis. “I did say ‘no lizards’, right?” Cahill said to Avan, who shrugged.

“Don’t be so picky.”

Arn’s appearance in the doorway cut his reply short. “Ah. There was no one upstairs. I knocked. And called. There was--“

“God’s sake,” Marsh grumbled, in an entirely different tone from Cahill’s.

Sellis pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Shae send you, Arn?”

“Yes. Well. Of course. He wanted to let you know he’s located some of your parts. A few are here, some are up above, and there's a possible jump drive match in the other town.”

“There's another town?” Avan said.

“Yes. There's--well, there's this one and the working settlement--barracks and such--closer to the mines.”

Cahill wondered why the hell anyone would transport a jump drive further away from the elevator and any craft that might actually be able to use it. Even to hide illegal goods, it was a ways to haul machinery of that size. He was tempted to ask, just to see how Arn would react if pressed for touchy information. Whether he’d completely lose what composure he had.

“So do we wait here?”

“No. Shae wants at least your mechanic to check it out before we bring it all the way out from there. In case it doesn’t fit your ship. It’s--we’ll, not too far, but inconvenient to--“

“Right.” Sellis said, and canted a look at Lilaey. She frowned back. Made a small negating gesture--just the slightest shake of the head. Not an illogical request, but not one Lilaey trusted anymore than Sellis did. “How far is this other town?”

“Only a few hours. If the machinery suits your, ah, purposes, then it can be transported here by tomorrow morning. Maybe by this evening.”

“We’ll come see your boss,” Sellis said, and Arn didn’t take the hint. “Later,” Sellis said, with more emphasis. Arn’s gaze was on Marsh.

“Regarding the matter of--“

“Out.” It was low, and determinedly even. Cahill picked his fork back up in case he needed to stab someone and hoped that someone wouldn’t be Sellis.

“Ah,” Arn said, clearly surprised by Sellis’s temper going into such a sudden cold flare, “I meant no harm. I was only--that is--I merely--“

Sellis got up.

“Right. That--I’ll give Shae your message.”

Cahill dropped his fork, and Avan moved to make sure the tag had gone, peering out the doorway with an expression of distaste. “What a rodent,” she growled and Cahill thought that if there had been an actual door to the upper part of the station she would have slammed it.

Marsh tried to pick more of the suspiciously small and round eggs out of the leftovers. They rolled away from his fork. “Am I the only on who doesn’t know what that was about?” he said, evenly, too measured to casual.

“Yes,” Cahill said, "Probably."

“Right,” Marsh said, and picked the egg up with his fingers. Popped it in his mouth and chewed, looking so decidedly unperturbed that Cahill knew he was at least annoyed. Sellis, on the other hand, looked like a man dying of guilt, pretending to scrutinize things that were wholly unworthy of attention. He picked at the edges of where Marsh had peeled the table, smoothing the flaking borders of the patches where gray wood showed through with an intense concentration that said he was unwilling to talk about it.

“Shae’s interested in more than selling engine parts,” Cahill said, and picked the last egg out from under Marsh’s fingers.

Marsh raised an eyebrow at him. Said, “Hey.”

“I still rather it come from a lizard than from a box,” Cahill said, and bit it delicately in half, expecting it to taste peculiar now that he was thinking about its origins.

Marsh shook his head, and tossed his fork to the plate. Leaned back to consider Sellis, whose attention on the table grew even more single-minded.

“God’s sake,” Cahill said, but they all ignored him.

“What’s in the bottle you’re hiding?” Marsh asked. Of Sellis. His gaze very sharp and focused for someone who was supposed to be brain fried. Cahill thought there was maybe a bit of amusement in it. Thought Marsh was enjoying Sellis’s discomfiture, even through whatever emotion it was that had made his expression go all alert and expectant and dark.

Sellis shifted uncomfortably, leaned back with his own face gone hard and impassive. Guarded. He reached a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the bottle. Tossed it to Marsh, who tried to snatch it out of the air but fumbled. It dropped to the table and rolled, but Marsh grabbed it before it could fall to the floor and peered through the glass at the pill shaped caplets inside, then gently shook the bottle, rattling the capsules against the glass.

“There's a paper,” Marsh said, and Sellis grudgingly handed the instructions over.

“It’s a tranq,” Cahill said, “Arn said Shae sent it.” Marsh looked at him over the paper, calm and unruffled. He put the bottle down and turned his attention to the paper, unfolded it.

“God sake, Sellis,” he said after a moment, and folded it back up. Tossed it back. Sellis missed the catch, picked it up and stuffed it back into his pocket. “What the hell’s this for? Cahill?”

“What? Why are you asking me?”

Marsh shook the bottle at him. Held it up questioningly. Cahill shot Sellis a look, and said, “He’s asking me, Sellis.”

“Brain fry, according to Arn.” It was obvious from his tone how reliable Sellis thought that source was, “He said it was better to keep you out.”

Marsh twitched, finally looking uneasy and maybe even a little anxious. The vaguely irritated attitude he’d been wearing disappeared into that disturbing tag blankness that made Sellis twitchy and Avan mad.

“You don’t have to,” Cahill said, and thought the man who held the papers should be having this talk. He got up. “The way Sellis acts about this thing? You could probably get him to take them for you.”

“Is it?” Marsh asked, looking up suddenly as Cahill headed for the door. He stopped. Turned enough to look over his shoulder.

“Is it what?”

“Is it really better to keep me out?” Marsh put the bottle down again, nodded at it as if Cahill needed further clarification.

“I’m not an expert, Marsh.”

“Your father ran tags.”

"I didn't, and it was a long time--" Cahill stopped. Scrubbed a hand through is hair and wondered when the hell he’d become this outfit’s doctor. “If it’s just a tranq, I doubt it can hurt.”

Sellis said, “Cahill--“

Cahill said, “Sellis, deal with it,” and left.

Lilaey and Avan made a run for it a second later, on the pretense of bringing the plates back to the bar and diner, so close on Cahill’s heels they were probably tripping him. It left Sellis alone with the one thing he really did not want to deal with. Right now or ever, given half a choice.

Marsh was still sitting with the bottle on the table in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set in a stubborn expression that was only slightly ruined by the way his eyelids were starting to droop sleepily. Again. It worried Sellis that his cycling from mostly alert to mostly out cold seemed to be speeding up, with no way of knowing when that cycle would return to the sudden dead to the world state of the night before.

“This is where you’re supposed to tell me what to do,” Marsh said after the silence had stretched out, long and uncomfortable and maybe even a little hostile. That Marsh was angry was clear, though whether it was because Sellis had kept information from him, or because he was afraid of the idea of tranqs, Sellis didn’t know.

“Damn it, Marsh, I’m not going to tell you whether--“

“You’re the captain of this crew. Last I checked. Unless the rest of you discussed that while I was out, too, and made changes I should be aware of. That is, of course, if the idea of telling me doesn’t make you too goddamn uncomfortable.”

“Shae wants to buy your papers.” Sellis meant to say it calmly, evenly. Maybe shock Marsh out of what was quickly becoming a rage. It came out blurted, a spilled confession rather than dry information.

“Shae doesn’t give a damn about my papers,” Marsh said, pointedly. Sellis was suddenly very, very aware of the dark mark on his face. The falcon’s mark of a tag qualified to fly, to pilot. Of a man built and programmed and owned.

Sellis said, “Marsh, I know,” in a tone that came painfully close to Cahill’s talk-to-tags voice. For once, it seemed to calm Marsh down. He let his breath out in a great, disgruntled huff and picked the bottle of pills up again, looking a little embarrassed, and fidgeted with it the way Sellis had with the table's marred surface.

“What's his offer?” Marsh asked after a while, taping the glass container against the tabletop.

“I didn’t ask, Marsh. For--just--- Damn it, Marsh. I didn’t ask, alright?” Marsh glanced up.

“Alright. It’s just--He’ll still sell us the parts?”

“Arn said he would. If he’s got a jump drive just gathering dust, it’s probably not doing him any good. Depreciating, too, in this mess.” Sellis gestured to indicate the world outside the repair station.

"Sellis--" Marsh didn’t finish the sentence. Aborted it after the one word and put the bottle down. Picked it up again.

“If you’re going to yell at me for keeping information from you, the least you could do is ask the damn question.”

“I don’t want to slow the crew down,” Marsh said, and it was a question.

“You’re not.”

“I’m not yet.” Marsh looked up, expression gone very carefully even.

“Goddamn,” Sellis said, and rubbed at his eyes. Sighed.

“Tranqs will slow me down even more.” The tranqs would put him completely out, Sellis thought, but didn’t correct him. Knew Marsh didn’t like thinking about it.

“It doesn’t matter. You can’t help Lilaey with the repairs anyway, and Cahill can fly alright, even if he can’t jump like you.”

Marsh smiled, “Of course he can’t,” he said, too shaky for it come out as smug as Sellis knew he'd meant it to.

Sellis got up and took the bottle from Marsh’s hand. He had to pry it out of his grip. “Marsh, you’re getting back in bed. Lilaey can go get the drive with Avan or Cahill. You’re not in any shape to be crossing the desert.”

“I’m alright,” Marsh said, and they both knew it was automatic. Marsh picked compulsively at the table top, hands looking for something to do. They were shaking.

“No, you’re not. I should have--“

“I’m fine. I--" Panic. Spilling out now that he had Sellis’ ear.

“You’re not, Marsh. You should--" Sellis stopped, started over slowly, gently, “I know. It’s alright.” It was very consciously the talk-to-tags voice. Sellis hated himself even as he used it and Marsh twitched at it, but he wouldn’t look at Sellis either. The shaking had spread to his shoulders.

"I--" Marsh started, but he was fading, exhausted, and this time Cahill wasn’t there to help haul him to bed.

“Up, Marsh. Now. Come on.” Marsh resisted, tag panic. Reacting mostly to the thought of being inoperative, of being out of order. God only knew what happened to tags who outlived their function or usefulness. Marsh was half-blind with the terror of it and the brain fry, and in spite of himself, Sellis wished Cahill would come back and give him a hand.

Sellis contemplated just grabbing him by the arms and wrestling him back to bed, but when he laid a hand on Marsh’s arm, the shudder was enough to change his mind.

“Marsh?”

Nothing.

“Okay. Stay there. Have it your own way,” Sellis said, as calm as he could with Marsh sitting there, half out of his head anyway, and now terrified as well.

“I’m fine,” Marsh insisted after a while, breathy and uncertain. It sounded like a plea, and Sellis reached out to steady him. Felt Marsh flinch.

“I know. I know.”

“I said we needed help,” Cahill snapped, sitting on one of the other beds, “and now we’ve got a jump drive on the other side of the fucking desert and Marsh snapping on this side of it. I warned you. I fucking warned you it was serious.”

“Anytime you want to start being helpful,” Avan suggested, voice calm, but her face angry. She was perched on the edge of Marsh’s bed, one hand on his head. He’d curled towards her as soon as he had recognized the presence, forehead against her thigh, one hand clinging to the fabric of her jacket. He was shivering in long spasms, and when he shifted, Sellis could sometimes see the tawny slits of eyes barely open, could sometimes see them flicker when Marsh was aware enough to look around, maybe watching them.

He wasn’t aware enough to really recognize them. Had maybe not even identified Avan as anything more than a comforting voice and a source of warmth. The panic had subsided into a sort of exhausted wariness, and between the two of them, Sellis and Avan had managed to get him undressed enough that he could rest comfortably.

“I think we should give him the tranq. If nothing else, it’ll spare him whatever the hell this is about,” Cahill said, and waved a hand in Marsh’s direction.

Lilaey said, “Cahill’s right. We don’t know if he’s in pain. He might very well be. He didn’t look too good the last times the brain fry hit.”

“Could we not talk about this like--“

Cahill made a disgruntled sound, getting up as if to leave, then sitting back down. Got up again. “Damn it, Sellis,” he said, “How do you want us to talk about it? Are we supposed to dance around the fact that our pilot is a tag, the way you do? You don’t want to hold his papers, then get rid of them. Shae’s interested. You can be rid of the problem by this afternoon.”

“Damn it, Cahill, I can’t just sell a man!”

“Why not? You bought one, you fucking hypocrite.”

Lilaey glared, said, “Cahill,” in a low, dangerous tone. Cahill ignored her, or maybe didn’t notice. He plowed on.

“Or was that alright because you needed a pilot? Because it's different when you need an edge?” He stalked away from the table, towards Sellis. Sellis held his ground. “You own a tag, and you can fucking admit to it like everyone else, even if it violates your precious self righteous, better-than-Old-Space Reaches sensibilities.”

“Cahill,” Lilaey tried again, less dangerous. More of a plea.

Sellis looked past him to Marsh and Avan, and was silent for long moments, then looked back to Cahill and said, “What is it you want me to do, then? You want me to drug him? You don’t think that the thought of that was part of what caused this?” he asked, and jerked his head in the direction of the bed, meaning Marsh’s panic and collapse.

“I think brain fry is what caused this. The drugs just made him mad.” A pause, “Actually, you acting so holier than thou, then keeping information from him is what made him mad. The idea of drugs and being out of commission scared him, and between those two things and you being an ass, it made the brain fry worse.”

“Oh, great,” Lilaey said, to no one in particular.

“The sooner we get the Ratatosk fixed, the sooner we can get him to Eriannon, and--“

“No. You’re not going to wait that fucking long. You’re not going to make him wait that fucking long. You’re going to take Shae up on his offer of help, or you’re going to find another psych. It could take days to get to Eriannon. Weeks. He’s only been fried for a couple of days, and look how bad it’s gotten. You think there’ll be anything left in a week?”

“Cahill--“

“Shut up.”

Avan said, quietly, “So what do we do? Unless you two want to take it outside and scuff up the sand a while before you can bring yourselves to try to make a decision?”

“We get a goddamn psych,” Cahill snapped, “Or we let Shae take him off Sellis’s hands.”

“Shae wants a pilot, Cahill,” Sellis snapped back, “You’re going to trust his psychs? God knows what they could do to him.”

“Can’t be worse than what you’re doing.”

Sellis froze, his jaw tightened and for a second he thought he was going to hit Cahill. Wouldn’t have been surprised at all had he found his body moving to do it of its own accord, but Marsh made a quiet noise and Avan said something soothing and soft, and Sellis made the mistake of looking over. Saw Avan wiping sweat from Marsh’s face and felt the violence drain out of him.

Damn it.

He hated the guilty feeling that coiled in his gut and chest, cold and hard and intolerable. He’d been trying to ignore it ever since he’d bought Marsh’s papers. Had been trying to see past that dark mark on his face and pretend that the papers that sat in the bottom drawer of his desk were no different from the ones the rest of them had. Had pretended that it didn’t mean a thing that the papers were in his desk, and not in Marsh’s possession. After all, he held copies of everyone’s papers. Had stuffed them into that same bottom drawer to help with the illusion.

Cahill was right. He really hated when Cahill was right. The urge to hit him returned a little. “All right. Psychs.”

“And give him the tranq as soon as he recovers enough not to choke on it. Better to keep him calm.”

Damn. He thought about how disturbed Marsh had been about the idea of being drugged and shook his head. Said, “When he wakes up--“

“You’ll what? You’ll ask him?”

“You’re against me asking for his opinion now?”

“Goddammit!” Cahill spat the word, slamming a fist down on the table hard enough to make them all jump. Hard enough to rattle the bottle that still sat on it, “Stop putting words in my mouth. If I had a problem with tags having fucking opinions,” he said, slowly, each word just about shaking with fury, “I would not be with a crew that had one as a pilot. If I had a problem with tags, in any way at all, I wouldn’t be trying to stop you from letting one die, you stupid son of a bitch.”

“I’m not--“

“You are. You’re so fucking scared of what getting Marsh psyched might say about you that you’re avoiding it altogether by making up all sorts of bullshit about not trusting Shae’s doctors, or waiting to get to Eriannon or god knows what. Who is it on Eriannon that’s such a better choice than what we have here that you’re letting Marsh fade just on the off-chance that we might get to them in time?”

“God. There's--“

“There's no time.” Cahill took a breath. It was shaky, and when Cahill ran a hand through his hair in an exasperated gesture, his hand was trembling. Probably he wanted to lay into Sellis as much as Sellis wanted to beat the living hell out of him.

“Alright. Alright. But if he turns Marsh into some crazy, gibbering tag like that Arn, it’s on you.”

“Arn’s probably a gibbering idiot all on his own,” Cahill said, “without having anything to do with being a tag.”

Sellis rubbed at his eyes, suddenly tired. Marsh stirred a little, but didn’t wake. Just rolled away from Avan a little and went still again. “Asleep,” Avan said, when she caught Sellis watching, “Real sleep, maybe.” Whatever it was, it wasn’t the deathly stillness of earlier, and even that was improvement.

“I can’t believe I’m about to authorize someone to mess with a man’s mind,” Sellis said, and groaned.

“He’s a tag, Sellis. He’s half programming anyway.” The urge to punch Cahill rose again. Sellis swallowed it down.

“He is,” Cahill said it calmly, almost gently, “but very good programming, and just because it’s made it easy for you to pretend--”

“Okay, Cahill. I got it.”

“Don’t be a fool, Sellis. I just mean you’re not doing anything to him that hasn’t already been done by someone else.”

“Oh, god.” Sellis’s mind went back to stays he’d had in Old Space, where made tags were more common. Went back to conversations he’d had with people who ran tags. Who fucking made tags. The urge to hit Cahill was replaced by an urge to be sick.

“W been done is done," Lilaey said gently, "And you’re not the one who did it.”

“Shae could still--“

“Land’s Child programming is pretty solid. I think we could fix anything he has his psych do once we get back to Eriannon. We’d have the time to find someone reliable, then. Once the brain fry is fixed, or at least stabilized.”

“There's other tags,” Avan said, voice low, probably for Marsh’s benefit, “There might be more than one psych around. Probably is on a mining planet with two towns. Lots of tags probably working down here.”

“Ask around” Sellis said, feeling tired and angry and, oddly betrayed, “And then Lilaey and I are going to take a look at that jump drive.”

“You?” Cahill asked, and he sounded surprised.

“Hell, you’re the one who’s so enthusiastic about this psych business, and Avan’s the one who’s managing to keep him calm.”

“I’m not enthusiastic, Sellis,” Cahill said, sounding like he was starting to get angry again. Sellis waved his concern away.

“But you know what you're doing and as much I’d like to stay with you and make it one big happy party, I don’t want to send Lilaey off alone, either.” He paused, waiting for protest. None came. “Keep your guns on you.”