Ozzog begged them to reconsider. Brant hadn't even known slugs had tear ducts, let alone the capacity to weep in response to duress, until she saw the hub director tearing up over their departure. The Kestrel, he insisted, could profit richly from the refugee situation, and without compromising their moral fiber – many at the hub would gladly offer themselves into slavery to escape into civilized space. Brant and her crew would get rich, they'd help the unfortunate, Ozzog would take a cut, everybody would win. Diving into certain oblivion was one thing; wasting an obvious opportunity for profit, quite another.

Brant immediately rejected this offer. If she ever survived to write a memoir about all this, she'd of course have to say that duty surpassed all other concerns. Really, she just knew the Rebels would quickly find her and make a nasty debris field out of her and her ship if she veered off their current course at all. Brant had no speck of doubt that the pursuing fleet would destroy them if they ever caught up and cornered the Kestrel; even monsters out of alien eschatology gave them better odds, and so they gathered intel, capped off their fuel tanks and missile stores, and entered the long jump toward the Magna Sector.

They would have thirty hours in jump between sectors. It was time to tie up loose ends.

When she and 78 strode into the medbay, the freshly-bandaged Grisham and Angel were lying on the auto-doc beds, firmly bound to the beds with manacles around their wrists and ankles. McRee was sitting at a bare table, similarly restrained against the chair and facing her comrades. Ahab sat patiently next to her with his sewing supplies and his coat. Brant sat down across from Ahab and McRee, pushing her chair out enough to see Angel and Grisham on the beds too. She laid a data slate on the table, and 78 walked over to stand by the wall.

Brant let the moment breathe. She sat and focused on her breathing, looking calmly at her prisoners. Ahab barely looked up from his sewing. 78 didn't move at all.

"Awkward silences are the worst, right?" McRee said. "It's like, is it rude for me to force meself into the quiet and try to shake it up, or is it ruder for me to jus' sit there and let the mood fester? Never had much in the way of social finesse."

"No?" asked Ahab. "I've found you quite charming."

"Oh, thank you. You hear that, Charlotte? The green one likes me," McRee said. Brant looked at her for a moment, then let her gaze drift back to her men.

"Is she being real intimidating, Mac?" Angel asked. "I can't see nothing through the bandages."

"Oh, she's being super intimidating. Not saying nothing at all. Practically soiling my britches," McRee said. "Though word to the wise, love. If you're trying to freak out your captives, engi and zoltan aren't exactly nightmare material."`

Brant brought up her data slate without looking at McRee. "I wanted to bring you folks up to speed on our situation. We just came back from the Tefinix Hub, and we are now en route to the Magna Sector. I wanted to see if any of you know anything useful about the situation there, but I'm not going to pressure you."

"Ha!" Grisham laughed before pain from his bandaged stomach cut him off with a grimace.

"Here's our intel for you," Angel said. "You're all gonna' die out there."

"Boys," McRee said somewhat sharply. "Why don't we just let me do the talking, right?"

Ahab stopped sewing to hold the mended sleeve out for inspection. "It would be droll of me to point out that if this ship is destroyed, your lives will end with it," he said.

"If this ship is destroyed, then we'll die with the satisfaction of an accomplished mission," McRee spat back. "And you've got to remember that, no matter what intel you might squeeze out of us. We've lost a lot of good men on this job already. We've got three lives left to pay to see it through to the end, and that's cheap enough.

"So yeah, Charlotte – everything you heard about the Magna Sector is true, but so much worse. The Lanius are back, and they've got tech like we can't even imagine. Nothing we do is going to matter because the old gods are back, and they're hungry. Or…am I only telling you that so that you'll panic and abandon your mission? That's probably it. No, yeah, the Sector's all secure, the whole Lanius thing was just mass hysteria from a few malfunctioning deep space probes and irresponsible media reporting. Getting through will be a total cakewalk, unless I'm just trying to get your guard down. In that case…"

78 slammed his claw against the table and whined at an excruciating pitch. "Enough. Patience thin."

"Oh, frack! An angry engi!" Angel shouted. "Oh, help us, Jesus! Don't let the vicious engi hit us!"

The Rebels chuckled. 78's face flashed red and orange, and Brant raised a hand at him to ease off.

"Like I said, I won't pressure you. It would be too risky to base any decisions on your hearsay. I was just curious what you might say," Brant said. "I don't suppose you'll tell me why there isn't a bounty out for us, either."

"Who said there wasn't?" McRee asked. "Who says your buddies on the hub haven't just signaled to our advance scouts and collected a hefty fee for it?"

"I don't know what route we'll be taking through the Sector, but it's the fastest way to Federation space. The Rebels don't need someone to tell them that. What they need, Lilian, is someone who can stop us. So why isn't there a bounty for someone to do just that?"

"Oh, I don't think you need me to tell you that, either, Charlotte," McRee said with a grin. "But I'm not sure why you'd trust my opinion there, either."

"I really wouldn't, you're right. So I won't pressure you there, either," Brant said. She tapped the slate, placed it on the table, and pushed it over to McRee. "So let's cut to the chase. Two months ago, our agents infiltrated a covert Rebel facility on the outer edge of the galaxy and stole a wealth of highly-classified intelligence. Our people only had time to transmit it to the Federation's last base in the area before getting all blown up, and Admiral Ur-Curda only had time to throw it on his fastest ship before his base got all blown up. We would be that ship, of course, and our orders, in the continuing absence of a functional Federal comm network, are to deliver this intel to Admiral Tully and the High Command."

Brant started flicking her finger across the dataslate, scrolling the screen through a variety of images – documents, blueprints, photographs, and such.

78 whirred with some pride. "Have decrypted most of it already. Not easy – Level-7 encryption, mostly. Fortunately, have had plenty of time."

Brant nodded. "It's all very sensitive stuff – detailed ship schematics, locations and staff of all research installations, the aliases and whereabouts of Rebel deep-cover agents, that sort of thing. The last bits we were able to extracts were internal affairs documents, detailed profiles of Rebel leaders with extensive evaluation of their vices, psychological hang-ups, and criminal histories. Did you know that Vice Admiral Geiss made her living smuggling psychotropic drugs before she joined the Rebellion?"

The two men smirked, and McRee chuckled. "That's what we call an open secret there, love. You may have evidence to firmly link her to the stories, but everyone assumes they're true anyway and no one gives a crap."

"Yeah, and there it is. We've decrypted almost everything we stole, and none of it's stuff you'd want our High Command to know about. But it wouldn't turn the tide at this point. The Federation can hang on for one more year, tops; it has lost all its strength outside of its core worlds, and nothing we've discovered will change that.

"And that really begs the question, Lily: Why devote a whole fleet – not a couple of specialized spy hunters, mind you, a whole fracking fleet – to running down a couple of idiots in a bum ship with mostly harmless secrets?"

Brant leaned back and watched their captives. Ahab looked up curiously from his coat as a heavy silence fell over the room. Brant flipped at the dataslate a few more times, and the images and documents began to scramble.

"One data packet left," 78 said. "Level-10 encryption. Unable to break."

"One packet left. One secret. Whatever it is, your people have been willing to devote an absurd level of resources for an absurd amount of time to stop it from getting in the wrong hands. And we don't even know what it is! The hardware and personnel at our primary base might be able to decrypt it, on the off chance that we ever get there, but the only thing that would work for sure is a high-level Rebel clearance."

Brant nodded to Ahab, who calmly rose and put on his coat. The zoltan strolled over to the captives on their beds and pulled up a tray of surgical tools. "This is where we start pressuring you," he said plainly, as if to start a dull lecture.

"God damn – how much did you have to bone Andrews for this promotion, love? Because you sure didn't get it for your brains," McRee said with apparently genuine frustration. "First off, I know we're going to die soon, whether because you kill us or because someone blows this ship up, so you've lost a ton of leverage in this interrogation already. The end's in sight for us one way or the other, which is especially good news since, heck, I've barely got more clearance than a mess hall pot washer. The sort of folk that have high-level clearance don't usually get dispatched on grunt work missions like this. Mostly, ya know, to avoid exactly this sorta situation."

"Ordinarily, no doubt true," 78 said. He strode over to other side of the beds, opposite Ahab, and drew up the keyboard for the auto-doc console. "But these, strange circumstances."

"See, what we've been thinking, Lily, is that whatever secret is in that last packet, it's something huge. It was stolen on a rumor that it's big enough to shift the war against the Rebels, even this late in the game, and the scale of the Rebel response to its theft has reinforced that belief. We think the Rebels don't put a bounty on us because they don't want to risk this secret, whatever it is, getting into anyone else's hands. I believe that all the Rebel ships they've sent out to shoot us up were ordinary rank and file, definitely, but your team was dispatched to board us and deal with us personally. It occurs to me that if they were going to send in a team like that, then there's two choices: either you can execute the whole team once they report back in, just in case they stumbled on this massive secret during their mission. Or, and I'm hoping for all our sake that this is what happened, you can send in an agent who's been cleared to handle this sort of intel." Brant tapped on the slate, and a voice identification window popped up, lines bobbing up and down as they spoke. "So any time you feel like sharing your ID and access code with us, be my guest."

McRee stared at Brant for a long moment. "Let me be clear: I don't have that kind of rank. I can't give ya' what yer asking for. If you're intent on torturing us until we unlock this stuff for you, you're going to have to torture us to death." She stared down Ahab and 78. "Come on, eh? Don't do this. I'm not going to beg you, but you guys, at least, you must be rational guys. We can't help you, and this…."

Ahab turned to McRee with a look of warmth and compassion. "Fear not, madam. We are soldiers in the service of the Federation, and even in these dark times, you need not worry for your men while they are in our care."

Without ceremony, Ahab picked a scalpel up from his tray and drove it into Grisham's stomach as hard as he could. The man bucked against his restraints, his face contorted with pain, but he did not cry out. Ahab pulled the blade out and drove it in several more times, humming idly to himself as Grisham cursed and struggled.

78 hit a key on the console, and Ahab backed away as the mechanical arms of the auto-doc swung into place, plucking the scalpel away and repairing the wounds with deft grace.

"You see?" Ahab said. "We are not monsters. No matter what absurd level of violence we inflict on them, they will survive to endure more."

McRee and Ahab stared each other down, no sound in the room except Grisham's slowly calming breaths.

Ahab sighed. "You voiced a familiar stereotype earlier, that the engi and the zoltan are the 'logical' races. I have never understood that old chestnut. Organic races always seem to think that 'evil,' such as it is, is somehow a problem of the flesh, that a life form who has ascended beyond the flesh will be a gentler, or a more rational, or in some other way a better sort of being." Ahab picked up a hypodermic needle and slid it into a bottle of rubbing alcohol, pulling the plunger back to fill it. "We were all organic once, all had to fight our way up from the primordial mud and become a planet's dominant species. There are no gentle races, madam." He slammed the needle into Grisham's arm and pushed. The man started to buck furiously against his restraints and the autodoc beeped excitedly as it started trying to treat him. "We are all apex predators out here."

78 entered a few commands at his console. The foot cushions on Angel's bed began to bend upward slightly, lifting his feet up to level with his knees before locking firmly and beeping.

"Should note, ordinarily find such treatment distasteful in extreme," 78 said. "Federal ethics codes very clear on subject of prisoner treatment, even if Justice Ministry known for turning blind eye. Have had to compromise heavily on moral parameters already – last remaining moral boundaries all the more precious as result."

His face smoldered a dark, volcanic red. He struck a key on the console, and Angel's bed beeped in warning.

"Override acknowledged," said the bed, servos whining as it lifted Angel's feet up and tried to bend his knees in the wrong direction.

Angel began to pant, his eyes going wide as a rabid dog's. "Please, please don't do this, we don't know anything!"

78 pressed a key, his face glowing a brighter red now, and the bed stopped moving. Angel's legs were straight and rigid, unable to stand any more strain. The engi bent down to Angel's face. "Her name was Katarek," he said. "Now you know something. Katarek. My friend. Killed my friend. Killed my friend." He struck the console without looking back at it, keeping his face inches from Angel's as the bed screeched back into motion. "KILLED. MY. FRIEND."

Things popped. People screamed. Brant watched, tears flowing down her otherwise blank face. All of it – grief over Katarek, horror over what she and her gentle friend had come to, hope that McRee knew something and that they could stop this, hope that McRee knew nothing and they wouldn't have to stop – all of it sloshed around in Brant's heart, and it produced no reaction more meaningful than a few tears. Certainly, at least, she did nothing to stop it.

"Yes," Brant said blankly. "You killed our friend."

Angel had lost consciousness as the autodoc got to work on his ruined legs, and Grisham was incoherent as the machines tried to filter his blood. McRee was trying to keep a brave face, but Brant saw her jaw shaking and the redness in her eyes.

"All you have to do is give us an access code," Brant said. "That's it. Then this stops."

McRee slowly, deliberately turned her gaze to Brant. She expected to see hate, and it was there. But there was also…pity.

"Yeah, we killed your friend. And nothing you can say or do will convince me we did wrong, and it's not because she was mantis. It's because she was Fed. Any time we manage to kill a Fed, I jump for joy and I thank the Lord, and if you want to know why, then look around, for God's sake. I wouldn't worry about the Lanius, captain – even if they're all the legends say and worse, the real monsters are on this ship."

A tear dropped off Brant's cheek. "I don't see it that way."

That was apparently too much for McRee. She tried to stand in indignation, but her restraints kept her seated. "You don't see it that way? That's all you've got to say? Just 'no, you're wrong'? Jesus God, you're…"

"The Lanius will kill us. And if they don't, the fleet behind us will. And if they don't, the blockade ahead of us will. We're all dead, and so is our government." A smirk flickered at the corners of Brant's mouth. "I see us more as the Federation's vengeful ghosts."

McRee eyed Brant cautiously. Brant saw a tiny ember of fear in her eyes.

"Oh, what? The nice aliens weren't as nice as you thought, so you thought you could appeal to my shame? To my humanity?" Brant said. She tried to keep her voice calm and clear, but there was a terrifying energy bubbling up out of her, and she shouted the last word. "Because you totally can! What we do to you today is going to leave me stained, dirtied, and damaged. I expect to weep in shame over it. When I die, my last thoughts might be about what I ordered done to you today and whether I'm going to go to hell for it. But I'll do it all the same. And do you want to know the truth, Lily?"

Brant leaned heavily, almost comically over the table. The Rebel captain tried to recoil from her, but the restraints kept McRee in place as Brant slid up to within inches of her face. "This? All this? It's not even for the Federation! There's no way we're going to make it back to Fed space alive, and they could probably decrypt it then anyway without any help from you guys! It's not even for vengeance – hell, we killed five of your guys already, Kat would think that's pretty good!"

She looked over her shoulder at 78 and Ahab. The zoltan looked mildly amused, even a little impressed. The commander blinked a confusing rainbow of emotions; she recognized fear and shame and encouragement. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring wink, to let them know this was at least partly an act, but then she realized – she only had the one eye. That insane energy came rolling out of her in hysterical chuckles, and she turned back to McRee.

"No, no, what really makes me feel like a bitch, Lily, is that I'm going to make you watch your men break over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, fully aware that you may not even have the right clearance, just because I'm so. Fracking. Curious. The last few months we've been on the run, we've lost people, we've killed people, and for WHAT?" Brant screamed the word and pounded the table repeatedly for emphasis. "What was it all about? What was the big secret? Would it have been worth all we've been through, all we've done, all we've had to become? Or did someone goof and it's just the Fleet Admiral's secret chili recipe?"

Brant cupped McRee's cheeks in her hands and held their faces close. "I have to know. It's not going to do us one lick of good, and it won't bring Kat back. But for all that, I have to know. And as soon as your men wake up, I'm willing to do the most depraved, the most inhuman…"

"McRee, Lilian, ID-31315!"

Brant almost wasn't sure McRee had said it, even though she was close enough that she felt the breath coming out of McRee's mouth as she said it. Then the data slate chirped a few times, and announced, "ID Accepted. Decrypting. Please ensure proper security protocols are observed."

"God have mercy on you, Charlotte Brant," McRee hissed.

Brant had gotten so far into the performance that she found it hard to get out of it now. She shook her head a little, then abruptly stood and walked back and forth nervously. They'd done it. They had it.

She suspected, as she picked up the slate, that there may be no immediate gratification. Whatever was in the packet would require hours of reading to properly digest, but she couldn't contain herself. She flicked through file directories, glanced at schematics and document headers, her eye darting about to absorb as much it could. It had to do with the flagship of Fleet Admiral Politis, the leader of the Rebellion and the military genius responsible for many of its most important victories. She could tell that much, but she could barely focus.

She waved 78 over. "Ahab, fully anesthetize and treat the prisoners. 8, what do you make of this?"

The engi walked over and peered at the slate. There was an uneasy twitching to his motions as his emotions settled down, but his face screen was blank as he stood next to her and took in the information on the slate.

"Strange…mix of capital ship schematics, experimental computing hardware, and…personal profile of Fleet Admiral? Connections implied, but…" He trailed off into muttering whistles as he kept reading, faster than Brant could follow. "Wait…wait…oh -" 78 let out a burst of excited and highly profane static.

"Well? Is it worth it?" McRee asked.

The engi lowered the slate and eyed McRee suspiciously. "Do you know about Fleet Admiral?"

"What does it say?" McRee asked dismissively, exhaustedly. "Is he a criminal? A pervert? You seem very shocked, but honestly, I could care less what the man may have done, as long as…"

"Not a man," 78 said. Brant's eyes bugged out as she saw what 78 had been reading and made the connection. Even Ahab, now at the console administering painkillers, paused and looked over.

"Not a man. Machine. Program." 78 took the slate from Brant and eyed it more closely. "AI. Leader of Human Rebellion...is an AI."