Ballad of Mac & Angel

There were no mornings or nights in the true sense on Callisto. Though the moon had been transformed from a cratered rock to a sprawling metropolis of industry, nearly all of the wealth that once sent sprawling tendrils of lights and growth across the surface had vanished. Withering back to its fossilized past, it left its remaining inhabitants drained of life and vigor. Even their hair bleached over time, almost white in the faux light of the tunnels crisscrossing the planet. 

The sky — manufactured out of tampered glass — was faded and stained. When the sun rose, a thumb sized pinprick in the distance, phantom shadows draped themselves across every available surface. During its long absence, the stars were scratched and distorted. Only Jupiter, that great beast of a planet, hung clear in the sky. The stormy eye of the planet remained fixated on the puny lives below, ceaselessly churning even as they fought and struggled to survive. It was said that people who stared too long into its depths would fall into insanity. But the two men barely noticed it. 

At a glance, a stranger could tell they were brothers. Though one was scrawny, his angular features pockmarked with scars, and the other built, his handsome features angelic in the dull light, there was a clear echo of one in the other. 

The scrawny one wore a heavy red jacket as scarred as his face. The air was still quite warm but he huddled in it, hugging himself as he regarded the man in front of him with suspicion.

  When his companion — dressed in fresh-pressed civilian-friendly charcoal, his dark hair carefully brushed back — spoke, it was with a soft lilt. “Been thinking about you, Angel.”

“You’ve been focking thinking about me? Big focking deal. ‘Alf the girls in Eagleton think about me and I don’t give a focking rat’s ass about it.”

The other man waited, steel blue eyes level. He did not have to wait long. 

“I don’t want you ‘ere. I never did. Fock off, you bluey-bastard. Get back on your great big tinny and fock off back to Luna. Fock all the bluey dicks up there who give a shit about ya.”

When his brother still didn’t move, Angel stormed closer to him, moving until their noses were almost touching. Until he could smell the wintergreen asher lingering in his breath. “You died when you left, Mac. You died and now I’m all that’s left of our clan. So. Fock. Off.”

“Maggie’s missing.”

Angel froze, hand freezing just before it shoved Mac’s chest. “What?”

“That’s why I came back. But I can’t stay; the blueys want to court-martial me as well.” He spoke plainly, matter-of-fact. As if he were reciting the weather readings. 

“You’re focking with me.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Angel.”

Angel’s hand dropped. He took a step back, searching Mac’s face for a shadow of the lie. “I still don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to. I just came so you’d know.”

And there it was — the flicker of his eye. Ever so faint and yet devastating. Eight years later and his brother still hadn’t learned how to hide from him. 

“You wouldn’t be back unless you needed me. So don’t focking try to deny it — not after what you’ve done.”

“You don’t know anything about what I’ve done.”

There was an undercurrent in Mac’s voice that made the hairs on the back of Angel’s neck stand up. The edge of his indignant anger faltering as the first icy knife of fear slid down his back. “Why do they want to court martial you, Mac?”

A dangerous light flickered in Mac’s eyes, turning his handsome features wolfish. A glimpse of the stranger forged by years of war. But then the light was gone, leaving Mac looking tired and worn. 

“I did what I had to.”

“And that’s focking supposed to be enough for me?”

“Maggie is out there, Angel. All we gotta do is find her.”

Angel licked his lips. Eight years, eight, long brutal years, he had been waiting for this moment. Dreaming of it. Praying, in what small ways he knew how. 

“No.”

“What?”

Angel felt a small flicker of satisfaction at the genuine shock on his brother’s face. 

“I’m not going with ya.”

“She won’t talk to me without you!” 

And there it was, that thin blade of desperation overwhelming his brother’s sense.

Angel smiled, his own inner wolf grinning through bared teeth. “I focking knew it.”

The very top of Mac’s cheeks flushed red.  “You win, Angel. You happy?”

“Not nearly enough. Not to go with ya.”

“What do you want from me?”

“The focking truth. All of it.”

“We. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This.” Mac emphasized each word through clenched teeth. “Every second we linger here is a second the blueys are closer to catching her. And you know what they’ll do with her, Angel.”

Oh how he wanted to argue with him. To make him squirm, the coward. Rub his face in the festering shit he had left behind. Instead, Angel only shrugged. “Fine. Then just give me your word. No more focking secrets.”

Mac held out his hand. Angel paused, studying his eyes carefully. But this time, his gaze was steady.

Angel accepted Mac’s hand, enjoying his brother’s subtle wince. The mines were good for more than just pay, after all. 

He stepped to the side, inviting Mac to his ship. “Not much on her, I’m afraid. But she’ll make just about any hop short of Little Ghost.”

Mac frowned as he studied the battered sheets of ceramic forming the underbelly of the ship. “Those heat shields up for re-entry?”

Angel shrugged, even as he leaned over and activated the landing bay with a punch to the control panel. “Depends on the atmosphere.”

When Mac gave him a look, Angel through up his hands. “Hey, you were the one who came out to Callisto. We ain’t exactly focking kings out here.”

But to Angel’s surprise, Mac’s concerned face didn’t waver. That only made his stomach twist even further.

“You remember the letter you wrote me?”

“What?”

“Your letter. The one you sent me.”

“Focking eight years ago, you mean?”

“Yeah. You said you figured it out. Did you?”

There had never been any wind on Callisto. It was an impossibility for a manufactured world. And yet Angel felt its distant howling curdling his blood. He forced himself to nod, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. 

“Yeah, course I did. Why else you think I was so focking pissed you never came back?”

Mac eased himself down in the pilot’s seat. The ship was full of aches and pains that only an ancient machine could know; he felt them echo through his own body, a trepidation that made his back tense even as he turned on the ship. 

“We need weapons?” It was only a half a question, from the back of the ship where Angel was digging around a tiny column that passed for a storage container. 

“Yep. Go for easy to transport over anything else — if it comes down to a firefight, we won’t last long against their weapons.”

“Focking bastards,” muttered Angel. There was a sharp grunt as he pulled something out of storage and tossed it unceremoniously out of the still-open hatch. “Bet they’d focking love to use as us target practice.”

“You wouldn’t be any fun,” Mac assured him even as he punched in the coordinates. The ship’s computer accepted them at a glacial pace, the buffering screen little more than a rough piece of glass. “I think we would have had more luck in the pod.”

Slowly, the ship hummed into life, peeling away from the steel-colored ground. The hatchway shut with a loud bang that Mac felt in his teeth. 

“When was the last time this tinny hopped?” he asked, checking some of the readouts on the console. 

“I haven’t even flown it in three cycles.” Seeing Mac’s incredulous look, Angel shrugged. “Not much reason for me to go to Mars these days.”

Something about Angel’s comment nagged at Mac but he pushed the concern behind. He could only handle one worry at a time; right now, it was making sure the bucket of bolts wouldn’t disintegrate while hopping. 

Angel slammed the storage container closed. “There’s still something I don’t get, mind you. How could Maggie be missing? Isn’t she have buddies with the Cardinals?”

“She’s high up in the field, yeah. But she’s not crazy enough to lead the Federation right to them. She’s gotta hide out first.”

“Don’t they have safe houses for this sort of thing?”

“Nothing safe enough for her,” Mac muttered darkly. “She was slated for Iapetus when she escaped.”

Angel swayed a little at the news, numb shock overwhelming his balance. “The fock she do to get Iapetus?!”

“I don’t know.” Mac kept his gaze ahead of him, too afraid of what his brother would guess if he met his eyes. “Nothing good.”

There was a pause. The ship rattled through the atmosphere. Angel watched the familiar grey dust ball off Deimos fade as Mars dwarfed it; then it too faded, becoming little more than a red circle in the distance. 

Skin prickling, he found himself pacing the back of the ship, hand rubbing the length of his jaw. 

“Mac, you said you was going to be focking courtmartialed.”

When Mac didn’t reply, Angel continued. “You helped her, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t just let her get shipped to Hell, now could I?”

“You focking mad lad.” Angel walked over and kissed Mac on the top of the head. “You beautiful focking idiot.”

“Get away,” Mac grumbled, half-heartedly swinging at Angel. “You won’t think it’s so funny when the blueys are dragging all three of us there.” 

“So what’s your plan, then?”

“There wasn’t really much time for talking. I barely made it off ship as it was.”

Angel blinked. “What? You mean we’re just focking puttering around?”

Mac raised his hands in self defense.“I didn’t even know she was on the ship until we were about to make the hop to Iapetus! It was all I could do to get her in an officer’s ship.”

“How the fock did you get to Callisto then?”

Mac’s gaze flickered from Angel back to the window. “Escape pod.”

“You focking idiot!” Angel kicked the back of his seat. “You know how focking easy it is to track one of those focking cans? A focking child could do it!”

“I scuttled it on Mars,” protested Mac. “There’s no reason for them to look for me here. The blueys don’t even know you exist.”

Angel shook his head, aghast. “Focking hell, Mac. Even for you, this is pretty focking stupid.”

“We’re already on our way. I left well before anyone would have missed me. Besides, she’s the one they’re after, not me.”

Angel sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. A headache was beginning to pound behind his eyes; he ignored it, instead looking out the window to the dazzling lights of the moon below. “Please tell me at least you have a place to start looking.”

“There is one place she mentioned before.” Mac flipped a switch, activating the initial countdown to hopping. “Capricorn Station.” 

Angel stared at his brother as if he were insane. “You’re focking with me.”

“What?”

“That focking space station is cursed!”

Mac sighed, impatience ruffling his otherwise stoic features. “There’s nothing wrong with the station.”

“It’s been under focking quarantine for twelve cycles!”

“All the more reason for it to be abandoned.”

“Mac. If we focking go there, we’re focking dead.”

“Maggie’s there.”

It was all he had to say. 

Swearing, Angel went back to pacing the back of the ship. Moments later, the engines switching from the familiar hum of cruising to the deeper growl of star hopping.

The ship groaned, shook, screamed. An alarm went off in the back of the ship, then died away almost as quickly as they had started. 

In the films of their youth, intergalactic travel took minutes, even hours. Star hopping was far less glamorous. 

Angel’s stomach pitched, rebelling against the strange dichotomy of having traveled a great distance without moving at all. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. It had been three years since he had last made the short hop to Mars. Those ones filled his skin with the prickling of a thousand miniaturized pins and needles. He didn’t think anything could be worse. Now he wasn’t so sure. It felt like his insides were on the verge of melting into slurry. He barely heard his brother as he called back to him. 

“Can’t believe this old ship made it. You must keep it in better shape than it looks.”

Forcing down a fresh wave of nausea, Angel moved to look over his brother’s shoulder. “God, it looks focking worse than I remember.”

“Never thought we’d have to see this place again, huh?”

Angel shook his head. A fresh wave of nausea had hit him, but this one had nothing to do with star hopping. “Let’s just get her and focking go.”

Mac guided the ship to a docking port on the inner ring. Due to the rotating nature of the space station, Mac had to switch to the autopilot to complete the bizarre maneuver to land the ship while it was still rotating with the station itself. Angel walked away, his already weak stomach unable to bear the strange sight of spinning at the same time as they prepared to land. 

“We’ll head south,” Mac said, standing up from his seat and walking over to where Angel was. “Your ship’s scanners not picking up anything on the sensors, so with any luck the blueys are still a few hours out.”

“Hours?” 

Mac shrugged, even as he leaned over and opened the hatchway behind Angel. “Can’t do anything more than try. We’ll try for a rotation; if we don’t find her, we’ll check the next spot.”

Angel tried to swallow but found what little moisture there had been in his mouth had dried away. “Hope we don’t need a full rotation to find her.”

Mac clapped him on the shoulder and headed down the ramp. “Better get looking then.”

Capricorn Station once was the heart of the neutral parties in the galaxy. Home to over a million citizens, it was once one of the few bastions where the guerrilla war of the Cardinals and the Federation didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered here was money and how much of it you carried. 

The wealth was reflected in the opulence of their surroundings. Though they were in one of the crew decks, the polished walls of silver and white had not lost another of their luster in the long years of quarantine. If anything, the beauty of the station was all the more haunting due to the absence of life. The entire structure around them seemed to echo with emptiness, every noise amplified with the lonely whispers of the dead. 

The quarantine had been enacted so quickly and brutally that the lights were still left on. It was as if the all the inhabitants had simply vanished, leaving the station to spin and burn in perpetuity. 

As if by silent agreement, neither of the two brothers mentioned their shared memories in this place. The past had been sealed with those left behind, to wither and to die and to never be seen again. 

They set off down the main hallway, Mac with one hand on his revolver, Angel jumping at the faintest creak of metal. But even as they wandered down the hall, Angel’s fear began to dull as a headache pressed behind his eyes. More than once, he had to hurry to catch up with Mac, his lungs struggling to fill with air. 

His brother remained oblivious: like a hound dog with a scent he pushed further and faster, nearly breaking out into a run just to investigate the next turn in the hallway. 

Fifteen minutes past, then half an hour. Angel was wheezing now, spikes of pain shooting through his joints. When Mac slowed to a stop, he staggered into him, darkness flooding his eyes.

Mac barely had to glance at him before his eyes widened, understanding dawning. 

Three cycles since Mars. 

“You focking liar!” Mac caught Angel as he fell, hands fisting in his jacket. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

“And get focking left behind again?” Angel struggled to wrest himself from Mac’s grip but it was like trying to break steel. 

“Look at yourself!” Mac released his grip and Angel stumbled, barely catching himself. “You’re already focking dying!”

“It’s not that bad.” But even as Angel spoke, his head pounded again, making his vision swim. Already, the taste of copper was beginning to fill his mouth. 

Mac dragged a shaking hand across his face.“You know how far we are from a hospital? They won’t even be able to treat you if this progresses long enough!”

Angel set his jaw, forcing himself to straighten despite the jolt of pain that ran up his spine. “Then we better hurry and find Maggie.”

“Angel, you’re going to focking die.” Mac struggled to keep his voice under control, torn between hugging his brother and throttling him. His eyes were bright, the blue turning almost silver with fear. “We have to get you out of here.”

“Maggie first,” Angel said. “Once we get her, we’ll get back to land. I promise.”

Mac bit his lip, looking back towards the ship. Too far. Too focking far. 

He turned back to Angel and poked him hard in the chest, drawing a wince. “The second we find her, you’re done. I should never have let you leave Callisto in the first place.”

Instead of arguing, Angel pushed past him, moving deeper into the space station. 

Another hour passed. Mac could barely register the hallway in front of them; he kept glancing at Angel, as if in a moment’s notice he would have to drag him from death’s grasp. It was telling of how weak Angel was that he didn’t scold his brother; instead, he kept moving forward, jaw tensed in pain. 

But then they heard it. The thud of boots on metal. 

Mac leaped into action before Angel even stopped walking. Grabbing his brother by the shoulders, he shoved Angel into an alcove in the wall. Stunned by the abrupt motion, it was all Angel could do to slide rather than fall to the floor. Blood trickled out of his nose as what little color in face drained away.

With an effort, Mac shoved away the panic choking his throat and turned around in time to see a solider dressed in dark blue armor step into the hallway. He barely had to glance at the soldier to recognize him as one of the Praetorian commandos, the elite special operations unit responsible for the war’s most dangerous missions. 

Mac’s hand twitched, the ingrained urge to salute almost overwhelming. Instead he straightened and set his features into a stolid mask. His eyes skimmed the spacesuit, looking for any point of weakness — though he already knew that there were none.

The soldier’s armor was designed for ruthless efficiency. Lightweight metal tiles fit to each individual’s body over nano-woven textiles which could tighten their molecular bonds to block blunt impacts and loosen to dissipate the heat from a blaster shot. But it was not the high tech suit that made the Federation commandos terrifying. It was the helmets. 

Designed to mimic the skulls of different animals, this one in particular was based off the lean angular brutality of a wolf. It made the soldier’s head seem unnaturally long. Etched along either jaw of the helmet were notched arrowheads, like fangs, each painted red. Mac’s blood chilled as he counted the arrowheads. There was only one way a soldier could get marks like that. 

As if sensing his fear, the soldier activated his gun with a sharp hum. “I should kill you right now.”

The soldier’s voice was dark, garbled. Though Mac had heard hundreds of men and women talk through the vocoders, it was always when they were in a group. In the empty halls of the station, it rang with a hollow chill. 

But to his surprise, the soldier’s gaze wavered, looking at something on the ground behind him. Mac cringed before he could stop himself; Angel's foot was protruding out into the hall. 

“Who is that?”

“No one. A civilian.” 

Ignoring him, the soldier walked closer, careful to keep the gun fixed on Mac.

As Angel's body came into view, a strange hissing noise came from the soldier. It took Mac a moment to recognize the sound as a gasp. 

Tucking his gun under his arm, the soldier pulled off the helmet. Dark brown hair tumbled out, curling around the shoulders of the spacesuit even as a woman’s face emerged. 

Mac’s heart skidded in his chest. “Maggie!”

Maggie barely smiled; her focus was all on Angel. His pupils were so dilated his eyes almost appeared black. But still, he managed a mischievous smile. “Been a minute, Mags.”

“Oh, you focking idiot,” she said. And then she tackled him, embracing him with the smell of burning embers and nutmeg. 

He struggled to hold her back, the strength in his arms failing him. 

“You stupid bastard,” she said, her face hot against his shoulder. “Why did you have to come?”

“Ah, come on,” Angel said, stroking her hair. “Don’t think I’d miss all the fun this time around, did you?”

She stepped back, wiping the tears her face with the palm of one hand. “Let me look at you properly. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Angel smiled weakly. “Still the same skinny fock from Capricorn, Mags. Mac’s the one who’s grown up.”

“You look terrible.” She touched his cheek, feeling how cold the skin was already. “All this from a focking hop.”

“To be fair, it was a hop halfway across the galaxy.” Angel’s smile widened a fraction. “Give me credit for making it this far.”

She shook her head, eyes still sparkling with emotion. “Both of you, focking idiots.”

She helped him to his feet, pulling him up with a strength that surprised Angel. “They been having you lift focking cruisers, Mags?”

“Only in my off hours. You’re not even a challenge — there’s little more than skin and bones left on you."

“We need to go,” Mac insisted, interrupting their banter. “He doesn’t have that much time left.”

She whirled on him, a violent anger flaring in her eyes. “How could you do this to him? He should have been left on Callisto, where he was safe!”

Angel squeezed her shoulder, trying to redirect her anger. “It’s not his fault, Mags. He thought I was on meds.”

Maggie scoffed, knocking his hand away with a shrug. “Then he’s a damned idiot. Anyone with a working brain cell knows you wouldn’t have the credits for focking meds.”

“Maggie — ”

Before Mac could finish his sentence, a shudder rocked through the space station. 

“What the fock was that?” Angel asked, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. 

Mac and Maggie exchanged glances. 

“Your ship,” Mac said, answering an unspoken question. 

The trio set off into a run, sprinting down the halls. They barely made it a few steps before another rumble rocked through the space station. The lights flickered, threatening to plunge them into darkness. 

“Focking blueys!” shouted Maggie, leading them up a staircase into another level of the space station. “They must have followed you from Callisto!”

“We can lose them once we get to your ship!” So far, they were alone, but he doubted it would last for long. 

They rounded another corner. As he tried to turn to follow Mac and Maggie, Angel’s feet tangled around each other and he went flying. He hit the ground hard, skinning the palms of his hands and tearing open one knee. He tried to get up but his joints seized, contorting in painful direction. And suddenly Angel was drowning in darkness. Lost, he tumbled onto his side, unseeing and unhearing.

Mac and Maggie skidded to a halt and rushed over to his side. 

“He’s having a focking seizure!” gasped Maggie.

“Get me his jacket!”

Angel choked, his voice rasping in his throat as his limbs twitched. Blood began to trickle out of the corner of his mouth, small droplets that trailed down the side of his face. Maggie eased him out of his jacket, careful not to let Angel hit his arms on the tough plates of her suit. 

Mac took the jacket and stuffed it under his head. 

“It’ll be okay, Angel,” he murmured. “Just hang in there.”

“It shouldn’t be this bad.” Maggie leaned close to Angel, wiping the sweat from his face. “Why is it so bad?.”

“It’s the distance.” Mac pulled her back, out of the way of Angel’s flailing limbs. There was nothing to do but wait for the seizure to subside. “His body can’t handle it. Callisto to Mars is one thing but…”

His voice shook a little as he watched the twitches slowly subside from Angel’s body. “I should have known, Maggie. I should have stopped him from coming.”

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “It’s not your fault, Mac. You didn’t know he’d stopped taking his meds.”

Mac shook his head, forcing himself to glance from Angel back to the hallway. Still no sign of the blueys, but they were losing valuable time. 

“Once he quiets down, I’ll have to carry him,” he said. “Does your gun work?”

Maggie shook her head. “Damn thing is bio-coded to the owner. It barely makes a good club.”

Mac fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the revolver holstered there. “Take this.”

“But what about —”

“I can’t aim and carry Angel.” Mac held out the revolver. “Please, Maggie.”

She took it, handling it with a practiced ease that made the back of Mac’s neck prickle.

Moments later, Angel let out a shuddering breath and lay still. 

Mac took a second to check his brother’s pulse. The steady rhythm raced beneath his fingertips, frantically pulsing beyond what could be sustained. 

Mac swore under his breath, even as he pulled Angel up into a fireman’s carry. 

They hurried on as soon as Mac straightened, Maggie leading the way. She would look back occasionally, revolver raised in one hand. 

They were dangerously slow, barely going more than a slight jog. Even if the blueys were walking towards them, they’d soon have them surrounded. Maggie slowed to a stop, nearly causing Mac to crash into her.

Thinking they were near the ship, Mac eased Angel onto the floor, as much to give his brother what little comfort he could as to relieve his own aching muscles. 

Maggie looked up and down the halls, sweat sliding down her face. 

“Mac, I need to go.” 

He pretended to not to hear her. “Give me a hand here, Maggie. We can go faster if we both carry him.”

She took a step away. “They want me, not him. If I go, he’ll be safe.”

“I don’t know even know where your ship is!”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Mischievous, even in the face of death. “I’ll race you to it then. Should be easy for you, since I’ll be taking the scenic route.”

She continued before he could protest. “It’s on Deck C-19, Corridor 12. Just down the hall from here to the left.”

“If they catch you, they won’t kill you.” Mac forced her to meet his gaze. “You know that, right?”

She nodded, her pale face waxy in the stark light of the space station. “They won’t take me alive.”

Her gaze drifted to Angel. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her lips then touched his forehead.  “Take care of him, Mac. And yourself.”

“Same to you.”

And she was gone, running down the hall, a silent shadow fading into the flickering lights of the space station. 

Mac waited until she totally disappeared from view before turning back to Angel. His brother had slid down the wall until he was almost completely curled in the fetal position. Mac knelt down besides him, pulling his brother into his arms. Though he was shivering, Angel had sweated through his shirt, the white fabric almost translucent. It made his skin glisten, turning the soft flesh waxy.  

“Angel.” Mac smacked him on the side of the face, forcing his brother to open his eyes. “Angel, look at me.”

He groaned, blood frothing on his lips. The whites of his eyes were rapidly turning scarlet. 

“You’re going to be fine. Just keep talking to me.”

“What the f-fock do you want me to say?” His voice was so hoarse Mac could barely make out the words. He ran out of breath as he spoke, forcing him to suck in a shaking breath that made his already pale face ghostly white. “Can’t…focking…say…anything.”

“Anyone ever tell you curse too much?” Mac forced himself to smile, but it barely lasted long enough for Angel to see it. Angel started to smile but it was interrupted by a shudder, pain forcing his eyes closed again. 

“Hey.” Mac shook him again. “No sleeping on the job.”

Angel cracked open his eyes. His head lolled, turning away from Mac to look over his shoulder. Mac didn’t need to see where his brother was looking to know what he was looking for.

“Maggie’s alright, Angel. She’s safe.”

Mac gripped Angel’s hand tighter, scared by how the strength in his hand was fading. “We’re going to get you some help, and then we’ll go join her.”

“Mac…” Angel’s head rolled back so that he could look up into his face. His eyes were fully red now. The froth in his lips was mixed with something darker, thicker than blood.

“Talk to me, Angel. Say something.” Mac couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice now. His own tears were dangerously close to falling. 

But Angel’s eyes had shut again. 

Mac looked around, scanning the walls. He could hear Maggie’s concerned voice whispering in his head, urging him on. 

What’s the point of being a fancy military man if you can’t even do basic first-aid?

Mac’s eyes locked on a small box. It had fallen from its nook in the wall and lay tucked behind one of the supporting beams of the wall. But Mac didn’t need to see the green cross on front to recognize it for what it was. 

Carefully, he leaned Angel down on the ground, propping his head up on his own jacket. “I’ll be right back, Angel.”

In the distance, Mac heard the familiar drumming of boots. The blueys had found them. 

Putting the thought out of his head, he hurried to snatch up the first aid kit and bring it over to his brother’s side.

“You’re going to be alright, Angel,” he said, popping open the case. But the box was almost empty. 

Horrorstruck, Mac turned the box over. Bandages tumbled out, utterly useless to him. A few capsules did as well and these he rummaged through, holding each one up to the light to read the minuscule writing. 

Beneath him, Angel’s shivering stopped. 

Mac tossed the last capsule down, cursing violently. He didn’t care if the blueys heard him. All that mattered was finding something that could save his brother. 

A tiny glint caught his eye. He had almost missed it, buried as it was underneath a bandage. A nervous laugh shook him even as he fumbled to open the syringe. It was madness; there was as just a good chance he would kill his brother as save him. 

But he didn’t have a choice. 

The distant drum of boots had become a roar. Any second now, they would be upon them.

He flicked the cap off the needle and plunged it into the side of his brother’s neck. 

Angel’s eyes flew open and he gasped, his body jerking upright. Mac didn’t wait to see his brother’s reaction. He scooped him up again, this time cradling him like a child.

He ran on and on, desperation and adrenaline howling in his ears. He didn’t breathe; it was as if his heart had taken over the job, roaring blood through his body even as he turned down a fork in the hallway, away from the thunderous threat of the blueys.

All that mattered was keeping Angel alive. 

But then, abruptly, he found himself confronted an airlock, the thick layers of plastic and metal faded from years of misuse. It was a dead end. 

Mac nearly sobbed at the sight. It wasn’t fair. Angel didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. Not now.

Outside the airlock, far off in the vacuum of space, flicker of movement caught his eye. Stepping closer, he saw a familiar silver ship spinning in the distance. An officer’s ship, bearing the insignia of The Arcturus. 

It was flying towards them, weaving through a hail of blaster fire. How Maggie had beaten them to the ship and found them was beyond Mac. Why she now risked it all just to give them this thin breath of hope was even more impossible to fathom. 

But Mac couldn’t be angry. 

Instead, he fumbled with the airlock controls, opening it even before Maggie’s ship attached to the other side. 

As he staggered through the doors, the hatchway to the officer’s ship slid open, and there she was. 

Brilliant, deadly, and more beautiful than Mac had ever seen her. 

He sprinted into her ship, leaping through the doors even as they started to slide shut again. Glancing back, he saw a horde of blue armored soldiers pouring into the airlock, angry wasps frustrated by their loss of prey. 

The concussive booms of blaster fire rocked the ship as Maggie sprinted back up to the cockpit, leaving Mac to haul Angel to the med bay. 

He laid him down on the cot, staggering a little as the ship roared away from the station. More booms echoed around the ship. There was no way they could risk hopping again; it was all down to Maggie’s flying now. 

Angel grabbed onto him with a strength that scared Mac, fingers digging into his arm hard enough to bruise. But Mac took Angel’s hand in his, squeezing back. 

He wasn’t going to leave his brother again.