Mercy woke slowly. The bunk beneath her was familiar, too hard, and for a despairing, confused second she thought she was waking from a cruel dream and she would find herself still captive on the space station. Then unfamiliar sounds assailed her, voices she didn’t know, and an odd electronic hum she couldn’t immediately place. She realized her bunk was covered in soft linens, lying against her skin like fluffy clouds that felt so luxurious, it nearly brought tears to her eyes. A familiar antiseptic smell hit her nose, and she stiffened. The scent was unmistakable. She was in a medical facility.

Memory returned in a rush. Reaper, the ship, falling asleep.

She froze, not moving, doing her best to keep her muscles from tensing, wanting a few solitary moments to get her bearings before anyone realized she was conscious. The stupid machines betrayed her.

“Her heartbeat’s picked up. She’s awake.” The voice sounded young and female, like a teenager’s.

“Good. Right on schedule.” Male, older, with a faint accent Mercy couldn’t immediately identify.

“It’s about time.” This was said with a sniff of disdain, the voice female, and somehow more mature than the other two.

“I told you,” said the male voice with more than a hint of clipped impatience. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here, Vashti.”

“Too bad. If you think I’m leaving now, you can think again, Hikaru Jiro. I’ve already waited for nearly three days. I’m not waiting any longer.”

“Doc,” the male voice muttered. “Everyone calls me Doc.”

“Everyone clearly doesn’t remember when you tried to be captain of your own ship, marauding across the galaxy. I do.” A pause. “Bet you didn’t know that, did you girl? Even Doc has his secrets.”

The young girl laughed. The man muttered something in a language Mercy didn’t know. It didn’t sound complimentary. She gave up the sham and opened her eyes.

A woman sat beside the bed, her long, silver hair streaked with black. She held a walking stick in one hand, elegant fingers lined with age curved around the knob. She wore a long blue robe wrapped around her slim frame, the waist belted with an elaborately embroidered length of fabric. Her skin was a few shades darker than Mercy’s, but when she turned her head, familiar green eyes looked back at Mercy. Her own eyes.

She stiffened, and the old woman smiled gently.

“Yes, I know, I look a great deal like my sister. But Lilith is long dead, my dear. You have nothing to fear from me.” She reached one wizened hand over, and squeezed Mercy’s fingers. “I’m sure you don’t remember, being so young. I helped the two of you escape, you know. You and your mother. My name is Vashti.” She paused, and then continued on when Mercy said nothing. “I suppose something untoward has happened to Pallas, if she isn’t with you.”

A trace of hope laced the statement, almost turning it into a question. Mercy spent a long moment searching the other woman’s face, noting the lines that seemed given to smiles. That didn’t mean she trusted her, or believed a word she said.

“She’s dead,” Mercy said at last, the word heavy with her own sense of loss. After so long, it was hard not to believe the statement herself. She didn’t imagine the sadness that clouded the other woman’s eyes.

“I see. Well, she would be pleased that you’ve returned to us, after all this time.”

“Would she?” Mercy couldn’t quite stop the challenge from leaving her lips. “She spent my entire life leading me away from you, training me how to remain lost.”

Vashti sighed. “I see trust will take time. She did all of that because her mother, my sister, wanted to kill you. Lilith wanted you dead, Mercy. Not me. Not the rest of us.” That hand squeezed her fingers again, a gesture meant to comfort. “For now, know that I am personally delighted to see my great-niece again. For so long, I feared I never would.” Vashti turned, gesturing behind her.

“The taciturn man looming over us is Hikaru Jiro, but as I’m sure you heard, he prefers to be called Doc.”

At this, the man pushed forward, brushing by Vashti with his dark eyes focused on the datapad in his hand. His black hair was lightly salted with grey, and combed as ruthlessly straight as his clothing. He glanced at Mercy, a frown fixed across his face.

“Your red blood cell count has improved, and your muscle tone has increased, thanks to neuromuscular stimulation. You have Nayla to thank for that.” He nodded toward the girl, who Mercy saw wasn’t as young as she’d first perceived. Somewhere between eighteen and twenty-one. She had long, dark hair pulled back into an efficient braid, mesmerizing eyes that were pools of clear blue, and a scattering of freckles across her nose. In contrast to Doc’s stark expression, Nayla gave Mercy a huge smile.

“I’m so happy you’re doing better. I tried to fix your hair for you, too, but I’m afraid I didn’t get as far as I’d hoped.”

Mercy put a hand reflexively to her head, and was surprised to run her fingers through three to four inches of new, soft hair. Doc scowled even more.

“I told you, growing hair is an absolute waste of your Talent.” He sounded furious. “Purely cosmetic!”

Nayla just shrugged, seemingly unmoved by his disapproval. “If someone shaved my head, I’d probably cry,” she confided to Mercy. “I thought you might feel better if you had at least a little hair when you woke up.”

“Thank you.” Mercy didn’t know what else to say, given Doc’s obvious agitation. She was certainly glad to have more than a short, prickly stubble covering her head. “It was kind of you.”

“Bakana onna no ko,” muttered Doc. His tone made it clear he didn’t approve, whatever the words meant. He glared a Mercy as though he blamed her. “Now, you. How do you feel? Headache?”

Mercy took a moment to take stock. The edge of exhaustion that had been with her for so long was gone. She felt rested, hungry, and strangely anxious. An uneasy feeling hovered over her, and it took a moment to pinpoint why.

“Where’s Reaper?” she asked.

Doc started in surprise. He exchanged a look with Vashti, so quick Mercy couldn’t identify his expression.

“Reaper has many duties,” he said. “None of them in the infirmary. Did you need him for something?”

Mercy didn’t know what to think of the odd disappointment she experienced. What did it matter where the man was? She’d met him for all of five minutes. Annoyed with herself, she shoved the anxious feeling aside.

“No,” she said. “Just curious.”

“It would be best to avoid curiosity where Reaper is concerned,” Doc told her. Mercy had the feeling he meant every word, as though warning her to keep her distance was a kindness. “Now, how are you feeling?”

“No headache,” she told him. “I’m hungry, though.” She said this last a little warily, hoping they wouldn’t hand her a nutritional bar.

“Yes, yes.” Doc waved this away as inconsequential. “A meal is already being prepared. Sit up slowly, and tell me if you experience any dizziness, nausea, or discomfort.”

Mercy did as instructed, and noticed the shape of the room as she shifted upright, the limited space and nano-graph paneling, conducting light to panels inlaid into the ceiling. Now that she thought about it, she could feel the low vibration of engines.

“We’re on a ship,” she said aloud. A really big ship, given the distance of the engines and the space allocated for an infirmary.

“Yes, brilliant deduction,” Doc said. “Your head?”

“It’s fine. I feel great, actually.”

Nayla beamed happily at Mercy. The girl was so earnest and genuine, she couldn’t help but smile back. Then she glimpsed something sitting across the room that wiped away all of her tentative good feelings. A blue stasis field, about the length of a person, hovered in an empty suite. In an instant, all of Mercy’s concerns for herself were swallowed by worry for her friend. It became easy to box up her fears and put them away.

“Atrea!” Mercy moved to push herself down from the medical bunk she was sitting on, and a steely grip closed around her arm.

“No,” said Doc. “You leave when I say you’re finished.”

Maybe it was the way she’d been constantly moved and handled by Willem Frain and his people, but the sudden surge of anger that swept through Mercy shocked her. She was actually shaking, the realization distant behind the haze of emotion.

“Oh dear,” said Vashti, eyeing the two of them.

“Get your hand off me.” Mercy enunciated each word.

Doc let her go, but did not back away. He was crowding the table too closely for Mercy to jump down without shoving into him. “You won’t do your friend any good if you collapse halfway across the room. She’s stable, for the moment.”

Mercy stared at him incredulously. “She’s in stasis.”

“Yes, which means her condition isn’t changing anytime soon.” Doc scowled at her. “Yours, on the other hand…”

“Is that a threat?”

Doc threw his hands into the air, one still holding the datapad.

“Bakana yatsura kara, sukutte kure!”

Mercy was pretty sure whatever he’d said was some kind of insult. “Listen, you piece of—”

“Let’s everyone take a moment and calm down.” Vashti’s voice was cool and collected. “Mercy, I assure you, everything that can be done for Atrea is being done. Her father would never settle for anything less. Doc, you must understand that Mercy has been through quite an ordeal. She has no real reason to trust us.”

“Yes,” snapped Doc, “saving her life and returning her to health is certainly not enough of a reason.”

“Reaper saved my life.” Mercy glared at him. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing. I’ve been unconscious for three days.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized that was part of her problem; she didn’t know what had happened to her here, or back on that space station. Not knowing was a weight in her chest that hurt, like a physical sense of pressure. She rubbed at it with one hand, but it did nothing to ease it. “I’m tired of not knowing what the hell is happening to me.”

Doc eyed her, and something in his expression softened. “I assure you, we took no samples, did nothing beyond treating your injuries and overall condition. I would never violate any of my patients.” He eased back a step to give her more space. “You have my word as a physician.”

Mercy wished she could believe that, but she just didn’t know what to trust, or who. These were the very people her mother had spent years hiding from. Then something Vashti had said penetrated, and Mercy looked around the room. “Wolfgang is here?”

Vashti smiled, tilted her head slightly. “Of course. Where else would he be?”

“Where—where is he, then?” Mercy couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be here, ordering someone to do something to help Atrea. Some of that pressure in her chest eased. Wolfgang would never have let them do anything to hurt her. That much she was certain of.

Vashti waved a hand in the air. “I made him go and eat something. He’s barely left either of you in three days. You were clearly recovering, and no one knows quite what to do for Atrea yet, poor dear. There was really no point in his constant hovering.” She gave Mercy’s hand a quick pat. “Now that you’re awake, I’m sure he’ll be here very soon.”

“You made Wolfgang Hades get something to eat?” No one ordered the old Wolf around.

“Of course.”

Mercy stared at this old woman, with her easy expression and fond smile. “You pressured him, didn’t you? With Talent?”

Vashti gave a careless shrug. “For his own good. The man had barely eaten since you went missing. With you finally safe, it was time he did.”

“May I finish my examination now?” Doc framed it as a question, but there was no mistaking the stiff irritation in his tone, or the fact that it wasn’t really a request.

Calmer now, Mercy gave him an amused look. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the worst bedside manner?”

“Oh yes, dear,” said Vashti. “Everyone says that.”

Doc cast her an irritated look. “I’ve had about enough of you—”

“Doc.”

The word was spoken with such quiet authority, it arrested the attention of everyone in the room. Mercy turned her head to see a man standing in the doorway of the hatch, tall, with wide shoulders. He took up the entire space, and not just physically. He wore a casual white shirt tucked into a worn pair of armored pants. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showing muscular forearms. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, and the stubble of beard marking his face made it seem like he hadn’t cared enough to shave in a day or two. He could have been anything. A smuggler, a deck hand, a dock worker. The sheer presence that came with him when he stepped into the room said he was something more.

Subdued, Doc ducked his head and muttered to himself under his breath. Vashti sat down as if she just didn’t have the strength to stand any longer. She favored the newcomer with a smile that radiated innocence, and he looked back with a raised eyebrow that said he didn’t buy it for an instant.

“Cannon!” Only Nayla seemed unaffected, crossing the room to give him a quick hug, which he returned briefly before turning his attention to Mercy.

He had the same green eyes as Vashti.

“Let me guess,” Mercy said, feeling an odd sense of the surreal. “We’re family.” For so long, she’d been alone. Now suddenly she was related to everyone she met. It was disconcerting.

“Cousins,” Cannon confirmed. “My mother was Pallas’s older sister, Nemain.”

Mercy shrugged. She knew the family tree. Pallas had drilled the names into her, so she knew her mother had three sisters: Nemain, Athena, and Macha. Just like she knew Vashti was really her great-Aunt.

“And your name is Cannon?” she asked drily.

He gave her a lazy smile, his teeth a flash of white against the golden bronze of his skin. It transformed his face from merely good looking to wielding a wicked sensuality. Wow, she thought. Charming didn’t begin to cover it, and she had a feeling he was only half trying. I bet women throw themselves at his feet.

“Our family tends toward unconventional names.” He paused, his grin widening. “Mercy.”

“Point taken.” She couldn’t help but smile back, amused and appalled despite herself. She spared a moment to be thankful he was a relative. Maybe that would provide her some form of armor against what she suspected was a lethal charisma.

Cannon glanced around the room, then jerked his head toward the door. “Walk with me? I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a meal. I imagine you’re starving.”

Mercy thought once more of the nutritional bars she’d been surviving on for who knew how long. She might not know or trust these people yet, but real food went a long way in winning her over.

“You have no idea,” she said feelingly, and jumped off the bunk.

“I haven’t finished my examination,” Doc said, irritation in every word.

Cannon paused. For some reason, Mercy expected him to neatly ignore the implied request. Instead, he gave the doctor his full attention.

“You have concerns?” he asked.

“Physically, she’s made a good recovery. However, she is still underweight, and likely to experience periods of weakness and exhaustion. Her mental state is more difficult to measure. Her Talent was severely overtaxed, over a long and continuous period of time. The trauma she has endured is also a concern.”

“Doc.” Cannon managed to infuse the single word with layers of meaning. The doctor frowned, eyeing Mercy critically.

“She should be fine,” he said reluctantly. “Provided she doesn’t push things too fast, either physically or psychically. I recommend keeping a close eye on her for at least a few days.”

“I’m standing right here,” Mercy muttered.

“So you are.” Cannon looked at her. “So, would you be comfortable with a babysitter for a few days?”

“Are we pretending I have a choice?”

He smiled. “Let me ask it a different way – would you rather we watch you from a distance, letting you fumble your way around an unfamiliar ship full of people you don’t trust? Or do you want a guide? One who will pull double duty by keeping an eye on your welfare.”

“When you put it that way, it’s not much of a choice.”

He shrugged. “A guide will be useful. You also need help rebuilding your shields. I’m afraid whatever happened to you on that space station has left them in a very vulnerable condition. You’re going to need extensive retraining from someone very skilled before you’ll be safe around nulls again. Here, everyone shields their own thoughts, so you’re relatively safe. Not so much, out there.” He gestured vaguely with a sweeping motion of his hand.

“Are you planning on keeping me prisoner here?” This was the question she’d most wanted to ask since waking up, the biggest concern hovering in the back of her mind. Had she traded one jailer for another?

“No,” he said. “No, we are not. You are free to come and go as you wish. But your friend Atrea is going to have to stay until we can figure out how to cure her of whatever infects her mind. I believe she and her father are staying for the foreseeable future.” He paused. “Did you wish for me to arrange transport for you?”

Mercy was aware of a strange silence in the room, as if every person there literally held their breath, waiting for her answer. It was odd, and uncomfortable. But of course she couldn’t leave Atrea. She closed her eyes, suddenly weary of it all. Of her own emotions, and this horrible unease that filled her whenever she thought of her family. She couldn’t afford to run anymore, that much was clear.

“No,” she heard herself say. “Of course not. I just…I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m tired of being at everyone else’s whim but my own.”

“I don’t doubt it. From what I’ve heard, you had a very harrowing few weeks.” Cannon leaned a hip against one of Doc’s infirmary beds, his arms crossed over his chest. “What can I do to help you feel more comfortable? I realize you don’t trust us yet. You have little reason to, other than Wolfgang’s good opinion, and you haven’t had the opportunity to speak with him.”

“I don’t know,” said Mercy quietly. She shrugged. “I don’t know you. Any of you. My mother used to tell me if we ever came home, Grandmother would kill me. Well, here I am, and I’m supposed to let all of that go because Lilith is dead and gone. I’m supposed to assume that none of you have that same agenda.”

“I understand why family might be the most difficult for you to trust, at least at first,” Cannon conceded. “That doesn’t change the fact that you need training, and someone to keep an eye on you as you recover.”

“Reaper.” Mercy leaped on the name, so fast it startled even her.

Cannon stared at her. He couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d pulled out a disrupter and stunned him. He looked over at Doc and Vashti. The latter shrugged.

“She trusts him.”

“He could have left me on that station to die.” Mercy said. “He didn’t have to free us, but he did. If he wanted me dead, I already would be. I don’t trust him, exactly, but let’s just say I trust him more than I do you.”

It took Cannon a moment to find his voice. “A first for everything, I suppose.” He stroked a hand over his chin. “Well, if you want Reaper to train you, so be it.” He straightened, sweeping a hand to the door. “Now, can we go and eat that meal before it grows cold?”

Feeling she’d established some small measure of control, Mercy nodded, and stepped out of the room ahead of him. She felt shaky, and light headed. She had the feeling she’d just committed to much more than just someone to retrain her Talent. Somehow, between waking up and getting something to eat, she’d decided to stay.

Like it or not, she’d just thrown her lot in with the very family who once tried to kill her. It was a sobering realization. She wondered what her mother would say. It doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly. She’d spent the last fifteen years living by her mother’s rules. In the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep her safe. The choice had been taken from her, and maybe it was time. Time to embrace change. Time to let Pallas go.