expansing.

[thraxios]

The rest of the ship is dead, not entirely through fault of Gideon Thraxios' own. He staggers through the halls for the first time, having spent most of his time in his cell or dragged from one place to another, past blood and bodies. They make little enough difference at the moment--he'll be among them if he doesn't reach the bridge.

One he's there, he sends out a distress beacon and sits wearily back in the pilot's chair. It's too large for him now; since he was brought to the ship, a nameless, normally stealthy tin can floating far from Mars, he's grown gaunt. His dark eyes are too big in his thin face now, curly hair long since matted and dreadlocked, clothes filthy.

Leaning down, he pulls the hand terminal from the pocket of the pilot's corpse. He suspects he has time enough to hack into it before life support drains away or the eerie blue glow coming from the engine room--the one he'd shied back from instinctively--does whatever thing his lizard hindbrain had feared. If he survives, he'll need to be able to communicate with his rescuers; if he doesn't, he'd rather die reading.

Comments

[quixano]

The whole situation is eerily familiar.

There's a dead ship, a distress signal, all out in empty space. They'd been cruising past Tycho when they got the signal, flashing red on their monitors. The entire crew gathers to watch it on the Roci's screens, faces solemn.

Holden says it before anyone else can. "I'm not going to say we have to go just because it's a distress signal."

"There's no HQ to log it with this time anyway," Amos points out amiably. Which just goes to show there was no point trying to preempt the comments.

"The signal's Martian," Alex says, then, "I know. I know. Just like last time."

"We don't have to check it out," Naomi agrees. But her eyes are on Holden, because, more than likely, she knows what he's thinking.

Then Amos looks at him. And then Alex. Holden says nothing.

Alex sighs. "I'll punch in the coordinates."

—

(Naomi says, "You don't have to go alone to check it out. You're not making up for anything."

"Historically speaking," Holden points out, "I'm doing the safer job."

"That's not funny."

"If it's related to the protomolecule, it'll probably keep me alive. If it's a Mao copycat, Alex has my blessing to make full use of our artillery. And if there is something dangerous on board -- "

"No three hours bullshit," she cuts in. "We came here together, and we leave together.")

—

A plus: the ship isn't vented. The lights are on, life support is working, and while Holden's safe in his vac suit, it's nice to know he could take off the helmet if need be. Not that he'd want to, with the blood and bodies, with the bad feeling the place gives him.

(Miller shows up long enough to tell him not to fuck with the engine room.

He decides not to fuck with the engine room.)

Instead, he heads for the bridge. Pushes some buttons outside as the doors slide open, and reveal: well. A bridge. The body of a pilot. Gideon is the last thing he notices, actually, and he instinctively reaches for his gun.

"Who the hell are you?"

[thraxios]

Gideon looks up at the sound of footsteps. A vac suit--Martian, by the look of it, and if the origin is identified, he doesn't see it in those first few moments. His stomach sinks, the look on his face shifting in an instant from curiosity to guarded fear.

The pilot was armed, but Gideon hadn't grabbed the revolver when he took the hand terminal. To do so now seems likely to end poorly. (More poorly, rather; he doubts Mars has simply decided he's no longer a person of interest, suitable only for black sites and their most careful attempts at wringing out information.) Instead, he sets the terminal in his lap and raises both hands before him, palms out, in a gesture of I have no intention of harming you. Frankly, he's too weak for it.

[quixano]

He looks like hell.

It's a relief that he doesn't seem like he wants to fight, but Holden has doubts he could even if he wanted to. This man has clearly been here alone long enough to grow gaunt, hollow-eyed, show signs of food and water deprivation, but there's more to it than that. He'd been kept badly even before he could've feasibly sent the distress signal.

This man was a prisoner.

Holden's comm squawks, and he answers without taking his eyes off the man. A conversation of someone's here, and no, not hostile, and we'll need an emergency airlock to get back on board. And it'll be easier to talk off this ship.

(It does not actually register to him, just yet, that this man was a prisoner of the Martians, and that he is wearing a Martian suit. About to lead the man onto a Martian ship. And how that may look. The Rocinante has been theirs for long enough now that it becomes easy to not see the provenance the way fresh eyes do.)

To Gideon, he warns, "Don't try anything."

[thraxios]

Gideon's hands are still raised. He's taking in all of this--the one-sided comm conversation, the warning, the man's stance--with silent, exacting consideration. There's little of the brusque formality he expects from career forces, not a single sir, yes, sir. Perhaps they're a minor enough ship that no one on it has the kind of clearance to know where Mars makes people disappear; perhaps the shock of it has shaken loose some of their usual deference.

Perhaps.

He points to the hand terminal sitting on his lap and gives the Martian a questioning look, hoping it'll translate to something like May I pick this up? If it doesn't, he's not sure how he's going to get anything across in this conversation.

(In that case, he supposes, there won't be need to do so. He'll be moved to another black site, and that will be the end of it; his input is hardly necessary.)

(If, that is, he's found himself in the company of the MCRN at all.)

[quixano]

He's not entirely sure it's a good idea for the guy to bring this hand terminal with him, but he's also curious why it registers as a priority in this situation at all. There has to be a reason. Hopefully one that isn't hitting an SOS because this was actually a trap and this is how Holden dies.

He holds a hand out, beckoning.

"Give that to me. I'll take it with us."

[thraxios]

The hesitance with which the possible Martian regards his hand terminal is precisely the reason Gideon hasn't tried to make use of it before now. It seems an excellent way to find himself bleeding out on a cold metal deck, never leaving the place he'd lost several teeth, a tongue, and more dignity than he'd like to think about at the moment.

None of this feels dignified, either, begging for the opportunity to do more than silently gesture and pull faces, but it's the only way he'll get there. That moment of agreement, he hopes, is enough that he can risk taking the terminal back in hand without giving it over - though it doesn't matter one way or another. He's already raising a finger, a silent wait, please , and hastily thumbing over to the Text-to-Speech option he'd found.

No time for dignity in what he types, racing against an unknown man's patience - or paranoia, it's hard to know which - to get a message across. "This is the only way I can speak." The voice that says it is female, human in timbre but robotic in tone.

[quixano]

Luckily, Gideon doesn't take too long to type his message. Though it feels long enough, Holden torn between deciding this is kind of trap after all and -- honestly, he doesn't even know what. He takes a step forward, half-thinking to at least get a look at what the man is doing, when the terminal speaks up.

"Oh."

Oh. Jesus Christ.

"Can you stand?"

[thraxios]

He'll have to change the default voice later; he hadn't thought to before now, and he doesn't dare linger here. Instead, gripping the hand terminal--the stained clothes he's wearing resemble pyjamas or scrubs, if anything, and they have no pockets--he nods.

And to his credit, he manages it, though there's a staggering sort of quality to the way he moves. He's spent a great deal of time in uncomfortable positions over the weeks he's been here, and his limbs still ache with it. His first step towards the man is somewhat hesitant, but there's a sharp line to his brow, something like determination there.

(The surprise in the other man's voice, the fact that he asks questions like can you stand--it's difficult to envision him a sailor. If he isn't, there's only one explanation Gideon can think of for the Martian vac suit, but it seems like an impossibly remote chance. Occam's razor would suggest a Martian, simply a naive one.)

[quixano]

Occam's razor and Jim Holden haven't been on speaking terms for years.

He moves forward a few steps, stopping short of actually touching Gideon. He does offer a shoulder though, quietly; he's willing to help Gideon walk, but he's not sure how receptive the man is going to be to his offer.

[thraxios]

Gideon looks at the gesture, frowning. It's overwhelmingly tempting to shake his head and go on shuffling forward, knowing as little as he does about the man before him--but he suspects he'll regret that choice.

He makes the right decision, he realizes, when he slumps against the vac suit. It's only with support that he can allow himself to remember how exhausted he is, and once he does, he can't help but feel it in every inch of himself.

[quixano]

It's a good thing he offered.

He supports Gideon's weight as best he can, slowly starting back for the Roci. They manage to get back to the ship without incident.

(Or mostly without incident. There was definitely a moment where Miller showed up and Holden growled an impatient "Not now", that he shrugged off if Gideon asked.)

But soon enough, Gideon's in their med bay, hooked up to an autodoc, and Holden returns to get his story.

[thraxios]

The longer they walk, the less he notices; distantly, it occurs to him that he doesn't recall the last time he ate or drank anything. It hadn't been relevant in the aftermath of the ship's near-destruction, and now it only seems to matter insofar as it might have helped him stumble across the airlock.

They pass crew, and Gideon knows somewhere inside him that there aren't enough people, but it doesn't mean anything in the moment. They pass metal and doors and come to the med bay.

He dozes off with his arm inside the autodoc, startling back awake when he hears boots clacking on the floor. There's another moment, a different kind of start, his expression going from groggy to suspicious, when he gets a look at his visitor's face.

"Captain Holden," the hand terminal says, after a few judicious taps. He pauses to make an adjustment, and when it next speaks, the voice is male. "I didn't realize I'd be meeting a folk hero today."

[quixano]

Folk hero is both embarrassing and a vast overstatement, and it shows on his face briefly. He chooses not to address that, though, coming to a stop standing near Gideon's bed, arms loosely crossed.

"I didn't realize I'd be meeting a Martian prisoner. I'd say today's taken us both by surprise."

[thraxios]

"Gideon Thraxios," he says, since 'Martian prisoner' is little better than 'folk hero.' The hand terminal, blessedly, manages to say 'Thraxios' correctly. "Given that I hadn't expected to be rescued, I'd say you were right."

More's his fortune, though he's not sure whether this is good or bad fortune--not quite yet. Better than finding himself on a true Martian vessel, no doubt, but that doesn't mean much in the grander scheme of things. "I am going to guess that, based on the fact that I'm in the medbay, you don't plan on spacing me or returning me to Mars."

[quixano]

"We don't plan on spacing you," he confirms.

They don't actually plan on returning him to Mars either, at least not at this moment -- they definitely aren't popular enough with the Martians to really consider reaching out to them anyway -- but...

"I'd appreciate some information about you before we make any decisions, actually. How did you end up on that ship?"

[thraxios]

Avoiding imminent death, he supposes, is the best he can hope for at the moment; more than that, he'll have to convince the crew of. And considering the circumstances that brought him to the black site ship in the first place, he'd like to think that James Holden, of all people, might understand the journey. If he does--then, Gideon hopes, there will be no reason to return him to the people who brought him there.

At Holden's question, his expression sharpens.

"That," he admits, "is an excellent question. Before I answer, how much do you know about that ship?"

In all honesty, he's not sure what information might have broadcast along with the distress call, if any. If the ship has a name, Gideon doesn't know it; if scanning it provided any background at all, that, too, is beyond him. Ships have never been his particular specialty, and his experiences on black sites have never concerned flying or communications.

[acreage]

There's a beat where he raises his eyebrows, lets them drop, and then concedes to shrugging.

"Honestly?"

He's going to pull up a chair, don't mind him.

"Next to nothing. It's called the Setne, it's some kind of black ops vessel. Martian, obviously. That's about it."

[thraxios]

Gideon nods. This is, perhaps, for the best. He needn't worry that his story will contradict the message the ship beamed out--provided Holden is telling the truth. (He finds himself less than concerned about that today, however. If this is a kind of feint on the captain's part, he can sort it out later.)

"Mars has ships for managing their undesirables. I found myself among them." They may as well delve into the subject directly. "I need not explain to you, of all people, the dangers the protomolecule poses. I had...concerns."

He feels very tired, in that moment, and very old--though that might be the fact that he's not a day out of the Setne. (Or the fact that Captain James Holden seems so thoroughly young, sitting beside him as if waiting for a story at an elder's knee.) He'd be tempted to run his tongue along the empty holes where some of his teeth once were, had he still possessed a tongue. "When I attempted to make my reservations about certain projects known, I found myself on the wrong side of a room on the Setne."

[acreage]

He might seem young to Gideon, but he sure feels like he ages about a fucking decade when Gideon's device says protomolecule. Every sleepless night he's ever had weighs heavy, the distant sounds of misery and death, which are never far, seem closer. A thousand pointless battles.

Of course this had to do with the protomolecule. It's not even a surprise, considering Miller's appearance earlier. Of course this had to do with people torturing and killing over the protomolecule, and that's probably never going to end, is it?

Gideon could be lying. But his story is depressingly plausible.

"So you didn't agree with work on the protomolecule, and they made you disappear."

[thraxios]

Gideon's chin dips, a single nod. "I had--"

He hesitates. Talking about the nature of his position within the MMC goes against every instinct he's cultivated over the course of decades. That he lost his tongue for his last attempt doesn't help. But it is undeniably necessary, now more than ever. He doesn't know how long he's been trapped in a black site, but every day brings them a step closer to the hideous conclusion of these enterprises.

"In my line of work, I learned things. I have no proof besides hearsay and my own observations, but the rest of the system must know. The weapons we've attempted to develop are beyond the pale." It doesn't occur to him that he's typed we and not they. Mars has always been a group effort, even if Gideon no longer feels connected to the whole.

[acreage]

He can't seem to help himself; he leans back and puts his hands over his face, briefly, before letting them drop. Not exactly a controlled reaction of an interrogator, but this isn't much of an interrogation.

"Let me guess. You need to expose their project before it's too late." Then he shakes his head, says, "If this is about the hybrids, the collaboration with Project Caliban, that's already been stopped."

If it's something else...well, here's hoping it's not.

[thraxios]

The angles of Gideon's gaunt face only grow sharper at the word hybrids. "How?"

That it means his entire effort was for nothing doesn't matter--at least, not in this moment. If Project Caliban has ended, the solar system only benefits.

[acreage]

Thank God for small favors, at least.

"A Martian marine got caught in the crossfire of a weapons test. With Chrisjen Avarsarala, she exposed Protogen's plans. We shut down their last base on Io. I arrested Jules-Pierre Mao myself."

Not unkindly, he adds, "It's over. They won't be hurting anyone else."

[thraxios]

He sags back against the medbay chair--something of a feat, considering how he's been slumped in it throughout this conversation. The relief, though, of knowing that it's over, that his failure hasn't meant further destruction... He's grateful, thinking a silent word of thanks to the White-Eyed Lady, despite the knowledge that she would have had little to do with it. Thank you for not taking me before I heard this.

"It seems," he types out, tentative and hopeful all at once, "that I've missed much in my confinement. What other news is there?"

If Jules-Pierre Mao can be arrested, brought down from his immortal heights of power, anything is possible.

[acreage]

There's a moment where Holden thinks about the celestial protomolecule squid rising up from Venus and turning into a ring that leads to a pocket dimension full of gates to other worlds.

"I'd recommend taking it slow," he says instead, leaning back slightly. "You've got a lot to catch up on, and a lot of recovering to do."

Plus, they need to do digging of their own into Gideon's story, finding out if it's true and, if so, just what they're going to do.

[thraxios]

Gideon's expression narrows into something difficult to put into words: the knowledge that there's at least one thing he has, evidently missed, and the weary desire to give into the suggestion to let it alone for now. The awareness that he's already run through what little energy he'd had for this conversation, too, is pulling at him, though stubbornness will keep him awake longer than might be entirely reasonable.

"All right." It feels final, somehow, but Gideon suspects he's in something of a fatalistic mood; it might be the painkillers from the autodoc. After a moment, aware that he's likely facing plenty more discussion over the coming days, he adds, "If you have more questions, Captain, I'll be happy to answer them to the best of my ability."

Frankly, he'll do most things, if the end result is a life outside of the Martian reach.

[acreage]

He does -- there are a lot more questions they'll need answered so they can figure out how to move forward -- but Holden leans back slightly, mouth puckering thoughtfully for a moment.

"Don't worry, we have plenty of questions. But I'm willing to answer any others of yours, first."

If this man is what he says, he deserves some peace of mind. Now, and for the coming days.

[thraxios]

There are so many questions he wants answered, not least of which is what are you not telling me? The hesitation with which Captain Holden responded earlier--I'd recommend taking it slow--gives him pause. He hasn't lived a life that shied away from the monstrous, and yet...

"Did you recover anything else from the ship?" he finally asks, brows furrowing. Every other person aboard was dead, he's certain of that much. But there might have been databanks, records, any number of relevant information that might corroborate his story and provide some further insight into Mars' next moves. "Is it too late to try?"