They had to halt a few minutes later, when Luc made an urgent gesture at Mads. She released her hold on him just before he doubled over to spit a mixture of blood and saliva on the passageway floor. His skin, always pale, but normally pale brown, was purple-gray in the faint tunnel lighting. His dirty hands looked skeletal, clutching the wall to keep him from falling.

Mads shivered and looked away, and felt tears prick her eyes. She was gripped by a sudden memory of her mother's hands. Equally skeletal, equally elegant, still beautiful even when the woman was fading from the blighted, wasting sickness that would take her away forever. It took your mind first. Then your body. It had seemed to take her mother's soul as well.

*****

Come here, child! Let me look at you. The voice was right. The hands were right.

Mads had crept closer, terrified by this ghoulish creature with her mother's eyes.

The woman – her mother – had smacked her across the face and screeched like an animal, You're not my child! Demon! He sent you to taunt me! He lied! They always lie!

Grandmere had dragged her away, the doctor had injected her mother with something viscous and whitish. And Mads had been sent to her room, never knowing just what she had done wrong.

They remembered her, eventually, and Grandmere had brought her some milk and a piece of toast, and told her to go to sleep. Mads had nodded meekly, refused the food, and sat in her room for hours, her eyes dry and her thoughts scattered.

In the middle of the night, she'd crept back into her mother's room, holding her breath and pretending she was a ghost. Her mother, the thing on the bed, had been awake, but she didn't see Mads. 

Mads hid in the shadows, and then the tears came. Silently, through the teary blur, she watched her mother get up, sit down, get back up again to pace the room, muttering, always muttering, about him, Mads' mysterious father, the man who had destroyed their lives. The man who made mother hate her . . . 

Mads had hated him with all the passion a child could summon, as she watched her mother fade away, choke on her food, lose her bloom and her bodily functions . . . He was a liar. He was a murderer. He'd taken all her mother's love, and her life, and left Mads with nothing at all. Well – he'd left her his hair, and his smile, and a thousand little things that made her mother hate her too.

This is what bad choices do to us . . . Grandmere had said, as she closed Mads in her room, ignoring the girl's stinging cheek, teary eyes. Grandmere had never known how to handle tears. Keep your chin up, Madeleine. Keep your chin up, be a good girl. Be a good girl. Good girl--

*****

"Water?" Luc's croak snapped Mads back to the present, to the conundrum she'd gotten herself into.

Mads steeled herself. I am a good girl, Grandmere. I've always been a good girl. She undid the flask and knelt next to Luc. Mads knew what soft hearts, and soft heads, had done to her mother, to her grandmother. If she wanted to survive, she could only trust herself. She couldn't survive unless she was as ruthless as Luc and as slippery as Jupiter Jive.

Mads helped Luc tilt the waterskin up, watching his throat contract, watching to ensure he swallowed every drop of the solution. Jupiter Jive had robbed hundreds and killed plenty. There was no shortage of blood on his hands, as she had witnessed. Jupiter Jive might be human; he might be the pitiful man leaning on her shoulder, gasping for breath. But he deserved to be punished, to answer for his crimes. He didn't deserve her pity, or her mercy. She would not be weak. She could not be her mother.

I have thirty minutes, she thought, as she helped him stand up again. Not much time. They had to move faster. The countdown was on. Mads consulted the map, shoving it under Luc's nose and confirming the direction before plowing on. She counted seconds, minutes, against her steadying heartbeat.

Twenty-five minutes. Couldn't he go any faster? Mads held him tighter, let him squeeze her shoulders when he was in pain. She would have carried him, dragged him, if she were strong enough.

Twenty minutes. Mads grit her teeth in frustration. She'd checked the map again, and against all odds, they were close. They were so close. Just a couple bends away from the unmarked path and its promises of safety.

Across from her, Luc leaned against a wall again, regaining his breath, his eyes closed. Mads paced the hall, trying to decide how to get the powder into him. It wasn't like she could force his mouth open and shove it down. Could she? Mads quickly rejected this idea as implausible. He was still too conscious; able to resist. Graynard had been adamant about him receiving enough for it to work.

Mads wished Luc hadn't already consumed all the water. As a last resort, she could hit him from behind with her spear, and force the powder down when he was unconscious. But then she'd have to backtrack with Alan and the Peacekeepers to wherever she left Luc, which was risky . . . And that was assuming she didn't accidentally kill him with the spear or by letting him choke on the powder.

Mads paced back the length of the passage to find Luc watching her with the ghost of amusement, one dimple making a slight appearance. His eyes were clear again, and though he was still pale, he looked more lucid than he had since they'd fought those guards. 

Stars and hellscapes, was that drug of Graynard's actually a stimulant too, and I've been duped yet again?

"What?" she snapped, scowling at him. How dare he look at her like that, find this at all funny, how could he even live with himself after all these shenanigans, deceptions, and death?

"Angry," he said, waving a hand at the tunnel. "We're almost there. Calm down. I almost wish I had an LDcom so you can call Krill or your . . . not-boyfriend. It's almost over." His voice was soft, weak, but still laced with humor.

Mads continued to scowl. She'd actually almost forgotten about Alan. All she could think about was the problem of the powder, and the clock, and the sneaking suspicion that Graynard had tricked her again. "What? I just don't want to get caught here. We're almost out. Right? Or was that a lie too?" Mads couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Luc's expression softened. "It's not a lie." He winced, and then pulled away from the wall, teetering a bit and leaning heavily on his spear/cane.

"Hellscapes," muttered Mads, under her breath, and then she went to his side. "Look, I can help. If it means we get out of here faster." She took his other arm and pulled it over her shoulders.

"Aren't you the angel of kindness." His tone was wry, but he was smiling. "I think you're just mad because you can't take being so close to me. My charm tends to do that to resistors."

Mads blinked up at him, and scowled harder. "No. I really can't take it, but charm is nowhere on the list of reasons why. You're irritating, and immature, and wasting your breath on me. Focus on walking. We're almost out, and they could catch us."

Luc sobered. "You're right." He inhaled shakily and straightened. "Let's go."

Fifteen minutes? Twelve minutes? Five minutes? Mads felt like she must be out of time already, though she knew it hadn't been half an hour. It just felt like it. But she didn't want to risk checking the com, just in case there was a notification from Alan.

Ahead, the passage forked for the last time. Luc pointed left, and then immediately slowed his pace. Mads' heart sank as he motioned for silence.

Luc gingerly extracted himself from her grip and pressed himself to the wall near the bend. He silently dropped his spear and unsheathed the sword instead, his head cocked as he listened, his complete attention on whatever he felt, or saw, or sensed, or who-the-hell-knew-how-he-knew what was coming down the passage.

Mads used this opportunity to slip the powder flask out, dropping the cap in the dirt and grinding it down with her heel. Now or never. She concealed it in her bandaged palm, careful to keep the open mouth upward as she crept to Luc's side.

She listened, but all she could hear was their tandem breathing, quiet but quick, and her own heart pounding. But she knew he'd have a reason for stopping. "How many," she breathed, so close to his ear it would have brushed her lips if he turned.

She could almost see him counting. Luc's face remained turned away from her as he peered down the other passage. "Ten, at least," he said, so softly she had to lean even closer to hear him.

Ten. Bad, bad odds. Mads looked from her spear to his sword, then back at the spear he had dropped. No time, chimed her brain. If she knocked him out now, supposing she could, how would she fight ten men? Even with him, in this state, they were dead.

Luc kept his eyes on the passage ahead. "If we die, sorry, never meant for—" he didn't finish, but they both knew what he meant.

Mads found herself smiling, and she quickly adjusted it to a frown, just in case he looked at her. "If you get me killed, I'll never forgive you."

He did glance back at her then, and she kept her eyes locked on his, decidedly not looking down at her bandaged right hand with its hidden flask.

His eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lips twitched. "Fair enough. Ready?"

Mads shook her head. "Shouldn't we think of a diversion or something? The odds are terrible."

Luc looked down at his sword. "I'm good for five or so."

"You said ten." Mads raised her spear, watching his eyes flick that direction now. "I can't take down five at once. Not with this thing." Not in general, echoed her thoughts. But that wasn't helpful.

Luc sighed. "Fine, I'll see if I can lure 'em down the other access hall."

Mads cocked a brow. "Really? You'll die. That's not the diversion I had in mind."

He smirked. "I'm touched." Luc inhaled and straightened, bracing himself. "If I'm not back in three minutes, I'm dead, and you should com Graynard."

Mads nodded, but her heart sank at the idea of trusting Graynard. And at the thought that if Luc did come back, she might be too late. But she couldn't defeat the men alone, and she'd rather be alive with a "Luc problem" than dead. "Okay. If you're not back, I'm coming after you."

Luc winked, and then ducked around the corner with no sound but the slight brush of fabric.

Mads sagged against the wall. A moment later, she heard a few noises, a faraway shout. What's he doing? Mads pulled out the map and the com with her free hand. She winced, then flipped the com over to view the time. Mads breathed a sigh of relief. She still had about eighteen minutes. She couldn't believe it had only been that long.

Encouraged, Mads looked at the map instead. There were a few nearby passages and boltholes. They were right around the corner from the "secret" passage, if she remembered its location correctly. She thought she could make a successful run for it if she left him now. Probably. But then he would never pay for his crimes, and moreover, all those Galactics. More importantly, if she broke cover to find the tunnel and found guards instead, was it worth the risk? Could she take being so close to freedom, only to have it ripped away again?

Seventeen minutes. Mads looked at the com in despair. Assuming Luc returned, the only way she was going to get that powder in his mouth would be to do it in a way he wouldn't expect it. He couldn't have time to resist, react, or process.

She could only hope that Graynard had been truthful when he said both parts were necessary for the serum to work – both powder and liquid – and that the thirty minutes time limit was more precise than a guesstimate. And that it was all the complicated knockout drug she'd been promised and not more powerful stimulants or poison, or whatever else she couldn't imagine at the moment.

Regardless, Mads couldn't go back. She'd read spy netnovels, she'd watched a million cheesy netdramas with Grandmere and Krill, and right now, she saw only one way this could work. She watched the time on the com, barely breathing as she listened for Luc. Sixteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

Mads heard nothing from the passageway. It had been more than three minutes. Luc had said that meant he was dead, and to call Graynard. But he had also seemed to be joking. Mads looked at the com, and then at the open vial of powder.

Thirteen minutes. Could she count on the mixture still working? It seemed . . . unreliable. Could she risk the passage? Did she want to risk calling Graynard, or Alan? Choices, choices.

Mads knew she had to do something, or she was going to have a meltdown in the corridor. She glanced at the com, and she heard nothing, but nothing could mean anything. Everyone was dead. Luc was dead. The men were dead. Luc had left her here and escaped by himself. They were all gone and she was losing precious time where she could have been making for the escape route.

Hellscapes. Luc can't be dead, right? He's freaking Jupiter Jive.

With that thought, Mads tipped the powder into her own mouth, keeping it between her bottom teeth and her lip, and silently begging any Higher Power that it wouldn't do anything weird to her. It would be a tricky thing, to hold it there for any amount of time.

Mads felt it start dissolving, and freaked out a bit – did she feel faint? They have to work together, stupid. That didn't make her feel better. Mads grabbed the com and typed furiously:

She sent it to Alan, not Graynard.

The powder was dissolving too fast, she was positive. It was probably all mixed with her saliva. What if it was actually poison?

Get a grip! Or you're just like her. Mads closed her eyes and forced away the accusing voice. She was not like her mother. Mads straightened her spine, gripped her spear tighter, and lunged around the corner.

She almost smacked into Luc.

He staggered into her, pushing her bodily against the wall, his lanky frame shielding her from whatever might lay behind him. Her spear dropped to the ground with a soft thud.

"Shh!" He put his hand over her mouth, clumsy and rough. "More like twenty. Losing my touch. I think I got a few of them to investigate a different passage, but I didn't stay to count."

Mads nodded, feeling very aware of the tainted saliva pooling in her mouth, and his fingers just a brush away. Any minute it might spill over her lips, if his fingers gave just a bit more pressure. Mads couldn't let that happen. Jupiter Jive was a menace to society – but a menace she needed around for a few more minutes. Especially if there were twenty men between her and freedom.

Luc raised his sword and motioned at the narrow corridor. He was corpse-pale and sweat dripped down his forehead. "Let me, catch, breath," he slurred, his expression hard to read. He moved his hand from her mouth, to the wall behind her, still leaning too close for her comfort.

But instead of recoiling, Mads steeled herself, forced herself to look him in the eye. She owed him that much.

He frowned down at her. "Worried?"

She nodded again, afraid to speak lest she spit the stuff over her lip.

"Sorry." His expression was earnest, his voice shaking a bit. "Not what I wanted either." His eyes blazed, red-rimmed from the pain, swallowing her vision and holding her motionless. 

Snake eyes, that's what the High Priestess had said.

Mads was keenly aware of his filthy, stolen clothes, his closeness, the dried trail of blood and mud splattering his lip and chin, the way he took up space and seemed to be stealing the air out of the passageway. And she could sense the sword in his other hand, just a finger-width away from her side.

And his heart, she almost felt its speed, was he . . . anxious?

Did he know? He couldn't know? Mads' own heart was pounding in her ears, and she knew she would crack if she didn't finish this now. Jupiter Jive couldn't go free because she was a coward who couldn't commit.

Mads grabbed his dirty robes and yanked him against her, pressing her mouth to his with savage determination. He froze, making some sort of strangled, surprised sound that might have embarrassed her, if she hadn't been so focused on not failing. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she registered his gasp of pain as his injured mouth took the force of her lips, but she couldn't worry about that. All she could do was hope enough of her saliva transferred to him to activate the first solution in time.

He slid his hand into her hair to draw her closer, tilting her head with surprising gentleness. This was obviously not his first kiss, though Mads suspected it might be his last.

At least one of us knows what we're doing, said that wicked, wicked voice in her head, and she leaned further into him, twining her arms around his neck and letting him deepen the kiss despite the mingled taste of mud, blood, and the way she felt completely out of control of the situation.

One, two, three beats. It seemed to stretch out into eternity before Mads could truly process what was happening.

She panicked.

This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was wrong.

Mads pulled away, pushing aside his sword arm and dropping down to retrieve her spear, to ground herself and feel its weight in her hands, to concentrate on its shape and think about it harder than she'd ever thought about anything in her life.

"You're right, we have to move," she heard herself choke out in a breathless voice that she immediately despised. But she found her footing and used the spear to help herself stand, and she took an unsteady step down the passage before daring to look at him again.

He's going to kill me now, she thought, but he just looked disoriented. Dazed.

His eyes were uncanny green candles, his expression a textbook entry for "thoroughly confused."

"What. Was. That," he gasped a second later, his lower lip weeping blood again because of her.

At least he's just as breathless. The petty satisfaction that thought gave her made her able to speak with more confidence. "For luck. Besides, Alan made a bet with me, said I'd die before I was ever kissed. I didn't want him to win."

So that last part was kind of a lie. But not exactly. Anyhow, she couldn't focus. All she could think about was the way he had kissed her. As if it meant something. As if it were . . .

Luc's eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged. "Whatever."

Whatever? That's all? Mads caught her wildly rolling thoughts and cut them off. She couldn't go there. Not now, not ever. She gripped her spear. "So, are we doing this, or not?" Her voice, her hands, everything was shaking. "Uh, twenty men, we die with honor, and all that?"

Luc nodded, not quite meeting her gaze. "Mmm." He gripped his sword and cut ahead of her. The light was dim, but she glimpsed his ears through his shaggy hair when he passed, and she could have sworn they were too red.

Mads wondered just how long it would take him to pass out. If it was too late, or if Graynard had been lying to her, she would die from the sheer embarrassment. The guards wouldn't have to kill her, and she'd never make it back to the High Priestess alive.

Worse than the embarrassment was the twist in her gut, like she'd just made a mistake, like she was the guilty one. But she'd made the best choice. She'd made the right choice. She held on to that conviction like she held onto her spear. Luc and everything he represented needed to be galaxies away from her if she ever wanted her real life back. 

Better to choose wrong than to let choices be made for you.

A moment later, Luc surprised two men around the next curve, knocking them unconscious before they or Mads could react. But the next turn opened into a broader tunnel. The one with the access hatch Luc had mentioned.

Mads didn't see the hatch or anything that looked like a hidden door. But she did see the dozen or so men between her and that supposed door. 

We're going to die.

Mads vented all of her confusion and frustration and horror onto the guards that rushed her. She spun her spear and forgot about dying. She kept her back to Luc, and he kept his back to her in turn, his sword a lethal gray line that never failed to draw blood.

Instead of passing out, Luc seemed to have regained some energy — or the stimulant was reacting weirdly to whatever Mads had given him — or it was all a lie and he was now so drugged up he'd keep going until his heart gave out. Regardless, he seemed lighter on his feet, practically dancing with his opponents when she glanced back. Granted, he looked terrible, and he was far slower than normal. But still.

Mads focused on the men in front of her, at keeping them away from her. On surviving a little longer.

A gunshot cracked behind her, and Mads recoiled.

She froze, and then saw the guard in front of her fall over, a small, neat hole in his forehead. Stars and hellscapes, what now?!

*********Author's Note***********

The lyrics to Kate Bush's Houdini y'all - that is it.

https://youtu.be/PaUGy7ZMdak

https://youtu.be/yZAIEAG6Vgk