“You can do this,” Rhea said, setting the Mors on the counter. “And I’m here. I’ll help.”

Ariadne sighed, and they opened the door to the med center. She checked the monitor; Cato’s vitals were all normal, his neuroimaging showing the routine patterns of dreaming. “Make sure his restraints are secure,” Ariadne said. “I’m going to wake him up and prepare him for what’s about to happen.”

“He won’t like it,” Rhea said gently. “Not with Oracle in his head.”

“I have to try.”

They began the slow process of waking Cato up. Rhea gave him a reversal agent to counteract the effects of the anaesthesia, as well as another blocker to keep his adrenaline in check.

Cato muttered as he came out. Medical terms, snapped instructions for surgery. He requested a Mors blade, something that could cleanly cut through bone. Directions on holding the gauze in place to stanch bleeding. All of his statements were detailed enough that both Ariadne and Rhea looked at each other, baffled. Tholosian soldiers might receive rudimentary training in first aid, but usually they were bred for one main task. Fighting or flying, and usually dying.

He was a pilot, not a medic. Wasn’t he?

Cato’s face grimaced with pain, his hands pulling against the restraints as he muttered “stop, stop, stop” under his breath.

“Cato?” Ariadne whispered.

His eyes slowly opened, then shut hard at the light overhead. It took a few moments for him to gain his bearings, take in his restraints. Gods, he recovered fast. Ariadne had heard the Rigel cohort was an impressive feat of engineering. His gaze was sharp, no longer dulled from the anaesthesia.

“Ugh,” Cato muttered. “What did you do to me?”

Ariadne tried to keep her face pleasant, but she was still getting used to expressions others saw regularly, and she thought she might be holding her eyes open too wide and not blinking enough. “Gave you a sedative while your Mors burn healed and your infection cleared,” she said brightly. “You spoke in your sleep. A bunch of medical stuff. I thought you were a pilot.”

His expression flickered. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “How long have I been out?”

“A day and a bit. We’re pretty far from Macella.” Thank the gods. Ariadne’s stomach was still unsettled from jumping, but Clo was coasting the ship and letting the engine rest before the next leg of their long journey to Ismara.

“Don’t suppose you’ll drop me off at the nearest outpost.” At Ariadne’s headshake, Cato made a face and tested his restraints again. “Look, your fucked up friend mentioned giving me a choice back there in the interrogation room. I choose to leave this ship, go to the nearest outpost, and—” He let out a breath and muttered, “and get raging drunk.”