Kalypso and Xeno looked on in amazement as Samara burrowed into Engineering, effecting what repairs she could as well as any Tinker. Only it wasn’t Samara, not exactly, but one of the alien Avatars playing puppeteer, using her body to do what it could not. Watching her channel Guardian or one of the other Cognates, as they referred to themselves, was a frankly disturbing sight. Every movement and gesture were subtly wrong, somehow, as if the person wearing her flesh was used to a radically different form. They’d asked, but Guardian had proved rather cagey regarding what they’d once looked like.

Samara levered herself out of the console she’d been working on, securing the panel before entering a command on the terminal. The engines started coming back online, and even to their untrained ears they could hear the difference. What had sounded like a boulder in a washing machine was now much less jarring, but it was still a far cry from what anyone would call fully restored.

Turning to face them, she briefed them on the situation. “I regret there is little more I can do,” the cognate explained. “This vessel requires far more extensive facilities than these to address the unresolved issues.”

“Will it get us out of Tu’udh’hizh’ak space?” Xeno asked.

“Unlikely,” the alien replied. “Based on the stellar projections you have provided, the probability of this craft traveling beyond the indicated borders is vanishingly small. However, I have been able to increase the range slightly. There are now a handful of systems we may reach, as opposed to one.”

“Thank you,” Kalypso nodded, “... um... sorry, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.” She flushed in embarrassment.

The alien inhabiting Samara gave no notice. “Artificer 1st Grade Mashad Dillosh,” it replied. “I regret being unable to do more.”

“You have improved our odds of survival considerably,” Xeno informed them, “and for that you have our gratitude.”

“Such is my purpose,” Mashad replied, managing a stiff half bow in return, though it was obvious the being inside Samara found it to be an unnatural act. “I will now return control to the host. She is growing most insistent.”

“I’ll bet,” Kalypso said knowingly, as Samara jerked her head, shaking herself out like a wet dog in what had become part of her post-possession routine.

“I hate that,” she shuddered. “It’s like being shoved into a locker with a big sweaty guy.”

“Really?” Kalypso said in surprise. “I thought they were trying to be conscientious when they stepped in and took over?”

“Oh, they are, they are,” she said with a wave. “But this was a long one... over twelve hours. When you’re a passenger inside your own body, it gets claustrophobic as hell.”

“I can only imagine,” Xeno shrugged. “I assume you overheard our discussion at the end?”

“Hard not to,” she grimaced. “We need to make plans.”

The trio headed back to the bridge, where Samara pulled up the systems now within reach and threw them onto the display. “Okay, looks like we’ve got one sector capital, one borderline inhabitable planet, a military installation, and a pair of fairly unremarkable mid-range worlds.”

“How do we choose?” Kalypso asked nervously.

“Not the naval base,” Xeno pointed out. “I would also suggest avoiding the capital. Too high a volume of traffic, and much of it extremely visible.”

“The marginal world, then?” Samara suggested. “Can’t be much traffic headed there.”

“Hmm... perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “What do we know about it?”

Tapping the display, additional data appeared. “Oh... forget it,” she sighed. “The cities are all domed. Atmosphere is barely breathable.”

“Why is that an issue?” Kalypso inquired.

“Domes mean limited access, with strict customs inspections,” Xeno explained. “Something we definitely wish to avoid.”

“That leaves the two intermediates,” Samara observed, highlighting them instead. Scanning the relevant data, she finally shrugged in resignation. “Nothing stands out with either of them. Honestly, from what I’m seeing here we could flip a coin.”

“Which one is closest?” he asked after a moment.

“Ipqi,” Samara replied. “As badly as we need repair, I agree. Given our options, it's the best choice.”

“Not that that’s saying much,” Kalypso said sourly.

“We’re Terrans,” Samara snorted, “what else did you expect? Go let Persephone and Gideon know... well, Persephone anyway. No sense waking Rip van Winkle.”

“I’ll tell them,” she acknowledged, leaving the Bridge and heading for the cabins.

Xeno was silent after her departure. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“Persephone,” he answered. “Ever since your conversation, she’s become increasingly withdrawn. She spends her days doing nothing but watching Gideon via the monitor. Kal and I both have tried engaging her, with no success. She is not in a healthy place, I fear.”

“Are any of us?” she said sarcastically. “Besides, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Nothing, of course,” he shrugged. “I doubt she would listen to you anymore than she would Kalypso or I.”

“Less, even,” Samara confirmed. “She’ll either pull out of it, or she won’t. There’s nothing any of us can do to change their circumstances. Gideon is still a time bomb, and she’s still a walking plague. That’s not going away.”

“You say that so blithely, Samara,” Xeno replied, his tone suddenly cold and brusque. “You still do not know what it’s like for us; not really, not where it counts. You got everything we ever dreamed of, while instead we were exiled to where our presence wouldn’t horrify decent folk.” Samara started to protest and then thought better of it. “Just imagine what it’s like for her,” he continued, “unable to even touch the man she loves. She’s not even allowed the merest scrap of conversing with him, because awake there’s too great a risk he’ll blow up the ship. So instead she sits there, day after day, watching him sleep.” He turned to face her once more. “Because that is all she has.”

Samara felt her face redden. “I can’t fix that,” she said at last.

“No, you can’t,” Xeno agreed. “So perhaps you might consider a bit of empathy instead.”

She almost bit his head off with a scathing retort, but something about his expression stopped her. Her shoulders slumped as she looked away. “I don't have any left to give,” she whispered, before turning and walking away.

As they neared the planet Ipqi, it still appeared to be utterly unremarkable. Samara stood with the others in her suit, her helmet tucked under her arm, before turning to face the rest of the crew. “All right, you all know the drill,” she told them. “We’ll tether up in the main airlock and exit the ship, then EVA over to the shipyards. Once we’re clear, that’s Gideon’s cue to blow Rächerin.” He acknowledged his part with a nod. “Hopefully, that’ll keep them occupied long enough for us to land among space docks and steal a replacement.”

... This plan has far too many failure points for my liking, Guardian said unhappily.

“What, you think I like it?” she snapped, as the others stared at her. “Sorry, just having a quick chat with my hitchhiker,” she told them, pointing at her head. “He has some misgivings.”

“It is hard to blame him,” Xeno concurred. “I believe this qualifies as a ‘desperation ploy’.”

“That’s because we are desperate,” she shrugged. “Kalypso, do we have any suitable candidates waiting for us in the docks?”

“I’ve located three possibilities,” she nodded, “and tagged them in our HUD display. Unfortunately, they’re scattered across the yard. If we try one and it’s a no go, getting to the next choice will take time.”

“Time we may not have,” Persephone chimed in.

“We’re all out of options, people,” Samara said bluntly. “It’s this or surrender, and we all know what that choice gets us.” There were reluctant nods at the pronouncement. “If things go south, then cause as much mayhem as you can to slow them down. With any luck, it’ll buy us the time we need.” She looked around the compartment. “Any questions?”

No one raised a hand. Even Guardian remained silent. “All right then, helmets on.” They secured their helmets, other than Persephone, who was already wearing hers, while Samara hefted the alien box and secured the straps. There was no way she was letting someone else carry it, and once they finished the suit checks, she made the ancient “Wind it up” gesture. “That’s it, then. Move out.”

They tramped down the corridor towards the airlock when a warbling klaxon began sounding throughout the ship. “What the hell is that?” Kalypso asked, startled by the sound.

“The engines are losing containment,” Gideon said in a rush. “Believe me, I know what that alarm sounds like.”

... I can bring up Artificer Dillosh to forestall the problem, Guardian offered, but Gideon was still speaking.

“Just give me a few,” he assured them, “between me and Persephone, we can clamp it down long enough to make our escape. Go ahead, and we’ll catch up.” The pair shared a look and nodded in agreement.

“Five minutes, and not one second longer,” Samara ordered.

“You got it,” he agreed, as the pair peeled off to deal with the emergency.

“Let’s get to the airlock,” she told the others, ushering them towards the main hatch. Upon arrival they linked up using the tethers, double checking the connections and standing by while they waited for the rest of the crew to join them. Samara was eyeballing the chronometer for the umpteenth time when a radio call interrupted her thoughts.

“God damn it Gideon, quit screwing around and get back here,” she barked into the mic.

There was a brief pause. “... we’re not coming,” he said softly.

The others turned to her in shock. “What do you mean, you’re not coming?” she demanded.

“I’m calling in my marker,” he answered. “I need you to unlock the hatch... and turn your back.”

Samara froze as the meaning of his words struck home. “And Persephone?” she whispered.

“Me too,” she answered, joining the conversation. “Gideon’s right. This life, it’s not living. How long can I keep torturing myself, year after year, wanting what I can’t have?” There was a pause, and she could picture the two of them smiling at one another. “Better to just let it end.”

“We’re taking the shuttle,” Gideon piped up. “We’ll head for the surface and buy you the time you need. When you’re clear, I’ll blow the ship and wreck as much damage as I can on the way down. Once we land... if we land... between the two of us, we’ll give them one hell of a fight.”

Samara looked at the others. She could see Kalypso’s eyes pleading with her, while Xeno was inscrutable as always, but she could tell even he was deeply troubled. She knew what they wanted her to do; beg and plead and convince them to come back, to tell them that everything would be okay, that somehow, they’d make it all work out.

But those words just weren’t in her.

“...it was good knowing you,” she said at last.

“And you, Samara,” he answered. “Take care of them.”

“I will,” she promised.

“Samara?” Persephone piped up. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

It suddenly seemed that her helmet had fogged, as her eyes grew blurry. “I deserved it,” she told her. “I hope…” Her voice cracked as she struggled to find the right words, only there were none. None, except the bitter truth.

“I hope you both find what you’re looking for,” she said at last.

Xeno and Kalypso both stared at her, shaken to the core by what was happening. She shook her head, curtailing any thought of debate, instead saying hoarsely, “... come on,” as she palmed the outer hatch release. Her magnetic boots clamped into place as the door slid open, as she led them out onto the hull.

Kalypso finally found her voice. “Samara, we can’t,” she begged.

There was a shudder, a ripple felt through the hull, and as they looked, they could see the shuttle detaching, slowly falling away. Bowing her head, Samara deactivated their boots, letting them drift.

“... time to go,” she whispered. It only took her a moment to locate their destination before she activated her thrusters. The three began pulling away from Rächerin while the shuttle glided closer towards the planet. She put on an extra burst of speed, knowing they needed to get clear, before…

Rächerin exploded, in a brilliant ball of blue-white fire.

They travelled in silence, as the nearby satellites and installations began detonating one after another, when the sound of a rich baritone unexpectedly came over the radio:

“... Of all the money that e'er I had

I spent it in good company.

And all the harm that e’er I’ve done,

Alas, it was to none but me.

And all I've done for want of wit,

To mem'ry now I can't recall.

So fill to me the parting glass,

Good night and joy be to you all.”

She could hear Kalypso sobbing over the open mic, while Xeno murmured a quiet prayer. In her mind’s eyes she pictured them snuggling together in the shuttle’s cockpit, roaring down to the surface as they left a trail of devastation in their wake.

Bonne chance, her mind whispered.

... Their sacrifice enhances the chances of our survival, Guardian calmly pointed out. I now calculate the odds to have improved by a factor of…

“Shut up, Guardian,” she snarled. “Just... shut up.”