“I don’t believe this!”

Blye snarled as she threw down her tablet, as the others looked on. “Our good friend Facilitator Tsun Prang Gen says he will ‘Look into the matter’, regarding our contaminated river, just as soon as he can make time in his busy schedule.” The sarcasm was thick as she sneered in disgust. “Which in government-speak means never.”

“Figures,” Prash grumbled. “Cleaning up that river could take years and cost more than a battleship. No wonder he’s dodging it.”

“Did he say anything else?” Amar asked.

“Oh, he was kind enough to respond to our climatology request,” she snapped, still fuming. “In a month or two, we’ll be facing the monsoon season, with high winds and torrential rains. As if we didn’t have enough on our plates!”

“At least we’ll have plenty of water,” Prash quipped, though a look from Blye quickly shut him down.

“Not helping,” she fired at him, as Spata Zhai approached the trio with one of the Glevack in tow.

“Did I hear you discussing water?” he asked, coming to a halt.

“Unfortunately,” Blye sighed, as her anger began slowly subsiding. “What can I do for you, Spata?”

“In fact, it is I who may be able to do something for you,” he smiled, before turning to the refugee beside him. “This is Akuum Wuzah,” he informed them, “and he has something I believe you should hear.”

The Knights turned to the second alien. “Then by all means,” Blye encouraged him.

The Glevack looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Before they brought me here, I was employed by a resources exploration conglomerate,” he stammered. “The geology surrounding this camp is primarily a sedimentary top layer over a metamorphic crust, giving it beneficial hydrological qualities. Given the amount of precipitation necessary to sustain a tropical rainforest, combined with the favorable terrain, the solution becomes obvious.”

The Knights stared blankly back at him. “Umm… what?” Amar spluttered.

The Ixian’s grin grew wide. “I too had a similar reaction when it was first explained to me.” He turned back to Akuum. “Perhaps you could use simpler terms,” he suggested.

“Oh… of course,” he swallowed nervously. “I was suggesting you dig a well for the camp’s water requirements.”

The Knights stared at one another in surprise. “But… we don’t have any drilling equipment,” Prash reminded them.

“And what about contamination from the river?” Blye asked. “Wouldn’t that leach into the groundwater?”

The Glevack first looked at one Terran, and then the other. “If the contamination truly is from an abandoned mine further upstream, it is possible the necessary equipment might be found there,” he suggested. “As for the ground table, soil and plant samples should determine if the well site is polluted. Any heavy metals would be easily detected.”

The trio sat in stunned silence as they digested that. “Well, it’s worth a look,” Amar said at last.

“We can start testing plant and soil samples immediately,” Blye agreed. “As for the mine… Spata, would you be willing to lead a small expedition to investigate?” she asked.

“I would be honored,” the Ixian replied. “In addition, a patrol of the area outside the camp is sound tactical doctrine.”

“Excellent,” she beamed. “Akuum Wuzah, you’d have to go with them,” she said gently. “You’re the only one that can tell us if that mine has what we need.”

“I can do that,” he agreed.

“Ma’am, won’t that ruffle a few feathers?” Prash asked her. “That mine has to belong to someone.”

Blye chewed on that for a moment, then shook her head. “Let’s see if we can keep this under the radar,” she told them. “If that mine really is abandoned, then it’s likely no one would even notice if we ‘borrowed’ a few things,” she said with a wry grin. “Besides, if this life has taught me anything, it’s that old saw about forgiveness and permission still holds true. If anyone complains, blame it on me.”

“And what happens to you, ma’am?” Amar said carefully.

“Plead desperation and ignorance, then cross my fingers,” she chuckled. “Considering the work we do; most agencies will turn a blind eye.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Prash sighed.

“In the meantime, while Spata Zhai gets his excursion organized, let’s inventory our buckets and barrels,” she ordered. “I want to be ready when the monsoon hits.”

Several hours after the mine expedition departed, Blye received a transmission from the outer reaches of the system. It was the middle of the night, local time, and the call had yanked her out of some much-needed sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up from her bedroll as she responded to the com. “This is Tagata,” she answered.

“This is Captain Tujaqi, of the Daizha Pramar,” the voice said. “Our convoy is inbound to Taing’zem and should arrive in the next few hours. Once we are in orbit, we will begin ferrying refugees to your location.”

Something about the word “convoy” sent a chill down her back. “How many are you bringing us?” she asked.

There was a pause as the captain double-checked. “... approximately ten thousand sapients,” he finally answered.

Blye gasped in disbelief. “Did you say ten thousand?” she whispered, her exhausted brain automatically rejecting the figure.

“That is correct,” Captain Tujaqi replied. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, there’s a problem,” she all but shouted, as Prash and Amar began stirring as well. “We’re not equipped to handle that many refugees… not yet at least. We can take some of them…”

“Our orders are to bring them here,” the captain interrupted her. “There are no other resettlement camps within range.”

“Surely there must be something,” she tried again. “This is a brand-new site with almost no infrastructure… we’re still trying to find fresh water,” she pled with the captain. “That many refugees would overwhelm us. We don’t have enough food, or anywhere to house them…”

“... there is no place else,” Tujaqi said brusquely, “not unless you wish me to open my passenger holds to the vacuum of space.” He paused, taking a moment to compose himself. “The Yīqún have hit dozens of worlds, and we are being pushed back across all fronts,” the captain apprised her, as the harsh reality of their situation dashed against her like an arctic wave. “It is here... or it is nowhere.”

The enormity of what had just been dumped in her lap was overwhelming. It was too much. How could they expect anyone to take in that many with the meager resources at their disposal? Didn’t they realize they were practically condemning those refugees, not to mention the ones they already had, to death? It would be kinder to just shoot them, and…

The desperate litany in her head slowly ground to a halt. Yes, this was bad, and yes, they were likely to lose a lot of them, but after learning just how badly the war was going, she also realized the harsh truth of the situation.

That for many of those aboard the transports, this camp was their very last chance at survival… because everywhere else was so much worse.

“... These things we do, that others may live,” she whispered, bending her head in prayer.

“I didn’t catch that, say again,” Captain Tujaqi spoke into the microphone, as she slowly rose to her feet, the other Knights a heartbeat behind her.

“I said send them down,” she swallowed, accepting her fate. “We’ll be waiting.”

“Understood,” he replied, the relief obvious in his voice.

“... and send us all the provisions you have on hand,” she said in a rush, “anything that might help them survive… because Mother Terra, we are going to need it.”

“I will pass that along to the other captains,” he vowed. “It may not be as much as you hope, but I promise, it will be every bit that we can spare.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“I will contact you again when we reach orbit,” he assured her. “Tujaqi, clear.”

Setting the com down, Blye focused on her training, taking a moment to just breathe. In, and out. In, and out. Prash and Amar hovered anxiously nearby when she finally turned to face them.

“In less than six hours, ten thousand new refugees will be arriving here,” she said. “I’ve already requested that the transports hand over as much food and supplies as they can give us. Suggestions? And before you say it,” she told Amar as he started to speak, “sending them elsewhere is not an option.”

That brought the two men up short. They shared a brief look before Prash said quietly, “How on Earth are we going to do this?”

Pulling on her boots, she started running through in her mind what they had to do. “We start by waking everybody up,” Blye told them. “We’ll need the cooperation of everyone here, all working together, just to keep our heads above water.”

“Most of the refugees already here are still malnourished,” Amar reminded her. “I’m not sure how much help they’ll be.”

“They’re healthy enough for what I have in mind,” she explained. “I realize we haven’t had time for a proper land survey, but if we start filling in rows around the existing camp, we can expand its boundaries without letting the situation fall into total chaos. Use the healthiest of the refugees as guides and runners, taking each new batch when they step off the transport and showing them where to set up.”

“Set up what, ma’am?” Prash asked.

“At the moment, probably little more than the clothes on their backs,” she grimaced. “In time, I hope we’ll be able to build shelters for them, but for now, I’ll settle for them not bunching up in a single massive group and stampeding. As soon as they land, get them away from the launch pad as quickly as possible.”

“That won’t be easy,” Amar pointed out.

“I know, but at the moment it’s the best we can do,” Blye acknowledged. “We’ll also have to set up an intake and triage point at the landing site itself. We can use the less physically capable refugees there, tallying the names of the new arrivals along with their relevant experiences and points of origin. We’ll need a medical collection point there as well, it’s a safe bet some of them will be sick or injured. Assessing and prioritizing their medical needs is something we can’t hand off, unfortunately, but they can still act as assistants and orderlies.”

The two men had pulled out their tablets and started taking notes when Prash cleared his throat. “The food situation will be bad enough, but what about the water?” he asked her. “The purifier is already operating at capacity, and it’s just barely meeting our current needs.”

“I know,” she said sourly, conjuring up her basic chemistry to solve the problem. “Dig fire pits, collect the charcoal, and use that to expand our filtering operations until our mining group comes back with that drilling equipment. Those at high risk get the good water… children, gestating females, and those with medical needs. Everyone else will have to make do with the field expedient version. Us included,” she added as an afterthought. “Let’s hope it’s just a temporary measure.”

“What about the Ixians?” Amar asked. “They’re trained, and in good shape. We can use them to help us out.”

Blye shook her head. “They're going to have their hands full keeping these folks from killing each other,” she said unhappily. “Get with the Spata’s second in command and bring him up to speed. With ten thousand new arrivals, this camp is going to be a pressure cooker. All it will take is a couple of refugees arguing over food to start a riot, and under these conditions?” Her expression turned positively grim. “It’ll turn into a goddamn bloodbath.”

The sheer scale of what they were about to face was overwhelming. It was an impossible task, and the thought of three Terrans saving even a fraction of those refugees was some sort of sick joke. As they each took stock of what was to come, Blye reached out and grasped them both by the shoulder.

“I know how this looks, and you have every right to be afraid. Mother Terra knows I am,” she admitted. “But these people are counting on us. We’re all they have.” Taking a deep breath, she somehow managed a smile. “This is why we exist, what the Knights were founded for. We’re not important… they are.”

“So others may live,” Prash said softly, as Amar slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“So others may live,” she repeated, as the trio looked into each other's eyes, and found only strength and resolve.

“Then let’s get to work.”

It was just after dawn when the first shuttle landed. The survivors that stumbled from the hatch were broken and lost, like all those fleeing for their lives since the beginning of time. They were immediately greeted by Blye, welcoming them to the camp, before handing them off to one of their volunteers. Their names were recorded, their homeworld, any family connections, before running them through a brief checklist searching for those with much-needed skills. Once that was completed one of the guides… children, for the most part… would lead them away from the launch pad to their new home, though at the moment their habitats consisted of little more than a twenty-by-twenty-meter patch of ground hastily scratched out in the dirt.

Any supplies… food, water, medicine… shipped down from orbit were gathered under guard by a squad of Ixian security for safekeeping, to be rationed out sparingly. The able-bodied were given tools and put to work purifying water or cutting down timber from the nearby jungle for construction. They brought the sick and injured to their makeshift hospital and triaged, though soon those numbers threatened to spiral out of control. They pulled anyone with medical training from the line and immediately put them to work, tending to those in need.

The Ixians more than earned their pay that day, quelling one clash after another as frustrated and angry individuals exploded into savagery. Old prejudices flared into open hostility as the blue-skinned alien warriors fought to stem the tide of violence. Despite their best efforts, the camp’s fledgling cemetery saw a booming business.

Captain Tujaqi sent a ground team with the first wave for traffic control. A shuttle would land, disgorge its passengers and cargo, before taking off once more, only to be replaced minutes later by another craft following in its wake, a steady stream of small ships ferrying refugees and supplies down to the surface. It was an intricate ballet, one pushed to its absolute limits in their haste to relieve themselves of their passengers, avoiding collision with consummate skill, and more than a little luck.

The camp overran its initial boundaries within the first hour, doubling in size less than an hour later. Two hours after that, the record was shattered again, then yet again in another two hours. Somehow, they managed to stay one step ahead of disaster, yet everyone knew they were dancing on a razor’s edge.

It was late in the afternoon, when tragedy finally struck.