“Please, everyone stand by,” Akuum Wuzah told the small crowd gathered around him, as he made a last check of the pump and its connections. All appeared to be in order, so with a deep breath, he pressed the switch that activated the machinery. The motor hummed to life as everyone looked eagerly at the outflow pipe, hoping the engineer was as good as he claimed.

A low rumble came from deep underground, working its way to the surface, as the pipe began coughing out spurts of air. Blye looked expectantly at the harried Glevack, who held up his hands in self-defense. “It’s priming,” he assured her, “please, just give it a moment.”

Mollified, she turned her attention back to the pipe and the catch basin beneath it, murmuring a silent prayer to Holy Mother Terra herself. It had to work, or else their situation would become dire. They’d managed to filter barely enough water through improvised measures to meet their basic needs, but it was just a stopgap measure, as well as labor-intensive. As a long-term strategy, it was unsustainable.

The gurgling grew louder as the pipe began to vibrate. The crowd leaned in, whispering to one another in hushed tones as they waited, when with a loud belch thick liquified mud sprayed from the spigot.

Blye glared at the frantic alien. “That’s normal!” he swore. “Please, be patient for just another minute.” Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, she watched as more mud spewed, followed by banging sounds from the pipes as fine gravel exploded out like a shotgun blast. More mud followed, silty and thinner than the first batch, but as the crowd viewed the display, the muck grew less viscous and more diluted, until finally, brown water was pouring from the tap.

“This first run is cleaning out the pipes,” Akuum Wuzah explained. “Just a few more minutes, and it should be clear.” Blye prayed he was right, but the wait was killing her. All their hopes for the camp were riding on this. But as the minutes slowly ticked by, she could see for herself the water was growing purer, the disgusting sludge giving way to cool, life-giving water.

Eager hands reached into the stream for a taste, but the Knight interposed herself between them. “Hold on, we need to test it,” she reminded them, holding up an analysis kit. There was an almost angry grumble from the crowd as they reluctantly gave room, while Blye filled the vial and assayed the liquid now streaming from their jury-rigged pumps.

The results began filtering in almost immediately. The pH level was 7.9, slightly alkaline, likely because of the local geology, but well within safe limits. She was far more concerned about the heavy metal contamination; but as the results settled in, she breathed a sigh of relief. Less than one part per billion for both lead and cadmium, and as other pollutants were analyzed, their levels were equally encouraging. No nitrates or volatile organic compounds, no dangerous microbes… in short, the hazards that plagued the nearby river hadn’t leached into the aquifer.

“Thank Mother Terra,” she whispered, closing her eyes and offering a prayer of gratitude, before turning to the crowd. “It’s safe,” she smiled, as the throng surged forward in anticipation.

“Line up!” Spata Zhai shouted, pushing back against the congregation. “I will not allow this to become a stampede!” Suitably abashed, the refugees began forming a queue as the first in line held a bucket beneath the stream, their eyes glittering as sweet fresh water filled the pail.

Making her way over to the pump’s controls, Blye reached out and touched Akuum’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she told him. “I think you may have just saved us.”

The Glevack found it difficult to meet her gaze. “Just wanted to help,” he mumbled, the engineer growing self-conscious of her attention.

“You’ve done more than that,” she said honestly, watching as the next person in line held out a container of their own to fill. “How much water will it give us per day?”

The engineer scratched his head for a moment. “Assuming the pump is operating at full capacity, and under continuous operation… one hundred to one hundred fifty thousand liters a day.”

Blye did some quick math of her own. “That should be more than enough to meet our current needs,” she said, “at least until they dump another load of refugees on us.”

Akuum gave her a worried look. “Do you believe that’s possible?” he asked.

“Much more than possible. I suspect it’s likely,” she said quietly. “Unless the Alliance can defeat the Yīqún quickly, I expect to see many more displaced persons. Which is why I wanted to ask you about something you said before, about drilling a second well.”

He nodded wearily. “How soon do you need it?”

She held up her hand. “There’s no rush, not unless another fleet appears in orbit. Take a couple of days off, you’ve more than earned it. But I won’t lie, I’d sleep much better knowing we have a backup in place.”

“I understand,” he answered. “Allow me a day to recover, and I will begin surveying for a second well site.” Thinking for a moment, he asked, “Is there any place in particular you would prefer if it is feasible?”

“Some place on the other side of the camp,” Blye told him. “Not only will it help avoid crowding, but should the worst happen, hopefully at least one well will survive intact.”

“You mean an attack by the Yīqún,” he said nervously. “Do you really think they would come here?”

“I don’t know what drives them”, Blye answered, “or why they’ll assault one planet while sparing another. But ever since we Terrans lost our homeworld, we know to expect the worst of those evil machines.” She practically spat the words out as her professional mask slipped.

The engineer looked out over the line of refugees, each with a bucket in hand.

“I believe we all do now,” he said at last.

With the water crisis now averted, at least for the moment, Blye actually found a quiet moment to herself. It was destined to be interrupted, which only made it even more precious. Nestled in her bedroll, she reached for the bag with her belongings and pulled out a small device, letting it rest on her palm. A green light held steady as she regarded it, before pressing a recessed stud. One end of the gadget slid open as a puff of frozen mist escaped, quickly dissipating into the muggy jungle air. Reaching inside, she plucked out a rime-coated test tube, its end cap carefully sealed. She stared at it longingly, rolling it between her fingers, before heaving a heavy sigh and returning it to its frozen abode.

“Is that what I think that is?” she heard from the doorway.

Her head jerked up in surprise before she stuffed the device back into her bag. “It’s nothing,” she said.

“If you say so,” Amar shrugged, entering the room, “but it looked an awful lot like a vial of genetic material,” he said offhandedly. “Like say, for fertilization.” Plopping down across from her, he folded his legs beneath him. “Prash told me about your earlier… progeny,” he finished, pausing as he wrestled with the last word.

An irate grimace crossed her features before disappearing with another sigh. “It’s not like it’s a secret, I suppose,” she told him, “though it is a personal matter. I hope you can respect that.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “It’s completely your decision. But if you don’t mind me asking, are you sure now is a good time to be thinking about this?” He’d phrased the question respectfully enough, but curiosity had obviously gotten the better of him.

There was a far-off look in her eyes as she mulled over her response. “No… it isn’t,” she told him, “for a lot of reasons.”

“And yet, you still brought it here,” he pointed out.

Blye looked away. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said curtly.

“Why? Because I’m male?”

Her head slowly swiveled back to him. “Partly, yes,” she answered. “I can bring new life into the universe, and our race is hanging by a thread. Isn’t it then my obligation to do so?”

The former Valkyrie shook his head. “I don’t know how to answer that question,” he replied. “I don’t disagree, but… here? Now?” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “Wouldn’t it be better to hold off? At least until it’s safer, when things have settled back down.”

She snorted at that. “If we’d waited ‘til it was safe to have children, humans would have died out two centuries ago,” she said pointedly. “It will never be a perfect time. Not for us Terrans.”

“You’re right,” he admitted, “but still… in a refugee camp? With the Yīqún attacking anything that moves? The entire galaxy under siege?” Amar shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know, ma’am… it just seems that waiting is the smarter move.” He shrugged once more. “But as you said, it’s none of my business.”

“You sound like Maggie,” she said flatly. “I was pregnant when we met, as you may recall, and she all but said the same thing.” A wry smile graced her features. “Didn’t stop her from falling for Diggs, though.”

“I didn’t really know her,” he admitted. “After we docked with Freya, I never saw her again, though I’m not surprised she had strong feelings on the subject.” He chuckled. “From what I could tell, she had strong feelings on pretty much everything.”

“She did indeed,” Blye smiled, “but underneath all that brass and bluster is a warm and caring person. She just didn’t know how to show it, not until Diggs came into her life.” The Knight laughed out loud. “Though she’s still as salty as ever, last I heard from her.”

The pair fell into silence as they reminisced until she spoke up once more. “Did Prash also tell you where my children are now?” she asked him.

“Just that… you gave them up for adoption,” he said gingerly. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

She nodded sadly at that. “There have been plenty of times I’ve regretted that decision,” she confessed, “but as you said… look around us.” Blye waved her hand, gesturing at their surroundings. “Can you imagine trying to raise a child here? Under these conditions?”

Amar frowned as he considered it. “It would be… challenging,” he allowed.

“To say the least,” she grunted in reply. “Can you picture me in surgery, with an infant strapped to my back? Or worse… trying to protect them if the Yīqún attacked.” She tried repressing a shudder and failed. Almost involuntarily, her hand slipped back into her bag, removing the tiny refrigeration unit once more. Her fingers danced across its surface, gently stroking it. “And yet…”

“Yeah… and yet.” He spent a moment digesting that. “I guess it’s something I’ve always shied away from,” he told her. “In the Valkyries, you’re reminded every day just how easily your life can be snuffed out, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Relationships are usually torrid and short-lived, with little thought given for the future. The ones that do plan for the future…” Amar winced and suddenly looked away.

“... you’re thinking of Kai and Rúna, aren’t you?” she inferred. He nodded in reluctant agreement. “You can’t let what happened stop you from living, Amar,” Bly said sadly. “However brief a time they had together, I can tell you this. It’s better than having no time at all.” She suddenly grew pensive, reflecting on some past moment.

“You weren’t there when he died,” the Quatrième countered. “Losing him like that, after we’d already survived the worst they could throw at us? It damn near broke her.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could go through that.”

“You’re stronger than you think you are,” she smiled. “Trust me on that.” Her attention was drawn back towards the bag as she withdrew the tiny cooler once more, gazing at it.

“Maybe I should hold on to that for you,” Amar said apprehensively. “Meaning no offense, but I’ve seen addicts better able to avoid their habits.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

He shook his head, refusing to be cowed. “You said it yourself ma’am, this is the worst possible time and place to be thinking of having a kid. I don’t know what’s gotten under your skin, but…”

“… do you know where my children are?” she asked suddenly, interrupting him.

“Err… no,” he admitted.

“Neither do I,” she whispered. She looked up from the device that held her attention, her eyes big and plaintive. “They could be anywhere. Once I made sure they were going to a good family, I walked away. Severed all ties, cut myself out completely, not even so much as a birthday card.” A melancholy air seemed to settle in all around her. “They didn’t need me buzzing around, especially when I couldn’t be there for them. And now?” She closed her eyes and drew up her legs, her body now trembling. “I don't even know if they’re still alive,” she said hoarsely.

“So that’s it,” Amar said, as the pieces fell into place. “Why you’re suddenly contemplating taking another spin at the insemination wheel. You’re scared your children might all be dead.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “Odds are they’re safe, Blye. You know that, right?” he said, trying to be understanding.

“I don’t know that,” she fired back, “and neither do you, so don’t try consoling me. Three children now I’ve carried to term and then handed off to strangers. Three little bundles of life, out there somewhere… and I have no way of keeping them safe.” She scowled; her hands clenched into fists. “I made my choices, my eyes wide open, because I thought it was my patriotic duty as a Terran. And now? All I want to do is hold them close, and never let go.” Her eyes watered, but even as her chin trembled, she still managed to jut it out in defiance.

“Even if they were here,” he said softly, “there’s no guarantee you could protect them.”

“My head understands that,” she said tightly, “but my heart isn’t listening.” Her gaze returned to the chilling unit in her hands, staring at it as if it were a precious gem.

Sighing in resignation, Amar rose to his feet. “You’re going to make your own decision about this, no matter what I say,” he said pointedly. “Just… don’t rush into anything you might end up regretting. Promise me,” he implored her.

“... I promise,” she mumbled, her eyes never leaving the device.