The hatch to the commander’s private quarters aboard the Implacable buzzed for attention, the ship itself in high orbit above the planet. “Enter!” he bellowed, glancing up from his screen as his second in command entered the compartment.

“The latest downloads from the Terran’s neural-optical interface,” he informed him, handing over a data chip.

The commander grunted. “Anything of value?” he asked.

“I regret to say there is not, Kaihautu,” his adjutant replied. “It would seem the Terrans are being quite circumspect in what they say and do, at least where we may overhear.” He gave his superior a concerned look. “Is it possible they learned we are monitoring them outside the Ancient complex as well?”

“It would not surprise me,” the Aggaaddub officer said in disgust. “They are vermin, which means they possess a vermin’s cunning.” He looked back at his subordinate. “Is that all?”

“There is one other thing,” the junior officer said carefully. “The specialist tasked with monitoring the device noticed some unusual imagery during the Terran’s sleeping hours. What it means, we cannot say.”

“Bah,” he said in dismissal, “random noise, nothing more. Treacherous they may be, but no one can plot rebellion while they are unconscious.”

“Of course, Kaihautu,” he agreed, though there was some lingering doubt in his mind. He was about to say more on the subject when the monitor suddenly switched displays, now showing an image of the ship’s communication officer.

“Kaihautu, we have just received word from the research facility on Jikhada. They dispatched the subject you requested on schedule, which should arrive here at Taing’zem within the next planetary rotation,” they reported.

A calculating smile appeared on the reptilian commander’s face. “Excellent,” he buzzed. “Keep me informed,” he ordered, before signing off.

His second in command cocked his head. “What is this ‘subject’, Kaihautu?”

“Something our scientists have spent the last few years perfecting,” he explained, “ever since we learned of the strange connection between the Terrans and the Precursors.”

His subordinate stared at him in confusion. “And how will this improve our situation here, Kaihautu? With the device we had implanted in the chief Terran’s visual cortex, we now have complete access to everything within the Ancient’s computer memory.”

“And yet the Terrans and their allies still believe they can play games with us,” he snapped. “They are convinced they are indispensable, and that it gives them power over us.” He sneered in disgust. “Nothing could be further from the truth…. and I look forward to seeing the fear in their eyes when they realize their services are no longer required.”

The sound of a staff thumping across the floorboards drew a sigh from the other Knights. “What are you doing up?” Prash asked as she approached them with Velsa by her side. “We would have happily gotten whatever you needed.”

“What I needed was to stretch my legs and restore some circulation,” she replied. “And while I realize your concern comes from an admirable place and that you mean well, I am not an invalid. So please, stop treating me like one.”

Amar stepped up and gave it a shot. “Blye, we almost lost you,” he entreated her. “We’re just trying to keep you safe. That’s all.”

“And I appreciate that, but I’ve spent too much time in that cot as it is. If I’m going to get any better, I need to resume my normal routine… starting with a visit to our outpatient clinic.” She turned, showing off the small backpack she was carrying marked with their clan’s symbol.

“That’s on the other side of the camp,” Prash pointed out, “and how do you plan on examining patients, given that you can’t actually examine them?”

“Which is why I’ve asked Velsa to accompany me,” she explained. “She’ll be my eyes as needed.”

“I’d be a lot more comfortable if one of us went instead,” Amar informed her, giving the Ksot nurse a hard look, one that was returned with equal measure.

“We would welcome your company,” she said sweetly, sidestepping the issue entirely.

“... I’ll go,” Prash sighed. “Just give me a minute to get my bag.” He shambled off as he went to retrieve it.

Blye waited patiently as he packed a quick lunch for them as well, before returning with a satchel slung over his shoulder, his staff gripped tightly in his free hand. “Hold down the fort,” he told the other Knight.

“I’ll call you if there’s an emergency,” Amar agreed, following along behind them as they made their way out of the clinic, stopping briefly to don rain gear before braving the monsoon.

“... does it ever stop raining on this fucking planet?” Prash cursed, pulling his broad-brimmed hat down over his face.

“So I’m told,” Blye shrugged, taking extra care with her footing as the nurse guided her. “At least it’s warm,” she added. “Trust me, it could be much worse.”

Velsa started to respond, only for her words to freeze within her throat as a small cluster of children darted out from one of the nearby structures, racing ahead. “... and so it begins,” she murmured.

“What?” Blye asked.

“Runners,” she explained, “off to tell the others you’re coming.”

“Wonderful,” Prash groaned. “That’s all we need.”

“They will not harm her,” Velsa snapped, chiding him.

“... that’s not what worries me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing your concerns then,” Blye prompted him.

“You want to know my concerns? All right, what do you suppose those kids are running off to tell the other refugees? That the remote clinic is opening up… or to make way for the Saint of Taing’zem?”

“This again?” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m not encouraging it. Quite the opposite, in fact. People are going to believe what they want to believe, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“Blye, just appearing in public encourages it. I know it’s not your fault, and that you’re doing what you can to temper their enthusiasm, but this hero worship is getting out of hand. As long as they treat you like some holy shepherd, destined to lead them all to the Promised Land, they’re setting this camp on a collision course with the Aggaaddub.” He gave her a worried look. “When the dust finally settles, no one’s going to be walking away from that.”

“So what is it I’m supposed to do?” she countered. “Remain in seclusion, hidden away from the camp? Abdicate my responsibilities?”

“Given your medical status, people would understand if you stepped down,” Prash said as gently as he could. “Amar and I can pick up the slack.”

“I am not abandoning my duties,” Blye snapped, her tone now harsh and unyielding, “not as long as there is breath in my lungs. So no more discussion regarding my early retirement, Prash. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Somehow I knew you’d say that,” he sighed, as they crested the small hill overlooking the outpatient clinic. Spotting a small crowd awaiting them, he groaned in dismay even as he led the trio towards the congregation. They parted before them like the Red Sea, ignoring the downpour, their heads bowed and respectful. A handful of the braver, or perhaps more zealous souls, reached out to lay hands on her staff, or touch her medical bag. Prash shuddered as his worst fears were realized, even as Blye would occasionally stop and respond with a smile, or a few kind words.

Those that received her benedictions reacted as if they had looked upon the face of god himself.

Eventually, however, she passed through the multitude, standing before the clinic itself. “For those of you here to seek medical treatment, just give us a few minutes to get set up, and then we’ll start bringing you in. Velsa, if you could begin getting their names and information, please,” she instructed, while she and Prash entered the small hut and set down their gear. As Blye began arranging their equipment by touch, she faced her fellow Knight. “I suppose you want to comment on our reception here as well,” she said.

“You mean your reception,” he corrected, “and no, not really. You’ve made your position clear, and you know where I stand. Neither of us is going to convince the other, so what else is there to say?” He didn’t return her sightless gaze, focusing instead on preparing for their patients.

She reached out and touched his arm. “You and I have been through a lot together,” she said gently, “and knowing I had your support would mean a great deal to me.”

Prash froze for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh. “Of course you have my support,” he said at last. “I just wish it didn’t come with such a heavy price tag.”

“We live in perilous times,” she shrugged helplessly. “Besides, we Terrans know better than anyone just how little dominion mere mortals have over the universe. It will continue to spin of its own accord; all we can do is prepare ourselves to meet it when it comes.”

“Fair enough,” he reluctantly agreed, “though I reserve the right to say, ‘I told you so’ if it all goes south.”

“Duly noted,” she said wryly, as Velsa poked her head in the door.

“We’re ready out here,” she informed them.

“Then, by all means, let's get started,” Blye said, smiling as they ushered in the first patient.

They saw dozens of refugees boasting a myriad of complaints, though scattered among them were several individuals who’d exaggerated their symptoms just to gain an audience with Blye. Those she tried to ease out the door as gently as she could, often easier said than done. It was clear that many of her devotees would gladly camp out here permanently, just to bask in her presence. They required a firmer hand to dislodge them, though she made sure to thank each of them for stopping by. As the sun began to set, they closed up shop and packed away their gear, when a knock at the entrance took them both by surprise.

“I hope I am not intruding?” Spata Zhai inquired, peeking in.

“Not at all,” Blye said warmly, holding out her hand as he grasped it in return. “It is good to see you… well, not see, exactly, but you know what I mean.”

“I do,” he answered gravely. “You are looking well, far better than I feared. I regret not stopping by sooner, but… well, you understand.” His demeanor was apologetic, though both knew the true reason behind his absence.

“Of course,” she answered, wishing she could say more. Given the almost certainty they were being monitored via her implant, the risk was simply too great… which begged the question, why was he here now? “To what do I owe the honor?” she asked.

“I merely wished to check in and bring you up to speed regarding the camp’s current status,” he explained, handing over a tablet. “Routine, for the most part, though there have been a few minor incidents. Nothing we couldn’t handle, of course.”

Blye accepted the electronic device… only to feel a scrap of paper beneath her fingertips as well. Her blinded eyes widened briefly before inclining her head in gratitude. “I look forward to going over your report, Spata,” she told him, before signaling Prash to take both the tablet and the message from her, carefully keeping them out of the implant’s visual range.

“Should you have questions or concerns, you may reach me at any time,” he stressed.

“That’s very kind of you,” she told him, her mind reeling as she worried why he had appeared now, after being so careful to avoid her since the surgery. Likely, the note he’d passed her would explain it, though there were far safer avenues available if there had been a need for a conduit. Whatever the motivation was, it brought with it the chill of ill tidings.

But then what didn’t, these days?

“I regret I cannot stay longer,” the Spata continued, already making his exit plain. “I am pleased to see you up and about once more, Chevalier Tagata. Your presence in this camp has been a welcome one, not only for myself but all who reside here. These people look up to you… and they would follow you anywhere.”

That the pause in his statement was deliberate was impossible to ignore, the added emphasis even more so. The Ixian was delivering a message, one that sent shivers down her spine. The note now seemed almost secondary as the warning in his words rang through, loud and clear.

Suddenly, she didn't want to know what was on that scrap of parchment.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Blye told him, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. “I hope next time we can catch up a bit.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “As do I… though one never knows what the future may bring.”

Blye released him as he bid farewell, disappearing back into the rain. With a sigh, she reached for her hat and poncho, donning them both once more before slipping on her pack and tightening the straps. Her staff now in hand, she asked the others, “Ready to go?”

“Sooner we get back to where it’s warm and dry, the happier I’ll be,” Prash grumbled, as he and Velsa fell in on either side for their return trip. They said little while sojourning across the camp, though several refugees shadowed them along the way. If Velsa wondered why the others weren’t engaging in conversation, she kept her thoughts to herself. Upon their return, they shrugged off their rain gear and hung them up to dry before making their way to the clinic’s sleeping area. Setting down her pack, Blye eased herself down to her cot.

“That took more out of me than I realized,” she admitted. “Did you have a chance to read Zhai’s report?” she asked casually.

There was a brief pause. “The highlights, at least,” he said finally. Of course, his report held little actual interest for her. She was far more preoccupied with the message he’d passed them, and Prash knew it. As much as she would have preferred to ignore it completely, she couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

So.

Best to face it head-on.

“Perhaps a brief prayer, before you bore me with a tedious activity report?” she suggested, holding out her hand. A moment later, he enfolded it in his, as her finger began to tap.

… T… E… L… L… M… E.

His response was as immediate as it was alarming.

… AGGAADDUB SHIP ARRIVING TOMORROW.

… REASON UNKNOWN.

… STRONGLY URGE YOU REMAIN HIDDEN.

And at the end, a final request.

… LEAVE THIS TO ME.