Losing Diggs was like having her heart ripped out of her chest. It didn’t matter that it was the right thing to do...not only did he not belong to her, but the mission was too dangerous to even consider bringing him along. It was the right call.

But oh God, it hurt.

Maggie just wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from the universe, but that was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Too many people were looking to her now for leadership...so chin up, old girl. Don’t let them see how much it’s tearing you apart. Do what needs doing. It took time to put herself back together, but her back was ramrod straight when she arrived at Gyrfalcon.

That lasted less than ten seconds.

“Hey, where’s Diggs?” Blye asked her as she arrived on board.

The Tinker froze as her mask shattered. “He’s...gone,” she whispered.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” the Chevalier demanded.

“...I don’t want to talk about this. Not now,” Maggie mumbled, looking away.

Blye grabbed her arms. “Damn it, where is Diggs?”

Tears filled her eyes once again as she faced the young Knight. “...with his family,” she said quietly.

“You mean...you found them?” she said in surprise.

“The Admiral did,” she nodded. “His grandfather.”

It took Blye a few moments to process that. “And you just let him go?” she said in amazement.

It was the worst thing she could have said to her.

“And just what the hell was I supposed to do?” she snarled. “He wasn’t mine...he was never mine. I’m supposed to just snatch him away from his own people? Is that it? Just take him like a goddamn thief?” Maggie pushed the other woman away from her, who was surprised by her sudden ferocity. “Was I supposed to take him to Earth with me too? Maybe get him killed?” Blye started to speak, but the older woman cut her off. “And you sayin’ that to me has to be the biggest laugh of all. Where are your children, Blye? Huh? Tell me that.”

The last shot struck like a well-placed dagger, with Blye wincing as if someone had stabbed her, before turning away. “...I understand what you’re going through,” she said softly, “better than you realize. Scream at me if you must. Call me a hypocrite.” With her fists clenched as she fought for control, she faced Maggie once more. “But deep down, you know it was a mistake.”

“It was a mistake all right...it was a mistake lettin’ him get close in the first place,” she fired back. “People will always hurt you.”

Blye shook her head, giving her a pitying look. “Tell me, Maggie, who’s hurting more right now? You...or him?” She stared at her for a moment, but before she could respond, the Knight turned on her heels and walked away.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, Maggie trembled with rage and sorrow. She wanted to scream; she wanted to weep, but given her current situation neither were appropriate. Caught between two poles, she had never felt so impotent in her life . “I can see this will be an interesting trip,” she heard behind her.

Maggie whirled to face the unfamiliar voice as she spotted a curly-haired woman in overalls with a tool belt slung over her shoulder. “You must be Maggie. Mairead Kokkinos,” she nodded, introducing herself.

“...how long were you standin’ there?” she asked, dabbing at her eyes.

“Long enough,” she replied, before waving her off. “None of my business.”

After her confrontation with Blye, there was no way she could pretend she was okay, so she stopped trying. “I was in your Engine room yesterday. You run a tight ship,” she said in approval.

“I heard,” she said with a casual air, but Maggie wasn’t fooled for a minute. She was without doubt protective of her domain, and like anyone else resented unannounced intruders.

“I ain’t lookin’ to crowd you,” she said, “Gyrfalcon is your ship, not mine. I got enough on my plate as it is. But...if you ever need a hand, I’m good with a wrench,” she shrugged.

“I’ve heard that too,” Mairead allowed. “If it comes to that, I’ll let you know.”

Her tone told Maggie in no uncertain words not to hold her breath waiting. “Somethin’ I can do for ya?” she asked.

“I just came to find you. Got two folks waiting for you in the Mess,” she informed her, “a Protean and a Dharmist.”

“Must be the rest of the team,” she sighed. “Let me splash on some water, and I’ll go talk to ‘em.” She nodded her thanks and headed for the nearby Head, scrubbing her face clean, though there was little she could do about the puffy eyes. What she saw in the discolored mirror wasn’t much to look at it, but it would have to do. Minutes later she arrived at the Mess and took stock of the recent arrivals.

The Dharmist male was overdressed, covered in fur of muted browns and grays. At first glance it gave him an almost barbaric look, but on closer inspection she realized each pelt had been carefully cleaned, trimmed, and stitched into impressive looking attire. It was certain the style was alien, despite the impressive tailoring. He’d groomed his black hair to resemble a mane, to mimic his patrons.

The Protean female was dressed in close fitting blood red faux leather, cut to accentuate her curves. She had an almost predatory cast to her eyes and bearing, but there was something about her, something familiar...and then it clicked.

“You?” she said in disbelief, as she stared at the shapeshifter she and Diggs had run into during Rendezvous.

The woman laughed, as the man beside her looked on. “The universe never ceases to amaze me,”: she chuckled. “You have to wonder what the odds are of this happening.”

Maggie shook her head. “I stopped believin’ in coincidences a long time ago,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“There’s nothing sinister going on,” she assured her. “I’m here because Jibril chose me for the mission, that’s all.” The woman held out her hand. “Call me Samara.”

“Uh huh,” she replied, leaving her hanging. “And just what skills do you bring, other than that party trick?”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty to dismiss what I can do,” she smirked, withdrawing her palm. “I can get you into places no one else can.”

“Fantastic. And what else?”

Samara just shrugged. “Whatever needs doing.”

She froze. “Fuck me...you’re Wetworks, ain’t you?” she said in hushed tones. There were rumors of individuals who specialized in individual mayhem…Assassination. The man sitting beside her...who so far hadn’t said a thing...slid a few centimeters away from her.

“Your words, not mine,” Samara smirked, enjoying their agitation.

“Why the bloody hell did your Clan leader send an assassin?” she demanded. “This mission is Fubared enough as it is.”

“If I were Wetworks...not that I’m saying I am...then perhaps Jibril thought there might be an obstacle or two out there that might need to be removed. If I were Wetworks. Which I’m not,” she simpered.

“...I don’t need this shit,” Maggie muttered, shaking her head before turning to her companion. “And you? What’s your name? And your story?”

“I’m...sorry?” he answered, caught by surprise. “My name is Genvass Shaafvaazif, but my story? I don’t understand the question.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Do you have any skills, Gen...mind if I call you Gen...or are you just excess cargo?” she asked him point blank.

“Oh...yes,” he nodded. “I’m a linguist. And if it’s easier for you, you can call me Gen.”

“A linguist, you say…” she mused, rubbing her chin. “Just how many languages do you speak?”

“Twenty-three, besides Terran Standard,” he replied. “I’ve trained since I was a child, with the help of my Baishain benefactors. Some tongues aren’t designed with human physiology in mind...Eleexx, for example, is quite challenging...but I was gifted with a natural ability to echo a wide variety of linguistic phonemes.”

“Baishain?” She thought for a moment, trying to place the species. “Oh, right...the Cat-people.”

Gen grimaced. “They...do not care for that term,” he said.

“They ain’t here,” she snorted. “We’ll get you some human clothes, you’ll cook in those furs.”

He nodded once again. “Human ships are warmer than those used by the Baishain. Their world is rather frigid, by our standards.”

“I’ll never understand you Dharmists,” she said. “Why live with aliens that barely tolerate ya, instead of your own kind?”

A hint of anger colored his cheeks. “Why would I choose to live where the air is fresh, and free? Where I don’t have to live in constant worry of being blasted into space when some critical piece of hardware breaks down? Where gravity isn’t created by a deck plate? Where I can feel the sun on my face? Where plants grow in the soil, instead of a vat of chemicals?” He gave the Tinker an icy stare. “Yes, it’s a mystery why I live among the Baishain.”

Maggie just shook her head. “Gen, you can speak their tongue, take their name, wear their clothes, style your hair like theirs all you want, but you never be one of them. You’ll always be the outsider...just a poor Terran beggin’ for scraps, no matter how long you live on their world.”

Genvass pushed away from the table and stood up. “Frankly, I expected better from a Tinker,” he snapped. “If someone would show me to my cabin, I would like to change.”

Samara stood up as well, weaving her arm through his. “Why don’t we go find someone from the crew to play guide,” she smiled, throwing a smirk over her shoulder at Maggie while she escorted Gen out of the compartment.

“That could have gone better.”

Looking up with a start, she spotted Rúna standing in the opposite hatchway. “Is everybody sneakin’ up on me today?” she said in disgust.

“I’m your bodyguard, remember?” the Valkyrie pointed out. “I assumed you didn’t want me looming over your shoulder when you met our new cohorts.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged. “What’s your read on them?”

“That Dharmist is a bit of a cold fish,” she sniffed, “but Samara? She’s trouble, with a capital ‘T’. Stay clear of her.”

“On a boat this size? Not likely,” she sighed. “You got a hunch about her, or something more?”

Rúna’s gun hand drifted near her sidearm. “I know a killer when I see one,” she hissed. “Don’t turn your back on her. Ever.”

“I won’t,” she promised. She’d had a nasty feeling about the Protean even before her shadow chimed in. “But we’re stuck with her, looks like.”

“This entire mission is going sideways in a goddamn hurry, and we haven’t even left the dock,” Rúna growled.

“I know,” Maggie whispered. The sense of deja vu was overwhelming. “Anythin’ else I need to worry about?”

“Yeah...captain wants to see you,” she drawled, jerking her thumb behind her. “Didn’t say why.”

“Wonderful,” she grimaced. The day just kept getting better. “Guess you’d best take me to him then.”

The Valkyrie turned and led her towards the bow of the ship where Remi and a couple other crew were lounging in their couches. “Maggie, this is Xuilan, my copilot,” he said nodding towards a slightly built woman with intense dark eyes, “and Slavko, my gunner,” he continued, indicating a man with a shock of blond hair and thick cords of muscles running down his arms and across his chest.

“Howdy,” Maggie nodded at the pair. “That why you wanted to see me?”

“Not entirely,” the Corsair smirked. “We’re just about topped off with supplies, so I need to know when we’re departing.”

And there it was. The moment she’d been dreading.

“Our Dharmist and Protean just checked in,” she said at last, “but we’re still waiting on the Avatar, Alphad. Said he had a few things to check out first.”

“I see,” Remi answered. “By any chance, did he give you an idea when he’d be ready?”

“No, he didn’t,” Maggie answered, glancing over at Rúna. After their last encounter, being in close proximity with him, along with two of his loyal crew members, made her guts churn. Having her bodyguard nearby didn’t seem to help with that as much as she’d hoped.

He started to reply but was interrupted by his pilot. “Cap’n, getting something on the data feed,” she reported. “It’s a handshake...and the encryption’s Avatar.”

They both raised their eyebrows at that. “Verify it’s our last guest, and then find out its requirements,” he ordered, as Xuilan nodded and bent to her task. “Well then,” he said, turning back towards Maggie, “the gang’s all here,” he chuckled. “Which brings me back to my original question...when do we leave?”

It felt as if the bulkheads were closing in on her, like she was being suffocated. There was no place to turn, and nowhere to run.

Time had run out at last.

“...first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, just above a whisper.