The ship lurched again as Maggie headed aft; the lights flickering as she careened into a bulkhead. That was a worrying sign...if the secondaries had just kicked in as she suspected, what had happened to the primaries? It could be anything from a thrown circuit breaker to a gaping hole where Engineering used to be, though the latter was unlikely. Any blast big enough to do that could take the rest of the ship along with it.

Clicking on her suit radio, she activated the Damage Control frequency. “Mairead, what’s your status?” she squawked.

“Trying to keep Engineering in one piece!” she shouted back. “We took a hit port side aft, so grab a patch kit and get down there!”

“On my way,” she answered, detouring to grab a nearby kit and throw it on top of her tools. They were located all over the ship, pre-made slabs of plastic and metal with one side covered with adhesive, protected by a thin sheen of Mylar. If one discovered a leak, you stripped the cover off and slammed the patch over the hole. Bolts were already pre-drilled and set; a few seconds with her power tool and the patch would be in place, stopping the leak.

Any holes bigger than a few centimeters became...challenging.

She still didn’t know what the hell was going on, and as much as she wanted to radio the captain and ask, she knew he had his hands full. Her shouting in his ear wouldn’t help, but two possibilities loomed large in her mind. Either the Troika had come calling, determined to stop them, or…

...her mind skittered away from that second option. It was too damn horrifying to contemplate.

Port side aft was storage and then a maintenance crawl space behind it. Gyrfalcon shuddered once again, knocking her to the deck. Grabbing a nearby stanchion, she hauled herself back up, before checking the hatch’s seal as she arrived at her destination. According to the readouts, pressure was holding steady at 93.1 kilopascals, showing a slight leak. It wasn’t enough to lock down the hatch, so she palmed the release and entered the compartment before it dropped any further. Once inside, she made a quick scan, but failed to spot anything obvious.

Tracking down leaks had been a priority for Terran ships since the beginning, and they’d tried many methods. But for the quick and dirty approach, nothing beat a good old-fashioned smoke candle. Maggie always kept a few on hand, taking one from her kit and yanking the pull tab to light it. Within seconds a cloud billowed, filling the room as she started checking corners...it was always the corners, it seemed like...looking for the telltale vortex of escaping air.

It took less than a minute to find it, right where she feared...in the hatch seal leading to the maintenance crawl space.

Crawling around in there would be awkward in a suit, but what other choice did she have? She grimaced as she checked the readings...54.7 kilopascals and falling. Best get to it then, she grumbled. It only took a couple of minutes to equalize the pressure between the two compartments before she popped open the hatch, grabbing her gear and dragging it behind her as she crawled, following the trail of smoke as it raced for the breach.

As she dragged herself forward, she fished around in her pack for her go-to. For welding makeshift repairs onto an uneven surface lickety-split, nothing worked better than an old-fashioned plasma torch. As she inched her way down the narrow tunnel, Maggie spotted where the smoke was being sucked out into the void. She breathed a small sigh of relief; the breach didn’t look all that bad. One patch should cover it, and…

...her thoughts came to a screeching halt as something reached inside, latching onto a beam and forcing its way through the hole, the sound of tearing metal shrieking in her ears.

“...fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK SHIT!” she screeched, backpedaling as fast as she could to get away from the...whatever the fuck it was! Another segmented member squeezed in, shouldering itself between the ship’s ribs as it ripped and shredded the bulkhead, wrenching itself inside. A conduit sparked, sputtering in the low light as the thing ripped open a secondary line as a metallic tentacle appeared, adding to the damage...as the blood in her veins turned to ice.

Maggie recognized it now. She’d seen enough images of them in her life to have it burned into her brain...even if the nightmare vision bore little resemblance to the piñatas she smashed to bits since she was a girl. The Yīqún burrowed into the vessel with a single-minded purpose, but she had no intention of sticking around to watch. “Mayday!” she screamed into the radio. “Drone! Goddamn drone!”

“What’s your location?” Mairead shouted back, but she was too busy scrambling her way back out of the shaft to answer. The patch kit fell to the deck and scattered…the hole was too big now anyway to bother with it...but all she could think about was getting away. Maggie still had enough presence of mind to keep her tools with her, that had ingrained since her apprenticeship. You always saved the tools, even if you couldn’t save yourself.

The Tinker who came after you would need them.

Reaching the maintenance hatch, Maggie slammed her fist into the control, only to have it blare at her in angry red. She punched it again and again but it refused to show green, even as she sensed the drone behind her pulling itself inside. It was then her panicked brain realized the problem...the hole it had torn through the hull had dumped the remaining atmo into space. As long as there was air on the other side the safety interlocks kept it locked down tight, to prevent other compartments from having their air sucked away. She could work around it...but as she risked a brief glance behind her at the Yīqún, she realized she couldn’t override the lockouts in time.

Think think THINK! her mind screamed at her. If she didn’t come up with a plan in a goddamn hurry she was gonna die, trapped inside the shaft while the drone tore her to pieces. She held her plasma torch out in front of her like a talisman as she faced the demon, while struggling to come up with a plan. The torch might fend it off for a few seconds, but it wouldn’t kill it, not before it killed her. She needed something bigger, something that would release a massive burst of energy, something like…

Maggie glanced at the armored conduit running along the shaft wall and swallowed. She wracked her brain for another idea, any other idea, preferably one that wasn’t so mad...but nothing came to her. Even as she stared, the machine finished squeezing itself into the cramped space, its sensors casting for a target...before focusing all its attention on her.

...no time for a sane plan then.

After a couple close calls Maggie had started carrying an extra oxygen tank, and it had saved her ass more than once. Reaching behind her and yanking it free, she held it between her knees while she snapped tethers in place for her and the kit, before grabbing another smoke candle and jamming it into the regulator. The timing had to be perfect because she wouldn’t get a second chance, and even if she did everything right, it would likely kill her anyway.

At least it’ll be quick, her mind whispered without a trace of humor, as she cracked the tank’s seal and lit the candle before hurling it at the drone. Grabbing her knees, Maggie pulled herself into a ball, protecting her vital organs...as the tank detonated in a ball of flame and shrapnel. Chunks of metal shredded the shaft’s deck and bulkheads as one piece whanged off her helmet while another sliver embedded itself in her backside, breaching her suit.

The message Warning: Suit Integrity Compromised appeared on her HUD display, but she didn’t dare grab a patch just yet. Her makeshift bomb had barely scratched the Yīqún drone, even though it had taken the brunt of the debris. Its metallic limbs snagged nearby handholds as it closed in for the kill, while Maggie covered her faceplate and closed her eyes.

If she’d done her calculations right, if she’d aimed her impromptu grenade at the correct spot, assuming the entire universe had aligned in her favor, then with a spot of luck the reaction she’d been praying for should be right about…

...with a silent roar, the plasma conduit erupted in a conflagration of magenta-tinged death, obliterating the drone before blasting it free from the hull. Her suit began shrieking alarms, as Suit Temperature Critical joined the previous warning, both flashing bright red. At 8000K nothing could withstand the intense heat for long, though the lack of oxygen gave her a brief reprieve before the Devil would claim his due. Every warning light in her suit went off in rapid succession, leaving her gasping for air as she howled into the radio, “Shut down port side aft plasma conduit now!”

She repeated the message again and again; with the thundering jet of flame only a few meters away, it was likely disrupting her transmissions. If Mairead couldn’t hear her, if she couldn’t reroute the conduit in time…that was it. The metal splinter in her ass melted as Maggie cried out in agony, her O₂ growing too hot to breathe, her suit systems failing one by one.

At least I saved the ship, her mind whispered...as the darkness took her at last.

...gently now…

...Holy Mother Terra…

...watch your hands...gloves only…

...her damn helmet’s fused…

...we need cutters…

...Jesus…

...don’t touch the clothing…

...irrigate that…

The words were jumbled, and distant. None of them had anything to do with her, as she drifted off once more.

“...unto Holy Mother Terra we commend the soul of our brother departed, as we commit his body to the deep black; in certain hope of eternal life. Until the glorious day when the stars shall give up their dead; when those that have gone on before will be reborn, we remember Lieutenant Alexei Tsvetanov. For those that die are never gone, not so long as we hold them close in our hearts.”

Troisième Mica Niemi looked up from the prayer book she held, gazing at the rest of the crew. Captain Ngô had asked her to conduct the service, a task it honored her to perform. The Knights were often given such duties, being the closest thing to a religious order Humanity had to offer, outside the priests and priestesses of Terra themselves. While it was unlikely someone born of Earth would be a follower of the Terran sect, as it was born in the long years of the Diaspora, no one objected.

Maggie stood beside her Master, their heads bowed, as the designated pallbearers lifted the section of paneling they were using as a funeral bier and carried it into the airlock. They moved with quiet dignity, though they were unrehearsed, setting the plank down onto the deck and locking it in place, before removing the straps securing the body. Their mission complete, they turned as one and filed out of the chamber, dogging the hatch behind them.

Mica stepped forward, resting her hand on the cycle button. “From the stars we are born, and to the stars we return,” she intoned, as she activated the outer hatch. The escaping atmosphere yanked the body away, sending it tumbling into space, until it was lost from sight.

“All this way...for nothing,” Maggie grumbled as the service broke up.

Master Schnoebelen rested his hand on her shoulder. “It was always a long shot,” he shrugged. “We did all we could.”

Maggie looked up at the monitor, showing the scarred homeworld. “...I wish we’d never come to this godforsaken place,” she snarled, stomping off in anger.

Someone was calling her name, and Maggie wished they’d just shut up already.

But the voice was insistent, refusing to allow her peace, so she struggled to open her eyes to tell the asshole off. Only her eyelids refused to obey...in fact, they hurt. Everything hurt, from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. Her hair hurt, if such a thing was possible.

“...son of a bitch,” she mumbled, as she struggled to move.

“Maggie...thank Mother Terra,” she heard a voice say. Blye...she was almost certain of it.

“...can’t see,” she struggled to get out.

“That’s because I bandaged your eyes,” the Chevalier explained. “Exposure to plasma damaged your retinas.”

A sudden chill gripped the older woman. “Am I...blind?” she whispered.

She felt Blye’s calming hand on her shoulder. “No, not at all,” she said gently. “It’s just a precaution, to give them time to heal on their own.” A heavy sigh eased the tension that had filled her...while blind Tinkers weren’t unknown, they were rare, relegated to the simplest of duties, no longer trusted with ship's systems or major repairs. She’d rather be dead than exiled to that fate.

“I’m far more concerned about your other injuries,” the Knight continued. “You suffered burns over most of your body, and there’s some residual lung damage from the super-heated air in your suit. Frankly, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Maggie coughed as Blye helped her into a sitting position and placed a straw between her lips. She gulped the cool water, a balm to her battered flesh. “Can’t say I feel lucky,” she sighed, as the medic took the cup away.

“The Captain would like a word, as soon as you’re up to it, and Mairead says she has a few questions regarding her conduits,” she said, as Maggie groaned. “I told them they’d have to wait until I cleared you for interrogations.” Even without her eyes, she could hear the smirk in her voice.

“...thanks,” she told her. “Can’t put it off forever, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“In the meantime, you have a visitor who is cleared,” she said softly, as the Tinker felt a small hand squeezing hers.

“Diggs,” she murmured, as she heard him snuffle. “I’m gonna be okay,” she promised, as the sound of a sleeve wiping one’s nose reached her ears.

“He’s been here all night,” Blye informed her, her own voice filled with emotion. “He refused to leave your side...and I didn’t have the heart to force him.”

There was a smile on her face, as tears filled her eyes. “...ain’t we a pair,” Maggie mumbled, still holding his hand as she drifted back to sleep.