“You’ve put me in one hell of a spot, you know that?”

Maggie sighed while Mairead glared at her. “I’ve been the Engineer on this ship for going on eight years now, and I’ve earned my place. They trust me, and they respect me. And then you came along.” The younger woman shook her head. “After your little scuffle with Captain Hadad, now I have to choose. Either I side with you and betray my captain, or I side with him and betray my Clan.” The glare was back with a vengeance. “Thank you so very much for dumping this in my lap.”

“He didn’t give me much choice,” Maggie shrugged. “Sure as hell wasn’t gonna let him space me.” Now it was her turn to glare. “How can you serve under someone like him?”

“Maybe you enjoy sleeping in alleys and digging through trash,” Mairead snorted, “but some of us have higher standards. So he’s a pirate. That’s what Corsairs do. They’re pirates, the Valkyries kill for money, and us Tinkers whore ourselves out to all of them. It’s a hard old universe, Maggie Al-Hajjah, and you do what you gotta do to get by.” She snorted in disgust. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Amazin’ how they can make that damn moniker sound like a prayer or a curse, she grimaced. She didn’t blame Mairead; if their roles were reversed, she’d be pissed too...though not for the reason she claimed.

“You got every right to be angry,” Maggie allowed. “I know how I’d feel if somebody sabotaged my ship...but I still ain’t tellin’ you where or how I did it. Sorry.”

Mairead’s nostrils flared as she spun away, stomping back to the workbench where she was putting the finishing touches on the laser Blye needed for Samara’s surgery. If she kept looking she’d find where Maggie had installed her Kill Switch… by which time she’d have added a second one somewhere else. As long as Remi Hadad was captain, and she was a passenger, she’d damn well have a trump card she could hold over him if things went south again.

She turned her attention back to her own workbench, where she was running a diagnostic on the scanner the Chevalier had insisted on before she’d even consider surgery. Scavenging the parts hadn’t been easy, she’d had to dismantle some of the sensor upgrades to make it work. It was a bulky, clunky looking device, but if she was reading the numbers right, it should do the job. They still had to make the Oxygen-15 water Blye would need to trace the blood vessels in Samara’s brain, but with a half-life of only two minutes she’d do that right before the scan. Luckily, the engines would serve in a pinch to generate the needed radioisotopes.

The monitor above her flickered to life as Alphad appeared on the display. “Just checking in to see where we stand,” he informed her. “Are the connectors ready?”

“Got ’em right over there,” she told him, pointing to a plastic container. “Should work just fine.”

“You realize I’ve only done something like this once before,” the Avatar said, “and I had help then.”

“Ain’t askin’ you to move into her skull, only monitor it,” she explained. “Just tell us if things go wonky.”

“I’ll try,” he said.

“We’re all flyin’ by the seat of our pants here, Alphad,” Maggie shrugged. “Do the best you can. Can’t ask more than that. Now…‘bout that other matter…”

“It’s about what you figured. The Knights and Valkyries are in your camp, along with Samara. Genvass is on the fence, while the crew are standing with the captain.”

“What?” Mairead exclaimed, rushing over to where Maggie was standing. “What are you talking about?”

Alphad shot the other Tinker a look, who shrugged. “I asked him where things were if your captain made another play,” she explained. “We got an understandin’, him and me, but sometimes folks get frisky.”

“If you’re planning a mutiny, count me out!” Mairead shouted at her. “This is my crew we’re talking about. I care about these people!”

Maggie held up her hands. “I ain’t plannin’ nothin’, I swear. Just wanted to know who I could trust if shit got real.” She glanced back at the screen. “Didn’t hear you say where you stood,” she pointed out.

The Avatar grinned. “Oh, I’m with Team Maggie...if only out of morbid curiosity.”

“I’ll take it,” she replied, while Mairead stormed off muttering under her breath.

“Also, Blye wants to know when the equipment will be ready,” Alphad added.

“Tell her…” Maggie paused, looking around as she ran a quick inventory of the project, “...we should be done this time tomorrow,” she finished.

“I’ll let her know,” he nodded, as his image disappeared.

She could feel Mairead’s icy glare behind her as she got back to the diagnostic. Last thing in the galaxy she wanted was another showdown with Remi Hadad, but if he pushed it, it was good to know she had backup.

Blye and Prash went over the gear with a jaundiced eye, searching for any signs of defect. It wasn’t because they didn’t trust the Tinkers’ work...quite the contrary...but with a patient’s life in their hands they were leaving nothing to chance. Maggie and Mairead were on hand to answer their questions and show how the equipment would function, while Alphad was grilled just as hard regarding his involvement. As they went over each device Samara observed their discussions, saying nothing, while Sgt. Kai and Rúna kept her under watch.

Setting down the surgical halo, the Troisième wore a sour expression. “It all looks serviceable enough, but…” She turned to the Protean. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Anything you’d like to ask?”

“It’s not my area of expertise,” she answered, waving the question aside. “I trust your judgment.”

“If that were really the case, we wouldn’t be doing this,” Blye grumbled.

“I understand your concerns, but would a little optimism be too much to ask?” Samara smirked. “You’re supposed to put the patient at ease.”

“I’ll work on that,” she shrugged. “I might as well get started with the preliminaries. We can start the scans while going over your medical history and what to expect during surgery.” Blye glanced over at the Tinkers. “How long to make a batch of tracers?”

“Not long,” Mairead told her. “I’ll have some ready for you in a few minutes. She exited the compartment as the Knight looked back at her patient. “Lie down here,” she told her, as she began adjusting the scanner with Maggie’s help.

Samara moved over to the cot with her Valkyrie guards right behind her, disrobing as she walked across the compartment, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind her.

“That’s not necessary,” Blye informed her. “The scanner will see right through most materials, as long as it’s not metallic.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” she laughed. “You wouldn’t deny a condemned prisoner her final request, now would you?” as she dropped the last of her garments on the floor and lay down.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Your last wish is gettin’ naked? Figured you’d be used to that by now.”

“Meow, Maggie,” the Protean chortled. “Besides, you’d be amazed what you can learn.”

“I doubt it,” the older woman sniffed. “Already told you, you ain’t my type.”

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to what you might learn from me,” she purred, “but what I’m discovering right now about all of you. Like the good sergeant over there, trying not to look, while his sidekick stares daggers at me.” Samara blew them a kiss. “Don’t worry, dear, I won’t steal him from you.” Rúna’s response was the closest thing to a Harrumph any of them had witnessed.

“Our Avatar friend’s response is also intriguing, due to his lack of a response,” she continued. “Have some electronic doxy hidden away with you in cyberspace, or do you just prefer something a little more...exotic?”

“Enough, Samara,” Blye snapped before Alphad could respond, grabbing a blanket and throwing it over her. “You’re being a distraction, and I don’t need that. Besides...I know what you’re up to, and there are healthier ways of dealing with fear besides playing the temptress.”

“Who’s playing?” she asked, though she refrained from any further antics. Mairead arrived a few minutes later with the radioisotope, as the Chevaliers got to work. Prash injected the tracer into her bloodstream as Blye operated the scanner, running multiple passes over her head and torso while they fed the results into the computer. After ten minutes of scans, she shut off the machine.

“You can get dressed now, Samara,” Blye told her, sitting down so the two Knights could review the results. The Protean followed the trail of clothing back to her original seat, re-donning her garments as she went before sitting back down under the watchful gaze of her jailers.

The Chevaliers consulted one another in hushed tones, though it was also a highly animated discussion. This went on for several minutes until Blye peered over the display. “Samara, how much do you know about your implants?”

“Almost nothing,” she replied. “Most species in the business don’t share that information with their patients. Much of what they provide us is proprietary...though even if they had told me, I wouldn’t have understood it.” She somehow managed a wry expression. “I take it then, that there’s a problem.”

“I don’t recognize half of what I’m seeing,” the Knight told her. “I can’t even tell how the anesthesia will affect you, let alone anything else.”

“That’s one question I can answer. It won’t, I’m afraid...affect me, I mean. I’m immune to most narcotics.”

Blye’s jaw dropped. “Wait...you’ve known this all along? And you said nothing? Why the hell not?”

“Because I knew it would upset you,” she explained. “Besides, it’s not important.”

“Not important?” The Troisième was getting a little frantic. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but to perform the surgery I have to cut out a chunk of your skull.”

“Blye...it’s fine,” Samara reassured her, “I won’t feel a thing. Between autohypnosis and the ability to create nerve blocks, pain won’t be an issue.”

The Knight just shook her head. “I don’t understand you. How can you just sit there, with everything that’s happening, knowing that you will probably die, and be so damn calm?”

The Protean smiled. “Would screaming and crying improve my odds? Even a little?”

“No, but…”

“...but nothing. I always knew this could happen. Even surviving my first round of implants and gene therapy was a gamble.” Samara shrugged. “I have every confidence you will do the best job you can. If it proves to not be enough, well...perhaps it’s better this way.” Blye could only stare at her, incredulous, as the Protean nodded toward Maggie. “She knows what I mean.”

“Yeah...reckon I do,” the Tinker drawled. “So it’s like that then.”

Samara chuckled, as if she’d just figured out the punchline to the galaxy’s funniest joke. “It catches up to all of us eventually...especially when you live the life I have.” She turned back to the Chevalier. “If I die on your table, some entities will be very pleased to hear it. With good reason, I’m afraid.”

“...Enough. I don’t want to know.” Blye held up her hand, bringing the conversation to a halt. “Since you’re determined to go through with this, we’ll begin the surgery first thing in the morning. Which means no food, starting now. Water only.”

“Of course,” she nodded.

“Maggie, I’ll want you on hand in case any of the equipment fails,” she continued, “and as for the rest of you…”

She sighed in resignation. “I suggest you pray.”