Isi and Genvass spent the night scrubbing down the Mess section and Galley, disinfecting the compartment to prepare for Samara’s surgery. In addition, Mairead rerouted the air handlers, isolating the space as best she could from the rest of the ship. Maggie oversaw the transfer of the specialized equipment the Tinkers had built, prepositioning them under Blye’s guidance, while Prash readied the operating space itself, laying out fresh linens and sterilizing the surgical equipment they’d be using during the procedure. They ordered everyone else out of the area, though they could observe via monitor from anywhere in the ship.

Rúna babysat Diggs while Maggie tested the equipment, before making the final connections between Alphad’s program and the operating table where Samara would be wired up. They tested the lasers at low power; the scanner positioned nearby in case Blye required updates, while Mairead stood ready to produce more radioisotopes as needed.

They were as ready as they could be.

Everyone in the makeshift surgical theater had been thoroughly scrubbed and decontaminated, gloved, and masked, as Blye led Samara to the table. She sat down, folding her legs in a lotus position. “I’ll need a few minutes to prepare,” the Protean explained, bowing her head, and closing her eyes as she began slow, calming breaths.

Blye, Prash, and Maggie held a brief conference while she was meditating. “Any last-minute problems I need to know about?” she asked.

“Everything’s just as you ordered, Ma’am,” Prash said.

The Troisième nodded, then turned to the Tinker. “You won’t faint on us, will you?” she asked.

Maggie snorted. “Seen worse than this, believe me. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Satisfied for the moment, the trio waited until their patient lifted her head and opened her eyes.

“...I’m ready,” Samara informed them.

“All right then,” Blye nodded once more, as she and Prash positioned the Protean on her stomach, her head held in place by a cushioned ring set at the edge of the table, as they attached the surgical halo to her skull. They spent the next few minutes inserting IV’s and catheters, attaching devices to monitor temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, before making the final hookup to their Avatar.

“Receiving telemetry now,” Alphad reported. “Alpha and Beta waves are holding steady, while Theta waves have plateaued at 8 cycles per second. Delta waves are continuing to increase.” He made eye contact with Blye. “According to these readouts, she’s in a deep hypnotic state.”

“Understood. Samara, can you hear me?” she asked.

“...Yes,” she answered, her voice sounding almost distant.

Blye took a deep breath. “Are you ready for us to begin?”

“Yes,” she said once more.

“Very well then. Alphad, please start the music.” The sounds of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique filled their ears as Bly closed her eyes. “Mother Terra, guide my hand,” she whispered, steeling herself as she focused on the task ahead. “Scalpel,” she ordered.

Prash slapped the instrument in her palm. The back of Samara’s head was already shaven, leaving her skin clear as the blade came down. With a single smooth slice she created a flap, exposing the skull. “Retractors,” she said, holding out her hand.

Taking the scalpel and replacing it with a hook-shaped device, Prash placed the used lancet in a tray of sterilizing solution, while Blye pulled back the freed flesh, giving herself space to operate. “Sponges,” she said, as bits of gauze were handed over to sop up the thin trickle of blood. “What are her vitals?” she asked, as her assistant checked the readings.

“BP is 110 over 90, heart rate 70 beats per minute, respiration is holding steady at 15, temperature is 37.2⁰ C,” Prash reported. “So far, so good.”

“That was the easy part,” Blye replied. Once the retractors were locked into place, she held out her hand once again. “Bone saw,” she said.

In fact, it was a metal saw liberated from Engineering, but with a gear ratio change and a new blade it fit the bill. Prash passed over the device as Blye took a moment to decide where to make her first cut. “Still with us, Samara?” she asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Okay then,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, as she powered up the saw. It whirred as she lowered it to her skull and began chewing away at the dense bone. Maggie wrinkled her nose as the smell of burning hair and fingernails filled her nostrils, while the saw’s pitch increased to a sharp whine. Bit by bit she chopped away until she powered off the device and handed it back. “Forceps,” she ordered.

Prash slapped them into her palm, as she grasped one corner of the plug she’d created in Samara’s cranium, lifting it free. Maggie held her breath as she placed it into the waiting bowl, filled with a solution to protect the bit of bone and prevent infection when it was replaced. “Suction,” she said, as he passed a narrow hose over. Blye cleaned away the bits of bone dust and leaking fluids, before handing it back.

“Samara, if you can hear me, count backwards from ten,” she ordered.

“...Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one,” the Protean answered.

“Okay,” she nodded, tilting her head over so Prash could wipe the sweat from her brow. “Maggie, help me set up the Scope.”

The Endoscope was another item taken from Mairead’s tool supply, sterilized for the operating room. They’d clamped it to the edge of the table, and the pair spent the next few minutes getting it positioned so that Blye could insert it into Samara’s brain. Maggie had constructed a simple frame to hold it in place, with the images thrown up to a nearby monitor. Once it was set, the Tinker moved back out of the way.

“To do this, I have to thread the needle perfectly,” Blye explained, “right through the Transverse Fissure separating the Cerebellum from the Cerebrum. That should get me close to the Pineal Gland.”

“Should?” Maggie said, raising an eyebrow.

“Which is why I said I did not want to do this,” she snapped. Prash sponged off her forehead once again while Blye eyed the monitor, inching the Endoscope forward a millimeter at a time. It slid between the folds of the exposed brain tissue, probing deeper as the tip of the probe disappeared from sight.

“...Stop,” Prash blurted out, as Blye released the scope and stepped back..

“Why…?” she began, only to gasp as she spotted what had spooked the Sixième. Samara’s skin was rippling, color and texture changing like a chameleon gone mad. “Holy Terra,” she whispered, transfixed by the sight, before backing away even further and shaking her head. “That’s it...we have to abort,” she told her assistant. “Get ready to retract the probe and close her up.”

“...No,” Samara said suddenly, “finish it.”

“But...your skin…”

“Ignore it,” the Protean insisted, her voice sounding less and less dreamlike. “Struggling...to...keep...control…”

“But…”

“...please...don’t make me beg…” The ripples coalesced into a single wave, washing down her body as flesh turned to scales and then back again, while Samara winced in pain, showing only the barest hint of the agony she must have been experiencing.

“Her Delta and Theta waves are falling off,” Alphad announced. “She’s starting to come out of it. Whatever it is you’re going to do...you better do it fast.”

Maggie watched her vacillate, maybe for the first time in her life. Torn between what her training insisted was the proper course and the wishes of her patient, Blye froze with indecision.

For three whole seconds.

Even as she stared, waiting for her to choose, the Troisième’s eyes came back into focus. She stepped back to the table as her brow furrowed with determination. “Vitals,” she snapped.

“Uh...BP is now 135 over 100, heart rate 93, respiration is 29, temperature 37.8⁰ C,” he answered. “Elevated across the board.”

“5mg Candesartan push,” she ordered, as Prash filled a syringe and injected the medication into Samara’s IV line.

Monitoring the display, he nodded almost a minute later. “They’re starting to come back down,” he informed her, the relief clear in his voice.

“It’s not over yet,” she growled. “From this point forward, we don’t stop unless her life is in imminent danger. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he answered.

“Good. Alphad, watch her rhythms. Tell me when it’s safe to proceed.”

“She’s regaining control,” the Avatar informed her. “It’s taking a little longer this time, but her waveforms are rising. Two, three more minutes, and it should be safe.”

“Understood,” she nodded. “Maggie, get the lasers prepped and ready. I’ll be needing those next...the CO₂ first.”

“On it.” The lasers were as trimmed down as they could make them, but maneuvering them into position was still something of a ballet. They were both designed to work alongside the Endoscope, allowing...hopefully...pinpoint precision. They’d worked well when tested, but this would be their first trial under real-world conditions.

She’d just finished locking the device into position when Alphad spoke up. “All right, she’s back under. I’d go easy though, I don’t think her grip is as tight this time.”

Blye muttered something under her breath before nodding. “Resuming the probe,” she announced, advancing the camera ever so slowly deeper into her brain. She manipulated the scope’s controls, following the natural contours of the organ’s tissue, until she came to a dead end. Pulling her hands away, she stared at the image on the display.

“The Superior Colliculus,” she explained. “It regulates optic function. The Pineal Gland is on the other side of it.” She zoomed in, scanning the area. “No signs of previous surgery,” she grimaced.

“Then how did they get in?” Maggie asked.

“I have no idea,” Blye admitted. “Maybe they did it a different way...like gene therapy. Maybe something I’ve never even heard of. But if I’m doing this, then I have to get through there.”

The older woman shook her head. Machines were easy. If one broke you just fixed it, or scrapped it for parts. People were a hell of a lot more complicated.

Blye was looking for something in that lump of gray tissue, scrutinizing it from every angle, until she decided. Adjusting the controls once more, she marked a target in the scope’s memory. “There,” she told Prash, “that’s where we go in. The cellular grain travels left and right from this angle, so we’ll make the cut with the same orientation. That should limit any damage to the neurons.” Though she said nothing else, anyone watching realized she’d left off the last two words of the sentence; I hope.

The Sixième nodded, the pair working together to guide the laser’s optical fiber along the same path as the scope. It was several more minutes before it was in position, but once in place Blye locked it down tight. “All right, I’m ready to make the first cut,” she announced. “Charging to three watts.” The emitter array beeped, signifying it was ready. “Firing laser,” she said.

On the monitor there was a brief flash of light, as a miniscule burn mark appeared on the surface tissue. Observing the effects on the screen, she turned to Prash. “Just like that. We must repeat that dozens of times, but with any luck it should limit the damage.”

“I’ll keep a close watch on her vitals,” he vowed. “If there are complications, we should see a shift in her baseline.”

The Troisième grunted in assent, her focus on the screen as she shifted the laser ever so slightly, before firing once more. Again, and again, through tedious, painstaking effort, she created a narrow opening in the fibrous brain matter. She made one last cut as she checked the slot’s dimensions, before nodding in approval. “That should do it. How’s our patient holding up, Alphad?”

“Samara is still under, though I’m seeing fluctuations in her wave patterns,” the Avatar explained. “I’m not sure how much longer she’ll be able to maintain her hypnotic state.”

“Right,” she nodded, “moving forward then. Maggie, swap out the lasers.”

The Tinker moved to disconnect the CO₂ laser’s body from the fiber optic cable leading into Samara’s skull. Reattaching the lead to the UV laser was simplicity itself, though she took an extra minute to ensure it was in the optimal position before wheeling away the other cart. “You’re good to go,” she informed the Knight, as she got out of her way.

Blye didn’t acknowledge her, instead she concentrated on sliding the scope and laser cables through the newly created opening. Advancing a hair’s width at a time she could navigate her way past the Superior Colliculus, as a complex architecture of blood vessels, channels, and pulsing bodies appeared on the display. Prash was there mopping her brow as she inspected the image, working to identify the various structures she observed.

“That’s it,” she announced, “that’s our target.” Stepping away from the table, she approached the monitor, pointing out to the others what they were seeing. “The blood vessel linked to the gland is the posterior cerebral artery, and this nearby passage here is the sylvian aqueduct, transporting cerebrospinal fluid down the chord.” she turned back to Prash. “We can’t damage either of them. The results would be...catastrophic.”

The orderly nodded. “How do you want to proceed?”

“We need to position the laser so that even an accidental firing won’t hit either of them,” she explained. “I realize we’re talking about a confined space, but we have no choice.”

“Understood,” Prash nodded. “And then?”

“Sever this connection here,” Blye told him. “Seal off the blood supply from the gland. That should buy us a little time, but we don’t dare wait on our next move. If whoever altered it has safeguards in place, since they haven’t activated already, I have to believe they’ll trigger when we cut off the blood flow. Which means we must destroy it after we’ve isolated it.” She looked over the image once more, firming it up in her own mind, before speaking to her patient. “...Samara? Can you hear me? It’s time.”

“...I hear you,” the Protean responded, her voice less distant than before.

Blye nodded in confirmation. “If anything feels wrong, tell me immediately. Can you do that?”

“...Yes,” she whispered.

“All right then,” she said, gripping the controllers once more, taking a deep breath before shifting the laser to a safer position. Keeping the cables from knotting and avoiding the more delicate areas of Samara’s brain wasn’t easy, but…

“...jaing’kei az xa’xi dyx’ous’eenx hen’gzou’m viquaer sriouvo’rciux!” she shouted without warning, hissing and screeching in a voice that sounded utterly alien.

“What the hell?” Blye said, caught by surprise.

“That’s no language I know,” Alphad reported, “and her wave patterns are becoming erratic.”

“Vitals are rising again,” Prash informed her...as one of the other display screens came to life.

“That’s Eleexx!” Genvass said in a rush. “It’s a warning to stop what you’re doing or…” He paused as Samara continued to speak in tongues, his flesh going grey in shock as he translated the next section, “...or the Eleexx Suzerainty will terminate the subject.”

“Ma’am, we have to abort,” her fellow Knight said in a panic…as an expression of serene calm came over Blye’s face.

Maggie realized only a heartbeat before she moved what the Chevalier’s plan was, as she fired a massive burst of energy into Samara’s Pineal gland.