“We’re one hour out, Samara. It’s time.”

Planting her feet on the deck, she keyed the helmet mic. “Copy that. I’m on my way.”

She’d spent the last few hours holed up in her cabin, taking Xeno’s advice to heart and trying to understand what he and the other Misfit Toys had been through. Introspection wasn’t something she normally engaged in; it led to difficult questions she preferred not to answer. Opening up closets and viewing the skeletons inside was an exercise she could happily do without.

Only once an idea takes hold, it becomes difficult to dislodge. There were far too many moments in her past she didn’t want to explore, but as the minutes and hours slowly ticked by, without the normal distractions to take her mind elsewhere, those skeletons started making their presence known.

I so do not need this, Samara thought to herself, as she headed for the Bridge. Seriously, what was the point? After all, just how long could they keep thumbing their nose at the universe before the Troika swatted them like flies? What was the point to soul-searching when her life expectancy could be measured with an egg timer? Only that wasn’t the real reason, and eventually she was forced to admit the truth, if only to herself.

Why was her mind shying away from those locked doors? Because far too many of those skeletons she’d planted herself.

So what the hell was she supposed to do about that now? Cry out to all who would listen they’d misled her? Throw herself on the mercy of the court? Take up vows and join the Knights in penance? It was pointless, all of it. She had irrevocably stained her soul by her own actions, and no number of good deeds would ever expunge that guilt.

If you’re booked on the express shuttle to Hell, you might as well enjoy the ride, she thought with a sardonic grin. She knew that Blye Tagata, the Knight who had performed risky and improvised brain surgery on her and likely saved her life, would probably call it an “Unhealthy coping mechanism”, or some such, to which she could only offer that self-same egg timer as testament.

What was the point?

Samara grimaced and put on her game face as she neared the Bridge, locking down those troubling thoughts and tossing the key out the airlock. She couldn’t afford the distraction, not now when so much was on the line.

“All right, what do we have?” she asked as she took the command chair.

“We are still on course, passing At’sah’s orbit in fifty-three minutes,” Xeno informed her. “Gideon and Persephone have been alerted and are on standby.”

“Will he be able to hit the target in that small a time frame?” she asked.

“He believes so, but until we make the attempt we won’t know for certain,” he said with a shrug. “To the best of my knowledge, something like this has never been tried before.”

“Well, if he can’t lock on, I suppose that improves our odds to escape,” she said after a minute.

“I hope he can, even if it ruins our chances of getting out in one piece,” Kalypso replied.

Samara raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you hated the Tu’udh’hizh’ak that much,” she said thoughtfully.

“I hate all of them that much,” she countered, “the Troika, and every other race that wouldn’t lift a finger to help us. I just don’t wear it on my sleeve like some,” Kalypso explained. “If I’m given a chance to hurt them, I’ll take it, every time.”

“Duly noted,” she said with a nod, filing that away for future reference. “Any signs of trouble ahead?”

“Powered down as we are, there is very little I can tell you, I’m afraid,” Xeno said. “We lack even a porthole to peer out of. All I can say with any confidence is that no one appears to be shooting at us. At the moment, at least,” he amended.

“Right,” she shrugged. “I guess we settle in and wait then. Anyone bring a deck of cards?”

No one had, unfortunately, so instead they passed the time in casual conversation, checking in periodically with Gideon and Persephone. She let the others handle that duty, given her most recent conversation with the pair steering clear seemed the wiser choice. Finally, as they neared their objective, Samara started the countdown.

“Five minutes out, Gideon,” she called over the suit radio. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m likely to get,” he acknowledged. “I’ll let you know if I lock on to anything.”

“Copy,” she nodded. “Clock is running, it’s all yours.” She switched to the All-Hands’ frequency. “Everybody get strapped in, just to be safe,” she ordered, pulling the shoulder straps down and locking them into the five-point harness, before doing the same for the legs. A quick glance told her Xeno and Kalypso were buttoned up as well, and she was certain Persephone was busy double-checking Gideon’s harness. A few more minutes to hit the target, another eight hours to coast back out of the system, and…

A savage jolt slammed her into her harness, a gasp escaping her lips as she shouted, “What the hell was that?”

“Are we under attack?” Kalypso asked frantically.

Xeno cocked his head, listening to his electronic box. “I do not think so,” he said after a moment. “Weapon’s fire would have destroyed us, or at least severely damaged the ship. No, I am almost certain what we felt was a pressor beam locking onto the hull.”

“Damn it, we’re blown,” Samara snarled, reaching for the controls, only to have Xeno grasp her wrist.

“Wait,” he told her, his head now cocked as he tapped into the aether, “this is not an attack,” he explained, as she held her breath. “We have been caught by At’sah’s planetary deflection grid.”

She stared at him for a moment before his words registered. Unlike the defensive grid, designed to ward off attacks, the deflection grid served a much more mundane purpose. They had created it to interdict non-military threats such as asteroids or other debris that might strike the planet. “You mean it thinks we’re a meteor?” she queried him.

“I believe so, but if that is true, then the grid will probably realize that is not the case,” he told her. “Simply put, we are travelling much too fast. If those in command discover that fact…”

Another hard jolt slammed them in the opposite direction. “Now we’re blown,” Xeno sighed.

“Damn it!” she snapped as she reached for the controls. “Gideon, we’re screwed!” she shouted into the mic. “You sense anything, fry it!”

“Shit,” she heard in reply, but she was already busy firing up the power plant and kick-starting the engines.

“I need sensors and radar!” she bellowed to whoever was listening. Until she could get a handle on what was happening out there, she was operating blind.

“On it!” Kalypso and Xeno said together as they brought the console back to life, while she coaxed as much thrust from the still-cold engines as she could manage. It was a risk without having electronic eyes, but the odds she could make things worse at this point were vanishingly small. At the moment, she just desperately needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She managed to jink the ship around a bit while she waited for the engines to come fully online.

It was likely what saved her life.

The bulkhead behind her shattered, sending shrapnel spraying across the small bridge. The blast pattern from whatever weapon they’d been hit with spared the others, but Samara was not so fortunate. She caught a burst in her torso, ripping open a breach in her suit and batting her aside like a rag doll, her blood spraying across the console as the others reacted in horror.

…

...Connection Established.

...Emergency Protocol - Activated.

...Contextual Status Corroboration - Verified.

...Simulacrum Database Search - Complete.

...Cognate Located - 96.532% Match

...Imprint X56ME220LRZ614GHST45 - Activated.

...I am Doyen-Theurgist 1st Grade Erhair Dresh. It has been 4.6 x 813 cycles since my previous activation. As per instructions under the Emergency Protocols, I immediately assess the situation.

...Strange. Deviation from established norms far exceeds projected parameters. Under normal conditions, I would attempt to resolve this discrepancy, but given the Emergency Protocols that have activated my consciousness I must focus on more immediate concerns. I have therefore entered a notation into the log.

...First priority is to contain the damage to my host. With considerable concentration I am able to slow the circulatory fluid loss to a trickle and begin repairing the damage to the more vital organs. My Theurgistic skills and training can luckily adapt to the unusual environment I find myself in, though their limits are sorely tested. Several foreign bodies have been located within the host’s tissue and are being expelled now that I have accelerated the immune response. During my efforts, I discover signs that a previous Cognate has been at work repairing other damage. A cursory examination of the logs shows that Physician 2nd Grade Rithir Merkott was summoned and treated similar injuries 0.472 centicycles prior to my awakening. That the host has found itself in distress yet again after such a brief interval is troubling and bears further scrutiny.

...With the host stabilized, I turn my attention to the crude Environmental Containment Unit encasing her (during my diagnosis I have learned the host is female). Loss of atmospheric gasses is at a critical juncture, and unlike the injuries I am repairing, my Theurgistic skills cannot undo the damage done to inorganic systems. However, it seems as if the host has anticipated this possibility, and a quick data search of the memory storage region of her central nervous system shows suitable repair patches may be found in pockets attached to the lower limbs. I spend the next few microcycles addressing this concern until out-gassing has decreased to acceptable levels.

...Now that the host is out of immediate danger, I must focus on the circumstances that summoned my presence. The craft I find myself in is primitive and unfamiliar, yet the control panel layout is both logical and orderly. Once again, I am forced to delve into the host’s memory core to familiarize myself with the necessary procedures. A brief glance at the sensory instrumentation reveals a disturbing scenario: the craft my host currently occupies is under attack by a multitude of hostile vessels. Furthermore, this ship contains no offensive or defensive weaponry, no stealth technology, a limited capacity for escape and evasion, and no capabilities whatsoever for self-repair. It is little better than a lifepod, but then it is not the place of a Cognate to criticize or judge the circumstances in which it finds itself, merely to address the situation to the best of its ability.

...Since I am unable to repair the craft, and given the paucity of other options, I focus my attention on departing this region of space. Unfortunately, my host’s craft is not only outnumbered but is also significantly more primitive than its opponents. Were I still in my original form, this information might cause me to despair, but a Cognate does not suffer from the same limitations as those of the flesh. One can only expire once. With that in mind, I examine my admittedly limited options, and alter course towards the nearby planet. Unsurprisingly, the other vessels react immediately, firing another volley of weapons. The controls feel sluggish in my host’s grasping digits, but I discern that is my perception, not hers. Avoiding the incoming fire taxes my abilities to their very limits, and the craft’s even more so, but I am able to dodge the assault while I adjust my trajectory, one that causes the various ships and installations to immediately cease-fire. Should their weapons miss, there is now an increased probability that they could endanger the planet itself. This is as I had hoped.

...As I have neared the planet’s gravity well, I have added additional velocity, but that was not my primary goal. I have chosen my entry angle to the planet’s atmosphere with considerable care and now is the moment to put my plan into action. I sense a nearby disturbance as the host’s companions grow increasingly frantic at my actions, vocalizing at me with an unusual range of sound and tone. I could in theory access my host’s language center in order to translate, but that is a memory-intensive function and would significantly degrade my ability to save the host. From all appearances, they are not attempting to convey relevant data, merely expressing concern at the various maneuvers I must perform. I therefore ignore them and proceed with my chosen strategy.

...Even though my host’s opponents must surely be able to model interactions with the physical universe, they seem unprepared regarding my tactics. I have specifically chosen a shallow reentry flight path, one that will radically alter my trajectory as this craft skips off the planet’s atmosphere. While the action will force the host’s opponents to readjust their formation, buying necessary time to increase the distance between us, it will not be enough to ensure escape by itself. I must perform a similar maneuver yet again, this time using the system’s primary as my focus. It will test the very limits of this damaged vessel, but I see no other alternative.

...My host’s companions have realized my intent and have grown increasingly vocal. I continue to ignore them. Either I will succeed, or I will fail. I have done all that I am able, given these limitations. The Universe must now decide whether my actions were sufficient.

...It would seem they were. Additional damage to the craft was unavoidable but will not impede my host’s escape. I therefore relinquish control and return to Standby Mode until I am needed once more.

...I am Doyen-Theurgist 1st Grade Erhair Dresh. End Log.

“... what the hell are you doing? Are you insane?” Kalypso screamed at her.

Samara blinked. “Uh... what?” she asked in confusion.

“Where did you learn to fly like that?” Xeno asked her, in slightly calmer tones. “I have never seen, nor even heard of tactics such as you just performed.”

None of this was making any sense. “What are you talking about?” she insisted. “I was just getting ready to take the controls when…” Her voice drifted off into silence as she looked down at her patched suit, now visibly stained with blood. Her head swiveled as she quickly surveyed the damage to the compartment, while the tale her instruments told terrified her.

Apparently, she had been fighting a rather one-sided battle for over two hours, and she remembered none of it. Nor did she remember being injured. In fact, she felt... fine.

She turned and stared at the others, her eyes huge. “What is happening to me?” she all but shrieked.