...Connection Established.

...Emergency Protocol - Activated.

...Contextual Status Corroboration - Verified.

...Simulacrum Database Search - Complete.

...Cognate Located - 94.812% Match

...Imprint SED098773L85AH3097UF - Activated.

...I am Bellator-Theurgist 1st Grade Cherdor Hosk. It has been 7.1 x 1014 cycles since my previous activation. As per instructions under the Emergency Protocols, I immediately assess the situation.

...Curious. My host’s physiology and genetic coding are well outside projected dimensions. It would seem that in the intervening teracycles since my last revival there has been a significant deviation to the predicted model. There are many variables that may account for this, but under the Emergency Protocols I must defer all such queries until I resolve the crisis.

...Upon review of the host’s logs, I learn there have been two separate activations within the previous centicycle. This level of activity is highly unusual, perhaps indicative of an individual being assigned hazardous duty. Again my interest is piqued, but I am constrained from further investigation. I therefore focus on treatment and stabilization.

...I detect severe damage to the endoskeletal support structure, especially to the regions housing the central nervous system’s most vital components. I immediately focus my Theurgistic skills to repair and strengthen these key areas, reinforcing as needed. This forces me to create materials of a significantly higher tensile strength but given the likelihood of future trauma based on what I have observed thus far, I judge the intervention necessary.

...With those efforts now in place, I focus my attention elsewhere. Several key vital organs have been damaged as well, and given that my host appears to be performing tasks I deem potentially life-threatening; I program and plant replication kernels while simultaneously restoring function to the injured tissue. Initial observations appear encouraging.

...With my host now stabilized, I turn my attention to other matters. I discern the immediate cause of the injuries are related to several nearby mechanical devices. While crude, and designed for remarkably simple tasks, they have been repurposed into blunt yet effective weapons. Eliminating this threat now has priority. I discover my host has no weapons in the traditional sense, yet I also perceive that several devices have already been permanently disabled. This would seem at odds with what I know of my host’s physical parameters. Clearly there is still data I have not yet discovered and processed, so I therefore perform a Level 2 scan of my host to resolve this anomaly. While the Emergency Protocols forbid investigation borne from mere intellectual curiosity, I am allowed some leeway if the information is necessary to preserve the host.

...The explanation astounds me.

...It would seem my host has undergone extensive physiological and genetic alteration, providing her with unique abilities. This reinforces my suspicion regarding the dangerous nature of her duties. Some modifications are inelegant solutions to complex issues, and while they are serviceable, there is room for improvement. However, engineering those kinds of changes falls outside my parameters as they are defined under the Emergency Protocols. I therefore note my observations in the log for future reference.

...Now that I am cognizant of my host’s abilities, I focus on neutralizing the immediate threat posed by the devices. Based on observed data, it would appear my host had adopted a rather barbaric approach, and while effective to some small degree it focused on the tactical while ignoring the strategic. A cursory examination of the devices has determined that none are autonomous, that they are instead controlled from a remote source. If I can sever or disrupt that link, it will render them inert. Should my efforts prove fruitless, it may require the summoning of an Artificer-Theurgist to eliminate the threat, though I hope that will not be required.

...My observations confirm the devices are of similar design, and given they are all of a utilitarian nature and not specifically designed for combat, locating each device’s transceiver becomes a much simpler process. Given what I can deduce regarding their construction, and the materials used, I determined there is a 74.913% probability the module is within the ventral sensory housing. In my immediate vicinity there are several detached segments of damaged equipment, and I locate a section of dowel that should suit my purposes. As I ready my host for the attack, I boost the hormone and neurotransmitter levels to decrease reaction time and increase physical force. The enhancements I have made to the endoskeleton will be helpful now as I assert motor control and seize the metal rod I have chosen, while rising from the deck.

...The devices react quickly, so I immediately puncture the closest with my improvised weapon, driving the broken tip into the metal casing surrounding the sensory housing. It ceases movement, with the command linkage severed it now awaits instructions it cannot receive. With the location of the transceiver module confirmed, I repeat the action against the other devices, though my host takes additional damage as I do so. I divert resources to treat her injuries while I press my attack, until the final drone has been disabled. However, the command center remains intact, and until I render it inoperative it is still an active threat. I search my host’s memory to determine its location, swapping out the dowel I used against the devices for something more substantial as I direct her to its location.

...On my arrival I am greeted with a cacophony. An image appears on a nearby display, revealing an entity resembling my host in appearance, though I discern the telltale signs of a constructed likeness. The noises it makes are strident, yet I ignore them. By attacking my host it has declared itself to be an adversary, and we have not survived this long by taking such threats lightly. The noises increase in frequency and amplitude as I remove the housing surrounding the electronic command module. The weapon I carry is rudimentary, but effective. Soon, the noises cease.

...The immediate threats to my host appear to have been defeated. I therefore relinquish control and return to Standby Mode until I am needed once more.

...I am Bellator-Theurgist 1st Grade Cherdor Hosk. End Log.

Samara awoke in the engineering space that controlled the ship. Her mind was fuzzy, her memories disjointed, as she struggled to solve the mystery of how she’d ended up here. Her brow furrowed as she searched her consciousness; I laid down for a nap, when…

Her head snapped up as it all came flooding back to her: Rook, the crew, the drones. The pain she’d felt as the machines attacked, overwhelming her and forcing her to shift back to her natural form before….

Everything after that was blank.

Her gut clenched in a knot as she realized what had happened, though her mind skittered away from it. Remembering the pain she’d felt, Samara searched for wounds, finding none but discovering what had to be bloodstains, new ones, not the remnants of her previous injuries. Her jaw set hard as she forced herself to rise before inspecting the compartment. It didn’t take long to spot that the panels covering Rook’s physical location had been removed and tossed aside. As she drew nearer and peered within, she saw the electronic brain that had once housed the Avatar’s personality matrix had been smashed to bits.

You know exactly who did this, her mind whispered, an accusation she could not deny. And she couldn’t even claim she hadn’t meant for this to happen; from the moment she’d decided she’d known there was no going back.

Taking a life was one thing; having some alien box hijack your body and do it for you was quite another. There would be repercussions because of this, of that she was certain, though considering how she and the others were being hunted by the most powerful races in the sector, it made retaliation by the Kikush seem almost trivial in comparison.

She needed to check on the crew. Stepping out into the corridor, a pile of shattered and disabled drones confronted her. Samara had a vague recollection of hammering some of the devices down in her Ak’haadda form, but as for the rest she had no idea. Moving closer, it took a moment to spot what had shut them down, a neat puncture mark on the upper torso that resembled a bullet wound. She stared at the holes in confusion. What could have possibly caused that damage?

She quickly answered the question when she glanced at one of the other devices, spying a metal rod protruding from its chassis. They had designed those drones to withstand abuse, and the amount of force required to disable them that way beggared the imagination. She was strong, especially if she chose a form like the Ak’haadda, but that didn’t explain what happened here. So how?

Enough of this. There would be time for questions later. First, she had to check on the crew. Making her way aft, she arrived at Xeno’s cabin, checking the telltale mounted next to the hatch. Sensors showed Sevoflurane, at a concentration of 20 parts per million, more than enough to render someone unconscious.

Right. First things first. Samara punched in a command to ventilate the atmosphere, purging it of the anesthetic gas. It would take time to accomplish that, even more for the effects to wear off. In the meantime, she had an even bigger problem to deal with. Heading forward, she arrived at the bridge, quickly scanning the navigational systems. As she’d feared they were still on course for At’sah, and they were heading deeper into Tu’udh’hizh’ak space. She killed the engines, letting the ship drift while she decided what to do. While she was sorely tempted to just turn Rächerin around and head back the way they’d come, if Rook were telling the truth then odds were there was a Troika ship on its way to meet them. Until she could decide which course was the safest way out of their territory, going dark was the safest option.

Doubling back, she returned to Xeno’s cabin, checking the sensors. The gas was all but eliminated from the compartment, so taking a chance she undogged the hatch and entered. Xeno was on his bunk, still out of it, but there was no time to waste. Samara found a cup beside the small sink and filled it with water, before turning and dumping it directly on his face.

He came to immediately, sputtering. “What the... what is going on?” he mumbled, still groggy from the gas.

“It’s me,” she told him, “and we’re in trouble. Rook knocked all of you out with anesthetic gas and turned the ship around. He cut a deal with the Tu’udh’hizh’ak to hand us over.”

That woke him up. “Where is he now?” he demanded.

“Dealt with,” Samara replied. She really wasn’t up for specifics at the moment. “Wake the others and fill them in. I’ve got to get back to the bridge and figure a way out of this mess.”

She went to leave, but Xeno caught her wrist. “What is it you’re not telling me?” he asked.

Samara paused, torn between friendship and wanting to forget, but finally truth won out. “It happened again,” she whispered, before pulling free from his grasp and exiting the cabin.

It was sometime later before Xeno and Kalypso joined her on the bridge. She’d cut the ship’s emission to a bare minimum, creeping along on a random trajectory away from the Tu’udh’hizh’ak. The scopes were clear for now, but who knew how long that would last? She turned to them as they took their seats. “How are the others?” she asked.

“Persephone is pissed as hell, but other than that she’s fine,” Kalypso reported. “I’m not sure Gideon even noticed.” She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “That’s... um... a big mess of gear in the corridor,” she said at last.

Samara could only nod in agreement. “It is,” she answered.

The pair shared another of their strange looks, before Xeno picked up the thread. “You said, ‘It happened again’,” he quoted gently. “I assume by that you meant you have yet another gap in your memory.”

“Yes,” she said.

He nodded at that as she confirmed his suspicions. “And Rook?” he probed. “Do you recall what happened?”

She only managed a brief headshake, not trusting herself to speak.

Xeno sighed as he folded his hands in his lap. “Samara, we are in a dangerous position. Hounded on all sides by the Troika, betrayed from within by Rook, our situation grows more untenable by the moment.” he paused, taking a breath. “But the greatest threat we face, far greater than the Aggaaddub, the Eleexx, or even the Tu’udh’hizh’ak, I fear instead comes from that box.”

Her jaw clenched as she fought conflicting emotions, before finally turning to face them. “Rook caught me off guard. I tried fighting him, using every trick I could think of, but it wasn’t enough. He beat me, Xeno, literally and physically. He had me dead to rights before I lost consciousness, and in those last few moments?” She closed her eyes, and said softly, “I knew I would awake wearing chains, or never wake up at all.”

When she opened them again, they were hard as agate. “Instead, I awoke to find him defeated, my wounds healed once more. I can’t explain it. I doubt anyone can. But three times now I’ve faced death, and three times that box has saved my life, and the lives of everyone else aboard this ship. I may not be a genius like you, Xeno,” she said haughtily, “but I damn sure know who my friends are.”

“And Rook?” Kalypso probed carefully, “And what about his Fail-Safe?”

“Rook betrayed us,” she spat out, “and he deserved everything he got. I don’t know why he didn’t pull the plug and blow the ship. My only guess is that in his arrogance he thought he still had the upper hand, all the way to the very end. But after everything he did tell me you would have done any different, given the circumstances.”

“Samara, it’s not that simple…” Xeno began.

“Wrong,” she snapped, “it’s exactly that simple. We have few enough allies as it is in this struggle, and you want to turn away perhaps the most powerful one of all because you don’t understand it? We’re Terrans,” she snarled, “and if there’s one thing I learned it’s that beggars can’t afford to be choosers.” She glared at them both. “The box stays. End of discussion.”

Whatever he’d been about to say, Xeno thought better of it. He was silent for some time, before bobbing his head in agreement. “Very well...if that is your decision, then we will of course abide by it.” He paused as Kalypso looked on in concern. “I just pray you aren’t clutching a viper to your breast.”

Samara snorted as she adjusted course. “If it helped us fight the Troika, then I’d gladly nurse the Devil himself.”