“...what you are proposing, it is most dangerous. Perhaps even reckless.”

The insectoid Durzix wriggled its antenna in acknowledgment. “I agree it is a bold strategy, but reckless?” he asked his avian counterpart. “I must respectfully disagree.”

Ruffling his feathers in indignation, the Tsengju representative gestured with its claws. “You suggest I use my contacts to recruit warriors and saboteurs to your cause,” he reminded him, “a cause that will put us on a direct collision course with the Troika itself. How is that not reckless?”

His counterpart clicked his mandibles in reply. “Your people chafe under the Troika, just as mine do. No single race could ever hope to stand against them, but united, we will build the wheel we need to break them on.”

“It took the threat of the Yīqún to create the last alliance,” the avian reminded him, “and even there it was only through the Troika’s efforts that they were defeated. We have no love for the Troika, I know of no race that does. But the demands they place on us are far better than the destruction they would surely visit upon our worlds were we to join your banner.”

“The Troika is powerful, no one denies this,” the Durzix chittered, “but together we can accomplish what would be impossible alone.”

The Tsengju cocked his head. “Other races have signed on?” he asked.

“We are in negotiations with many species,” the chitinous creature admitted, “though I cannot go into further details. An operation like this requires discretion.”

“As you say,” the avian said noncommittally before reaching for his glass, its long thin flute fitting easily into his beak as he drained the last of his beverage. The distinctive sound of it being sucked dry brought the house servant to refill their drinks, a species from a lesser race out on the Rim. Despite their wildly divergent biologies, they both shared a taste for fermented Yaabi sap. He casually held out his glass as he topped it off before the servant scurried over to do the same for the host.

“I am not asking for a hard commitment today,” the Durzix said easily. “Discuss our offer with those on your world who may be amenable to such an arrangement. We recognize this goal will not be achieved overnight. In fact…”

The Tsengju squawked in alarm as the insectoid beside him suddenly sprouted a hole in its head. Its body collapsed onto the deck even as he turned to face the assailant, none other than the servant who had just poured the drinks. The small pistol coughed twice more as his corpse joined his counterparts in death, crumpling in a heap.

The servant stepped forward to inspect his handiwork, checking the vitals of both individuals before he was satisfied. That accomplished, he rose to his full height and transformed, his body rippling as soft flesh replaced scales. Moments later, where once a reptilian male servant had stood, a Terran female had taken his place.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out why the Eleexx had wanted them dead, Samara mused, not after overhearing their conversation. Sloppy tradecraft on their part. Not that it mattered since the Troika had already marked them for termination. They obviously intended to nip this insurrection in the bud, and as she pocketed her weapon she transformed once again, taking the form of the avian Tsengju now lying dead at her feet. With carefully measured steps, she exited the compartment, playing her role to the hilt to make her escape. In a few scant hours she would be far from this planet, rendezvousing with Azrael to enjoy some quality down time before her next assignment.

Maybe it wasn’t the life she’d have chosen, but it was the life she had.

It took every bit of self-control Samara possessed not to scream as she regained consciousness. They had stripped off her spacesuit, or perhaps she had done it herself under Guardian’s influence. Her hand was already halfway to her face before she jerked it away, terrified of what she might find. That brief glance had seared itself into her memory, and there was a part of her mind that was still screaming, but what frightened her even more was a question that refused to go away.

How am I still alive?

Guardian and the other Cognates could perform miracles, or at least reasonable facsimiles. But when half your brain has been shot away, it suddenly thrust you into some seriously scary territory. Obviously, she was still breathing, but why wasn’t she a drooling vegetable? As far as she could determine, her memories and motor functions were all intact, and that was flatly impossible. When brain tissue is destroyed it’s gone, and while there are built-in redundancies and ways to relearn old skills using different pathways, that much damage could not be explained away.

And yet here she was.

Samara slowly rose to her feet, using a nearby console to steady herself. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, and until she had thoroughly tested her brain, she wasn’t taking anything for granted. If they had altered her memories, how would she even know?

The console’s display screen would serve as an ad hoc mirror, even though taking another look was the absolute last thing she wanted to do. But if half her skull was still missing... damn it, she needed to know that, if only to take preventative measures. So, with a lungful of air, she forced herself to gaze at the screen while holding her breath.

Nothing. She looked perfectly normal, as far as she could tell. Once again, her hand went tentatively to her scalp, her fingers trembling, threatening to bolt at the first sign of anything wet and squishy. A hysterical giggle made it past her lips as she imagined herself reacting to the question, “What’s on your mind?”, though as she probed gently, she could find nothing amiss. Her hand slid back to the base of her skull, to the spot where a chunk of her skull had been surgically removed months before and then replaced, searching for the scar, the thin ridgeline of bone tissue that had filled in the cracks.

Once again, there was nothing. No sign she’d been under the knife. Gripping the console tightly enough to whiten her knuckles, she growled, “Guardian... we need to talk.”

... Yes, Samara, he said.

She forced her hands to relax. “I know you’ve done some amazing things repairing me, but there is no way I should be alive right now. And even if you kept me alive somehow while repairing the damage, with that much information lost…” Her voice drifted off for a moment as she contemplated that life, before shaking her head.

“I shouldn’t still be me,” she snapped. “And how am I ever supposed to know if I really am?”

... The answer is not as complex as you make it out to be, he assured her. After your third injury, we increased your odds of survival should another such event occur. We therefore grew backups to your vital organs to give you built in redundancy.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re telling me I’ve got a second brain in my chest?”

... Not in the way you are imagining it, he advised her. It would be impossible to create an exact duplicate and fit it into your thoracic cavity without substantially altering its dimensions. Instead, we have created a... distributed network.

Her hands clenched into fists. “What gave you any right to change me!” she shouted. “This is my body, not yours! You’re just some excess baggage I picked up along the way!”

If her outburst had upset him, he gave no sign of it. Samara, without those alterations, you would now be dead, he explained. And while I and the other Cognates may indeed be the hitchhikers you claim, I regret to say that our fates are now intertwined. We need you so we can find our way home, and you cannot help us if you are no longer living.

“And just what else have you done to me, since we’re on the subject?” she demanded.

... Extraordinarily little, he assured her, other than increasing your bone density and improving your muscle efficiency. I estimate you now enjoy approximately twice the overall strength as you had previously.

Samara could only stare blankly as she digested that. “Am I still human?” she whispered.

... Without a baseline measurement to determine what constitutes a standard for humans, I cannot answer that question, he replied, but given the alterations done to both your gross physiology and your genetic code, are you entirely certain you were human before we met?

It was one too many shocks to the system. Samara hugged herself as she slid down to the deck, her body shuddering in fear and revulsion and fury. She started slamming her skull into the bulkhead again and again, reveling in the pain, rejoicing in it; for if that one sensation was honest, was real, then maybe there was still some small bit of humanity left within her she could still cling to.

Who are you kidding? her inner critic mocked her. You’re damned, Samara, you have been since the day you joined the Proteans. You’re nothing but a monster, and you deserve everything that’s coming for you.

... This is not healthy or helpful behavior, Guardian said dubiously.

“Shut up,” she shouted, “shut up shut up shut up!”

And you’re hearing voices! the critic laughed with glee. How does it feel to go mad?

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” she screamed, as she pressed her hands against her ears.

She did not know how long she sat huddled in the corner, terrified and forsaken... either too long, or not long enough... but finally Guardian could remain silent no longer.

... Samara, I have no wish to add to your burdens, but we are still aboard a ship filled with corpses, docked alongside other, more powerful vessels. If we are to have any chance at escape... it must be now.

Her mind was a complete blank. She had no response to that.

... If you cannot function, I will ready one of the Cognates. I can also blank your mind, as I have in the past, to give you a chance to rest. As you have previously expressed anger at losing control, I am making you this offer of your own free choosing, but we have run out of time.

... right. No rest for the wicked. “Xeno and Kalypso,” she blurted. “Where are they?”

... They have removed themselves elsewhere on this vessel, he answered. It would seem they too found the alterations we made... troubling.

She remembered Kalypso’s horrified reaction, staring in shock at someone who was still a going concern when she should have been a very deceased corpse. That would not be a pleasant conversation, but that was for another time. For now, she focused on the problem at hand. They still needed to escape the system, and if Guardian was correct, the clock was ticking. She pulled herself up to her feet, wiping at her face before heading for the Bridge. Upon her arrival, she quickly scanned the control systems. While she had every confidence, she could familiarize herself with them, time was of the essence.

Tell your pilot to take over, she informed Guardian, but don’t blank my mind. I refuse to run away like some scared little girl.

... As you wish, he agreed.

A moment later she felt the now familiar sensation of her ego being pushed aside as another assumed control. And you are? she asked, her tone guarded yet caustic.

... Erhair Dresh, he answered, Doyen-Theurgist 1st Grade. It was I that flew your previous ship out of harm’s way during your escape from the world you called At’sah; he explained.

I... see, she silently answered. Thank you for that. Considering she was still alive because of his efforts, it only seemed polite to express gratitude.

... It is the reason I exist, he replied, as if that answered everything. For him, maybe it did. The pilot quickly determined the function of every control on the Bridge and began plotting a way out of the system. There were several larger, more powerful ships docked here, though many had joined the mass exodus still in effect. She knew what he was thinking, for it was the same trick she would have tried; blend in with the others and then peel off the first chance you got.

The sound of movement behind her drew both their attention, as Kalypso and Xeno carefully poked their heads in. “Is everything... all right?” Xeno asked cautiously.

Dresh turned to face them. “All is well,” he confirmed. “We will depart the system shortly. I advise you to strap in.”

She could see their faces harden as they realized they were talking to a Cognate. Give me back control, she insisted. Dresh stonewalled her for a moment, but then either changed his mind, or was overruled by Guardian. In the blink of an eye, she found herself back in the driver’s seat.

“It’s me,” she assured them. “Dresh... the pilot... is right. We’re almost ready to leave.”

Realizing they were talking to her instead of one of the long-dead aliens didn’t seem to improve their disposition much. “Look, I get it,” she sighed, “seeing me that way was a lot to take in. It freaked me out, too. But there’s a simple explanation, I swear.”

“A simple explanation for that?” Kalypso exclaimed; her tone far too shrill. She was hanging on by her fingernails, and Xeno looked little better.

“Guardian explained it to me,” she informed them. “Since I kept getting wounded, they gave me a few... upgrades, to improve my odds of survival. They’d been quietly adding spare parts while I wasn’t looking, including a set of backup grey matter.”

“They made you a new brain?” Xeno said in shock.

“More or less,” Samara admitted.

The pair looked at one another. “I realize now is not the right time, not while we attempt to make good our escape,” he said carefully, as his carefully honed persona reasserted itself, “but once we are out of harm’s way... it is long past time we talked.”

“... can’t wait,” she said sourly.