Samara waited until she was out of earshot... which meant locking herself in her new cabin, considering what Xeno could pick up with his implant... before turning to Guardian. “I don’t suppose you have a plan?” she asked hopefully.

... Not without a great deal more information, it replied.

“Right,” she nodded. “Well, it’s a binary system, with a blue-white supergiant and a blue subgiant star, though there aren’t any planets. Just asteroids, none of which are habitable without a lot of modification. The base itself lies within one of the larger rocks, and it’s where the Protean Clan does most of its dirty work.”

... It is a medical facility then? it asked.

“Among other things,” she answered. “It’s also home to much of the Clan’s training complex, and of course the Rehab sections. In a nutshell, it’s designed to take baseline humans and turn them into people like me.”

... I see, Guardian said thoughtfully. And its defenses?

“Mostly passive,” she informed him. “The Troika maintains a presence in the area though, which is more than enough to scare off the casual pirate. It makes sense since their sole purpose is to protect their investment. But if they fire off a message before we can secure the site, the odds shift drastically in their favor.”

... Then a successful assault must rely on stealth and surprise, it mused.

“That’s right,” she agreed, “but that’s been our problem all along. How do you sneak up to a planet or moon or orbiting installation when they can see you coming from a million kilometers away?”

... If you lack the technology to veil yourself, then you must rely on misdirection, Guardian informed her. Make your enemy look elsewhere as you approach until it is too late for them to react.

“Sure, but the question is how?” Samara began pacing in the small space. “They have eyes in all directions, and they’ll be looking hard at any vessel approaching the system.”

Guardian was silent for several moments. This installation, is it self-sufficient? it asked at last.

“No, it requires a steady influx of goods and personnel,” she told him, “food, medical supplies, raw materials... a base that size is just too small to be completely self-sustaining…”

She froze as the answer jumped out to her. “That’s it!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “We can disguise ourselves as one of their supply ships!”

... A viable tactic provided you can fool the sentries, it pointed out.

“That’s the question, all right,” she nodded. “Ideally, we’d grab one of their ships and use it as a Trojan Horse, but we don’t know their schedule or their codes.”

Suddenly, a sly smile came over her.

“... but I know someone who does.”

Xeno and Kalypso focused as Samara sketched out her idea. “So that’s the plan… the beginnings of one, anyway,” she told them, “but to have any chance of pulling it off, we need the schedule and codes for the supply shuttles.” She turned to Xeno. “Can you do it?”

“Possibly,” he mused, “but it will not be easy. That data is heavily shielded, and even with my talents,” he said, pointing to his implant, “teasing that information out of the aether will be a challenge, not to mention requiring more than a little luck.”

“Is there a way for us to improve our odds?” she pressed him.

He considered the problem for a moment and then shrugged. “If we were to position this shuttle near the approach to Altinak and monitor the incoming and outgoing traffic, it might be possible to learn what we require. That being said... Samara, even if we learn those codes and seize one of their shuttles, and even if we smuggle ourselves aboard without being spotted, we will still be at an incredible disadvantage. We will be outnumbered, on terrain that may have been altered from what we recall, facing Clan members with skills we are unprepared for. Tell me once more how this is not a suicide mission?”

“Maybe it is,” she admitted. “I won’t lie, our chances of pulling this off and surviving aren’t all that great.” Her jaw clenched with sudden determination. “But as long as Altinak exists, we’ll never be clear of the Troika’s influence. If there is going to be any chance for our Clan to break free from its chains, it has to start here.” She looked at them both. “I know I’m asking a lot. Maybe everything. And if you decide this is one step too far, tell me now. I’ll drop you off somewhere, and then do it myself.” Samara took a deep breath and said quietly. “But this is where I make my stand.”

The trio sat silent for several minutes as they wrestled with their conscience. Finally, Xeno spoke up.

“This is not how I imagined it would be,” he told her, “and yet, there’s a certain symmetry to our being here. Altinak is the very last thing I remember seeing with my own two eyes... that, and you, Samara,” he said with a gentle smile. “Too many of us have lived lives of pain and misery because of what the Troika has done... and humanity deserves better than being their guinea pigs.” He nodded in agreement. “I’m in.”

They both turned to Kalypso, who had been silent until now. As they waited for her to respond, she shook her head in resignation. “I don’t want to die,” she admitted. “I just want to go back to my room on the Ste. Jean Baptiste and forget any of this ever happened. I want my life back.” She hugged herself tightly, shivering. “But that’s never going to happen, is it? My life ended the day I joined the Clan, and I’ve been hiding from that truth ever since. So, I guess I’ll go with you. I mean, what else am I going to do?” She laughed, but there was a hysterical edge to it before she finally sobered. “You know they’ll kill us, right?” she asked in a small voice.

“I know,” Samara said gently.

“Just wanted to be sure,” she told her. “I hate you, you know. For dragging me away from my old life.” Her face twisted into a grimace. “My quiet, useless, joyless life.” She shook her head again. “Anything is better than going back to that.”

The trio regarded one another as they made their decision. “I’ll find an out-of-the-way spot to park the shuttle where you can work your magic,” she told Xeno. “How long before we’ll have enough data to make our move?”

“Impossible to say,” he shrugged. “A week, ten days, perhaps as long as a month. We will have to wait and see.”

“All right, though, the food supply will start getting low again if we go much longer than that.” She rose to her feet, pausing for a moment as she eyed them both. “I know I’m the one that pulled you into this war... hell, I’m the one who started it. But this is the first chance we’ve ever had to break the Troika’s hold on our Clan, and even if we fail…”

Suddenly, Samara found herself at a loss for words. Flustered, she turned away.

“... maybe we’ll inspire someone else to carry on,” she whispered, before retreating to the Bridge.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat alone with her thoughts when she was reminded that she was never really alone anymore.

... Samara, is this a good time to converse? Guardian inquired.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “What’s on your mind?”

... I was wondering if you had given any more thought regarding your species' evolution, it reminded her.

Samara rolled her eyes. “This again? What’s the point?”

There was a long silence. It is important, Guardian said at last.

“So I gather,” she answered, “but what I don’t get is why?”

... As I have already explained, I am forbidden to reveal that information, it explained.

“Try,” she urged the alien device, “try really hard.”

A much longer pause this time, so much so she wondered if Guardian had fried its circuits. There may be a way, it said at last, but to do so would mean discussing the topic only in the abstract.

“You mean, hypotheticals?” she said in surprise.

... Yes... hypotheticals, the machine agreed. Is this acceptable?

“Sure,” she said carefully. Whatever secret Guardian was protecting must have one hell of a grip if it was forced into pretense just to broach the topic. Samara leaned back in her chair and waited for it to speak.

... You have encountered many species in your travels, it said after a moment. Are any compatible? Could two individuals from different worlds produce progeny?

“No,” she answered, shaking her head, “not without a lot of manipulation at the genetic level. That’s what the Proteans have been doing since the beginning, grafting alien DNA and cybernetic enhancements for an advantage.”

... This is our understanding as well, it agreed. If you were a trained Biologist, would you be able to examine a specific genetic sequence and determine its native species?

“I suppose,” Samara said affably, though she still couldn’t see where this was going.

... Then let us take the question a step further, it continued. Suppose you discovered a strand of... for example... Eleexx DNA within an Aggaaddub cell. What would be your conclusion?

“That it had been manipulated somehow,” she answered immediately, “transplanted from one species to the other.”

... And if, after careful examination, you discover it was not a case of transference? it continued. That instead, it was part of that species natural genetic heritage?

Samara blinked. “Say what?” she said in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

... If you located a specific genetic marker, native to a single known species, buried within the DNA of an entirely separate race, one that had not been manipulated, that instead had been present within that genome for most of its evolutionary lifespan, what would be your explanation? it asked.

“I... don’t have one,” she stammered. “I can’t imagine how that would even be possible.” She froze for a moment, thinking furiously. “Unless... it was some form of contamination,” she said after a moment.

... Explain, Guardian insisted.

She tugged on her ear. “Well, if humans landed on a planet that only supported primitive forms of life... bacteria, or maybe algae... and then dumped our trash and stomped all around, leaving behind traces of our DNA, I suppose it’s possible that in a few hundred million years whatever life forms arose from that planet might carry human genetic markers, if the conditions were right.” Samara shrugged. “That’s just a guess, though. I’m not an expert.”

... Yes, it said after a long silence, that may be plausible.

Samara waited. “And?” she prompted.

Another long pause. This is... difficult, Samara, Guardian explained. The Guidelines do not allow for specificity. There are topics I may not discuss.

She was about to demand it answer when she was struck by a sudden thought. “What if I guessed the reason?” she asked. “Would the Guidelines allow you to confirm I was right?”

... No, they would not, Guardian answered.

“Okay... then could you at least tell me if I guessed wrong?”

Another long pause. Only if the question was phrased in vague terms, it said at last.

“Lovely,” she snorted. Well, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do at the moment. “Okay, you’re asking about human evolution. That must mean there’s something in human DNA... my DNA... that you recognize. Right?”

Silence.

She raised an eyebrow. “You found something in my DNA that belongs somewhere else... to another species,” she guessed.

Nothing.

Samara shook her head. “Guardian, I hate to break this to you, but I could have DNA from a dozen distinct races running through my veins. I told you about that, remember?”

... DNA that is native to your species is encoded differently than DNA that has been grafted to your genome, it explained.

“Wait a second... you’re telling me you found DNA that shouldn’t be there, human DNA, with an alien origin?”

No response.

She found herself reeling. “But... that would mean that there had been some contamination back on Earth millions, billions of years ago!” she exclaimed. “What species could have possibly…”

Samara slumped back into her chair. “... the Precursors,” she whispered.

Guardian remained silent.

It was as if a key had clicked inside a lock, as things started falling into place. “That’s how that scout... what’s his name…” She wracked her brain for a moment before snapping her fingers. “... Tsvetanov... found his way to the Precursor world, isn’t it? How he could breach the defenses no one has ever penetrated!” she said excitedly. “Somehow whatever is guarding that world scanned his DNA, and it was a close enough match that it let him right through!” Her grin got even wider. “And I’ll bet it’s the same reason you imprinted on me!”

A stone would have made for a chattier companion.

Jumping from her chair, she whooped with glee, bouncing around the Bridge like a hyperactive child. “Do you know what this means? This changes everything!”

Guardian finally spoke. It is not that simple, Samara. Assuming you are correct.

That brought her up short. “Wait a minute... what are you saying?”

The strange alien within her seemed to struggle to respond. If you search your memories... you will recall your evolution was not the only question we asked.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?” Samara replayed the strange conversation in her head, where Guardian had taken her to a room located someplace within her own mind.

She felt the blood drain from her face. “... the Yīqún,” she whispered. There was no way the timing was a coincidence; their sudden appearance and Tsvetanov’s discovery.

There could only be one explanation.

“... you bastards!” she screamed, the pain and anger exploding out of her. “You created them, didn’t you! Didn’t you!”

... I am sorry, Samara, Guardian said softly.

Samara raged, pounding her fists against the bare metal as she howled with fury. Xeno and Kalypso appeared at the door, saw her rampage, and quickly faded back out of sight.

It was a long time before she could regain control.

“All right, now you listen to me,” she snarled. “The way I see it, you owe us. You said you want to go home? Fine. We’ll even share.” Her nostrils flared as she laid down the law. “But New Terra is ours. You owe us that much.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”

Guardian sighed.

... We will try, he said at last.