Their eyes darted in every direction as they searched desperately for a way out, but Azrael had prepared his trap flawlessly. With their exit behind them blocked, the only way out of the box they had suddenly found themselves in was through the security team, and they were ready for just such an attempt. Their weapons hadn’t wavered since the lights had come on, and they appeared almost eager for them to try their luck.

Of course, they didn’t know about her ace in the hole.

“Azrael, let her go,” Samara said in defeat. “It’s me you want.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he informed her, as all traces of good humor disappeared. “You and your merry band are responsible for countless deaths, and untold destruction. Because of that, our patrons are not inclined to make any deals.”

Samara took in her surroundings, gauging her odds. She needed to create a distraction if they were going to have any prayer of getting out of this. Guardian, get ready, she warned her hitchhiker, though the time wasn’t right just yet to make their move.

“So what happens now?” she asked him. Keep him talking, she told herself, it’s the best chance you’ve got.

“Now?” His smile was back with a vengeance. “You and I sit down for a nice long chat. Once you’ve told us everything you know, well…” He spread his hands wide. “As I said, our patrons are unhappy. Ending your little rebellion is a good start in placating them, but they’ve made it quite clear that they want you for themselves.” Azrael gave her a small shrug. “I suspect you will not enjoy what they have planned for you.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “Azrael...it doesn’t have to be like this,” she said gently. “Between the two of us we could…”

“Spare me your sales pitch,” he snapped, “I doubt it’s improved any since your previous attempt.” He paused for a moment, before shaking his head. “Oh dear, where are my manners?” he asked aloud, snapping his fingers. A door behind them opened as yet another security team appeared, driving another figure before them. Azrael’s team parted just long enough to admit the new arrival to the tableau.

Samara and Kalypso gasped in unison as Xeno stumbled into the open, his wrists and legs manacled. He seemed to sense their presence somehow, turning to face them with an expression of utter despair.

“Rah, rah, the gang’s all here,” Azrael chuckled.

“Xeno…” she whispered, “... how…?”

“They knew we were coming,” he told her, his shoulders slumped and his voice filled with sorrow. “It’s the only explanation. The moment you were out of range, they ambushed the shuttle. They took out my weapons and engines with the first volley.” Xeno lifted his head, struggling to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, Samara.”

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, her voice husky, before turning her attention back to Azrael. “This entire time...our coming to Altinak...it was nothing but one gigantic honey trap.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t it?”

“It didn’t take a mind reader to deduce that you’d come to Altinak,” he smiled. “Of course you would. The symbol, the very foundation, of everything the Protean Clan stands for? It only made sense that you’d save this base for last.” He stepped forward, gripping Xeno by the arm and drug him alongside, coming to a halt just a few meters away.

“Did you honestly believe that one ship and a handful of troublemakers could seriously damage the Troika?” he asked her. “They’ve been the dominant polity in the Perseus Arm since we Terrans were hunting woolly mammoths with flint-tipped spears. Their sphere of influence spans hundreds of worlds, with trillions of sapient beings owing them allegiance.” He looked at them in disgust. “And you thought you could bring them down? Your arrogance astounds me.”

Samara folded her arms in defiance. “But we still hurt them, now didn’t we? With just one small ship...and a handful of troublemakers.”

“You fool,” he spat out, “you presumptuous child. You’re nothing but an insect to the Troika, a buzzing annoyance that is easily swatted aside. Nothing more.” He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he straightened his tunic. “And now it’s over. You’ve had your fun, but the game has ended.” His eyes blazed with righteous zeal.

Despite herself, Samara chuckled. “That’s not all this is, is it? Not for you. No...it’s personal. I imagine you had to do some fast talking after I snatched Jibril out from under your nose back on Qiqougii.” Her grin grew even wider. “That couldn’t have looked good on the old resume. I’ll bet the Tu’udh’hizh’ak had a few bones to pick with you, seeing as how you were in charge of his security.” Her eyes twinkled with devilish merriment. “Didn’t you always tell me that there’s no room for sentiment in our line of work? That you should never let it get personal?”

His expression took on a dangerous cast. “Indeed,” he purred. “And just where is our illustrious Clan leader?”

Samara gave him a casual wave of her hand. “I’m afraid he suffered an unfortunate accident,” she simpered, before growing serious. “You can’t tell me you actually care what happened to him.”

“Of course not,” he snorted, “yet appearances must be maintained. But of course, we have more important matters to discuss.” Azrael took another step forward. “Tell me about the box.”

“Box?” She looked about her, exaggerating her actions. Kalypso and Xeno just stared at her in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the patience to play your games,” he told her. “The late, unlamented Jibril went into great detail regarding your find...hoping to prove his loyalty to the Troika, for all the good it did him. So how about you skip past the part where you attempt to treat me like an imbecile and tell me all about your acquisition?”

There’d been no real chance of her pulling off that bluff. Instead, she simply shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

“Really? Are you certain? Nothing I can do to change your mind?” The smile was back again, but now there was an element to it that was distinctly off-putting. “Perhaps I can find some means to persuade you.” Azrael pulled a compact pistol from the small of his back and pressed it against Xeno’s temple. Her friend froze, going still as a statue, as the madman leered at her. “...how about now?”

Samara winced and then bowed her head. “Please...don’t do this,” she implored him.

“Then tell me what I want to know,” he demanded, his tone growing harsh.

And that’s the ballgame, she realized. He’s done talking.

There was only one option left... and even with Guardian’s help, the odds weren’t great.

Guardian, it’s time, she told the alien Cognate. Tell Hosk to take the reins.

Silence.

Guardian?

No response.

Guardian! she shrieked inside her mind… as Azrael’s smile grew even wider.

“Something wrong, my dear?” he chortled.

Samara felt the blood drain from her face.

“Jibril told you about the Troika’s standing order regarding Precursor technology,” he explained, “but what he didn’t tell you was why.”

“The ‘Why’ seems pretty obvious,” she managed to get out.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “The Precursors were a highly advanced race before their disappearance, and yours is not the first bauble to appear on the Troika’s radar. For millennia they’ve struggled to learn their secrets and have even had some minor successes.” He stroked the side of Xeno’s head with his weapon. “In fact, the entire Perseus Arm owes those intrepid scientists a great deal of gratitude, as it was their study of the Precursors that allowed the Eleexx to build the very weapon that ended the Yīqún threat.”

She stared at him in shock. “What?”

His smile was positively shark-like. “Oh, they’ve barely scratched the surface, but they have learned a trick or two. Like with the Yīqún, for example. Through their efforts they developed a Dampening Field, one that severed all communication between the drones.”

Her eyes widened in growing realization. Azrael’s expression was the confirmation she feared.

“Exactly,” he leered, “just like you are experiencing now.”

Samara was still reeling with Azrael’s revelation as he snapped his fingers once more. A pair of guards stepped forward; one carrying a simple plastic pillar, the other...the Repository. “We retrieved it from your shuttle,” he explained, as they placed the box on the column and then stepped back, while he reverently stroked the carved surface. “Just think of what it could teach us, Samara. All the secrets it will unlock.” He turned his head back towards her. “But then I don’t have to, do I? You already know what it can do.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said automatically, but it came out half-hearted. If he had said the same to her, she wouldn’t have believed him.

He didn’t buy it either. “I know I trained you better than that,” he chuckled. “We have clear footage of Jibril shooting you at least twice in the back, and yet you seem to be in perfect health. And at At’sah, you pulled off an exhibition of flight they’re still arguing over. You have your talents, Samara, no one knows that better than I... but expert piloting skills and returning from the dead are not among them.” He leaned in, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Somehow, you’ve learned its secret. Tell me.”

The thought of Azrael... of the Troika... getting their hands on that knowledge, of learning what she had learned was a nightmare beyond imagining. With that kind of power at their disposal they’d create a reign of terror across the entire Perseus Arm, conquering every living world, or worse, tear the sector into shreds as the three races battled one another for control.

The Fate of Man under that scenario scarcely bore thinking about. Slaves, at best. At worst?

Extinction.

They were past words now. Instead, Samara jutted her chin and remained silent.

“No? Nothing to say?” Azrael inquired, peering at her. “Then perhaps this will persuade you,” he smiled, pulling the trigger. Xeno’s head exploded, his body falling to the deck. The corpse twitched and jerked a couple times, but it was merely random electrical impulses that quickly fizzled out. Kalypso screamed, her hands pressed against her cheeks as Azrael stepped forward and grabbed her arm, yanking her to his side.

“Shut up,” he hissed, as he now pressed the weapon against her skull. “I believe I’ve more than proven my resolve, assuming it was even in question,” he snarled as the last pretense at civility disappeared. It was as if after all these years she was finally seeing the man for who he truly was, with all his masks stripped away. “You will tell me what I want to know, or she will share Xeno’s fate.”

Samara could only look on helplessly as Kalypso stared back at her, wide-eyed. A heartbeat passed between them.

Two.

Which was when they decided.

The pair moved as one; Samara bolting past to snatch up the Repository and tuck it under her arm, while Kalypso’s artificial hands came alive with crackling blue energy as she drove them at Azrael’s torso. He must have sensed her choice, perhaps felt her stiffen as her muscles tensed in anticipation as he pirouetted out of the way. Kalypso had scarcely begun her attack when his weapon fired yet again, with Azrael’s aim as efficient as ever. She cried out as the bullets ripped through her torso, staggering her, but Samara had already reversed direction once more, knocking the gun from his hand and sending him scurrying for cover with a series of vicious kicks, before grabbing Kalypso by the arm and pulling her out of the line of fire.

They had only a moment before all hell broke loose.

The security team might have been caught off guard briefly by their counterattack, but they recovered quickly. They opened fire, wounding them both further with beams and projectiles before Azrael screamed, “Cease Fire! We need her alive!”

But by then they’d smashed through their cordon, running for their lives deeper inside the engineering spaces of the base. Samara sensed more than heard emergency bulkheads slamming into place, cutting off their avenues of escape as Kalypso gasped for air. “... Stop... can’t breathe,” she wheezed.

“No time!” Samara shouted back, dragging her away from the security team. Kalypso was badly wounded, that much was obvious, and lacking the improvements Guardian had given her, was already in rough shape. Zigging and zagging through the piping runs and machinery, they managed to put a little distance between them and their pursuers, until the other woman stumbled and fell to the deck. “Come on!” she begged her, reaching for her arm once more, only to have Kalypso wave her off.

“... can’t…,” she whispered hoarsely, her body convulsing as she coughed out bright red arterial blood.

“Then I’ll carry you,” Samara vowed, reaching down to throw Kalypso over her shoulder. With her added strength and bone density, it shouldn’t be an issue, but once again she was rebuffed by a stiff arm pushed against her chest. The former Misfit locked eyes with her and shook her head.

“... useless... I’m done,” she told her, fighting for every labored breath. “Can’t run… any further.”

“That’s quitter talk!” Samara snarled, reaching for her once more, “we can make it!” Her head snapped around as she heard Azrael and the others getting closer, tracking them, as Kalypso clutched her shirt.

“Go,” she ordered, “I’ll… hold them off.” Her hands glowed as Samara’s eyes went wide, remembering how her artificial fists could build up a charge big enough to cause a massive explosion. “Not… much time… to get clear,” she wheezed, as the aura surrounding her extremities grew steadily brighter.

“Kalypso, please,” she begged, fighting back tears. She’d seen so many deaths, caused so many deaths, couldn’t she rescue at least one? With all the gifts given her by the Troika, by the Proteans, by Guardian, surely saving a single life in return wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Was it?

She heard one of the security detail shout as they spotted the blood trail, realizing they’d just run out of time. “GO!” Kalypso screamed at her, as the surrounding metal began vibrating, the violent oscillations setting their teeth on edge. Even if the other woman had wanted to, Samara knew there was no stopping it now.

“Kalypso…” she whispered, the name catching in her throat.

Her head lolled as she gave her one last look, the blood pouring from her mouth and running down her chest. “You’re still… a bitch…” she gasped, as Samara knew she could delay no longer. With the Repository tucked under her arm she started running, desperate to put as much distance between her and the blast as she could. Weaving between the stacks of equipment, she could only guess at a countdown, knowing that her estimate was in all likelihood dangerously inaccurate, that she had only a few seconds at best before…

She had barely a moment to close her eyes, before the explosion catapulted her across the compartment.