Guardian was as good as his word. He called up Erhair Dresh to pilot the shuttle as they made their escape, though Cherdor Hosk was forced to make an appearance when Rebekka released the crew. Unsurprisingly, they were more than a little put out over their kidnapping and forced captivity.

They liked what came next even less when Samara told them she’d be keeping the ship.

They didn’t receive the news until several days later, as Guardian was taking no chances on awakening his host until she had fully recuperated. Once she was back in control and the Cognates released from their duties, she delivered the unwelcome news. In fact, most of her passengers were unhappy, as they’d assumed they’d be reunited with the rest of the Protean Clan once they’d designated a rendezvous point.

Samara had other plans.

The only thing preventing a mutiny was her promise to deliver them safely to a neutral third party, one that wouldn’t immediately call for the Troika to take her into custody. That proved to be a challenge, as most worlds paid lip service to the status quo, even if many chafed at the constraints forced upon them. She finally settled on the Bamidh, a Pseudo-Reptilian species who’d found a comfortable niche as merchants and traders. After some discreet negotiations, they agreed to take those individuals outraged at Samara’s actions, though they made it clear they intended on billing the Protean leadership for room and board.

That was fine with her. It wasn’t like she was paying. In the meantime, she talked to anyone who would listen.

At first almost no one would, other than Rebekka and one or two others. Well, that was to be expected, given the circumstances. It didn’t dissuade her from trying, and after a while others listened, mostly out of boredom. She spoke to individuals and groups, sharing her story, telling them just how thoroughly the Troika had corrupted the Clan. She held back nothing, recounting her missions both for and against their alien masters, and many that might have been willing to take her message at face value suddenly had multiple reasons to reject the messenger out of hand.

That was fine. She wouldn’t change the universe overnight, though the more she looked, the more she realized something was in the wind.

That their grafts and implants came from the various alien races was no secret, nor were the methods involved by which the Troika imposed its will upon the galaxy. They also knew of the many unsuccessful cases, like those housed on the Ste. Jean Baptiste. Yet desperation still drove them into the Clan’s awaiting arms, just as it had with her, so at a certain level most of the recruits half expected to be screwed over... after all, they were Terrans. That the glass was half empty was a given.

And yet still they came, for hope springs eternal. Hope that they’d be the lucky ones, that they’d find some way to beat the odds, and have all of their prayers answered. When she told them she’d beaten the odds, they listened with rapt attention, only for that same hope to become dismay when they learned what was really waiting for the Protean Clan’s “Golden Children”.

But in the end, most still parted ways, though she could see the wheels turning even in them. If all she’d managed was to lift the blinders just a bit, at least it was a start. Word of her exploits had spread, and suddenly people were wondering aloud just how they had managed to so openly defy the most powerful union in the galaxy... not just defy, but attack. And other races were also noticing, and they were asking why the Troika couldn’t end what seemed to be such an insignificant rebellion.

Those races that had dealings with humanity sat back and snickered. They knew just how close to the ragged edge Terrans existed, and the very notion that the mighty Troika couldn’t destroy a single human ship was hilarious. Perhaps, if they had invested a little more in the carrot as opposed to the stick, they might have garnered some sympathy, but given their heavy-handed approach, the galaxy at large gleefully enjoyed a healthy slice of schadenfreude at their expense.

The cracks began appearing when they stopped laughing.

The reason that ruling by fear is so effective is that it maximizes the effect you are trying to achieve, while minimizing its cost. If you convince those you wish to rule that any attempt to threaten you will be met by overwhelming force, you have already won the battle without lifting a finger. But it is also a brittle power, for if your vassals suddenly stop fearing you, not only have you lost your greatest weapon, prepare as quickly as possible for the fight of your life. No one seemed ready to take that next step, however, not just yet. The galaxy held its breath, waiting to see what happened next.

But that was no longer Samara’s concern.

“Will the Knights be able to help me?” Rebekka asked, as they docked with Ste. Jean Baptiste.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but they’ve promised to try.” She smiled at the young girl. “They helped me, when I was certain no one could.”

Rebekka nodded, though her eyes were still wide as she stared at the hospital ship. “I just…” Her voice trailed off, before she turned her attention back to Samara. “I don’t know what comes next.”

“No one does,” she agreed. “But you and the others will be in excellent hands here, and when its time, they’ll help you figure that out, too.”

The young girl considered that for a moment and then took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” she said in a small voice.

Samara rose to help her with her belongings, meager as they were, before offering her an elbow to guide her to the airlock. The others that had decided on a life away from the Proteans were waiting as well, and she nodded with approval as she saw the cluster of Chevaliers waiting to take charge... along with a small group representing the Island of Misfit Toys. She forced herself to meet their gaze as the hatch slid open, disengaging from Rebekka and handing over her gear to one of the Sixièmes, before changing course to rendezvous with their spokesperson; a gray-haired woman wearing an ornate eyepatch.

“I’m Enyo,” she told her, “and we’ve heard about Xeno, and the others.”

Bowing her head, she said softly, “... I’m sorry.”

The old woman reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You misunderstand our intention. We’re not here to blame you.”

Her head came back up in surprise. “You’re not?”

Enyo smiled. “No... we came here to join you.”

Samara froze before she slowly shook her head. “I’m honored, but I have to refuse.”

The woman stammered, surprised by her rejection. “But... but... why?” she demanded. “All of us here can pull our weight, and we have more than a few tricks of our own. We know the risks, and we’re still willing to sign on.”

She sighed, suddenly feeling a thousand years old. “Everyone I took from here is dead, Enyo. All of them. Their deaths weren’t clean, or heroic, or whatever it is you’re imagining. They died hard, pointless deaths, and while they all made their own choice, I just can’t go through that again.” Samara shrugged helplessly. “I have enough blood on my hands. I don’t want any more... especially not yours. Besides, I’m better off alone.”

The older woman started to speak, to plead her case, but this time it was Samara who reached out to give a reassuring touch. “But there is something you can do, if you’re serious about joining the fight.”

“We are,” Enyo answered for the group, and she could see the grim determination in their eyes. Xeno and the others had been their friends, and the Misfits now had an axe to grind with those responsible for their deaths.

“If you really want to make a difference, then help me spread the word,” she told them. “You must all have contacts you can reach out to. Use them. Engage the Knights, if you can, because right now, a few well-placed words in the right ears are far more valuable to the cause than a handful of new fighters.” She managed a smile for the wannabe terrorists. “You do that, and maybe we have a chance.”

Enyo chewed on that for a moment, before turning to the others. One by one they nodded, giving their assent, before she finally turned back to face her. “I won’t lie, I was hoping to leave this place,” she told her. “But if you’re sure this is the best way we can help…”

“I am,” she said firmly. “I’ll check in, now and then, and see how it’s going.”

“Where will you go?” Enyo asked.

“Maybe it’s best you don’t know that,” Samara said at last. “Besides, that shuttle is a target, at least until I can make a few modifications. The last thing I want to do is draw the Troika here. As for my plans... let’s just say I have a special mission I need to see through,” she grinned.

The older woman nodded. “Then I wish you luck, Samara. And we’ll be here, should you need us.” She cocked her head, regarding her, and then said with conviction, “Fair winds... and a following sea.”

She suddenly found it hard to speak, so instead she nodded, giving them a wave as she returned to the shuttle, closing the hatch and buttoning her up as she prepared for departure.

... Perhaps you should have taken up their request, Guardian pointed out.

“Forget it. I’m done leading this rebellion,” she snorted as the docking clamps disengaged. “I’ll stick to what I know best.”

... Killing? he inquired.

“If I have to,” she admitted, “but like I told Enyo, I’m better working solo. No one to slow me down. Besides, I made you a promise.”

... There are many systems to search, he said dubiously. It could be years before we locate Threshold.

“Then we’d better get started,” she grinned, as the thrusters pushed her away from the Knight’s ship, giving her room to fire up her engines. “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m holding you to our deal.”

... I am certain there was never a formal agreement, he protested.

“Ha! Nice try. And just how were you planning to find Threshold without my help?” Samara sobered, continuing in more reasonable tones. “Admit it, Guardian, we need each other. We can be your arms and legs, your eyes and ears. Humanity can be the partner you need if you’re ever going to find your way home.”

... Ironic you mention home, since you seem to have designs on ours, he said awkwardly.

“You’ve read my thoughts,” she said, “and you of all people understand just how desperate we Terrans are. Another century living like this, two at the outside, and there won’t be a human race.” She closed her eyes and mumbled. “You said you were searching for home. Well… so are we.”

Guardian was silent for some time, digesting that.

... You were incorrect, he said finally.

“Incorrect about what?” she asked him.

Somehow, she could almost sense his smile.

... You were incorrect when you said that you were alone, he told her.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she chuckled, wiping away a drop of moisture from her eyes... just before the engines came online, blasting off for parts unknown.

THE END