Blye carefully unwrapped the dressing covering her patient’s stumps and inspected the surgical incisions. There was still some swelling and redness associated with the injuries, but their color had improved remarkably well. “Much better,” she nodded with approval, as she gently probed the nearby flesh. “Any pain or discomfort?”

The Yait’xaik looked away, staring blankly out the window. Sighing, she took a sterile cloth and cleaned the exposed flesh before applying a set of fresh bandages. “And how are you feeling apart from the injury?” she continued. “Any headaches? Nausea? Difficulties breathing or eating?”

No response.

Time to address this, she thought to herself, before it gets any worse. She put away the gauze and cleansing wipes, stripped off her gloves, and shook her head. “You can’t avoid this forever, Buolu,” she told him. “Eventually, you’ll have to come to terms with this. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He turned back to face her. “I think I’ve had quite enough of your help, Terran,” he snapped.

Blye grimaced at his anger. “I don’t blame you for being bitter,” she told him., “and if you need to take it out on me, I understand. Once this crisis is resolved, and we get you fitted with some proper prosthetics, your situation will start looking much better, I promise.”

Buolu barked out a harsh-sounding snort, one that would never be mistaken for any genuine sense of humor. “Over? And what makes you think it will ever be over?” he demanded. “Admit it, the universe has forgotten us. They dumped us here so they wouldn’t have to face the truth… so they wouldn’t have to face us.”

“I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that,” she countered. “Things may look bleak at the moment, but this is not over. Far from it.” Blye reached out and touched his hand. “In the end, it comes down to a simple choice.”

“Oh?” he scoffed. “And what choice is that?”

“The choice between living, and dying,” Blye told him. “I’ve had patients turn their face to the wall and give up, and let their minds convince their bodies it was time to lay down and die, even when they had every chance to pull through. And I’ve had other patients who struggled like hell to survive, defying the odds, because they found something worth living for. Something worth fighting for.” She cocked her head, regarding him. “So I guess the question I’m asking is… which one are you?”

Rising to her feet, she withdrew her hand. “If you ever decide you want to talk, I’m here, day and night. Think about it.” Retrieving her medical supplies, she carried them back to the small dispensary where they stowed their equipment, disposed of the used wraps, and washed her hands. She took a moment to glance back at the wounded Yait’xaik, who was now staring hard at his injured legs as if he were deciding something.

Mentally, she crossed her fingers. She hoped he’d heard her.

Amar was just finishing rounds as she approached him. He looked over at Buolu, and then up at her. “How’s he doing?”

“Physically, he’s much improved,” she answered. “But emotionally? He still has a long way to go,” she sighed.

He nodded in grim recognition. “Yeah, that’s a hard blow for anyone. Had a friend go through it.”

“And how did he take it?” Blye asked, suddenly curious.

“About like you’d expect,” he shrugged. “Had some long, dark nights in the beginning. But we all supported him, watched over him, and he eventually came around. Once he realized his life wasn't over, he started making his peace with it. Getting a new leg definitely helped.”

“I don’t know when we’ll be able to find him prosthetics,” she said unhappily, “not with everything that’s happening. At the moment they’re still a luxury, I’m afraid.”

“We can only do what we can do,” he told her. “Considering the job they’ve dumped in our laps, what we’ve managed to pull off so far has to count as a minor miracle.”

Blye managed a brief smile at that, though it didn’t last. “No matter how much I accomplish, there’s always so much more I wish I could have done,” she said quietly. “I try to remind myself of the successes, but it’s the failures that end up as my constant companions.”

“Yeah,” he answered, getting a distant look in his eyes, “got a few ghosts of my own I carry around.”

“It’s the nature of our calling,” she told him. “We can remind ourselves all we want that we did all we could, but there will always be that voice whispering in our ear we could have saved them, if only…” Her voice trailed off into silence.

He nodded once more. “Yeah… if only,” he echoed.

The two shared a reflective moment, when they were interrupted by a warbling tone from the other room. “We've got a call coming in,” she said in surprise, as the pair made a beeline for their commo gear. Pressing an icon on the console, a familiar image appeared on the screen.

“Captain Tujaqi,” she said, greeting the Bamidh merchant. “We didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon.”

“Nor did we expect to return to this sector, but recent developments have forced us all to adapt,” he replied. “We’ve brought supplies, as well as a fresh batch of refugees.”

Inwardly, she winced at the news. Hopefully, they could probably squeeze in a new batch without stretching resources too severely, but the phrase “recent developments” sounded ominous. “How many?” she asked.

“Roughly a thousand,” he told her. “I hope you can accommodate them?”

“We’ll manage,” she assured him. “Give us some time to prepare for their arrival.”

“We should be in orbit within the next three hours,” he informed her. “We’ll also stagger our shuttle launches, to avoid another disaster.”

“That would be most appreciated,” she said in relief. “I’ll ready the camp to receive our new guests, and any provisions you brought will be put to good use, I can assure you.”

“There probably won’t be as much as you’d like, but we’ll hand over what we can,” he vowed. “Expect to hear from us once we reach orbit. I’ll brief you personally once I land. Tujaqi, clear,” he said, before cutting the transmission.

“A thousand new refugees. I don’t know where we’re going to put them all,” Amar said unhappily.

“We’ll make it work. Somehow,” Blye answered. “Get the word out to the camp. All hands on deck.”

“Copy that, ma’am,” he answered, sketching a salute. “Can’t help but wonder what he has to tell you in person, though.”

“... nothing good,” she sighed.

The second landing went much more smoothly than the first one had. True to his word, Captain Tujaqi allowed enough time between shuttles to safely offload passengers and cargo, avoiding a repeat catastrophe. Volunteers were on hand to greet the new arrivals, all of them looking as dazed and shell-shocked as they once had, several weeks earlier. Rations and building materials arrived as well, as well as a load of fresh medical supplies, which were quickly secured by the Knights and taken back to the clinic for safekeeping. The captain himself arrived on the fourth shuttle and approached Blye as she stood waiting on the landing field.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” he asked, skipping the usual pleasantries.

“Yes, of course,” she nodded, leading him to a secluded spot near the edge of the jungle. The captain was on edge, keeping a close watch on their surroundings, but saying nothing until they were out of earshot of the others. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. “All this secrecy is making me nervous, captain,” she said. “Just what is so confidential that you couldn’t tell me over the coms?”

The Bamidh captain grimaced. “There are those that don’t want this information getting out,” he said without preamble, “but you need to know what’s going on.”

Blye swallowed, bracing herself. “Tell me.”

The diminutive alien ran a shaky hand over his smooth scalp. “It’s not going well,” he admitted, “the war, I mean. The Yīqún have been building up their forces, and nowhere is safe. They strike without warning and then disappear, leaving devastation in their wake. It’s nothing like the last time we faced them. Their tactics...”

The words died in his throat, and it took him several moments to find his voice once more. “Two centuries ago, they fought in a swarm. They struck en masse, and when it was over… well, I don’t need to tell a Terran what they left in their wake.”

“Annihilation,” she whispered, as the image of a ravaged Earth swam unbidden to the forefront of her mind.

He nodded in grim accord. “In some ways, it simplified matters. Pursuing a single armada allowed us to pre-position our forces to salvage what we could, but now? They’ve divided themselves into dozens of squadrons… perhaps even hundreds. It makes them all but impossible to track, since every drone is an exact duplicate. And their goal isn’t simple eradication. Not anymore,” he said darkly.

Blye reached out and steadied herself against the trunk of a nearby tree. The news was staggering. “What is their goal?” she managed to get out.

Tujaqi got a distant look in his four eyes. “Cruelty,” he spat.

She blinked in shock. “I’m sorry?” she said in confusion.

The captain shook his head in disgust. “I’ve seen images of your homeworld. What they did to your planet beggars the imagination, but in some ways, their new tactics are even worse.” He sighed, deflating, aging years in the space of a heartbeat. “The dead are long past caring, Chevalier Tagata. There is nothing else you can do to them that matters. But to the living…” He paused, looking out over the camp. “When they come to a world now, they do not simply blast the planet down to the bedrock. No, now they strike at the infrastructure. Power generation facilities, water systems, food storage, those are their targets. The attacks are horrific, with many lives lost, but the aftermath is far, far worse.”

It was all too easy to visualize what he meant. As he said, dead was dead. But to struggle in the ruins, without power, or water, or food… that was a slow, agonizing death. And with the constraints of modern society suddenly shattered…

“The survivors on those worlds,” she said quietly, “what is being done for them?”

“Not enough,” he said sadly. “Those we brought here are the lucky ones. We help where we can, try to restore power, repair the water mains, get the transportation grids up and running again, but there are so many worlds in need of our help. What they need far outstrips what is available. And far too often when we attempt to render aid, our shuttles are attacked.”

“They blame you for not saving them,” she said sagely.

“In part,” he agreed, “but more often, a mob will gather to commandeer the ship. They’re desperate, Chevalier, and they want out. By any means necessary.” He closed his eyes. “On the last planet we landed, I lost one of my crew to a Limiodrian child wielding a club. They were trying to take her weapon.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“As am I,” he agreed, still picturing the moment in his head, before forcefully shrugging it off.

“And the Alliance?” she asked hopefully. “Have there been any victories?”

“A few,” he admitted, “but even those come at a high price. They’re like wraiths in the night, and when cornered fight like demons. The last time they attacked in waves, overwhelming their opponents with sheer numbers, but whatever it was the Eleexx did to them, it’s made them fight smarter. We’re attempting to devise new weapons and tactics, but…” He left the rest dangling in the wind.

No wonder he’d wanted to speak in private. This was bad, far worse than even she’d imagined. “And where is the Troika in all of this?” she demanded. Surely the greatest power in the known galaxy was having better luck.

A bitter scowl darkened his features. “Divided,” he snarled. “Perhaps the greatest irony of all in this madness. The one thing those of us who have chafed under their rule have long wished for, next to their total capitulation. But now, when the sectors cry out for their strength, they squander their power by fighting amongst themselves.”

“Holy Mother Terra,” she said hoarsely. She had no more love for the Troika than any other Terran… less, even… but they were also the ones who had ultimately defeated the Yīqún, though tragically far too late to save Earth. For millennia, they had ruled the galaxy with vigor and tenacity, and now they were squabbling like children? When the other races, even those that had sworn their extinction, actually needed them?

“Those fucking bastards,” she swore.

“You’re saying nothing the rest of us have not said ourselves, both publicly and in private,” the captain agreed, before managing a faint smile. “There is, however, a single bright spot, amidst all this sorrow,” he told her.

“Tell me,” she urged him. “I could use a bit of good news right about now.”

The smile grew wider. “The Oivu,” he explained. “They have thrown all of their not insignificant resources into this fight. In fact, much of the provisions I have brought come directly from their storehouses. They are sharing what intelligence they have gathered and coordinating their efforts with the Alliance, and perhaps most importantly…. doing so without seeking payment in return.”

“You’re kidding,” she said in disbelief.

Captain Tujaqi barked out a laugh. “If I had not witnessed the transfer with my own four eyes, I would not have believed it,” he chuckled. “Not long ago, I thought the Terran Alliance to be the strangest sight I would ever witness in my lifetime, but the Oivu becoming philanthropists? Never in a thousand years could I have imagined that, not in my wildest reveries,” he mused. “Truly, these are strange times indeed.”

She grinned as well, though it didn’t last. “We Terrans have an ancient curse,” she told the merchant captain. “May you live in interesting times.”

He pondered that for a moment and then shrugged.

“... Who would know better than a Terran?” he said at last.