Prash screamed and went down, his weapon clattering to the deck. Amar was at his side within a heartbeat, checking his injuries.

“Shoulder wound,” he announced, fighting to stem the bleeding. “Clavicle and scapula are both shattered. I’ll give you something, but you’re out of this.”

His fellow Knight just nodded, white-faced. “Figured,” he rasped. “Just strap it up for now.”

The former Valkyrie worked fast as yet another blast rocked the ship, giving him a shot for the pain. As he finished, the head Ixian appeared beside them, covered in grime and panting hard.

“We have breached the hatch,” he informed them both. “The Aggaaddub repositioned their forces, withdrawing several defenders from this location to reinforce the Bridge. Their miscalculation has cost them dearly.”

The Knights shared a look. “That big explosion,” Amar said in a rush. “They must have seen Zhai’s group as the bigger threat.”

“Whatever the reason, there’s no time to waste,” Prash answered, struggling to his feet while the others assisted. “We still have a job to do.”

The survivors of the brutal slog through Implacable staggered through the blasted hatch and past the bodies into Engineering, before taking a moment to tally their own losses. There were only a handful of Ixians left and not many more of the refugees, even though they had begun this fight with far larger numbers. None of them still held a quarterstaff, they’d quickly discarded them for enemy rifles the instant they became available. That they’d made it this far spoke well of them, but there was fresh torment within the eyes of the refugees that had been absent hours prior, a sense of horror they would carry with them the rest of their days.

Scanning the interior of the compartment, they faced a strange array of equipment, none of which they recognized. “Wish we had a Tinker with us,” Prash wheezed, “so we’d know what to smash.”

“Then we destroy everything,” the Ixian said grimly, charging his weapon.

“Hey, wait a second!” Amar protested. “We start blasting away in here, there’s a good chance something blows up in our face!”

His partner gave him a weary look. “Making it this far was a freaking miracle,” he wheezed, “but we both knew the odds of us getting off this ship were… pretty much nonexistent.”

“... should have stayed with the fuckin’ grunts,” Amar mumbled, shaking his head. “Hell with it,” he shrugged, charging his weapon as well, “not like I was planning on living forever.”

The Ixian graced them both with a smile. “It has been an honor fighting alongside you,” he said with quiet pride.

“Likewise,” Prash nodded.

“Time to finish it,” Amar said with determination, as the band opened fire at the consoles.

Blye shook her head, still struggling to process her latest vision. Or would “hallucination” be more accurate? After all this time, she still wasn't sure, mostly because she’d been loath to have any tests done to help make that determination. They couldn’t test for visions anyway, since there was no definitive medical literature on the subject. Hallucinations, on the other hand, they could test for… and the possibility she’d pinned her hopes and dreams on a burgeoning psychosis was a reality she was unprepared to face.

Let’s not forget how many lives you’ve gambled as well, her mind whispered. Gambled and lost, based on what she was sensing all around her. Had it all been for a lie? As much as she didn’t want to accept that, the rational scientist within her couldn’t just refute it out of hand. Occam’s razor cut especially sharp when applied to her predicament; after all, which was the simpler explanation? That she truly was having visions, conversing with a race dead a billion years? Or that following intrusive brain surgery, she was growing increasingly delusional?

Being brutally honest with herself, the comparison wasn't even fair.

Only the problem was she didn’t believe it. She didn’t feel delusional, but then, who did? And that was the dilemma; by every logical test and yardstick, she had to be mentally unbalanced. There was no other explanation.

The problem was when she looked inside herself, when she embraced the emotional and spiritual core of who she was, that argument came crashing down. Every fiber of her being told her that this was right, that she was experiencing something unique and magical. To hell with science and logic, Blye knew she wasn’t crazy.

Of course, that’s what crazy people always say, isn’t it?

Those thoughts had been chasing each other round and round for weeks now, and she was no closer to solving her problems than when she’d started. She’d tried to resolve it many times, only to end back up where she'd started. If her original trauma didn’t end up driving her mad, this just might.

Look, can you be crazy some other time? her brain snapped. We still have a job to do.

Right.

So… after boosting their morale and sending them off to get slaughtered, what was she supposed to do now? The one thing they’d ordered her to do was stay in the shuttle, but after it got hit, that was no longer an option. Assuming anyone survived this assault, a rather big “If” at the moment, how were they supposed to get clear of Implacable?

Framed that way, the answer was obvious. They needed to find another shuttlecraft. Or rather she did, seeing as how the others had previous engagements with hostile aliens. So…. how does one go about doing that, exactly, when one is blind?

Blye could actually feel her inner critic rolling her eyes. Idiot, you arrived in a shuttle, remember? Where exactly do you think it’s parked?

Groaning, she slapped herself on the forehead. “Right… a shuttle bay. Of course.” And if there was a shuttle bay on a vessel this large, it meant there had to be other shuttles here as well, didn’t it? Of course it did. Now all she had to do was find one. Maybe she couldn’t do much else, but at the very least, she could ensure that anyone who survived had a way to get home. Going to the bulkhead she began feeling her way, searching for any sign of another ship.

Spata Zhai snarled at the enemy as incoming fire took out another of his fellow Ixians, though not before recognizing their death as one both noble and well-earned. Many of those he brought to Taing’zem now took their place among the ranks of the honored dead, resolute to the end. Many more of the refugees had earned their place as well. While not warriors trained from birth, they had faced falling in battle with courage. They would sing great songs of this day, of that he was certain.

Yet the Bridge remained tantalizingly out of reach, an omission that needed correction. Reinforcements had bolstered the defenders guarding its entrance and lacking heavier weapons or a way to flank their position, it forced them to meet the enemy head-on, launching an assault that played to the Troika’s strengths, not theirs.

So be it. The more difficult the task, the greater the triumph. One last push then, to break through the line.

“Yuutsah’Zhoz!” he roared, the battle cry taken up by the others as they charged, storming the enemy redoubt. Enemy fire winnowed their ranks as they rushed their position, taking grievous losses as they closed the gap, but as the survivors vaulted over the hastily constructed barricade, their drawn swords came flashing down, sending sprays of green reptilian blood spouting in all directions. At a distance, the Aggaaddub held the tactical advantage, but once in melee range, it was the Ixians and their razor-sharp blades that owned the day.

Only a handful of allies were left standing as the mist settled, and none were without wounds. Battered and bleeding, those that remained exalted in their hard-fought victory, honoring or mourning those lost in battle, as befitting their individual customs.

“The day is ours,” the other got out, exhausted from the endless fighting, while Spata Zhai merely shrugged.

“It is not over yet,” he reminded them. Choosing two of the survivors to join him, he pointed at the rest. “Take over the enemy’s position,” he ordered, “in case they decide to counterattack.” They began wearily moving the bodies, dumping most onto the barricade itself. Perhaps they would prove useful soaking up incoming fire.

Shouldering his way past the hatch, he entered the Bridge, taking stock of its contents. “Sever any data links the enemy may use to take back control,” he directed, “but leave intact the ability to monitor their efforts.” With the command given, they got to work, sabotaging anything that could be used against them.

The first warning they were in trouble was a high-pitched whine, subtle at first, but as it grew louder, teeth-jarring vibrations reverberating throughout the hull quickly joined it.

“Uh-oh,” Amar said nervously, “that can’t be good.”

“The engines are losing containment,” the Ixian head growled. “When they go critical…”

That was all they needed to hear. “Everybody out!” Prash shouted, shoving the others through the hatch with his one good arm. “Back to the shuttle!”

They turned around and raced the way they’d come, now desperate to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the destabilized power plant. Given the amount of energy they harnessed, any failure risked detonation on a massive scale. That they’d been wrecking everything in sight all but guaranteed they’d triggered something they could not stop.

The vibrations grew more dynamic, oscillating in a fever pitch that set their teeth on edge and left them clutching their ears as the whine became a scream. “Don’t stop!” Amar howled, grabbing his fellow Knight and dragging him along even faster.

The reverberations swelled to a crescendo that left them reeling in agony, pounding their internal organs into paste as the atmosphere itself thrummed with barely restrained power… until the very moment when the ship could take no more.

A mammoth explosion flung them down the passageway, sending their bodies flying, careening into the decks and bulkheads. Implacable flipped end over end as the rear of the ship disappeared in the blast. Artificial gravity vanished in the same instant, the Zero-G environment catching the group unawares. Many were still bouncing from one surface to the next as momentum carried them, while others found themselves stranded in midair without handholds to aid them. Those unused to the lack of gravity began vomiting uncontrollably, making a chaotic situation that much worse.

Prash cried out in pain when he slammed into the overhead, smashing his already ruined shoulder against the unyielding metal as Amar kicked off an opposite bulkhead and swam forward to assist him. “I got you,” he said gently as he took him in tow, protecting his injury as best he could as they struggled to make their way back.

The other survivors did likewise, with those in relatively decent shape helping those that were not. They’d lost several more from the blast, as fresh bodies floated nearby, drifting back towards Engineering when a sudden stiff breeze began carting them away.

“Hull breach!” the Ixian shouted, as those that were left grabbed handholds to propel themselves against the air current, desperate to escape the rupture. Amar locked one arm around his fellow Knight and clambered along the corridor, dragging Prash beside him as he went. The air stream grew in intensity as the ship’s air handlers struggled to keep up with the pressure loss, no mean feat after they’d destroyed Engineering. It was a fight Implacable was destined to lose, but it could still lay waste to the planet in its death throes.

“... gotta get to the shuttle,” Prash wheezed, as they fought to escape the doomed ship.

The blast threw Blye into the overhead, stunning her as twisted her body to absorb the blow when she fell back down to the deck. It took her addled brain several seconds before she realized she wasn’t falling, as the artificial gravity went offline.

“... not good, not good,” she stammered, recollecting Maggie’s warnings on the subject as she redoubled her efforts. There had to be another shuttle here somewhere, but without her sight… and now gravity… locating it was proving to be an all but impossible task. Running her hands across the bulkhead, she searched for any sign of a way off this ship; a hatch, a terminal, anything that might lead her to a still functional shuttlecraft.

Blye cursed as she barked her knuckles against a rim of raised metal, before frantically tracing the ridge as it extended across the surface. Her fingertips brushed a flat panel, an electronic interface that came to life the instant she made contact.

“Yes!” she shouted in triumph, palming the hatch mechanism as it obediently slid open. Pulling herself inward, she crossed the ship's threshold… only to crash onto the deck with a whump as she penetrated the shuttle’s artificial gravity field.

She’d deal with the bruises later. Blye stumbled forward, banging her shins on the passenger benches as felt her way to the crew compartment. The Aggaaddub had standardized their shuttles in the distant past, long before humans had discovered the power of flight, let alone space travel. An exact duplicate of the craft she’d just vacated, she found the pilot’s seat by memory and physical contact alone. She felt her way across the control panel until she found the comm station, only for her to panic at the last second as she recognized the problem…

“Damn it, how am I supposed to program the comm channel if I can’t see it?” she snapped. She had to get the word out to the others and guide them to her, but if she couldn’t even talk to them…

Blye gasped as she felt a ghostly touch upon her hand, gently guiding her movements. For a moment it felt as if she were performing a delicate surgical procedure, while the unseen force maneuvered her fingers with graceful elegance, punching in the proper frequency.

“... How?” she whispered. There was a brief touch upon her cheek and the faint sound of laughter before the sensation vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Shaking her head, she focused on the mission. There’d be time for questions of mysticism later… assuming there was a later. Activating the mic, Blye began broadcasting across the ship. “All Alliance personnel, home in on my signal. Repeat, home in on my signal! Shuttlecraft is standing by!”

Mother Terra, let them hear my words, she prayed.

Spata Zhai heard Blye’s announcement as he fired another burst from his pulse rifle, though his attention was focused on the fight. With the loss of artificial gravity, the remaining Aggaaddub had thrown themselves against his position, and while they’d beaten off the first attack, the second was ripping his handful of warriors apart. Another Ixian died under a hail of particle beams while he grabbed one of the few still breathing, pulling them to safety as he anchored himself on a nearby beam.

“I hope to join you soon,” he answered… though no one heard his reply.