Slavko’s hand went to his waist, scrabbling for a weapon although he was unarmed, while Xuilan made signs to ward off the Evil Eye. Mairead tore through her toolkit before grabbing a wrench, holding it out for protection like a sword, even as Isi fell to his knees and prayed to Holy Mother Terra for deliverance.

In a galaxy filled with the strange and bizarre, the Corsairs didn’t view Samara rising from the dead as some kind of miracle… but a demonic curse.

“Samara?” Remi whispered again, still struggling with what his eyes were showing him.

A slight nod, so minute he almost missed it. “... water…” she rasped.

His brain did a skip and jump, before reorienting itself. “... you heard her,” he said hoarsely. “Get her some water.”

“Cap’n, get away from that thing!” Xuilan cried out.

Remi’s head whipped back around as he snarled at the crew. “I said water!” he shouted.

His bellow seemed to break the spell. The others stumbled away, eager to put some distance between them and the revenant. Almost a minute went by before Isi returned, timidly approaching with an opened flask, his outstretched hand trembling so badly water splashed onto the deck. Snatching the container from his hand, Remi held it out to Samara, who merely opened her mouth in response like a baby bird. It was obvious even that minor effort had taxed her, and he swore he heard her jaw creak as it strained against her tendons.

Leaning in, he held the flask over her mouth and dribbled the liquid down her throat. Her body seemed to absorb the water the instant it touched her desiccated flesh, like an arid desert drawing in a sudden downpour. The container was empty in seconds, as he handed it back to the purser.

“More,” he ordered. “Keep it coming.”

Isi scurried off, returning with a larger container this time, a canteen holding a couple of liters. Samara didn’t move. Instead, she merely waited for him to supply her with more life-giving fluid. He couldn’t imagine how her blood could circulate throughout her body, even with the added water, given that she resembled nothing more than a hunk of dried jerky.

Later, his mind insisted, think about that later. Upending the canteen, he drained it in short order, and when he missed her mouth, her very flesh seemed to draw the moisture in. He held out the empty flask to the others, awaiting a replacement, as he poured container after container of water back into her wizened body. It was definitely having some kind of effect; even as he watched, her skin softened, her color improving by the minute. Her shrunken and hollow form started filling out, and after several minutes and many flasks, she looked less like a corpse and more like someone who had suffered a long and debilitating illness.

Taking yet another canteen from his crew’s hands, he went to dump it down her gullet as he had the others, only for Samara to raise a shaky hand, warding him off. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, inhaling for the first time since her reawakening, before letting it back out with a satisfied smile.

“Much better,” she sighed. “Thank you.”

“You mind telling me what the hell is going on, Samara?” he demanded.

“Later,” she said, with a weary wave of her hand. “Food, first… lots of it. I’ve got a ton of tissue to rebuild.”

“Samara,” he scowled, unwilling to be put off.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she sighed once more, taking in another deep breath. “I swear I will. But I really need to get my strength back first.”

Remi debated holding the requested nourishment hostage until he got some answers before finally accepting her pledge. “You heard the lady, Isi,” he said with a mental shrug, “get her some food.”

The purser’s eyes darted back and forth between his captain and the reawakened cadaver. “Uh… what kind of food?” he stammered.

“I doubt it matters,” he said evenly. “Something simple, with lots of nutrients, easy to consume.”

“Right…” Isi mumbled, before making his way toward the galley. The others peeked around the bulkhead, unwilling to get any closer, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the Protean.

“... Boo,” she said, spooking them, before cackling with glee as they disappeared back around the corner.

“I see your questionable sense of humor is still intact,” he snorted.

“Not as much as you might think,” she said, a tinge of sadness coming over her. “A lot’s happened since we last saw one another.”

Remi glanced down at her still emaciated form. “No shit,” he said, deadpan.

Samara started to reply, only to be interrupted by Isi, lugging a pot of some heated dish. “Warmed up some soup,” he told them, setting it down beside the escape pod. “Should I get a bowl, or…?”

“Just hand me the ladle,” Remi told him, pulling off the lid and peering inside. “How much is in here?”

“About four liters?” the purser guessed.

“And how much water did we give her?” he pressed.

“Maybe twenty?” Isi said nervously.

“In that case, I’d start prepping the next few courses,” Remi said in resignation, before taking up the serving spoon and doling out the broth to the eagerly awaiting Protean.

It took another fifteen liters of bouillon, stew, and chili before Samara pronounced herself sated. Her appearance had shown remarkable improvement; instead of looking like someone in end-stage renal failure, her skin now shone with a healthy vitality. It was hard to believe that only a couple of hours earlier she’d looked like King Tut.

Setting the ladle aside, Remi rose to his feet. “All right, I’ve held up my end of the bargain,” he told her. “Time for some answers.”

“I would kill for a hot shower,” Samara purred, batting her eyes. “I don’t suppose we could hold off on the interrogation until I’ve freshened up?”

“Spare me the seduction. We’ve already danced that dance,” Remi growled. “Or had you forgotten?”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “And I wasn’t trying to play you, I swear. It’s just that I’ve been in that coffin for a while now, and I have to be more than a little gamey.”

“How long have you been in that thing?” he asked, suddenly curious.

“I’m not sure,” she said after a moment. “Last thing I remember hearing about was a big fight brewing at some place called Sonoitii.”

Remi gave out a low whistle. “That was almost two years ago,” he told her. “Lots happened since then.”

“I see,” she said after a moment. “Looks like we both have some catching up to do. But first…”

Samara took a deep breath and gripped the side of the pod, before carefully pushing herself up, getting her legs underneath her before finally rising to her full height. In one hand, she still clutched the strange object, never letting it from her grasp, as she carefully stepped out of the pod and onto the deck. Planting her feet shoulder-width apart, she held out her arms and stretched, flexing her muscles and tendons, running each of them through a full range of motion almost simultaneously, a sight that beggared description. A series of loud “pops” accompanied her efforts, her spine and joints snapping back into place as she sighed in joyous relief.

“I almost feel human again,” she grinned.

Remi just shook his head. “Samara, I’m not sure that word still applies.”

“What word?” she asked.

The Corsair grimaced. “... human,” he got out.

She graced him with a wistful smile. “Oh, I’m as human as I ever was… more or less,” Samara winked.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, unconvinced. “So… talk.”

“Can’t we be civilized about this?” she pouted. “You could at least offer to buy a girl a drink before you shove her out the airlock.”

He closed his eyes and pinched his nose in quiet frustration. “Samara, I’m having one hell of a day,” he told her. “My crew is this close to coming in here with guns blazing, unless they plan on dowsing us with holy water first. They’re convinced you’re some kind of freaking demon back from the dead, so unless you start filling in the blanks right the fuck now, I’m going to go help them.” He put his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “Are we on the same fucking page yet?”

Samara rolled her eyes. “Terra, were you always this melodramatic?” she groaned. “I just want a goddamn drink. Is that too much to ask? I’ll tell you the entire story, I swear.”

“Fine,” he snarled, spinning on his heel. “Follow me.” Leading her back to his cabin, Remi pointed at a chair, before retrieving a decanter filled with amber-colored liquid and some glasses. Pouring a healthy dollop for each of them, he shoved one into her hands. She took a sip as he reached for the intercom switch.

“Come to my cabin,” he told the others, “Samara has something she’d like to share with us.”

“On our way,” Slavko answered. Remi grunted in reply, settling into a chair across from the Protean.

“Where are we, exactly?” she wondered aloud. “This certainly isn’t Gyrfalcon.”

“I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind,” Remi snapped.

“Fine, be that way,” she simpered. “For a moment I thought we were back on Freya, but it’s never this empty. Can’t be Thor, since the bad guys rendered it down to its component atoms, as I recall. So somehow, you’ve located Tyr.” Her smile grew wide. “Congratulations.”

“Still as sharp as ever, I see,” Remi observed.

“Sharper,” she said with a laugh, as the hatch buzzed.

“Enter!” he called out. The hatch slid open as the rest of the crew slunk in, giving Samara a wide berth. A brief glance confirmed they’d all taken the opportunity to arm themselves, though they were keeping the weapons hidden for now. “Help yourselves,” he told them, pointing to the decanter, before turning his attention back to their guest. “Enough delays,” he growled, “start talking. You can begin with that thing,” he told her, pointing at the strange object she held. “What is it?”

“In fact, that was where I’d planned on starting,” she answered. “You recall the last time we spoke, when I asked for a reference?”

“You wanted some repairs done off the grid,” he nodded.

“Yes, well, things didn’t go according to plan,” she sighed. “They got greedy, so they forced me to… improvise.” She held up the device so they could get a better look. “They had this in their safe. I didn’t know what it was, but I figured if they thought it was valuable, it was worth taking.”

“I warned you about them,” Remi reminded her. “You should have listened.”

“I did,” Samara protested. “They were just sneakier than I gave them credit for.” She sighed theatrically. “Oh well, water under the bridge.” She took another sip and smiled. “Hey, good stuff.”

“You were saying?” he snarled.

“Terra, you’re testy today,” she chuckled. “So, long story short, it turns out the Precursors created this little gadget… in fact, there’s a bunch of them living inside of it.”

Remi blinked. “What?” he said flatly.

“Yeah, that was kind of my reaction,” she grinned. “They’re Avatars, or the Precursor equivalent, at least. They were created as a repository of knowledge.”

“And you know this… how, exactly?” he said dubiously.

“Simple,” she grinned. “They told me.”

Glancing over at the rest of his crew, Remi could see they were having the same reaction he was. Whatever had happened to the Protean since they last crossed paths, it had obviously left her dangerously unhinged. Worse, Slavko was already reaching for the piece hidden within his tunic. He tried to warn him off… but Samara beat him to the punch.

Literally.

Samara exploded out of her chair, her leg coming up and sweeping across the space as she drove it deep into the gunner’s belly, knocking him ass over teakettle. Isi tried taking a swing at her, only to be thrown across the compartment for his efforts. Remi waded into the fray, desperate to end this nonsense… only to suddenly find himself restrained, held aloft by her, unable to break free.

“Stop this at once,” Samara ordered, only it wasn’t Samara. Her voice, her inflections, her mannerisms, even her facial tics were different. “If I am forced to use greater effort, it will grow increasingly troublesome for you.”

“Gurk,” he got out, struggling to breathe. Samara relaxed slightly, allowing air into his lungs, as something shifted in her yet again.

“Remi… meet Cherdor Hosk,” she grinned. “My personal Precursor ninja warrior. Don’t feel too bad, he was doing this back when our ancestors were just discovering mitosis.” He stared at her, her words not making sense. “Now, if I set you down, will you and the others promise to play nice?”

Remi looked back at his crew. Whatever they’d planned before entering the compartment, Samara’s little display had taken the fight right out of them. “I promise,” he said at last.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Samara set him back down gently, releasing her hold on him. “Now, if the rest of you would be so kind as to remove those weapons you’re carrying and set them over on the bunk, I would be most appreciative,” she continued. “I mean, you could try shooting me, but that would just get messy.” She paused for a moment, as her tone grew somewhat darker. “And I think you’d be surprised just how much damage I can soak up before you took me down. Unpleasantly surprised,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

One look, and he knew she wasn’t bluffing. “Do as she says,” Remi ordered. Slavko and Isi were still picking themselves off the deck, but no one seemed interested in testing her. One by one they removed and deposited their weapons before skulking back to the other side of the compartment, eyeing her as if she were some dangerous predator.

That made him snort. She’d always been a predator, but it seemed as if she’d gotten an upgrade or two since they last met. For her part, once the crew dumped their guns, Samara simply sat back down and poured herself another drink.

“Now… where were we?” she grinned.