Admiral Van Aalst stared in disbelief as the drones began attacking whatever ship was closest, without discriminating between Terran and Grand Alliance vessels. “What the hell are they doing?” he demanded. “Get them back in formation!”

“They’re not responding to commands!” the XO shouted back. “We no longer have control!”

He watched in sick horror as they fired on Tyr, the ancient battleship now listing hard to port while it vented atmo and plasma. “Concentrate fire on the drones!” he snarled. “If we don’t shut them down now, they’ll multiply like a virus!”

“Aye aye, Sir!” the XO acknowledged, passing his orders to the rest of the fleet as they scrambled to comply. The fleet fought back against the drones with everything they had, the Alliance armada now forgotten, but the drones had comprised the bulk of the fleet’s offensive power. With the Yīqún abruptly declaring war on everything in sight, their fortunes had taken a drastic and unwelcome turn.

The Ambassador fucking called it, Van Aalst thought in dismay. We thought we were so goddamn smart.

… And look what it got us.

Samara buckled Genvass and Rúna in tight, double-checking their suits before strapping herself onto the device and running a quick systems check. Everything appeared to be in the green, but considering how jury-rigged the contraption was, she had her doubts. Activating her suit radio, she buzzed them both. “You two ready for this?” she asked.

“Would it matter if I said ‘No’?” the ambassador nervously responded.

“Should have spoken up sooner,” the Protean chuckled. “What about you, Captain?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Rúna fired back. “Sooner we launch, the sooner it’ll be over.”

“Look at you, thinking we’ll actually survive this,” she cackled in reply before switching frequencies. “Samara to Remi, we’re ready down here. How long before we launch?”

“We’ll be in position in about five minutes,” the Corsair answered. “Beginning preparation sequence now.”

“Copy,” she replied, watching the gauge as atmospheric pressure within the airlock started to rise. How are we looking? she silently asked Guardian.

… Considering what we had to work with, as well as the time constraints involved, this configuration is the best one could reasonably expect, the ancient cognate replied. That does not automatically make it a wise course of action, however.

Desperate times, she thought back to him, sensing more than hearing his grudging assent. He knew the stakes, just as they all did, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or even keep his big flap shut on the subject, it seemed.

… If you were hoping for a sycophant interested only in currying favor, I regret that you have linked with the wrong Repository, Guardian said in reprove.

Damn it, that wasn’t meant for your ears, Samara snapped. The Precursor had a disturbing tendency to eavesdrop on her thoughts if she wasn’t being careful. Better have Yonaat Galu ready to step in, she informed him.

… Standing by, the cognate replied. He will take control one minute prior to launch.

Her suit radio came to life. “We’re reading twenty atmospheres,” Remi informed her. “Any higher and we risk blowing the hatch prematurely.”

She nodded in agreement as the airlock gauge said the same. “Just give us a sixty-second countdown,” Samara told him.

“What do you want us to do?” Genvass asked her, the apprehension obvious in his voice.

“Absolutely nothing,” she said brusquely. “I mean that. Don’t try to ‘help’. You’ll just get us killed. That goes for you too, Rúna.”

“Nothing,” he repeated. “I think I can handle that.” It was a poor attempt at levity, but at least he wasn’t panicking. Yet, she amended to herself.

“Unlike some people,” the Valkyrie retorted on the heels of the ambassador’s response, “I know how to follow orders.” She snorted in disgust but left it at that.

The radio spoke up once more. “Coming up on the one-minute mark,” Remi announced. “Get ready.”

Checking her instruments one last time, Samara toggled the radio mic.

“... Standing by,” she reported, echoing Guardian.

On the Bridge Remi and Taneka manned the controls, preparing for the dangerous maneuver while also keeping a nervous eye on the incoming drones.

“Time to intercept, two minutes,” Taneka reported.

“Not sure what we can do about the drones,” Remi admitted. “The speed boost Samara gave us will help some, but it won’t get us clear, and our weapons are no match for them.”

“I know,” the Mako captain said quietly, “but what else can we do?”

There was no answer for that, at least none he could think of. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Checking his chronometer, Remi glanced over at Xuilan. “Start the countdown,” he ordered, as she began counting back from sixty for Samara’s benefit. “Course?” he queried.

“In the green,” Taneka confirmed. “Prepare to roll plus fifty-seven point four degrees on my Mark. Three, two, one. Mark.”

At “Mark”, Remi pitched Saracen over on its side, lining up the airlock with Athena’s platform, after accounting for a few variables like trajectory, acceleration, and gravity.

Double-checking her instruments as he made the maneuver, she gave him the nod. “We are on profile,” she reported. “Standing by for final command.”

“Copy,” he acknowledged, his eyes never leaving the display.

As Xuilan’s countdown neared zero, Taneka’s hand hovered over the console above a red blinking icon, awaiting the order.

“... five, four, three, two, one. Execute,” the navigator barked… as the captain’s finger stabbed the control button.

At “Execute”, Taneka blew the hatch.

Explosive bolts blasted the airlock door clear of the ship, uncorking the bottle as two million pascals of air pressure shot the trio and their contraption clear of Saracen like a bullet from a gun. Genvass gasped as they hit 7 g’s, struggling to breathe against the sudden crush of weight on his chest as they rocketed towards the platform.

Trajectory is within acceptable limits, acceleration is nominal, Yonaat Galu reported to Samara.

Easy for you to say, she fired back, watching Saracen disappear behind them as they rocketed towards the platform. She sensed more than heard an amused chuckle from the cognate before launching a string of colorful invectives in return.

And since when did you get so squeamish? he retorted. I’ve read your file, Samara. You are certainly no stranger to risk and adrenaline… in fact; you thrive upon it.

Even I have my limits, she snapped, eyeing the string of data detailing their transit. The platform itself grew larger in her field of view, a glittering blue-green jewel floating in a sea of black. Even now, after all this time, the sight of a Precursor artifact could still take her breath away. She could easily understand why the other races had long viewed them as gods or demons, depending on their perspective. She, on the other hand, saw them as humanity’s potential future, what they themselves might become someday if they could keep from destroying themselves first.

A voice crackled in her ear. “Samara, are we on track?” Rúna queried. Her voice was pitched higher than normal, obviously, their little jaunt was affecting her more than she was letting on.

“We’re in the lane,” she confirmed, as the platform continued to expand in size. “Coming up on turnover soon,” she advised them. “You still with us, Ambassador?”

What sounded like a whimper came over the suit radio. “Is that a yes or a no?” she cackled, grinning at the diplomat’s discomfort. At least it distracted her from her own anxiety.

“... I’m… okay…” he finally managed to get out.

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” she told them, as she flipped a switch, triggering the turnover sequence. The series of commands necessary for turnover and landing were pre-programmed into the computer, though given the hodgepodge of gear, it was almost certain she’d have to perform a manual override at some point… or more accurately, Yonaat Galu would. At least he had experience doing this sort of thing, though she wondered…

Her vision suddenly exploded as zig-zag lines and flashes of color flashed before her eyes before glitching out and leaving her blind, only to sputter back to life seconds later. What the hell? she thought in shock. Why are you screwing around with my eyes? Samara swore at the cognate.

She felt a sense of confusion. I do not understand; he responded after a moment. I am merely observing our surroundings through your optical receptors, not interfering with your vision processing center.

Well, whatever it is you’re doing, stop it! she demanded. I sure as hell can’t afford to…

Her vision cut out once more, but this time it was accompanied by her muscles twitching and jerking uncontrollably. The only thing preventing her from flailing about was the harness and straps that kept her belted in. She tried to shout into the radio that there was a problem, but only a strangled gasp escaped her lips as she started to lose consciousness.

… Samara? Samara! Guardian shouted, wresting control back from Yonaat Galu.

But instead, all he heard was silence.

Genvass kept his eyes tightly shut, fearing what his eyes would show him and, more importantly, how it might affect the nausea he was currently grappling with. How did I get myself into this? he thought frantically. Being strapped to a collection of oxygen tanks and rocket boosters? What the hell had he been thinking?

An odd sound came over the radio, and at first, he dismissed it as nothing more than random static. “Did you hear that?” Rúna asked him.

“... gulp… what?” he managed to get out.

“Something transmitted over comms,” she reiterated, “but I couldn’t make it out. Samara, did you copy that?”

No response.

“Samara! Do you copy?” Rúna shouted again into the mic.

Silence.

The ambassador opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Staring into the vast emptiness of space with only New Terra’s sun and the distant platform for company wasn’t helping the rising gorge in his belly. But if Samara wasn’t answering comms…

Twisted his head as far as he could manage, Genvass glimpsed the Protean from the corner of his eye. He barely made out her face through the helmet’s visor, but what he saw filled his mortal soul with terror. Her features were slack while her head lolled bonelessly, her eyes closed as she hung against the harness in unconsciousness.

“Samara’s down!” he shouted in sudden panic. “She’s out cold!”

“Holy Mother Terra,” Rúna whispered in prayer before her hands began moving with purpose. “I’m taking over the controls,” she announced, bringing up the display.

“Can you land us safely?” Genvass asked her, fighting against the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

“We’re about to find out,” the Valkyrie said grimly, before reaching up and flipping a switch. “Stand by for turnover,” she informed him. “Thrusters going active in five, four, three, two, one. Executing turnover.”

Genvass braced, fearing a more violent maneuver, but instead the thrusters… little more than cans of compressed gas, really… gently flipped them over until their feet were pointed at the platform instead of their heads. His stomach hardly noticed, no small feat there, as counter-thrusters brought their turn to a halt.

“Turnover complete,” Rúna said in relief. “All systems nominal.”

“Thank Mother Terra,” he said gratefully. “Now what?”

“Now comes the hard part,” she answered. “We need to engage retros and slow our descent, otherwise things get messy.”

“Messy? What do you mean, messy?” he snapped, the hysteria rising within him once more.

“Well, either we’ll explode, impact the platform at a few thousand kph, miss the platform completely and drift in space until we run out of oxygen, or… my personal favorite… get blasted out of the sky because Athena thinks we’re a missile.” A bone-dry chuckle escaped her lips. “Care to make a wager?”

“How can you make jokes at a time like this?” Genvass all but screamed.

“Lots of practice,” she sighed. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to face my mortality. At least the end will be quick.” There was a pause. “Well, except for the running out of oxygen possibility,” she amended. “That takes a while. If it happens, my advice is just to crack your helmet and get it over with. Drowning in carbon dioxide isn’t fun.”

“You mean kill ourselves?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “You, of all people, are saying we should just give up?”

“Genvass, look where we are,” she said pointedly. “There aren’t any friendlies anywhere near our location. If we miss the platform, the closest ships that could mount a rescue all belong to Admiral Van Aalst. Do you honestly think he’ll come save us?”

As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew she was right. “We’re not there yet,” he said at last. “I believe in you, Rúna,” he said fervently, trying to convince himself almost as much as he was her. “I know in my heart that you’ll get us down in one piece.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said quietly. “Coming up on our final burn. Better brace yourself, we’ll be pulling some serious g’s.”

Taking a deep breath, the ambassador prepared for the worst. “Ready,” he swallowed.

Watching the display count down to zero, the Valkyrie murmured something she’d heard a friend once say, under similar circumstances.

“... Holy Mother Terra, guide my hand,” she whispered, activating the controls as the retro rockets roared to life.

Within the Repository Guardian had declared an emergency, pulling in other cognates as needed in order to save their host.

“She is facing total synaptic collapse,” Physician 2nd Grade Rithir Merkott reported. “Her metabolic functions are fluctuating wildly, and all my efforts to sustain her seem to only exacerbate the situation. It is as if there is a positive feedback loop involved.”

“She is destabilizing rapidly,” Clinicus-Magister 1st Grade Leisa Ugim concurred. “The neurotransmitters within her cerebral cortex are breaking down. It is this very concern I reported to you previously, given the… unusual circumstances of the host.”

“The Repository was designed simply to provide knowledge when required,” Artificer 1st Grade Mashad Dillosh reminded them. “During times of Interregnum, a designated host could access the data contained within, accelerating the process of rebuilding their society following a collapse. It was never intended to be used in the manner it has been these past several cycles,” he said with some reprove.

“It was necessary,” Guardian replied, “given the situation in which we found ourselves, though I never intended to put this much strain on our host. The number of invasive reconstructions alone…” he said in dismay.

“We understand,” Rithir Merkott interrupted, “but we have reached a crisis point. A decision must be rendered.”

The cognates all looked to Guardian, awaiting his verdict. The options he had before him were few, and all carried with them a certain amount of risk. But in the end, there was only one truly viable choice.

“Repair what damage you can,” he said at last, “and then sever the connection.”