Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Current Date: 2458
77 years after the USM Auriga Incident

The bodies fell in mute synchronization. There were two of them, black spots on a leaden sky. Miles away. From the vast distance, a single onlooker watched in horror. She could only imagine them as they might be. Perhaps silenced beforehand, their arms were loose by their sides, hands curled at their thighs. The curve of their backs improbably traced the jagged bulge of the cliff from which they had been flung. Their chins were tipped back, not quite staring toward the impending earth.

Worried lines were etched into chasms around her eyes, dark and defined like black water had slipped in to fill them. She leaned back as though frightened the grim scene would hook into her chest and drag her into its midst, sending her rocketing towards the barren surface of the planet alongside them.

Behind her, the last of a trickling stream of passengers had vanished into the interior of the shuttle, and so she was the only one to see as death hurtled downward and disappeared beneath the distant horizon to strike the earth and be obliterated.

The last wind the planet of Uataislurn had to offer spiraled up the boarding dock, gray fingers playing at the ornamented fabric that framed her dark brown face. It coaxed lost breath back into her and she could move again, if only to make it the rest of the way up into the shuttle.

Nasira let herself fall against the round wall of the booth, directly within. Her long, slender fingers went up to the beads on the crown of her head. She straightened them where they laid across their silken headscarf, tracing back to where they vanished beneath its folds. As she did, she let her eyes drift shut, willing there to be only the redness of her eyelids. No bodies. No great heights. No death.

Uataislurn was a zealot's planet. Its inhabitants subscribed to stringent religious rules and rituals, but they were not perceived as pious, nor were their traditions seen as archaic. Nasira had come to observe their practices for the duration of a seasonal holiday they called Ubrone, but she'd been recalled to a new base, with a new obligation, one that took precedence over attending the holiday of a tiny religious sect on the edge of the galaxy.

Participants of Ubrone adopted a solemn composure, retreating to places of worship alongside family. Past a certain date, movement within the planet's borders was forbidden. No emigration, no immigration. Those who wished to observe must be settled before the holiday's beginning, and those who did not wish must see themselves out.

It was on this the eve of Ubrone that the last transport away from Uataislurn found itself preparing for departure.

Something pushed past Nasira roughly, jerking her out of her contemplation before she could decide for herself whether the fuzzy splotches still reminiscent in her vision were borne of some religious suicide.

"Pardon me," she apologized, unsure of whether she'd been in the way of the door or not, though she did not recall seeing anyone else on the boarding dock. She said it verbally in Yutovian, the universal language and her best bet for being understood as polite quickly.

Yutovian consisted of three "alphabets": verbal (which worked best for those species that could articulate syllables), clicking (for those that possessed no verbal speech, such as those without mouth or tongue), and sign (for those that could be understood through general body movements, such as the manipulation of digits and appendages). Anyone who claimed to know Yutovian could understand all three.

The hunched frame stopped between her and the passenger area of the shuttle. It turned around.

It was a human male of roughly middle age. Caucasian. Long hair that stringed into dark grey eyes. He carried something under his left arm, and shifted it protectively when she met his eyes.

"Evening," he said, squinting at her in the semi-darkness. He responded in stiff English, which took her aback, and she had to hastily recalibrate her brain to receive it. She could see that he was trying to read her name on her left shoulder, so she provided it.

"Sergeant Nasira Lathan," she said, extending a gloved hand. Though it was not quite the truth. Her ranking could not be translated into human languages quite so easily, as she was the only one of her species in Adrara. The Seraph. The Guardians. The Protectors. Adrara was similar to the older human military, the Colonial Marine Corps, but without any of the supremacy, the entitlement, the misguided patriotism. Adrara aspired to be pacifistic, and was a millennium-old cooperative alliance that encompassed thirty star systems and sixty-three species.

Any of those sixty-three species could serve, but there was exactly one representative for humankind.

One human.

Just her.

Which was why her uniforms - her combat uniform, her service dress, and her current ceremonial regalia (as was easiest for her to be recognized as a member when it was necessary) -were all specially tailored for her human stature. Black boots and pants, a snugly cut blue coat that hit her mid-thigh. Her epaulets were golden, as was the chord that looped its way around her left arm. She was allowed to wear her hijab with no lengthy appealing process, as had been the case when she was in Earth's custody. Her name and rank were embroidered in both Arabic and Yutovian. Even if it hadn't been dim where they stood, this man would have struggled with reading it.

"Right," he said. "You're, uh, A-dray-rah."

"I'm a cadet officer of Adrara, yes," she said, smiling tolerantly. "And you are?"

He seemed to debate. "Marcus."

"May I help you with something?"

He looked her up and down, his lip twisting in a way of which she was long accustomed. The way she held herself to Adrara's standards of articulation and composure, her age, her posture, her headscarf, her monolid eyes - all that was there for his cruel gaze to scrutinize.

He said, "Not now, thanks. Maybe once we're up."

Once the shuttle launched, they'd land on the orbiting spaceport and transfer to their flight vessel.

She nodded. He readjusted whatever he held in his left arm again before turning away.

Nasira watched the sky curve into darkness and tried to imagine that breaking the atmosphere was smooth. She'd been the last to seat herself and the first to rise, assisting the shuttle crew in unloading its passengers, as was courtesy for someone of her position. The man, Marcus, brushed past her again with no comment as he left the shuttle. Behind him was a boy, older than her by a year or two, with the same pale skin tone as Marcus. The only other human on the shuttle, and apparently too young to be traveling on his own. Father and son, then. She smiled at him, but he had as much to say as Marcus, his eyes flickering up to hers before wrenching forward again.

Their vessel's name translated to 'Cavalier'. It was massive ship, made for much more than ferrying mere handfuls of passengers across the small sea of space between Uataislurn and the more populated world of Thouopra. Their current port was at the end of its route, and once they arrived at Thouopro, the Cavalier would orbit for one local day before setting off into the swollen cluster of systems in the heart of the alliance. Before then, Nasira would transfer from public transport to a closed Adraran flight.

Flight, she thought wryly. Ships like the Cavalier didn't need to be aerodynamic, because they weren't designed to operate anywhere other but a vacuum. And there was no flying in vacuums.

It was shaped like an egg with multiple ovular protrusions - habitation levels, storage bays, and engine rooms - at random intervals, like the gnarled burls on a tree's trunk. The Cavalier doubled as a commercial freight vehicle and galactic cruise ship. The accommodations within the vessel - within all commercial passenger vessels - were meant to suit as many species as possible at once. The atmosphere was stable and breathable for most species, though masks were offered to those who felt it was too different from their natural composition. On such a short flight, temporary habitation would not be necessary. They were to stay within the body of the ship, the fuselage, that made up the largest part, with an ocean of seating spanning the entire floor.

Nasira helped a nimod (a lifeform twice her height with eight long legs, enormous glassy eyes, and ant-like pinchers) lift its possessions into a locker, smiling when it clacked at her appreciatively. She laid her hand across her heart and gave a low bow. The nimod flailed several tiny vestigial arms at her before going to its seat. Around her, several other passengers inclined their heads or bowed their bodies at her before going about their business.

Nasira loaded her own baggage into her designated locker, closing its door to reveal Marcus arguing with the sole security guard on the ship. The guard was a large Oxio with sloping shoulders, a species whose homeworld was the craggy desert planet of Troturn.

She made her way over to them. Marcus's face was scarlet and he was gesticulating hard enough to be a threat to anyone taller than his thigh. Some of this was the sloppy, inexperienced way he was signing Yutovian, but for the most part he kept breaking off and pointing a finger into the Oxio's noseless face whenever he got too worked up.

On the ground beside him was a canister about a foot and a half tall.

She interjected, positioning herself just off from between them, but planting her foot there and leaning her hip in, blocking the Oxio from Marcus' view.

"Please," she said to him, signing for emphasis, a little finger making circles on her sternum. "Calm down. What is the problem?" She said this to both of them, turning slightly without moving from blocking Marcus.

The Oxio rumbled, "I told the human that I needed to search his possessions, as it did not have a checking tag from the space port. He refused me."

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Prono."

Nasira translated for Marcus so that she could be sure there was no misunderstanding, but Marcus' eyebrows remained with a irritable line between them.

"He can't look through this! It's company property, and it's confidential. I told him I submitted a copy of the work order and my permit to carry the canister on my person."

"The cannister? What does it contain?" she asked.

"I told you, it's confidential. You're not an employee."

Nasira said to Prono, "Did you check his permit?"

"I did. The permit is sound, but the serials of the cannister and the work order did not correspond."

Again, she relayed this to Marcus.

"It's not my fault they fucked up their labeling. I can't consent to a search or I'll be penalized."

Nasira frowned. "If it's alright for the work order to be read, why is it not alright for the contents of the canister to be searched? Is it dangerous? It ought to have been carefully shipped rather than carried on your person."

Marcus' mouth worked.

"The work order…"

"Can't he search it in private? He's an employee of the company, and he already has access to the work order. He just needs to confirm the contents as the same as the way they're stated on the forms."

Marcus scowled. His face looked like a smile had never beaten a sneer in a foot race.

"Fine. Whatever you want, man."

Nasira's eyes thinned as she smiled at him. "Thank you for your cooperation. Prono, is that alright with you?"

Prono nodded, and Marcus handed over the cannister with what looked like great reluctance.

On her way to her seat, she spotted Marcus' supposed son sitting in an empty seating bay. Beside him was a seat saved for Marcus. The bays were separated only by aisles, but the isolation of the two humans from the rest of the passengers was plain. Nasira nodded at him as she passed, but the boy did not look at her. She wondered if Marcus would have pitched such a fit with his son nearby, but then decided that he probably would have. He didn't seem the type to show regard for even those closest to him.

Despite the argument, when Nasira sat, she allowed the warmth in her chest to burgeon. As the sole human in Adrara, she was a representative for her planet and her species. It was through her that all future relations with Earth would be determined. For now, humans were only tolerated, as they had not proven themselves worthy of all the stars had to offer. Every civilization that made up the current alliance had already achieved majority peace among its own, and soon after came the technological value to establish a place for themselves.

For the first four hundred years of space ventures, humans were ignorant about the life, other than their own, that surrounded them. Even as human territory had expanded into colonized planets, they'd had no idea of the species systematically avoiding them. But then something had changed, and the alliance chose to present itself, and a tentative treaty formed, and the entire human population was screened, and a single ambassador was selected to test the waters.

That had been Nasira.

She'd spent eight years in Earth's custody before being released and allowed to join Adrara. To learn an upwards of five alien languages. To attend cultural festivities, to advocate in support of her species. To spend the rest of her life proving humans able and willing to share the universe.

From where she sat, she looked up into the enormous glass dome that made up the ceiling. Impractical for a spacecraft, maybe. But it kept the dangers of space out, and offered passengers an unobstructed view of everything the galaxy had to offer as they passed beneath it.

A nebula she could see. A split in the black, a seam in the primordial darkness of oblivion. Purples like majesties - golds and silvers like riches. Young stars burned blue, raring to send their brilliance into the expanse. Others were old, molten hearts settling down for a quiet rest. A cat's eye winked from a dense pocket of ruddy star gas. Intricate spirals of magma, of napalm light, flared their prominence.

Nasira hugged herself, letting her eyes drift shut. It was not long until she felt the thrum of the engines beneath her feet. She opened her eyes and turned to see the spaceport shrinking away. Within seconds, it was small enough to be blotted out by her thumb if she held it out.

It was to be an eight hour journey. No stops. No obstructions, no navigation.

Three hours in, she jolted awake, disoriented. A slice of light narrowed into a sliver and then into black as a door on the far side of the room shut. The security guard stationed there was nowhere to be seen, but it was possible that he'd gone to check on another part of the ship.

Nasira glanced around the dim seating area and unbelted herself from her seat. As she walked through the aisles, the nimod awoke, lifting one bony eyelid. It swiveled in the socket before focusing on her. Nasira hurriedly signed reassurance, and the nimod didn't sit up any further. It didn't close its eye, either, though.

She walked to the door through which Prono had vanished, peeking through at first and then going in. The hallway was lit only by blue lights embedded near the floor, but no overheads. From inside its close quarters, she could feel the atmospheric conditioning working - her toes in her boots hummed.

It was then that she nearly turned around to return to her seat, but then she heard a few deep, booming coughs further down the hallway. Nasira followed the coughing until it could be heard through a door marked for crew usage only.
She knocked but couldn't hear it over the sounds, now punctuated by retching.

She raised her voice and said, "Are you alright? Let me call the infirmary for you."

There was no response, just more retching.

A crash shuddered out.

"I'm coming in," Nasira announced, tugging the door open. She almost tripped as she entered. Prono had collapsed in front of the door, flipping a desk with him. He was prone now, and she thought maybe he'd recovered, but then his chest and shoulders gave a great jerk, spasming his broad features.

She dropped to her knees, hands fluttering like panicked birds over him. She had no idea what to do. She had experience with emergency medical aid, but not for a seizure-like coughing fit, and not for alien anatomy. Trying to hold him down and pry his clenched jaw open at the same time proved difficult, so his body thrashed and rolled, striking her as she struggled. She jammed the first thing she could find - some kind of office utensil that had fallen to the floor - between his teeth so he couldn't bite her at least, then shoved her hand back into his face. She swabbed his now-slavering mouth with a finger, checking for a lodged object. Nothing.

She abandoned her efforts there and scanned the rest of his body, over his chest, then his abdomen, looking to his legs, and then back up.

Her face was poised seven inches from his chest when she heard a crack like breaking ribs. Something wet and meaty slapped her face, spattering her with moisture. Dumbstruck, she blinked crimson beads from her eyes.

There was a cavity in his chest, a bombshell gone off in his heart. Red muscle, red bone, red tubing that made him up, red everything.

And something squirming within it.

A skeleton, a snake. Some grotesque perversion of both. It uncoiled a thin tail. A low hiss escaped from its bony, parted jaw.

Nasira froze, hyperaware of the dripping gore on her face. A chunk of something slid from her nose and dropped wetly to the floor. The skeleton creature followed it with a jerk of its body, still making that sort of cautionary hiss.

It sprung from the cavity.

Nasira fell backwards, a strangled cry escaping her. The coiled snake skittered across the room, fleeing. Nasira felt around, grabbed something, and launched it after the retreating creature. Her aim was true, but in an instant it had wormed through a low vent and vanished. Her projectile slammed into the grating, rattling it, startling her again so that her arms almost gave out.

For a moment she just sat, lost, fingertips trailing the bloody floor, legs bent on either side of her - looking utterly woebegone despite the multitude of shiny buttons that signified her esteemed rank lined up on her breast.

She wrenched herself away from the curdling insides of the corpse and vomited, heaving until her vision swam.

When she could stop herself, it surprised her to hear the silence of the office, to realize that the universe had continued to expand, that life was still happening even though she'd forgotten how to breathe and how to stand.

Eventually she did stand, and the first thing after that was to rummage through Prono's pocket to find his ship access card.

The next step, she thought, tottering on unsteady legs down the same hallway from which she'd come, would be to get to the bridge.

She turned the corner and came to an abrupt stop. At the next junction, there was nothing but a smooth expanse of metal wall.

But she had seen movement.

She understood what she'd just been through. She understood that.

But she'd seen it.

She knew.

Some distortion of light, a warp in the air. It was still there. She could see the air move around it, even though there was no air to move. She was in a tin can in space. There was nothing.

There was something.

But just before she could focus on it, the ship gave a great shudder. And then she was knocked off her feet, colliding with the wall, falling to the floor.

Something had happened.

Something.

Chapter Text

Nasira's pulse thumped in her temples. She used the wall to help herself stand. She was no longer thinking about anything other than the ship's malfunction. Everything else had been stunned out of her.

She ran down the hall, hooking around corners haphazardly. In her exhilaration, her instincts blared which turns to take like a road map until she arrived at the wide double doors marked as the bridge. She swiped Prono's access card.

Shouts packed the bridge. She thought she didn't understand the language, but then realized that her ears were full of a muffled ringing like the atmosphere before a storm.

After what felt like forever, someone saw her and shut up. And whoever he was yelling to noticing there was no yell in return, and slowly the room became quiet.

"What," Nasira said, the word clunking into her mouth with considerable delay, "What happened?"

They stared at her. There were three of them, all individuals of the Ghanitkish ethnicity. They were built small with thin foreheads and lipless mouths. A captain, a first officer, and an engineer. The entire flight crew of an elephantine starship.

The captain, a female, and the purplest of them, answered.

"Unplanned thrusters bursts. We're off course."

"By how much?" she asked, shaking herself until she could speak normally.

The three of them exchanged looks.

"About eighty parsecs," said the engineer, a male, and the least-spotted of them.

"Can't you correct it?"

"The ship isn't responding. We're still accelerating, but without control. Every hour we keep this up, we'll be covering hundreds of light years more."

Naira's voice was very quiet. "You can't stop it?"

All three of them lifted their arms in a shrug. "Not at present. We don't have the personnel, and the engine's too hot to work on anyway," the captain said.

Nasira said nothing else. The three of them were still looking at her, looking torn.

"Your face," the first officer said tentatively.

She'd forgotten all about it. Her fingers came away red. "Oh," she said. She wasn't the type to swoon, but something about knowing she'd been slick with it didn't help her balance. "Oh."

"Call the infirmary," the captain said to her first officer.

"No," she interrupted. "It's not mine. But - there's something on the ship, I don't know how it got here."

"A life form?" the captain asked. "Sentient?"

"No. Maybe. It's young, I think. Small. But it's killed...uh, Prono. It killed Prono in an office near the passenger seating."

She shuddered then, her mind going back to its violent debut. She thought maybe that was its birth, or that it had been a parasite evacuating its host. But how had Prono been infected? He'd seemed fine before they'd launched. How long had he been coughing before Nasira awoke?

The crew looked like they'd like to be disbelieving, but their eyes kept going from her uniform to the blood on her face. She wiped another cheek clear of it but had nowhere to clean her hands. It dripped from her fingertips.

"You've never seen this before?" she asked. "You've never seen a small life form," she held out her forearm to demonstrate its size, "burst from a living thing before?"

Fearfully, they shook their heads. And the blood continued to drip, every eye in the room going towards where it marked the floor.

Nasira unwound her hijab, careful to avoid letting it touch her face. She set it to the side and looked at herself in the mirror.

It was like she was wearing a scarlet mask. Flecks of tissue clung to her eyebrows. She shoved her hands under the water and scrubbed her face furiously, fighting revulsion.

When the water ran clear, she shut it off. She stood gripping the basin for several minutes afterward. Her body quaked. It took her four tries to get her arms back into the sleeves of her jacket, and five additional minutes to button it.

She let the fabric of her hijab snake through her trembling hands. Then she re-wrapped it, sliding pins into place and straightening the beads.

"Keep it together," she admonished herself, and left the bathroom feeling marginally steadier.

She returned to the bridge (the bathroom was connected to it) to find the three crew members murmuring amongst themselves. Nasira cleared her throat to announce her presence.

"I didn't introduce myself," she said, bowing. "I'm Nasira Lathan. I'm an officer in Adrara."

"I'm Uicra," said the captain.

"Ensla," said the first officer.

"Buhbda," said the engineer.

"About the life form," Nasira said, "Do we have any way of finding it?"

"Not if it keeps to itself," Ensla said. "If it starts chewing up wires in the electrical access tunnels, things like that, we'll know. It's tiny, you said. It's probably the least of our problems right now."

Nasira crossed her arms over her chest. The organism had killed Prono, and she had no idea where it had gone. Accelerating into open space would only become an issue if they ran out of supplies. A faster, larger ship could tow the Cavalier back if they managed to get a distress call out.

She voiced this aloud.

Uicra looked uncomfortable. "Immediately after we began off course, we tried to send a transmission to Thouopro. We were unsuccessful. The long-range array has sustained, uh, considerable external damage."

The long-range array was a communications device that could send and receive signals almost half the length of the galaxy. It was a massive device bolted to the hull of the ship.

After speaking, Uicra looked at the engineer for confirmation, who nodded.

"You don't know what caused it?" Nasira asked.

"We've got cameras on it, but as far as we can see, there's no visible damage. It must be in the board. Or the wiring. Or…or anything."

Nasira's eyes shut. Another setback.

"No one knows where we are?" she asked. "Can we fix it?"

"Not from here," Buhba said. He seemed sure. "We'd need to fix it manually. And we don't have the personnel trained for it."

"You'd know how to fix it if you did have the personnel?"

"I could build this ship over again with the right equipment and enough time." His small chest swelled with pride despite their situation.

"Good," she said. "Do you have a personal radio? I'll fix it for you if you talk me through it."

All the air puffed out of him again. "But that would require…" He trailed off.

"A space walk," she said. "Yes."

Nasira's suit pressurized with a high-pitched squeal. Her breath fogged the mask for only a moment before the helmets' filters adjusted.

The ship's engineer, Buhbda, said, "Can you hear me?"

Nasira gave an affirmation and hooked her bag to the loop at her waist. It would float behind her, out of the way, until she needed it. Then she could just pull it to her. Nice and neat, with no need to chase down any wrenches in space.

"Are you sure you're qualified for a space walk?"

"I'm sim-certified," she said. She went into the airlock and knelt. The door behind her shut and re-pressurized.

"Start the countdown, please," she said, a note of finality in her voice.

Buhbda began counting down, his reedy voice the only sensation she was aware of. He reached zero, dropping the levels in the airlock.

There was no explosive decompression as the outer door opened, swelling her lungs, or sucking her into the oblivion of space, so she opened her eyes. The exit was about ten feet in diameter. Taking a deep breath, she drifted out into the abyss.

Though they were still accelerating, she was not scraped away from the body of the Cavalier. The force of its passage created a weak field that carried her with it without strain on her body. As long as she stayed within it, she would travel at the same rate.

Even hanging onto the safety bar just outside the door, it was easy to forget she wasn't floating alone in the middle of space. Even considering the distance they'd covered, the nebula was so massive that it remained above her, an eye in the sky. Below her, thin trails of stardust like an afterthought. She was in the sky, the sky was beneath her, it was above her. The disorienting nature of it was far more extreme than she'd expected. She could have turned herself around on the way out of the door and had no way of knowing. She could be upside down but with no ground and no gravity, there was no such thing.

She thumbed the control in her suit. A tether shot from Nasira's waist and curved over the side of the ship. The display indicator turned green, which meant it had attached itself to something viable. She let it reel her in, skimming the metal hull.

She stood on a level part of the ship and looked around. The ship was so massive - three miles long, at least - that it acted as her artificial horizon, with grey below and night above. Above her still was another rounded protuberance, as steep as a cliff. She fought visions of what she'd seen on Uataislurn - allowing her mind to linger on them seemed like thinking the room full of monsters, after the light was off and before one went to sleep.

"Seventy degrees to your right," Buhbda said over her comm. "Oh, over."

Nasira fired her other tether at the wall, letting it reel her in as the other slackened. When she got to the new point, she released her current tether, and she fired it further up. She was never without at least one tether acting as a safety line, but even still, her connection to the ship felt tenuous.

She climbed the wall like a mountain, pedaling her feet along the metal to help the tether reel in faster. When she arrived at the top, she looked out over the ship. She was at its highest point now, and there was the array. An enormous plate supported by a crossbar rigging; the panels were sleek and reflected the nebula. It didn't look damaged. She hopped to it, firing tethers alternately until she was near.

"Do you have eyes on?" she said.

"Ye - I mean, affirmative. Go ahead. Um, over."

She went to it - even closer it looked unharmed. She was not a few feet away from it when she collided with something so hard she bounced backward and up. Panicked, she lashed out her limbs to find something to steady herself with, but of course there was nothing. She'd worked herself into a spin. The hull of the ship was almost thirty feet away when she flipped around to see it -

"Buhbda!"

Her failsafe tethers activated, launching out towards the nearest detected surface. They pulled taut and yanked her to a stop. Her panicked breaths cottoned the air in her suit.

"Thank you," she said shakily, once she'd recovered.

"No problem," he replied, equally as rattled.

He began reeling her in. But the tethers weren't attached to anything. She could see where they stopped, her perceived depth and the indicator in her suit showing that they were hovering some ten feet from the ship's surface.

Her feet touched something. Keeping her tethers attached to whatever they were attached to - she squatted down. Her hand had nothing visible beneath it, and yet she could feel a hard surface. Below her, she could not see the array, even though she knew she was above where it had been. She should be standing atop the plate.

Cautiously, she spoke up. "You see this, right?"

"I see it. Hold on, I'm…I'm trying to figure it out."

"It looks like some kind of cloaking technology. Or it could be camouflage - I can't see the array through it from where I am, but I could earlier." When she'd seen it before, she'd seen the black backdrop between the bars of the rigging. Now, above it, she could see only unmarked grey hull.

"Wait. Wait, I'm working on —"

He was cut off by a rush of static. Crackling, hissing, squealing static. Not static at all, she realized too late. She heard shouting, she heard screaming turn their connection to white noise. And then, quite suddenly in its place, there was nothing.

And space seized its credit as being the quietest place in existence.

She spoke tentatively into the vacuum. "Buhbda?"

There was nothing. 

Nasira leapt from the invisible structure, unsure where it ended, but tethering onto the hull and pulling herself down. She jumped from the next edge, reeling in so fast she hit the surface and her legs crumpled. Unharmed, she stood again. When she got to the final edge, the final curve, she fell until she was level with the airlock. She pulled herself in, releasing both tethers. Flying to the control panel, forcing the airlock door to shut. Waiting as long as she could stand to make the airlock safe, then she opened the inner doors.

She was already popping her helmet off and casting it to the side when she left. As she ran, she undid the fastenings on the suit until it sloughed off. She kicked it away without stopping.

The airlock was about a fourth of a mile away from the bridge, up five flights of stairs. She flew up the cold metal in bare feet.

The door to the bridge was open. She pressed herself against the wall outside and peered in. The control counters were unmanned. The blast cover was retracted, the window showing space beyond. It was fully lit and in complete order, as if the three of them had simply walked out. No pooling blood, no skeletal snake creatures. She was still wary of her feet when she entered.

She circled a counter, peering around to see if one of the three had taken refuge. She stubbed her toe against something. It skidded a few inches. On the floor was a metal grate, its original placement suggesting it had fallen from the duct above.

A stone dropped into Nasira's stomach. Deep gouges marked the duct's frame. She forced her feet to move, to carry her beneath it. She took a deep breath and craned her neck to look up.

The passage was about two feet and a half feet wide. It traveled upwards into darkness. A foreboding chill swept through her.

That creature...

Had it gotten to all three of them? There was no blood, there were no bodies. How had something so small done this? How had it left those marks?

The universe was a place off boundless possibility, but at present, her shock-addled mind could think of only one conclusion.

It had grown.

To a size large enough to carry three ninety pound life forms vertically up an air shaft.

In four hours.

Nasira covered her face with her hands, squeezing her brain to cooperate, fearing it would splinter into fragments. She had to do something. That was four deaths in four hours. This thing, whatever it was, was capable of navigating the ship, at least wherever the air ducts ran.

She grabbed her jacket off of the back of a chair and put it on. She turned in circles, looking around and around for something to do next. She pressed her fingertips to the beads on her hijab and tried to think. Her eyes kept drifting up to the vent, a portal through which a murderer had trespassed. She kept an eye on it even though if something did appear, there may be little she could do.

She backed up in the direction of the bridge's lavatory and bumped the lockers. The rattle startled her as her head struck them. She stepped away from them, pressing her hands over her mouth, praying that nothing had heard. For all she knew, it was nestled in the junction of the vents above.

She counted to sixty before dropping her hands. An idea struck her, and opened the first locker. Nothing. The next: a small pair of boots. She'd left her own neatly beneath the suits in the airlock bay. She leaned against the lockers and tugged them on, keeping her eyes on the vent the entire time. They fit well, and she wondered which of the three crew members they'd belonged to.

She directed her thoughts towards figuring out what she could do from here. There were no weapons of any kind. She'd opened and shut every one of them. It was likely that Prono had carried the only weapons on the entire ship, and even then, no one had expected any sort of trouble. Countless smooth flights had made them complacent. It took a disaster, a catalyst, to lead the charge. Maybe if word ever got out about the four deaths on the Cavalier, there'd be extra security aboard most flights. But for the ship, all the lives onboard now, there was no difference.

Catalysts may speed reactions, but they also hung - unchanged - in the balance, while the world around them burned.

Chapter Text

Nasira let the bite of her nails bring her back to lucidity. She couldn't believe she could stand upright in the middle of the bridge knowing what had happened. There was no sign of the creature, so maybe that meant it had moved on.

Why had it targeted the bridge in the first place? It was quite a distance from its initial entrance into the ventilation. Did the thing have some sort of intelligence? Was it systematically crippling key points in the ship?

Had it had something to do with the thruster bursts?

Or maybe it was just an animal, hunting. It had gone for the weakest part of the ship, occupied by only three people. It had grown, but did it consider the crowd of people in the fuselage a threat? Would it aim next for the least populated area?

She wanted to believe that was the case. Which meant that she now had a priority.

The infirmary was on the starboard side of the ship, an area into which she had not yet ventured.

She searched the bridge once again, looking for a way she could contact them via intercom. Nothing immediately made itself clear. Deciding that she was wasting time, she set off.

She didn't run. It would only draw attention to her, and it was possible the thing had retreated to whatever habitation it had made so that it could...

Her vision blurred as she shook her head, fighting to stave off that line of thought.

As she made her way down, she realized that there were only three ways to get to the bridge. That meant that in the ceilings of one lay the creature's passage. She kept an eye on the grates above as she passed them, feeling a chill on the back of her neck when she was beneath.

At the elevator bay, she pressed the call button. When the doors open, she fell into them, then jammed her thumb into the one labeled for the infirmary.

They opened into an empty room shaped like a "T". Except for the fluttering of a curtain blocking a perpendicular junction, there was no movement.

Not here. Not already.

Something pricked her ears as if from far away. She turned to see what it was, her gaze going up the wall, up the elevator doors, to the lit indicator at the top of them. The elevator had made a dinging sound as the doors opened.

The ping of the floor indicator cleared her ears, making way just in time for her to hear sound of a heavy footfall further in the room.

Immediately, she dropped to her belly and rolled beneath the first gurney. It was meant to carry the largest of potential passengers, so she was able to make herself invisible in the depths of its shadows.

An instant later an enormous thing thundered past, coming to a halt in front of the doors.

It was mere inches away from the edge of the gurney. It stood with its weight on its toes, heels going up into legs recurved and thick with muscles. Spittle slapped the ground in quantities she could not believe.

This was it. It was no longer the pale ivory of bone, nor was it sheathed like a dagger in blood. It was nightmare black, so much so that in its reflection she could see that her pupils had dilated in fear.

Loosed from its abyssal mouth came the same hiss as from infancy. A searching sound. It was not content with the elevators having made the noise on their own.

It was enormous. She estimated by the proportions of its legs that it was nine feet tall. If it caught her, there'd be nothing for her to do. She'd be dead in an instant. Dead in a fucking nanosecond.

She was not in an infirmary anymore. She was in Jahannam. She'd fallen into chasms deeper than death, into fires blacker than pitch. This was the domain of Iblis, and he stood before her, slavering from his insatiable maw and wielding iron hooks with which to drag her into eternity.

She looked away from it, knowing it wouldn't make any difference if she saw it strike. It would sense her there. She did not want to see its face duck low to look underneath the gurney and see her as it had seen her at the moment of its birth. She did not think it would be happy to meet her again.

Swimming in the shade of the gurney opposite her were blinking black eyes. Someone else had the same idea as her - to duck beneath something and pray.

Hardly daring to move, she shaped her fingers into the sign for "okay." In response, they stopped blinking in their terrified way.

Nasira put both fingers to each side of her lips, signing "Friends?"

One tiny clawed hand pointed at the curtain.

Nasira signed, "Wait."

They nodded feverishly, eyes glinting.

The creature took a few steps back into the room. The weight of its feet was enormous, but Nasira suspected it could just as easily turn to stealth.

It knelt at the end of a row of gurneys, lowering its skeletal visage close to the sheets. The skull was oblong and reflected the overhead lights. It was not a smooth carapace as she had suspected, but rather as though it was made of many obsidian plates layered and ridged together.

Rather like, she thought, the rocky texture of Prono's species.

It gripped the leg of the gurney with a bony hand.

As though it were made of paper, it flipped the gurney, sending the metal pieces crashing to the ground.

Nasira froze. Across the way, her companion covered their eyes.

Nasira's mind raced. In ten seconds, the thing would be at the gurney protecting her companion. Her eyes darted around the room. The elevator would take too long to open and shut.

The creature grabbed another gurney and flipped it. As its arm went up, Nasira saw the rest of the infirmary behind it. Examination tables. Cupboards. Counter tops.

In the center of a wall of surgical instruments hung her salvation.

A rotary saw.

Nasira felt tremors go through her.

She scrambled sideways toward the elevator. She punched the button and turned to face the monstrosity.

Its face jerked up to stare at her. It had no eyes, but she knew for sure that its gaze was burning into her.

Behind her, the elevator doors opened, dinging.

The creature charged her, shrieking, claws extended. Nasira dove out of the way, letting it slam into the wall of the elevator so hard she thought it would judder lose on its track. She leapt the overturned gurneys and sprinted thirty feet across the room.

Planting her foot on the cupboard, she strained at the saw, yanking it off the wall. She flicked the power on and turned just in time to sweep her arms over herself. The saw cut a deep gouge in the thing's skull as it was poised to cut her to ribbons. Yellow blood burst from it and spattered the cupboards. Smoke rose from the impact points.

It wheeled back, screeching in pain. She advanced on it, her body hacking away on autopilot. It tried to block her with its hands, but she dropped to her knee and thrust up inside its guard, splitting its ribcage.

Blood again spattered the ground at its feet.

It spun away and retreated, barbed tail whipping about. She fell backwards to avoid it.

She heard it clamor back into the vents. The sounds of its progression through the ceiling receded as it moved further towards the starboard side of the ship.

A few feet away, the rotary saw was spitting sparks as it ground itself into the floor. Nasira crawled to it, careful to avoid the blade, and shut it off.

As it slowed to a stop, she saw that the blade had melted, leaving it just a heap of deformed metal. And past it, the floor had been dissolved where the creature's blood had spilled.

She peered forward and saw that it had eaten a hole through that level. Below, it was still sizzling. The cupboards and counter tops were similarly marked.

Acid. The creature's blood was acid. Would it neutralize before it could get to the hull? The outer casing of the ship itself was almost fifteen feet thick, made of an alloy that was supposed to be resistant to corrosive materials.

The curtain that covered the branching part of the infirmary was no longer moving. Nasira felt icy in realizing that of course it hadn't been a wind disturbing it earlier.

Standing, her vision pitched forward, almost making her lose her balance. She stumbled against a counter top and recovered.

Past the curtain, this part of the infirmary was completely filled with hospital beds of varying sizes. Their curtains were shut, but there were no occupants.

Further up, she saw the vent grate tangled in one set of curtains. The beds were shoved aside to make room for the creature. As with the bridge, there was no blood.

She grabbed a bed to keep herself steady.

Movement behind her. She whipped around to see her companion, a Jafgar. They were a timid, mousy species. This one had tawny fur covering its features, and a bald tail curling around its toes. It was a she, recognizable by the speckled fur on the sides of her face.

She said, "Underneath." Then she crouched, so Nasira imitated her.

Six hospital beds. Six people huddled beneath them. All unharmed.

Nasira felt relief threatening to spill over.

"You can come out," she said. The right words left her easily now that she knew there was something she could do. "I'm here. I'm from Adrara. I'll help you."

It was a miracle that the entire infirmary staffing had sought refuge and avoided the creature without any warning.

Nasira helped the person nearest her get out from their hiding place.

"You're from a rescue team?" one asked. All the infirmary staff were Jafgars, with the same furry faces and white tails. "Can you correct our course?"

"No," Nasira said, going to help another. "I'm a passenger."

The entire group seemed to deflate.

"It's alright though. We're going to figure this out. Just not here."

"What is it?" another asked.

"I don't know," Nasira said. "But it doesn't attack groups. Big groups, I mean. So we're going to go to the fuselage."

"What about the central bunker?" The Jafgar that had been hiding near the elevator piped up.

"What's your name?" Nasira asked her.

"Remie."

"Okay. We've got a central bunker?"

"Yes. It's near the fuselage. It's an emergency bunker. It's got its own life support and supplies."

"Its own ventilation network, then?" Nasira asked.

"Yes, of course. Its access points are sealed in the event of airborne toxins or decompression."

"Sealed how?"

"A series of metal bulkheads. Impenetrable," Remie said matter-of-factly.

Nasira liked that.

"Good," she said. "Then, after we round everyone up, that's where we're going."

She led them through the halls down to the fuselage. She kept her eyes on the ceiling and told those bringing up the rear to do the same. Upon closer inspection to the ceiling in the infirmary, Nasira had discovered that flecks of acid blood had eaten through the metal. She didn't know exactly how injured the creature was, but she thought it better to be safe. The rotary saw she'd used was meant for heavy duty amputations, and it had been reduced to uselessness after a few blows.

When they arrived at the doors to the fuselage, Nasira peeked in first. She could see the slumbering forms of passengers still in their seats.

She beckoned the others in, checking the hallway over once more. Now that they were at their destination - that she had a plan - everywhere else in the ship seemed flickering, as if the life had receded in its veins to follow the people instead. She was perfectly willing to leave it to die while she herded passengers to the safety of the central bunker.

"Remie," she said, pulling her aside. "You know what happened on the bridge."

Remie nodded. "I heard on our intercom. They were telling me about Prono while Buhbda was talking to someone going up to the forwarding array."

"There's no one else on the ship?"

"No one. Crew of eleven. Three of us in the infirmary were supposed to be covering steward duties."

"Good. Would you please conduct a persons count for me?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

Remie moved away, her tail swaying behind her. Nasira watched as she helped to rouse passengers, speaking kindly to their bleary selves to avoid panic.

Nasira fingers tapped at her thighs. In a few minutes, every life form on the ship would be marching to safety. The hostile creature, the uninvited passenger, the alien, was injured and retreating.

And meanwhile, the Cavalier would be accelerating, getting further and further from rescue with every second.

Chapter Text

The infirmary staff formed the passengers into a clumpy line of varying heights, builds, species. All very confused, tired, frightened. All entirely mortal, Nasira couldn't help but to remind herself. She had to get this done quickly.

Remie came back to Nasira.

"Including the both of us, there are thirty people."

"Thank you," she said, bowing low. Remie mirrored her.

Nasira said, "Keep everyone here, keep an eye out for trouble. I need to go do something. Wait five minutes, then take everyone to the central bunker."

"Do you want us to close the bulkheads after us?" Remie asked. As Remie's enormous black eyes blinked up at her, Nasira found her gaze wandering away.

Behind her, the nimods' stilt-like legs set it above the rest of the crowd. Its body, shiny and bronze, was thin already, but then the rounded shells clinging to its midsection moved, extending outwards to reveal the small, angled forms of infants.

The nimod was a mother with young that were carried with her, too young to move on their own. Her offspring's tiny pinchers yawned wide, seeking reassurance.

Nasira looked back at Remie. "Yes. Close them."

Nasira ducked through a side door just as she had done hours ago, before a killer stalked the halls. Preparing to look upon the scene again did not take as long as it should have - she had no time to waste on herself.

She stepped over Prono's corpse and made her way further into the office until she got to a section labeled with Prono's name. It was not engraved, just stuck there with a small note, for he wasn't the regular head of security. This office belonged to someone else, someone who probably would have boarded on Thouopro, someone who had infinitely more luck than the thirty five souls who'd become hunting game for a monster in deep space.

She went into the office and immediately spotted the small safe on the desk. She circled around to look at it but stopped short.

Overturned in the corner was a sleek canister, the one that Marcus had been carrying under his arm. The one Nasira had insisted to Marcus that Prono search.

Inside, some sort of viscous fluid coated the walls. She tweezed some out on her fingertips and studied it. It was pale and tinged with green. It had started to get crusty and dry in places. She wiped it off of her glove as best she could, then rolled the canister back upright.

Behind it was a small creature, grey with the touch of hours-old death. It had eight long fingers, and two bulbous lobes above a tail sectioned like a brain stem. The underside was fleshy, layered like the petals of some rotten flower.

Nasira wrinkled her nose and turned it over. So this was what Marcus has been carrying onto the ship. She debated trying to find the work order he'd spoken of, but then decided that even though she couldn't recognize all the trillions of lesser species, this was likely a creature unauthorized for trafficking.

She spotted something that the body's placement had hidden - a pockmark in the floor, about the size of her thumbnail. The edges were blackened and uneven. Immediately, she recognized it as the work of the alien's acid blood.

Her fingers went up to her rank. She unfastened it and exposed the pin, then jabbed it into the folds of the thing's flesh. Pulling it out again, she inspected the point. Yellow blood dripped from it, but it did not eat at the metal. She tried again in various parts of its anatomy, concluding that some time after its death the blood had neutralized.

Grimacing, she shoved the thing back into its canister. Then she went to the safe on the desk. The three dials were already resting on specific symbols, but it did not open. She slid the last one up one more slot and the safe clicked to accommodate her.

Bemused, she reached in and pulled out a weapon. It was almost identical to a handgun in size and function. She dragged its holster out after and fastened it to her waist.

She replaced her rank on her shoulder before setting out again, more confident now that she had something long-range she could use to oppose the alien.

When Nasira had arrived at the bridge, they'd told her that they were eighty parsecs off course. A parsec was about three light years. That meant they had traveled 260 light years, 26 for every minute. In the six hours since, they had traveled 9,540 light years. And that was not including their rate of acceleration, which she did not know.

They'd probably been declared missing only an hour ago, for it had been was now the ninth hour of their intended eight hour flight. Unless someone had tried to contact them and found the connection severed, it was not likely that a rescue team had even been mobilized.

The fact remained that they couldn't count on outside help if they didn't ask for it.

She had to rip an emergency instructions manual off the wall, leaving a square patch of discoloration behind. No one had need for emergency protocol in what seemed like a long time.

The lifeboats were in their own separate bay on the port side of the ship. She marked the route on her map, then tucked the canister beneath her free arm. Walking the opposite direction as the one taken by the alien was no small relief.

She moved quickly, trusting that she'd put the alien out of commission for a good few hours. She had to go through a habitation level to get to her destination, and she peered down into an empty swimming lake lined with exotic plants. Shaking her head, she hurried on.

The bay was its own branch of hallways. Each octagonal door was like a bank vault, and led to its own lifeboat. The 'boats themselves were shuttles - smaller than the one they'd taken up to the spaceport - but there were only seven of them, and they weren't meant to transport passengers for long periods of time. Nasira had considered forsaking the ship, loading all the passengers into lifeboats instead. But the promise of security in the central bunker was much lower risk than trying to sort out an evacuation procedure. Right now, she was the only one on the entire ship in any danger at all.

She went to the first lifeboat's door and swiped Prono's access card.

Upon stepping in, she felt a telltale disturbance in the air. Apprehension pricked the flesh between her shoulder blades.

She set the canister down on a control console and put a hand on her newly acquired weapon, sweeping her analytical gaze over the room. The interior was two levels - one that housed the pilot's chair, and a loft that held passenger seating. The foamy insulation was ridged and grey, making the walls look darker than they should have been. The shuttle's blast shield was extended, so the only light in the room was that of the backup lights flickering on the consoles and near the seats.

Nasira sidestepped and reached into a depression in the wall. The lights flicked on. She tread carefully, looking up into the shadows of the loft.

Whatever was in the room had already heard the door open as she entered, so she called out, "I'm an officer of Adrara. Come out now."

The air buzzed. She could feel something listening.

"If you don't show yourself, I will arrest you for impeding my objective to secure this craft."

"I'm here," said a faint voice, in English.

"Are you alone?"

"No. He's up here with me."

"Come down."

Marcus' son crept backwards over the edge of the loft and then descended with the ladder. Marcus followed him, looking around suspiciously. He spotted the canister on the table and paled.

"It's dead, sir," Nasira said.

She saw him struggle to compose his expression. "Oh, good."

"I'm very sorry about its state. Weren't you worried about the canister's security earlier?" Nasira stepped closer to him, taking in his sweaty forehead and mottled jawline. His adams apple was bobbing up and down as he swallowed. "Was that only because you were aware that you brought a monster onto this ship, and you know what it's capable of? Is that why you fled to the lifeboats?"

He didn't say anything.

"That's not why you've hidden yourself inside, though. The only reason you haven't left yet is because," she held up Prono's access card, "you don't have the authorization. How long have you been arguing with the computer to let you go? Don't argue with me," she said as he opened his mouth to retort. "There's no other reason you could be in here except to wait out the disaster, and hope that you'd be able to recover your specimen when we arrived at Thouopro."

His mouth went from a sneer to a flat line as she accused him. He eyed her weapon, still holstered on her waist.

"We're not going to Thouopro, are we?" he asked. "We're an hour overdue."

"The only reason I haven't come with a posse of officers to arrest you." She beckoned him into one of the lifeboats' seats. His son made to sit on the opposite side, but Nasira said, "Stay where I can see you."

He move to sit next to Marcus.

Nasira leaned forward. "Your specimen. Is it a parasite?"

He looked defiant to answer her question.

"It must have infected Prono when he inspected it," she continued.

"I had every right to be transporting that organism. It was labeled as dangerous, but I was told to not let it out of my sight. If that guard wasn't careful about opening the canister, that isn't my fault." He looked around at the pair of them, daring them to oppose him. His son gazed at him, blank, then went back to staring at the floor.

"You must have known that it would get loose, hence why you took refuge here. Why not tell anyone?"

"Where is it now?" he said.

"You know it. Where do you think it'd be?"

He said, "Where is its prey?"

"Safe."

He raised an eyebrow, a bizarre thing to see in a situation so dire.

"Right," he said.

"You don't think they're safe?"

"It's an organism of extreme...opportunity."

"Then it's logical that you were trying to smuggle it over interplanetary borders," she said, raising her own brow. "And why you're hiding from it yourself."

He shook his head, looking away into the darkened corners of the lifeboat.

She stood.

"Get up."

"What?" he said. The son looked at him, then at Nasira, then stood without any of his father's hesitation.

"I said get up. Vacate the lifeboat."

"But the creature -"

"I killed it. Get up."

Marcus stood. Nasira shunted them both into the hallway and said, "Wait right here in front of this window where I can see you."

They did as she said and she returned to the lifeboat, sitting in the pilot's seat. She looked over her shoulder to make sure they hadn't moved, then booted up the computer.

She canceled Marcus' efforts to force the lifeboat into launch mode.

The lifeboat would go a mere fraction of the speed of the Cavalier - only about ten light years a minute (six hundred an hour) to the Cavalier's twenty-six. If the Cavalier was about six hours off course, it'd take the life boat twenty hours to get to their initial route, and an additional thirteen to reach Thouopro. It was slow, but it was better than nothing.

She quickly logged the events of their voyage, including the death of the four crew members. She described that they had no means of stopping or controlling the ship.

That there was a hostile organism onboard.

That it was the property of one - she checked the label on the canister - Marcus J. Rums.

And that she had no way of administering an evacuation for the remaining thirty two persons onboard.

Then she hovered over the end of the message, debating. She keyed in an estimation of their projected flight path, hoping that it was accurate enough for rescue to find them.

She signed it:

Nasira Lathan, Command Sergeant

And then she imagined her message reaching the desk of her commanding council at Adrara, and what they would expect her to do now.

Nasira stared at the canister. Smooth, unassuming. The seal was tight. It could have been carrying anything. She imagined Prono sitting at his desk, prying the lid back to inspect the contents.

In the end, she strapped the canister into a seat and added a post script to her message: Life form contents deceased. Handle with caution. Pathogen may be present.

She stepped out of the life boat and then used the wall mounted console to seal the doors and then jettison it. She watched as it drifted from the Cavalier, then streaked away to carry their plea through the stars.

"Now," Nasira said, ignoring Marcus' look of outrage, "what can you tell me about this creature you've so foolishly unleashed into our midst?"

He looked out the window, space now where there used to be the interior of the lifeboat. "Couldn't you have sent something with it? Why do we have to stay trapped here?"

"If there was anyone I could have saved by sending them along," Nasira said, "my very last choice would have been you. You've a responsibility to help me find your specimen."

"I thought you said you'd killed it."

"If you believed that, you wouldn't be so nervous right now." Her voice was flat and hard. "Are you alright, sir? The infirmary staff is in the central bunker. I could request they look you over."

His son's eyes darted up to meet Nasira's and focus on her for the first time. They were a pale, dishwater grey. Nasira noticed now that he was younger than he'd initially appeared - not older than her after all, perhaps in his mid-to-late-teens.

And then he spoke with all the force of a breaking dam.

"He did it on purpose!" His face shone with this withheld information. Marcus whipped around and drove a fist into his son's nose, knocking him back.

Nasira pulled him off of his son, seizing his arm and twisting, forcing him to submit with her elbow on his back. He struggled briefly before giving up, hurting himself worse in his attempts.

"What do you mean?" she asked the son. He pinched a bloody noise and slurred his words.

"He dib ib on purpose becub he dibn't wand anyone do be able do dell aboud ohtieslerb." Most of the meaning was lost on Nasira, but any fragments she'd been able to mentally construct were shattered as Marcus screamed, "SHUT UP EDMUND!"

"Stop it!" Nasira roared at him, putting pressure on his fingers, causing him to shout in pain. Her mind reeled. To Marcus, she said, very quietly, "You did this on purpose?"

She spun him back upright, advancing on him still so that they were chest to chest. She was tall, as tall as he was, and he flinched away. The wall at his back stopped him.

"You have no right to judge me," he said. Now without an escape and as she bore down on him, he took on a cutting tone.

"You smuggled a dangerous organism onto a passenger vessel!" she snarled, seizing a fistful of his lapels. She jerked him close enough to see the dirt in his pores. "You've jeopardized every life on this ship. Your son's. Your own." She laid the back of her hand on the meaty part of his neck, feeling her lips skin back from her teeth. She fully intended to press, to twist, to tear, to snap. To walk back to the central bunker with his blood on her hands and in Yutovian - her best chance of being understood as deathly remorseful - to confess there was nothing she could do to save them.

Instead, she pushed his face away, letting his head smack into the metal wall, not even hard enough to hurt.

"You will answer for this," she said, her voice ringing in her ears. "I swear you will. I'll walk you to judgment myself."

Something pricked her peripheral vision and, as if in response to her testament, an immense humanoid form materialized at the end of the hallway, some forty feet away. It had a gladiators' physique and wielded in both massive hands a sleek spear.

Nasira instantly forgot her ire and shoved the two men behind her and backed up, forcing them into the tiny depression of the window, shielding them with her body.

The humanoid spun its weapon, heavy booted feet walking towards them at a pace of near-leisure.

Nasira held her arms straight, splaying her fingers - commanding it to back off. Adrara never pulled any sort of weapon on an intelligent life form unless it was blatantly aggressive, but the proof that she was able to do so was still clear in her holster. This one was self-aware, by the way it handled its weapon. Even if it was a species she'd never seen nor heard of.

"Hey," she shouted in Yutovian. "Stop!"

The humanoid kept coming, its broad shoulders seeming to fill up the hallway. Metal encased its left arm up to the bicep.

She tried again in Aplindan. And again in Qwertho. She signed. She ran through a list of every language she knew, even her human languages, English, Arabic, Korean.

She did everything she could think of short of wielding her weapon. Her shoulder blades jut into the chests of those she protected as she pressed backwards, trying to gain even tiny centimeters of distance from the threat.

And still it advanced.

Chapter Text

Nasira held both hands out as a warning, as if she could stop the humanoid's progression. Her holster burned at her waist. She could shoot, and she could shoot well. But no agent of Adrara had ever discharged lethal ammunition at a life form for as long as Nasira had been alive.

It kept coming, the hilt of its weapon spinning so fast it was near invisible.

"Don't come any closer!" she heard herself maintaining. She knew she was losing control. She let it get even nearer to them, resisting the allure of her weapon.

The spear streaked to a stop, held across the humanoid's body. It bent its knees, throwing its arms wide. A bestial roar came forth from its mask. A clear challenge.

Resolve cracked like a whip in her mind, fueling her limbs to charge towards it. Nasira's body curved to avoid the spear's thrust straight towards her - she pivoted and her leg snapped up. A lifetime of elite physical training paid off - her foot struck the spear's shaft, knocking it from the humanoid's grasp. She held out her hands, completely at ease, ready to catch it.

The humanoid's leg swung and crashed into her ribs, sending her flying against the wall, then it effortlessly plucked the spear from the air.

The sun and stars flared in her vision. Head spinning, she peeled herself from the floor in time to tackle Edmund out from under the attackers next jab with the spear.

She lived a brief moment in which there was nothing but his stunned, battered expression before she rolled off of him and thrust her legs out, pummeling the enemy's kneecaps.

It bellowed and stomped down on her, but she threw herself sideways and jackknifed to her feet, retreating several steps.

Nasira grimaced. Just one hit from this thing had her clinging to her screaming ribs and struggling to remain upright.

They were all doomed if she didn't do something.

"Run," she said over her shoulder. She spoke in English, hoping that the humanoid couldn't understand. "Get to the central bunker and make them let you in."

Marcus sped off, but Edmund hesitated until Nasira urged him again. She'd have to trust that Marcus wouldn't loop around to return to the lifeboats.

Nasira turned her attention back to the attacker.

It hefted its spear to shoulder level.

Crying out, Nasira ran at it. She shielded her face with her arms, dropping to her knees and sliding beneath its legs. The spear came down upon her - she ducked to avoid the deadly point and then seized the shaft, redirecting it, driving its force onto a new target. It punched straight through her attacker's foot, skewering it. An immense bellow rent the air. Electricity crackled and the smell of burnt flesh assailed her. She scampered out from underneath and kept going, her way now clear.

With a howl, the thing unstuck itself from its spear and whirled. Nasira sprinted away, skidding around the corner, but something forced her to stop in her tracks. The spear tip was embedded in the wall, pinning the fabric of her coat to it. She grabbed the spear and pried it loose. Bright green blood coated the end. In her grasp, it collapsed to a much smaller size. She squeezed it, trying to get it to extend again, but it was unresponsive.

Twenty feet away, the thing was recovering enough to take a limping step towards her.

She tucked the spear into her jacket and ran.

Roars chased her down the narrow hallways. It was a considerable amount of time before she realized they were mere echoes, first against the metal, and then against the furthest reaches of her panicked mind.

She was about to slow to a stop when she saw in front of her Marcus and Edmund crouched behind a low wall, hiding.

"What are you doing?" Nasira said. "What are you doing? Go!"

She forced them in front of her, dictating turns, sneaking looks over her shoulder as though the thing would be right on their heels. They reached the habitation level she had passed through on her way to the lifeboats.

Something at the far edge of the drained lake caught her attention - someone was standing there. She grabbed the men's collars and forced them down, ducking in the cover of the foliage at the bottom of the lake. She shushed them, then peered through the leaves and spotted two forms standing on the far side.

There were two of them, very similar to the one they'd encountered by the lifeboats. Hair-like appendages, long and black, hung down their backs. On the left side of each shoulder plate was a mounted object that swiveled back and forth.

Nasira pressed herself lower, pushing the two into the dirt, trying to become invisible. The thing on its shoulder stopped, fixed itself on them. A blue orb spun in the mouth of what was clearly a weapon.

"Move!" she ordered. Nasira dragged the both of them up and shoved them out of the way. An instant later, the blast hit the air between them, expanding outwards and launching her back. She hit the slope of the lake, coughed dirt, and, crouching low, ran back to the two. She got to Edmund first, gasping and clutching a charred pant leg. The skin beneath was an angry red, but it seemed a small price to pay for his life.

She glanced through the foliage again and saw that the two forms were crouched low, searching, but they hadn't moved from where they'd been situated earlier.

"Edmund," she whispered, while Marcus boosted himself onto his elbow some distance away. "Do you know anything? You need to tell me if you know something."

His eyes were wide and afraid, cracked blood staining his lips.

"Dey're hunters," he said. His voice was easier to understand now that the blood wasn't flowing as freely from his nose. "Thad's all I know."

"Hunters," she repeated.

She dared to look towards the exit the three of them would have taken. It was a hundred feet away. She kneaded the lake bed, letting the dirt grind into her fingernails.

She said, "I want you to run for that apartment over there." She glanced at one of the living quarters across from the lake. It was only half the distance as the one across the room. "And then out the back door. Can you get to the fuselage from there?"

Marcus crawled to them. He looked mildly inconvenienced, nothing more. Nasira pushed disdain aside. She put a hand on Edmund's shoulder.

"Okay?" she asked, shaking him.

He nodded.

"When I'm up," she said.

Again, he nodded.

She took the spear from her jacket. She shut her eyes and then broke left, clawing her way up the slope of the lake. She felt the heat of her enemy's eyes on her as she ran, and, distantly, the sounds of Edmund and Marcus running for shelter the opposite direction. She chanced a look behind her and saw that the two humanoids had followed her. But further, the one with the metal arm had entered the habitation area, and it was in pursuit of Marcus and Edmund.

Veering around, she outpaced the red beads of the shoulder cannons as they tracked her. Explosions, smaller than the first, but still powerful enough to nearly lift her off her feet, punctuated the air behind her. Marcus shouted, and Edmund slammed the door on their pursuer.

Nasira swung the spear wide. It extended with her motion, but the shaft smacked into the hunter's metal arm as it moved inside her attack. It batted the spear away and snatched her by the neck, lifting. It was so tall that her toes immediately cleared the floor. She thrashed, scratching its unprotected wrist and kicking its middle, but it was not phased. Its grip constricted on her throat, not choking her, but crushing, as if it was intent on grasping her spine in its fist. Black spots like locusts buzzed about her periphery.

Her hand went to her weapon's holster. She pressed the end of the weapon to its abdomen, but before she could squeeze the trigger, the hunter wrenched it away, discarding it to the side. It was five feet away. Maybe ten. It didn't matter how far it was, as it was so utterly out of reach, so utterly useless.

The hunter slammed her once, twice against the door, crippling its hinges until it broke open and hung sideways. Fighting for breath, she didn't register the pain as she should have. It made to move through, but she jammed a foot against the door frame, and with her last ounces of strength, kept it at bay.

Denied, it dragged her close, roaring in her face, the bands circling its hair vibrating from the volume. As darkness crept in, her vision narrowed to the single strip of its visor. She felt a smile touch her lips, knowing that she was not afraid of whatever lay beneath, for this was a better way to go than all she'd feared in the last hours.

Quite abruptly, the hunter dropped her. She lay, sputtering and coughing, on the broken door. Even though she was free, she could not draw breath. Her throat felt like it had swelled shut. Her back was surely a latticework of bruises.

A booted foot came down on the small of her back, pinning her, though she'd made no attempt to move. Above her, the warrior with the metal arm. At its side, the two others, shoulder cannons aimed down.

The material its metal arm was made of was reminiscent of light shed from the planet Runite, a sort of cobalt blue. Half of its dreadlocks were gathered at the back of its head and twisted into a knot. The ends fell to its shoulder blades.

The hunter on the left was as bulky as the one with the metal arm, but the armor protecting its torso was so pocked and craggy that it looked like an eons-old canyon. Beneath, metal wound into fishnets over the skin of a reptile. Across its chest, it wore a string of clicking skulls skulls that clicked together and a swatch of russet fur like that of a fox.

The tallest of the three had much darker skin, with blue and brown mottling. Its tresses were longer than the others, beaded with multicolored spherical ornaments. It was taller by a foot and a half at least, and there was an unmistakable curve to its body - more muscular, yes, but slender and lithe at the same time. A female. Her mask was made of what looked like the palest of all possible golds, with two cutting, steely eyes. On the sides were fletched wings that arced up the cheekbones and stopped at the temples. Of all three, it was the most handsome, even where the color had begun to wear away. On its brow were two engraved lines, one swept diagonally atop the other.

Weapons of varying function and size hung from every inch of their persons. Some were obvious: blades in sheaths, spikes encrusting their greaved shins, collapsed spears like the one she'd wielded strapped to backs – but some had functions she could only guess at.

Runite, she'd chosen to call the one with the metal arm, was growling, his dreadlocks tossing back and forth in agitation. His foot remained on Nasira, but the hunter with the fur swatch - she named him Siwili, for fox - kept pushing him away.

Runite snarled something and planted the end of the spear in the floor, inches from Nasira's face. Siwili roared and shoved him. The female swept forward in one long stride, grabbing the top of Runite's mask and jerking his head back. He immediately dropped his aggression and let go of the spear, an odd clicking, chittering sound coming from him instead.

Nasira latched onto the opportunity - maybe the clicking wasn't Yutovian, but it was proof that this strange species was capable of articulating and perhaps understanding something other than roars.

Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she said, "Why?"

She could say nothing more complex, as it would require a signing accompaniment, and she was not eager to see whether moving from her place on the floor would provoke the three of them into attacking her.

They went quiet, the two males bowing their heads as the huntress stepped forward. Tresses, dubbed so for her unique hair, looked down on Nasira, the same slow clicking sound coming from her mask.

Siwili came forward, putting his hand out. Tresses did the same, and he drew his knuckles over her open palm. He seemed to be seeking permission. Based on the way Tresses seemed to command the room, Nasira deduced that perhaps their species prescribed to some sexual dimorphism, in which the females were stronger and more dominant.

Siwili and Tresses conferred, heads bowed together. Runite was pacing in the far corner, swinging his fists as though readying himself for a fight. Sensing the other's preoccupation, he took the opportunity to stop and glare at Nasira, tensing his shoulders in a threatening manner.

Tresses crooked a finger at Nasira, gesturing for her to stand. She gave Runite a sidelong look, then did as the enormous huntress had indicated.

Standing, more potent was the feeling of how utterly dwarfed she was. Tresses had to be over eight feet tall to Nasira's five-ten. She was the most impressive thing Nasira had ever seen, with the build of a mythical Amazonian woman, or even the very real, ancient gladiators from the planet of Thouopro's past. Indeed, she participated in one particular noteworthy trait both peoples shared - a single breast, her left, encased in a cupped metal breastplate.

Tresses flipped a panel on her gauntlet and a hologram flashed into existence. It showed three red and orange figures - quite obviously a sophisticated form of thermal imaging - from a distance, then magnified. Cooler colors gave the impression of facial features, and Nasira knew she was looking at the same scene as the one that had transpired in the lifeboat bay.

She watched Marcus attack Edmund and her, in turn, disable him. She saw herself as Runite had seen her, sheltering the two men behind her. She saw the spinning shaft of the spear from Runite's point of view. She saw herself charge him, only to end up kicked away. He raised his spear, brought it down on where Edmund had been before Nasira tackled him out harm's reach. She saw herself plunge the spear into Runite's foot, saw his vision cut out as the functions of his mask went haywire as the electricity surged through it.

As it replayed, a steady thrumming sound issued from Runite. She thought she heard the cracking of knuckles, but didn't dare look away for fear of retribution at the hands of Tresses. Inattention didn't seem like a permissible action around her eminence.

Tresses dispelled the hologram and gripped Nasira's shoulder. She didn't even have time to worry that Tresses could crush her with the basest of effort before the huntress shook her, rattling her teeth in her skull. Then she stepped back, thumped her chest, and inclined her head.

Nasira had the impression Tresses was congratulating her, so she nodded her head back. The motion inspired a hefty snort from Runite, but she avoided looking at him. Siwili, too, nodded at her.

He disappeared through the doorway and returned moments later with her weapon. She regarded it, wary, for she was unsure of his intentions. But then he flipped it around and offered her the grip. She still hesitated - did they want her to pick up where Runite and she had left off?

He offered it to her with more force, and she had no choice but to take it.

The two regarded her (Runite looked resolutely into a distant corner) as if waiting for her to offer something in return.

Cautiously, Nasira spoke.

"I'm…Sergeant Lathan. Of Adrara." She felt like she'd introduced herself a thousand times since departing Uataislurn, but so far it had allowed her some measure of control over the happenings on the ship. But doing so now, it was possible she was condemning herself. If this species was capable of light travel yet remained a mystery to the alliance, it meant they probably wanted nothing to do with Adrara.

Sure enough, Siwili's rumbling turned distinctly unpleasant. At the mention of Adrara, Runite straightened up. He took two enormous steps toward her before Siwili blocked him. Nasira tensed but did not shrink away.

Siwili could not stop him from what came next - maybe Tresses could have but she did not - and Runite's mask said in the faint voice of a human man, "…Hermaðr?"

Nasira frowned, uncomprehending.

"I don't -"

He made an exasperated motion and found a new voice to use.

"You are a kingsman at arms?" In another voice, "A gendarmes?"

"I'm…yes, I suppose."

He relaxed. She noticed that he was now favoring his right foot, as though before he'd been making a conscious effort to ignore the injury of his left.

She addressed Tresses. "Why are you here?"

Tresses looked to Siwili, and he explained in her place, using the audio they'd gained from Runite by the lifeboats. It seemed the functions of their masks were interconnected, as all three were able to access the same data. The voice that came was her own, as clear as though she were hearing herself say it for the first time.

"What can you tell me about this creature?"

She remembered the odd distortion at the end of the hallway, moments after she'd left the site of Prono's death. It was the same effect as the one that had fallen like water from Runite. One of them had been there when she left Prono's office, moments after his death. She knew they were aware she'd been present when the alien had experienced its heinous parody of birth.

"The alien," she said. "The one that bursts from a body. It grew to an enormous size."

This time the voice that came from his mask was not hers, but Marcus'. "I thought you said you'd killed it."

"I don't know whether I managed to kill it or not," she said.

Siwili shook his head. "This creature."

"It escaped," she said.

Siwili pointed at her weapon and echoed her words to Marcus. "You've got a responsibility to help me find your specimen."

"Find it," she said. "And kill it?"

Siwili thumped his chest. An overwhelming tiredness filled Nasira - too much had transpired in the last hour for her to know how to deal with it. But here, an opportunity for help had presented itself: to face that vile creature once more. To fight it. To kill it.

She would not allow these hunters near her passengers, but she would trust them - if only the tiniest amount. Just enough to put an end to the alien that had trespassed upon her life and was, undeniably, her responsibility. That was what Adrara, what the alliance, expected. That was what she told herself as she placed one hand on her weapon's holster, and fixed the hunters with a single burning gaze.

Chapter Text

The alliance was, in some aspects, a living entity. Its lungs breathed with its citizens and its chest rose with their triumphs. It was its own nebula, reaching out with tendrils of light and creation, each branching arm home to a different virtue. Its inhabitants had been living harmoniously for centuries. It was her own species who thought themselves besieged by threats to their culture. There was the insistence that the alliance was weighted with dogma, that it wanted to unravel humanity - strip it to its core, so that it may be rebuilt and assimilated. They feared indoctrination. They feared invasion.

She'd tried to depart from this falsehood. Oh, how she'd tried. But it seemed just as difficult to convince her people when she was what she was - not alien, but something different. They didn't want to acknowledge her as their advocate, for reasons that made her wonder if she'd ever be able to fulfill her duty.

The way Marcus looked at her — he was all her critics, united.

No one liked that the entire human population had been screened instead of a select pool of those who could afford it. No one liked that it had been run by Adrara instead of Earth's own government. No one liked that the victor emerged from a war-torn country scratching around in the ruins leftover from generations of strife. No one liked that she was young, that she subscribed to seemingly archaic beliefs, that she was the product of two people that ought to have been worlds apart.

While her own people had spat vitriol, she'd petitioned on their behalf. She'd fought to create a place for them in this ever-widening universe. Her plight seemed endless. She'd spent a lot of her life shaking hands or saluting. Bowing low or standing rigid. Walking in stride, shoulder to shoulder. Making room for sweeping tails to pass. Learning etiquette for any number of cultures. Consenting to be lifted into the air by her winged guide was no different than accepting help over uneven ground. It came easily to her. It cost nothing to surrender herself to learning. She wanted to share. She wanted to give.

And of the many companions she'd met or traveled with, she'd never thought any of them strange.

Walking with these three should have been similar, but there were several small difference that made themselves clear after only a few seconds.

Despite the trinkets adorning their bodies, they moved almost soundlessly, with all the grace of felines haunting any forest, any jungle, any savanna. They were not just hunters. Humans of old were hunters, waiting in shelters for an animal to walk past, to lower its head to drink. These…individuals…were more. They were the foe of every gentle creature caught unawares. They were predators.

The predators kept to a formation Nasira found curious: Tresses melded into stealth, but the light bouncing from her solid form was visible at times. She kept to a distance of about thirty yards, orbiting. Siwili kept near her, also invisible. Runite brought up the rear. To a bystander, Nasira walked alone.

Their progress was almost aimless, Nasira taking turns and the predators adjusting. She thought that one of them would take charge. After all, she knew nothing of the alien organism's habits.

To Siwili, she voiced this, keeping her volume low. It felt odd to be addressing him out of the blue, and even odder that he was invisible. "Where are we going?"

He growled but did not answer.

She said, "I don't know anything about it."

Siwili grabbed her upper arm, forcing her to stop. His cloak fell from him, and he jutted a finger in the direction they'd been walking.

"I'll walk you," her own voice said to her. Reminding her of her agreement to help find the organism.

Nasira shook her head. "But I don't know how."

"This creature."

"I know," she said, exasperated. Siwili rapped her on the head as her voice rose. She didn't dare retaliate in kind, but she did say, "It escaped earlier. I've got no idea where it went."

He jutted a finger at her chest.

"What?" she said.

"Get to the central bunker."

He tossed his head and started her walking again, but she dug her feet in. Concern gripped her heart. He wanted her to lead him to the central bunker? There were thirty people taking shelter within it. She could not allow those bulkheads to open with these predators anywhere nearby.

"No," she said. "I can't. The doors are closed. There's nothing I can do about it."

In response, Siwili's shoulder cannon wheeled into a firing position. Dread made her sick. They'd blast through the bulkheads? Could they manage that with those weapons?

"No," she said again. "You can't force those doors open. People will be hurt." As she said it, she worried that perhaps they didn't care. Or that it was what they wanted.

Runite, it seemed, had gotten sick of her resistance. He stormed to them and, as Siwili had, encircled her arm in his fist, dragging her.

Tresses roared, sacrificing stealth for the behavior of her companions. She'd uncloaked, and was pointing at the ground at her side. Runite let go of Nasira as if he'd been burned. Nasira hurried to obey, glancing back at the two males as she went. She had no choice but to accompany Tresses when the huntress turned into the next hallway - as if she knew with certainty that it was the one leading to the central bunker.

The bulkheads were just off the fuselage. Twenty feet tall and perfectly sealed, they seemed impenetrable. It was the worry that they were not so making Nasira anxious.

When Nasira had left, she'd told Remie to close the bulkheads after them. She knew if they weren't shut, she'd be risking the lives of everyone inside. She'd ordered Marcus and Edmund to go there, but she had no idea whether they'd managed it. The bulkheads looked like they'd been holding for centuries, could hold for an eternity more. There was no access port, no terminal, no cameras. Nothing that could give her access to the central bunker, and no way she could see to contact those inside. Had Marcus and his son arrived only to find the same thing?

Tresses had called up a hologram from her wrist computer again. This time the display was ovular, misshapen in places. She zoomed in, revealing a three dimensional structure. Concentrated towards its center was a mass of red. Further out, four small pinpricks. And apart from them, two more.

Nasira's head turned in the direction she knew she'd find their source.

Couldn't Marcus manage to do a single thing she told him?

Just as they had been after fleeing the lifeboat bay, they'd hidden themselves insufficiently - this time behind the boarding turnstiles.

Maybe Tresses didn't care about them, but to move to shield them would attract attention. She couldn't do anything for them without alerting the predators.

Just her glance in that direction was enough. They spun, shoulder cannons whining with heat. Three pairs of red lasers scanned the turnstiles and settled nearest where Marcus' head had just ducked down.

"Stop!" Nasira said, charging into their line of fire and throwing her arms wide. The roar this elicited was infinitely more violent, more frightening than any she'd heard so far, but she stood her ground. She shut her eyes. The red marks on her heart were actually hot, and she was sure that in moments a hole would be punched right through her by the combined efforts of all three. She would be dead instantly, the crater cauterized before it could even bleed.

It didn't happen.

She opened her eyes to see Tresses and Siwili standing loosely, guns pointing at the ground. Runite did not drop his aim.

Siwili said, "This creature."

Realization became a supernova in her brain.

"This creature," she repeated, looking over her shoulder.

I thought you said you'd killed it. That was what he'd said to her.

I don't know whether I managed to kill it or not.That was what she'd said to him.

He'd shaken his head. This creature.

And then, You've got a responsibility to help me find your specimen.

Before, I thought you said you'd killed it. Marcus, when she told him that he'd have to help her find it..

He'd not been asking her whether she'd killed the alien, the creature. He'd been using the voice, not the meaning of the words, to explain what he'd wanted. Who he'd wanted.

Find it, she'd asked, and kill it?

Marcus.

"You can't."

She was aware that was what came out of her mouth. She didn't have a reason behind it. Not one that she could easily communicate. Her awareness swam back up to the surface.

"You can't kill him. I'm responsible for him."

Tresses stopped, seeming to analyze her. Then she gestured to Runite, who took his spear from his back and held it out to her with what looked like great reluctance.

When she didn't take it, he flicked the trigger and it extended, startling her. He tilted his head, rattling what sounded like an inquiry.

Nasira's gaze went from the spear to Tresses.

She took a step back.

"No," she said.

Tresses set her hand on Nasira's shoulder and shook it, not as hard as the first time. This seemed more like an apology. Tresses had acknowledged her as capable before, but she now wanted Nasira to know that the two things had nothing to do with one another. Regardless of what she could find to say, nothing would change the fact that these enormous predators thought Marcus criminal enough to all turn on him in unison, weapons primed to kill.

Whether Nasira took up the spear or not, he would die.

She couldn't let that happen.

She had no way to make these predators understand.

She had to try.

Nasira removed Tresses' hand from her shoulder. "No. You can't kill him. He must go before Adrara, to determine whether his negligence was intentional. And his son is innocent."

She didn't know whether what she'd said about Edmund was true, but she used it, appealing to their better nature.

It was almost no plan at all. But it was what she had.

Nasira continued. "I don't know what you want him for. But I do know that he has knowledge of the creature he released onboard. He could be of help."

Tresses activated the playback in her mask.

Panic. Chaos. People crying out, so many that she could not guess at the language they spoke. Hissing, shrieking sounds. She was recounting some tragedy for her, the reason they were after Marcus.

She didn't understand. Couldn't she just show her what had happened the same way she'd done for the fight between Nasira and Runite? The voices did not belong to the predators. Were they seeking retribution for a species not their own?

If she was correct, what did that make them? What were these predators?

What was Marcus, really?

"Marcus. He's hurt many people?"

Tresses inclined her head.

Nasira said, "He's hurt people here as well. And here is where he is now. I can't just hand him over. He's a citizen of the alliance. I'm detaining him on behalf of Adrara. He must answer to his acknowledged government."

There was the sound of shearing metal, and then curving wrist blades the length of Nasira's arm sprung from Siwili's gauntlets. Runite withdrew the spear and instead snapped it up to bear, spinning it with masterful grace, readying himself, just as he'd done earlier. It felt odd to see it now and not be the center of his fixation, the focus of his violence.

To what lengths would she go to protect Marcus, who she knew had knowingly endangered the lives of at least thirty people? Did she regret not taking the spear from Runite and to use it against the predators? Would Adrara deem her actions appropriate if she were to turn against this species unbeknownst to the entire alliance? Could she risk destroying any pact they might have with the predators?

She did not have time to arrive at a conclusion for any of the questions that besieged her, for Tresses let out a ferocious roar, so loud that Nasira's eardrums flexed in protest and she had to clap her hands over her ears.

Marcus, who'd ducked out of sight when Siwili's wrist blades had shown themselves, saw fit to peek out from around the turnstiles again. Nasira had a brief moment to worry that his reappearance would provoke the two male predators, but they were looking to Tresses in subordination.

And just as on Uataislurn, she was the only one to bear witness to disaster. Looming high above Edmund was a jumbled mess of ebony limbs moving together like mechanized pieces of a deadly machine.

Edmund screamed as the alien bore down on him.

The predators dropped into defensive crouches, but Nasira was already moving toward the turnstiles, weaponless, but knowing she had to do something.

Marcus and Edmund tried to hurdle the turnstiles but were not fast enough. The alien's bone tail lashed, and Marcus skidded across the floor, grunting. Edmund tripped, smashing his face against the turnstile. He grabbed the bar and held on as the alien dragged him back.

He did not let go, his deadly ultimatum lending him strength. but the bar snapped free and the alien pulled him backwards. The bar clattered onto the floor, left behind. His cries rounded the corner and fell on her ears like accusations.

Why couldn't you do anything?

It had happened so fast - she wasn't even two steps from where she'd started.

Nasira whirled, addressing the predators. "Help him!" she demanded. Their shoulder cannons were cold and unmoving. It seemed they'd never even considered it. She rounded on Runite, holding her hand out for the spear. "Give me that." He made a chuffing sound but did not. She reached for it but he pulled it from her reach.

Disgusted, she grabbed the turnstile bar from the floor. It was solid, about five feet long. Heavy enough to cause damage to soft tissue, but on the alien's carapace, she didn't know.

She had no words for Marcus. He would stay here, she knew, sputtering and hugging the turnstiles. If the predators killed him while she was gone, then that's what would happen. She'd save who she could save, and she wasn't confident about her chances nor her willingness to defend a man who wreaked this havoc on all of them.

She ran into the next part of the ship, the baggage check, trusting that the alien would be too preoccupied with a screaming, struggling Edmund to care about her. It hadn't killed him - if she'd only happened upon the site of his abduction later, she'd find no blood. Just like with the crew on the bridge. The alien was taking them somewhere, possibly to protect its kills.

Kills. She couldn't think that, even though Edmund's screams had long since stopped reaching her.

The counters and conveyors were all bare. The baggage chute waved tattered flaps at her.

Nasira shook her head, incredulous, but was already moving closer. She peered down into the sloping darkness. The chute was wide enough that it'd permit the alien and Edmund with little difficulty.

But what would she find at the bottom?

She didn't let herself think. Boosting herself up onto the belt, she scooted feet first into the opening, then started to slide, lying back so her head would clear the top.

Her chin banged into something, bending her head back painfully and halting her, her lower body a quarter of the way into the chute. She grasped it as a reflex, using it hold her weight as gravity tried to pull her further in. She couldn't lift herself high enough to look at what had stopped her, but she felt the texture against her palms - wrought and pebbled for easier gripping. Runite's spear.

He held it across the opening, barring her from the chute. It pressed into her chest and made it hard to breathe. He stood there, rattling a curious sound.

"Move," Nasira said. She was stuck in an awkward chin-up position, the shaft of the spear too low to slide under or even pull herself further up. The ceiling of the chute was slick, so she couldn't jam her toes against it. The effort of holding herself there, coupled with the mounting sense of desperation that pressed in on all sides, made it difficult to utter the words.

"You had your chance to help. Get out of my way." He tilted his head at her. Red tinged her vision - the fuzzy heat of rage made it hard to think, to want to form a coherent sentence. In a foxhole, with Edmund awaiting rescue, gone was the diplomat. "Fucking get this thing off of me!"

He did not move to do anything of the sort. Nasira, wrathful, scissored her legs within the confines of the chute, twisting, kicking, squirming beneath the spear until she felt herself start to slide again. He abandoned his efforts with the spear and grabbed at her, succeeding in seizing the fabric of her hijab. Her hands went up before he could rip it off, and, elbows banging into the sides of the chute, caught hold of him. He let go, tried to adjust his grip on her wrists, but she bared her teeth, sinking them into the back of his hand.

He roared and let go, accidentally - or purposefully - whipping her in the face, one of his talons opening a line of fire on her cheek. She plummeted down the chute, the turnstile bar banging into the walls as she went. She tucked the bar into her stomach, trying to secure it. After what felt like hundreds of feet of sliding, the bottom of the chute dropped away from her and she rolled to a battered stop on the baggage cart beneath.

Nasira was up in a moment, scanning her surroundings, all thoughts of Runite wiped clear from her mind. There was no movement. Nothing at all. She held the turnstile bar in front of her and crept forward.

The baggage storage compartments were all secure. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she rounded the corner.

Her foot crunched down on something. Kneeling, she examined the ground. The grated floor was from here hidden by some kind of foreign terrain. It had a slight sheen to it Perhaps it was some kind of secreted resin. But secreted from what? Droplets of liquid clung to the separate layers, and when she pinched her fingers together, the ooze stretched between them. She wiped her hand on her pants and kept going. The walls were coated in it as well.

Water dropped from the ceiling. Her hijab muffled her hearing - the water pinging off of it was almost maddening. The air was uncomfortably humid, making it hard to draw breath. She came to a perpendicular junction; both ways looked the same. She went right and found that the alien terrain ended after only a few feet. She doubled back and ended up in a larger room filled with objects that looked like they were made of the same material.

"Nasira," said a faint voice.

Embedded in the wall was Edmund - she almost missed him, so complete was the way he'd been cocooned, restrained by several lengths of the hardened resin and covered in ooze.

Glancing around, she made sure the alien was no longer present. Why would it leave him alone so soon after capturing him? It was nowhere to be seen, so she sidestepped several of the knee-high obstacles to get to the wall. She was just deciding on how to free him when he choked out the words, "Behind you."

A shape sprung from one of the objects on the floor - she swung the turnstile bar and batted it away. It smacked into the far wall and skittered back towards them. She dodged and turned back in time to see the pale spider-creatures leap through the air again, its brain-stem tail roping around Edmund's neck. She thrust a forearm up to block it from touching him, but its bony legs crept past her arm, intent on gripping his head.

Something probed wetly at the inside of her arm and she guessed with no small amount of horror what it must be.

"Edmund, keep your mouth shut!"

She levered her arm against the parasite, but its tail kept it from going far. Her fingers clawed at its pink flesh, but it was latched on. The strength it possessed was enormous; her arms shook after just a few seconds of struggling. She couldn't take a hand off of it to attempt anything with the turnstile bar - it was all she could do to keep it at bay. Just as she'd done to stop Runite, she planted her foot against the wall and threw her entire weight into it, uncoiling the tail as best she could so Edmund wouldn't strangle, but his pale face was lightening still.

By some miracle it worked, and the thing jerked free off him. Nasira fell backwards onto the floor. The parasite tried to wriggle away from her but she kept it secure beneath an arm, groping for the turnstile bar with the other hand. She planted it square on the things fleshy inner folds and drove it down.

Dull though the end was, yellow blood erupted from the parasite as it crushed it, spattering her boots which began to smoke. Flecks of it burned through to her skin, but she ignored the pain, keeping the bar on the parasite even as it began to melt as well. The tail thrashed, curling around her leg with none of the strength as before. Finally, it lay dead, the turnstile bar about two feet shorter and dripping metal.

She kicked the parasite away, breathing hard, and looked up to see Runite in the hallway.

His shoulder cannon was reared into firing position and held his spear at his side. He offered no assistance, and she wondered what he would've done if she or Edmund had succumbed to the parasite. Nasira wiped water droplets from her cheek and turned her back on him.

"Hold on. I'm going to get you out."

She started yanking at the strange material. It had the tactile characteristics of fiberglass even though it looked like it ought to be brittle. Through her gloves, she could feel it cutting and scraping her hands.

"Here, put your arm around my shoulders." He fell free from the cavity and she hauled him upright so as much of his weight was on her as she could manage. She felt heat on her leg and realized the flesh where the alien had towed him away was bleeding.

Runite was still watching, tilting his head and following their movement with what looked like vague interest. Nasira resisted the urge to snap at him - had he come all the way down here just to watch her struggle? - but her ankle was burning where acid had hit it, and now she was supporting a hundred and fifty pounds of human boy. She had no doubt that Runite could carry Edmund without breaking a sweat, but he didn't seem inclined towards helping. He'd slowed her down enough earlier.

He approached her and then held out a hand. She tried to duck away, but with Edmund's weight, couldn't manage it. He gripped her chin and pawed with a finger at the cut he'd opened on her cheek.

"Get off!" she said, jerking back. She readjusted Edmund and started moving away. Runite went to stand over the dead parasite, then to the other hallway. He stood like a statue in front of it. Nasira look at him more closely. His muscular back was to her, and she could see, without him noticing, the composure, the control in the way he held himself. His every aspect was fine-tuned for fighting the same way nature selected its own predators for evolution.

What was he doing?

She tore her gaze away and started heaving Edmund out of the resinous lair.

After a moment, she felt Runite abandon the lair's mouth and begin to follow.

Chapter Text

Two humans, one supporting the other, stumbled through a darkened doorway with a predator shadowing them. Runite, though not overly congenial personality-wise, provided some measure of security for their retreat. He was nearly soundless, but Nasira felt his presence the entire trek. Reassurance was there like a flame enduring in a hibernal wasteland - she wouldn't have to look over her shoulder for an ambush, at least.

They'd returned to the fuselage to find the other two predators standing in one of the seating bays. Marcus was near them, sitting rigid, wary of his guards.

Nasira deposited Edmund in a seat and shoved past Runite to get to one of the staff cupboards. She cracked open one to reveal a stock of first aid kits. She ran back to Edmund, ripping his pant leg at his knee then discarding it.

The gash the alien had made was about four inches long and bleeding copiously. She swabbed it clean and wrapped it with bandages. The burn on his shin was minor, but she spread ointment on it as well. He grimaced as she worked.

"Can you do this?" she asked, holding out a syringe and a vial of what would function as antibiotics and painkillers in his system. He shook his head, a sheen of sweat on his face. She did it for him, piercing the vial with the syringe and then finding a vein, bright blue, standing out against the starkness of his skin.

He lay back, his next word just a whisper.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, and stood. "Wait here, please. Don't stand up, your bandage will seep."

She walked to Marcus, ignoring the exaggerated way the predators' heads turned to follow her. She sat beside him.

"Do you have any injuries?"

He looked at her, the skin beneath his eyes weathered by age. He did not answer.

"The tail hit you pretty badly. Let me look. Can you hold up your arms for me?"

She helped him lift his shirt. On the side of his ribs and back was a trail of ruddy bruises. At the end was a small cut. She cleaned it and applied a bandage.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked. Heaviness weighted his every word.

She continued what she was doing for some time before answering. "Because it's my job."

This was greeted with silence.

She sat back, stuffing the contents of the first aid kid back into some semblance of order. Pretending not to notice as the predators continued to stare, she went back to Edmund.

He was wavering between awake and asleep, but he managed to say, "You sounded like him."

"Who?"

He nodded at Marcus.

Her gaze snapped to him. "What do you mean?"

The blood on his face cracked as he conjured a smile. His voice took on a canny, theatrical tone as he imitated what she'd shouted while wrestling with the parasite. "Edmund, keep your mouth shut."

This elicited a snorting laugh that she didn't know was her own until her hand went up to her mouth. The predators straightened up at the sound, and she hastened to smother it.

"I'm sorry," she said. She distracted herself by wetting a piece of gauze and using it to clean the blood from his face.

"Don't be," he said. "I said it to make you laugh. You summarized the last ten hours of my existence in about a millisecond. I'm Edmund, by the way."

"I'd guessed that."

He was still looking at her expectantly, so she said, "I'm Nasira."

"Yeah. Didn't you hear me say it back there?"

She gave him another good-humored glance before attempting to flatten her expression. The two larger predators had disregarded her laughter, looking on to something more interesting, but Runite's mask remained tilted in their direction.

Nasira shook her head and continued to dab at the crusted blood on his face.

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"No. I don't think it's broken."

"Well, keep your head tilted forward and hold this here until it stops bleeding."

"'Kay," he said in a silly nasal parody of when he'd had to speak past the blood in his nose. "I can't believe the first time I ever talked to you was after having my nose stoved in."

"You spoke before that." She lowered her tone. "To tell me about Marcus."

"Oh." His eyes darted away. "Right."

She wanted to ask him about why Marcus had done it - why he'd brought the organism onboard in the first place - but she didn't want the predators to hear any damning details that would inspire them to readdress their decision to keep him alive. And why had they? With her gone to save Edmund, Tresses could've easily done away with him. She'd have to wait until…

Until when? She didn't know why they'd spared him in the first place. She didn't even know why they were here. Marcus had done something unforgivable by the state of things, so they ought to have pushed her aside and killed him straight out. But they hadn't. Which meant they were waiting for something.

Maybe Tresses had decided to acknowledge Nasira's responsibility for him. Since they were of the same species, it gave Nasira the right to be the one to dole out justice. She was not eager to mention that Marcus would, if Nasira had her way, go before a tribunal to determine his guilt. Nasira would have little to do with it aside from providing her report on the matter.

She tugged off her boot. There was a tiny cropping of acid burns on her ankle. There was nothing she could do but put ointment on them. Lines of blood crisscrossed her palms where she'd pulled Edmund from captivity. She poured antiseptic over them, her breath hissing as she did, then applied a thin bandage that sealed over the lacerations like a second layer of skin.

Beneath the lid of the first aid kit was a mirror. The line on her cheek from Runite was bloody, but minor. She took care of it as well.

She put her boots back on and stood. Edmund noticed.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to do something."

He followed at a limp. "What do you have to do?"

He didn't let up, even as she turned to leave the fuselage. It seemed he meant to go with her the entire way, so she helped support him so he could avoid putting weight on his leg.

"Earlier, I went up to the forward array but never got the chance to fix it." She omitted why this had been the case, for the moment unwilling to recount the tale and feel again the cold stone of regret that buried itself in her stomach. "We're still not able to contact anyone, but I want to see how far the lifeboat I sent is. It's homing functions are directly connected to the Cavalier, so even without the array, I should be able to communicate with it. Control it, even."

She felt eyes on her back and turned to see one of the predators. In front of it was Marcus. Unsure of what it wanted, she kept going, but the predator - Tresses, she could tell from the dissonance of its roar - forced Marcus forward.

"We're to accompany you, it seems," Marcus said. Nasira looked away in exasperation. With just Edmund, they would be clumsy - she'd acknowledged that when she'd started helping him walk. With Marcus and the predators joining them, they'd be a traveling circus. The hallway had two levels, and further up there was another cloaked predator balancing on the ledge. As they passed beneath, it moved to follow them. She paid them little mind - their presence might dissuade the alien creatures from stalking them in the ducts.

The bridge was still open, the lights over the workstations illuminating the room. Nasira helped Edmund take a seat then went to the command station.

Work half-done greeted her much in the same way an obituary would. This was Captain Uicra's last effort to regain control of the ship. If she went to the engineer's station, she would see what Buhbda had seen as he guided her up to the forwarding array.

She quelled her wayward thoughts and sifted through the computer's functions. The foremost window was dedicated to sending a transmission, but when she tapped it, it reminded her that there was an error with the forwarding array. She hadn't expected it to work, so she moved on.

When she opened the emergency functions, there were several listed. Among them was a lift of lifeboats and their prepping details. Another was the status of the central bunker in bright green lettering. SEALED. Outlined in white were the thirty passengers inside. Her face, previously drawn in contemplation, softened. They were safe. Their levels were good. From here, she had the option to reroute several utility conduits to supply the central bunker, depending on whether she deemed them safe. She had no need to go over them now, so she minimized the window and went to the lifeboats.

They were listed by symbol and numeral - the one she'd commissioned was displayed fifth in the order. She pressed to select it.

Nothing happened.

She pressed it again and held, trying to coax the interface into responding.

It did not.

A hand went to her chin as she thought. Why couldn't she contact it? At the least she should be able to open it's external cameras to try and gauge the condition of the lifeboat itself.

But she could not.

She turned around to make sure no one had seen her pause. Edmund was worrying at the top of his bandage and staring blankly at the counter in front of him. Marcus was leaning against a wall, eyeing the predators, who'd congregated to exchange utterances in their animalistic language.

Nasira turned back to the command station. She tried to override the user identification function. This was the captain's computer - it should have had the highest clearance. Even as the computer granted Prono access, she still could not toggle the lifeboat. The menu remained frozen, the lifeboat's tag grey and unusable.

A flood of windows opened as she toggled a new lifeboat. They showed her the climate conditions, the storage and seating capacity, the fuel levels. The computer was working, but she couldn't establish contact with the messenger lifeboat. Even though it'd separated from the Cavalier, she should have been able to see it. Something was wrong.

She prepped it for departure. She was loath to waste one, but she needed to know whether it was distance that prevented her from finding it, or if when the lifeboats separated they became inactive via the menu.

After releasing the seals on the docking mechanisms, she guided the lifeboat out of its bay. It kept pace with the Cavalier while it was near, but if she let it go, it'd be light years behind them in moments.

Before she could do so, a roar startled her.

Tresses was holding out her arm, upon which her red hologram was projected. It showed in mistakable clarity the port side of the Cavalier and the lifeboat alongside it.

The enormous predator did not want the lifeboat to leave, but any reason she could have for that was not one that overshadowed Nasira's need to get a message to the alliance.

Her back was to the console. Behind her, she nudged the lifeboats controls, managing to make it tumble out of the Cavaliers' path and into space.

Tresses snarled as the lifeboat vanished from her hologram. She looked to Siwili, who immediately began pushing buttons on his own wrist computer.

Nasira turned back to the console, feverishly tapping at the lifeboats' interface to set it on its course before either of them could stop her. There it was, brightening a path through uncharted space. She could see the seating in the interior, the engine. The bay doors. The rounded hull. Over that, she could see an immense brightness that belonged to no sun or star.

What?

The lifeboat's cameras cut out the instant the light reached it, obliterating it. It was soundless. She could only imagine it unfold, the debris blossoming like a flower hung in the black curtain of space. A bold grey line was struck over where Nasira had before been able to access its interface. This lifeboat and the prior one now stood out on the menu as twins, dead, unresponsive.

A stream of curses, half-completed and in a multitude of languages, spilled from her mouth. She pummeled the touch screen, beseeching it to overcome futility and work for her.

But there was nothing to do. The light had wiped the lifeboats from existence. They'd been disintegrated. Destroyed.

By the predators.

When she finally gave up, she did it with no small degree of frustration. She slammed her palms down on the counter top and gripped the edge until her knuckles turned white.

"Nasira?" came Edmund's voice, tentatively.

She whirled on the predators.

"Did you do that?" she seethed. "Why would you destroy it?"

Runite rose up to his full height and a threatening rumble rose in his chest but she took no notice.

Marcus stepped forward, but he was the last person she wanted to deal with. She did not need to talk her way past his oiled manner. She needed to abandon all attempts at diplomacy, for it seemed the only thing these predators deemed worthy of consideration was the heat of emotion, of instinct, of wrath. This violent species could do nothing but complicate their survival and destroy any chance they had for rescue, and she would not stand for it any longer.

She pointed behind her - where, light years away, the lifeboat had just been destroyed - as she spat the words. "Those ships are our only chance of getting anyone to realize where we are! You're telling me that the distress call I sent an hour ago didn't make it ten seconds out? Do you realize that if no one comes to get us that we'll be lost in empty space?" Inside of her was the crushing depths of a singularity - it pulverized her every particle to within a hairbreadth of its capacity as she ranted.

"This ship is infested with an unknown, hostile organism. This ship was at the end of its circuit when all this shit came apart. We have supplies enough for hours, not days, because we were supposed to stop on Thouopro." Her hand clawed down her front as she gesticulated. "Maybe it wouldn't have changed the fact that the organism is here, but at least we would've been in the inner system when it happened. We would've had a chance at military intervention! Was that your doing as well? Did you sabotage the engines and cause those thruster bursts?"

The beads on the crown of her hijab had come askew from her shouting. She tried to readjust them but she was shaking with rage.

How had they destroyed the lifeboats from on board the Cavalier? Were there more of them shadowing them from their own ship? That might give explanation to why they were off-course, and why their forward array was down. Then it struck her.

She looked at the predators, who were lined up as though to oppose her, and imagined their broad silhouettes as though they were still concealed by their cloaking device. When they were concealed, the only way she could see them at close range was the wavering water effect. It was a kind of active camouflage, using some kind of light bending technology. When she went up to the forward array, she had not seen it due to the blackness of space and the meager reflected light from the hull of the ship.

There was an invisible structure physically blocking the forward array. A ship, maybe. The method by which they'd been able to destroy the lifeboats as well.

Marcus stepped forward again, holding his hands out to pacify her. Distantly, she felt ashamed that he was the one to be calm, to be trying to invoke reason.

Her body, wound tight as a spring, did not loosen until the predators dropped their aggressive stance.

She was out of breath, lightheaded. She adjusted the beads on her hijab more carefully, letting their pearly texture soothe her.

Marcus said, "If the xenomorph - that's what we call them, you see, the hostile organisms, it means 'alien form' -"

"Yours," she interrupted, the single syllable like ice chipping. As if her methodical stroking of the beads had never made any headway in calming her down.

After a pause, he restarted, "Yes, mine. If my xenomorph had loosed itself —" he caught sight of Nasira's face — "I'm sorry, if my xenomorph had been loosed in the inner system, our situation could've been even more tragic than it is now. They're the ultimate predators, entirely without conscious. They exist only to propagate their numbers and annihilate anything that stands in their way. If the infestation had occurred within the inner system, every civilization on every planet in the galaxy would've been at risk."

"It's an animal," she said, derisive. "Even animals that reproduce quickly have never been able to take over their betters."

"Take an endoparasitoid," he spoke over her. "Take a wasp. Xenomorphs produce in much the same way. Aggressively, in great numbers, and always at the cost of their hosts."

"Such species have never posed a threat to lifekind," she retorted. "Even considering their size, they are animals. If Adrara lined up, wall to wall, to contain these creatures, you mean to tell me that they could not be dealt with?"

"In the same way a military could put down some rampant zoo animals? These creatures may not hold the same intelligence as you and I, but they were engineered to survive. Their exoskeletons, blood, their temperaments. Agility. All powerful defensive attributes. Their natural weapons - a pharyngeal jaw, bipedal and quadruped gaits. They have the motor control to manipulate even the finest of triggers. They are capable climbers and swim like crocodiles. They may survive for minutes at a time in a vacuum," he said. "They are, most assuredly, a threat. To you. To me. To everything."

"And you brought them aboard," she said grimly. "Tell me why."

He looked towards Edmund, and she raised her voice, directing the words at his profile. "And stay away from your son, Marcus. I'll not have a repeat of our earlier incident."

Edmund looked up. "Son? He's not my father."

This took Nasira aback. "Isn't he?"

"Marcus worked at the company with my father," Edmund said, glancing at him. "He died on Uataislurn."

Her aggression dropped away - she was awash with guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

And then something pricked at the back of her mind.

"What…I'm sorry to ask — what happened?"

Marcus stiffened, and, across the bridge, Tresses and her companions looked straight at him, intent on his answer.

It was Edmund who explained.

"He was killed. I meant to tell you by the lifeboats…"

"To tell me about your father?" she asked.

"No. About Uataislurn."

"What happened?"

"He was killed by xenomorphs. There were xenomorphs on Uataislurn."

A snarl came from Runite, and Nasira was momentarily distracted.

"How…how did they get there?"

"The company brought them. They were kept in the — I don't know what they're called — the holy sites for their holiday. Ubrone, I think. There were thousands of them. They spread across the planet's face in hours. Nothing could have stopped it."

And, as Nasira knew would happen, he had no choice but to look at Marcus and finish.

"Someone intentionally seeded the entire planet."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

She dreamt of fingernails. Of claws tearing into rockbed, of gravity seizing treacherous authority over her. She held fast to her scarce purchase on the edge as her body hung freely over nothingness. Around her, forms surrendered to it, leaping from the cliff. Limply they fell, eager for their fated demise. Bloody viscera rained around her from those too slow to hurl themselves forward. Their chests burst and they tumbled to a stop, curving fingers and dead eyes peeking at her from where they lay sprawled at the top of the cliff to which she clung.

Something kicked her awake, a shriek on her lips that she managed to quell before it reached fruition. The first thing she saw was Marcus, still sitting as she'd left him. Edmund was a seat down from her, looking frightened. Runite's back got smaller as it receded through the seating bays.

"What happened?" she asked Edmund, groping for the knife Siwili had left her. She found it in the seat to her left.

"Sorry, I didn't know he was going to —"

"Is anything wrong?" she insisted.

"No, it's been quiet."

"How long?"

"A few hours."

"You didn't know who was going to do what?" she asked, scouring the darkened corners of the fuselage. Now that the ship was out from beneath the nebula, there was nothing to see by but the seating bay lights which provided only brief oases. They were set into structures that rose above each circular seating arrangement. As the limbs stood silhouetted against the spangled curtain of space, it was easy to imagine she was sitting beneath a tree. She settled herself into this fantasy, praying it would allow her to slough off the nightmare she'd endured.

Edmund pointed in the direction of Runite. He was standing in the light of a seating bay and throwing them short glances.

"It just came over here and kicked you as he walked by. Sorry, I would've woken you up but I didn't realize in time."

Nasira put her head in her hands, rubbing the numbness of sleep from her face.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

She touched the beads on her hijab and nodded. She was aware of Edmund watching her, so she kept her face averted.

"I mean, you were like that for awhile, so maybe I should have woken you up."

"It's alright," she said.

"I thought you needed the sleep, so I just left you."

"A fitful sleep is not always preferable to none at all," she said. She had yet to shake the vestiges of her nightmare from her, and it made her words tighter than she'd intended. "I'm sorry. Thank you for your concern. Truly."

There was little for her to do now than to stay awake. Though the consequences had not been severe this time, it was clear to her that if there was danger on their horizon, he would likely not have time to wake her. She looked to Runite, standing in a far seating bay. He'd shown no restraint in rousing her, though she wasn't sure of the reason behind it.

Edmund broke off any chance of her deliberating it further.

"I'm sorry about earlier, by the way. I've had some time to think about it. I didn't mean it to sound like I thought they —" he gestured to Runite "— were less than…well, I don't know." He turned to her, his expression beseeching her to understand. "How have you learned it? I struggle to avoid comparing things — people, I mean — to humans. If they're not human, I don't have a word for that. I don't have a basis for anything. I just…I can't."

"You mean you hold all lifeforms to the same standards you'd expect of a human? Of intelligence, of societal roles and values?" She shook her head. "You can't apply that to them. You cannot. You have to look at it objectively."

She set her hands apart, trying to demonstrate the inherent separation between every encompassed species she knew to be true.

"Once you have acknowledged all people as unshakably so, regardless of their species or racial origin, you learn to refer to them as they are. Not humans, no. But equals who are just as deserving as you. Deserving of allowances, of recognition. Deserving of empathy. Lifekind writes itself — its lessons are there for you to adopt, if you let yourself. That's where you learn it. That's how you live in a universe that is no longer solely your own."

As she spoke, her gaze drifted to Runite. His back was still towards them, but his head moved in wide arcs as he surveyed the room. Half of his dreadlocks were free of the bindings and smacked into his back, just between his shoulder blades.

Edmund was quiet for what seemed like a long while. Nasira's mind was lost in the glints of light reflecting in the bands wrapped around Runite's hair.

Finally, he spoke. "Do you think we'll learn it?"

"We?"

"Humans. All of us."

She leaned her head against her chair, not moving her eyes from where they were even as she answered him. "I hope so."

After that conversation, the resulting silence became progressively weightier. She could not settle herself, so she got up from her chair, tucking the knife into the holster alongside her weapon and picking up the spear. Her legs felt weak, like they protested holding her. Sweat stung her upper lip. Her heart fluttered with unease.

She looked to Runite to see if he'd noticed anything.

The ceiling collapsed atop her in a mass of black weight, of spindly, roiling limbs. The spear was flung from her as she went down.

She fought against it, kicking the weight off of her, forcing her legs between herself and the alien's bulk. Looping her arm around, she stabbed out with Siwili's knife, felt the resistance of the alien's exoskeleton.

The alien squealed and pedaled its enormous claws against her, mauling her legs. She stabbed sideways this time as she rolled out from beneath it.

The alien righted itself, tail lashing for balance. It was then she was able to get a good look at the creature - it was smaller than the one she'd encountered in the infirmary, and a crest crowned its head. The crest was smooth, with two sharp blades protruding from each side like the ends of a hammerhead. The alien's gaze was as blind as all the others, an iron mask dropped over its face. Set close to its head were pustules that glowed a sickly yellow.

The alien backed up, its bowed legs assisting a bobbing gait. Blood streamed from its ankle where she'd stabbed it. It looked almost tentative to attack despite its earlier ambush.

Nasira held the spear ready, vision narrowing around its emaciated frame. Somewhere in the room, she knew Runite and the two humans were present, but she had no room for them as she faced down with this monstrous creature.

The alien bared dull teeth, raising its head. Its neck snapped bizarrely, a blur of motion and a flash of white fangs. Something wet slapped the seat behind Nasira. She heard the fizzing of acid on the upholstery.

Spit.

The alien had spit at her.

Its neck snapped again. Nasira threw herself to the side to avoid the next gob, which hit the column that supported the lights and began its work dissolving the metal.

She zigzagged towards the alien, avoiding acid flung at her. The creature kept backpedaling, leaping up onto chairs to avoid her. Nasira flipped the knife in her hand, careful to avoid the remnants of acid still on the blade and stood still.

Perched on the seat like a gargoyle, the alien hissed, and she saw the bubbling foam of acid collect in its mouth. She stood her ground, holding the knife ready.

The alien's neck snapped. Nasira hurled the knife and ducked out of the way.

It let out a shriek, a hissing, clawing mess on the floor. She avoided the alien's thrashing limbs and leapt at it, plowing the end of the spear into its ribcage. The alien's last hideous cry rattled out before acid squeezed around the edges of the spear. The chest filled with blood, drowning any sound the dying creature attempted.

Breathing hard, she watched it for a moment longer to make sure it was truly dead, then seized Edmund's arm and pulled him to his feet. She marched him over to Marcus, a safer distance away.

Runite was beside her now, looking down at the kill as it sank into a crater of hot slag. The spear still stood up in the alien's corpse.

Runite tilted his head at her. He pointed down at her legs and made a sign - splaying his fingers, he jerked his hands towards his middle in a violent motion - asking whether she was injured.

She signed a negative, twisting a fist like she was shaking her head. Though she felt that the alien's claws had indeed opened gouges, her pants had stopped the worst of it. Made from dense woven fibers, her uniform was more resilient than it looked.

Runite tapped the wrist of the hand that had been holding Siwili's knife, complimenting her usage of it.

Leaving him, Nasira circled the seating bay. The alien could not have dropped from the glass ceiling, almost fifty feet above. The column holding up the seating bay's branching lights was still intact despite the acid that had struck it. Craning her neck, she looked up into the the limbs. With the lights shining in her eyes, there was no way to see through the structure itself. She stepped onto one of the seats, but the glare was still harsh enough that it blocked her view. She grabbed one of the structure's limbs.

Runite rattled an inquiry at her as she climbed up onto the back of the chair. It still didn't give her the height she needed, so she pulled herself up by hooking an arm around the limb.

She felt Runite move beneath her and look up as though perplexed by her antics. She ignored him.

The lights beneath her now, the darkness was extreme. She hung there, waiting for her eyes to adjust so she could see how the alien had managed to clamor up into the structure and hide.

Pinpricks of starlight shone off a curving dome atop the structure. She squinted at it, unsure of what it could be. It was off center, situated strangely.

And then it moved, tilting upwards. The alien's lips skinned away from fangs in a hideous snarl.

Nasira dropped, banging her chin against the limb in her haste. Surprised, Runite did not move away in time, and she landed on top of him. He was hardly staggered by her weight compared to his own, but he roared in offense. Nasira scrambled away from him, out from under where the alien perched in the structure.

"There's another," she rasped, pointing. His head jerked to follow her motion and, like its brother, the alien squirmed between the limbs of the structure and thew itself onto him.

It clung to Runite's body, tail lashing but too close to be of use. Runite pried the alien loose and threw it - the alien skittered away on all fours, vanishing into the darkness between the seating bays.

Runite's shoulder cannon blared blue light over her as he fired after it. Sparks rained down on the distant seating bays in a shower. There came no squeal, no surge of yellow blood. He remained tense in the direction it had fled for a further few moments before standing straight again.

Nasira's body unwound so suddenly her arms stopped holding her up. Laying on her back, her chest heaved. Her mind replayed the scene with savage cruelty - the way the stars rippled across the alien's skull as it drew even with her own face. Instants. That was all it had been. If she'd been a second too slow in seeing it…if she'd been turned the wrong way upon pulling herself up…

She sat up, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples.

Two of them. Smaller than the one in the infirmary, but that meant there were at least three.

Runite clicked. She looked up to see Tresses and Siwili reentering the fuselage. A rapid conversation passed between them before they even reached each other. It ended with all three of them staring at the dead alien. The acid sacs on the side of its head were dimming, deflating with the rest of the blood as it pooled on the floor.

While they were distracted, Nasira picked herself up. Marcus and Edmund were still cowering at the edge of the seating bay. Edmund caught her hand as she passed. He held it between both of his own.

"You saved us," he said, his face white as a sheet.

The predators turned towards the humans. Nasira gently extracted her hand from Edmund's and put it on his arm instead. She didn't smile — she was thinking of how any officer of Adrara would accept gratitude: formally. Graciously.

"You're welcome."

Tresses conferred with Siwili, cocking her head in Nasira's direction. He glanced at her and then nodded.

Nasira ducked her head but found nowhere to look but her kill. She was far enough away to spare the acid eating the soles of her boots, but near enough to see the damage she'd wreaked on its skeletal body.

The neck had contorted almost immediately post-mortem, the skull wrenching backwards towards its spine. The arms and claws were still reaching, still intent on gutting her, even in death.

Nasira shivered and knelt to look at its face. Without eyes or any sort of expression, it could easily be faking death. She grabbed the knife and wrenched it free of the mouth. It fell closed almost gently. She gripped the spear and pried it from its ribcage. It popped out, its end coated in blood.

She was just debating how to clean it when Siwili approached her, his knife catching the light above and glinting from its place on his thigh. He surveyed her kill, then held his hand out for the knife she'd used to dispatch the alien. She passed it over and watched as he planted it on the knuckle of one of the alien's claws. The claw came loose, and he caught it in his palm. Still kneeling, he skimmed the point of the claw over the top of the foaming acid.

Deadly claw in hand, he gestured to the mark on the brow of his mask. Nasira's eyes went from it to the claw. When she hesitated, he pointed to Tresses and, more distant, Runite, who of course bore identical marks on their own masks.

They marked themselves with the blood of their kills? She was used to having to remain impartial — one could not bear every honor bestowed upon them. Her refusal was cut short by Tresses and Siwili laying a fist over their chests in the same congratulatory salute they'd used earlier. Runite moved behind them and then made the same motion, bowing his head to her.

She could think of no reason to deny them now - it seemed that for her to do what they suggested would afford her some kind of respect. The unison of their gesture made her feel want. She wanted to form an alliance with these predators the same way she wanted to be accepted as a peacekeeper in Adrara, as a representative for her species.

Nasira held onto the spear to steady herself, and then gave Siwili a curt nod, moving the fabric of her hijab aside so he had room to work. He leaned in and stopped. His free hand went up to her forehead, and between two fingers, he caught a lock of her hair where it had escaped the confines of her hijab. He followed its natural curl, coiling it around one talon before giving it a gentle, almost halting, tug.

Confused, she leaned back a bit, but with an excited rattle, Siwili dropped her hair and pulled something free from beneath his armor. It was a piece of twine fashioned into a necklace, with a fang riding between two metal bands. They looked like those that encircled the predators' hair. He held it out for her to see.

It shocked her when Siwili grabbed her arm and drew it to his middle so that she was touching him. His skin was hot and dry, with a pebbled texture. Beneath her hand, she felt it interrupted by rough scar tissue.

A child's voice came from his mask.

"Alexa."

Her eyes widened. When had this hulking predator encountered a human child?

She didn't know what to say, and when she didn't respond, he dropped her arm and made to push the fabric of her hijab up further.

Several things happened in the single instant following. Nasira's hand shot up to grasp Siwili's wrist, stopping him in his tracks. An enraged snarl sounded from Runite, who was suddenly between them, his forearm blocking Siwili's from moving any further. The bizarre triangle came to a standstill.

Tresses' head whipped around at the commotion. She started over to the three of them, but Siwili stepped back. He moved away, stopping to hand the claw over to Tresses. She barked a question at him. He ceased walking and held out a fist; Tresses let him draw his knuckles over her palm. He leaned into her, the foreheads of their masks resting against each other. Then he drew back and continued walking.

Tresses stared at Nasira, who adjusted her sweaty, nervous grip on the spear. She turned to Runite. She clicked a command at him, holding out the claw. He took it, and she left after Siwili.

Alone with him again, Nasira found the air pressing in around her, making it hard to draw breath. She fought the desire to wipe her palms on her clothes.

Silent, he took up the job Siwili had abandoned. Runite's talons tapped the side of her neck as he held her steady. He was remarkably careful, one finger curling in, causing the point of his talon to trail through the fabric of her hijab and over her skin.

She was so distracted by the sensation that she almost forgot what he meant to do - the touch of the acid-tipped claw between her eyebrows almost made her struggle away. She ignored the searing pain as it marked her skin, examining him as he worked to distract herself.

He gave his task his utmost concentration. As he tilted his head to follow the motion of the mark, his dreadlocks slid over his shoulders. With his hair tied back the way it was, he looked like a thoughtful artist adding the final decisive touches to a cherished masterpiece.

When he finished, he tucked the claw into his fist, but still laid the tip of his talon where her new mark ended. As he did, he also brushed the escaped lock of hair back under her hijab, then replaced it where it had fallen on her forehead. It was inexpertly done, for she could feel it already threatening to slip back out again, but she made no move to fix it. She made no move in any direction.

His talon hovered above the beads on the crown of her hijab and chittered in askance. She held a breath and inclined her head. His talons tapped the beads in the same way she habitually traced them. He must have seen her doing it earlier. Was that why he'd gotten so upset with Siwili for trying to touch them?

Finally, he stepped back, making a chuffing sound and shaking his shoulders. He turned away.

Nasira's hands twitched at her sides as she watched him go.

Marcus and Edmund were still watching. She touched the scar on her forehead, trying to tame the waves of adrenaline, of pride, as they crested within her.

Chapter Text

The Cavalier's progression through the stars was unmarked by any indication of time or distance. They'd long since exited alliance space - their intended flight path had already been on the edge of familiar territory. Since changing directions, they'd been constantly accelerating into deeper unknowns. The pinpricks of light visible through the observation window of the Cavalier were all unsurveyed, whether they were planets or stars or other celestial objects.

It was almost comparable to the unease that had taken root in the black hallways of the ship itself. The fervor Nasira felt after killing the alien and receiving her mark had begun to wear down, leaving only the coldness of resignation.

It'd been nearly twelve hours since she'd seen the creature spawned from Prono but — and she hadn't thought about it at the time — there'd been at least one more alien at the time. The one that abducted Edmund was unquestionably a separate organism from the one she'd fought in the infirmary. But how had it reproduced so quickly?

Marcus looked uncomfortable when she voiced her concern. "Like I said. They reproduce by infecting things."

"Life forms?"

"Yes."

He nodded. She recalled fighting off the spidery thing as it sought to infect Edmund — the way it had skittered just out of light's reach, its skeletal fingers groping their way around her arm and its slick, brainstem tail choking the life from him.

"So where are these parasitoids coming from?"

He scowled. "They're lain in the form of an egg."

She bent down, blocking him with her arms so he had no choice but to look at her.

"We are in a very tenuous situation, if you haven't noticed. I'm tired of stripping these answers from you. If you're anything short of enthusiastic about sharing information with me, I won't hesitate to save myself the trouble of marching you to the airlock. I'll restrain you here and wait for your admirable specimens to come calling for their custodian."

Eyes burning, he said, "Contained in my checked luggage were two more eggs. One of the drones must have gone through it. That's how it happened so quickly. But they're fully capable of laying their own eggs once one metamorphoses."

So the alien she'd killed had come from one of the three members of the flight crew: Uicra, Ensla, or Buhbda. She looked down at its corpse; steam rose from the acid in wispy pillars.

"Metamorphoses? Into what?"

"A matron. A queen."

"How long does that take?"

"Without a queen already present, the process begins immediately after reaching adulthood. Normally, it takes a few days, but we engineered an advanced genetic line so they'd mature more quickly and therefore be studied more easily."

"How long?" she pressed.

Marcus hesitated. "Ten hours."

Nasira fell back, her extremities spiking with cold. So it had already happened. A rancor had buried itself somewhere within the bowels of the ship.

If the queen could lay her own eggs, that meant the number of aliens was parallel to the number of hosts they'd had access to — with the recent death of the spitter, there were now three aliens left, including the queen herself.

Acid hissed and popped, almost hitting their ankles. The sacs on the side of its head were nearly translucent now that the killing blood had vacated them. She squatted low, careful to avoid getting too close to the acid. She held out a hand but did not touch the sacs.

"What are you?" she murmured. Then, louder, "What kind of genetic variance do they display? Is it dependent on their queen and egg, or their host?"

"Both can be correct. This line had a deviant template encoded in its genes. Like an anomaly. We wanted to see to what degree we were able to manipulate their physical characteristics. A wild card, if you will. To help evolution along."

She scoffed. "To help evolution. And here I'd attributed your abysmal decision-making skills to ignorance but maybe I was wrong — what great power you must have to be able to pervert nature on a whim."

"I can't believe it," he simpered. "After so many hours, are we finally due for a theological debate?"

"No." She stood, wiping her fingers on her pants even though she'd not actually touched the alien. "Just color me impressed at the depths to which your intoxicating stupidity extends."

His jaw tightened.

She redirected the conversation, saying, "Will her eminence attack us?"

Marcus' face purpled but he had no choice but to answer.

"No. She won't leave her hive unless she fears there's no alternative. Procreation and the advancement of her army is her first priority. She'll send her warriors after us, surely."

"Warriors."

"The hive functions like a society, with a caste system. The queen and her honorable guard."

"But there are only two of them now."

"Then I guess we have little to worry about," he said.

Three aliens. A queen hidden somewhere in the ship. The other dissuaded (she hoped) from the fuselage by the presence of the predators. The last, a mystery.

She thought it safe to meander through the seating bays until she was out of earshot of Marcus and Edmund. The spear stayed at her side. Lain over her knees was her jacket. She let the newest tatters fall through her fingers as her eyes heated with tears.

Reaching up, she undid her beads and set them to the side, then unwound her hijab. Carefully smoothing the fabric over her lap, she traced the sleek ornamentation. The fabric was a dark, sleeping marine pool in the purpling dusk. Tears dropped onto its curves.

Nasira Lathan. An example of the best humanity had to offer. Peaceful. Capable. And yet not so.

She'd forsaken Adrara's moral creed for her own. She'd enacted not justice, but revenge on Marcus. Not because of the suffering he'd caused, but because she couldn't stand to hear a people insulted like she'd been all her life.

For who they were.

For how they lived.

By the very man who'd destroyed them and their right to defend themselves.

Even considering their truce, she'd snapped at Edmund, an innocent. A bystander. A boy her own age.

She'd threatened Marcus. She'd been prepared to actually carry out the deed.

As they sped into the furthest reaches of outer space, as the infestation spread, she was losing the battle. To selfishness. To question.

Her own self, spiraling into indiscretion, into failure, was not who she could trust to save them all.

The predators approached her shortly after, which she expected but nonetheless found herself unprepared for. Despite the revelation that some grander threat had situated itself in their midst, their conflict was drawing to a close. Marcus had survived for longer than they'd deemed favorable and by now they were raring to correct it.

She was not sure she'd care to stop them this time.

Siwili had recovered from whatever affliction with which he'd found himself overcome when he'd attempted to mark her. His necklace still hung loose around his neck where she could see it - she found it odd that this supposed trophy in particular was given such special treatment. It seemed it was one held in an esteem greater than those of the skulls he wore draped over his chest. The way he'd so eagerly held it out for her — had he expected her to recognize it?

She spoke before they could. "I understand why you destroyed the lifeboat. We can't let the infestation make land or give it an opportunity for new hosts."

The last officer of the flight crew restrained by resin. Knowing what awaited them after seeing their companions infected.

She did not think on it.

Tresses held out her arm and called forth her hologram. From her point of view, she saw Siwili stalk into a room. Tresses' vision swapped from infra-red to — surprising Nasira — visible light, and then to something she didn't recognize but that toggled the green alien eggs in vivid clarity. Her vision panned up the wall and, highlighted in the same green, was residue of the globules of resin that had encased Edmund. Tresses looked down into the eggs. Apart from dripping mucus yolk and pale albumen, they were empty.

"What?" Nasira asked. "Where are they?" She'd killed one, but Marcus said there'd been two that aliens had carried into their lair.

The two predators had gone to that place to find the remaining aliens. But even through the limited rendering of the hologram, she could feel the neglect hanging alongside the steaming humid air. The lair was abandoned.

"So where is the queen?"

Tresses showed the structure of the ship itself, scrolling through the different levels. Habitation, cargo, sanitation, atmospheric, engine, fuel chambers. She didn't know whether they were places to rule out, or whether Tresses was showing her that she had no idea.

"How are we going to find them?" Nasira asked.

None of them answered. Tresses looked up and away, scanning the air. Nasira's head swiveled around. Could she have detected another ambush?

Then the alarms went off, a great tear in the calm they'd become used to.

Nasira's clapped her hands over her ears as they pierced the air. Runite stepped towards her almost reflexively. Unperturbed by the commotion, Tresses dialed through the functions on her wrist computer.

Nasira tried to shout a question but couldn't hear herself over the cacophony — the alarms were not limited to the fuselage, but were going off all over the ship, creating a discordant tumult that made her eardrums pulse. Tresses found what she was looking for and held it out for Nasira to see.

She had scanned the vent nearest them. It looked mundane enough, but then she flipped through another set of vision enhancements to reveal a cloud of gas pouring forth from between the slats.

A pungent sharpness crowded her senses and she knew what had happened. The air purification must have failed, overproducing hazardous gases.

She cursed under her breath, but it was lost in the din. She had nothing to combat a gas leak, even if she knew where it had occurred. It seemed the predators did not have access to all the ship's functions — they were merely attuned to the status of the lifeboats because they wanted to uphold their quarantine. This leak was not among their concerns, so they'd have to find it some other way. Atmospheric was her best guess, but she'd need protective gear to even get close.

It was weak for now, but if it kept coming in quantities like Tresses had shown her, they'd soon be fighting for breath.

The nearest airlock was about a quarter of a mile away. The EVA equipment containers held bulky space suits like what she'd taken up to the forwarding array but she'd seen a few other variations as well. Maybe one of them would work — all she needed was a respirator and something that would spare her skin from direct contact.

Funny, she thought, to spend so many hours dodging the acid blood of the aliens only to find herself thwarted by something as simple, as insidious, as incorporeal as a gas in the air.

Chapter Text

The suit was rubbery, with micro bumps like gooseflesh. It conformed to her body like a second skin. A metal X encased the torso and wrapped around behind to hold a life support pack containing the respirator's filter, a charge pack, a parachute, and a scanner. It was an odd collection of items, but she barely noticed.

The body and helmet itself were inset with reflective panels designed to bounce heat from the wearer. It could withstand extraordinary temperatures, but Nasira took it because it was the easiest to work with. None of the others fit her human frame while remaining small enough to maneuver. She supposed this suit was suitable for work in the engine room, but by the looks of its interface and external equipment, it probably had a plethora of other purposes she had neither time nor care to discern.

What she did care to notice was a network of needle-thin tubes that spanned the entire body. They were hidden between the layers of the suit like veins beneath skin. She traced them back to their source — there were two bags near the back: one was flat and empty, but the other was filled with what looked like black gel.

Her eyes widened as she looked closer. The black was a sealant, meant to be distributed through the tubes to different parts of the suit. If the suit was punctured, the sealant would rush through the network to close the hole and prevent decompression. In the unforgiving clutches of space, it was a life-saving addition. The other bag gave no hints as to its purpose, but it had a larger tube connecting to the charge pack on the outside of the suit.

Nasira stripped to her underthings and then slipped into a full-body stocking that would go beneath the suit. She supposed it was to prevent chafing, but it also raised the temperature in her suit. She didn't know how to work the thermal regulator inside of it, so she left it alone and hoped she'd be warm enough.

The cap that housed her radio assembly was too tight-fitting for her hijab to go beneath it, so she unwound it and warred with herself over where to stow it. It wouldn't fit anywhere in the suit with her, so she had no choice but to fold it and set it on a bench beside the spear. She'd just have to come back for them later. The knife and the weapon from Prono's safe fit in a small internal pocket on the suit, so she took them along.

Nasira puffed air into the respirator to be sure it was operational. Her bio-readings turned green. She shook out her arms, readying herself.

She left the airlock's antechamber to meet Marcus, Edmund, and the predators. They would not be accompanying her to Atmospheric — she wasn't sure whether the predators would be affected by the gas, but she still needed someone to look after Marcus and Edmund while she was gone.

"Can't you just…flush it out?" Edmund asked. "You know, crack a window?"

Nasira looked at him. "Vent it?"

"Yeah, sure."

She shook her head. "It'd take much too long to anchor everything down, and then our breathable air would be vented as well. Atmospheric wouldn't have time to compensate before we all suffocated."

"Oh."

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm sure the trouble is just..." She shook her head. "Nothing. No time. I'll have it fixed. After that the purification systems will start functioning again."

Marcus spoke, surprising her. "We don't know whether xenomorphs are susceptible to chemical weapons. Never got very far in the tests. Just keep a watchful eye."

Nasira twisted the bearings on the gloves so they were sealed tightly and did not look his way as she spoke. "I'll keep it in mind."

Her heart buzzed with anticipation. Now that he'd voiced the possibility that she'd encounter aliens on her trek, she was much less inclined to leave her spear behind. She reached up to touch her hijab before remembering she was wearing her helmet.

"I should be back in about thirty minutes," she said. "If I'm not, check the readings on the airlock door. It'll tell you whether the room is still safe. If it's not, go inside. The air piped in should be clean."

"You want us to stand in the airlock?" His sneer was evident in his tone.

Nasira finished adjusting her gloves but leaned down to check "For your own safety."

She made to leave without another word but Marcus grabbed her arm. Tresses roared, grabbing a handful of his hair and wrenching his head back. Marcus choked on his next words as his air supply was cut off. He was forced to let go of her arm. Edmund stepped away and tried to make himself small.

Runite seemed unconcerned by this commotion. He was fiddling with his wrist computer. At his side, Siwili had his arms crossed over his chest. With the other predators intent on Marcus, who was still clawing at his straining throat, Runite bent lower so that Nasira could see his hologram.

It showed the outer casing of the ship, the lifeboat bay, and the engine room, but nothing else. She had been correct earlier — the predators had data only on factors relating to their primary objective: to contain the infestation.

She looked to the engine room, above the reactor chambers — it was highlighted the same way the lifeboat bay was. Did that mean the predators were indeed behind the unexpected thruster bursts that had rendered them, by all accounts, lost in space? If Marcus was telling the truth about the speed with which the aliens reproduced, she was certain they were better off far away from any other hosts. What about the forward array's failure, the reason they could not call for help?

Nasira looked to him for permission, uneasy. The last time she'd been so close to him, he'd been trying to kill her. Now, the temperature in her suit made her skin flush, but she was grateful that it provided at least an illusion of armor.

She touched one of the panels on his gauntlet. It worked like a trackpad, allowing her to scroll through the different levels of the ship. She worked her way up to the hull while he continued to hold his arm out patiently.

Where she expected to see the forward array, there was something else. A new structure that was sleek and curving, metal arms bolted to the hull of the Cavalier. A ship. The predator's ship. Beneath it, she could just barely make out the outline of the forward array. It was intact, probably just sheltered under the body of the predator ship.

She returned to the inner display of the Cavalier, searching until she found what she was looking for. She pointed at Atmospheric where it appeared on the hologram.

"Here," she said. "That's the problem."

Runite tapped a command, marking the designated area so he could recall its location if he so needed. When he finished, she realized her hand was resting on his armguard, so she hastily snatched it back, looking back towards Marcus.

Tresses released him. He gasped and massaged his throat. Despite his obvious pain, he managed to speak again. "I'm just warning you of what might happen."

Nasira stopped wringing her fingers and surveyed him, waiting for the quirk in his features that'd show what he truly thought, but none came.

She looked away, remembering herself, and made due with a short nod.

Invisible as it was, it was easy to imagine the killing gas that hung in a miasma around her. The air she breathed was pure, but the suit's warning tones reminded her every second of the danger the ship was in. If a valve on her suit broke, the gas would rush to conquer her.

She gulped huge breaths of air from her lifeline respirator. It seemed that recently she was just exchanging one type of fear for another. But now she was alone. No Buhbda to guide her, no predators at her back. Alone. Tiny icicles of sweat froze on her spine as though she was accompanied by a wraith in her suit.

As she descended further into the ship, the curving pipes that made up the walls seemed to slither atop each other. A few of them hissed in a feeble attempt to compensate for the lack of safe air. They ought to be dispersing a concoction that could combat the toxins, but they weren't working fast enough for it to make any difference.

Atmospheric was a series of chambers brimming with enormous pumps and pipes. Accordions expanded and truncated themselves, a spume of steam issuing forth with every repetition. She could hear them working only faintly through her suit — groaning with titanic effort, they sounded like a behemoth turning over in its lair as they breathed more of the toxic gas into the ship's atmosphere.

One of the consoles interfaces showed a layer of warnings, which she swiped aside so she could check the readouts. The levels were color-coded according to the composition of the present gases. The amount of oxygen, of carbon dioxide, of nitrogen was all normal. But one level skyrocketed above the rest, a flashing indicator notifying her that it was above the safety line. She examined it — the toxic gas appeared to be a combination of trace gases in such tiny amounts that Atmospheric couldn't even detect their origins. Alone, they ought to be benign, but when reacting with one another they produced disastrous effects.

If she came into direct contact with it, her skin would burn first, stripped raw like she'd been submerged in boiling water. Then her lungs would be cut to ribbons. The moisture in her eyes would ignite, blinding her. The hard matter in her body — her bones, her molars — would dissolve to mush. Her corpse would be liquefied in an hour, leaving the suit behind like a husk.

She said a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever had engineered her respirator.

The separate compartments of the ship were all marked according to the levels within them — it seemed that only the fuselage and habitation corridors had been flooded with the direct source of toxicity, but all the rest had been gradually rising as the gas spilled over. They would've been dead in the fuselage in mere minutes, but if they'd fled to the bridge, the lifeboats, the hydration plant, or sanitation department, they could have survived for hours longer. The central bunker, with its own life support, had never been in danger like they were.

She returned her attention to the controls: Could it be so simple? Her interactions with the ship so far had been fanciful convenience with a few instances of guesswork, but she'd managed to hold her own as the odds mounted against her. She couldn't help but to live a brief fantasy in which she was aided by someone who knew better than her — if only she'd had time to let Buhbda tell her how to fix the forwarding array. She needn't have ever challenged the aliens. She needn't have ever met the predators.

Holding a breath as though it was her last, she dragged the toxicity level beneath the safety line. It slid down easily, wavering for a moment and then holding true.

Relief stung her short gasp. Had it worked?

She dragged the oxygen levels up to a hundred percent. A few minutes for it to disperse and it'd overcome the toxins. Normally she would not dare to thwart with the atmospheric composition, but the only ones who had to breathe it at the moment were humans, and the predators had not shown any discomfort so far. Nearly all the species she knew breathed some concentration of oxygen, but not all could survive such a potent amount.

On the console, the air quality read normal. The alarms ceased, the warning tones in her suit slowed and stopped. Nasira watched as the visual display showing the different sectors of the ship turned green one by one.

The ship was settling down again. There was, of course, no movement anywhere except for those she'd left behind in the airlock and central bunker. And wherever the aliens had found sanctuary.

She hovered over the controls. If she so chose, she could block off each individual chamber in the ship and flood it with gas. It might help them to draw out the aliens, or even kill them. It almost comforted her to know they were no longer in the luggage bay, as it had a direct line to the fuselage via the baggage chute. But that meant she had no idea where they were. But she recalled the shine of light off of their exoskeletons — she'd never seen such a powerful natural defense. It was likely that it wouldn't even work on them, and serve only to damage the wiring in the ship, which would solve nothing and confront her with an electrical problem.

She didn't know if the aliens could muster another attack. Their numbers were tiny, especially with the queen guarding their seized territory. Even the ambush in the fuselage had seemed halfhearted, as though they'd only intended to test their opposition. She'd killed one, and Runite had sent the other skittering, so she doubted they'd strike again.

She canceled the order to block specific chambers and instead wired a notifications uplink into her helmet's radio assembly. If the levels began climbing towards an unsafe amount again, she'd receive a preemptive warning.

The hallway when she left was choked with white gas. The purification process was overtaxing its capabilities, and her suit told her the temperature of the ship had risen to a hundred degrees. Coolant cascaded from the pipes and swirled at her feet as she walked.

Now on the other side of it, the incident seemed superficial. It had taken her a few minutes to suit up and make her way to Atmospheric, but she'd corrected it with minimal effort. Had it been mere deadly coincidence that the trace gases struck each other and reacted the way they had?

Motion caught her eye further down the corridor. Something nosed around the corner with tantalizing slowness.

Coolant enfolded itself around the her suspended foot, the step too dangerous to take.

The alien's skull was semi-translucent, like bones forged from crystalline mineral. It edged further still, turning to face her. The wraith in her suit plucked at her like she was an instrument, dragged its icy tongue down the curve of her shoulder, beckoning. It seduced her to move, whispering lascivious promises in exchange for her to move forth, to offer the alien's maw her blood.

Nasira's knees lowered her to the ground of their own accord. Her fingers fumbled for a weapon within her suit, but they were weighted by clumsiness.

The alien's lips peeled away to reveal slavering fangs. Saliva spattered the ground. Coolant gas hung in the air around them; they were the only living things in their own hiemal purgatory.

A snarl spilled past its teeth, but she had no way of knowing whether it had spotted her. Its head bobbed and she knew its wiry body would follow it into view. It would charge her, pin her arms with its forelegs, lower its evil visage flush with her face. It would punch its jaw through her skull and her blood would mingle with its next shriek of triumph.

What little of the alien she could see narrowed as it withdrew from her hallway.

The air stolen from her lungs returned in a rush. She crept to the corner and peeked around — about twenty feet away, the alien's tail stirred the coolant gas as it strode back the way it had come. It seemed not to have the slightest care that it was pursued. It had not seen her after all.

Nasira removed her weapon from the inside of her suit and held it ready in front of her. Steeling herself, she tightly wrapped her fingers around the grip and followed.

It was easy to track, almost disturbingly so. She passed beneath several ventilation access conduits but the creature never attempted to traverse any of them. She watched its spear-tip tail whip around a corner before she made to move after it down a narrow electrical tunnel.

Shaped like a zipper, the walls jut out at even intervals so she could only just squeeze through. Every ten feet, there was a ten-foot slope that led to a churning fan.

She searched for possible access points — they were in a remote part of the ship, and she suspected the alien would return to its hive, perhaps by slipping between the blades of one of the stationary fans.

Ahead of her, the alien had compacted itself enough to wriggle through the tunnel as well, like a snake in an engine. The spines on its back jerked to and fro to avoid the walls. It moved like an arachnid, impressively working its body through a space it seemed too large to fit. But observing this marvel did not prepare her to see it twist on itself as though suddenly boneless —

— and face her.

She'd made no sound. It had not possibly been able to see behind itself in such a space. Sixty feet of cramped hallway and a tangled forest of electrical wire between them.

Nothing at all.

It charged towards her, the shriek of claws and spikes in the walls, the frying and smoking of wires ripped from their sockets. It barreled through the obstacles as though they were not there, intent upon her, advancing with the rabid scrambling of a madthing.

"Shit," she said, forgetting herself. "Shit, shit, shit."

The plates on her suit scraped the walls as she backpedaled with no regard for what was behind her. She didn't dare turn. Knowing that she'd find out how fast the alien was capable of pursuit only by the sensation of its talons on her back, of her neck between its jaws, and the desperate prayer that it all be ended soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

As she made her way down the hall, the two male predators reappeared, having deemed it safe. Siwili approached Tresses, but Runite watched, head tilted, as Nasira limped away. Frustration arose in her as he drew parallel with her in a few short strides. She still wore her hair tucked into the suit's cap, but the remains of the inner sleeve and stocking were, technically speaking, underwear. She was a mess — she would've never let anyone see her in this state normally.

The situation worsened when she nearly toppled again. Runite dragged her back upright by her elbow, and she had to shake him off even after she'd found her composure.

"Stop," she mumbled, thinking that the sibilant in the word had perhaps gone on for too long. She made up for it by rushing her next few words so that no one who happened to be listening became bored by gaps between them. "Icanwalk."

A few more paces proved her wrong. She reached out for a handhold that was not there until Runite came forward again, one fist encircling her forearm and the other guiding her waist, careful to avoid the acid burn.

Adrenaline cleared her head as their contact sent buzzing up her spine.

"Thanks," she muttered, suddenly wishing her mind was cloudy again.

He helped her to the airlock chamber. The room was empty. Marcus and Edmund must have returned to the fuselage with the predators when she'd fixed the gas leak.

Nasira felt Runite's eyes lower on her. She held the weapon and knife in one hand and the inner jaw in another — it was the jaw that had attracted his attention.

She held it out. He examined the severed edge where the bullet had blown through it, allowing her to wrench it free. While he was distracted, she stepped closer to him and slid the knife she'd used to kill the spitter into the sheath on his thigh. His head drew back as he looked down at her.

"Your companion — he had his knife. This is yours."

Siwili had handed her the knife as Runite watched. He'd kept his gaze on her and Edmund until she'd accepted it and tucked it into her holster. She'd been using two of his weapons: the knife and the spear. He'd fended off the alien in the fuselage even after being caught off guard, but she wondered if the claw marks he'd sustained were because he'd had no immediate weapon to use against it.

Leaving him with the knife and the inner jaw, Nasira moved further into the chamber to sort herself. She avoided glimpsing her reflection in the glass, pulling off the cap that went beneath her helmet and shimmying the rest of the way out of the stocking.

Moisture sheathed her from head to toe — much of it from exertion, some of it left from the suit's thermal regulation, which had only just saved her from heatstroke. She worked her fingers through her hair, wringing it out. In one of the lockers was a towel that she used to dry it the rest of the way, then she passed it over her skin, careful to avoid her back. Her muscles relaxed as she massaged away black liquid. The sealant in the suit had tried to fill the areas devastated by acid, but had had no effect. Shallow scrapes from the spitter's ambush marred her legs. She pulled her pants on over them, hissing to distract herself. The olive t-shirt she normally wore beneath her uniform's coat was still on the bench, so she pulled it over her head. She donned her hijab and pinned the beads into place.

As she worked, her back twinged, and she could avoid the draw of the mirrors no more. Resigning herself, she opened the door of the case and stood before the mirror. The flat muscles of her abdomen pulled taut the t-shirt, but it was not so tight that it aggravated the burn on her back. She turned and peeled the bottom up so she could see.

It was near her side, just below her hip, and swept upward so it nearly reached the bottom of her shoulder blade. As she'd thought, it was like looking at a trench carved into the flesh. The deepest parts were a dark red where it burned down to unveil muscle. The edges were a pale, moist blister. There was a clear coating over it from whatever Tresses had applied. The suit had been resistant enough to the acid that the wound wasn't deep, but if luck had not been with her, the acid would've reached much more of her. She thought of her spine, missed by inches, and so near the surface of her skin.

She bit back a sniffle and dropped the fabric. She had to hunt down one of her boots, then lean against the wall to tug it on. Her legs weakened, carrying her to the floor. She braced her shoulder against the wall so she didn't go over sideways, managing a sitting position. Her head nodded toward her chest and she let whatever Tresses' had given her close her eyes.

Her first worry upon waking was that her position would send a jolt through the injury on her back. But sleep, it seemed, had been generous — she was leaning away from the wall on her afflicted side. She'd fallen asleep with only one boot on, the other in her hand, and with a leg tucked up to her body. Satisfied that she was safe from damaging her back, she made to rest her head on her knee.

Before her eyes shut again, she saw Runite in front of her. She didn't stand, too tired to care that he'd been waiting on her as she'd accidentally slept. No growl left him, though, and he held something in one hand that he offered her.

Nasira did not make any great effort to move closer. An impatient rattle left him. Instead of leaning down, he took the space beside her, dropping easily onto his haunches and then sitting.

She didn't have time to think this unusual before he opened his fist and showed her what he'd meant to. In his palm was the pearly fang of the spitting alien she'd slain, from the looks of it the only one left intact by the knife she'd hurled into its maw. The tip was chipped, but it remained a handsome artifact.

Runite caught her chin and slipped his talons up to the side of her face, just beneath the edge of her hijab. He held her still while, with his thumb, he traced the mark on her brow.

Though not altogether discomfited by their closeness, she thought about leaning away. She didn't sense any of the malice that she had been so wary of when he was unfamiliar to her, so she remained where she was.

He offered her the fang again. She took it to appease him, holding it between two fingers, testing its shape. It was translucent and curving, about the size of her bent thumb. Nodding her appreciation, she made to give it back. He interrupted her with a growl of protest and pushed it at her, insistent. He indicated the string of similar trophies hung around his neck. Her acknowledgment was brief, for she did not know what to say, but he took her hand and brought it under them so they sifted through her fingers like seashells. Her gaze was fixed on his mask for a long moment, then she dropped it to examine the jewelry.

Most of them looked similar to the fang he'd recovered for her, but some had a brighter ivory cast to them. One was decidedly feline, secured to a cross of two sticks with a raven-colored feather wrapped around it. It looked like a true talisman. Had he done it himself?

Runite tapped her hand, still holding the fang. He dipped his head, and a coarse voice came from him, carried by the same rattle she'd become used to.

" Good."

Her eyes widened as he spoke. So he was capable of articulating a human language. In the same rasp, he said another word, one that was unknown to her. Then he repeated himself so she could understand.

He was offering her a translation.

She repeated his word haltingly, though the pronunciation was easy enough. "Set," she said. "Good."

He nodded, ringed dreadlocks tinkling. "Set thei-de."

She eagerly awaited his translation, sitting up straighter, leaning in closer, untroubled that it was now she closing the distance between them.

"Set thei-de," she repeated. "Tell me."

"Set thei-de," he said in the same slow rattle. "Good kill."

Congratulating her with his language and her own so that she understood.

Her heart swelled with pride. This was what she knew: learning to be accepted by all manner of different kinds of life. They'd shared with her their mark, their weapons, their trust, their language. It was only fair that she return it.

She laid a hand over her heart. "Nasira."

"Nasira." Her name started off a deep rumbling and was followed by a trill. He held his own out as though to lay it over hers, but then pulled back.

She showed no such reservations, him having already invited her once to touch the trophies laid across his chest, but made herself go slowly enough that he could stop her if he wished. He didn't — she felt the thundering of his heart, different from her own, a waltz interwoven with the beats.

"You," she said. She pointed to herself again. "Nasira."

He hesitated for long moments, then shook his head and looked to the fang, for a long time nearly forgotten between them. Her excitement dimmed; he would not tell her his name? But then she forced herself to remember that names meant different things to different cultures. She knew of several ethnic groups that did not reveal their name to any but a lifelong companion.

He produced a length of wire from his belt and took the fang from her. He demonstrated how he fed the wire through the natural cavity in the fang and then tied it off. He held it up for her, his question apparent. Where would she display it?

Nasira let him tighten it around her wrist, then tweezed it between two fingers to ran the cruel point over the delicate skin there, reveling in the thought that it was under her control now, and would not harm her despite its sharpness.

"Thank you," she said.

He chittered, a higher sound than she'd ever heard from him. She turned her attention back to the fang, continuing to draw it over the blue veins where they stood out from her skin. She did it until she felt fatigue touch her again. Dropping the fang so it hung from the bracelet, she leaned her head to the side, wincing at the strain on her neck.

Runite moved closer and took out the knife she'd given him. He tested the sharpness of it. His arm closest to her was still as he favored his other to manipulate the knife. He didn't acknowledge her after that, leaving the invitation open.

She took a deep breath and leaned her head against his arm. It was in this position that she fell asleep more easily than she had in days.

Chapter Text

Groggily was the way she broke the skin of sleep. Her face buzzed and her extremities tingled under the effects of the leftover injection. The entire left side of her body felt as though it was pressed to a furnace. Had she had a reaction to the alien medicine? Only when she forced herself to straighten did the effect diminish. Confused, wiping her eyes, she sought the source, her vision trailing over the wall to dark, mottled flesh.

Nasira scrambled to her feet, her face igniting, a hurried apology already taking shape on her lips. The outburst only served to intensify the effects of whatever medicine was still left in her system, and she nearly lost her balance.

It appeared that Runite had long since finished his work with the knives and had been sitting rigid. Though little could've roused her from the induced slumber, he had taken efforts not to move so as not to disturb her. Even after, it seemed, she'd slipped further down the wall until her entire weight had joined that of her head to rest against him.

Now, in the wake of her outburst, he only slowly moved to look up at her.

She kept a hand on her hip as she caught her breath. As her body cooled again, she realized one of her feet was still bare. The boot was overturned where she'd left it — its position hearkened a testament to how close she'd actually been to him — and she snatched it up before retreating again, turning her back as his mask tracked her.

Embarrassment still licking at her, she tugged her boot on without looking at him. Behind her, he rose, the smoothness of the motion enabling him to be virtually soundless. His hand fell onto her shoulder and turned her back. Mask tilted, a rumbling expanding between them, he seemed to search for the words.

They came in a gruff admission; it was clear he was struggling. "Return…to…" — a snarl of displeasure at the strain it caused him — "Return."

His hand still heavy on her shoulder, she nodded. "Return. Yes, we will. Wait a minute, please."

Clearing her throat, she shook herself out, disallowing any further lapse of composure. She'd never had cause to shy away from physical contact. To some cultures, it was as vital to communication as sustenance was to living. He hadn't seemed offended or repulsed by her mistake, and he had seemed to offer her the initial favor. She herself had never measured the weight of the value she held for physical contact, and had been neither comforted nor discomforted by it until now.

She moved to the EVA case and stepped inside, quietly relieved at the illusion of distance it created. The contents of the case had been marked down by one, the ruined heat suit still lying in pieces where Tresses had disassembled it. Pushing past its twins, she searched for an alternative. She'd nearly hit the back of the case before coming to the bulky EVA space suit she'd used to get to the forward array.

Nasira experimented with the flex of the armor vest from where it was situated around the torso of the EVA suit, taking the edges and bending them in and out. The armor vest was meant to hold a life support pack and provide structure for the suit, but when she knocked her knuckles against it, she had to admit it was sturdy. It consisted of two plates that went on the front and back, and was adjustable with the straps connecting them on the sides.

She removed it from the EVA suit and lifted her shirt. The injury had already been wrapped with gauze and padding, so she cinched the armor vest over the top of it and tested to make sure it was snug. When she pulled her shirt down over top of it, there was just the barest outline of the vest beneath.

No matter which way she turned, she felt no strain. When she pushed down on her back over the injury, there was nothing but pressure. Whether it was because of the injection Tresses had given her or because the armor vest was effective she didn't know. But she would take it.

Runite was waiting for her at the exit — she made to walk past him, but before she could, the hilt of the knife he'd been sharpening pressed into her hand; her fingers automatically curled around it. His knuckles brushed the mark on her forehead before fisting over his chest again.

As they made to reenter the fuselage, Runite took Nasira's elbow. She looked to him, eyebrows cinching, but the slate eyes of his mask were unreadable.

Through the door he pulled her, then continued on through the many seating bays. His pace was too quick for her to match easily, and he was holding her elbow too high to be comfortable.

"What are you doing?" she asked, but he didn't so much as glance down as he continued to forcibly march her towards the two larger predators, whose heads rose high above any of the seats. Nearby were the two humans — she wrenched her arm out of Runite's grasp before either of them noticed, and stepped away when he whipped around to stare at her. She approached the predators before he could attempt retribution.

When she got close, Siwili nodded at Tresses and peeled off, broad shoulders squared as he hurried away. Even more confused than she'd been before, she looked to Tresses for an explanation.

Gold glinted off of Tresses' mask in tiny showers as it tipped down to look at her. With the same low purring as from before, she rotated her talon to question the state of the acid burn on Nasira's back.

"I'm fine," Nasira said, her cupped hand resting over her heart in her familiar salute of gratitude. "Thank you for what you did for me."

Tresses didn't seem satisfied by her words alone, so Nasira allowed the grip on her arm to twist her until her back was to the huntress. Tresses made no effort to lift her shirt to inspect the injury, merely observing it with her mask tilted. She released her after a few moments.

The purring had stopped, leaving a thoughtful grumble in its place. She looked over Nasira's head at Runite.

The conversation that passed between them was made up of the same rough tones with which Runite had spoken to her — though the short barking commands and clicks that Tresses had used on her companions hinted at her true voice, they did nothing to prepare Nasira for the truth of the thing itself. Tresses was nothing that Nasira had ever heard before, something she did not know could belong to any singular life form — but if ever there was a specimen for such strident tones, it was the huntress before her. Her voice was the cold dignity of a noble; the burning, exquisite light of a star both imperious and beneficent.

So awed was Nasira by the revelation that was Tresses' voice did she almost forget to listen to what they said. She heard words she thought were easily repeatable, so she filed them away to inquire about later.

When Tresses finished speaking, Runite stiffened. His hands curled into fists at his side. When he spoke again, it was clear that he was attempting to measure himself respectfully against her. He could not retort, for she was his better, but whatever she had said had been to his displeasure.

Tresses' answering tone gave Nasira the impression that she was not responding to what he said but choosing to debase it by ignoring it. She gave a short, sharp command at him and then inclined her head towards Nasira, who fought the urge to take a step back.

Runite looked from Tresses to her and back to Tresses in rapid succession — Nasira frowned, not knowing how to interpret their actions. Had Tresses referred to her?

Runite barked a question at Tresses, but she tipped up her chin, a clear indication that she would not repeat herself. Runite's gaze again swapped between the two of them. He growled a low series of protests, but Tresses remained stony. Shock wove through Nasira. Standing almost a head and a half shorter, his frame bulkier but simultaneously diminutive against hers, he would press Tresses as far and as long as he had?

His next set of grievances was for Nasira. Bristling, his banded dreadlocks almost buzzed with his static ire; he stabbed a talon at Nasira and snarled, the animalistic sound causing Nasira to worry that he was crossing some sort of line. As he did, he spat one word with particular vehemence — it was more difficult than the ones she'd heard so far, but she shaped it in her mind, committing it to memory nonetheless.

A brief silence followed his testament before what sounded like the abrupt chattering of a laugh loosed itself from Tresses. In her clear, ringing tones, she said a single word: an inquiry. Runite jerked back, making an indignant sound. He replied with an equally prompt response: a denial.

With her laughter, Tresses shifted her weight so she no longer looked as imposing. It did not stop Nasira from starting as the large predator clapped her hand down on Nasira's shoulder, shaking it. Tresses withdrew it after a moment and left, still laughing the same laugh.

Runite shook with rage. Nasira tried to voice a question but he stormed away before she could open her mouth, leaving her alone in the center of the fuselage.

Attached to the fuselage was a steward workspace lined with packaged meals and appliances for their preparation. It was nothing like what could be found on the higher habitation levels, but it served to fill their stomachs. Nasira handed a set of meals to Marcus and Edmund. She had no idea how long it had been since any of them had eaten, but she had not felt even the pain of hunger before it had advanced into ripping weakness by way of reminder - and even that had been long quelled by the adrenaline of their struggles. Neither Edmund nor Marcus had complained of hunger or thirst, so it had slipped her mind entirely.

As it was, she had no appetite to speak of, but forced herself to finish the ration before she could decide otherwise.

Edmund looked covertly around for the predators, who were absent from view, then nibbled his own ration.

More important was for her to force water into her system, so she coached herself through downing the sweet, metallic tang of it. Her stomach felt like it was pinched, the contents settling uneasily.

Still rigid with surprise and confusion, she repeated under her breath the words she'd learned from Tresses and Runite. She had to puzzle out how to include the clicking — she couldn't vocalize and click her teeth at the same time. The word she was most curious about was free of any difficult sounds, though she wondered if the harshness with which he'd said it was just the proper emphasis.

To distract herself, she spun the fanged bracelet around her wrist. She was still attempting to discern the meaning of the conversation that had made Tresses' stalwart composure cast itself so haphazardly to the side. Runite's apparent regression was only trivial when set in comparison.

"What's that?" Edmund said. Her movements at the bracelet had drawn his gaze to her pocket.

She withdrew the inner jaw she'd taken from the boiler alien. He retracted in his seat.

"I killed one of the aliens."

"You did? Where?" His eyes darted around as though he thought the alien had somehow infiltrated the fuselage again.

"On my way back from Atmospheric."

"Just one? Does that mean there's only one left apart from the queen?"

Nasira cycled through the math — the spitter dead, the boiler dead, the queen alive, and the last warrior alive.

"Yes."

Edmund blew out his breath. "Will the last small one come here?"

She recalled the way it had scrabbled over the seating bays to retreat from Runite's cannon. If the boiler had been smart enough to lure her into a trap, surely the remaining warrior knew well enough to stay away from the fuselage when its enemies numbers were greater.

"I don't think so."

"Without hosts," Marcus said, speaking up for the first time, "they will remain dormant in their hive. Go into hibernation."

Nasira blinked. His eyes were sunken deeper in their sockets than ever before, framed by splotchy bruised circles, and his hair was limp over his face. Taking advantage of his unexpected honesty, she asked,"Where is their hive?"

"Probably somewhere warm. The ambient heat is…" he trailed off, letting his head fall again.

"Warm," she repeated. The engine rooms. The reactor. "Is that why they relocated from the cargo bay?"

"Or because the queen felt it unsafe to be so near after the hive was infiltrated. By you."

"Right." The tiny lair where she'd found Edmund had been more like an afterthought than an actual stronghold. And there had been no sign of the queen. "With her defenders so few, shouldn't we move in on her?"

Marcus's dull eyes fixed on hers with disdain. "You'll sooner find me tuning the live engine of a star freighter with my pants down. Put us on a lifeboat before you run seeking that suicidal bullshit."

She coughed a laugh. "Personally, I'd sooner see myself decide the former." Standing, she waved the inner jaw before his face, dramatizing its kill-strike, and walked away.

Siwili was sitting crosslegged on the floor, pulling each of his weapons from its place and admiring them. He looked up when she approached, rattling what sounded like a greeting. She sat across from him and mirrored his position.

His mask turned towards the trophy bracelet she wore — he held out a finger in inquiry. She offered him her wrist. He studied the fang for several long moments before giving a curious chittering sound.

His own trophies were both hanging from his belt and strung over his chest. There were several alien fangs and parasite fingers decorating him, and a series of larger skulls and the orange fur swatch on his chest. Resting above them was the band on his necklace. Apart from the two alien fangs on either side, the wire was left nearly empty. It seemed almost a stylized accessory instead of a place to display spoils.

His attention turned to the alien's inner jaw, still in her other hand, and pointed to the trophies strung across his chest. He mimed displaying the inner jaw on a similar mount. She hesitated, then handed it over.

From his back he drew a kit, which he set on the ground and popped open. Nasira leaned forward to inspect the contents. A set of flat, curving blades that looked like scalpels, a system of tubing with a deflated bag attached, several tubes of colorless liquid, and a length of cord and wire. He selected the cord. It was thin, but he demonstrated its strength by looping one end around his fist and pulling it taut. She nodded.

Making sure she was paying attention, he used one of the smaller blades to pierce the dull end of the inner jaw. There was no blood, even after death. The inner jaw itself was dull grey and yielded almost like rubber. A hollow channel went all the way through to the teeth. He fed the cord through and tied it off, creating a drape that she could duck beneath and wear over her shoulder. He'd adjusted it to compensate for her lack of armor (his own breastplate held it in place), instead turning it into its own kind of thin harness.

She accepted it but hesitated to don it. She was used to adopting a custom for the duration of a cultural event, but never before had she worn the severed anatomy of something she'd slain.

The shortcoming could be attributed to the fact that, prior to this incident, she had never before slain anything.

She kept it in her lap as she spoke next.

"A question," she said, clicking and signing for good measure. She figured if there was one alphabet he'd respond in, it'd be clicking, just on the basis of how he spoke to his companions. He couldn't possibly sift through every recording he had to find a way to answer her.

He hesitated and inclined his head, returning a short knife to its place.

"Long Tresses," she clicked and signed, hoping he'd understand that it was Tresses. "And Metal Arm."

He nodded again.

"They were speaking. What did they say?"

Siwili hesitated, then spoke using his mask's playback.

"Find."

"Find what? The hive?"

He gave an affirmation.

"Where?"

"Find."

So they didn't know. She said, "I think I know where it is. Will you kill the queen when you find her?"

Another affirmation.

"Why was Metal Arm angry?"

Siwili leaned back, looking almost uncomfortable. He spoke aloud, his voice deep and garbled. "Young."

She blinked. "Metal Arm is young?"

He nodded.

"He's angry because he's young. Because…" She thought back to the way he'd tried to argue with Tresses. "He's not allowed to come to the hive."

Siwili pointed at Nasira, sweeping a hand over the side she'd injured.

"Stay."

"He has to stay with us. Because of…me?" Upon returning from the airlock, Tresses had turned Nasira to inspect how the burn was setting. "Because of my injury."

Siwili made a pleased sound, like he was glad she'd caught on so quickly.

"And Long Tresses' laughter?"

He shrugged. Despite the volume of their exchange, he had not heard.

"Long Tresses laughed. Because of Metal Arm's word."

Nasira attempted the word Runite had said so harshly. Siwili's head jerked up in immediate understanding.

He repeated the word the way Runite had. Slowly he said it, seeking confirmation. "Lou-dte Kalei."

"Yes. That word."

Siwili's massive shoulders quaked. He let out a laugh that sounded almost like he was in pain at first, but instead of tapering off into rattling afterthoughts like the others seemed to do, he kept going until he sounded almost human — rougher and deeper, but the connotation was the same. A long, sustained laugh. Something she said was funny — he was positively howling now.

"What?" she urged.

If he were a human, he would've wiped his eyes of tears. He fought to control himself long enough to attempt a sign. He cupped a hand to his middle and curved it down, but sitting as he was, it was not easy to understand.

"What?" She said again, now confused.

Siwili boosted himself onto his knees, still chortling. He put a hand half over his mask — a perfect Yutovian sign for "half", "incomplete". Young.

"Metal Arm," he signed. "Young."

"You already said. He's not allowed to go to the hive." All three predators seemed prone to eruption, Siwili the mildest of them, unless, evidently, it involved a funny joke. Runite seemed to have the most volatile temper of the bunch, and always with less of a reason. "Yes, Metal Arm is young."

He signed, "Long Tresses." And pointed at himself, his action now. "Long Tresses laughed."

Even though he was now speaking in proficient sign, it took even longer for him to formulate a response, as he kept laughing between them. Nasira was getting weary, unsure if she wanted to even hear the joke anymore.

"Yes, she laughed, why?"

He made the same sign as he had before. She understood it, but couldn't guess at his meaning.

"Metal Arm. Young." He pointed at Nasira. And made the sign again.

Her eyebrows cinched.

Siwili laughed harder than ever, and then, with no embarrassment whatsoever, rotated his hips.

All she could say was, "Oh."

He clutched his stomach. Until a minute ago, she didn't think it was possible for someone of his size to be so wracked by laughter that he had to double over.

Metal Arm, young. Nasira. Siwili's…exhibition.

"Oh," she said again.

When she left him, he was calmed enough to be sitting and inspecting his weapons again, though he was still laughing in spurts so that he almost nicked himself with his own knife. She figured it'd be easier for him to get over it if she left his sight, but it seemed that he'd only quieted when he did out of attempted politeness to her. As soon as she turned the corner, he broke up again.

Edmund peered over the back of a seat at her from some distance away, but she refused to meet his eyes.

Nasira found the predator she was looking for on the far side of the fuselage. He was testing his wrist blades, extending them a few inches at a time and then sweeping them back into their guards.

Runite stood alone, Tresses nowhere to be seen, so Nasira settled on the next best way to summon her.

The spear telescoped to its full size as she swung horizontally — the shaft struck his metal arm, a clear ringing sound shattering the quiet. Runite whirled around, snarling, but she'd already retreated several paces and was out of reach of his bared wrist blades.

It was as though she'd conjured the other two predators out of midair. They arrived to see several feet of tense space between Nasira and Runite, who was still flexing his forearms threateningly. Tresses gave the kind of low rattle that made Nasira think of a stalker in the long grasses — just a single provocation from springing to attack. Siwili kept his distance.

Marcus and Edmund arrived several slower moments later, standing a safe distance behind both pairs.

Runite's arms were to his sides, his knees bent in a fighting stance. She stood before him but directed her words to Tresses. Nasira squeezed her tone under her control — she needed to convince Tresses, not retaliate due to what Siwili had told her.

"My injuries do not prohibit me from accompanying you to the hive. I will go with you to kill the queen."

Siwili's shoulders went up, making him look almost sheepish. Tresses clicked, shifting her weight as she considered Nasira's words.

Nasira continued. "I am responsible for securing this ship and ensuring that it is safe for its inhabitants, and I will not rely on the words and efforts of others when I am fully capable of completing the task myself."

Tresses's mask kept moving from Nasira to Runite, who maintained his threatening posture. Nasira turned an obstinate shoulder in her direction, keeping her stance determined, her eyes hard, just as she had when she'd first encountered them. She'd won over Tresses like this before, and she would do it again.

Tresses came forward, the cold gaze of her mask staring Nasira down, filling her vision. The height disparity between them had long since become routine, but something about the stark, sculpted lines of the huntress' muscles and the fractal honeycomb texture of her eyepieces daunted her in the way even the other predators could not.

It was as though Tresses' inherent authority transcended the contrariety of their respective biology, binding Nasira to commanding instinct of a species not her own. Her body's desire to quake, to tremble, to lie down before her obvious better was almost overwhelming.

She was to what primordials threw themselves. To what they worshiped. To what they feared above all else.

And Nasira had to find it in her meager self to challenge this, to hold steadfast against her gaze alone.

And that was only the beginning.

"I will prove it to you."

Tresses pointed at the weapons's holster on her leg. Nasira bent to remove it without the slightest of hesitation, handing it over. Tresses discarded it onto a distant seat. The spear and the knife joined it.

Weaponless, Nasira moved away, aiming for the clearing in the center of the fuselage. She stood all the way at one of its ends and bowed her head, preparing herself for what was to come.

She heard the group follow her, silent but for Marcus and Edmund's footsteps. She grimaced — she did not want them to bear witness to what might be a failure, else they decide they had no reason to answer to her. But there was nothing she could do about it now. They would watch as Tresses' decision was determined.

Nasira felt the space at the other end of the clearing disrupt. She turned to face her opponent, but it was not Tresses who had stepped up to bear.

Runite's shoulder plates dropped to the floor with a clang that made her flinch, betraying the nervousness that had been brewing within her since even before she'd first issued the challenge. His gauntlets followed, as did his shoulder cannon, until he stood unarmed before her.

In hindsight, it was only logical that Tresses delegate her task to another. It was a commendation to Nasira's nerve — and the doling out of mercy — that she would face another, rather than the eminence she'd challenged. And who better to hand it off to than the one who also desired the same spot in the prospective hunting party?

His mask still concealing his face beneath, Runite snarled at her from across the twenty-foot diameter of the clearing, then dropped into his bent-kneed, arms extended stance. Her stomach turned over as his thunderous roar reminded her of their previous confrontation.

At the edge of the nearest seating bay, Tresses arms folded across her chest. The message was clear.

Trial by combat. They would fight for the right to journey to the hive.

Chapter Text

Nasira didn't need to ask the rules. They were plain.

No weapons.

One on one.

It didn't matter whether their culture, still largely a mystery to her, embraced death matches. She could not lose. She needed to go to the hive and look upon the queen, to know she'd had some part in vanquishing her. She needed to make the ship safe again and emerge with the thirty passengers in its heart unharmed.

They'd marked her, but she needed to prove her injury had not disabled her.

She'd told Edmund she had killed the boiler, but she'd not killed it so much as survived it. The outcome of the fight would prove to Tresses — and herself — whether she was still fit to perform her duties on this ship.

And she was not sure that was so.

Nasira studied him: all that remained of his armor was the tasseted scale codpiece, the metal fishnet, and the guard around his prosthetic arm. She could see his broad shoulders and their dipping muscles. His flesh was a light buff on his belly that gradually shifted into green and umber as it approached his sides. The pebbled mottling on his outer arm and legs was darker still, up until it reached his neck where it disappeared beneath a series of choking rings. Without all the bulk his armor added, he was surprisingly slender in proportions. The barest bit of jaw was visible at the bottom, but the mask he wore cut short any ideas she had about hitting his face.

She could not wait for him to make the first move; she had to use everything she had to win this fight, not affording him any opportunity to get a blow in. Even as she thought it, it was too late.

The muscles in his legs bunched and he lurched forward, his metal fist swinging for her head. She ducked beneath it, but his arm nearest her locked, driving the sharp point of his elbow into the small of her back. A strangled cry fought its way out of her despite all she did to hold it back. She staggered and bent double as the acid wound pulsed in aggravation.

Runite brought the heel of his hand down on the same stretch of burn, driving her the rest of the way to the floor. His foot pressed atop the armor vest concealed by her shirt – the gauze and padding squelched into sickly moisture of the wound itself, threatening to fuse them together in the same way the heat suit and stocking had. She twisted to see those lined up at the edge of the clearing: Marcus was watching in mere indignant glances, his face tilted sideways, a sneer still present on his face. Edmund's eyes were wide in his pale face. Nasira moved past them both – there was only one opinion she sought.

Tresses' arms were crossed so tightly over her chest it was as though she meant never to let them undone again. She looked ever like the regal statue of a deity imposing over the gates of her citadel. Her body was rigid, unmoved by the barest happenings in their fight, Nasira could only imagine what the huntress was thinking.

Her teeth ground together and she threw herself out from under Runite. She did not attempt to feel at the vest — such an action would only confirm Tresses' thoughts, and there was nothing to do for the wound itself in any case.

He'd come for her in a rush, as fast as the clashing turbulence of a solar storm — if she hadn't seen tell of his motion, she doubted she would've been out of the way in time. The power behind even a single-fisted blow had brought a rush of panic through her stomach, forcing her to move. Only instinct had protected her from having her head lopped off her shoulders. He had no weaknesses for her to exploit. Despite his size, he was undeniably faster than her. She couldn't even count on staying out range.

If he caught her, her strength would be no match for his.

Shear talons swiped for her middle – she twisted out of the way, the tips sticking in the fabric of her shirt.

Deflecting a blow bound for her back, feeling the forearm she'd thrown up in defense bruise but protect the site of his intent.

Denied an opening to the fresh wound beneath the armor vest, his next effort was to fell her. A shin swung around to hit the backs of her knees. She went down with it, lacing her fingers behind her head to soften the impact. She compressed herself into a ball; a kick to her lower ribs sent her skidding the length of the floor. She unwound, popping back to her feet, breathing hard.

His rolling timbre of a growl spanned the new distance. He paced a few steps sideways before turning on a heel and starting anew. Measuring her. She supposed she had lasted longer than he'd anticipated. There was no humor in his posture. This was a contest to him like it was to her. She herself have given him the opportunity to win his right to journey to the hive, and he was taking it seriously.

He was not attempting to grapple her, to wrestle her to the ground, the way normal fight would prove itself won. He was aiming solidly for her only weakness, the one on which her challenge to Tresses rode. Trying to get her to cry out, to lose her stake on her place in the prospective hunting party.

Her teeth set at the thought of making it this far only to suffer defeat by a series of underhanded attacks. Now that the realization had manifested itself, she tried to push it out of her mind. This was the agreement she'd struck with Tresses: to prove the injury would not hold her back. His fixation on the burn should have given her an alternate strategy against him, one he himself had not accounted for.

But damn her if it wasn't unfair.

There was no doubt that, weaponless, she was outmatched. In her training, she'd fought opponents of all sizes. Smaller than her, heavier than her, taller than her. Versus opponents with greater mobility. Versus individuals four times her size. She'd had to learn to deal with each using the tools she possessed. Though she'd seldom had need to end altercations violently, her position demanded the capability to adapt and overcome anyone in her path in order to do her job.

She would do it here, also.

She had to. Or she may well have done nothing. She was responsible for Marcus, for everything he'd managed to do whilst under her supervision. She'd been powerless to stop the alien infestation from encroaching further upon the vessel.

She had to take it back.

She made up her mind.

Nasira dropped her defensive stance, pausing to make sure he would not surge forward again. She held up her left arm. All present watching her intently, she wriggled her hand then her wrist into the snug space between her body and the harness Siwili had made her so it lay flat across her lower back, effectively covering the vest over the burn. There she kept it pinned, useless.

And then she looked to Runite to see what he'd do.

His pacing had ceased, though his growl had deepened, the lowest troughs lengthening in stride. He did not glance to Tresses in askance, as she'd expected he would. His mask tilting, his hand went up to the opposite shoulder.

The bearings on his metal prosthetic clicked as he unfastened them. The prosthetic was made up of two separate mechanisms: one that bolted into the flesh around his shoulder, and another that was attached to the first joint and continued downward into elbow, wrist, and fingertips.

He removed the second part, lifting it free and away so she could see what lay beneath.

It looked like the kind of injury that brought pain even in years long after. His shoulder was still well-muscled, but his true arm ended just below the bicep. All that remained was a gnarled stump, twisted almost as though it had been wrenched twice around and then severed. Looking upon it, her heart squeezed in her chest. The nature of it suggested some kind of unforgivable barbarism. Had it been stolen from him in combat? In a hunt, much like the one he sought after now?

The prosthetic set to the side, he stood before her, looking no more cowed than before despite the grievous imparity in his form.

Still struggling with the appearance of his left arm, Nasira did not look away from him to Tresses, who she knew remained stony in her observation of the two. Nasira did not care to know just now whether the events occurring in the clearing were to the huntress' liking, lest she be distracted from her goal.

The act done, she let out her breath. With her own restrained arm covering the burn, he would not be able to focus his efforts there. Not without ripping her arm free, which would compromise the integrity of the amendment.

Regardless of the security she'd wrought for herself, sweat beaded on her upper lip. She adjusted her arm in the harness until she had no hope of wriggling it out. Having only one arm free unbalanced her, made her feel defenseless. He would know all her high attacks would come from her intact side. But then, the same ought to be true for him. They were even now. An arm for an arm.

Her thoughts were interrupt as a throaty chuff came from the midst of his rumbling.

Resume, it said.

The second it gave her to prepare was not long enough.

His remaining arm swung for her — a sea of possible counter-strikes seethed forth, but she discarded them in favor of stepping under its arc to ram into his middle. Pain spiked through her. With her arm secured tightly, she'd wrenched it so far the shoulder had threatened to dislocate She backpedaled, rotating the joint, willing the smarting to dissipate.

What had she done? His reach was grossly larger than hers. Anything she attempted would put her within his striking distance before she had time to enact her own offense. She was built stronger in her lower body, but she could not risk falling. She had to stay on her feet or her struggles would come to a swift end.

He charged her — she fell sideways onto the floor, no contingency plan, only scrambling blindly out of his reach. She rolled away as fast as she could, tried to get to her feet. He was there in instants, forcing her to dive away once more. Her desperate evasion lasted for only two repetitions longer — his backhand caught her by surprise, clipping her cheek, bound to purple it.

Before she could recover, he was there again, stopping her fall by seizing a fistful of her collar. She brought a leg between them, trying to lever him away, but he stepped forward, twisting his own leg around hers until it was trapped. Gasping, her free hand gripped his wrist, but he didn't seem to notice. He lifted her, her remaining foot suddenly pointing, reaching, struggling to find the floor again.

He roared in her face, the sheer volume of it damped by his mask, but loud enough to make the moisture in her eyes heat. Her fingers scraped the inside of his wrist, gouges that should have forced him to release her but that he ignored.

He lifted her another few inches, turning her struggles to find the floor again into wishful thinking — though he couldn't stop her from gripping him, she had no leverage with which to free herself. He threw her. She twisted in midair to save herself landing on her secured arm. She crashed in a heap on the floor, head spinning.

Her arm shook as she pushed herself up onto her knees.

Again and again she took this punishment, making no headway in figuring out how to best beat him. If anything, she'd stolen from herself most of her defensive ability along with her arm.

He aimed for her face, he succeeded.

He swung out a leg, it connected.

Most of her existence became a horizontal view of the floor, simply laying there while she conjured the strength to sit up as he watched from several feet away. He never pressed his advantage. He didn't need to.

Runite stepped back to swing again, but before he could, she hooked her a fist towards his head. She never made contact. He grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back to join the other, then drove his knee up into her gut. The blow lifted her clean off her feet — gravity brought her back down with equal vengeance.

For what seemed like the nine hundredth time, she dispelled the swaying overlap of images (in this case, the four sets of ankles belonging to their onlookers), and stood.

He made an amused trill, backing up a few paces to give her room. Clutching her middle, she struggled upright, her breath whooping through bruised insides.

Though the change in his physique was jarring to look upon, he'd shown no sign of discomfort at the loss of limb. If anything, his attacks were more powerful, more grandiose. His passive movements were more assured, more confident.

He made a show of watching her, his entire body turning into a lilting curve. It forced her eyes to follow the line of his shoulders, to his chest, down his legs. It was almost a relaxed motion that followed his mask each way it rose or fell. Posturing, she thought. He had no worry whatsoever that he would not emerge victorious. He was showing off the way any male of a species would show off to an opponent or —

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Siwili's mask jerk as he made a chuffing sound.

Nasira wiped her mouth, the blood from a split lip she'd earned from Runite streaking her knuckles. He straightened up, ready to receive whatever weakened blow she next had for him.

She threw herself at him, casting aside concern for how badly it would hurt. She used her body as a weapon, the plates of her spine aligning for the most damaging impact. With her entire weight she barreled into him, hitting him about his abdomen, rocking him back on his heels. Over and over again, bending her knees and striking — just as she felt him move to anticipate her next, she switched, sliding her fingers under the metal bolts on his shoulder and using them to haul herself up. The top of her head crashed into the underside of his jaw.

His mask snapped backwards. She'd taken his balance from him — a few steps backwards, and then she ran at him, hooking her arm around his neck and dragging him to the ground. He crashed onto his back and she quickly straddled him, praying her weight was enough to keep him down. Her knee plunged into his neck as though she meant to behead him.

His body froze, stricken, but only for an instant. His tensed muscles unleashed at the same time, throwing her off. She was up before he was, springing to her feet, her instep smashing into his head where he knelt.

Her vision was extinguished as he brought her to the ground in a tackle, his enormous weight crushing her ten times over. She writhed, throwing herself back and forth, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. His roar was wrath. The heat they shared was murder — her question answered. His talons were in her hijab, raking over her skin, clamping around her throat. Everything in her resisted, particles that made up her bones and her muscles pulverized to within an inch of obliteration —

Abruptly the weight vanished. The air was cool on her body. She rolled onto her side, clutching her ribs, taking the reprieve that had been granted to her for reasons unknown.

She sat up, first seeing the horror in Edmund's face and then quickly moving from the sidelines to see what had happened with Runite.

Tresses had him by the bolts of his prosthetic, jerking him into restraint. His breathing thundered past his mask like an entire herd of winded animals.

In that instant, she doubted even Tresses could keep him back with such a hold as she had. Nasira scooted away until she hit one of the seats at the edge of the clearing, and then used it to stand. There was liquid where her limbs should've been but she held herself up in spite of it.

A hand grasped her shoulder from behind. She leapt in shock, ready to deliver a blow to its owner.

Edmund. She stayed her fist but jerked to free herself from him, still wired in Runite's direction.

Tresses released Runite and he stalked forward. He shook with suppressed rage, looking down on her with his slate grey mask. She set her jaw and glared up at him.

Suddenly his fist encircled her throat, thumb pressing down on her roaring pulse. Eyes wide, she could only watch as he tilted her face back and forth, examining her from each angle. She could not look past him to see Tresses — whether she would allow this after having already pulled him off of Nasira. She heard a weak protest from Edmund, though it was so quiet he must have moved from her side, leaving just the two of them — her, trapped. Him…

She was drowning in splotchy darkness. Oxygen expanded her lungs but she starved nonetheless. Eyes squeezing shut. She felt her voice squeeze uselessly as his hold tightened.

And then released.

The spots made way for her to see his back as he turned away.

Gasping, her hand went up to feel the damage. The only tenderness was beneath her jaw, over the live artery there, feverishly pumping to make up for what had been disallowed under Runite's watch.

Tresses came next, dropping her hand onto Nasira's shoulder and shaking it. Nasira held herself steady, nodding at the acknowledgment. She didn't ask the question she needed answered — she could feel Tresses weighing it.

Tresses gestured for Nasira to unbind her arm, which she did. Then the huntress tipped her head towards the seat holding her discarded weapons.

The gilded mast tipped down as its playback crackled to life.

"Yes."

Chapter Text

"We'll entertain the very remote possibility that I was not clear the first time," Nasira said. Despite the severity of her words, she could hardly focus on delivering them. She trailed off before speaking her next, her eyes slipped across the fuselage to find Runite.

After the bizarre resolution of their duel, he had stalked away to his discarded armor and went about equipping it. Curiously, he had not yet reattached his prosthetic. She knew much of the predators' motions belied their apparent bulk, but such a deadly fist moving so deftly about its task gave her pause to stop and observe. The armor fastenings had to be manipulated with precise detail, which he managed with only one hand. Handling the straps with care, looping them around to situate the plate over his chest. The proficiency with which he did it bordered on reverence, and the familiarity of the motions made her suspect that he knew the equipment as well as though he'd crafted it himself. Within mere minutes he had donned his entire arsenal once more.

Nasira continued to watch as Siwili ambled towards him, a rumble building in his chest. Runite was motionless as he approached. The dialogue that came from Runite was stiff, as though he was forcing himself to ignore Siwili's mounting baritone.

Before it could crawl into the beginnings of chortle, Runite's hand shot out and grasped the front of Siwili's mask, cutting him off. The sound swiftly started up again, transforming into an amused rattle as Runite wrestled with the mask, wrenching the former's head back and forth in an effort to quiet him. Siwili allowed his mask to be dragged around with only the barest of resistance before Runite finally released him with a snarl of disgust. He snatched up his prosthetic and stalked away, further into the seating area.

She moved past them to Tresses, who was absorbed in the functions of her wrist computer. With the journey to the hive so near on the horizon, she thought Tresses would show some sign of unease. As always, she remained dispassionate to their looming nightmare scenario. She did not even reprimand her two companions for their playful bickering.

Nasira forced her attention away from her and focused it on that of her charge again. Marcus seemed not to notice her momentary inattention, as he was still looking away from her in protest. Frustration fought to overtake her face but she forced it down, keeping herself cold.

"Look at me."

He did, with no small degree of spite rending the movement.

"You are in my custody. You will go where I go. That means you will accompany us to the hive."

He sent a dagger of a glare into the shadows beneath the seats.

"And you," she said, turning to Edmund.

He held up his hands before she could go further. "I'll go. Safety in numbers, right?"

Her lip curled. "Exactly."

"I'm not going," Marcus said.

Nasira planted her hand on the seat beside his head, lowering her face flush with his. "That's fine that you feel that way. But you're forgetting something —"

His eyes came up to hers.

" — you have no say in the matter."

"Evacuate us," he said. "Send us away. Fucking cuff me to the hull of a shuttle. Just get us out. Get us out and then do what you intend to."

"Why would I do that?" she asked.

"Because it's your job," he said. "You need what I can give you. I have proof of what happened and who gave the order. My company will not confess to seeding Uataislurn."

"Engaging offer," Nasira said. "Tell me why they did it."

He pounced on his opportunity. "To gauge how quickly an infestation could spread through a population. To consume a world. They're there now, orbiting the site. Taking their data. Learning from its shortcomings. Amending their methods. They'll use it what they've gathered."

"On another population?" Nasira's insides went cold.

He threw back his head in an incredulous laugh, like he thought she was being dense.

"On another population? On another planet. That holiday, the one that halved Uataislurn's headcount — that was to give them a time frame for observation and cleanup. With its population so low and its members congregated into asylums, the spread of the infestation was slow. On any other planet? A population of billions all going about their business? Growth will be exponential. One queen for every hive; a queen every fifty square miles?"

His words stretched his features, turned them bestial. He went to his feet, forcing her to take a step away, and said, "Uataislurn was a fucking square dance."

Rising to his challenge, Nasira came back into his midst, crowding him towards the seat. She jammed a finger to his chest. "You made it that way. You're the one who loosed them!"

His arms tossed wildly, desperately. "I'm trying to tell you what is going to happen."

"You're trying to cover your own ass. You just want a ride off this ship."

Either of their gazes scorched the others for several long seconds. Both exhumed a hard refusal to back down.

Edmund broke in. "There's no safe place for us to stay while you go to the hive?"

Nasira forced herself to soften on him. "It's not a question of safety. It's whether he can be trusted." She let the anger ebb from her stance, straightening her shirt.

Marcus' eyes were flat as she continued.

"— and the answer is no."

Out of sight of them both, she took stock of her injuries. The worst was her middle where Runite had kneed her; a spike jarred her lungs every time she drew breath. Even so, it was gradually fading. Her shoulders and arms were battered from falling to the floor so many times, and the arm that had been pinned behind her screamed when she rotated it. She tested its new range of motion, wincing. At least it was not her dominant. Her burn was not any worse than before — at least she had managed to guard it from him. Tender was her cheek where he had backhanded her, but it showed no sign of swelling.

"You okay?" came Edmund's voice. She dropped her shoulders and faced him, hiding her exasperation. He was standing a good five feet away, seemingly hesitant to approach much further.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," she said.

Rather than probe the rest of her injuries under his watch, she contented herself to march to the seat where she'd left the first aid kit and dig through it until she found something that would dull the worst of it.

"Is that really why you won't send us away on a shuttle?" he asked.

She threw the contents of the first aid kit back into their approximate spots and then forced the lid shut. She was on edge — it had been only minutes since Tresses had signaled her acceptance of Nasira's coming to the hive. She didn't know when they would set out, but she had to be ready.

In honesty, she was only just now considering whether she had made a mistake in her initial challenge. She had forsaken the opportunity to bargain with Tresses about letting the passengers evacuate in the lifeboats. The offense she had taken about her injury, and about Runite's… affront…had driven all other considerations from her.

Nasira cleared her throat. "The predators won't let anyone leave."

He had seen them destroy the lifeboat she'd jettisoned from the control room. He knew she was telling the truth. Deciding she at least ought to take responsibility for her mistake, she went on.

"I didn't think to ask them to allow the lifeboats to evacuate people. With the xenomorph numbers so low, it would've been easy to transfer them from the central bunker to a shuttle."

She ducked her head as though Edmund would be able to see shame write itself into her face. She had been so concerned with proving herself capable that she had forgotten her foremost concern was to protect the life within by any means possible. Truly it had been on her mind to save them, but by means of her own selfish conquest to kill the queen.

"Predators," Edmund mused, testing it out. "Is that what you call them?"

"It seems appropriate."

He rocked back and forth on his heels, looking around the fuselage. "That was amazing, by the way. What you did. Fighting him and all."

When she let the silence ring, he moved a little closer. Her stomach wound at the proximity. She'd never had need to be this near to someone, especially not another human. She had frozen with her arms held slightly out in front of her body. His fingertips slipped to the inside of her wrists, trailing over the skin beneath her trophy bracelet.

"Earlier…when you saved me," he said. "I mean, you laughed and I thought maybe you would want to…" He leaned forward but then back again, shaking his head as though to clear it.

He traced the edge of her hijab where it framed her face and said, "Uh, can I? Is it okay? Allowed, I mean. I don't… know the rules."

Her tone even, she said, "It is."

Her coat had long since been discarded, leaving her rank and epaulets to gather dust on the seat, but it did not cease the influx of considerations surfacing in her mind. There was no stipulation prohibiting displays of affection whilst in uniform. Adrara aspired to be the pinnacle of tolerance. Though there were many variations in how one would wear it (due to stature differences and personal allowances), Adrara's uniform represented the values she held in accordance to that of her station. It was a symbol of public service. Had she been anywhere else, would she have allowed him to lean in as close as he had?

He moved with hyper slowness, so much so that his hand shook as it went up to her face. His fingers creased her hijab where he held her jaw. Beneath the fabric, she felt herself kindle at his touch, like the youngest embers nestled at the bottom of a hearth. She was unsure whether she appreciated the unfamiliar sensation when it came from him, but she let him go on, keeping still.

His lips started on the boundary between the two of them, just barely ghosting her skin. Over her chin, up to her jaw, to where her ear was hidden. She could not hear him rustle the fabric there, his touch was so slight. Back down, over her cheek, to her lips. His lips grazed hers and held, going no further, seeking permission.

Every part of her was tense. His thumb was still making slow circles on her arm and wrist. Her breathing came out disciplined for their nearness.

She ducked her eyes, not closing them, and let her mouth soften as the rest of her remained stone.

It was as slow as everything preceding it. Just stillness, and then the next range of touch, and then stillness once more. She was not lost in its wake, not swept by its tides. It was warmth. The lightest pressure. But that was all.

Nasira drew back, creating distance once more. His hand fell away from her before his eyes opened again.

He said, "I thought…just because you hadn't ever —" Nasira looked away, and let her body follow. His voice turned meek as she moved further. "— that you'd want to —"

Tresses strode into view, the set of her body bringing tell of her meaning. Nasira took up her weapons and said, "I'm ready."

Nasira followed Tresses back to Runite and Siwili were waiting. His prosthetic now reattached, she watched Runite for signs that he would take up arms against her once more. He didn't so much as look down as she approached, keeping her — quite literally — beneath his notice. She tried not to think on it, even as she inexplicably felt again the pain in her gut that had been his earlier gift to her. She did not stop to make sure Edmund was following; after a moment's hesitation, he hastened after her.

Edmund and Marcus looked out of sorts compared to Nasira and the predators. Their hands were empty at their sides, neither of them weighted with weapons as the others were. They walked in the middle of the party, bearing only the clothing on their backs. Nasira had her weapons holster and the knife strapped to her leg, and the spear hooked over the harness Siwili had made her.

The trek into the bowels of the ship took about ten minutes at their pace. They passed through a series of hallways as they widened and narrowed at their forks, and a storeroom with its door ajar. Upon a glance, Nasira saw that it was full of organic cargo ravaged by the gas leak — it reeked of liquid decay.

The sound of the engines increased as they neared their destination. Apprehension prickled Nasira's neck. They would find their goal in either of the two scalding engine rooms at the stern of the ship, or in the immense reactor nestled between them.

Nasira had them lined up in the center of the ship, bound for the reactor. They would work their way through, the jagged blue currents squirming about the its core a backdrop for their search until they found signs of the hive.

The preliminary doors leading to the reactor were shut when they arrived. With a glance at the predators, she went to the access terminal and dialed through it. The onscreen commands were all distorted. Unintelligible. She muttered a curse and tried to clear some of the slime from the keypad, searching for an alternate override, but beneath, it was fried by aged acid.

She was interrupted by an explosive pounding on the metal. Her hands went up automatically, anticipating the door to be breached by aliens.

Tresses' arm was buried to her shoulder in the door. There was the shriek of metal as she withdrew it again, leaving behind a hole the size of Nasira's head, who blinked in surprise.

Tresses punched the door again, doubling the size, until she could peel the metal outward. Siwili stepped in to help. Runite kept his arms crossed over his chest and continued to look over the humans' heads as though they were not there. Even without his help, they soon had a sizable opening. It was large enough for the predators to traverse without needing to duck, but the step up was such that the humans would have to be careful putting their feet on the torn metal. Tresses went first, followed by Siwili.

With their backs turned, Edmund caught Nasira's eye and mouthed a dubious What?

Nasira did not answer, opting to usher him through. She turned to Marcus and flicked her eyebrows up, daring him to make one last protest or break for freedom. His face was slack with defeat. He went through after Edmund, leaving only Runite and Nasira standing in the empty hallway.

Nasira opened her mouth but was left at a loss, wondering why she had done so. She rubbed her knuckles against her palm and shut it again.

He growled and pointed a sharp gesture in the direction of the makeshift opening.

"Oh," she said. "Yes."

The bottom of her stomach fell out as her foot failed to find the floor. The drop was greater than it should have been, the floor dominated by about two inches of water that splashed up and soaked her pant legs. Grimacing, she pulled herself the rest of the way through and stopped.

Her eyes strained against the dark. When she at last was able to see what lay before her, it stole even the stalest breath at the bottom of her lungs.

Cracked webworks of resin encased the entire hallway. Liquid streamed from the walls and dripped from the ceiling in rivulets. Cloying rot tugged at her nostrils. So close to the reactor and the engines, the heat was immense.

The hive greeted her like the split grin of an ifrit, deadlights flickering between the gaps of its mossy, blackened teeth. The sight cut through her nerve in a single clawing stroke and she faltered.

Runite forced her to the side as he came through after her. His metal grip was a vice on her shoulder for a long second before relinquishing.

The shock of his contact overcame the horror of the hive, and, massaging her aching shoulder, she forced herself to catch up.

Chapter Text

The heat stifling the corridors of the alien lair was by no means dry. Humidity drummed against her eyelids, sat heavily on her lashes. Her head was stuffed with it, her body enveloped by it. The walls wept liquid from their multitude of dank sockets.

Weakly illuminating the way were the fixtures that had escaped the resin's clutches — their sick light shone off the gummy walls.

The alien terrain became denser the further they proceeded, and soon its roots roped to form a lattice walkway under their feet, sparing them the plight through water.

"Ruptured cooling reservoir," Nasira explained. "They're enormous water tankards lining the engine rooms, kept as measures against overheating. They must've been damaged during the leak in Atmospheric." Neither of them had asked, but stating the dialectics aloud helped her at least begin to understand the events on the ship.

She stepped over an irregular patch of terrain and continued, "There's no threat of it flooding, but without it there to supply the engines, we'll have other dangers on our hands. At our speed, the taxation on the engines is substantial. Before long, the ambient temperature of the ship will rise to the level we're experiencing now, and higher. It seems, Marcus, like you've landed us in hot water once again."

Her words did not go ignored for much longer.

"Hey," Marcus snapped, "why don't you keep all your garbage to yourself, for just as long as we're being dragged through this shithole deathtrap."

Nasira concerned herself with looking unimpressed. He had not made such a bold outburst in the presence of the predators in some time. She focused on the backs of those in question as she continued to walk. They were spread in a line, Tresses leading the way by about fifteen feet. Not near enough to retaliate without halting the entire convoy.

"Perhaps you'd like to watch your mouth," Nasira said. "There are impressionable ears listening."

Edmund, who'd been slinking at the side of the pack, trying to remain unobtrusive, became even smaller.

"I mean keep your useless noise down. No sense in distracting our early warning system," Marcus said, gesturing to the predators. "Or were you planning on guiding us through with your great intellect? It's served us well so far."

Nasira didn't see need to contain her derisive snort, but his words prompted her wondering. She dropped her voice. "What knowledge do you have of them?"

"Unless you can give me a guarantee that what I say will convince you to turn around and put me on the first shuttle out of here, I'll be keeping my silence."

"Thinking on it," Nasira mused. "You're still alive, which means you're doing as best as can possibly be expected for you right now. Keep your silence, then. When the time comes, I'll invite you into the Queen's dwelling to share with me what you will not share now."

He scowled. "They've been present throughout historical conflict. I know nothing of their intentions here."

"Just that they seek retribution for your actions on Uataislurn," Nasira supplied, her expression darkening. She thought back to when she'd had to convince Tresses of her responsibility for Marcus. It had been clear the predators wanted to kill him, but Tresses had granted Nasira the right to his fate. Evidently not enough to leave her to it and depart, but the right all the same. What other reason could Tresses have to remain on the ship other than to supervise Nasira's treatment of Marcus?

"What of their relation to your xenomorph organism?"

"No idea. Maybe they worship the ugly shits."

Deep in contemplation, she skipped over the opportunity to berate him. "No, I don't think so. Revere them, perhaps. Assume ownership of them, maybe. But that does not explain how you and your betters were able to keep them in custody long enough to conduct your experiments. If that were the case, wouldn't they have prevented you from doing so? No — they didn't seek to stop you until after you had committed your atrocious acts. The logical conclusion would be that they are just."

"Yes, they look as though they have the capacity for such notions. Just."

The frigid bite of anger shot down her back in spite of the heat, but it would do her no good to bring herself up short so she could gauge the angle it would require to spike his nose into his brain for such a suggestion.

She opted to ignore it, not trusting herself to speak in pursuit of his insult. Instead, she said, "And you think our best hope of spotting the last xenomorph in advance lies in them? Why would you, with so little knowledge of their kind, make that assumption?"

His nostrils flared as he was caught in the untruth.

"Xenomorphs have no heat signature, which we've garnered to be the reigning method of perception in their race. By garnered, I mean it's hearsay. I didn't mention it earlier because surely you wouldn't want me to offer up rumor as truth."

When Tresses had shown her playback from her mask, it had appeared in both thermal vision and visible light, among others. However, it was possible that, though they were able to transition the playback for her to see it, they had no means of seeing it themselves. "But surely their masks have augmentation capabilities?"

"Your guess is better than mine."

She let silence hang in the humid air as they trod behind the predators. Unable to see past their large frames, she encountered the next stretch of hallway long after they'd already left it behind them. Her neck burned at the idea of tagging after them, but no danger had made itself apparent as of yet. More realistic than the threat of encountering the last drone was the possibility of stumbling over the parasitoid eggs. If Marcus had been telling the truth about the Queen's reproductive rate, the hive could be full of them. There was no telling how they were distributed either, with so few drones to manage their upkeep.

They came across neither before the hallway widened into a small chamber. Nasira hurried the two of them forward before Tresses could bark a reprimand. She was just about to inquire as to why they had stopped — the space was large, but otherwise in no way indicative of uniqueness — when a low keening noise cut her off.

The sound was distant, but long and sustained. It broke the air in a cursor, jagged edges branching from its middle as it vectored through the ship. It was a tortured, harrowing sound that lifted the hair off her nape, iced her bones to their marrow.

It trailed off as Tresses' arm rose slowly to point in its direction, and there could be no doubt of its origin.

Her Majesty.

At first, she was not sure what Tresses meant when her gesture towards the Queen's shriek downturned, instead jutting towards the floor at her feet. Nasira frowned as Tresses went to the wall. There was a break in it that was free of the hardened resin but with a thin veneer of slime draped over the fold like a cowl. Tresses forced the weakness open until it would accommodate her size, revealing another stretch of alien hallway, a dying light spasming in its socket.

Nasira did not understand until she made to move through it and Tresses spun her away. Tresses forced her hand downward again, indicating the center of the tiny space alongside the two human males.

Stay.

Nasira's hands came up in a feverish rush of signing. She sliced the space between them, her signs carrying as much accusal as she could muster. Reminded her of Nasira's triumph, how Tresses had promised her a chance to get to the Queen.

Tresses loomed over her with all of her height, laid the flat of her enormous hand on the side of Nasira's neck the same way Nasira had done to Marcus upon discovering what he had loosed upon the vessel. Unlike Nasira, she said or signed not a word, but the menace was there. A warning. A threat.

Wasting no further effort on signs, Nasira glowered up at her. So close were they to the Queen's chambers, the exchange was silent, and she knew none of the predators would waste their opportunity at ambush to challenge her.

When Nasira did not falter, a low growl thrummed through Tresses' chest. She pointed at the spear on Nasira's harness. She unhooked it and held it up. It was collapsed to its base length, but Tresses did not encourage her to extend it.

It was not an invitation to accompany to the Queen. It signaled that Tresses' revised decision was not a matter of Nasira's ability, which she had proven in her brawl with Runite, but of something else. Something that was incommunicable where they were now.

Tresses seemed to think the thing resolved, and spared Nasira no more of her attention. She disappeared through the resin, leaving Nasira with the remaining predators.

Nasira stayed the desire to continue her nonverbal assault. Siwili was leaning back, apparently unwilling to engage her. Throughout her signing tirade, he had inched closer to the passage in the resin. He tossed one last look to Runite before following Tresses.

Nasira planted herself between Runite and the cowl. Her pulse hammered in her throat, a reminder her of how easily he had threatened to choke it from her.

He did not attempt to force his way past her. She still held the collapsed spear out from her body — he put his hand on the grip beside hers and flicked the catch so it sprang to its full size.

Did he know the reason that she was to be left behind and was trying to communicate it to her when Tresses had not? Tresses had ordered Nasira to stay, but then made her to remove the spear from where it was stowed. Runite had hung back and then signaled for Nasira to be prepared to use it.

Was she meant to defend the opening from the remaining drone? To watch over the humans here while the predators dealt with the Queen?

He extricated her from the passage by way of turning the spear until it was vertical, then slipped past with a grace that was rapidly becoming disconcerting.

And then the three of them were gone.

She did not know what she was waiting for. No further sound reached them. Water continued to seep from the walls and shimmer through gaps in the alien floor. Pacing brought her no comfort.

"Are we safe here?" Edmund asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd left the fuselage. He and Marcus were crouched in the corner, leaning their backs on a stretch of wall left bare by the resin.

"Safe enough," Nasira answered. She focused on the two branching hallways. One led back to where they had entered, and the other was shrouded in black for a long ways before a light fixture disrupted the air. Everything in between seemed to not exist following the stark dropoff in the light's reach.

"Tell me about the Queen," Nasira said to Marcus. "Their cloaking devices — will she be able to detect them?"

Marcus addressed the floor. "As they possess no eyes, they rely on electro- and chemoreception around bases in the back of their throats. They probably perceive each other solely through the use of their electroreception and rely on chemoreception for their prey."

"What sort of chemicals are they attuned to?"

"Primarily cortisol. Some other hormones in trace amounts."

Nasira pulled her gaze away from the hallways, fighting a smirk. "You want me to believe you when you say their visual acuity is based on fear response? Have you engineered them that way?"

"Cortisol is present in all organic life, if you want to drudge up your most recent biology lecture. They've adapted to their prey in all other ways — why not the perfect method for hunting them? During the trials held at my facility, the subjects were able to see the testing personnel. We who imprisoned them in unbreachable cages. They held all the power, and yet fear was still present in them. What does that say for our odds now?"

Before she could consider his words, she was cut off. A blaring screech tore the air asunder. Its source was the same as the cry from earlier — the Queen.

Marcus and Edmund clapped their hands over their ears. Nasira let the cry pierce her, weave through her mind, commit itself to memory. She tried to construct a visualization of a creature capable of creating that sound. A creature so fueled by vitriol that it overflowed in the form of mad, frothing hatred.

She readjusted her grip on the spear.

Something caught her attention by the flickering light of the darkened hall. A dark shape clung to the ceiling, scrambling towards her. She was ready for it, bracing the spear on her shoulder like a lance.

It crawled straight over their heads, paying the humans no mind. Nasira spun and thrust the spear at it before it could worm through the passage.

It leapt to the side to avoid the blow and dropped to the floor, hissing past its crystal fangs. She ducked to avoid its whipping tail and batted it away with the spear, keeping its length between them. Its jaw extended menacingly, then it stood upright on two legs and lunged for her.

She rammed the spear into its ribcage and twirled to put it at a distance from Edmund and Marcus, then twisted the spear, forcing its injury wider. She watched it die from where it was stuck on the spear, then waited for several long moments to make sure it was not feigning death.

Pulling the spear from the dead xenomorph, she turned her back, shaking the stiffness from her limbs.

A slimy chill snaked around her neck, choking off her gasp of surprise. Panic crushed her chest. She reached up with both arms, groping at the back of her neck. Her fingertips touched the fleshy parasite and retracted in disgust — she made fists and tried to force it off of her, but the angle made her blows weak.

Spots engulfed her vision. She dropped to one knee, felt the parasite creeping around her arms to gain access to her face, the sound of its excited wheezes smothered by her hijab. There was the freezing touch of its bony digit on her cheek.

Her consciousness was fading. Her last thought was one of detachment: a question of whether this was when and how all would be lost.

Chapter Text

The parasite's hold constricted with every breath she managed to win. The sounds of its struggles to get to her face were muted, distant, against the surging blood in her ears.

Chest caving, fingernails clawing at the bony flesh of its tail. Black talons raked the inside of her skull as she starved for oxygen.

The horrible certainty of its violation fueled her final gasp of protest as the stale air at the bottom of her lungs rasped past her lips.

A gunshot punched past her head, splintering the remnants of her hearing. The hold on her neck slackened enough for her to gulp air. Trembling fingers struggled to unwind the tail from around her throat before another pair of hands aided her. The crushing weight relinquished, and she was awarded with a rush of colored spots that hastily assembled her vision. She toppled, catching herself on the resin.

Edmund slung the parasitoid away, breathing hard. Its brainstem tail twitched before it curled its way into death, leaving its blood to sputter and smoke.

Marcus' knuckles were white, so tightly was he clutching the grip of a handgun Nasira had not known he possessed.

Nasira cradled her hands to her breast. The acid blood had, by some miracle, spared her skin.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse from the strain on her windpipe. "You had a weapon?"

Her hearing on her left side had collapsed from the volume of the gunshot, and her words were dim and wavering in her ears. Edmund was also massaging his ear. She swiveled her head, testing her other ear and deeming it normal in time to hear Marcus speak.

"The larva can survive without the nutrients supplied by their ovomorph for a couple of hours. Attach themselves in an adult, wait until a host is subdued. It's a quicker means of impregnation than cocooning. Surprised we haven't seen this method before."

Nasira marched forward, stepping over the parasite's carcass as though it were commonplace.

"You had a weapon," she spat, then leaned to the side to cough through her bruised throat.

She corralled him into the corner, but before she could cut him off, he said, "It served us well just then."

She gripped his wrist and slammed her shoulder into his middle, knocking him against the wall. She snatched the weapon out of his hand when it loosened and took a step back, ready to bring it up again if he resisted.

He massaged his wrist, grimacing, but made no further move after it.

Nasira wiped her mouth — the force of her coughing had brought spittle to her lips, and her eyes burned with tears. She turned to hide them.

He and Edmund had saved her from what was likely the most ghastly fate she could meet at the hands of these organisms. She ought to acknowledge them, but in herself she could find only rage for the thing that had come so close to ending her journey amongst the stinking, slavering walls of the hive.

She whirled, kicking the parasite so savagely it smacked into the distant wall and fell to the floor. She brought the weapon up and fired at it, the projectiles punching through its flesh. Though it was tough, she carved chunks of flesh out with every bullet pumped into the carcass as she discharged the entire clip of ammunition.

A snarl was hard on her face as she looked at its grim remains.

"Nasira?" Edmund asked, his tone halting. He and Marcus had their hands clapped over their ears, but he moved his away, reaching for her like he wanted to touch her in reassurance.

She wiped her mouth again, clearing her expression. Her shoulders sagged.

She said to Marcus, "Turn out your pockets."

He uncovered his ears. "Hoping for a few more rounds to finish it off? I think it's been dead since I saved you."

"Now."

Sneering, he produced a pouch and holster from his pocket and held it up.

She snatched it away, flipping it over to inspect it. How had he gotten it past security? She should have checked him for weapons when it was first revealed that he was responsible for the xenomorph infestation. She tested it, feeling some kind of inflexible lining between the layers of the sturdy material. Maybe the lining had shielded it from detection.

The thing itself was large enough that it should have been obvious what he'd been carrying unless he'd had some other means of concealing it, perhaps strapped to his person and accessible through a false pocket. She pulled back the flap at the top of the pouch to reveal an additional three magazines of ammunition.

She was aware that Edmund's hand was still outstretched to her throughout her inspection — when he dropped it, her eyes drew to him. His face tensed in fear as he looked over her shoulder.

"Nasira, watch out!" he shouted.

Nasira felt the air behind her part — she turned and brought the spear up as a reflex, droving it into the drone's side. She dropped to her knee, bracing the spear against her body. Pinioned on the other end, the spiteful creature continued to thrash. She pushed her end of the spear down, lifting the drone on the other side so that its long legs couldn't gain purchase on the ground.

The spear was slick with its blood. Its body slid towards her as the speartip drove through the other side of its ribs. Its claws swept the air in front of her face — it twisted so that its face was feet from hers, coming closer —

Its jaw snapped out and she jerked her head to avoid it. With an almighty effort, she heaved herself up and flipped the spear so the drone was pinned on the floor, then vaulted over it, landing with both feet driven atop its skull. She yanked the spear out of its side and, before it could get out from beneath her, reburied it in its throat.

The drone's body fell limp. Nasira puffed escaped hair out of her face and wrested her gaze around, checking for more dangers. The hallways were devoid of movement, and there was no sign of a live parasitoid clinging anywhere to the adult. The two felled drones were nestled together as if in sleep.

Only then did she have time to consider what it meant.

Two of them.

Nasira's mind was pulled into the singularity of realization — time slowed to a near-stop.

Xenomorphs. Drones.

They'd encountered two in the fuselage and two here.

That was four drones.

Four of them.

There could only be three. Three drones from Uicra, Ensla, and Buhbda, and the Queen from Prono.

Where had the fourth drone come from?

She couldn't find an answer. They needed a host to reproduce.

"I told you," Marcus said. "I told you they were creatures of opportunity. They found a way."

There were more of them than there should have been. The hive drone she had killed first hadn't been attempting to attack — it had been clinging to the ceiling to get past the intruders. She had stopped it. Where had it been going?

The screeching cry that had assailed them.

To assist their Queen.

They found a way to reproduce without hosts?

No. To get to new hosts.

The Cavalier was a tomb, its networked hallways cold and empty. Its veins had gone flat, its remaining lifeblood congregated into two asylums.

The fuselage, which had thwarted two minor and halfhearted xenomorph attacks.

And the central bunker.

"They found a way. I fucking told you they would," Marcus continued. His complexion had turned an unpleasant shade of puce, his hair falling jagged into wild eyes. "I told you they would. Nothing keeps them out for long!"

"Shut up!" Nasira shouted. "I'm trying to think."

The central bunker. The words flashed heavy and emboldened in her mind. SEALED. Occupants inside. Safe. A separate ventilation network and life support. Its access tunnels sealed the exact same way. They stood together or not at all.

Not at all.

Sealed.

Safe.

SEALED.

"We've got to leave," Marcus demanded. "You were wrong. There was never anywhere safe. If you'd just let us leave before this happened —"

Her head jerked up to face him, and he cut himself off.

"You did this," she said.

He stepped back. "What?"

The bridge, the control room. A horrendous truth brought to light. Herself, losing composure, lashing out at he who was responsible. The steady, ruby drip of blood on the console.

The console that she had used to review the status of the central bunker, to jettison the lifeboats.

"Atmospheric," she said. "A distraction. The central bunker."

"I didn't —"

"That's the only way there could be more of them," she snarled.

Nasira wrapped her hands more firmly around the grip. Raised it to eye level.

"All those people you put at risk."

His protest came out as a wheeze as he flinched away. He was not watching her, but craning his face to the side. Water wet his hair and trailed down his face.

She shifted her aim. Her finger tightened over the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Nasira lifted it away from where she'd redirected it and held it loosely.

"It's empty, dumbass." She ejected the magazine and upended it to demonstrate its benignity. "Remember? It works much better if it's loaded."

She retrieved the pouch from where she'd dropped it after being attacked by the drone that should not exist, then tipped it over. The contents of the magazines rained down upon the floor, bouncing over the resin and falling through the gaps to swim in the blighted water below.

"But then," she said, "we don't want it to work. We don't want anything else you do to cause any more harm to this ship and its —"

And its inhabitants.

How much time had passed since the leak in Atmospheric? Long enough for at least a single host to have been taken, but it was possible that the majority of their numbers were still taking shelter inside. If there had been many more, they would have encountered them sooner.

She had to warn the predators, but she had nowhere to stow the weapon on her person, nor could she leave it behind with Marcus, even if it was unloaded.

Abandoning the rest of her statement, Nasira pressed the two parts of the handgun to Edmund. "Hold this. I'll be back."

He leaned away from her, refusing to take them, and stammered, "What? No, I can't —"

He broke off, looking to the darkened hall. Nasira ceased her efforts to push it onto him and swiveled her head, turning her good ear to it.

The distant cacophony of overlapping shrieks was razors slicing eyeball, gritted teeth mashed to pulp. Other drones on their way to the Queen. A horde of them, the corridors packed wall-to-wall with the things, skeletal limbs churning as they scuttled out from their damned hollows. Uttered foully from their midst were viperous whispers that ate up the black distance, closing ever inward.

Nasira fought the urge to sink to her knees.

What good was it now that she'd managed to keep her head together throughout this ordeal? The central bunker had been breached. Its occupants had been used to breed more of the monstrosities.

They were gone. Her sole obligation had been vanquished.

How had only two drones succeeded in breeding all thirty of the persons in the central bunker? How had they moved through the ship to invade the central bunker without her knowledge? Not the bulkheads. She would have noticed immediately. But a smaller access tunnel, one tucked out of the way…

She'd given them the perfect network they'd needed to carry out their misdeeds beneath her notice. Working as an undercurrent beneath the skin of the ship, she'd had no idea. Was it possible she could have felt it, had she been paying attention?

How had she let this happen? Knowing the answer would provide her with no comfort. There was no changing it. But trying to figure it out was who she was — if indeed there could be anything left of her after all she had failed at.

Nasira wasted no more time. This was her chance to avert the final disaster this ship had to offer: she had to warn the predators before they were caught up in the swells of the horde and overcome.

She forced the weapon up, whipping Marcus across the face, and then stomped down sideways on his ankle. He let out a strangled cry and slid down the wall, clutching the broken joint.

She shoved the handgun at Edmund. Wide, terrified eyes looked from it to its discarded ammunition, glints of which still winked from nooks in the resin, having not fallen into the water below.

"But it's —"

He was cut off by the the discordant cries of the horde, growing closer.

He took it.

Nasira dove through the passage after the predators, sprinting down the corridor until it opened into the reactor's central chamber, a cavernous room of elephantine proportions. She looked up — the reactor platform was two stories above.

She took the stairs two at a time, slipping once on the slick resin and dropping to her knee. Water parted around it, splashing up and soaking her clothes. She hooked the spear onto her harness so she could haul herself up the railing with two hands.

The reactor was an enormous centrifuge hung suspended over a hundred feet of black. Several industrial catwalks led to its heart — she ran down one until it opened to the main platform.

Nasira came upon a nightmare. The immense room was wretched with the crash of the reactor's five cores firing in sequence. Each strike of a core receded for just long enough to hear the tumult of the fray dominating the center of the platform.

Water rained down on them while the resin caking every surface soared up to the ceiling like the black walls of a monstrous gullet, shadows drooling into the darkest corners.

At its heart, the Queen, dug in like the bloated head of a tick. An enormous crest framed her oblong skull. Numerous arms flailed around her bony breast. Winding around her legs was a bulging sac riddled with mucus. The dark indents of eggs visible were where the sac strained with its contents.

She was every bit as awful as Nasira had imagined, had feared. She was the end times. Light struck her shell of obsidian and shrank away.

A blind malice. The mother of all evils.

Her regal head swung in heavy pendulums as she seemed to assay the events on the distant side of the platform.

The trio of predators were locked in combat with what looked like a second queen, but it was only a fraction of the other's size and without an egg sac. Its stature was like that of a mantis, eight stilted arachnid legs holding its body far above the predator's heads. Two sets of forelegs reared out from its torso. Two clacking pinchers dominated its face, an inner jaw snapping between them. Yellow blood flowed from tens of injuries all over its body.

The predators were fanned out around it, blocked off from the Queen. It was acting as a bodyguard, a palatine, protecting its mistress from the intruders with everything it possessed. It mirrored the predators, not allowing them to gain any ground.

Runite's shoulder cannon was firing but the Palatine's carapace seemed resistant to its effects. He widened his stance, standing his ground as he empowered his next shot. The mass of blue energy was larger than Nasira had ever seen, and when he loosed it, the world was overexposed in the harsh light. Sparks struck the side of the Palatine's face and stuck. The melted flesh beneath glowed like coals had embedded themselves in the scorched remains.

Its lips skinned back as its mouth frothed with rage. The Palatine charged him, the blade tipping its tail aiming to cleave him in two. He rolled beneath it and came up again, dodging its claws.

Siwili had a disk in one hand, the blades extended as long as Nasira's forearm. He lobbed it, the rotors shaving off one of its claws. Distracted from Runite, the Palatine rounded on him, a seething hiss spilling past its teeth. He dove over its whipping tail and threw a second disk, which lodged in its collar.

A dark shape streaked through the air and contacted the stuck disk, forcing its sawing blades even deeper. One set of the Palatines' arms hung limp, now useless as the tendons leading to it were severed, and the disk sped back towards Siwili.

The dark shape dropped back to the floor and unleashed a flurry of bladed strikes on the Palatine's stilt legs.

Nasira watched in awe as the shape that was Tresses battled the Palatine head-on. The huntress was the only one who seemed capable of getting within reach of the Palatine's terrible arsenal of weapons, and she seemed more than a match for it.

Tresses wove in and out of its stampede of stomping legs, her long hair flying as though she were unaffected by something as mundane and middling as gravity. She was armed with a pair of curving wrist blades, which Nasira had to glean from the way she patterned her attacks, as they were invisible in their speed. Tresses' assault was endless, but the Palatine's armored legs held strong, and for all Tresses' strikes, it was not felled.

Stamping and screaming, the Palatine fought to trample Tresses, but the huntress ducked out from underneath its onslaught and leapt straight up, slicing off one of its pinchers.

The Palatine howled in pain as blood spewed from the injury and slapped the platform, disintegrating all it touched.

The Queen's cranium crashed from side to side, keening as though it was she who had been injured. Weighed down by the egg sac, she could do little more than watch. The only thing protecting her from the predators was the Palatine —

— and soon, the incoming horde of xenomorphs from any of the five entrances to the reactor.

Nasira gathered her breath and screamed her warning, letting it gallop across the infernal scene to reach them.

"Incoming!"

The two males stopped in their tracks, swinging wide to face Nasira. Runite was nearest — he started towards her, his shoulders set in anger at her sudden intrusion. Siwili snarled, making to follow, his airborne disks forgotten.

For just an instant, the Palatine went stock-still, sizing up this new threat as blood poured almost comically from its severed pincher. Tresses did not falter in her movements, taking advantage of the thing's inattention and jumping higher than she ever had before, contorting her body through the narrow window of the Palatine's guard.

The Palatine's bone tail snapped, suddenly reanimated, just as Tresses twisted about in midair, blades poised to topple its head from its neck.

There was a sickening crunch and the wet slap of raw gore. The blood that painted the platform was dormant on the metal.

For all the regret in the universe, Nasira could not take back the vital seconds that had distracted them so.

Dangling limply was the Palatine's victim, spitted midway upon the tail. Phosphorescent green blood pumped out around the obstruction in a sluggish deluge as, from her eldritch throne, the Queen crowed victory.

Chapter Text

Thick and viscous, the blood squeezing past the intrusion seemed lethargic.

The tendons in the Queen's jaw tautened as her bellow devoured all other sound.

Runite turned to see his companion held aloft by the Palatine's offense.

Siwili was stirring weakly, his head lolling back so that his long hair brushed one of the bone segments of the tail piercing his middle. He groped at it where it emerged from his abdomen.

Runite's roar could have shaken stars loose from the night. Indeed, it sounded as though something had come undone inside of him as he started back towards Siwili.

Some time betwixt when Nasira had first heard the horde crying out and arriving in the Queen's lair, they must have quieted, gone utterly silent so as to rise up in first to arrive came from the underside of the platform, scuttling over the railing and hurling itself at Runite. He was knocked to the side, forced to abandon Siwili.

Nasira, who had been immobile where she stood, thawed. She broke towards Siwili, dodging past the grappling Runite and his drone opponent. Her eyes were dragged away from her destination as the Queen moved on the other side of the room.

Not seconds after its inception, the Queen's scream changed. Its triumph, like the birth of her macabre children, metamorphosed into something else. Turning inside out upon itself, bearing its fresh guts to the wormy touch of the air, her cry became new, stripped — vulnerable.

Tresses, successful in her last assault, dropped back to the ground and was lost to Nasira's eyes in the Palatine's sudden thrashing.

All of its stilt legs staggered sideways to accompany its short howl of pain. A thin yellow line was a jeweled necklace against the black of its throat. Rills of blood trailed down to its vacant breast. The injury grinned wide as the Palatine's head tottered, massive weight no longer supported by its eviscerated throat, but still it held on to its tenuous purchase. Naught but a single sinew of flesh, just a hand's breadth in width, held the two together — and it seemed, until they were separated, the Palatine's conviction would persevere.

It gathered itself back to full height and composed itself for a second advance. Light rose behind the silhouette of its shoulders, flaring briefly like the diamond ring of an eclipse.

Nasira went still. The Palatine's sightless gaze fixed on her, half-poised in reaching for Siwili. The end of its barbed tail twitched. Siwili, now limp, bobbed astride it without protest.

For a frozen moment, they were the only two things in the room: Nasira, her stature laughable before the enormity of her opponent —

— and the Palatine, oblivious to the metal whine that rode the gleam of light behind its shoulder as it grew to engulf the sinew of its nearly severed neck.

Its blades flashing in the reactor's light, Siwili's rogue disk shore straight through the last thread connecting the Palatine's head to its body and streaked onward, bound to return to its master.

The decapitated Palatine swayed where it stood.

Nasira cast herself at the bone tail impaling him, knocking it into the disk's path; blood sprayed as it met the same fate as its owner, caught off-guard. Siwili fell to the ground, nearly crushing Nasira, as the disk whizzed over their heads. The severed remainder yanked back into the Palatine's collapsing frame.

Nasira tackled the whipping end of the tail still impaling Siwili, forcing it to curve away so the acid blood geysering from its end did not rain down atop him. It spattered the platform and began smoking immediately.

Mind racing, she fought to figure out what to do next. Even if she dared to remove it, the jutting segments would make it impossible. It had gored him just under his lowest rib, slightly off-center. It was as thick as his arm. Had his spine been hit? Would he ever move again?

A violent hiss rent the air behind her. She twisted to look over her shoulder, spotting a drone stalking low to the ground, coiled to strike.

She was still crouching beside the tail, in no position to defend herself and Siwili both. She was halfway to her feet when it sprang — Nasira tucked herself into a roll, landing on her feet, not far from Siwili's side. She corrected, putting herself between the two. The drone's claws shrieked over the metal as it slid and recovered. It wasted no time sizing her up again — jaws wide, it leapt.

Her fingers scrabbled for Runite's knife — she brought it up just in time to plunge it deep into the drone's maw. The drone reeled back, screeching and scratching at it.

Nasira dropped into a push-up, legs knifing out from her body, her boots landing a solid kick to the drone's hindquarters. The drone lurched to the side, gravity seizing it. Wailing, it tumbled into the rift in the platform and fell.

The knife clattered to the ground. Nasira threw herself after it, but it was already sliding into the recess. It spiraled out of view, blade flashing once in the light of the firing reactor core. The heel of her hand smacked into the metal as she was denied.

Still on her belly, she watched as the room was overtaken.

The horde had arrived, their seas of jumbled limbs squirming past machinery and mouths leaking mire. The Queen was still shrieking and flailing her arms, but Nasira had become numb to her shrill cries; sound failed to reach her as though she was watching it beat against the walls of an invisible prison. Her children swarmed over her, their seething numbers covering her like a bulwark.

Wasting no more time, she grabbed Siwili under his arms. He twitched, but that was all. Refusing to let her thoughts linger on how cold he already was, she began hauling him back towards the stairs. It strained every muscle in her body twice over, but she managed it.

The aliens mobbing the platform paid no attention to her as she moved away from the reactor. Runite was struggling under the weight of two drones as he attempted to repel a third. He flipped one from his shoulders, but before he could raise an arm to dispatch it, another threw itself onto him. His shoulder cannon had been gnawed from its mount and lay coldly upon the floor.

No help came from Tresses, as she was still nowhere to be seen.

Nasira was midway down the catwalk when a rasp tumbled its way around her feet. She stopped, dread suffocating her heartbeat. A few inches from her heels, there was the curving points of claw tips.

There was a drone beneath the catwalk. It shadowed her movements, climbing when she moved, stilling when she stopped.

The catwalk was open on both sides, just a railing separating her from it once it came for her.

She bent as slowly as she could manage, propping Siwili's up his shoulders and then backing away, letting him slide down her shins to rest on the ground. Removing the spear from her harness, she kept her gaze fixed on the claw tips. They sawed at the air, daring her to move further.

There was a small gap in the resin. Nasira tilted her head, lining up her vision with the grating. Through it, she could see nothing.

The attack came from her right — the drone twisted beneath the railing so fast she barely managed to snap her focus onto it before it came at her.

Claws shredded down her front, forcing her eyes to shut and a cry to leave her. She thrust the spear over herself and blocked them before they could dip into her flesh and tear her open.

Her back hit the railing and curved under the drone's weight. Her throat bared to its snapping jaw, desperation left her in strangled gasps. Her arms straightened, forcing the drone away. She took the ground she'd gained, keeping herself away from the railing. If she fell from the catwalk, she would plummet hundreds of feet into the bowels of the reactor and perish.

The drone perched on the opposite railing, tail curling around its body, drool spilling from its lips. Nasira feinted a charge that would knock it from its mount — it took the bait, coming off the rail to hover near Siwili. Its toes clicked on the resin-coated metal.

Nasira licked salt from her teeth. Heat simmered deep in her gut at seeing it stand over him with such disregard. She spun the spear around her body, almost without thought. The movement drew the drone's attention such that it didn't even notice Siwili shift beneath it.

There was a howl as Siwili pinned its foot to the catwalk with his knife. Nasira stepped in while it was distracted and batted it sideways over the railing.

The drone's foot had torn free of the blade. She wiped the blood off on the resin and tucked it where Runite's had been, in the holster behind her sidearm, then took Siwili's weight again. His flesh, though heavily mottled with brown, was paler than before, accompanied by a clammy veil over his uneven scales. He was so still it was like he'd never moved in the first place.

In the center of the reactor platform, Runite freed himself from the clutches of a drone, hurling it away and letting it skewer itself upon his wristblades when it attempted to advance again. He shook the corpse free and turned toward Nasira. The bright glow of his wounds preceded him down the catwalk. He stalked past her and checked the stairs.

Distracted, he did not see the two drones galloping down the catwalk towards them. Nasira, fumbling with Siwili, shouted a warning but was too slow to defend herself. The first dove at her — she hit the ground hard on her back, dropping Siwili on her legs, as its claws seized nothing but air.

Runite came to attention before the drone could strike again, and from her place on the floor she heard the subsequent screech of its death.

The second drone, seeing its felled sibling, snarled and launched itself at Nasira.

She fought to squirm out from under Siwili — Runite grasped her under the arms and yanked her upright. Tucking her knees to her chest, she used her newfound height to land a powerful heel strike that sent the drone soaring back down the catwalk.

Before it could scramble to its feet, a metal point erupted from its mouth. Yellow blood spewed forth like vomit. The point withdrew, and the drone collapsed as Tresses strode out from around it, whipping the blade through the air to rid it of acid.

Runite set Nasira back on her feet, pointing towards the stairs. Nasira pressed her spear to him. He hesitated a beat, then gave her a curt nod and took it.

Nasira supported Siwili's head as best she could and half-slid, half-crawled down the resin covering the stairs.

Previously, she had been exempted from the horde's attention as it worked to defend its Queen. Now, with their party concentrated in one location, she saw the onslaught arrive in full force. There was a wall of them, and the two predators defending the top of the stairs had no hope of culling their numbers — they could only hold back the tide as Nasira pulled Siwili out of harm's way.

A dead drone fell past them, several bladed bolts lodged in its throat. A second scuttled along the underside of the platform and wrapped around one of the stairs — a spear rocketed down from the catwalk and punched through its skull, sparing her. Leaning Siwili against her legs, Nasira tugged it free. She barely glanced at the corpse it left behind and launched it back up to Runite, who caught it and used it to force another away.

The resin at the bottom of the stairs was uneven, tripping her and sending her into several inches of water. Edmund's pale face peered at her from the hallway. Some part of her had expected him to be dead, or nearing it, but he was up and running to her.

He shouted, "They ran right past us, didn't seem to give a damn we were there!"

"Help me," Nasira rasped, fighting to take Siwili's weight back now that his armor was slick with water.

Edmund hesitated, mouth forming a protest. He quashed it and grasped one of Siwili's shoulder plates.

With his weight halved, they dragged him into the hallway and through the cowl. Marcus was still leaning against his wall and holding his ankle, his breaths shallow.

Nasira dropped to her knees beside Siwili. The tail still protruded from both sides of his body. She could do nothing for him — any hope he had remained with his comrades.

Nasira ducked halfway through the cowl and peered into the hallway.

Tresses and Runite had made it down the stairs and were shoulder to shoulder, backing down the hallway as they staved off the horde. Tresses' mounted cannon fired and a drone was pinned to the resin by a wire net. Yellow blood blossomed across its body as the trap constricted. Acid popped, threatening to dissolve the net, but it held strong. The horde hesitated, watching as their sibling was hewn into pieces.

The predators used their interlude to retreat through the cowl — Nasira jumped back to make way for them.

Tresses turned immediately upon ducking through and planted two small devices on either side of the wall. Red lasers vectored from each and wove a grid across the opening. Through its translucence, Nasira could see the forerunners of the horde brought up short by the machination.

The glow of the lasers turned their slavering jaws otherwordly — as the crimson light tossed across their features, Nasira realized she'd come to find their monstrous faces familiar. They'd filled up her daydreams, her reality, her life for what seemed like so long. This departure had fear icing her limbs once again, holding her captive where she stood.

Tresses shared no such sentiment and put her back to it, ignoring the room's occupants as she bent next to Siwili.

"What happened?" Edmund asked, his expression fearful.

Nasira wrenched her gaze from the cowl, through which the mad snarling of the horde could still be heard. Shock turned her speech fragmented.

"An accident. A xenomorph the size of the Queen, but — but not."

Siwili. His abdomen was awash in bright green and his colors dulled to sullen shades of their former selves. Something about seeing him lying alongside the filth of the hive made breathing feel like burning.

Tresses picked up the severed tail and swiped it through the lasers. The bleeding stump fell away. The new end did not bleed.

Then she draped Siwili over her shoulders, not pausing even for Runite, who warbled a question at her. Adjusting Siwili so that he was not in danger of falling, she started back towards the way they had come, vanishing within moments.

Edmund's next question came after the long pause they left behind.

"Will he live?"

The probe was subdued. It held no malice. The question existed in their minds as surely as the snapping horde trying to breach their chamber, but it seemed he was the wrong one to voice it.

Runite was on him in an instant, cracking Edmund's head against the resin as he barreled into him. Water from the resin poured over Edmund's face, turning his cry of fear into drowning.

Nasira jumped on them both, prising at Runite's arm, trying to tug him away. He was single minded — try as she did, she could not force him off of Edmund.

"Stop it!"

She gave up pulling and forced herself between them, trying to lever the two apart. Runite's grip slackened on Edmund — his clawed hands engulfed either of Nasira's arms instead as she took Edmund's place as the focus of his ire. Her back hit the wall as Edmund ducked out of the way. She averted her face from the roar of anger that was sure to come, finding that hot tears had sprung to her eyes, blinding her.

When she spoke, however, her voice was steady.

"I'm sorry."

Not afraid of him. Not afraid of his anger.

Because she was to blame. Whatever happened to Siwili would be her fault, and he would be right to hate her for it.

His weight was gone from her in the next instant. She did not move away from the wall, still letting the grimy water running over her serve as a mere shade of the penance that she owed him.

Though she did not endeavor to look at him, she felt the immense rise and fall of his shoulders as he strained to even his breathing. They were, the two of them, a mess: him still fighting his outburst, and her allowing her eyes to swim with shame.

Against her will, she thought of Marcus. The lines of his face, the way they were drawn with the utmost of scorn. To him, in his eyes, she had always been nothing.

He thought nothing of her.

Didn't respect her, didn't fear her.

Perhaps he was right that she was none of the things she thought she'd been.

Runite's snarl drew her out of her anguish. She swiped her eyes clear, hand going to her holster.

A drone dove through the cowl, the first to brave the trap that Tresses had set. Nasira hastened to ready herself for a fight, but the creature was veering already off course — in several directions.

Half of its skull was sliced off, along with all four of its limbs. The disembodied segments fell to the floor, harmless. Capsized, the limbless body rocked in Edmund's direction so far it touched his shoe. He leapt away, swearing.

"Jesus!"

Nasira let him take shelter behind her, glancing at Runite. His spear was tucked, readied, against his side. The pair of them approached the drone — Runite at its skull, Nasira at its body.

She inspected it, finding no movement. The wounds where its limbs had been cut were cauterized by the lasers. Runite tipped the skull over with his spear.

"Thei-de," he rumbled.

Nasira nodded.

"Dead," she pronounced, turning to assure Edmund.

He had moved further back than she'd thought; there was nothing behind her but Marcus, supporting himself against the wall. Held out from his middle was the weapon she'd confiscated from him earlier.

Her mouth opened. "Where'd you…"

Absent from the water, she now realized, was the glint of the discarded ammunition.

Marcus, in his state, had not dragged himself across the watery floor to retrieve it. That left…

"Edmund?"

He'd somehow gotten around the limbless drone and was hovering in the mouth of the hallway through which Tresses with Siwili had disappeared.

He swallowed. "They were coming. You left us."

The drone's limbless body rocked again. A pale finger, like that of a spider, peeked out from where it clung to the drone's undercarriage. Nasira's mouth formed a warning as she ducked to the side, but found herself tripping on one of the disembodied limbs beneath the water's surface. Stumbling, she threw an arm across her face.

Edmund appeared beside her, stomping on its bony tail and cutting it off before it could scramble out from under the dead drone and launch itself at her.

Marcus fired at the parasite, grazing one of its bone appendages. Acid sprayed from the wound — Edmund let out a shriek as it struck his leg. He fell back, screaming as the acid ate through his flesh.

Nasira recovered, backing towards Runite and holding her hand out for the spear.

The parasite reared up bizarrely and went skittering towards Marcus.

He didn't bother with the gun as the parasite approached — he pulled Edmund in front of him, ducking beneath and turning away in case it wasn't enough.

It was plenty.

The parasite's skeletal appendages were at Edmund's face in an instant, wrapping their crushing grip around his head.

Nasira, halfway to them with her arms outstretched, felt a scream leave her.

Marcus turned his weapon on Nasira.

Runite's metal arm came up — the projectile glanced off, pinging against the walls, the metal roof. A red-hot spike plunged into Nasira's right leg. She froze, risen on one toe, mid-stride, her throat working to produce a sound. She toppled, a wisp of shocked breath leaving her.

Runite's bellow inspired tremors to shoot through the water covering the floor — Nasira watched their progression with pristine awareness despite the agony threatening to overtake her.

Marcus turned the weapon on him, firing once, twice, thrice.

Flecks of green marked the resin all around her as Runite took all three shots in the abdomen. Nasira got an elbow beneath her and dragged herself towards where he was standing. Before he could squeeze the trigger for a fourth, Nasira clamped her hand around his broken ankle. The bones ground together beneath his pants leg and he howled, losing his grip on the wall and crashing to the floor beside her. He shoveled through the water, attempting to find the lost weapon.

Teeth bared, she pulled herself even with him, pressing Siwili's knife to the soft underside of his chin.

She chanced a look at Runite. His hands were pressed over the wounds in his middle. Edmund had fallen to the resin-coated floor; the parasite's tail slithered over his throat in warning.

Runite came off the wall. He seized Marcus by the shirt and held him aloft.

"Wait," Nasira choked. "Don't."

In an instant, Runite had adjusted his grip — it was too fast for Marcus to utter another greased word.

Runite pulled, twisting back and forth once, and Marcus was in two pieces.

Nasira's vision swarmed over, but she still heard the heavy slap of everything spill from him and drop into the water, and she saw Runite discard each part of him in a separate direction.

The water turned cloudy, but she could not bring herself to move, even as a raw pink chunk bobbed not an inch before her face.

Runite lifted her by the neck of her shirt. Her skin cells stood up as Marcus' blood smeared across them — Nasira cried out and slapped him away. He caught her wrists before she hit the water and reeled her back in. Still crying, she attempted to yank her hands back from him, digging in her heels. The movement jarred her injury and the pain took her legs out from beneath her.

With only one arm, he slung her across his back like she was a cape. Her feet did not touch the ground.

She fought him, jamming her elbows into anything she could reach, but he started after Tresses — Nasira twisted, stealing a last look at Edmund. The parasite was a ghost that had settled over his face, dipped into his mouth, wrapped a smothering force around his tongue. His chest rose and fell evenly — for all the world, he looked as though the thing could be wrenched from his face and he would be saved.

She tried to slam her body into Runite's back, to force him to let her go, but the strain only caused her eyes to drift shut. Escaping her was a series of short, quick whimpers that for once she couldn't hope to quell, as grief swallowed her up and bore her away.

Chapter Text

Great spatterings of blood marked the ground over which Runite retreated. Nasira's face, pressed against his armored shoulder blade, stared blankly downward as the painted resin gave way once more to water. Jarred by his rough gait, her toes danced but an inch above its choppy surface.

The glowing trail of blood set alight the route Tresses had taken after their party — and one of its members — had been torn asunder.

Marcus, dead.

Edmund, doomed.

Siwili…

Her vision streaked, head swooning backwards as though it were her blood churning around his ankles.

We have to go back, she thought kept saying. We have to help him. We can still help him. We — we can.

When she came to, she was staring at the resin of the ceiling. Moisture dripped from it and flooded the hollows of her eyes, spilling over when she struggled to lift her head and tracking down her grimy cheeks.

"Wait," she said. Her voice was but a wan murmur drowned out by his sloshing progression through the murky water. "…Stop."

She contorted to see the tiny disrupt in the resin shrink as they passed it by.

"You — you have to stop."

When he did not halt, she fought to loose one of her wrists from his grasp; he only tightened his hold in response. His action spurred a pained cry from her that transformed into a snarl as she lashed out with her feet, attempting to strike him in the back of his legs. He did not so much as falter. Tensing her arms, she braced a knee against his back and clamored over his shoulder.

His head turned but her teeth had already latched onto the back of his hand.

He bellowed, throwing his head from side, the edge of his mask bashing into her temple. Stars erupted behind her eyes but she held doggedly on, his beaded hair smacking her in the face as he attempted to shake her off. Her arms gave out, but she bit down harder, forcing her jaws together. His blood filled her mouth and ran from her lips.

His metal hand fisted in the back of her hijab — he could rip it free if he so chose — but then relinquished.

His shoulders dropped, flipping her forward. The shock of freezing water enveloped her, stealing into the injury in her leg like a spiteful revenant. The scream torn from her was still laced with the salt of his blood. Lungs aflame, she floundered to right herself, wriggling through his legs and breaking through the cloak in the resin so she emerged in a new chamber.

A low mist swirled and parted as the disturbed water broke it. Leathery eggs choked the floor of the chamber, their pulsating a horrific mockery of a heart. Blackened resin fortified the walls of what was — with the exception of the Queen's chamber — the hive's most essential part.

Forgetting Runite somewhere behind her, Nasira stood. She stumbled to the first of them, feeling the fabric of clothing, moist with gruel, beneath her hand. The chest was intact. She pressed her ear to it, but a weight on her shoulder pulled her back. The pressure was careful but insistent, and she let it take her away.

Runite dipped his head towards the cocooned passenger. His hair slid over his shoulders as his head shook in the slightest of motions.

They'd already been infected.

Nasira's eyes squeezed shut, her mouth twisting into a grimace. Spanning the walls were countless cocooned, immobile forms. She limped to the next one and waited for his verdict.

The next.

And the next.

Nasira's hand clenched around the reeds of resin restraining the last of them, her head bowing before the passenger's chest.

"Help them" she said. "Please."

There was the ring of metal against Runite's shoulder as he hefted the spear.

Nasira's neck snapped as she lurched to face him.

"No! Wait. Something else — you have to be able to —"

A low snarl came from him, but the sound of a distant cry dashed through his protest. Nasira's head jerked in the direction from which it had originated.

Not the demented shrieks of a drone nor its Queen. Something else. High, hysterical, and clear as crystal.

Nasira caught a handhold in the resin and hauled herself after it, disregarding her injured leg entirely. Runite moved as well, an instant behind and then overtaking her. Seizing the back of the harness she wore, he drew her after him, bringing her hand to his chest plate and pressing down on her fingers until they curled around the edge of it so she could hold on.

He barreled through the hive, taking corners so fast he threatened to toss her from him.

Long, grasping legs mounted the edge of the egg as the parasite fought to squirm free of it. Beyond its flailing was a wall of resin — set within it, a set of wide, terrified eyes belonging to its intended victim.

Nasira groped for her weapon. She freed it from its holster but did not fire. The parasite was between her and its victim, vulnerable to both a wild shot and its deathly embrace.

She faltered, and the parasite lunged.

Nasira's first shot struck the resin a foot from the victim's head. Her second was even further from the mark.

The parasite's skeletal legs splayed wide as it neared its host, fleshy proboscis extending.

Runite skidded to a stop, winding up his arm with his spear sighting the parasite. She felt the air loose from his lungs and hold -

Pinned to the wall on the far side, the thing had had only a single taste of air before the spear stole its purpose from it, yellow blood pumping from its center.

Nasira was at the encased victim in an instant, tearing her fingernails to the bloodied quick as she ripped resin apart. They fell free of the cavity and she caught them, a shooting pain spiking up her leg as she did so. Ignoring it, she wiped slime from their face.

"Remie," she gasped, heat springing to her eyes.

Remie looked up at her, her gaze still sparking with residual terror before regaining its glittering beetle black.

"Nasira," she whispered.

Behind her, Runite ceased observing them and strode further into the room. Nasira scarcely noticed as she said, "Can you walk?"

Nasira helped her stand, her tail dragging on the ground behind her, but it was only a moment before she had gained her balance.

There was a disturbance further in the room — Nasira looped her arm around Remie and moved to find another two of the infirmary Jafgars free of the resin, but dodging Runite in a frenzy as he tried to approach them.

"Stop," Nasira pleaded. The relief of finding them alive should have reinvigorated her, but exhaustion thinned her voice. "Calm down. He's going to help."

They stopped their scurrying, instead turning their frightened eyes on Nasira.

She knew how she looked. Bloodied scrapes covered her arms. Her gutted clothing revealed that the wound on her back, though still covered by the armor vest, had begun to weep.

But they calmed nonetheless.

Runite returned with another five survivors, all deemed by he unafflicted. Some she remembered from their departure, some she did not. All bore unmistakable signs of struggle. There were seven in total. Seven out of the two dozen she'd thought untouchable.

The two dozen she thought she could have saved.

A snort from Runite forced her to surface. Crowded atop his shoulders, hanging from his metal prosthetic, were the three nimod infants. They scrambled over him, restless, screeching tiny sounds of dismay. Nasira's body moved of its own accord — she met them in an embrace, hugging them to her.

Deaf, blind, they know only to cling. The undeveloped bones in their legs were too frail to support their own weight, so they relied on their mother to carry them.

Their mother.

Its stature was like that of a mantis, eight stilted arachnid legs holding its body far above the predator's heads. Two sets of forelegs reared out from its torso. Two clacking pinchers dominated its face, an inner jaw snapping between them.

Bowing her head, bumping her brow into the metal of Runite's prosthetic, she felt her lips twist in the awful manner that always preceded anguish. She reigned the sound in before it could break free, instead focusing on the sensation of the spindly bodies of the nimod infants moving about. They abandoned the chill of Runite's prosthetic and, sensing her heat, nestled into her torso with their limbs clasped around her waist.

Her knees nearly buckled under their weight. They weighed no more than ten pounds each, but whatever withheld reservoirs of energy she had previously had apparently run dry.

Runite let out a wary growl, but in the next instant she'd recovered. He let his arm fall from where it was braced against her back. Her lips parted, gratitude abreast them, but the infants interrupted her as they tucked their craniums into her collar and settled into a doze.

"Nasira?" Remie ventured to sign. "What are we — what do we…?" Her hands fell to her sides, abandoning the effort.

Nasira's attempt at an answer fell short as one of the infants chirruped in its sleep.

Her body creaked. Her bones were dry, her muscles wasted. They had given up, but she had not. There was the tap of the nimod infants' carapaces against her collarbone and the rhythm of their heartbeats against her body.

They were alive. Alive, and no longer was everything lost, no longer was she without someone to protect.

"We're leaving," Nasira said. Determination rekindled in her gut at hearing herself speak the words aloud. "We're getting the fuck out of here."

Runite chuffed, lifting his spear once more before whirling. Nasira started to follow but hissed as pain erupted in her midsection. He stiffened and stopped but hadn't gotten a single pace back towards her before Remie set her paw on Nasira's arm.

She prised one of the infants away, careful to avoid rousing it. The two other infirmary Jafgars likened after her. Immediately, Nasira was graced with benefit of her lessened burden; the burn in her straining limbs let up, reduced to a simmer, and breathing came easier.

Remie's whiskered face twitched into a tentative smile.

Emotion welled in Nasira, threatened to crush her heart. Her hand fluttered up to her chest, seeking the familiar salute.

Head tilted in his characteristic manner, Runite was silent. He held his spear out to Nasira and she took it slowly, reacquainting herself with the sensation of the power and security it afforded her.

Turning back to the survivors, Nasira ushered them between Runite and she, then glanced over her shoulder at the desecrated chamber.

The husks of eggs stood barren and dull, their skeletal parasites kicked into corners. Resin remains hung, swaying, from vacated cavities.

No life remained — she'd stolen it back. That was her duty, after all. To protect and preserve at all costs. The meager band of survivors in front of her was just that — they were all she could hope to salvage. She'd failed on all other fronts. Marcus, who knew the true nature of all that had transpired, was dead, and had taken twenty-three innocents with him.

She couldn't let him take any others from her. She could keep them safe in the fuselage.

But there was still one matter to which she need attend.

It was easy, once the party had begun moving, to slip away. At its helm, Runite did not notice that sounds of bodies parting water had become one fewer. She waited until they had rounded the corner and were out of earshot before turning on her heel and stalking back the way they'd come.

Stale air pumped from doomed lungs, seeming to fill the room. Nasira approached, the beginnings of panic beginning to ebb into her bloodstream, threatening to overtake her. She forced it back, focusing on their face.

Tiny scales tinged an angular jaw and encircled slit eyes. What she could not see was what was concealed by the resin: a powerful serpent's tail winding down from the trunk of their body. If left unrestrained, it would've been a powerful asset in freeing them from their confines.

If left unrestrained, they would not be where they were now.

Nasira steeled her nerves, tucking the spear into her harness and taking a foothold in the resin. Disturbed from its surface were globules of slime that oozed over the top of her boot. She scarcely noticed, hoisting herself up to their level and her head as near to their torso as she dared.

Squeezing the heart's normal cadence into a bloated struggle was the presence of a monster. The thing rustled in the victim's chest, protected by an ivory ribcage that would soon be sheathed in the blood of its birth.

Nasira pulled back, expression screwing.

A low hissing enveloped her. There was no menace in it — she did not need to turn and check for assailants, but to compose herself as the inevitable occurred. She stepped down from the resin before they awakened.

Bright green eyes cracked open, the same sibilant sound growing louder as consciousness returned.

"…issss this?" they asked, a forked tongue flitting out to taste the sodden air of the hive.

Nasira pressed down on the beads of her hijab as she uttered the simplest yet gravest of lies she'd ever had cause to tell:

"Everything is going to be all right."

She did not blame them for not taking her at her word as their eyes moved across the gloom of the hive.

"…Where?"

Nasira could give no answer, could only imagine a question of her own:

Do you know what is going to happen to you?

She said, "I'm — I'm from Adrara. I'm going to help you."

The words seemed an ancient reassurance, but the panic mounting behind their eyes receded somewhat.

"Adrara," they repeated. "Adra —"

A convulsion wracked their frame, cutting them off.

Nasira's hand bolted for the spear, but they recovered as suddenly as they'd been stricken. She let her hand return to her side, still wary. How readily she'd moved to draw her weapon against an innocent.

What was she now?

Their chest heaved as they struggled to catch their breath.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Nasira asked, forced to ignore the attack, to pretend it was of no significance. Heat spotted her eyes as a shame took hold of her. She was sickened at herself, at the cruelty of false assurances she knew were for their own good.

She bit her lip. It was still tender where Runite had split it in their duel and it ruptured at the resumed strain. It would be some kind of justice that, as she continued this deception, along the same bloodied line she would split in two.

Her final undoing.

It was all she deserved.

"No…don't remember…pleasssse."

"It's going to be all right," Nasira soothed.

She bit her lip harder and the tang of blood lanced over her tongue. Her fingers inched back around to her spear.

It's going to be all right, she lied.

Their body tensed, muscles seizing. Tendons in their arms stood at attention as they resisted.

Nasira snapped the spear up, laying it across her shoulder.

"It's going to —"

The sickening crunch of ribs broke through her words. A geyser of serpent's blood erupted from their chest. From within its ruined cavity came the first shrill screech of a monster, and from without came the answering ring of crystal the spear was driven into the midst of its sick birth.

The weapon sunk midway up its shaft, its girth doing more to crush the infant drone than to impale it. No sounds of death escaped from it; in an instant, she had freed it from its existence.

A hard snarl was molded over gritted teeth as she continued to put her weight behind the spear, twisting and rotating it, willing it to obliterate all that remained. The spear advanced another few inches — Nasira was met with the agonizing sensation of burning as her hands, still wrapped around the spear, touched the disaster of the host's breast.

She awoke from her furor, jerking away.

The victim hung from the cavity, pinned there only by the spear as the acid melted the encasing resin. The sight of it nearly wrenched Nasira's windpipe from her lungs, so bestial was her howl of grief.

Her legs gave out, dropping her to the dank floor. The acid continued to gnaw at her flesh — she dropped her eyes and started scrubbing her ferociously against the grime and gruel coating the resin until the burning ceased and she felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

He was lying where they'd left them. The water had risen another inch, so that the skeletal parasite digits were beneath its surface. Tendrils of water caught tufts of his hair so that they waved languidly through it before flattening over his forehead. The lobed air sacs on its lower half continued to rise and fall, his chest along with them.

She sidled into the room, her loose and uncaring movements not her own. It was as though she were being guided by some kind of cord. She allowed it to tug her onward without protest. The chill of apathy had stolen over her.

The room was death, the hum of the laser grid breaking its grim silence. She ought to be able to hear the shout of the straining engines, the groan of the ship's exertion, but there was nothing. This space existed apart from the rest of their narrowing universe. There were no sounds from the hoard of xenomorphs — they'd retired from attempting to breach this chapter, dissuaded by the trap Tresses had laid.

Nasira knelt beside him. The chill of water seeping through the fabric of her pants did nothing to rouse her.

She probed the inside of his wrist. His body shuddered but he showed no signs of waking. Upon releasing him, his arm sunk back below the surface of the water.

Tapping a rhythm up his chest until she reached his heart, then flattening her palm over it.

Steady.

Steady, as though there was nothing at all wrong.

Nasira's voice came with no prelude.

"He ended up getting us after all, didn't he? Got us both."

Edmund did not answer, for he was far away.

The parasite did not answer, for it had already got all it wanted.

Nasira stood.

"I'm not doing this again," she said. "I can't."

Nasira peered out from past her arms, holding the spear above its mark. Edmund's breathing was still serene and unbothered by the spear, still bearing the fresh gore of its multitude of previous victims, hovering over him.

"You would understand, wouldn't you?"

Still he did not answer, and she stood there for many moments longer, attempting to conjure the resolve it would take to drive the spear down atop him and free him from his fate.

Runite awaited her some distance from the fuselage, apparently underway to retrieve her. His head tilted and he held out a hand to her, indicating her face. The mechanical movement of her limbs deposited her within his reach and left her unmoving before him. The view she had was of his chest — she didn't lift her gaze to accommodate him.

When she did not respond further, he lightly drew the tip of his talon beneath her right eye. It came away capped in a murky mixture of green and red, the damning proof of what had transpired after she'd left him. Nasira stepped around him and continued on to the fuselage.

He chattered, head curving more deeply to the side, and, had she not been so absent, would have felt his gaze on her back.

Chapter Text

Siwili's chest labored to rise and fall. A rattling breath accompanied each strained movement, sounding as though his insides had been torn partly loose.

Tresses had laid him down on one of the wide passenger seats and produced from her back the same medical kit she'd used to tend to Nasira's acid burn. Some distance away, there was the beady glittering of black eyes as the infirmary jafgars peeped over the back of the seat to stare down at Tresses' efforts.

Nasira, too, watched Tresses work, keeping her distance. Her posture was ramrod straight, the nails of one hand digging into the opposite shoulder so hard it threatened to bleed.

Runite approached from behind, coming to stand at her side. His metal arm bumped against her own but she did not unwind in the least. She looked upon Siwili's prone form with single-minded intensity, as though she could demand by watching that he start back awake.

They stood together as Tresses crumbled pieces of what looked like a cement block into a dish. She had lit a flame beneath and tipped a flask of blue liquid into it. Through the combined effort of the heat and whatever the liquid was, the cement melted into a thick paste. Tresses scooped it onto a utensil and pressed it to the crater in Siwili's middle.

He bucked awake, a cry like Nasira had never heard ripped from his throat. It was a foghorn of suffering, so primal and ragged that all but one set of jafgar eyes retreated below the seat, their owners quaking in fear. Nasira's hand was crushed suddenly in Runite's grip, rousing her for the first time from her detached scrutiny. She looked up at him but there was naught to see but the sharp jaw of his mask.

Tresses groped within the kit for the same kind of wicked syringe as before, and then, ignoring Siwili's thrashing, buried the point in his chest and plunged the contents downward. Siwili froze in his struggles, his back arched above the surface on which he lay. Then he dropped back onto it, ornaments clinking as his enormous weight went limp once more.

Nasira's hand was still lost in Runite's for a moment afterward, but he released her as soon as he saw Siwili make a tentative motion to settle himself more comfortably.

Tresses' movements were less urgent now, and when she continued to smear the paste over his wounds, he merely twitched. His green blood ceased its heavy flow after a few moments — the paste must have solidified, or perhaps the heat itself had even cauterized the exposed blood vessels.

Tresses shut the kit after stowing her instruments back inside. Siwili's mottled flesh was perhaps five shades lighter than normal, but his breathing was even. Head tipping, Tresses lightly drew her talons through the ornaments on his chest. She leaned down, pressing the front of her golden mask to his brow, and Nasira took two steps back, withdrawing from the scene just as the kneeling Tresses let out a low trill.

Every step she took sent pain rocketing up her injured leg and burying itself in her hip. Lips pressed together to avoid crying out, she moved as far from the others as she could manage before casting herself into an empty seating bay.

Her hands shook as she pulled the fabric of her pants away from the injury, leaving her in undershorts. Blood was slick on her outer thigh. Still shaking, still flitting over the wound, her hands sought a safe place to land.

A click came from above her.

Runite was standing over her, watching.

Nasira bent back over her leg, breaths shallow, still uncertain. She ought to find a first aid kit like the one she'd used earlier, clean and dress the wound rather than watch it seep slowly onto her skin, but shock had decimated her thoughts and turned the task daunting.

Runite dropped something onto the seat beside her, pressing the center so that it expanded into a similar kit to Tresses'. He knelt before her and she automatically attempted to scoot further away.

His abrupt snarl put an end to her efforts. She sat still as he picked through the kit and attended to her leg. He worked with strict efficiency, swabbing the area once to rid it of excess blood, and then hefted a tool that stapled the wound shut before she could protest. She made no sound, not after witnessing what Siwili had undergone.

The stapler back in its place, she expected him to pack the kit away and leave her. Instead, he reached removed a capsule she had not seen before. When he applied its contents to her stapled wound, a cooling bliss swept over her. He worked it in gently, careful not to aggravate the sutures. Lengthy rumbles rolled from his chest. His work was so methodical that she found herself slipping sideways in the seat until she nearly spilled out of it.

After wiping his hands clean of the gel, he leaned back. He took a pair of metal clamps from the kit and squared his shoulders.

Nasira straightened up, unsure of what he meant to do.

He held the clamp to one of the three bright green bullet wounds in his abdomen and squeezed the extractor. A strangled roar escaped him as Marcus' bullet popped free of the wound and fell to the seat. Nasira's hand moved of its own accord to keep pressure on the wound until Runite had prepared the stapler again.

She held up her hands but could only stare at them as his blood stained her. He did not wait for her to start on the next, so she hastened to be ready to apply pressure over the ensuing blood flow.

Twice more he repeated this process, his howls of torment only increasing. His ragged breathing fought to even itself. A thin sheen of sweat coated his chest.

Nasira held the three bullets, each encased in his blood, cupped in her hand. Her throat closed, her sob was choked —

— as hatred for Marcus swelled anew. She curled her hand, trapping them in her fist, and hurled them as far across the fuselage with as much strength as she could muster. They flashed once in midair, suspended in the light of the cosmos above, before vanishing into the dark reaches framing the room.

She sat again, breaths hard and quaking. The beads of her hijab rolled beneath her fingertips as she worked them. Her every cell buzzed with agitation.

"Your companion." Nasira said. "Can I ask — will he…?"

Pressure on her wrist as Runite slipped a talon beneath the wire of her fanged bracelet. He tugged at it until she had calmed enough to turn back to him. He adjusted so her wrist was within his grasp — two fingers encircling the bone was all he needed to pull her onto him. Her knee on her uninjured side came up, weight braced against the seat, a last resort to prevent her from pressing flush against him. Her other leg was between his. An awkward stance, but one she could not escape from without an arm free to help take her weight off her one good leg.

The visor of his mask affixed her with a flat stare, and even bearing the weight of the last few hours, she couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath. He held her there for a time, the tremors wracking her the only motion between them, before apparently pitying her, taking her arm more securely and guiding her weight onto the seat beside him.

He pinched the fang between two fingers and made the sign How many?

"How many what?" she asked. Hearing her voice aloud caught her off-guard. Her tone was normal, reflected none of the horror or upsurge of emotion she'd previously felt.

A growl rumbled through his chest. He took her hand in his, drew it slowly from her brow to her chin, dipping low over her eyelids in the sign for death. "Thei-de."

How many of those creatures had she now killed?

She thought of the two in the hallway that had alerted her to the truth of Marcus' betrayal. The flashing fangs of the drone who'd almost dragged her into the depths of the reactor core. Of the drone on the catwalk, talons tapping the metal as it hovered over Siwili's prone form.

"Not enough," she said.

His shoulders quaked with laughter. It drew her attention to his prosthetic, which bumped and scraped in its socket. Without thought, she boosted herself onto her knees and swung a leg over him so she straddled his lap. He stopped abruptly, mask pulling back into his chest, but her focus was elsewhere. She slipped her fingers into the socket, immediately felt the mangled metal causing the malfunction.

"There's something —"

His hand was suddenly supporting the small of her back, cutting her off.

A coughing snarl interrupted them both. She turned to see Tresses, her imposing stature filling the opposite side of the seating bay. Runite leapt to his feet, smoothly adjusting Nasira so she was standing with him. Her leg supported her weight easily thanks to what Runite had done to the injury from Marcus' bullet, and there was no pain.

A short, clipped dialogue passed between the two. Nasira tried to move away from Runite but his grasp was such that she couldn't manage it. Tresses held out a hand, so Runite let go of Nasira and moved to unfasten the bearings on his prosthetic. As close as they were, she was able to discern the exact process he took to remove the gauntlet and wrist computer from it. He handed it over to Tresses — the exchange passed over Nasira's head as though she were not there.

Tresses turned the prosthetic over, inspecting the mechanism that allowed it to attached to the socket on his shoulder, then growled.

"Din awu'asa" she said. "Hult'ah-jehdin."

Still between them, Nasira focused on making herself unobtrusive. She was near enough to Runite that she didn't dare try to slip away again lest she capture Tresses' full attention. After Siwili, she could not bear to be the focus of that cutting gaze vectoring forth from those cold, honeycomb eyepieces.

All her fault. He'd been all her fault.

Runite rumbled his affirmation and Tresses turned on her heel, departing as suddenly as she'd arrived. She left no indication that she'd noticed Nasira or thought twice about the compromising position in which she'd found them.

In her absence, they were still disconcertingly close, almost so he towered over her. In the next moment, though, he'd stepped away, concerning himself instead with attaching the wrist computer to the gauntlet of his true arm. He then allowed his wristblades to spring free to be certain the addition had not inhibited them.

"Hult'ah," he said, gesturing to himself. Then signed, Watch.

She nodded. He thumped his chest, then reached forward to shake her shoulder. She stood still for the gesture, did not move as she watched as his form dissolve into nothingness.

After recomposing herself, she set out again. Skirting the bay where she knew Tresses and Siwili to be, she made her way back to the seating bay that housed the victims of the central bunker. Before she could absorb the state of the collective survivors, Remie intercepted her, pulling her aside.

"No one wants to stay here, Nasira," Remie said. Blood crusted the fur on the side of her face, and one of her fleshy ears was sliced in half. "No one has ever seen the beings you're with and they don't feel safe."

"Is everyone alright?" Nasira asked, turning to look at them. Draped over seats, semi-conscious, huddled together. None were untouched.

"Very scared," she said. "Very scared, but alright."

Nasira turned her gaze back to them. Exhaustion spanned their lost expressions. She ought to offer them words but she had none. Not for them, and not for herself.

From somewhere in the midst of these thoughts, she became aware of the chirruping and hiccuping of the nimod infants. The jafgars holding them had slipped into sleep, and did not answer their cries.

Nasira hesitated for a moment, just long enough to steel herself against the prospect of their weight on her strained muscles, their orphaned cries filling her ears. It was a hesitation that she should have been ashamed of, would have been mere hours ago.

She had no time to further linger on this — she felt something slip between herself and Remie and enter the seating bay. Nasira blinked and saw Tresses — suddenly present - offer an arm to the infants; they scrabbled to release their holds on the jafgars and clung instead to her. The three of them scrambled over her armor, cooing and chirping before settled comfortably within the slopes of her broad shoulders.

Nasira unfroze as Tresses passed her. When she attempted to turn, she found that, like Runite's damaged prosthetic, her joints moved in jerky, irregular hitches. She managed to put one foot in front of the other, recovering enough to catch up to Tresses, shadowing her as she toted the infants away.

Tresses moved through the fuselage back towards where Siwili was, bearing the infants as though they weighed nothing. Nasira did not know what she expected Tresses to do, but she still surprised her by merely sinking to the ground, cross-legged and leaning with her back propped against a seat. Runite's prosthetic was balanced on her lap. She worked to correct the metal in the socket, unperturbed by the the nimod infants' spirited play as they wove through the tendrils of her hair. Occasionally she would pause to look up at Siwili, opposite her.

Nasira watched for several long moments, torn between backing away and remaining. Her throat worked up and down, almost choking her. Eventually, she could wait no longer in her sort of half-stance of reluctance. She swallowed and approached.

Tresses ceased her work on Runite's prosthetic, head cocking. Even sitting, she rose to Nasira's naval.

Nasira let out her deep breath and offered her hand. After a moment, Tresses mirrored her. Nasira set her hand in Tresses the way she'd seen Siwili and Runite do.

Tresses carried Siwili out of danger on her shoulders, even as the queen had recalled her warriors. She was undoubtedly the most powerful of the predators and she'd forsaken a chance at the queen's head to save him.

Nasira had lost what she'd spent so long protecting. She'd been unable to stop Marcus from wreaking further havoc, at the cost of a majority of the passengers. To know that Tresses had succeeded when she'd failed brought her some measure of comfort. There was still someone capable of — and striving to - contain the infestation and save them all.

As long as Tresses was around, not all had been lost.

She could communicate none of this to Tresses, and simply brushed her knuckles over her palm. Tresses' head tilted but she accepted the sentiment.

Nasira removed the spear from her harness and discarded it on a seat so she could sit comfortably on the floor beside Siwili. Up close, he appeared both better and worse. His breathing had steadied and the wound in his abdomen was a charred, burnt crater rather than a cesspool of ruined innards. Nasira let her fingers drift through the tangle of trophies adorning his chest as she replayed in her mind a moment that seemed long ago.

His free hand went up to her forehead, and between two fingers, he caught a lock of her hair where it had escaped the confines of her hijab. He followed its natural curl, coiling it around one talon before giving it a gentle, almost halting, tug.

And the trophy he wore around his neck…

It was a piece of twine fashioned into a necklace, with a fang riding between two metal bands. He held it out for her to see.

A child's voice came from his mask.

"Alexa."

Nasira's lips shaped the name over and over again as she knelt by his side.

"Alexa…" she murmured.

When had this hulking predator encountered a human child?

From behind her, Tresses set aside Runite's prosthetic and tapped a command on her wrist computer. Nasira watched as she dialed through its various functions. A hologram shined from its center — a celestial display of the solar system that was her home.

Earth was just where it should be, basked in the light of its sun. It was suspended in the air before her, just a tiny, flickering blue sphere. It pulsated slightly, beating in unison with her heart. She had not known it in years, but still she felt the yearning pull of her home planet. Nasira could not help herself from reaching out to it — her fingers passed harmlessly through the grainy light of the hologram and a strange sense of loss welled in her.

"Please," Nasira said, "tell me."

Tresses pushed a button on her gauntlet and suddenly Earth was dwarfed by its sun. The Earth began to move around it, slowly at first, then so fast that Nasira lost count of each revolution. It slowed to a stop, looked no different than it did before, but a small counter on the side read 454.

Not a precise date, she thought, but perhaps the number of years.

Whole civilizations had lived and died in that amount of time. Just how long did these predators live? Even the oldest species in the alliance was not graced with such longevity. Tresses' people had known Earth before Nasira's had even set out into deep space.

"What happened?"

Tresses leaned back, seeming to consider. She laid her hand flat then gestured to the space below and then above. The sign for a change, a passage.

Then she sliced two fingers length ways down her inner forearm, much like the way her wristblades would spring free of their sheath. Skill, she signed. "Chiva."

Nasira translated. "Chiva. A change in skill. A challenge, like a trial?"

"Kainde amedha chiva," Tresses said. She pointed at Siwili.

Nasira repeated the strange new words, seeking clarification.

Tresses brought her hand up, pantomimed the killing strike of a xenomorph. "Thei-de kainde amedha."

Runite had taught her the first word. Kill. She surmised the second — kainde amedha was what they called the xenomorphs.

Nasira nodded. She had guessed this much. The mark she bore on her own brow twinged. Did that mean, as far as the predators were concerned, she'd undergone the same trial?

"Who is Alexa?" she asked.

Tresses thrust a finger at Nasira, who frowned, still confused.

"Ooman," Tresses said.

"Human," Nasira said. "And he mistook me for this Alexa?"

Tresses dipped her head. She put two fingers to the bottom of her mask, signing Friend. Then lengthened the gesture, turned it more formal. Companion, or perhaps even more.

"They were together on this chiva," Nasira said. "They were companions." She thought of his excitement, how abruptly he had forced her hand to feel the old injury in his middle. He'd wanted Nasira to recognize him. But if as much time had passed as Tresses said, Alexa was long dead.

She thumbed the necklace he wore, remembering how he had thrust it at her. Perhaps it had been a token of their chiva, one that Alexa would have known.

"Thank you," Nasira said. "For telling me."

A low purr left Tresses before she spoke again. She said the words in her language once before activating the playback on her mask, speaking with a gruff male voice. "I'm going back."

Nasira furrowed her brow. Tresses pressed a panel on her gauntlet and indicated the engine reactor chamber, where the hive was.

"You're going back to the hive? Now?"

Tresses held her arms apart to indicate a length of time. Not much. She gestured to her weapons — her shoulder cannon spit sparks when it attempted to pan sideways. It only moved a few inches before dying.

Tresses would ready herself to depart again. Did she truly believe that she could kill the Queen alone?

As if she had sensed Nasira's question, she tapped Runite's prosthetic.

Runite would go with her?

Then Tresses pointed to Siwili, still lying prone. She swept her gesture over where the passengers were.

"I'll protect them," Nasira said. "I'll keep him safe."

Tresses shook her shoulder, the motion solemn rather than an overzealous congratulations. She resettled herself and set back to work on Runite's prosthetic.

Nasira looked up and away, at the burning stars through the observation window. Her next words were so quiet they may not have even left her at all.

"I will."

Nasira needed only to make her way to the darkest, most isolated part of the fuselage before he appeared. She was without weapons, without defense, and it drew him to her as surely as if she'd called out for him.

He dropped from the scaffolding above a seating bay, his entrance silent but for the steady thrum in his chest. He reached out for her, grabbing the harness where her spear ought to be slung and shaking it in reprimand. She twisted out of his grasp but did not move away.

"Long Tresses," Nasira signed. Then spoke, "She says you're going to return to the hive with her."

With his right arm, he thumped his breast over his heart. She did not need to deconstruct the gesture — she could tell it was one of pride, and that it was sincere. He felt no fear, no apprehension, no reservations at all at the prospect of returning to that hell.

This knowledge awakened a desire within her to seize him, to shake him and make him see sense. She too had felt the exhilaration of having staked triumph over the corpse of one of those creatures, but what horrors had buried themselves in the bowels of the ship she wanted no part of. She'd only tried to rid the ship of the threat, to allow the passengers to emerge from the central chamber, to satiate the predator's desire for justice so they would depart and allow Nasira to contact help. But now she did not have the central bunker to provide the passengers that remained safety — what little safety they had lay with the protection of the predators, with her.

She could not leave them now.

"I'm going to stay here," she said. Runite broke from his salute, making an affronted sound. He brushed the mark on her brow with the back of his knuckles, then pointed at the trophies she bore.

She shook her head. There was nothing to be done of him. She couldn't dissuade him from whatever weight his race placed on the pursuit of their trophies, and perhaps it would be an insult to try. "I need to stay. To be with my people, and with —"

She stopped herself before she could say his name. Runite set his hand on her shoulder, gave it a slow shake. His talons curved around to cup the back of her neck as he inclined his head. A rumble slipped from his chest, cradled within the shrinking space between them. Her eyes drifted shut as his mask pressed against her blooded mark.

They remained that way for a time, Nasira's heartbeat thick in her chest, Runite's growl isolating them from what lay outside. Without his prosthetic, he held her with only one arm. Swept up in their proximity, she reached up to his severed side, exploring the mottled scars and gnarled stump of his bicep. She had never seen him weak, knew he was not so, but neither had Siwili been.

She tried to banish the image of Runite, limp and dying, draped over Tresses' shoulders.

Siwili had been her fault, and so would Runite be.

Tresses finished her work within the hour. Nasira stood to the side, eyes following his movements as Runite reattached his prosthetic and then transferred his wrist computer back to its appropriate gauntlet. Tresses' shoulder cannon whined as it swiveled back and forth, now repaired.

Situated once more, Runite picked up Nasira's spear from the seat and held it out to her. She wrapped her hand around the haft, but he did not let go, growling.

"I will," she said.

He waited a beat longer before releasing the spear. She hung it in its place on her harness. He glanced back at Tresses, still adjusting her own weapons, before dragging Nasira a few steps away.

Holding out a fist, he gestured for her to do the same. A small ring dropped into her palm. Smooth, and warmer than expected, like he'd been holding it in the same hand for some time. Her eyes went to the rings that encased his hair, remembering Alexa's token. They were set at even intervals along the length of each strand, and one was noticeably absent.

He pinched the fang on the bracelet she wore briefly, then startled her by moving away suddenly. She still held the ring in her hand as he secured one of his weapons in its sheath, apparently paying her no more mind.

Inspiration struck her, and she hurriedly reached up to her hijab. Partially unwrapped, she was able to remove the beads from it and hold them out to him.

He was suddenly in front of her again, accepting the pearly beads more eagerly than she had anticipated. He tucked them into the socket of his prosthetic, reminding her of the chord that had once looped around the arm of her uniform.

Nasira removed the bracelet from her wrist and slipped the ring he'd given her onto it. Then, instead of cutting off the slack like Siwili had done when he'd given it to her, she used the entire length to rewrap her hijab. The two tokens came to rest on the crown of her head, nestled gently in the folds of the ornamented fabric.

Tresses stepped in, giving her a curt nod and clapping her enormous hand down on Nasira's shoulder. Anticipating her strength, this time Nasira's knees did not buckle. Snorting and shaking her shoulders, Tresses moved away.

Runite squeezed Nasira's shoulder and she reached as far up on his real arm as she could reach and squeezed it. Neither of them lingered — Tresses was waiting for Runite by the door to the fuselage. Runite turned away and within moments the two of them were gone.

Nasira planted the end of the spear on the floor and knelt beside Siwili. Her fingers stroked the swatch of fur for which she had nicknamed him. His fingers twitched at his side, and, miraculously, his arm lifted to graze her shoulder.

"Alexa," said the voice of a child.

Nasira touched his wrist in acknowledgment, and it slowly dropped back down to his side.

The air parted behind her as Remie approached. She did not speak, waiting for Nasira to turn.

Nasira said, "Remie?

"They're awake," Remie said.

Nasira nodded. She took a deep breath and, watching Siwili's mask as his body remained slack, removed the heavy panel from his gauntlet the way she'd seen Runite remove his. It came away easily. She had expected some alarm to sound, for the alien technology to resist her touch, but it did not.

She turned and stood, taking up the spear and tucking the wrist computer into a bag that Remie offered her.

"Let's go," she said.

Chapter Text

As they put the fuselage to their backs for the last time, she thought of all she should have done. Remained behind for a few minutes more, maybe, to see whether she could find a way to enable his cloaking device — anything to ease the weight of her decision to leave him behind alone, gravely injured, and without any sort of defense. Was he in danger? Would the drones leave the Queen's side having lost the Palatine's defense? Questions she could not answer, but that set her mind ablaze with apprehension. It was possible the drones had left the hive and scattered. It was possible that Runite and Tresses had already met resistance. It was possible, even now, that both predators had been slain and Nasira and those she protected were being stalked by a horde of drones, the cold fury of the Queen spurring them onwards.

This was her greatest opportunity to finally send them away. With Tresses focused on her trek to the hive, she had not even noticed that Nasira, after returning from her interlude with Runite, had retreated into a deliberate silence. Remie, however, had been peering over the back of one of the seating bays at her, and nodded at Nasira's hasty sign.

Get them ready.

Spear tucked ready at her side, Nasira led the procession of survivors through the cold hallways of the ship. Accompanying her was the clicking of Remie's nails on the floor, indicating her worry. She had insisted upon keeping abreast of Nasira rather than hiding within the pack of survivors like the other jafgars carrying the other two infants.

Nasira alternated between looking ahead to down at the panel that housed the wrist computer she'd stolen from Siwili. It was dormant, remained that way, but still she could not keep her gaze returning from it. She had no way of knowing what it was capable of beyond what she had seen it do. As Tresses had shown her, it could playback events recorded by the predators' masks. As Runite had shown her, it would display a holographic map of the ship. Would it tell her whether they still lived? It mattered little — she didn't know where to begin dialing through whatever functions it held, and she suspected it would be risky to try. She need only trust it for one task.

They passed through the habitation level and its drained lakebed. She glanced at the quarters with its door hanging sideways on its hinges, a reminder of her first meeting with the three predators. Tresses had congratulated her for besting Runite, then decided to spare her. She thought of what Tresses would do now if she caught up to Nasira with the knowledge that Nasira had abandoned Siwili.

"Hurry," she urged the procession. "We're nearly there."

Then they were in the series of corridors that made up the lifeboat bay. Nasira's stride slowed for a beat as she passed the mark in the wall from the spear Runite had launched at her during their first encounter. It was here that she shoved the procession ahead, walking backwards a few paces, reluctant to let it leave her sight so soon. But after another instant, she forced herself to turn about and catch up to the others.

The first two ports showed star-streaked space, a testament to her earlier efforts to jettison their lifeboats, but the third door led to the shuttle interior. Nasira slipped the spear into her harness and hurried to its terminal.

"In," she said once the door had slid open to admit them. Then reconsidered, "Wait."

She slipped inside, keeping a hand on the spear, and did a sweep of the shuttle. The main level was clear, as was the loft. She returned to the doorway and nodded, standing aside so they could enter. The procession poured in, eager to leave the ship behind. Remie was the last — she stopped beside Nasira.

"Are you coming with us?" Remie asked. The nimod infant clinging to her made a hiccupping sound, then keened softly.

Nasira thought of the cavernous ship, of the monstrosity in its bowels. She thought of not being forced to fear the chill of jaws on the back of her neck, of not measuring every move as though it could be her last. There ought to be nothing more keeping her there. The passengers were safe, would soon be on their way. But she knew she was not one who could run, weeping, bearing weight she'd not opted to carry, into the arms of rescue teams and her troubles end there.

"No. I'm sorry."

Remie's nose scrunched like she wanted to protest, then nodded like it was all she could have expected.

"I'll make sure you get away safely," Nasira said, indicating Siwili's wrist computer. "But then I need to make sure that these creatures are put down."

Again, Remie nodded and Nasira's tone turned halting.

"Can you tell me — what happened in the central bunker? Please, I feel like I need to know."

Remie's expression darkened in a way Nasira had not known was possible from her. Her cheekbones turned sallow and her mouth slack. Her whiskers drooped, suddenly lifeless.

"No," she said, "you don't."

Nasira's mouth worked. "It was bad."

Remie's shoulders tensed, as if reliving some dread.

"Worse than imaginable. We slept, and it was, at first, one-by-one. We did not notice we were fewer until they started coming in pairs, then in groups, even in our waking hours. There was nothing we could do to stop them."

Nasira's head bowed, burning with guilt. She forced herself to look up, hoping the answer to her next question would provide her with some measure of solace.

"Remie. In the infirmary…"

Remie's eyelids slid down over her black gaze as she blinked, patiently awaiting Nasira's next words. When Nasira tried again, she settled on a signing accompaniment, hoping it would carry her meaning more efficiently.

"Why did you…let yourself remain in danger?" she asked, then grimaced at her crude phrasing. "Why didn't you run away from the creature?" Her sign, a clamp of her hand from her mouth, chilled her. As always, an imitation of the alien felt like an omen, the parody of its killing jaw an invitation for the thing itself.

The infirmary was the first time she'd been forced to look upon the thing that had burst from Prono's chest in its adult form. With the disappearance of the flight crew, she had known to suspect that the thing had grown, but nothing had prepared her to face the manifestation of such evil. Its blind gaze held no mote of feeling, and whatever hateful mania that drove it to maim, to murder, to rape, and to multiply had no fathomable brink - just unending, insatiable avarice. She remembered the terror it had inspired in her, that had ceased her higher brain function, drove her breath to freeze and die in her lungs as it had stalked ever closer to her hiding spot beneath the gurney.

Remie's terrified eyes swimming in the shadows opposite Nasira. She was undoubtedly quicker on her feet than even Nasira was – she could have easily sprung into the elevator before it shut and fled. Nasira had seen that base instinct sparking in her eyes. Remie had known of the danger she was in, known it was unparalleled. Regardless of whether she believed she could have made it, it was the instinctual response of any who found themselves as prey of such a monster.

Remie's face twitched. She responded, joining her fingertips and drawing them towards her heart. "Because I saw you. You were Adrara. You had come to save us."

Nasira felt a rush of relief, of mollification, but she hastened to quell it. Remie had opted to stay in harm's way because something, something, Nasira had done had inspired her trust. But that was so long ago, before all the mistakes she had made. She felt herself slip once more into the throes of self-doubt, now more familiar to herself than her own face. She inquired no further — conflict warred within her, a tempest of hesitation and indecision, but she had no time to waste.

She helped secure the infant nimods, who were none too happy about being parted from their bearers, into seats. Their cries were shrill and grating but she could do nothing for them.

She stepped back to find herself the focus of seven sets of hungry, desperate eyes.

"I —" her voice squeeze reluctantly past the obtrusion in her throat. "I'm so, so very sorry about everything you've been through. I'm sorry I couldn't — I'm sorry I wasn't good enough to stop this."

Dizziness engulfed her as shame found its way into her blood. She looked around, trying to find something with which to support herself, but there was nothing. She was on her own.

"Um. I, uh —"

Her stomach twisted and she reached up with one hand to touch the beads of her hijab, only to be met with the wire she'd used to rewrap it. Her fingertips adjusted to seek Runite's tokens she wore on the crown of her head. They were an unfamiliar sensation from the curve of the beads she normally wore, but still their presence reassured her.

When she spoke, her voice was steadier. "I'm sending you back to Thouopro, back to the inner systems. You'll likely be rescued before you get that far" — she took an enormous breath, again touching the tokens, praying they would level her head long enough to get the words out — "and I'm certain now that you'll be all right."

She turned to the door, and Remie accompanied her halfway out of the lifeboat. Nasira bent down to murmur in her ear.

"The coordinates are already in the computer. There's food enough for weeks in the supplies. I think rescue authorities will reach you before you go through too much of it, but do be careful. Listen." She bent even lower, dropping her voice further. "The first minute is going to seem bad. But I promise you, I will get you out of here safely."

Remie said, "We know. We all trust you."

Again, Nasira felt a flash of both relief and guilt, but she smothered it. She crossed the lifeboat's threshold and sealed the doors with the terminal, prepping the lifeboat for launch. She glanced at Siwili's wrist computer, reminding herself of how Tresses had detected the jettisoned lifeboat and barked an order at him. He'd rapped a series of commands into the panel with his claws, ordering their craft that was perched on the hull of the Cavalier to destroy the lifeboat. She could only pray the circumstances would be the same now – without Siwili's wrist computer, Tresses would not have the power to destroy the lifeboats. It was a gamble, a complete leap of faith, but she could not leave them afraid and in danger any longer.

Nasira looked upon the survivors again — they no longer looked quite as distraught, and they held their restraints, bracing themselves for the departure ahead. Resolve solidified in Nasira. She would not allow harm to come to these people. She would defy the predators, having seen them put down the otherworldly aliens, having seen Runite tear a human man to pieces.

It was soundless, of course, but when Nasira went back to the window to see that it had indeed departed, relief ached in her chest. Gone.

Gone, and safe.

Siwili's computer heated in her hands, wrenching her attention to it. The foreign symbols were like tick marks showing a countdown. Somewhere on the ship, Tresses and Runite would slow to a stop and see what was happening. Without Siwili's wrist computer, there would be no means of destroying it. They'd see the countdown end, see the containment fail, see the lifeboat escape unscathed.

They would abandon their hunt.

They would return to Siwili to find that Nasira had forsaken him.

And they would come for her.

Chapter Text

She moved quickly. There were at least thirty aliens running free on the ship with only four living things to infect. The likelihood that one of them — several of them — were already stalking her was reason enough to worry, but the thought of meeting up with Tresses and having to answer for allowing the lifeboat to escape and leaving Siwili unguarded was infinitely more frightening.

The spear at her side, she jogged through the winding tunnels of the ship. She adjusted Siwili's computer, looking over her shoulder as she did. She had neither the time nor the attention to spare questioning whether she was making the right choice. She had done her duty by saving the passengers and done her best to save the predators — even if they had not willed her to.

It had been the only way to draw them back. Even if Tresses and Runite were capable of killing the Queen, they would still be forced to engage the horde of xenomorphs defending her. Challenging the horrors lodged in the ship's underbelly could have easily been their demise.

Despite her pace, and despite the danger that could be lurking in every recess of the ship's halls, she allowed her mind to wander. Relief, again, relief. The passengers had escaped. Her only responsibility now lay in assuring that the infestation did not spread. She couldn't allow the Cavalier to make landfall, nor could she let rescuers come. As much as one xenomorph left alive could spell doom for any who came in contact with it.

The reactor chamber. The Queen had situated herself in the most integral part of the ship, but it could just as easily be her downfall. The reactor could be overloaded and set to self-destruct if Nasira disenabled the cooling systems of its two secondary cores and then diverted their power to the central reactor. From there, she could initate a reactor purge that would swiftly result in a ship-wide meltdown. The Cavalier would be consumed by a thermonuclear reaction and its occupants obliterated; the threat of the hive would be extinguished in one fell swoop.

She wrenched her attention back to the present in time to hook around a corner. She knew what was required of her, but still she kept racing through it in her mind, trying to make sense of exactly how she would manage it. She could not allow the predators to catch up to her — not only would they would thwart her intentions, but they would be right back in the midst of the danger from which she had hoped to spare them. Speed was of the essence — they were undoubtedly tracking her already, so she could not hesitate.

Once the reactor meltdown was underway, there would be no stopping it. The ship was already heavily taxed by its continuous acceleration — the reactor was straining under its increased output, and the engines were screaming with heat. The predators would have no choice but to abandon the ship, which would allow Nasira to escape in a lifeboat and rendevous with the passengers she'd sent on their way.

Nasira reached another junction and broke towards the starboard side of the ship, headed towards the nearest airlock. Traversing the hull of the ship would be more efficient than walking through its halls, terrorized by the possibility of every footfall attracting the attention of the drones. It might also dissuade the predators from following her, though she knew it was folly to dismiss the extent of Tresses' tenacity.

She met no resistance on her way there, and by the time she arrived, it was easy to imagine there was no danger at all. Perhaps the drones really would not leave the Queen's side. After locking the door behind her to ensure she would not be interrupted, she crossed the antechamber. She set Siwili's computer on a bench, as she had no further need for it. If she left it, it was possible that the predators would merely retrieve it and leave her be. At the very least, she could not take it with her, and it would only lead the predators to her location.

Suits crowded the cases in the corners of the airlock's antechamber — among them was another coppery heat suit like the one she'd worn to fix the atmospheric processor. There was also an EVA suit like the one she'd taken to guage the damage on the forward array at the very beginning of their ordeal.

Indecision made her pause. She needed the tethers of the EVA suit to traverse the ship's hull, but once she was back inside, maneuverability would decide her fate. The depths of the reactor chamber far beneath the Queen, where Nasira would redirect power from the secondary cores, was flooded with heat. Going down there unprotected could slow her considerably, even if she was able to survive the extreme temperatures.

With no further time for deliberation, she set to work stripping the tethers and their reeling mechanism from the EVA suit and retrofitting it into the heat suit. She also removed the inner sleeve of the EVA suit and donned it. Then she stepped into the rubber sleeve inside of the heat suit and sealed it. The spear fit strapped to the pack on her back, next to its strange assorted contents: the respirator filter, a charge pack, a parachute, and the scanner.

She went to the panel by the airlock and opened the inner door. After assuring that everything was in working order, she walked back to the bench to pick up the suit's helmet. She turned the rubber cap over in her hands, knowing that she'd have to remove her hijab again. When it was done, she searched for a place to hide it in her suit. There'd be no returning for it, so she had to take it with her.

She was interrupted by a voice at the door she never again expected to hear.

"Nasira…. Nasira."

Edmund.

He was still alive.

His voice was wobbly and faint, but it was there on the other side of the door as surely as though she had not left him on the floor of the flooding hive, his hair swirling and flattening in a mild current as she held the spear atop his doomed chest, praying for the strength to put him out of his suffering.

She had not been able to do it, not even after doing the same to what remained of the other infected. She remained with the spear poised above him for so long that the parasite clamped around his head had slumped off and bobbed a foot away in the water. His face looked unchanged but for the bloody foam collecting in the corners of his bruised lips. His eyes were flat, his nose long and skinny, his face pale. He had looked too human to her, too much like herself. She had not felt the same reservations that stayed her hand for the other passengers. For that, she supposed she was a disgrace.

"Nasira," he said again. Her name left him like speech exhausted him. She imagined having to speak, to breathe, through lungs crowded by the xenomorph's spawn. "Nasira?"

She was petrified. Her limbs had turned to ice, to stone, immoveable. She had left him. She had not killed him, and by doing so she had destroyed him. What was she to do now?

She forced herself to respond, to cross the room to the door. Her hand found the latch almost drunkenly, missing twice before wrapping around it. She pressed down to open it, stepped back to admit him with a question, or an apology, on her lips —

The door slammed open while she was still near it, stunning her and driving her back so far she almost fell down.

Runite strode into the room, his bellow lighting the room ablaze. Nasira regained her balance in time to duck out of his way, her chest heaving. She snatched the helmet off the bench and sprinted towards the open airlock.

Something caught her ankles and she fell, losing her hold on the helmet. It skittered across the floor and slammed into the outer airlock door.

The net he'd launched at her was tangled around her feet — it whirred, razor sharp, as it constricted. She'd seen the same net saw through the hard chitin of a xenomorph skull. Was he trying to kill her? Before it could tighten, she kicked it off and rolled the rest of the way into the airlock.

Runite stormed forward and seized the neck of her heat suit, dragging her away again. He forced her to her feet but she twisted out of his grip, stomping down with as much force as she could muster on the tendon above his heel. He roared in pain as his leg buckled involuntarily, but he managed to seize her once more, lifting her level with him as he regained the use of his leg.

He pinned her against the wall with one arm, the extra weight of the heat suit not even staggering him. With his other, he reached to his belt, meaning to bind her. While he was distracted, she lashed out with her legs, landing a strike on his ribs and kneeing him under the jaw of his mask.

The force of her blow threw his head back and she turned her attention to releasing his grasp on her — she snarled, made to tear into the hand holding her, but her teeth clanged off the metal of his prosthetic instead of sinking into flesh. He recovered from her blow to his mask and fixed her with a flat glare — and, unperturbed by her attempt at biting him, slammed her into the wall until her breath whooshed out of her. Her limbs drooped.

He lowered her from the wall and held her loosely to his front, almost an embrace, as he returned his efforts to the spool of wire he wore, taking a length to tie her wrists. She stood leaning against him, unresisting. Her fingers moved in light, slow motions, tracing the line of his breastplate and up, up, up into the hollow socket under his prosthetic. She found the bolt that locked it in place, wrapped her fingers around it, and yanked.

His prosthetic seized up and she ducked beneath it before he could grab for her with his other hand. His bellow of rage was at her back but she ignored it, breaking towards the airlock.

She made it inside but another net hit her torso, trapping her arms at her side, and, with a shrill whine, began to tighten. Terror gripped her — he was aiming to kill her after all — but the whine of the net cut off and it stopped short of sawing into the outer layer of her suit.

He stalked towards her, movements unhurried, as she lay there, arms pinned and helpless, awaiting whatever he meant to do.

She couldn't.

She wrenched herself to the side and kicked the inner door's catch lever up. The doors closed an instant before Runite's fists slammed into the glass so hard it shuddered.

She knew it wouldn't hold for long, so she struggled free of the net and grabbed her helmet. It pressurized with a low hiss. Ignoring his attempts to break the class, she prepped the outer doors to open via a panel on the wall. He saw what she meant to do and redoubled his efforts.

The glass creaked as a thin line lanced through it.

The both of them froze. Nasira's helmet's support systems lit up with a warning, proclaiming that her emergency tethers were primed to launch should the airlock experience an explosive depressurization.

AIRLOCK INTEGRITY COMPROMISED.

PERSONAL FAILSAFE ENGAGED.

Nasira's hand hovered over the outer door's release.

Runite stepped back, his shoulder cannon heating.

Nasira turned the key in the lock.

Her feet lifted from the floor as the airlock depressurized. Behind her, the outer door slid open to reveal the blackness of space. If the glass of the inner door broke — if he fired — she'd be lost in space.

His shoulder cannon fell back. With a curved talon, he traced the lines of the crack in the glass. Nasira, too, trailed a thumb over the fracture, then let her hand flatten over his. She kept one hand on the straps lining the airlock ceiling so she could float level with him, eye to eye with the expressionless visor of his mask.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing he could not hear her but feeling that she owed him an apology all the same.

The apathy of his mask's gaze did not change in the least, but after several beats of his static regard, he reached up and pulled out one of the hoses connecting his mask to his armor. She watched as he lifted it up and away. What lay beneath was unlike anything she'd seen in a life form thus far.

Glimmering orange eyes peered out from beneath a broad, spined brow, flashing like the distant pinpoints of twin suns. Four tusks set atop powerful-looking mandibles clicked together. A mouth stretched between them, lined with sharp teeth and a sharper pair of fangs. Heavy mottled hide toughened the features of his face, though the solid nature of them already suggested they possessed the same raw, primal power as the rest of his body. He looked dangerous…brutal, even. But there was also great feeling, and great depth, in his expression.

Nasira let the visor of her helmet rest against the glass.

Looking at him, she let herself forget the yawning blackness behind her.

Let herself forget the task that awaited her.

She gave herself just ten seconds with him.

He was still regarding her with that molten gaze, his upper mandibles flexing in and out. Though this was the first time she'd seen him unmasked, he felt familiar. She wanted to study him for hours, to request that she touch him as though she were without sight simply so that she could know his face.

Her attention drifted from his eyes to a spark of motion over his shoulder — a glossy sliver of blackness mounted his frame as it rose up behind him —

Nasira felt her face open wide with surprise, panic, and her cry of warning felt muted even to her.

The xenomorph collided with Runite's back, sending him crashing face first into the glass airlock door, which immediately became an apocalyptic fracture. The million tons of air making up the ship's atmosphere rushed to escape from that singular point. The blast of decompression hit Nasira like the fist of a god and she was ejected from the airlock, launched backwards into the wide expanse of space, spiralling out of control.

Her failsafe tethers sprang forth, fired from their reels, and found purchase on the ship's hull. Her progress was immediately halted with a snap — her body inverted crazily, her spine bent back from her waist, her head flung back in its helmet.

A trickle of blood from her nose found its way to her lips. She grasped the tether and hauled herself upright, fighting to get her bearings. Far below her, she saw the explosive venting of the airlock. Air and loose articles were sucked greedily from their bearings by the gluttonous vaccuum.

Her mouth moved, her voice wanted to speak, to ask a question, but her body was uncooperative. She was left to wonder, only in her mind, whether Runite could have possibly survived the decompression.

Chapter Text

She found her way back to the hull's surface hand-over-hand, gripping the tether and hauling herself along a few lengths at a time, mind too numb to think of activating the reeling mechanism for her tethers. A strange listlessness still held her captive. She could not think, could only replay in her mind's eye that instant of warning she'd had before the xenomorph's ambush had shattered that tenuous respite. The act of pulling herself forward brought her mind back to her, soothing her consciousness with every fistful of tether she took and every inch of distance she closed.

Her feet found the hull but still she pulled herself onward until her legs buckled into a kneeling position and she was clinging to the smooth surface as though she were still in danger of being ripped away.

Moisture from her hot, panicked breathing condensed in her respirator and ran down the front of her helmet in rivulets. Conversely, the sweat on her back had iced and led a frigid avenue up her spine. The contending sensations met in a clash halfway up her throat and left her clutching and scratching at the neck of her suit like she feared their union would choke her.

The curvature of the ship's hull hid what remained of the airlock from her view. Attempting to return to it would be senseless — everything that composed the entire atmosphere within the ship was gushing forth from the destroyed airlock. If she got near it, she would be overtaken by the immensity of the escaping currents. It was only thanks to her suit's failsafe that she had survived the initial decompression.

Runite, caught off-guard, had had no such chance.

She had meant to save him from the doomed fate he would meet in the bowels of the hive. It was her fault that he'd had need to follow her to the airlock.

"Can't," she said. A bolt of surprise went through her at hearing her voice speak of its own accord. "Can't think about that."

She still had a responsibility as an agent of Adrara. The continued existence of the xenomorph threatened the wellbeing of the entire universe, as far as Adrara would be concerned. She had to wipe them out.

Nasira got hesitantly to her feet, and, ensuring one tether was still firmly attached to its surfaced, released the second and launched it so it arced gracefully out of sight over the crest of the ship's hull.

Thus began her long, lonely trek to the infested reactor chamber.

The release of the outer airlock door was stationed on its left side. It was not until she dropped level with where it was meant to be on the right side that she noticed this — her hand grasped at nothing and her head turned to look across the glass at where it truly lay.

For a moment, she had believed her journey over — she had felt herself unwind in some measure of relief as she anticipated opening the airlock and putting it between her and the void of space. But now she realized that she would be forced to navigate the additional ten-odd feet to the other side, and, for some reason she could not fathom, the notion gave her pause.

It was not over. Nothing was over because Runite was dead. Nothing was over because she, again, was to blame for the loss of someone near to her. Perhaps Runite had not been her responsibility, nor had Siwili been. But the fact remained that she had failed them just as utterly as she had those she was sworn to protect when the central bunker had been breached and its occupants abducted.

Nothing would be over until the ship, and all of its unwanted occupants, were annihilated.

Nasira leapt sideways and drifted across the doors. She caught the lever for the door's release and pulled it down. They slid open to admit her. From there, she crossed to the inner terminal and sealed them behind her. The airlock re-pressurized with a squelch.

She removed the collapsed spear from the pocket in her suit and strode out of the airlock and into its antechamber.

Apart from the sound of her own footsteps, there was silence. She could neither hear nor sense any indication that the airlock on the starboard side, now a mile away, was venting the contents of the Cavalier into space.

What was evident, however, was how very near to the engine room she was. Though the suit she'd selected spared her from feeling it, the heat in the air seemed to simmer atop warped waves. The damaged cooling reservoirs that had previously been servicing the engines would be no help to them now, but the escaping coolant did soothe the ambient temperature somewhat. She expected that the worst of the heat would dissipate as she moved towards the reactor chamber.

The airlock through which she'd re-entered the ship was on the same level as Reactor Maintenance. It was there that she would set about prepping the core meltdown.

The door to the hallway slid open and her heart plummeted to the soles of her boots. Resin encased the floors, the walls, the ceiling, just as it had upstairs.

She held the spear out before her, her movements shifting until they were something akin to a slow, steady stalk. The transition occurred without thought — composing herself was now second nature.

Her journey to Reactor Maintenance was undertaken with only the hive's gloomy miasma as company. As she had expected, the heat lessened its burden on the air as she moved away from the engines. Though it was no longer necessary to spare her from the heat, her suit would serve as some protection against the deadly xenomorphs.

However, she arrived at Reactor Maintenance having encountered no resistance. Upon entering, she gave the room an appraising sweep before reaching up and removing her helmet. She clipped it to the neck of the suit and then slung it over her back for safekeeping, then moved towards the nearest console.

It would take knowledge, permissions, and time she did not have to initiate an automatic overload of the reactor's two secondary cores, so she was left with no other alternative. The apparatus for each core was protected by a locking mechanism, so she disabled them both.

The two cores, Alpha and Beta, were situated opposite each other on each side of Reactor Maintenance. Despite the hive's invasion, the Alpha core stood exactly as it was meant to — it only took her a moment to prise a chunk of resin away from the body of the core before she was able to reach the lever that would activate the Alpha conduit. Once activated, the core would immediately begin feeding its power into the central reactor via the conduit.

"Easy," she breathed. "Easy."

She grasped the lever and pulled it down. The indicators on the panel beside it lit up red, signifying that power was draining from the Alpha core and channeling into the conduit. The Beta core was similarly untouched, and she, too, activated its conduit without difficulty.

She stepped back from the Beta core and watched the indicators confirm that she was successful. Both cores would now be transferring their reservoirs of power into the central reactor, flooding it with energy.

Now all there was left for her to do was to initiate the reactor purge.

A low, otherworldly hiss snaked around the body of the core. It roped itself around her throat, constricting her sharp intake of breath. She wrapped her fingers around the spear and brought it to her front as her ears strained to locate the source of the sound.

There, just in the mouth of the room, not five feet from her, that immense footfall. She imagined its stature, bowed forward on powerful legs, weight held on its toes. She imagined those claws flexing against the resin, the graceful way it planted its footstep and then swung its head from side to side, tasting the atmosphere.

Her tongue glided over her teeth. Saliva flooded her mouth, hot and tasting of salt in that way that preceded either fear or rage.

Another footfall, this one heavier, this one closer.

So loud, and yet so near.

Not at all cautious, not at all as though it were hunting.

It did not know she was here. It was not able to detect her, even shielded only by the narrow body of the core between them.

Cortisol, Marcus had said. She shook her head. Fear. It was not there, or perhaps if it was, it was masked by the denser, more potent rage spawned from seeing one of its brethren catch Runite unawares.

Her grip on the spear slackened. It was too early for her to be discovered. The sounds of an altercation would bring more drones down upon her.

The heavy footsteps started tracking to the right, and Nasira inched left, her back pressed against the core. The resin angled up its side made it difficult to keep her footing, but she managed to keep her movements soundless.

The drone circled the core and she sidestepped to keep out of view, a dance of high-stakes, yet her heart was still and her pulse even.

No fear now, not when she had this little to lose. The passengers were either dead or gone, Edmund was doomed, Marcus lay in tatters. Siwili with a crater through his middle, Runite swept away.

If she were to fail, Tresses would not let the infestation spread. That had been her directive from the moment the Cavalier had embarked, or perhaps even longer. She and her hunting party had attempted to stop the outbreak on Uataislurn, that grey zealot's planet, and pursued Marcus, the guilty, into space. She had set the Cavalier on its rogue course as a means of ensuring the ship did not make contact with the traveling hub that was Thouopro's space station. Arriving at the station would have spelled disaster for everything in the known universe. That was the nature of the xenomorph scourge.

Marcus and his company had chosen to perform their despicable test on Uataislurn because the planet's borders had been shut down. They knew if even a single parasite escaped, the subsequent infestation would have grown out of their control.

By intercepting the Cavalier, it was Tresses who had saved everything there was.

If Nasira failed, there was nothing to lose but herself.

The footsteps of the drone came to an abrupt halt just as Nasira had moved halfway around the core. It had stopped right where she had been when she'd activated the core's conduit. Stopped, perhaps, because it could sense she had only seconds ago been standing there?

The spear fit easily into her hand once more. She could slay it before it let out a single sound — just as quickly as one of its own had ambushed Runite.

Before she could do so much as step away from the core, a far-off sound jerked her to a stop.

"Nasira! Nasira!"

Edmund.

Edmund's voice, just as it had sounded when he was still alive. Just as it had sounded in the airlock chamber.

Runite.

A rush of warmth surged through her and she was forced to slump back against the core to hold her weight for a moment.

He was still alive.

She heard the drone snap to attention and a guttural snarl spill past its fangs. As fast as light itself, the thing bolted past her and peeled out of the room, now fixated on a new target.

Nasira was hot on its tail, the spear in her hand and the helmet of the heatsuit banging wildly against her back. The drone did not hear over the sound of its own thunderous footfalls that Nasira was there, and only seconds behind.

The drone hooked deliriously around corners, casting itself forward like a tempest with single-minded focus on reaching its prey. Nasira prayed it would not take to the ceiling vents where she could not follow.

The drone spilled into one of the stairwells and vaulted up using the railings and its powerful tail. Nasira, slower, ran up the stairs.

She saw it next four levels up with its back to her, its bony arms splayed wide as it bore down on something just beyond the doorway. Its prey was close, just in the corridor outside the stairwell.

She did not give the drone any opportunity to sense her behind it. She planted her toes on the top of the last stair and launched herself at it spear-first.

The point sank into the black pipes of its throat and yellow acid erupted forth and struck the frame of the doorway. The drone's legs drew up to its chest as though it were going to brandish its claws at her, but the movement just as swiftly became involuntary as it curled its way into a quick death. Nasira, unable to hold it upright, let it drag her forward so she could keep her weight behind the spear as the drone hit the floor.

The drone made no efforts to rise. Its inner jaw slid out, slowly, slowly, before finally ceasing.

Nasira twisted the spear to and fro, searching for further signs of life and finding none. She yanked the spear free and turned —

Something rushed her, blinding her, and then caught her around the throat, choking her. She inverted her grip on the spear automatically. Its point was coated with acidic blood. One touch would be enough to release her —

"Oh my God! Nasira, oh God."

Her blood stalled in her veins, turning her pulse fat and loud.

"Edmund? How — I've…been searching for you for hours." The lie stuttered for a moment in her throat. She had done no such thing; he had been doomed the second the parasite had imposed its fatal embrace upon him, and dead to her the instant she had been forced to leave him behind.

He was nearly hanging off of her so she was forced to bend her back in order to hold the spear tip away from him now. Her head was at his chest and she could feel the rapid beating of his heart against the shell of her ear.

"I see them everywhere, Nasira. I don't know…I don't know how I've lasted."

Because they know. They know you're carrying one of them.

"Ed —"

A quick jerk in his chest — she felt it — and she all but shoved him away, blind panic muffling her sense. The parasite was moving inside of him, moving boldly against the front of his ribs. Nearing maturity.

He clutched at his chest and doubled over. Her own heart banged in her breast, beating out a staccato rife with guilt.

"Are you alright?" Nasira asked.

Do you know what is going to happen to you?

She managed to disguise her move to shove him away as an attempt to assay his condition — she put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

He coughed before finding words. "I think I cracked a rib earlier. One of them blew past my hiding spot, hit me with its tail. Can you look at it?"

"If you're standing," Nasira said, still feeling numb, "if you're breathing, you're fine for now."

He straightened up, his expression still showing residual agony. "They're everywhere down here, Nasira. Where's Marcus? What are we going to do?"

Nasira wavered. He knew nothing of what had transpired after he'd been attacked. That Marcus had met a ragged end at the hands of Runite. That she had found what was left of the passengers and had sent them away.

"What do you remember?" she asked.

His thin mouth was screwed into a grimace. "I helped Marcus get the gun back because there were xenomorphs coming from every direction...but they ignored us. You came back from the hive with those three and he tried to use shoot one of the little parasites that got through…and then…I fell down, I think, or hit my head."

— the parasite's skeletal appendages were at Edmund's face in an instant, wrapping their crushing grip around his head.

"-- and I woke up alone and couldn't find my way back."

"You found me somehow," Nasira said. She could feel that her face had gone stark white as he recounted the tale and she'd been forced to relive it.

"I don't know how. I don't know how, Nasira. They were everywhere." He was dissolving back into the panicked, broken state in which she'd found him. She almost reached out to steady him again but stopped herself.

His fingers were knotted in his hair so hard he could have pulled clumps out. His face was down, hidden from her, but she could hear his teeth grinding as he fought sobs.

Nasira felt the features of her face reassemble smoothly, her apathy carefully composed, as she pulled the long-forgotten gun she'd last used on the boiling xenomorph from its holster. It had been useless for so long — the xenomorphs were all but immune to it. Now, she held it straight out before her, the biting cold circle centered over the top of Edmund's bowed head. He could not feel its chill baring down on him from only inches away.

Not useless now.

Her focus shifted from him to the gun so she saw it in bolder clarity. She remembered the lesson anyone working with weapons was taught. She remembered that lesson at all times, of course she did, but especially in this moment.

Never point a weapon at something you are not willing to destroy.

He would never have to feel the thing erupt from his ribs in a fountain of gore.

How easily she had decided she could raise a weapon against him while he was not aware.

She let the gun drop, her limbs suddenly feeling as though they weighed a ton. She tucked the gun back in its holster. Her tone was weary as she said, "Edmund, I need your help with something."

He looked up at her. He looked pathetic, woebegone, as his nose dripped and he made no move to wipe it.

"My help?"

Nasira nodded. "I was just in reactor maintenance. I'm going to blow up the ship, Edmund."

His eyes, already pale and swimming, bulged in surprise. "Blow up the ship?"

"Yes."

"I don't know how to —"

"But I do, and I've already started. I just need you to help me. The xenomorphs have got to be destroyed before we can call for help."

Now he did wipe his nose, his brow furrowing in confusion but not resistance.

"Okay," he said. "What do I do?"

"We need to go to the central reactor," she said. "Don't worry. I'll deal with the xenomorphs. All I need you to do is press a few buttons."

He nodded again.

"Let's go," she said.

Chapter Text

There were bruises on the nape of his neck in the shape of those grotesque, skeleton appendages. That's all she could see. Nasira walked a half pace behind him, which he only allowed after she assured him twice that he would be safer if she did not have to turn to see him.

She regretted it only after he'd taken up the position. From here she could see the reddened backs of his ears and, on the back of his neck from the top of his spine into his hairline, two thin, curving lines as ghastly reminders of what fate awaited him.

His head turned and she could see that his lips were moving but she heard nothing.

"Huh?" she said.

"I said how are we supposed to do this? There's — there's like a billion of them down here. Nasira, I don't know that I can -"

"I'll handle it. I've already disabled the cooling systems' secondary cores. I can deal with them while you initiate the reactor purge from the main control panel."

The central reactor lay far above them now — the reactor itself was, of course, enormous, spanning the entire height of the cavernous chamber that held it. Multiple tiers of platforms rose intermittently up its side with the Queen encamped right at its heart.

Nasira swallowed hard. She knew now that at least some of the drones had ventured out of the hive since Tresses had slain the Queen's bodyguard, the Palatine. The one that had ambushed her and Runite in the airlock chamber, and the one that had stalked her down to Reactor Maintenance. It was possible that what drones remained— the entirety of the horde that had come to the Queen's aid — had resumed whatever duties they had been tending to before the Palatine had been slain. It was possible. But Nasira knew better than to hope she would find the way to the central reactor clear and the Queen defenseless.

Even as she thought this, Edmund was still lamenting his doubt.

"I really don't know how to do any of this, Nasira."

Nasira pulled him to a stop but immediately released him again, as if the simple act of touching him could set off the nymph nestled within his chest.

"The control panel is right at the base of the reactor on the central platform. Just access emergency protocols. I've already done all the overrides."

"The central platform?" he said, his pupils black pits. "That's right in the middle of them."

"I told you I'd handle them."

"But it's impossible!" he cried, throwing his arms out toward her as if he meant to grab her shoulders and shake her. Her own forearm went up automatically, deflecting his motion and knocking him off balance. He stumbled and slammed into the wall, crying out in pain. He dropped to his knees and coughed, deep coughs that sounded as though his lungs had broken off.

"Ah — Fuck! Nasira, I'm sorr —"

But his apology was lost to her, second to her vision of the way the parasite fetus writhed inside him, irate at having been disturbed.

"We don't have time," she said, forcing her revulsion away.

Tresses could already be in the hive, unless she had opted to stay with Siwili after Runite had pursued Nasira. If she had returned to the hive, that meant Siwili was vulnerable and Tresses was tempting doom. The infestation was simply too great. Setting the ship to self-destruct was the only way to purge the hive. Beyond that, Nasira needed to give Tresses a reason to retreat — to cut her losses and drag Siwili to safety.

She ducked her head. "I didn't mean for you to have to be a part of this. But I can't leave you here now that I've found you."

"We can just run to the lifeboats," he moaned. "Just leave."

"No, we can't. We can't just run away and leave the ship as it is. I can't risk letting them survive," she said. "Eventually the ship's engines will either give out or overload. If it's the former, it'll stop accelerating and become some poor salvager's dream haul. They'll catch up to it. Become exposed. Return to populated space for help. We can't risk that, Edmund."

He looked like he might faint, swaying back and forth on bent knees, his mouth screwed as if he was going to cry. She continued, cutting off his imminent protest.

"Remember Uataislurn," she said. "Marcus's weapon test. The whole planet infected in a matter of days, he said." Despite herself, she seized one of his hands between her own, knowing the contact would bring his attention back to her. "We can't let that happen to anyone else."

He ceased his desperate swaying, biting his lip. He had looked down to her hands when she had touched him and had yet to take his eyes off them.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Okay. I'll help. But then the lifeboats?"

The only expression of reassurance she was able to summon was a smile, and it was stale, as much of a lie as her next words.

"Then the lifeboats. Both of us."

How long did he have? How long until…

A crack like breaking ribs. Something wet and meaty slapped her face, spattering her with moisture. Dumbstruck, she blinked crimson beads from her eyes. There was a cavity in his chest, a bombshell gone off in his heart. Red muscle, red bone, red tubing that made him up, red everything.

She forced the remainder of the memory away. She did not need to recount the visage of the Queen in her skeletal infancy. Not while she was sharing air with one of the bitch's brood.

The entrance to the reactor chamber lay just ahead, encased in an arch of resin. They were still on a lower level than the one they had initially entered through — they would have to climb several flights of stairs to reach the central platform where the reactor's main control panel was housed.

"Come on," she said, beckoning him forth when he stopped short.

He took another step that looked as though a thousand pound weight were chained to his ankle.

What Nasira felt was not impatience — she was beyond that, especially knowing that it was his whose time was drastically growing shorter. It was desperation. It was panic setting in, fraying the edges of her nerves.

"Here," she said. She held out the handgun, the weapon she'd held to the back of his skull mere minutes ago. "Take it."

It would do nothing against the hard exoskeletons of the aliens, but it was not them he had to fear.

After a moment's hesitation he took it.

"Remember," she said. "Access emergency protocols. Initiate reactor purge. Then we're getting the hell out."

He nodded.

"Are you ready?"

His response was firm, though tinged with a slight quiver. "Yes."

Nasira swung Runite's spear off her back and held it across her front as she took her first strides into the reactor chamber. There was only the sounds of the reactor cores alighting, firing in meteoric bolts, the sound utterly cataclysmic now that it was nearing overload.

She looked up and immediately blinked away water as it cascaded down from the apparatus overhead. The cooling reservoirs that had ruptured long ago were situated above the reactor, so the entire chamber appeared to be raining fat, wet drops that made the resin even more treacherous. The central platform was four flights of stairs above them.

She jerked her chin at Edmund and he followed her through, tucking his weapon into a pocket so he could climb on all fours up the slick, resin-caked stairs. She preceded after him, planting each foot carefully so she did not slip. Between the gaps in the steps was the blackness of the reactor's bowels, so far below.

Once or twice, Edmund stumbled and cared more for clutching his chest than he did for regaining his balance — she caught the back of his shirt both times and stopped him from tumbling beneath the railing and falling. He didn't complain aloud, but his breathing was growing sharper with each flight of stairs. By the time they had reached the top, he pulled himself onto the landing and curled up on his side, holding himself as he struggled to regain his breath.

Nasira, too, reached the top and stopped, her blood freezing in her veins.

"Edmund," she said in a low voice, for she was not sure what it would take to provoke the small army of xenomorphs that had turned to greet them.

They held their weight on one clawed, black foot, their shoulders pressed back like dancers as they fixed Nasira and Edmund with their eyeless gazes. They moved in an anxious sort of swarm, like an instinctive ritual. Some were pressed low to the ground, skeletal tails lashing as their inner jaws slid out to taste the air. Others walked upright in that bizarre, arched-foot gait.

Nasira's hand was still on the spear, though she knew it mattered little. Even Tresses would not have been able to withstand such numbers, unbalanced, with her back to an abyss.

"Edmund, move up," Nasira said. She tipped the spear towards the platform.

Edmund moaned piteously but did as she said, crawling forward on his hands and knees so he was kneeling in front of her. Tremors wracked their way through his body so violently that the water soaking him fell in uniform sheets. He would not dare turn his back to the platform, so she did not think twice about shifting the point of the spear so it hovered over his back where, beneath skin and muscle and bone, the parasite fetus slumbered.

The reaction of the horde was instantaneous — a bristling hiss rent the air, its many voices overlapping and dissonant.

"What are they doing?" Edmund lamented.

"Shh," Nasira said, not moving her eyes off of them, still holding the spear over his back.

Far across the platform, the Queen's inner jaw slid out from her maw, a splintering hiss leaving her, and the horde shifted itself backwards.

They would not hurt him, not while he was incubating one of their own, and they would not challenge her while she held the spear poised to run the parasite fetus through. Their regard for one of their own, even one unborn, bordered on reverence.

"Keep moving," Nasira said, the spear still levered between them. "Do you see the terminal?"

"This is crazy," he said. "This is fucking crazy. Why aren't they —?"

"Move," Nasira snapped, almost jabbing the point of the spear into his back to corral him forward, and then remembered it was only the threat over her doing so that held the horde at bay — if she pushed him too much, they might spring forward all at once, determined to kill her before she could do any harm to him.

The horde parted for them as they approached, still dancing about the perimeter, then closed behind them so they were surrounded.

A chill stole its way down her spine and she reacted without hesitation, drawing her sidearm from its holster and pointing it at Edmund's back, swinging the spear around so it was braced against her side with the ambushing drone's throat at the point of it.

Yellow beads of blood pulsed from the drone's throat and smoked on the platform. Its lips rolled up and away from its fangs in a snarl, then it slunk away, the steady drips of acid following it like a leash.

Nasira turned back, only to see the immense field of white in Edmund's widened eyes. His mouth was a soft "O", opening and closing as he groped for words.

Eventually, all he croaked was: "Nasira?"

And those bulging eyes of his were not on the killing ring of the gun held on him, but on her own hard ones.

"I've got one," he said. His tone was mournful. "I do, don't I?"

Nasira couldn't speak, could only nod.

A strange placidness smoothed over his features. Despite the nightmare creatures surrounding them, he shut his eyes. His lips shaped then abandoned several words before he said, "I thought I'd dreamt it. I've dreamt it before. What about Marcus?"

Nasira remembered that crimson torrent, the deluge that flooded the water underfoot with Marcus' guts. And the sight of his two halves thrown carelessly in separate directions. The executioner, tossing his shoulders with a sharp rattle before heaving her out of the tainted water and dragging her away.

"Runite. The one with the prosthetic arm. He – he did it."

A curdled hiss, and one of the xenomorphs grew bold enough to stalk forward, entering the tentative circle of respite of which Nasira and he were the center. Nasira stepped closer to Edmund, brandishing the spear at his middle and the alien receded, tail lashing impatiently.

Edmund, seeing this, let his shoulders rise and fall.

"Do what you need to do. I'll help however I can."

Nasira nodded, collapsed the spear, and hooked it to the back of her suit alongside the helmet. Then she grabbed him in the most forgiving headlock she could manage, pulling him in front of her.

"Nice and easy," she said. "Just until we get to the terminal."

He gurgled an affirmation, the heavy plates of the suit likely pressing into his windpipe. He tapped the back of her hand and she looked down. He was holding out the handgun she'd given him earlier. She took it and pressed it against his chest, which held his heart, which was somehow beating more steadily than her own.

The Queen's crystalline teeth sawed the air in agitation as they moved across the platform towards the terminal, but she gave her children no command to stop them.

Nasira met her eyeless gaze over Edmund's shoulder, felt rage mount inside her at the sight of this conscienceless evil, knew that her own features had grown into a cold mask of fury like that which reigned on the Queen and all of her children.

When they reached the terminal, she released him and made sure all of the prowlers nearest them saw her heft the weapon so it rested between his shoulder blades.

"Emergency commands. Reactor settings. There. Initiate reactor purge. You see it?"

"I see it. It's letting me manually input a countdown. I'll give you fifteen minutes."

Nasira frowned. "Give yourself fifteen minutes. I'm not leaving without you."

"What?" He half-turned.

"One of the lifeboats has a medical stasis pod. I'll freeze you. Adrara will know what to do."

He didn't move, what she could see of his face lit by the sickly glow of the terminal's disaster settings.

"Alright then. Fifteen minutes."

He hit confirm and the terminal spat out a metal cuff.

"A crisis cuff?" Edmund said. "The ship must really think we're in trouble."

The humor was so unexpected that Nasira actually laughed. Here, in the midst of the greatest, most thoughtless evil in the universe, she laughed.

"Wow," Edmund said. "We're a long way from 'Shut up, Edmund!' now."

Nasira grabbed the cuff and fastened it around her wrist, over her heat suit. It was a small, molded tablet that showed her the ship's emergency procedures, a 3-D display of the ship, lifeboat statuses, and most critically, the reactor purge countdown.

Which read: 14:43

"Okay," she said. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

The last of her words were suddenly overwrought by a tremendous bellow that managed even to drown out the elephantine noise of the overloaded reactor cores.

Tresses stood at the end of a catwalk that connected to the far side of the platform. Even at this distance, it was possible to make out the absolute rigidity of her every flexed muscle, the light shearing itself off her golden tusks of her mask, fractal eyes aflame with wrath.

Light, hyper-exposing the immense reactor chamber, turning every falling droplet to crystal - then came the plasma arc from Tresses' shoulder cannon.

Two drones were vaporized instantaneously, nothing left but an unpleasant memory. A third swayed back and forth on the spot, a third itself, with only a bit of torso and leg left behind. It toppled over sideways and lay twitching at the feet of its siblings.

The Queen screamed a challenge and every single drone rose up as if a single entity and turned about, throwing themselves at Tresses.

They stampeded towards her, and Tresses stood her ground, another pillar of plasma slaying three or four on the front line.

Nasira could only watch the rapture before her, eyes drinking in Tresses' killing light.

Edmund seized her shoulder. "Let's go!"

Nasira came to her senses, and the two of them sprinted to the nearest catwalk and then threw themselves up the stairs. Nasira climbed, but kept her chest pressed to the railing so she could watch the massacre on the platform.

Tresses held them at bay, batting away those closest as if they were no more than mild vexations. The blue killing light continued, sawing a line through the new frontline. She had installed more of those laser trap devices, and the red vectors were a vicious minefield, flashing and crisscrossing and sawing through hard carapace.

The metal groaned under Nasira's feet and she wondered whether the entire structure suspended in the middle of the reactor chamber would collapse. It was not the doing of Tresses – her strikes were so precise that there was scarcely a spare scorch mark made throughout her assault. Then Nasira checked the countdown; she'd wasted nearly a minute captivated by Tresses, and the reactor purge had begun wreaking progress on the rest of the room.

Now alone on the far side of the platform, the Queen must have sensed the same danger Nasira had. She was rising to her full height, barbed legs spindly but graceful. She stood, ripping free of her egg sac and shrieking.

The remaining drones – less than fifteen, by the looks of things – abandoned their assault and scuttled away, some leaping up the walls of the reactor chamber and others taking to the underside of the platform.

The Queen lurched as the platform shifted under her.

Tresses ignored her, striding across the platform towards the catwalk that Nasira and Edmund had taken.

The Queen, her balance restored, took a step after her. Then another.

"Nasira," Edmund said. He'd rushed back to find her bent nearly double over the railing, watching. "What are you doing?"

"The Queen," Nasira intoned. "She's coming."

Edmund let out a panicked laugh. "Oh yeah? Which one?"

Nasira looked again. A Queen, still swaying under her newfound weight, crown glistening as water showered over it.

The other, chin tipped high, wielding her wicked glaive, blade bloodied with yellow gore. Her icy eyes screamed with cold fury, and they were fixed upon Nasira, her gaze as righteously murderous as her intent.

"Both of them," Nasira said.

"And which one do you think wants to kill us the most?" He was nearly begging despite the quip.

Nasira did not resist when he started to drag her, and consented to let him tow her through the maze of the ship's corridors.

"One of them has already killed you," Nasira said, but he didn't appear to have heard.

They arrived in the upper levels of atmospheric conditioning, where, lifetimes ago, Nasira had solved the gas leak that Marcus had caused to distract her from noticing the central bunker had been breached. The machinery in Atmospheric was a giant sleeping on its side far below, snores rumbling through the metal of the ship. This was the nearest maintenance level to the habitations levels. They'd be back in the fuselage in a few minutes.

Nasira checked the countdown on her cuff. 12:37.

They stood on a balcony railing that wrapped around the top of the room and gave passage to a series of corridors that led to various parts of the ship.

Edmund stopped and looked around for the correct exit. Nasira stared back down the dark one from whence they'd come, from whence came the tremendous groans of the laboring ship and the creatures she bore in her belly, and from whence came the vengeful pursuit of the two Queens.

"There." Edmund pointed to the opposite corner of the room, the entry marked with Habitation and Control. Just beyond Habitation, the lifeboats were housed.

They ran towards its dark maw, drunken with the security it would bring, and did not notice the drone clinging to the ceiling of the passage just beyond.

It collapsed atop Nasira, would have delivered its death blow to her throat, but the heavy metal neck of her heat suit caused the jaw to glance off of her. Her arms and legs, however, were still pinned as it lined up its next attempt, hot saliva slagging from its fangs and dripping over the Blooded mark on her forehead.

Before it could strike, before it could pierce her skin and the skull beneath it, Edmund threw himself at it, just enough of a distraction to unbalance it.

The drone reared up before Edmund, its spindly hands seizing him and forcing him away, his back suddenly to the rail and the three story drop it guarded.

The drone's face dipped low, listening to his infected heart, and Nasira took advantage of its inattention and stabbed it in the foot, which proved just as effective as when Siwili had done it.

It howled and jerked and Edmund spilled backwards over the rail. Nasira launched herself forward and just managed to grab his elbow, which slipped her grasp and became his wrist, then his fingertips.

Groaning with exertion, she managed to heave him up just enough that he could grab the platform himself. Then she let go, took up the spear upon which the drone was still pinioned, and planted it in the drone's head. It drove through the front of the skull, just above the jaw, where an eye socket would have been. Shallow, not enough to penetrate the brain, but enough to send it reeling backwards, clawing at the spear.

Nasira grabbed Edmund again and pulled, teeth clenching as his weight tugged at old injuries in her back, her sides, her bruised arms. He, too, was yelling and straining and not quite managing to pull himself up when a bellow announced Tresses' entrance on the now-far side of the room.

The drone, still scrabbling at the spear, suddenly whipped around at the intrusion, and Nasira had a glimpse of the ornamented haft of the spear swinging towards her before fuzzy heat erupted behind her eyes and she dropped like a stone, forgetting everything in the universe but the new system of stars that danced on the backsides of her eyelids.

When she blinked them away, she was lying at the drone's feet, and three ghostly spears were still lodged in its skull, swaying and overlapping. She reached up to her temple and felt warm ribbons of blood there. Then she turned her head and saw that Edmund was clinging to the underside of the grated platform by only his curled fingertips, inches from her.

Vision still swimming, she rolled towards him and started to reach over the edge of the platform. Through the holes in its underside, she was able to see his face, awash with desperation, as his grip started to loosen. And then she heard the sickening crack and saw the beads of red blossom on his shirtfront. His eyes were wet with terror.

Nasira couldn't tear her gaze from him, even as she bent her arm over the edge of the platform and made another attempt to catch him, so she saw the cough that sent blood spurting from his mouth and coating his lips. She saw how very much alive he was when the blood fountained from his chest and he lost all strength to hold on, and how alive he still was when he fell away from her with the infant parasite tearing through his shirt. He bounced off the metal machinery with a hollow bang and landed in a misshapen crumple.

Nasira blinked and blinked and blinked again and felt her throat work and realized that she should have been screaming, so she listened to hear whether she was — what she heard was just a low wail, a sound of unequivocal defeat, so weak it was nothing more than a mewl. And yet it became all she heard as the shrieks of the drone above her faded to damp pulses — and then to silence. She scarcely felt the heat of Tresses' next bolt from her plasma cannon that turned it to melted black tallow.

And she did not bother to stand as she quit making that sound and spoke instead: "Do they live?"

She asked, "Do they live?"

Was Siwili, whom she had been charged to protect and instead left defenseless, alive? Was Runite?

Tresses did not answer, scions of crackling energy shedding themselves about her as if her equipment was burdened to its limits. A cascade erupted at her shoulders as she charged the next bolt from her plasma cannon — its light seemed to feast on the air near it like a sort of glutton, and the light grew as dense as it had been when it reduced three drones to ash.

And it fixed itself upon Nasira.

It was not conscious thought but instinct that drove her arms up over her head and rolled her onto her other side, becoming a tight ball in the fetal position when the Queen's killing light struck and slaughtered the world around her.

Chapter Text

It was like she had been felled in battle early by a blow that pulverized her insides through her armor and dragged her to a dark place. One so far away that the remaining combatants simply ignored her, continuing to part flesh from bone until all had been slain and the field was quiet; night had fallen and Nasira awoke to find herself alive.

The blast had flung her against the wall with backbreaking force, but the padded gloves she'd laced behind her head had protected her from the impact. When she brought them before her face to marvel at their resilience, a strange sight met her.

Wavering, wobbling, like heat waves rising from the parched earth, was the material of her suit. The burnished orange plates covering it held their shape, but within was a shifting molten sea. The plasma blast had superheated the suit, and by some miracle her uncovered head had been spared.

Across the room, Tresses was not pausing in awe as Nasira was. Another blast gathered in the mouth of her plasma cannon, roaring with heat, like magma pooling in the jaws of an irate drake.

Without taking her eyes off of Tresses, Nasira reached up and secured her helmet over her head. She planted her feet and turned her shoulder to meet the blast as Tresses' vengeance engulfed Nasira once more, parting the cataclysm of energy like a well-planted boulder withstood both surging floods and the eternity of time. Heat and light buffeted her on all sides as though she'd been cast into a fiery crucible. Her stance swayed under the force of it but did not break. She stood against what could only be the realm of eternal punishment to which her failures — and her betrayal — had damned her.

The blast receded as quickly as it had come and she was left standing there, her form rolling with molten heat and nothing more between them.

When the roar of it had gone from her ears, Nasira relaxed her fire-forged stance.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she started to turn.

A snarl ripped itself from Tresses' throat, her muscles bunching like ironclad mountains bent on charging Nasira down —

— like a shadow horror peeling itself out of the darkness, the Queen emerged from the mouth of the hallway behind her. She took two savage strides toward Tresses, bringing a clawed hand down atop her like an asteroid striking the surface of a world with enough force to turn it barren.

Nasira blinked, or perhaps lost consciousness, and the next thing she saw was Tresses facedown on the platform beneath the Queen's black foot. The talons clicked for a moment on the platform, almost as though the Queen were thoughtfully feeling out her victory, and then began to drag against the metal with banshee shrieks as her talons closed over Tresses' limp form.

Yellow sparks pinged against the Queen's obsidian crown and it took Nasira a moment to realize that she had drawn her weapon and started firing, yelling with rage as the bullets did little more than twitch off of the Queen's skull. The weapon clicked to announce itself as empty, but Nasira scarcely noticed — she coiled back her arm and launched the weapon at the Queen, just as she had done in Prono's office so long ago. Instead of hitting the wall and bouncing off, as it had then, it hit the Queen squarely in her extended jaw.

The Queen jerked in surprise and turned her attention away from Tresses, fixing Nasira with a blind stare lacking any essence of beginning or end.

Hatred ran boundless in Nasira's guts, threatened to spill from her throat in a vomitive deluge of curses, but her brain could not shape the most fundamentals of language. She was unmade, inhuman. The only thing her body would allow her to do was yank the spear from her back and brace it against her hip, screaming with incoherent madness at the Queen, who had now taken everything from her.

The Queen's mouth peeled up to reveal her crystal fangs and she was suddenly screaming back, but Nasira was deaf to her playacting — if there was any fury left to be had in the universe, Nasira had taken it all unto her own lungs so it could feed her raving howls.

The Queen stepped over Tresses as though she'd forgotten her existence and started towards Nasira.

Nasira pressed her lips flat over her teeth, felt the tendons in her neck go absolutely rigid, but the animal part of her brain that had conquered the rest forced her to drag herself out of her stance and turn away.

She sprinted down the dark tunnel towards Habitation and Control, the thunderous footfalls of the Queen's pursuit close behind. She was slowed by the low ceiling, which forced her to bend double and claw her way forward.

The hallway opened up into the immense Habitation chamber containing the apartments and drained lake. Nasira kept running, skirting its shore; her head swiveled to observe the buckled door of the unit where Runite had snatched her by the neck and nearly killed her before Tresses had stopped him.

Nasira skidded to a stop and stared at it. It was not the memory which inspired her to do so, but something had nagged her all the same. She glanced behind her and saw nothing, no hint of the Queen's emergence from the depths of the ship behind her. So, she turned away from the lifeboat bay and ran to the fuselage for what she hoped would be the last time.

It was cavernous. So devoid of life that it may have been forged like an iron casket and left empty to rust. There was only the very distant sounds of the ship's reactor setting itself aflame to give it any voice at all. Certainly it did not feel like the place in which she had spent the last tens of hours living in fear or suspense — too strange now that she was the only one left alive on the entire ship.

Unless she wasn't.

Maybe —

Nasira vaulted over seating bays, her breath picking up as she strained against the bulky heat suit. But there was no time to slow — she checked the emergency cuff, which still held details of the reactor overload. The countdown was now just under ten minutes. She was flirting with destruction, detouring, leaving the lifeboats behind. But, she had to check.

The seating bay they'd vacated still held signs that it had once been a pathetic but necessary base of operations. Scattered ration packages and first aid kit materials filled it. Nasira ignored the rest and dropped her gaze to the ground, searching for the one thing that mattered —

—but the space where Siwili had been lain, injured and unconscious, was empty. There were no signs that he'd been dragged away which, due to the lack of corrosive scorch marks, likely meant that Tresses or Runite had seen to him rather than one of the Queen's brood.

Relief nearly made Nasira weak-kneed, or perhaps that was the exhaustion which suddenly gripped her. Knowing it was a terrible idea, she started to sink into one of the passenger seats.

A scream tore the air asunder as the Queen entered the fuselage. Nasira froze, halfway sitting, and stared like one might stare down a prehistoric creature in the wilderness, wondering whether it was possible she hadn't yet been detected.

At the sound of the Queen's scream, four of her warriors descended from the balconies of the higher seating bays wrapping around the immense room. For a moment, they simply stood upright, monstrous faces raised to the observation dome above like they were trying to sniff out a nebula.

But what they sought, Nasira knew, was no nebula.

Chills wracked her. They were trying to scent her, yes, but a part of her could not help but to imagine they were attempting to taste space, that they had realized there was a wider universe than the ship that had been their prison. That they felt an evil instinct to slake their thirst upon every living thing, to destroy, to overtake, to repopulate the universe with their brood.

Nasira slipped from the seat into a kneel, then started creeping towards the exit that led to the lifeboat bay. They were too quiet to hear, of course, but she knew the warriors, too, had started to slink through the seating bays, stalking her like primordial beasts had stalked humans through ancient jungles.

She looked at the countdown on her emergency cuff. 9:32. She could make the run to the lifeboat bay in under a minute, but the remaining xenomorphs would cut her down in the open before she had the chance to react. Or maybe they would cripple her, and leave her for the Queen's vengeance. Maybe she'd be spared long enough to feel the reactor's explosion strip the heat suit from her body and dissolve her bones.

It almost felt comforting, the idea of simply waiting, hidden, for the explosion to kill her. Certainly she had no reason to continue the fight. Tresses dead, Runite ejected into space. Siwili…

She stopped. Siwili. Someone had dragged him away after she'd abandoned him to send the other passengers away in the lifeboat. Maybe Tresses or Runite had hidden him elsewhere on the ship, but surely Tresses would not have risked that. Which meant the predator craft that was docked on the outside of the ship, positioned to block the forward array, held a survivor. Someone she could still save. And a means of escape.

Nasira moved more frantically now, scarcely caring that her path to the exit put her closer and closer to the Queen, who was still standing on the fringe of the seating bays.

Nasira approached until she was as close as she dared, then ducked beneath one of the largest seats. If she moved any further, she would be within the Queen's line of sight. She had to find a way to relocate her, or else she would guard the exit until the reactor's countdown reached its end and nothing else mattered.

So find something to throw, her mind said. Get her to move.

Nasira reached for the console between seats and pulled out a first aid kit. She popped it open and withdrew a canister of ointment. Not daring to think, she whipped it across the floor so it clattered and skipped, rolling beneath seating bays until it finally clunked to a stop, wedged somewhere in the distance.

The Queen didn't bother to send a command to her warriors — she vaulted forward, crashing through seating bays as though they were flimsy wire. Nasira started wriggling out from under the seat, wanting to be on her feet the moment the Queen passed her by.

As she stampeded across the fuselage, the Queen toppled the scaffolding of seating bays so they landed, upended, atop each other. Nasira saw the metal structure of one of them drop towards her and desperately threw her arms up to protect herself. It landed atop her and pinned her, crushing the chest of her heat suit.

It took all she had not to shout a curse. Trapped, she could only stare up at the observation bay and wait to see whether a violently black crown would soon enter her field of vision, and all that such a sight would mean for her last moments.

Instead, she looked up into the balconies overhead and saw the imperious honeycombed eyepieces of Tresses' mask glaring down at her. Nasira met its gaze and felt her mouth make a stupid shape, one that asked mercy from a being that owed her none.

So, she was not surprised when Tresses turned away, melting into a watery form that just as swiftly vanished entirely.

The emergency cuff read 9:14. She had not been trapped long, but it was as though decades had gone by. At least now she knew that Siwili and Tresses would escape the ship's explosion safely, provided Tresses made it back in the next nine minutes. Nasira was sure Tresses knew the extent of the reactor's overload, but not whether she knew how soon it would occur. Still, with Nasira facing doom, there was nothing more for her to concern herself with on this ship except, perhaps, to watch its demise from afar to ensure that the threat had been eliminated. That had been her duty all along, and if Nasira hadn't insisted on keeping Marcus alive, Tresses would have long ago handled the situation. Now, of course, everyone was dead. Runite, whatever he was to her, was dead.

And all the blame was Nasira's to bear.

Nasira took a deep breath, grimacing with discomfort as her chest pressed against the inner breastplate of her heat suit. She shifted, trying to give herself more room, and the scaffolding that pinned her shifted a mite with it.

She blinked, then worked her thick gloves under the beam. It didn't budge when she lifted upwards: it was too heavy. However, when she threw her weight sideways, it shifted a touch more — the rounded front of the suit would allow it to grind along until it fell off of her completely. Unfortunately, she would have no way of stopping it from banging to the floor and alerting every fiend in the room to her presence.

Before she could decide whether she cared, there came from a distant part of the ship three booms: Tresses' shoulder cannon.

Then came a rush of air that she heard rather than felt.

Decompression.

Tresses had blasted a hole in the side of the ship.

Nasira could not see, but knew by the shriek of talons on metal that the Queen had skidded to a stop and turned to face the direction from where the sound had come.

She closed her eyes — it was all Nasira could do to hide herself as the Queen and her warriors stampeded past where she lay on the floor, still trapped. And then there was quiet. Even the howl of venting air had ceased.

Nasira rolled out from beneath the beam and was moving away before the concussive blast of it striking the floor rang out through the fuselage.

The way now clear, Nasira ran straight to the exit, already checking her emergency cuff for lifeboat statuses, ensuring one would be ready for departure the moment she arrived. She tapped the ID number of one.

Nothing happened.

Where a cold pit would have grown in her stomach hours ago, she felt nothing. When she arrived at the entrance to the lifeboat bay, she saw the work Tresses had done — or rather, she did not see it. An immense emergency bulkhead had slammed over the corridor to the lifeboat bay in an attempt to seal the breach Tresses had made within. The Queen and her warriors, still seeking the source of the blast on its other side, were bent low at the bottom, attempting to find a way through.

Tresses had not abandoned Nasira to whatever fate would come of her trapped in the fuselage. She had not simply turned away and let Nasira slip from her thoughts. She had anticipated Nasira working her way out from under the beam and gone out of her way to cut Nasira off from any means of escape. Out of spite, and borne from vengeance, Tresses had fucked her tenfold.

And left her to gawk, standing out in the open, as the Queen and her warriors turned to face her.

Chapter Text

It was not Tresses that she hated more than anything in that moment, but the bulkhead that had slammed shut to prevent the rest of the ship from decompressing. There was a massive breach on the other side of it, one that could seize the Queen and her children in its greedy current and fling them from the ship with equal wrath as the one that had taken Runite. But she had no way of opening it. No way of forcing those creatures to face the same end they had chosen for Runite. The cold, empty clutches of space and the knowledge that nothing could save them.

So, instead of wasting the rest of what would be a short life wishing destruction upon them, she turned and ran, allowing the spear to extend as she did.

There was nothing left for her to do, to seek, or to care about; yet still she ran, and still her limbs moved to protect her against the ferocious attacks of the xenomorph warriors. While she still lived and her body refused to give up, she may as well attempt to save herself.

The control room: where the flight crew of three had been abducted and later turned into the Queen's first warriors and drones; where Marcus had tampered with the ship's atmosphere; where she had first learned of Tresses' forced quarantine of the ship and its lifeboats. There, she would find something. Something to save her, or something to tide her over until the end.

It was still as quiet and untouched as she'd left it. There were a few crimson petals of dried blood on the floor where she had struck Marcus. The consoles now all showed emergency indicators.

She sat at the main communications terminal, steepling her fingers as she wondered what she had to say, what she had to leave behind. Not trusting the composure it would take to record a video message, she began to type.

"This is Nasira Lathan. I was once an agent of Adrara. Of the thirty-five souls aboard this vessel, all but eight have perished. The survivors are aboard a lifeboat bound for Thouopro. If this message is ever received, it is likely the network has already picked them up. I give up Adrara. I give up the survivors. I don't deserve them anymore. The infestation will end here, with me."

She said nothing of Marcus' plans to use the xenomorphs as a planet-consuming weapon and his company's intent to declare war on the united systems under Adrara's protection. She said nothing of the predators, nothing of their involvement nor their existence. Her message was a last testament to herself, a soundless omission of shame of her mistakes and the last words that would never make it beyond this terminal.

The terminal prompted her: Would you like to transmit this message?

Nasira allowed herself a grim smile and pressed Yes.

Message transmission successful.

She faltered, then checked the operating status of the forward array — it was the only device capable of sending data across the vast distances of space travel.

It was functional.

The terminal was asking what else it could do for her, nearly glowing with the need to serve its user. As if it had never been compromised at all.

Nasira licked her lips. By all accounts but the cut-off lifeboat bay, the ship was fully operational. She could even disable the reactor overload from here.

"No!" she heard herself yell. She was clutching the edges of the terminal so hard her arms immediately seized and cramped. "No, no, no."

It was far too tempting to cancel the overload, to find another way out. To go back to the beginning with no other responsibilities and only herself to answer to. But it was the most dangerous option — if a warrior descended from the ceiling, severed her spine or broke her leg or punched a hole in her skull, the ship would continue onward with no one to re-enable the reactor overload or even warn of the danger the ship posed to the universe. The selfishness of it was monstrous — far more monstrous than Runite ripping Marcus to pieces in the blink of an eye, or even Marcus' willingness to transport such a creature on a passenger vessel. She must not. It was no option at all.

She could not trust herself to live out the remaining seven minutes without falling prey to this seduction. She had fallen so far she could feel her former self attempting to claw through the folds of time and choke the life from her. The ordeal had scooped out her humanity, her virtue. Hollowed her out and left a desperate, selfish monster behind.

Nasira bowed her head, resting her forehead against the terminal — what could be salvation, or the ultimate failure.

Her emergency cuff, as well as every terminal in the room, screamed a five-minute warning.

Nasira snapped upright, feverishly swiping through the terminal functions until she found the option to conduct a planetary survey. It was the desperate grasping of a deadman — or of a girl like her who knew she was not good enough to die the right way — which inspired the action.

In the past, distance in space was unfathomable purely because it was unbridgeable. It used to take decades to traverse a solar system. But now, the ship was going nearly three hundred times their initial departure speed, which was already fast enough to carry them out of the outer rim of systems within tens of hours. In populated space, they'd be passing up planetary systems once every few minutes. Out here, she was more isolated than any creature in the universe. But deserted bodies in space — little more than rocks suspended in a vacuum — were plentiful when she was moving as fast as she was. And all she needed was a crash site. A crash site, and the deceleration to end all others. If there were any gods left in existence, she'd be flirting with giving them whiplash. But it was possible.

The ship's forward array went into overdrive as she fed it search parameters. She didn't care whether she reduced it to blistering metal sludge by the end of its search as long as it found what she needed.

And it did, in a mere forty-seven seconds. The body it had found even had an atmosphere.

Nasira bent low and bestowed a kiss upon the terminal. Her lips left a smear that would stay with the ship until its demise, in four minutes.

Then she did the rest, charting the course for a lifeboat and ensuring it would launch remotely when the ship was within range.

Locating the nearest airlock, where she would attempt to spacewalk to that lifeboat before it left her behind.

Rerouting the details of the deceleration and its very narrow window of opportunity to her emergency cuff, so she could not miss it.

And, sending another message that the forward array would speed through the cosmos in all directions until it bounced against a receiving array:

"Nasira Lathan. Evacuated ship via lifeboat. Ship set to self-destruct. Infestation eliminated. Rescue coordinates enclosed. Rescue requested."

The transmission success message crowed proudly, but Nasira was already gone.

With three minutes remaining, the reactor had finally reached a critical capacity. The ship had gone from a solemn tomb living in quiet denial of its treacherous reactor to a spiteful, spitting thing howling straight from its doomed bowels. Alarms and emergency strobe lights assaulted Nasira even through the protective layer of her suit; it was as though she were trapped in the innards of a pulsating body gone feverish from infection. She was now racing to outlive the ship that had been her captor, and now it had awoken with every desire to see her burn with it. It was now merely one of her many enemies.

But she was not the only one of its passengers that hungered for freedom.

She was scarcely a hundred paces from the control room when the first desperate warrior lunged from the darkness of a shadowed junction and barreled into her.

They hit the opposite wall in a metallic tangle. Nasira lashed out with her legs, doing anything she could to keep its deadly claws away from her body. She caught it in the throat and it jerked back, stunned, and she drove the spear into its hip. It screamed as yellow blood cascaded from the wound, but she twisted to avoid it — the warrior pitched forward and raked its talons across the faceplate of her helmet, leaving three great white scores. She wrenched herself out from under it as it fell over sideways, dying.

She blinked rapidly as though she could clear the scratches from the glass in front of her. Its talons had not pierced it, but still her vision was reduced significantly. All that mattered was that it would hold out against the vacuum of space, permit her life until she had safely boarded the lifeboat with its own sustained atmosphere.

Now limping slightly, she started again down the corridor, checking her cuff once more. The designated lifeboat, though unreachable from the bay, was alive and ready to receive her.

Nasira ducked into the airlock antechamber after ensuring the corridor was clear in front of and behind her. The room was empty and still as she quelled the alarms from her attention — they were not telling her anything she did not already know. Her cuff was chiming at her — thirty seconds to deceleration.

Nasira strapped the spear to her back tightly, ensuring it nor the string of fangs wrapped around its haft would come loose during her trek to the lifeboat. Then she braced herself in one of the seats lining the antechamber. There was little warning but for the cursory ten-second notice her cuff gave her, and no time for the deceleration to be gradual; it happened so quickly it may have been all at once — her brain rocked forward in her skull and her eyes felt like they would pop out of her head. Her throat closed itself and her chest felt like it had been struck with a warhammer.

And then it was over, with just as little ceremony. The strain upon her body vanished. They were now in a hairpin orbit of the crash site she'd chosen, still hurdling in a chaotic ellipse that no propulsion engineer would ever approve. But that didn't matter. Nothing but the airlock mattered, and it was right in front of her, safety beyond it. She need never face the Queen again — the bitch had fallen behind on a distant part of the ship and Nasira was now out of her reach.

But that was not the way of Nasira's new universe. There was no benevolent force that would spare her one last encounter with the nightmarish Queen. The only force that existed was the Queen's cold, pulsating instinct that somehow always led her to her prey.

Too late, Nasira felt her presence. There was time only for her every cell to freeze as though she'd been plunged into icy water before the Queen's skeletal arm snapped towards her, backhanding her with such force that she went flying across the room.

She struck the wall, a deafening crack splitting the air. Her initial thought was that the faceplate of her helmet had finally shattered, but she blinked and blinked to reveal that those three white scratches were still intact. Her vision swam. She looked down to see her right leg twisted monstrously. But it could not be so bad, she thought dimly — the suit was still intact, after all.

Moving it gave the splintered bones the opportunity they needed to lend Nasira a tortured scream.

It was all she wanted to lie there and give up, but she knew there would be more pain to come if she did not do something. All her defiance against the Queen's brood, and now she was terrified to look upon that damned face for a second longer. Her heart was so strangled with terror that it felt as though the bulging pieces of it would starve for blood. She did not want to know whether the Queen would crush her where she lay, or whether she would drag Nasira back to her nest and force a parasite upon her before the ship could do her the favor of eradicating itself from existence.

It was fear, not resolve, which boosted her onto her elbow and started dragging herself towards the inner airlock. A black smear followed her — the Queen's blow had torn through the plates of her suit above her abdomen and the sealant flowed freely for a moment before it started to solidify. Nasira did not look at the Queen, did not look at the airlock door, as she dragged herself towards it. She only looked at what she could see of the ground a few inches in front of her face. There she was, trapped in the in-between of life and death, and she did not dare to look towards either.

She knew she'd made it into the airlock and arrived at the far side only by the thunk her helmet made against the glass outer doors. She reached to her side and threw the lever that started to close the inner doors. By then, she knew it was time to finally look up, so she did.

The Queen's enormous crown preceded her through the airlock — her gnarled black fingers came next, gripping the doors like the spread of dead black rot on a corrupt tree. They strained to close, but the Queen's strength could not be resisted. Nasira's only response to this sudden intrusion was to tuck her outstretched leg back into her chest so the Queen's next groping reach came up short.

From behind the glass faceplate of her helmet, it was as though she were observing an animal in a tank as it tried desperately to reach her. There was a distant sense of danger held at bay by only the artificial barrier between them. The foolish sort of confidence one gained from knowing the danger could not quite reach them, at least not yet.

The Queen twisted and contorted to allow the field of spines on her back through the door and, when she'd managed it, there was nothing more between the two but empty space and the frigid wrath attempting ferociously to fill it.

Nasira saw the ruined insides of Prono's chest. The chaotic static of a communications line gone slack, and the nefarious calm of the empty control room. Could only imagine the fear of the central bunker as its inhabitants were dragged away one by one. Saw Siwili go limp, impaled upon the Queen's tail. Tresses beneath her clawed foot. Edmund's red-rimmed eyes as one of her brood ripped through his torso, and the hollow banging of his ragdoll body hitting the machinery below.

And Runite's golden regard on her, the last and only true calm she had felt throughout this nightmarish ordeal.

And how it was taken from her, what she was loathe to remember — the sensation of decompression, the knowledge that she had lost him hit her like a pantheon of the universe's most vengeful gods.

Without moving from where she sat, Nasira reached up to the airlock's release handle and disabled the pressurization failsafe mechanisms. Her motion, however languid, was a provocation for the Queen to unleash a hellish scream and charge. Her talons left deep gouges in the metal floor — spittle flung itself from her maw, painting the walls. Her killing jaw snapped twice and then yawned open for the last time, poised for its fatal strike.

Nasira felt her lip curl. "Goodbye, you ugly fucking bitch."

The Queen, with her dripping crystal fangs and fetid breath, was as close to her as Runite had been when Nasira gripped the airlock release and pulled it down.

Chapter Text

It was like being hit by the bulk of the universe come together in a single strike. She had no time to see the body of the ship she was no longer apart of, and the Queen may as well have stopped existing altogether. There was nothing in her world but the sudden churning of space and the colors that streaked it. She was a font of pure energy, a falling meteor, hurtling towards the atmosphere that would destruct it.

But she was still alive in the suit that was a space vessel unto itself. It kept her breathing, even in those many moments when her brain blacked out and thought itself dead. And it was the suit, with its many reflective plates, which withstood the immense temperature brought about by the friction of her passage through the atmosphere. Where any other body or space trash would be incinerated immediately, she merely burned as bright as an eager young star. Had she been awake to feel any discomfort, she would have merely felt feverish.

The ship's deceleration had brought it within seven hundred miles of the planet's surface — had it not been moving at such a high speed, its orbit would have immediately decayed to a point which would have sent it hurtling towards the surface. Instead, the ship merely whipped around in a wide ellipse and kept going, daring to touch the skin of the planet's air but never quite letting it catch hold.

Nasira, no longer aboard this ship, was acted upon by the forces of gravity and inertia in other ways. When the airlock had depressurized, she'd been struck with cubic tonnes of air pressure which had launched her from the airlock like a cork from a bottle. Unlike the ship, she was "falling" towards the planet at a speed that ensured she would break its atmosphere in less than two minutes.

She was unconscious for that full duration. It was not until the sky was blue around her that she awoke, and she saw what she never again expected to see: a distant and fuzzy horizon encircling her, thousands and thousands of feet below. But only for a moment, before she spun around again and saw a flash of the night sky.

She was deadlocked in a flat spin — such a maneuver would have sucked the thin air from her lungs if she hadn't had the suit to sustain her. There was no hope of correcting her orientation, but her speed had been reduced considerably as the new atmosphere buffeted her.

The only thing she could do now was pull her first chute, and pray that there would be another after it.

The distance of the horizon grew with every passing second, and no longer would the surface of the earth fit in the palm of her hand if she tried to cradle it. It expanded to envelope her like she was falling drunkenly into bed, a blanket-clad mattress rising to meet her. But their eventual union would not be one of comfort.

Nasira felt her waist for her belt and caught the chord that would deploy her chute.

The sudden change in velocity was far less severe than all she'd undergone in her last moments aboard the ship, but still she yelled aloud as her broken leg flapped wildly in protest as her body jerked upright. Gritting her teeth but now no longer spinning, she managed to look up to check the status of her chute.

It was in tatters. She was lucky it had deployed at all. The Queen's last attacks had nearly torn it from her back. She didn't know how fast she was moving on this planet, or with what amount of force she would hit the ground, but she did know it was not possible to survive any landing with such a chute.

It felt like abandoning a last lifeline. She was the delusional man who clung to the sinking ship that would not save him. But some rational part of her brain took over and forced her to detach from the useless chute.

She was falling again, but her orientation was more controlled now — she could not slip into a spin again, or else it would spell doom for her landing.

She pulled her reserve chute and felt herself slow once more. She looked up.

One long, sullen rip down its center. It split the canvas wide open like a macabre grin, the Queen's last laugh.

Her heart dropped out of her body, plummeted the remaining thousands of miles to the surface, and struck the ground with a splatter.

Gravity, speed, and an immovable object. That would be her end, after all her struggles.

She couldn't stop staring up at the useless chute, glowing yellow in the sunlight above.

The sun was very bright on this planet. Almost as though it were nearer than even a neighborly moon. And it moved very fast, almost as though it were speeding through the planet's low orbit.

Nasira's eyes widened as, in the heavens above, the Cavalier streaked through orbit. It blazed brighter than tens of suns as it lit the sky. It was too bright to look at, but she couldn't look away. Death was coming for her soon, but for the Cavalier it would come sooner. And she would watch.

The Cavalier erupted in a crashing of light. It bloomed across the sky like an autumnal flower set ablaze, and every one of the Queen's offspring with it. Edmund's crumpled body. The husks of the passengers whose bodies had been hosts for the Queen's brood. Every surface upon which she'd stood or leaned or laid prostrate in agony.

Gone.

So absorbed was she in drinking in the ship's demise, she did not see the large form on the newly fattened horizon grow as it approached, and through her reverie she could not hear the monstrous buffeting of air made by its wingbeats. It was a massive bird, a roc, a vulture the size of a hurricane. Its eyes were full of the bright rays of light from the Cavalier, bounced from her suit to the gaze of the predator-bird into whose territory she had fallen.

Its talons tangled in the canvas of the chute and she was yanked back into a spin, dangling from its clutches. Her hands automatically went up to seize the tethers that attached to the chute as though she could quiet the erratic motions that tossed her to and fro in the air. Her brain was too scattered to form a coherent thought, but her mouth had dropped open and attempted to shape sounds of shock.

Above her, the sky had become the underside of the bird's enormous wingspan as it dragged her towards a spine of craggy rocks shooting up from a grey sea.

It navigated the sharp fissures deftly despite its enormous size, and now with nothing to look at but her new fate, Nasira saw the nest-lair a few seconds before the roc dropped her.

What felt like the rest of her bones snapped like delicate slate fracturing. Agony was a physical force upon her brain — it stampeded through her skull and bruised behind her eyes and made an utter fiend of itself. Nasira choked on blood from a bitten tongue as she cried, as beaten as her broken bones.

The roc landed on the rocks which framed the gigantic nest, and she got a clear look at it even through her haze of pain.

It was, by all accounts, an typical specimen of organic avian life, though hundreds of times larger. Nothing remarkable, and yet Nasira had technically discovered life outside the known universe. But she had done that already aboard the Cavalier.

The roc had delivered sustenance to its nest of young, which rolled around in novice play-throes as they realized mother had returned.

A mother and her young. No different from the foes Nasira had faced aboard the Cavalier.

She rolled onto her side, a pained whimpering leaving her, and drew out the last weapon she had upon her person.

The first headstrong juvenile approached, nudged at one half of a shattered clavicle. Nasira flicked the spear's catch so that it extended, impaling it through the bottom of its chin and spiking through its undeveloped birdbrain.

A hideous screech issued from the mother, who hopped down from her perch with an earth-shaking rumble that sent the trash littering the nest skittering away.

Nasira's face was stone. She let the spear collapse again, and the dead juvenile toppled with grey brains leaking from its chin.

The mother hovered over her, talons caging in her body. Nasira ignored these and hefted the spear so the barb was up, spending a moment lining up her aim. She loosed the spear with all of the remaining strength in her body, thumb flicking the spear's catch as it left her grip. It extended in midair, giving it the force it needed to spear straight through the folds of the mother's throat and lodge there.

The mother's indignant screech died with her. She swayed, then fell so her massive body draped sideways over the side of the nest and lay limply against the black cliffs that cradled it.

The other juveniles rocked back and forth on their taloned toes, their bird posture ever so tentative. But still they approached.

Nasira seized the first rock within arms length and bashed the first one's brain in. The other leaned down to nuzzle its ruffled body. Nasira brought the rock down upon the base of its skull as well. It dropped.

And then she was alone, and it was quiet but for the crashing of waves at the base of the stone cliffs.

The charms that Runite had given her — the ones that he had fashioned for her, and that she'd worn nestled in her headscarf — were wrapped around the spear which stuck out from the mother's throat. Nasira's one good arm had strained in that direction for over an hour before it became clear she did not possess the faculties to reach it. And then the tears had come.

They rolled down her temples, tickled the hair above her ears, and gradually the salt of her saliva ceased to mingle with the blood from her tongue. Her body had stopped expending energy for these useless practices of bleeding and crying and instead flooded her arm with the strength it took to drag her limp form six inches away from where it had previously rested. But still the spear was out of reach.

She collapsed again, her head thumping the floor of the nest with a damp sound. She lay there looking up at the sky, watching the contrail that the Cavalier had left seep into the blue of the sky. The ship had dipped low enough into the atmosphere to leave a mark upon the planet, but she contented herself in knowing that nothing remained of it. There would be no ruins, no debris.

But still there was something in that sky.

The lifeboat descended until it was hovering some fifty feet over her, swaying from side to side as if taking into account its surroundings. It deemed the nest, and her in it, of no further interest as it it moved away once more, dipping behind one of the larger rocks framing the nest. The cuff on Nasira's suit was beeping. She hadn't concerned herself with it since long before the Cavalier had erupted, but apparently it still functioned. Her arm was still outstretched, and she did not have the energy to move her head, so she had no choice but to look at what the little cuff was telling her.

The lifeboat that she had commissioned to abandon the Cavalier had tracked her cuff's signal and landed on the shore below the nest.

Nasira looked between the dead roc mother and its children, then down in the direction of the cliff face. She lifted herself onto an elbow, staring at where the spear disappeared into the mother's feathery throat. She reached out as though, from this distance, she could pluck Runite's token from the spear and re-affix it to her brow. She imagined she could feel the trophies he wore on his breast sift through her fingers. She pressed her lips to the back of her knuckles and tasted dried blood.

Then she started to drag herself towards the lifeboat that awaited her.