Their escape from the Knight’s ship had taxed them more than they’d realized. Once they were settled in their cabins all four dropped off and slept the clock half around. Samara and Rook both kept a close watch on their guests, they said though little between them. By mutual unspoken agreement, they were in a holding pattern; waiting until they could get some answers directly from the source. None of the group looked well, and she couldn’t help but wonder what sort of burden they’d just taken on.
She was awakened several hours later as Rook announced the group appeared to be regaining consciousness, ensuring he prepared meals for everyone before making himself scarce. Xeno was already up and moving when she checked his suite and promised they would explain everything.
It was almost an hour later that he, along with a man and woman, arrived to eat. The female seemed to act as a guide for both men, while the second male was lethargic, moving as if someone had drugged him. Xeno lowered his bulk into the chair across from hers, the others sitting down as well. Samara waited until they were comfortable before diving straight in. “Time to earn your passage,” she told them. “Start talking.”
“The Knights are pleasant enough caretakers, and they mean well, but their earnestness grows wearing,” he said, the others letting him take the lead as he picked up the fork beside his plate and used it to determine where the food was located. “I began making plans to escape years ago but pulling it off required something I didn’t have.”
“Help on the outside,” Samara guessed.
“The very thing,” he agreed. “I had made a few discreet inquiries, but none panned out. No one wanted the responsibility, I’m afraid.” The woman to his left nodded in agreement.
“Xeno, I can guess why you wanted out. I know why I would if I was in your position. But that doesn’t explain your friends here, or why you didn’t warn me they’d be tagging along.”
“I’m coming to that,” he sighed. “As the years went by, I spoke with my fellow patients, sounding them out. Some wished to leave, but due to health concerns could not. Others might have managed it but given your crusade they would have had nothing to contribute. I assumed you weren’t interested in performing a charity service.”
“You assume correctly,” Samara agreed. “It’s not that I don’t sympathize, but there’s literally nothing I can offer them. Rightly or wrongly, they’re better off where they are.”
He set down his fork and folded his hands, his sightless orbs focused on her. “A topic for another time. And although you were briefly introduced yesterday, allow me to formalize it now. Samara, this is Kalypso and Gideon. Kal, my dear, perhaps you could take it from there?”
All eyes turned to the newcomer. “I’ll try,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, as if getting each one out was a struggle. The most obvious alteration in her case was her arms, as each had been removed and replaced with a cybernetic substitute. “They designed my artificial limbs to make quantum tunneling possible,” she explained, “though it’s not without its drawbacks. I’m prone to cancers, and if I’m not careful when I use my ability, the likelihood of there being a catastrophic result goes up significantly.”
Samara glanced over at Xeno, who was sporting a smug grin, before staring blankly back at the female Protean. “I don’t suppose you could put that into terms a layman might understand?”
Kalypso thought for a moment. “It might be easier if I showed you,” she said finally, taking up her fork and moving it underneath the table and out of sight. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and focusing her attention on the now hidden utensil, when a crackle of swirling blue energy appeared on the flat metal surface. Samara pushed back her chair as the discharge grew more intense, her eyes widening as the fork’s tines appeared within the undersized vortex. The woman reached over with her other hand and grasped the utensil from the top, pulling it through the table’s top as the energy discharge dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. She held the fork out to Samara for examination, who carefully took the proffered silverware and turned it over in her hands, staring in wonder.
“I’m good with locks,” Kalypso said, blushing.
“I would imagine,” Samara replied, nonplussed, before handing back the fork. “When you said ‘catastrophic’...?”
“Oh...that.” The other woman bobbed her head. “You must understand that the energies at work are volatile if handled improperly. Should I attempt to force them, there is the possibility of an unstable feedback loop at the subatomic level, one that could trigger a runaway chain reaction.”
Her eyebrows rose to meet her scalp. “You mean a nuclear detonation?” She could only stare at the other woman in shock.
“Only a small one, less than a kiloton,” Kalypso admitted with chagrin, “though that’s obviously never happened. I’ve always been able to detect those energies and prevent them from escalating, but the risk is there.”
Samara shook her head before looking back at Xeno. “I can see why you brought her,” she said, earning a smile from her old friend. She turned her attention to Gideon, who had yet to utter a word and was staring dully at his plate. “And you?” she prompted.
“Ah, I’m afraid you won’t be able to get much out of him at the moment,” Xeno explained. “He’s been rather heavily sedated.”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Might I ask why?”
“Gideon has a certain way with machinery and electronics,” he explained.
“You mean, like a Tinker?” She immediately thought of Maggie, wondering what she’d make of him.
“Not exactly,” Xeno hedged. “More like an Anti-Tinker. His gift allows him to scramble and sabotage almost any system, as long as he’s in proximity.”
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“I see. And the reason he’s sedated?” she pressed.
The Protean let out a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid his control is spotty. Interacting with artificial systems has induced some rather serious mental traumas, and unless he remains sedated, he might accidentally trigger something aboard this ship during one of his episodes. Something like, say...the engines. Or Life Support.” He shrugged apologetically. “It’s less of a risk on a planet surface, as long as he’s kept far away from any power generation facilities.”
Samara rubbed her face as she struggled to make sense of this. “So, two walking time bombs,” she said at last, before glancing back at Kalypso. “No offense.”
“It’s alright. I’m used to it,” she said pleasantly, reaching over to place a forkful of food in Gideon’s mouth.
“And the last member of your party? Persephone? What’s her story?” Samara asked them, before realizing there was another question and interrupting them before they could respond. “And while we’re on the subject, why the Isolation request?”
“Persephone is a special case, and I almost didn’t bring her,” Xeno admitted. “I don’t know if her gift is one you’d even wish to take advantage of, but I owe her a debt, and she deserves her freedom.”
“And her talent is…?
“It’s not a talent per se, as she has no control over it,” he disclosed. “Persephone underwent extensive genetic splicing, and since that day her body produces massive Retroviral loads that are then released into the atmosphere.”
Samara froze, twisting in her chair and staring at the hatch in stark horror. “What happens if she isn’t kept isolated?”
“The Retrovirus her body produces is highly unstable, and mutates rapidly,” Xeno informed her. “If she is not kept isolated, either by suit or specially filtered compartment, those viruses would infect every living thing they touch. On a ship like this, for example, we would all be dead within minutes.”
“Even aliens?” she asked, still trying to make sense of it.
“Unless their biochemistry is too different from ours for the virus to make the jump,” he explained, “though it would have to be something radical. A silicon-based life form might be disparate enough to be safe.”
“Wait a minute. Is there a vaccine available to protect us from the Retrovirus?” she asked.
Xeno shook his head. “As I stated, the virus undergoes almost constant mutation. It would be impossible to create a vaccine under those circumstances.”
“So if we used her ability to infect an alien world, and they could not quarantine in time, is there any way to keep it from spreading?”
“I’m afraid not,” he shrugged. “If a quarantine fails, the only option at that point would be complete eradication of the infected population. Nuclear weapons or their equivalent would be the best option.”
She needed a minute to process. The others waited patiently as she worked through all the advantages they offered, and the threat they represented.
“Okay,” she said at last, “I understand...at least, I think I do. But what you’re proposing is a massive escalation in this fight. Up til now, I’ve kept my efforts limited to small hit-and-run tactics. An assassination here, a disappearance there, nothing they could definitively pin on me. But this…” She shook her head. “You’re talking about human-equivalent Weapons of Mass Destruction.”
“Yes. I am.” Her outburst hadn’t ruffled him in the slightest, though Kalypso had flinched. “It is time to decide, Samara. What you are fighting for. What you will risk.” He gazed at her, seeing without seeing. “And just how far you are prepared to go.”
She glanced back over to Kalypso, who was busy feeding Gideon and pointedly staying out of the discussion. No help there. “Xeno, when we spoke before, you all but accused me of being on some reckless campaign, and now suddenly you want to intensify it? If we do as you’re suggesting, we would paint a target on the back of every human in the Perseus Arm. I’m all for taking the fight to them, especially the Troika, but not at the expense of courting the destruction of humanity. That’s too high a price.”
“There may come a time when you’ll be forced to change your mind,” he told her. “But if you believe we must keep our battles limited for the moment, I will abide by that decision. For now, at least.”
She didn’t much care for the sound of that last qualifier. “I want to hurt them,” she explained, “but not if it means the other races decide we’re as dangerous as the Yīqún. We’ve already come close to losing Freya. I’m not sure we could survive another full-on assault like that. Humanity has been through too much already.”
Xeno seemed to consider that, before finally nodding. “Very well. So what then do you suggest as our first target?”
“Now that’s one question I can answer,” she said, standing up.
“Find Jibril.”
----------------------------------------
Samara retreated to her compartment for some much-needed solitude, but once the hatch was sealed her warden quickly disabused her of that notion.
“Our new guests are a liability,” Rook said without preamble. “We should return them to their domicile immediately.”
“Obviously, you were listening in,” she sighed.
“Of course I was listening,” he snapped. “Do you think there is anything that happens aboard this vessel I am not aware of?”
“A girl can dream,” she fired back. “As for kicking Xeno and the others off the boat, forget it. Maybe we use them, maybe we don’t, but even you have to admit they’ve got skills that could come in handy.”
“I don’t think you realize the danger you are courting,” Rook hissed. “The Troika haven’t remained in power for as long as they have because they’re willing to overlook threats to their survival. Push them too far, and they will destroy you.”
“You mean they’ll destroy you,” she snarled. “That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? That the Troika will figure out you Kikush are in this up to your necks and make your race the target of their wrath.”
“I am as much an advocate for my people as you are for yours,” he said loftily. “I will not risk their destruction.”
“It’s a little late for cold feet, Rook,” she smirked. “You were the ones who involved yourselves in this. If you’d left me to my own devices, I would have just taken the ship and disappeared. Your hands would have been clean. But no, you saw a chance to stick it to the Troika and lay the blame off elsewhere. On us humans. Because why not? They’re already gunning for us, and we make such a convenient scapegoat.” Her eyes turned hard as flint as she jabbed her finger at the monitor. “But I’m warning you now, you try to offer us up as a sacrifice when things look bad, and I’ll ensure the Troika learns the truth about what you’ve been up to.” She put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.
“You think you can blackmail me, human?” he scoffed. “Think again. I control this ship, not you, and it would be so very easy for me to dump every molecule of Oxygen into space and let you suffocate.” His smile was as frosty as a Baishain arctic storm as he dismissed her threat.
“And how hard would it be for us to spend our last few seconds injecting Gideon with adrenaline so he could vaporize you,” she countered. “Face it, Kikush,” she sneered, “we’re in this together. Sink or swim, live or die. We either both win...or we both lose.” Her smile was several degrees warmer than his. “My people even have a name for it: Mutually Assured Destruction.”
Rook’s eyes narrowed as he considered the situation. Finally, he gave a shake of his head, as if to dismiss the conversation entirely. “You just remember your part of the agreement,” he said at last, before disappearing from sight.
“Oh I will,” she chuckled, alone once more, “you can count on it.”