They’d found an inn with rooms while Han went off to secure a ride up to the city. And as soon as they had the rooms paid for, Sybil had made an escape, insisting Damon and Idina should stay put while she moved around to find some buyers for the cart and clopper. Not that Damon was going to complain, he was going to appreciate a comfortable bed and the chance to just lie back and rest for a while. Even if his feet were dangling over the bed’s edge.

Which, apparently, left him in Idina’s sights.

She was sitting in one of the other three beds in the room and looking at him intently.

His attempts to pretend he didn’t notice didn’t work for too long.

“Yes?” He muttered, rolling to lay on his side to look at the young woman as she sat straight, hands on her knees and long chrome ears tilted slightly downwards.

“Should I save up to become a user, sir?”

That had not been the question Damon had been expecting.

“Why are you asking me?”

Idina squirmed a little. “It’s just that… well, are grafts… good?”

“I’m not following.”

“Every time you look at Sybil’s or Han’s grafts, you grimace.” Her hand reached up to touch her ear for a moment. “And… back in the cave, you didn’t seem as appalled by the… punishment of having one’s grafts removed. And, um… you’ve been avoiding the subject of cores.”

Damon held back from grimacing, instead pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed. He glanced at the young woman as she pulled her hands away from her ears and turned her gaze slightly downwards, though not without peeking upwards at him from time to time.

Finally, he sighed. “I think it should be your decision, not mine.”

“But are grafts bad?” She swallowed.

He could only shrug. “It’s not that they’re bad. I can see their usefulness. Who doesn’t want to be able to make super jumps? It’s just that I’d rather not have to cut up my body for it.”

Idina remained quiet, looking down at her hands as her fingers drummed against her knees. “What if… I wanted to help you? With your mission.”

“Why would you think I have one?”

“I’ve heard you talk to your axon sometimes.” She mumbled, head lowering a bit more. “Asking it why you’re here, and… being frustrated.”

“I thought I didn’t have a hymn.”

“Oh, you don’t! It’s just… the little things, sir.” A slight squirm. She scratched her cheek. “How you’d sigh or grumble, or how your shoulders tense, or… that scary grimace whenever you’re fighting a monster.” The fingers continued drumming against her knees, ears twitching up and down for a moment. “Or when you laugh with Han about something.” Her lips pursed slightly. “I’m sorry if that seems intrusive, sir, it’s just, I’ve been thinking, about what to do, and, after the cave, and… I mean, the Gods chose you, and I-.”

Her words bumbled and stumbled, and she went quiet, letting out a slow groan as she was clearly trying to put her head in order. Damon couldn’t really do much more than watch the train-wreck and feel a bit of sympathy.

“Look, this whole thing is a bit of a mess. And there are things about the… Gods, that I’d rather not talk about.” He tried to keep from grimacing at the word. “But what I can tell you is that if you want to help me out, I’ll appreciate it. Just don’t feel obligated to do so.”

Idina jolted at that, straightening up and looking at him firmly. “Not at all!” She proclaimed, and the burst of bravado vanished near instantly after. “It’s just… it’s the least I could do.”

“And about the grafts.” His lips thinned. “I’m not even sure what I’ll choose when the time comes. I just know that right now I’d rather not get cut up and have parts of myself replaced.” His hands raised. “Especially with the prospect of repairs.”

“Repairs?”

“I mean, I am trying to leave, go back home, and… well, at least try to find my way back.” His voice wavered a moment. “If I get a graft, leave, and then it breaks? Or it does something weird? There’d be no way to fix it.” His comment seemed to knock some wind out of Idina. She nodded, clearly a bit more sullen. Damon rushed to continue. “And, look, whether you want to be a user or not, grafts or not, and all that, that’s your decision. You’re the one who’s going to live in your body.”

Idina nodded slowly, though Damon wasn’t too sure whether he’d managed to convey what he’d wanted to successfully.

----------------------------------------

Deep in space, in the darkness of the ship, Emilie woke from her hibernation. Slowly, the Zuun opened her eyes, her body stirring from the self-induced deep slumber. Her limbs moved slowly, reaching out and touching the bed-frame she’d tied herself to before going to sleep. Her mind swam through the gelatin of thoughts and gently nudged herself back into full wakefulness.

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Some part of her, some small corner, wished she hadn’t woken up, to just remain asleep until she was somehow rescued or she just… never woke again. There was even, mildly, the wish that the mechanical monster that had destroyed her ship finish the job once and for all.

But it hadn’t. And she was hungry. And thirsty.

The EVA suit indicated she’d been hibernating for eight cycles. “A new personal record, I guess.” She spoke through cracked lips and a parched throat. She coughed, but didn’t open the EVA suit’s visor. Even as tired as she felt, she moved through the basic checks. The ship had retained its atmosphere. That was good at least. Even without the recycling units functioning, the ship itself had more than enough air.

The problem was water.

Emilie unstrapped herself from the bed and floated towards the fridge. She had enough water for four more days of activity. After that point, things were going to get ugly. She opened the visor and drank her fill, then ate in the dark with only the lamp on her suit as a source of illumination. The sound of wrappers and crunching echoed across the empty ship. Its only other occupants, the nanomachines within the wiring, waiting for the faintest sign of electricity to begin their task anew. They would dismantle the ship, starting where there was electricity… and only stop when there was no more energy running through the ship.

She could’ve gone back to hibernation, go back to the bed, add more days to her life even if she spent them unconscious. But… what was the point? No rescue was coming, and it seemed that whatever defenses had been left behind thousands of years ago, none of them were actively seeking to kill her.

Drifting through the ship’s corridors, she aimlessly moved, as if it would do her any good. A part of her still hoped that there would be a solution, an answer to the doom that was slowly eating away at her. She eventually found herself in front of the door to the main generator room. Emilie leaned over and pulled the manual override, hearing the door groan and open no more than the thickness of her fingers. A little grunt of effort and it doubled, then doubled again, now just barely enough for her hand to fit through.

Why was she trying?

She stopped trying to open it further. Instead, she removed the light from her helmet so she could get a better angle for the light to look inside. She pushed her hand through to look into the room. The light met a cloud of metal dust. Alarms ran through Emilie’s mind, a shriek and a yank.

She’d let go of the flashlight.

“No!”

Her hearts froze as she saw the flashlight drifting away from the door and into the cloud of metal dust and nanomachines. The inward grimace was replaced by a sinking acceptance of her fate. The flashlight had touched the nanomachines, and they would tear it to particle-sized shreds.

“Any second now…”

The device drifted through the cloud, bouncing on the wall at the opposite side of the room. Its light bounced against the dust, a million tiny sparkles that would soon die out once the nanomachines ate up the device’s battery, or wiring, or source of light.

“Any moment…”

It continued in its trajectory, spinning ever so slowly.

The light was still strong, unblinking.

Which shouldn’t be possible. The nanomachines should’ve torn the device within seconds. Yet nothing happened.

“Why?” The main generator was gone, little more than dust. The nanomachines clearly had done their job there. They couldn’t have shut down, or… were they not activating because there was not enough charge for them to activate? Did they need direct contact with a current? Had their charge ran out?

The ray of hope died out as Emilie sighed again. What use was there anyway? Even if they were inactive, the moment she had electricity running through the system, things would go out again.

“Except…”

She pulled away from the door, turning to look back into the darkness of the ship.

Slowly sealing back up the generator room, leaving the light to its unfortunate fate, she felt her way through the ship she’d spent the past five years in. She worked her way to her cabin and soon found the diagnostic tablet. Turning it on, she replayed the events right before the explosion had knocked out the ship.

Several parts of the ship had been dark, offline. And it hadn’t been because of some damage. Some had gone off due to the damage from the blast, but the rest? The rest she had turned off because the generator had been acting up and she had to prioritize the twice damned warp bubble. “Could it be?”

Could she dare to hope?

Boom-box hand-held generator in tow, using the tablet’s own flashlight to illuminate the way, she proceeded to move towards the area with the life-support systems. Another dark room, but no dust. Emilie felt a flutter within her chest, her chitin itching with a newfound energy.

“Modular design saves the day?” Ships built by modules were the cheapest option in the market. Also the most popular for any corporation out there. For once, Emilie felt grateful her bosses were money-hoarders.

She grimaced, finding the machine intended for water recycling. It was twice the size of her torso, bolted tightly behind several layers of protection. She was going to take a while to pry her way through. But as she started struggling with the proprietary literal nuts and bolts, her mind kept churning through the situation.

If she could get the water recycler to work, she’d be able to hold out for longer, at least until her food supply ran out. But what happened after that? Could she actually do anything at that point? No, this wasn’t the time to doubt.

She was going to die. However far she took it, it would still be better than just…

A deep shudder was followed by a wrenching sound. Emilie blinked. It… it was out. The damn thing was out. Swallowing, she slowly maneuvered the box out of the slot, leaving it floating in the middle of the room and focusing her attention on the connection ports that kept it plugged into the rest of the ship.

One by one, she closely inspected for the sort of dust the nanomachines left in their destructive wake. She blew into them, waiting, changing the angle of the light, seeking out and trying to find even a minute dust particle. But there was nothing, which wasn’t a guarantee, but it was good. It was as good as she was going to get.

Her eyes fell on the metal box and she grimaced.

“Now I just need to set up somewhere, hope it’s not going to melt on me, hope the boom-box has enough juice to make this thing run, and hope it stays running for long enough for me to figure out the next step. Easy.”