The plan was simple. Buster would simply never contact Zed Steadman again. Sophear's people went back and terminated the tracking collar feed from the moment that the Hydra exploded. To all the world it would look like Buster Harkness met his end in the confrontation against Kincade and Mirabelle, reduced to ash in an instant and scattered to the breeze without a trace.

The ship being gone could be explained easily. Who's to say that there wasn't another Freelancer on board who high-tailed it after the dust had settled? Was that really less likely than an unarmed man taking on a Hydra and living?

Buster had hopped the Jerboa back out to the ship to wait for Petro. The fire had already burned out and the sun was setting on the horizon. Looking it over, he realized that he could stow the Jerboa in the bay that the Hydra had walked out of. But a piece of expensive military equipment vanishing without a trace would attract a lot of attention, and he didn't want to do Sophear dirty after she had done so much for him. So as he climbed out of the Jerboa for the last time, he said farewell to the walker that had carried him through the scariest days of his life.

His boots on the ground, he gave the Jerboa's leg an affectionate pat. Then he turned and walked away, idly fidgeting with his tracking collar. He hadn't minded wearing it, but now he couldn't wait to get it off.

Right on cue, he saw a ship approaching over the horizon. A small sealed transport.

Buster waited patiently. It had taken him days to be able to return to the tunnel where he had confronted Tartarus Squadron, now he hardly cared that he was once again smelling the faint whiff of chemical fumes and scorched metal. He had so much more to think about.

The ship came to a hover overhead and gently lowered to the ground. The side folded out into a ramp and out wheeled Petro. Sophear wasn't with him, but her people were. Two armed guards remained back in the transport with the pilot. One nodded to the panda in acknowledgment and he nodded back.

As Buster knelt down to hug his friend outside the transport, the guard walked out with a special hex crank in hand. He pressed it to the back of the panda's tracking collar and gave it a rough twist. It unclasped and fell to the ground at his feet.

"Hold on one sec." Buster murmured to his friend, turning around.

The panda wound his leg back and kicked the tracking collar in the direction of the wreck of the Hydra. Then jogged over to where it landed, knelt down next to it, picked a rock up off of the ground, and began to furiously bash the metal collar into smithereens.

Petro watched his friend and laughed, imagining how good it must feel for him.

When the panda walked back he was panting softly from the exertion. "Sorry, I've had a long day."

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"It's OK, Buster. They always say 'you can rest when you're dead', and now as far as the rest of the world is concerned: you're dead! It's going to take me awhile to get this thing in the air, help me get in the cockpit and you can pick out your quarters and get some rest."

His transport only had time to drop him off , they were gone by the time Petro had swept the Freelancer ship for automated defenses. They had brought two duffel bags of supplies, and Buster still had what was left of the one he had brought with him from Zed Steadman. Other than that, and whatever they could find on the ship, it was just them against the world.

He followed Petro as he wheeled to the cockpit, dutifully lifting the arm of the pilot's seat. The giant panda stood by as his friend parked his wheelchair next to the seat and then wriggled onto it by himself, pausing for a moment but not needing assistance. By the time Buster had put the armrests back down around his friend, he was already at work examining and prodding the controls in front of him.

"Go get some rest, Buster. There should be two rooms for quarters down the hall there, pick one out." Petro suggested, gesturing.

Buster nodded in agreement. He hesitated for a moment, and then gingerly reached down to pat his friend on the head. Feeling soft hair under his rough pawpads, he let out a low rumbling bleat of contentment.

"I'm so glad this worked out, buddy. I thought I was never going to see you again."

Petro paused from his work and looked up at the panda. "I'm glad too. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather travel with."

Buster Harkness followed his friend's gesture towards the quarters. He pushed open the closest door and for a moment he was back in his old apartment. It was the smell. He hadn't smelled Mirabelle's perfume since before the quarantine.

This was the room she had stayed in.

It was bare. All she had brought with her was a small backpack. It lay unzipped on her cot.

His imagination raced at the thought of what could be inside. A letter to him, one last parting shot from beyond the grave? A sketchbook, full of portents of the final year of her life? A lighter, both a small memento and a useful tool to take along on future adventures?

He wanted to look. But he knew that nothing good could come of it.

Taking mementos from your kills was Lance's style. Clinging to the past to the bitter end was Mirabelle's thing. Buster didn't want to be like either of them.

He wanted to look, but he didn't. He was getting better.

He backed out of the room and gingerly shut the door behind him.

Buster opened the second door, Kincade's quarters. This was where he lived, and the walls were covered in tools and weapons. An open ammunition box full of pill bottles and steroid vials on a tiny corner desk. No photos, no keepsakes.

The panda wondered if maybe that was why Kincade had been so fixated on him. The road he had traveled from their college days seemed to be an isolated one. Buster could just imagine how hard it would have been to move on and grow if he didn't have the good people of Zed Steadman to wallpaper over the bad old memories with good new ones.

As Buster climbed into a stranger's bed, he tried not to think about how much he would miss Zed Steadman. He didn't let the resentment he felt towards the board for lying to him and then discarding him flare up. He didn't fall into the glue trap of being anxious about what could be on the horizon. He was getting better.

He had the rest of his life to deal with today. For now, he would sleep.

He simply closed his eyes and was happy that he didn't have to say goodbye to his best friend.

Hours later, the ship's engine hummed to life and it began to rise under Petro's steady guidance. The landing gear retracted, and the engines pivoted to send the two of them rocketing towards an uncertain future.

They climbed to the heavens, together.