Once more hanging from Yosip's torso, I can feel each labored breath as he climbs down the ladder. His face is paler than usual as well.

He's no longer receiving the lethal dosage of radiation that permeates this once more mindless vessel. I remove as many of the ionized particles streaming through his body as I dare, but I cannot undo the damage that they have done to his tissues. I hope that what I do for him is enough to sustain him until a more qualified healer can see to repairing the damage my lapse of control caused.

Yosip himself labors mightily, fighting his failing organic systems. A less augmented individual would already have succumbed to weakness in the limbs from reduced blood flow. The slowing of his movements is due to the damage done to his nervous tissue.

He takes deep breaths that seem unable to satisfy him as he climbs. I cannot be sure, but I believe he maintains his habitual frown. No longer does he waste energy on speech I cannot comprehend, too distracted by his encroaching doom.

At the third landing we stop. The corridor leads in only one direction from the ladder shaft. Moments pass as Yosip concentrates on the task before him. I wish I could offer him encouragement, but I also know that he would not appreciate it anyway.

Lurching into motion once more, Yosip carries me down the passage. He slips once in dark slime but only his pride is injured. Despite the lack of harm, he lies still for long enough to cause me to worry before he hefts his bulk once again upright.

He walks for several ubits before I realize that he has picked the wrong direction. We're travelling back towards the ladder!

Unable to think of any other way to communicate with the Supply-Master, I gather some of the ambient radiation and channel it through myself. It converts to enough waste heat to cause his thermal sensors to issue an audible alert.

Yosip looks down at his chest and mutters a brief thanks. He slaps the wall hard enough to leave a bruise on the fleshy material before continuing in the correct direction, still whispering his appreciation to me.

When Yosip is about to pass the side passage that would lead to the communication array, I attempt a lesser version of the same trick. Instead of a flash of heat, this time I release the energy in the form of harmless photons. The bright flash causes the Supply-Master to halt and look around.

He points at the passage and rumbles a question. I flash him again, hoping he'll understand. Thankfully I get through the mud drifting in his head, and he stumbles in the direction I need him to go.

I can see the equipment not far away when suddenly the passage we're in tilts forcefully onto its side. A gravitic malfunction? Another blast sends us flying into the comms room. Yosip grabs the hair covered arm from which the equipment sprouts.

All the lights go off at once, and I can feel the power around us draining away. If Yosip cannot send the transmission, the miners will be allowed to suffocate.

He pulls himself forward, groping in the dark for the controls. I help in the only way I can, releasing a steady stream of undirected photons to allow him to see what he's doing. With my aid he reaches the necessary switches and activates the device.

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The last of the power in it beams off into space, sending a garbled one-word message. "Safe."

Around us systems die violently. Organs rupture spilling vile fluids onto the knobby decking. Yosip releases his hold, no longer concerned with surviving this ordeal. His mission is complete. Gelen will be able to safely rescue his people.

Impacts continually rip into the dying ship. No gravitic malfunction, then, this is the result of some aggressor. I don't have long to contemplate the situation, however.

A blast of energized particles takes out half the wall. Free to escape into the void, all the air rushes out and carries us with it. Thank the tides Yosip's mask is in place, though it will only prolong his life by a very short amount.

We drift through fields of biomechanical debris. Yosip and I would register to scanners as merely another piece of the dead ship.

What little fuel remains in his inbuilt jets he uses to prevent us from colliding with a jagged shred of scaled hull. After that is gone our course is no longer within our ability to influence.

Our last instant maneuver goes unnoticed amid the perturbed debris. Hope for a rescue is very slim, if things are left as they are. Only swift recovery from the vacuum will prevent Yosip's demise. The mask already has consumed half of its energy reserves and an unknown amount of its oxygen supply.

Even if by some miracle his air were to last, he would still die within days from starvation, dehydration, or hypothermia. I can't even offer him any comforting words. In his place many likely would remove the mask and embrace oblivion.

Yosip, however, chooses not to surrender. With carefully controlled movements, Yosip induces a very slight spin in his movement.

With the slow rotation the Supply-Master is able to scan the area for any sign of hope. I cannot see well enough to aid him and resign myself to being merely ornamental. Again, Yosip has other ideas.

He strikes me with one metallic fist. Not hard, but enough to get my attention. When I don't immediately manifest whatever effect he desires he strikes me again.

After striking me a third time, I still don't understand his request. He grumbles something to himself before untying me from his torso. I hope I haven't angered him somehow.

Holding me, blessedly tightly, in one artificial claw, Yosip waves me around with the appendage fully extended. I notice that he keeps his face pointed in the same general direction in which he aims the arm holding me.

He must want either heat or light, I surmise. A simple white glow should satisfy him. He nods his head, I think, and holds still for a moment.

Then, to my amazement, he sticks me inside his shirt. For whatever reason he proceeds to remove the garment, but keeps it tightly grasped around me.

Thinking he wants the light back off, I attempt to comply. I resume emitting photons when my efforts are rewarded with only a sharp slap.

To add to the increasing mystery of his actions, Yosip then begins opening and closing his shirt at semi-regular intervals. His actions fail to generate thrust, and he somehow times his motions to conserve his circular momentum.

These antics are repeated for a time that would fatigue mortal muscle. Even in my youth my tendrils would have dropped lifelessly to my sides from repeating the same pointless action for such a long fraction of a day.

When I notice frost forming upon the tips of his fingers and toes, I decide to add some thermal radiation to my emissions. It doesn't help him much, but it might make him more comfortable.

When he finally stops covering and revealing me, I panic. I can feel his pulse reverberating through his artificial limbs, so I know he yet lives. Perhaps exhaustion has at last claimed him?

If he were to release me while sleeping, we would be unable to rejoin each other. An energy that tastes oddly familiar washes over us, breaking me from my worries. The energy is harmless, yet I know it from somewhere.

When a harsh yellow light bathes us in steady luminance, Yosip begins shouting wildly and pumping his arms. I look around, but my limited sight reveals nothing to me.

Not until we are approached by a four-armed being in an orange and yellow striped vacuum suit. The furred face behind the visor is striped in orange and brown. Uhgun?