Aboard the Eliza

  As the scientist and bounty hunters leave the residential block, the sounds of mashing and grinding teeth echo just at the edge of their hearing. Broken, static-laden transmissions make it through the short wave, baying for blood and pleading for a ceasing of the pain. The horde grows near; they don't have much time.

  Haussen navigates while Domitia stays on point Dell riding on her back, SMG ready. The red carpet gives way to matt-grey steel floors, and rust marks appear alongside ion blasts and bullet holes. The battle had passed through here, but as far as Domitia could tell, it wasn't nearly as intense. If she had to guess, the boarding party intended to capture engineering as intact as possible while keeping some of the crew alive so they could assist in plotting the course to their inevitable demise.

  They pass through one more doorway, reaching a large airlock with yellow and black warning stripes highlighting the edges. 'Main Engine Room,' is written above the entrance in bold letters, 'Warning: Unpressured, All Workers Must Be Appropriately Dressed.' Haussen opens the door, its heavy, blast-resistant panels slowly parting, revealing the airlock chamber inside. The trio passes into it, the door slowly shutting behind them. The chamber depressurizes, and the doors to the engine room slowly open.

  "Oh, okay, that's pretty big," Dell remarks.

  A vast chamber lit only by weak red lights illuminates the walkways and catwalks, which zig-zag over immense collections of capacitors, transformers, and wires that flow like veins. It all leads up to a great cylinder at the center of the room, with several terminals and stations surrounding it. Domitia is no expert, but that's the engine if she had to guess. Surrounding it on three sides were boxier ammonia engines. Domitia's scans of them show them as being warm, and they probably reactivated when the lockdown was lifted.

  "So," Dell looks to Haussen, "Any ideas where to start?"

  "Well," Haussen taps a finger to his visor, thinking, "If I recall correctly, the central engine enters a hibernation mode in case the virus gets out of control. We will need to do a manual restart."

  "I mean," Dell floats up a bit to get a better view, "Those ammonia engines are probably our best bet, fuck getting the reactor online."

  "The lockdown prevents the engines from starting; how would we get them going?" Haussen asks.

  Dell looks around and then chuckles. Domitia can sense he's got a rather hairbrained idea: "Power surge."

  "Huh?" Haussen looks up to Dell. "What do you mean?"

  "They're charged ammonia engines, meaning all they do is take the electric charge out of liquid ammonia. I've worked on them enough that when they short out, they flip internal breakers. It's an easy way to cause a ship to stall out." Dell explains.

  "Well, that's very interesting, Dell," Haussen says, "Though I'm unsure how we cause a power surge without power."

  Dell looks at his partner, "Dom, you got any EMP 'nades to share?"

  "Think I do."

  "Toss me one,"

  The bellator tosses her partner an EMP grenade. Dell catches it and idly plays with the safety pin as he approaches one of the generators. He follows the power cable down to a capacitor and ascends slightly. He takes a moment, feeling where he wants the EMP to go off.

  "Dom, what's the range again?" Dell asks.

  "Blast is three meters, effective range is about six," Domitia answers.

  "Yeah, that'll do." Dell pulls the pin, letting the nade float in air as he blasts off with his in built thrusters.

  "Uh, is this a--"

  Haussen's question is promptly lost in the bright flash as Domitia's HUD flickers momentarily. There is a groan of metal on metal grinding together as something stirs to life. The red lights in the engine room suddenly switch to amber as the generators switch on one by one.

  "Viral Contamination Lockdown has been concluded. Please exit your panic rooms and return to your normal duties. Thank you!" The same voice as before chimes, "Warning! Central engines are disabled. Air filtration compromised. Gravity generator disabled."

  "Well," Haussen seems unable to find the right words, "I'm a bit speechless."

  "Me too, being honest I wasn't sure if that would work." Dell says with a nervous chuckle. "After that it'd be flipping breakers until we get one of the engines to go."

  The return of the amber glow of the emergency lights comes with a roar that rolls through the ship. The screams fall into one another, forming in one coherent baying for violence, to unleash wrath and to inflict pain that they feel ten-fold. The horde is closing in.

  It's in that moment that Domitia feels herself on the edge, her hands clench into fists, her teeth grind together, her eyes grow wide. Her Legacy subtly laces her blood with hormones meant to enhance strength while her third lung opens to assist in the filtering of ichor to keep her oxygen levels high enough to keep up with the cocktail of chemicals that now flow in her.

  All this sends her forward; she feels the urge to leave Dell and Haussen behind to fulfill her duty as a Bellator and purge this ship, aft to stern, starboard to port, upper to lower. Nowhere is safe on this ship, nowhere is clean, she must end this foe, it's why Bellator's exists, it's why she--

  "No." Domitia catches herself.

  Domitia takes hold of the reins, denying the Legacy its chance to drive the ship and direct the flesh it inhabits. The Legacy is a weapon, she is not. Domitia, despite her post-human form, does not wish to deny her humanity. Every time she lets the Legacy take hold, every time she slips into that inky blackness and lets Sejanus control the flow of battle, she loses a part of herself. A bit more of her humanity chipped away. She cannot; she will not let that happen. She won't let Sejanus leave Dell behind to die or compromise the mission.

  "Well, the ship is out of lockdown now; how do we get to the ship?" Haussen asks.

  "Spacewalk." Domitia turns, "We avoid the fight. Walk across the haul."

  "Fuck it, I could lose some weight." Dell pats his midsection, "Doc, mind showing us to an airlock."

  "Oh, uh, of course,"

  It's a quick matter, the airlock being close by the engine room, tucked behind an additional bulkhead to keep it safe from exsplosive decompression. The door opens with ease, and the void of space greets the trio with cold, indifferent glances from the millions of stars that pepper the eternal black. Oddly, it's comforting, in a way, to be free of the bloody and war-ravaged halls of the Eliza. Domitia looks momentarily, realizing they exited on the far side, away from the Providence.

  "An odd question but..." Haussen's nervousness is apparent in his voice, "How do we... you know?"

  "Float alongside it?" Dell takes a wrench from his tool belt and tosses it, floating steadily alongside the ship, "We're going as fast as it's going right now. So long as that doesn't change, we should be fine. We'll stay in it's gravity." Dell then realizes, "Wait, you're a scientist, how do you not know this?"

  "My doctrine is in Virology! Not Physics!"

  "Let's get going," Domitia calls, "Got a bit of a flight ahead."

  "Doc, your thrusters alright?" Dell asks.

  "Uh, well, I haven't had to use them extensively," The doc admits.

  "Tether yourself to me." Dell orders, "Don't want you floating off. Short wave can go dead real quick in the void. Trust me."

  "Of course, I put you in your small but capable hands," Haussen says.

  "Ain't small; yours are just too damn big." Dell laughs, "Ah c'mon, just messing with ya."

  Domitia takes point, leading the crew under the ship, wanting to avoid tangling with the thralls that got blown out into the void from the upper decks. The underside of the Eliza is as revealing as the interior. Here, the original paint scheme shows a deep aqua green that is pitted with rust marks and old asteroid strikes. A partially concealed name shows through the rust - the Messina. Domitia wonders how long it had been the Messina and what hopes and dreams the crew had before it was rechristened.

  "That explains it," Dell says, pointing out the name, "Never rechristen a ship."

  "Why's that?" Haussen asks.

  "Bad luck," Dell answers plainly. "Bad luck to rename a boat."

  Haussen is taken aback by this: "Are you blaming the outbreak on the new name?"

  "Never tempt the Void Mother," Dell answers sardonically.

  "Stay focused," Domitia says steadily, "We're not done yet."

  As they sail along the belly of the Eliza, there is a sudden change in the horizon. Along the flat edge of the hull, the silhouette of figures can be seen pulling themselves over it. Domitia quickly reacts, flipping herself around and gently latching onto a scanning array for concealment. Dell quickly follows; Haussen tugged along in the grumlian's wake.

  "What are we--"

  "Shush, radio silence." Domitia orders.

  The clicking of the comms channel is met with the only sound being Domitia's breathing and her heartbeat. The figures move erratically across the hull, headlamps flashing every which way as they desperately look for something to suit their desire for death, pulling themselves along it with whatever they can get their hands on. Clearly, they're looking for them, and Domitia wishes to evade rather than fight; if they choose to cut through these scouts, it'll confirm the suspicions of the unseen hand guiding them. For if there is a Prime on this ship, it will likely directing the thralls.

  As the scouts near, Domitia motions Dell to follow her lead. Slowly, she works her way around the array, keeping herself between it and the glow of the lamps, and as the patrol passes she kicks off, Dell falling in line, Haussen keeping pace as best he can. Domitia keeps an eye out for any other patrols, and as they reach the edge of the hull, Domitia puts out a hand, signaling a halt.

  Above, she can see the boxy frame of the Providence in the dark void above. In reach, yet so far away. She's already calculated that if the ship is their goal, then it's also the goal of the Prime. They have to reach it before it does, or they will be stuck on this boat, lost in the void, until some hapless fool comes aboard once more.

  She'd prefer if the only hapless fools who ever stumble upon the Eliza were Dell and herself.

  Domitia then motions with her thumb pointing up. Dell gives an 'okay' sign back and follows the Bellator's lead. They drift across the hull of the Eliza tightly, barely using their thrusters, and instead, step upon it as if they're rushing across a metal field. As they near, shapes form against the stars as gunfire rains down.

  "Dell! Get the doc to safety, I'll cover!" Domitia breaks radio silence and opens fire with her ion lance.

  Domitia pushes up and begins to fly, keeping Dell shielded from the gunfire. While the slug throwers are largely ineffective against Domitia's armor, the Ion Rounds concern her more. They strike across the hull like red bolts of lightning, threatening to strike her and her companions down. She makes them a priority, boosting herself closer, both making them train their fire against her and also ensuring she gets a clean kill.

  She finds the first Ion Blaster held by a black armored voidsmen, cybernetics exposed to space as the flesh around it turns purple from exposure. She lands a direct chest shot with her lance, vaporizing the brain stem and most of his spine, sending what remains hurtling into the void. The next one nearly lands a shot, the bolt coming into contact with the hard light shielding of Domitia's armor. Domitia replies in kind, landing a shot directly on the Blaster's power pack, causing it to detonate violently, atomizing both arms and most of the torso, the heat alone melting the rest of his armor as he drifts away from the void.

  "Dom!" Dell cries out over the comm, "Problem! Lots of problems!"

  Domitia speeds towards her partner, finding the problems in question are more infected voidsmen, now swarming the hull of the Providence. Dell steers clear of them, peppering them with his SMG while Haussen desperately tries to avoid being shot. The Bellator rushes towards the fight, firing her Ion Lance as she does. The nearest falls to a shot to the back, destroying the already compromised life support system and leaving them as a paralyzed husk. Upon realizing the Bellator is coming, the other thralls turn their attention to Domitia.

  She bobs and weaves through hails of bullets and bolts of ion, smashing aside one of the infected with her kinetic maul, sending them crashing into the hull of the ship, the cracking of their spine audible through the airless void. She vaporizes another with a point blank shot while she sends her maul smashing into the back of another. She spins in void, sabaton caving in the chest of another, finishing it off with a blast of Ion.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "Dell! Get the ship going!" Domitia barks over the comm.

  "On it... What the fuck..."

  It's only once the last infected is dead that she sees it, a pale thing. It flies in the void impossibly, for it wears no void suit, wears no rebreather, and moves without thrusters. Its body is spindly and bony, and its four arms remain at its sides, two of them carrying curved blades. They're dark with the blood offered to it by its thralls, the steel, willed into shape by acidic forging. Its crescent-shaped head contains a maw with too many teeth; it has no eyes, but Domitia can feel its spiteful, hungry glare.

  You. Thing. Hated Thing. Bane.

  These words are not spoken, rather, they are willed into Domitia's mind by the creature. The Prime. Domitia feels it try and slip into her mind, to try and subvert her will but her Legacy denies it. She feels it's teeth grind against one another. It's angry. How dare this thing defy it. All things are meant to obey them, it's their will, their destiny to dominate all life.

  "Not going to let you do that," Domitia murmurs.

  Our destiny is inevitable. Our mandate shall be fulfilled. The Prime's words are dispassionate and cold.

  "Dom?" Dell's static-laden voice cut through, "The fuck you doing? Who--"

  "Get aboard the ship." Domitia calmly says.

  "Dom--"

  "Now!"

  Before Domitia can hear Dell again, the Prime is upon her. It moves impossibly fast, and so must Domitia to survive. The blades don't just cut; they spray with it an ichor that boils in the vacuum of space. A drop splashes across the right pauldron of her armor, leaving a scar of melted metal. The thing blinks from view, Domitia already sensing where it will be, and avoids the ichor blades in time to avoid the follow-through stab.

  Domitia fires a blast of ion, and the Prime easily avoids it and strikes again. Domitia ducks and blasts towards the hull of the Eliza, bounding off it, trying to gain distance, only for the Prime to be in her way. It slashes down, slicing the hull of the ship as if it were paper, the Bellator barely able to avoid the second, third, and fourth slashes. She fires a volley of ion shots, the Prime evading them with ease, but neglects the grenade floating toward it. The shock wave causes it to lose balance for a moment, which is what Domitia needs.

  She thunders in, firing an ion blast, a shield of acid forming before the Prime, absorbing the first, second, and third blasts, but before the Prime can reply her maul swings out. The blow lands, and the Prime rolls with it, being sent back to the void, but the blade bites into Domitia's armor in reply. The acid is absorbed quickly by the anti vacuum foam of her armor but the pain is mind numbing.

  It causes her to lose track of the Prime for but a moment, which is all it needs. The blade pierces through her chest like the armor wasn't even there; her right lung instantly explodes, and the pain radiates through her body. The Prime raises the other blade to take Domitia's head.

  I will feast on your memories. You shall become a part of Us.

  Domitia ebbs away.

  A smile grows across her face.

  Sejanus wakes.

  "I'm told I taste bitter."

  The Bellator grabs the acid slick blade and pulls, the pain amusing to Sejanus as the Ion Lance charges to full, it glowing hot from the energy. The Prime goes to strike but the Bellator twists themselves along the blade, the decapitation strike missing, the Ion Lance doesn't.

  The sword leaves the grasp of the Prime as it is sent crashing across the surface of the Eliza. Part of its face plate has been blasted away, and black ichor floats into the void of space, steaming with heat. As it gets up, Sejanus wrenches the blade from the armor. Foam covers the patch, the internal organs work to stich themselves back together, and a fever spreads throughout the body to try and contain the numerous infections and acidic bubbles remaining in the body of the Bellator.

  The Bellator bolts at the Prime, Ion Lance still burning hot, maul switched with Hand Cannon as Sejanus empties all eight chambers. The Prime is just barely able to recover as the Bellator fires another shot from their Ion Lance, the acidic shield bursting toward the end as Sejanus closes in. The maul meets the remaining blade, and while it shatters, the maul's head is severed clean off.

  The Ion Lance, burning hot, fails to charge as the overheating protocols shut it down. The Prime looms over the Bellator. Hate. It hates it. It's hate goes beyond comprehension. Wrath. Loathing. Abhorrence. These words manifest and show a pale shadow of the Prime's true feelings.

  Arrogance has always been your kinds undoing. You will die now.

  Suddenly, a gravity wave washes over the Eliza as something wills itself into reality. A shadow looms over the vessel now, and from that shadow, three figures burn their way down towards them. Their armor is white in color, with vibrant patterns across it, differentiating the three figures. They descend upon the Prime, firing Ion Weapons. The Prime is caught off guard by the sudden change in odds; it had only planned on fighting one Bellator. Now, it faces three of them.

  Two of fresh Bellator descend upon the Prime rapidly; already wounded and one sword missing, they close in on it. One, armed with an Ion Halberd and void-steel shield, fires volleys of bolts, while the other peppers the Prime with laser-guided missiles from pods on their shoulders. Whenever the Prime tries to close the distance to one, that Bellator accelerates away while the other lands aimed shots. The carapace of the Prime is blasted and burnt away, piece by piece.

  No! No! The words are frantic now, I must continue the Work! It must be--

  The words cease as a Bellator closes in, the Ion Halberd's tip igniting before striking through the Prime's head. The second closes in, the Ion Burners mounted upon its wrist igniting. The Prime's death throes echo through reality despite of the vacuum of space.

  A third Bellator arrives, their armor is clean, a newer model compared to the cobbled together rust bucket that is Domitia's armor. She wields no lance, no weapons at all, her helmet polished to a shine, allowing the battered and bloody Sejanus to see it's flesh and armor reflected.

  You're too wounded, The Weaver wills, Sleep.

  Before Sejanus can argue, the Legacy is put to slumber.

  ---

  Aboard the Enduring Flame

  Domitia is floating.

  That sensation comes before all others. She floats weightlessly, and effortlessly. No pain. No strain. No feeling of joints aching or the dull pain of old scars. Simply nothing. An abyssal existence, devoid of sensation. She contemplates this existence for a moment, finding a small joy in it. Here nothing hurts, nothing matters, nothing is all that their is, and will ever be.

  Yet she recalls what comes with pain, what comes with living life. So, she decides to accept the pain and wake up from her abyssal voyage.

  Her chest burns with sensation as she feels regrown lungs breathing once more. Her throat stings with the sensation of breath as she feels a mask over her face. The floating remains as her eyes open, adjusting to the light and to the liquid stinging them. The green fluid is something she's familiar with, Dorian Water, a cocktail of healing solutions meant to help stabilize a Bellator's body as it healed. The tank is in a chamber, and a number of shelves and cubbies line its walls, with a door on the far side of the room the tank is in.

  With practiced ease, she finds the release and the water begins to drain, she feels her feet take her full weight and as the water drains, cold overtakes her body. She opens the door, and steps out onto the rug set out for her. Next to the take she finds a towel set into a cubby in the wall. She quickly dries herself off.

  Awake. Good.

  Domitia looks to the door, finding a woman similar to her in build, her skin pale, her hair platinum in hue, eyes a deep green.

  You are aboard the Enduring Flame. It was my decision to place you in the tank. Your host was severely damaged.

  "Ever heard of knocking?" Domitia asks

  You are aware of my station. Weavers must ensure the survival of the Legacy. There is a pause, "And I'm also aware you do not like my telepathy." Her voice is soft but cold, detached.

  "Never been a fan," Domitia states sternly.

  "An iteration was," The Weaver states, "Sejanus."

  "Domitia," She corrects the other Bellator.

  "Curious." The Weaver extends a hand, "I am Iva, although my flesh name is Ariel if you must know."

  "Well met," Domitia takes her by the arm, "Got any clothes?"

  "Your companion supplied a change," Ariel points to the shelf next to Domitia.

  "Dell's here?" Domitia asks.

  "Indeed." A small smile grows across her face, "He is quite bold. Attempted to stop me as I brought you onboard. I was able to explain I was merely bringing you to the Enduring Flame. For healing."

  "Sounds about right for Dell," Domitia finds a sports bra and briefs, a cream shirt with a cartoon tiger head on the front, a red jacket, black pants, her boots, and socks, "State of the ship?"

  "Only one Prime Being. A second had begun gestation," Ariel explains, "Cleansing operations have been successful. Your companion is safe; however, we have... Questions regarding Dr. Haussen."

  "Ask then," Domitia states bluntly.

  "Very well," Ariel begins, "He aided you?"

  "Yes." Domitia starts to slip on her briefs.

  "And in doing so, was he seeking favor?"

  "No," Domitia flatly states as she puts on her sports bra, "He only sought to survive."

  "I see," Ariel looks over Domitia carefully, "And he knew of the true intent of the Eliza?"

  "As far as I am aware," Domitia states truthfully as she slips the shirt over her head.

  "Did he at any point make any offers, bribes, or threats?" Ariel asks.

  "No."

  Ariel is quiet for a moment, "Good. As far as we're aware, he was an unwitting pawn."

  "You could read my mind," Domitia flatly observes, "Why ask me these questions?"

  "A test." Ariel answers coldly, "You are a renegade. A traitor. I had to be sure."

  Domitia can feel the animosity. Clearly, Ariel hadn't been on her side of things during the revolt. A moment passes as the two lock their eyes and weigh their options. Domitia evaluates how she would fell the Bellator, her mind analyzing every possible vector of attack, but only if Ariel struck first. Ariel seems to have been doing the same, her expression shifting as she motions down the hall.

  "Your armor has been repaired, and your friend awaits. Shall I lead you to him?"

  "Right." Domitia says as she slips on her jacket, "Lead the way."

  Domitia is led through the Enduring Flame, finding a strange sense of nostalgia falls over her. It's been decades since she had been aboard a Hunter Class. Such vessels operate in deep space, far from the light of civilization, even by the standards of the Big Empty. The white paneled walls and slate grey floor trick her mind back to the days of hunting Ravenous ships in the deep void or readying herself to be dropped upon an unsuspecting Clan of Pirates. There had been certainty in those times, purpose even. Now, she is unsure if that purpose was even real or as morally righteous as she had been made to believe.

  "My transmission went through?" Domitia asks, realizing she has to talk; otherwise, her mind will wander.

  "We had been shadowing the Eliza for some time. Void Watch has been suspecting something was off. We had been asked to assist in the case and said suspicions were proven right." Ariel explains, "The presence of a Prime was not expected. We are fortunate that you happened upon it."

  "Right man, wrong place," Domitia grumbles; she winces a bit from a pain in her throat, "What's happening now?"

  "We return the data to Void Watch, they will evaluate and asses where we are to go next."

  Ariel leads her through a door, entering into the arming chamber of the Enduring Flame. Flanking the walkway are partitioned workstations, a harness in each of them; though only three have armor in them, the other twelve seem empty. There is a bit of sorrow in that sight; the lack of armor means a lack of Bellators, and despite her misgivings, she still misses her old comrades. Her mind snaps back as she hears a familiar voice telling a familiar tale.

  "I come back with my drink, cause at this point I'm done with the gambling, tables where rigged, you know how it is," Dell's tone is mirthful, and despite how happy Domitia is to hear his voice, she cringes as she knows this tale, "I see Dom, dancing with this fucking Urso, fattest fucker I've ever seen!"

  "Truly?!" Asks a deep, feminine voice, the hint of a laugh at the end of it.

  "Swear on my life it happened!" Dell says as Domitia rounds the corner, "She looked like she was dancing with a big brown, flabby fur ball! She looked over to me and paled." He pointed at Domitia at this point, "And then blushed like that!"

  Laughter erupts from the two other Bellators that sit around Dell. One is a female, with olive skin and crimson hair, her eyes green and fiery. Judging by her lack of scars she's, relatively new, perhaps forty or fifty years old. The other is a gruff looking veteran, a male with fading black hair and brown eyes, his skin dark as the void. His scars are many, and the cybernetic arm hints at an accident involving an Ion Lance.

  "You always have to tell that story, don't you?" Domitia grumbles, crossing her arms.

  "Ah, c'mon! Stories are meant to be told!" Dell admits, "Sure, you tell all kinds of crazy stories about me when I'm not around."

  Domitia smiles, "Could tell them the time you got trapped in that airlock."

  "Yeah, uh," Dell motions with his hand, "How about we save that for later."

  Domitia looks over, finding her armor on the harness, fully repaired with a fresh coat of paint as well. It shines like new, but the scars of war remain; there's only so much you can paint over, after all.

  "I see the armor is repaired," Ariel asks.

  This takes the two other Bellators aback for a moment before the red head nods, "Aye, helped the best we can. Things ancient. Belongs in the Halls of Doric."

  "That 'relic' nearly killed a Prime," The veteran Bellator says, "Speak of it with respect."

  "Yeah, put a lot of blood, sweat, and money into that suit." Dell adds, "Disrespecting it, disrespects me."

  "These are Pyrrha and Lukas," Ariel motions to both the red head and the veteran, "They wished to honor you by repairing your armor."

  "Least we could do for a lost sister," Lukas gestures to Domitia, "How fair your wounds?"

  "Healed enough," Domitia motions to the armor. "Come on, Dell, let's get suited up and mosey."

  "You don't wish to stay?" Ariel asks.

  "We have work," Domitia lies, although she already knows Ariel has seen through it, "Dell, state of the Providence?"

  "Shipshape, for now anyway," Dell dusts himself off, "Well, it was a pleasure getting to know you two."

  "The honor was mine, grumlian," Lukas says.

  "Hopefully, we cross paths under good circumstances," Pyrrha adds.

  "Yeah, here's hoping," Dell gives a two-finger salute in reply.

  "Before you go," Ariel says to Domitia, "There is one more matter to attend to."

  ----

  In the lower decks of the Enduring Flame, Domitia is led by Ariel through a holding facility. The cells are empty, save for one. Behind the reinforced void glass, Dr. Haussen's shape can be seen. His face is full now, and his hair is far less ragged, but guilt remains in his eyes.

  "You wanted to see me?" Domitia asks.

  "I did." Haussen leans on the glass, "I wished to... Thank you."

  "I suppose this isn't the worst fate," Domitia concludes.

  "As much as I regret my... misdeeds, and do dread the punishment, I cannot offer any other course that wouldn't see me either dead or in here." Haussen answers honestly, "My hope is the research we did comes to some use."

  "I hope it does," Domitia states.

  "Thank you, again," Haussen implores, "You didn't have to save me. You could've killed me after my usefulness had ran out. You had every right to do so, but you didn't."

  "You don't need to thank me, doctor," Domitia says, "You where in need. I did what I could."

  "True humbleness," Haussen states with a chuckle, "It's rare to see in this galaxy."

  "Perhaps if people were more humble, things would get better," Domitia dryly says, "A na?ve notion, I know, but I..." Domitia is careful as she chooses her words, "I once read that, 'It's the tiny good deeds that go unnoticed that keep the darkness at bay.'"

  "Ah," Haussen nods, "Insightful. Well, what book was it? I imagine I'll be doing a lot of reading."

  "Some old dusty tome," Domitia lies, not wanting to admit she's quoting a manga, "Probably haven't even heard of it."

  "Well, all the same, thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  ----

  Aboard the Providence

  As the Providence readies itself to jump to Liminal Space, Domitia cannot help but look out the window at the now burnt and blasted form of the Eliza. The ship has now been thoroughly cleansed by Blackwatch, and now it will be towed away to be burnt in some far-flung star to fully erase its memory from the void. Part of her is glad it's over, while another lingers on what has passed.

  She nearly died, letting Sejanus take control for a moment. It frightens her as she wanders the halls of her mind and fears that something is lost. Another memory, another piece of her taken and assimilated into the Legacy. Something that had once been a brick of her humanity chipped away by the beast inside her.

  "Dom! Stop brooding!" Dell's voice echoes through the halls of the Providence. "I got a reel on! Snatched it from Hyaline's stuff."

  Domitia then returns back to reality, she glances over, seeing Dell on the couch in the 'living room' which had been an unused cabin. The Bellator walks over to see what's playing on the screen - it's a grainy black and white picture. In big bold words the title flashes on screen - 'The Blob!'

  "Oh, this is gonna be good!" Dell takes a sip of the liquor, his face souring, "Fuck, what the fuck, man, this guy had bad taste." He takes another swig.

  "Your... Still drinking it." Domitia observes.

  "Yeah!" Dell says, "Gotta finish what I started, right?"

  Domitia then laughs, "Right. Of course."

  "Come on, sit your ass down and watch!" Dell demands.

  "Alright, alright," Domitia takes a seat on the floor, leaning on the couch, "What kind of reel is this?"

  "Horror, I think." Dell guesses.

  "Never liked horror."

  "You don't like fun," Dell jokingly jabs.

  Domitia smiles again. That smile remains as the movie goes on, and the bounty hunters jeer at the bumbling idiots who are the 'heroes' of the reel. It's at that moment, watching that movie and trying the bottle Dell is drinking, that Domitia stops worrying for a moment, figuring that right now, she's doing the best thing to keep her humanity intact.