There was a dull, incessant pounding in Aurrum's skull as he came to. Very slowly, he realized he was no longer standing upright. He'd been thrown, tossed across the hold like a rag doll.

His first thought was, I should be dead.

His second was for his crew, and as the shrieks of pain and terror slowly filtered into his ears, he knew that there were some who hadn't been as lucky.

He tested his limbs, which although battered and sore, all seemed to be working. His vision cleared as well, and colors coalesced themselves into pearly white smoke and dark silhouettes whirling through the haze.

He pulled himself to his feet, fighting against his dizziness and nausea. No doubt he'd suffered a concussion, but it was the stench in the air that almost sent him to the floor again, heaving. The air was tinged with the smell of sulfur and spent ammunition, and layered below that was a sharp, coppery tang that he could almost taste on his tongue.

He stumbled forward, and the metal taint only grew stronger. As the smoke parted for him like a set of curtains, he was able to make out more details.

Lying prone, only a few feet from where he stood, was the broken body of one of his technicians. Torn and pockmarked, the body had been shredded by shrapnel. A part of him wanted to roll them over, to try and identify who's hidden face it was, but instead he kept moving.

He passed people who ran, wailing, their bodies marred with damage. Some clutched stumps, their limbs torn off by the blast. Others sat on the ground, dazed or in shock. Names were called out, friends or relatives desperately looking for one another. Amidst the chaos was scattered the worst of the casualties, those who were too far gone to move, or had already succumbed to their wounds.

Aurrum reached out to those who could react, offered words to those who would listen. This wasn't his first experience with death, or violence; before anything else, he had to be an anchor for his crew, a figure they could find solace in. But in practice there was little he could do. The horror of it all threatened to overwhelm him, and much of his effort was directed towards just putting one foot in front of the other.

Going towards the blast zone was the last thing he wanted, but he needed to know what happened. The smoke was clearing now, and he could finally make out the far end of the cargo hold.

What had once been a solid wall was now a huge, jagged hole in the ship. Aurrum squinted, trying to make sense of the hulking shape that stood in the path of the sunlight that should have been streaming into the space.

Aurrum pushed his battered body as fast as it would go. As his vision grew clearer, and the emergency lights burned the smoke away, he recognized the intruder for what it was: the last remaining fighter.

The craft had made an impressive landing, threading through the hole it had made. Now, it rested upon the edge of the hold, on a section of floor that was still structurally intact.

A few paces away from it was a rough, pitted lump of metal. Interspersed around it were smaller ridges. They were panels that had been lifted up from the floor.

As he watched, the lump of metal shrieked, its layers grinding open like the petals of a deformed flower.

Within the cavity huddled Lukas, Erin and that woman, Ricardia and the doctor. They were haggard, and disheveled, but alive.

For a moment, Aurrum was hit by a pang of anger. Why didn't Lukas protect him, like he had the others? Then he looked at the surrounding ridges, and considered how close he'd been to the blast. The boy had likely done what he could - grabbed the closest people to him, and tried to protect everyone else with bulwarks. It was probably the only reason Aurrum was still standing.

His attention returned to the fighter, which stood silent. Why not end it all now? He wondered. They were in shambles, defenseless against the small, but deadly ship.

Then the fighter's tinted cockpit hatch began to hiss open, and a handful of Erin's guards who were still in one piece shuffled into position, stunguns at the ready.

"I wouldn't shoot if I were you," boomed a voice, "unless you want this fighter to blast all of you into paste."

Aurrum watched as the pilot rose into view. It was impossible to see his face, as they were covered up by a helmet and lenses, but the Purist insignia carved into his matching, pitch-black flight suit was enough of an identification.

He glanced at Erin, who had her hand up in a ceasefire position.

"Maddox," she called out, "we both know this pilot isn't going to shoot anyone."

Aurrum blinked, realizing suddenly that the voice he'd heard was a projected one. The Purist in front of them was carrying some sort of comms device to relay what was being said.

Maddox laughed, static creeping in at the edges of the sound. "Touche, Ademas. Can't break the merchandise, now can we?"

"How did you know what Ito was really working on? That's why you're here." Her last point wasn't phrased as a question.

"Please. I had his feed so stuffed with surveillance that I could see what kind of porn he was watching." Maddox laughed again. "I'd like to thank your associates for their help in leading us to you. Hopefully they survived the blast."

"You're lucky Ito did," Erin accused, and the doctor whimpered beside her.

"I know you'd keep him close," was the response, and Aurrum suddenly realized that Lukas had most likely been forced to prioritize the doctor's life over his own. Bolstered by the anger this sparked in him, Aurrum decided it was time for him to speak on behalf of his ship and his crew.

"This is my ship you've destroyed," he called out. "I am a captain under the protection of the Ferrum Rete. You've already condemned yourself to punishment - I suggest you make a run for it while you can."

There was a pause, and then Maddox was yelling with such fervor that the booming sound of his voice made Aurrum's ears ache.

"I know who you are, 'Captain' Aurrum," he bellowed, "and I know what you do. You've made your fortunes on the process of colonization, leeched wealth and value from the Planatae. You're steeped in sin! Do you think I care what threats you make? Or what the Ferrem Rete will do? When we take that doctor back and secure the Project, any act of aggression towards us will be a very bad idea."

"Who are you working for, Maddox?" Erin asked. "The Purists would sooner see the destruction of the Planatae than what the Project offers."

Project Genesis. Aurrum knew, from the recording Erin had shared of the interrogation, that what the potential technology offered was almost unheard of. Whoever figured it out first - if it was even possible to do so - would be able to bioengineer humans for any possible task. They could make jumpers, super soldiers, telepaths - it would destabilize the entire power structure in the Galaxy.

"I don't think you truly understand the Purists," Maddox was still rambling on, "they are driven by one singular purpose - self-determinism. The Planatae seek to control us, to shape us in our image, and that loss of human control - of will - is the truest form of evil in this world. But to change the paradigm - to be able to shape and control the Planatae in turn - this is something we will embrace! Now hand Ito over to the pilot, or I'll kill you all."

"No," Erin said.

"That's a poor choice," Maddox said, and Aurrum could hear the glee in his tone. "Something tells me that the Rete aren't paying as much attention to you as they should. We can play this game, Ademas, but I know who's support will arrive first."

"You won't shoot," was all Erin said.

"Neither will you," Maddox said.

Aurrum bristled, working to control himself. If Erin's guards let loose the stunguns, he doubted it would end well; the pilot was likely wearing protective gear, or had his vitals linked to the fighter's systems. Stunning or killing him with their energy weapons would probably trigger the flight suit's biosystems and launch a projectile. They had no technopath Factors present, and certainly none of his aides were in a position to attempt a manual hack on the fighter.

This Maddox, whoever he was, was stalling them, taking advantage of Alto's II surprisingly poor defenses. He was right, of course; any central government would not be coming to their defense.

Both Erin and Aurrum had overestimated the Andromeda's defenses, and the tenacity of the Purists. All reports pointed to them as loons - raving cultists who would rather hole up in their station than participate in the larger galaxy. But reality was a different beast, and they'd been chased across the galaxy with firepower that nobody had expected.

They had a damn jumper, Aurrum thought bitterly. And now I've lost good men and women. They were trapped, he realized, and he was sure Erin knew it too.

...

"Ma," Lukas asked, "what do we do?" He was swaying on his feet; using his Factor again so soon after the prison escape had brought on familiar waves of exhaustion.

She looked at him, and maybe it was just his minor delirium, but he could have sworn, for once, that his mother's impeccable mask had slipped, that she looked shaken, and small, and tired.

Then she smiled, and it was a bitter one.

"I certainly take you for granted, don't I?" Her voice was a low murmur, barely audible over the cries of the crew, and the artificial boom of Maddox's tone.

"I wanted to be here," Lukas forced the words out. "You needed me, and I was ready..." he trailed off then, hearing the hollow, parroted quality of his words, suddenly ashamed of them.

"I may have just killed my only son," Erin said, a trace of bitter humor in her words. Lukas could only gape at her in response.

But she wasn't looking at him anymore, or at the pilot. Her attention was on the doctor that was still sprawled beside them.

"You have made me do things that no parent should do. I have to wonder why you continued working on the Project - why you were so desperate to buy your way back home. Your choices are going to kill billions, starting with us-"

She stopped suddenly, as though she'd lost her train of thought. She glanced back towards the pilot with a strange expression on her face.

But Ito was livid now, and glared up her with complete loathing.

"I don't want to die," he hissed at her. "I'm going to walk over there, and get on that ship, and you're not going to stop me." With his guards since removed by the blast, he got to his feet unimpeded. Erin, still seemingly distracted, didn't object.

"Doctor!" Maddox called out. Evidently, he could also see what was happening. "That's right. Return, and we can solve this with civility."

Ito took a step forward, then paused. He glanced about him, as though waiting to see if he'd be stopped. But Erin didn't react, and neither did Ricardia or the guards.

"Erin..." Aurrum began, but the woman looked back at him and shook her head slightly. He squinted, confused. Her expression was surprisingly placid, eyes glassy. The effect was made more staggering by the despair and panic on the faces all around her.

But he conceded, and so all of them - the captain, the child, Ricardia and the rest - all were silent as Ito stumbled his way across the shattered hold towards the fighter.

"I appreciate your cooperation," Maddox said, "And as for you, Ito - I think we're going to have to keep a closer eye on you for now on. But don't feel down about it - you'll be part of something great, a movement that will usher in a new generation-"

There was an odd thunk, and then the room filled with the sound of crackling static. Ito, who was now the closest person to the fighter, reared back in terror when he looked up and saw the shining point of a harpoon emerging from the pilot's chest.