A/N: My last 7 updates have been posted from 5 different states, so here's a post from New Jersey! :P

Chapter 24

Csilla

It took Csilla Space Defense approximately eight standard seconds to acknowledge the shuttle that came tearing out of hyperspace with a fury and began an immediate direct approach to the planet. Their own sensors indicated that a wing of Clawcraft fighters were headed in their direction moments before the console beeped with an incoming transmission. The cargo ship was nowhere to be seen.

Leyla, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, took over the controls as Nabrin accepted the call, a forced calm in his voice. He spoke in Cheunh, too fast for Leyla to pick up some of the exact words, but she understood enough. "Shuttle Night Shadow acknowledging Space Defense; Defense, be advised that-"

A burst of static cut him off, and then a harsh voice cut him off. "Night Shadow, state your identity and your purpose here."

"I tracked a cargo ship here from the Ottega System," Nabrin maintained as cool a demeanor as he could muster. "Defense, that ship cannot be allowed to make atmosphere, it is highly dangerous and-"

"Night Shadow, state your identity or we will be forced to treat you as hostile."

Nabrin's eyes began to take on something of a wild frustration as he looked despairingly at Leyla. "Anything?"

She shook her head slowly; if Ryoqim's ship was not on their scanners, it meant one of two things, neither of them good: the first possibility was that he had purposefully misled them, and was headed somewhere else now; the second was that he had already entered Csilla's atmosphere and his presence was shielded by the planet and possibly by an escort. After a moment of desperate consideration, Leyla spoke softly. "Tell them who you are." He blinked in surprise. "If nothing else," she shrugged, "you'll certainly get their attention."

Looking like he was debating her sanity, Nabrin swallowed hard and keyed the comm again. "Defense, this is Csun'abr'inrokini- high syndic of the Third House on Csaus. And I am deadly serious when I say that the life of every chiss on Csilla is now endangered."

There was a lengthy pause- Leyla could practically see the sudden confusion and ensuing chaos as higher ups were consulted. For her part, she continued her steady course towards the planet, well-aware of the fact that her actions could be described as aggressive justification for the approaching fighters to try to shoot the shuttle down. Nabrin needed to persuade them soon that they did not want to do that.

When someone else finally acknowledged them, the voice was heavier with authority, more demanding. "Syndic, this is Commander Na'czin; you will quit your present course immediately and surrender your vessel-"

"I cannot do that, Commander."

"Syndic," Na'czin bit, "the ship you profess to be a great danger to the planet is under heavy guard; more to the point, its pilot has followed our explicit instructions and not varied from his assigned course. If there is a danger, it will be dealt with accordingly. You, however, in refusing to adhere to procedure and protocol, will be viewed as a hostile threat if you do not alter your present heading."

Nabrin closed his eyes wearily. "Then he's already made atmosphere. We're too late." He opened the channel once more. "Commander, the threat comes not from the being in the ship but rather from a substance he carries- a pathogen that will quickly effect the deaths of every chiss on the planet, should he release it into the atmosphere." He sighed. "Aristocra Haun'arnt'inrokini can attest to my involvement in the Alpha Red project, from which this horror is derived." There was a lengthy pause. "I suggest you signal a bio-attack warning on the planet now- some lives may yet be saved."

Leyla guided the shuttle into the atmosphere; the approaching Clawcraft mirrored their movements, but did not fire upon them, something she took to be a good sign. As they crossed over the horizon onto the night side of the planet though, she finally picked up the Ithorian's shuttle on her scanners- moments before he veered sharply off-course and corresponding laser-fire lanced out from his own escort. "No! Syndic…!"

"Commander, he doesn't need to survive to kill billions! If the substance has already been released into his ship, a hull-breach will contaminate Csilla's atmosphere."

"I am running out of options, Syndic," the commander growled back. "If the ship even poses the threat you claim it to."

"It does," he bit shortly. "The being who pilots it has used this weapon to kill the bothans of Torolis and to orchestrate the war between the Ascendancy, the Empire, and the Galactic Alliance."

"The being who pilots provided diplomatic codes, Syndic."

Leyla bit her tongue to stop from snapping in her own annoyance; Nabrin did a good enough job of it in her stead. "He is a senator of the Ithorian remnant, I daresay he has access to several such codes. In any case, surely his actions now are verity of his ill-intent?"

"Syndic, if you have a recommendation for how to prevent him from exposing this pathogen to Csilla's atmosphere, I am quite content to listen."

"Wait," Leyla stopped him from responding. "Let's think about this- the other vials, they were on timers, yes?" Nabrin nodded, lips pursed in annoyance, not understanding what she was getting at. "Well, Ryoqim has no interest in dying if he doesn't take someone out with him. So would he have set the timer before being granted clearance to land on the planet?"

"Perhaps not."

"Probably not," she corrected absently, even as she gained on the larger, bulkier ship that was flying an erratic course whilst the Clawcraft above it hovered but, apparently having been warned of the nature of the threat, did not fire. "And once it was apparent that he was unsuspected, would he have bothered? Or just waited until he touched down to release it, without bothering to utilize the timer mechanism?"

"Your point, Jedi Solo-Fel?"

"My point is that he knows he is discovered and has nothing left to lose. Once he realized that, he probably set the release-mechanism on the timer- as he has shown, he has no interest in risking the pathogen affecting him before his own task it completed- thus, the timer used back at his base. Had he released it immediately, I would have been dead when my mask came off during the cavern-collapse."

He stared at her. "But… if you're even correct… we have no way of knowing how long we have."

She shook her head sadly. "It's better than nothing though."

"You're a Jedi, can't you do something?"

With a start, she glanced sidelong at him. "Like what?" she demanded.

"Use the Force to stop it."

"From here?"

"Then… I don't know! Aren't you supposed to be able to see into people's minds, make them do what you want?"

Her mouth worked incredulously for a moment before she spluttered scandalously, "If I were interested in the dark side, maybe!"

Nabrin did not turn to look at her again, but she felt the great sadness pouring off of him, at the knowledge that his failings were possibly moments away from having condemned billions of his own people to death. And as she maneuvered the shuttle into position behind the cargo ship, she battled with a decision she'd never dreamed she'd have to make.

She could feel Ryoqim's mind, it stood out amongst the minds of the chiss surrounding her. It was strange, foreign… she had never known any ithorians particularly well before, and beyond that, there was a deranged delusion at work that kept him closed off from her, more than was normal. But if she could delve inside his head just long enough…

Her father was gifted at such matters in the Force- and he had emphasized to her how dangerous the use of them was. When he was just a teenager, he had nearly destroyed the mind of the scientist who created the Death Stars, the Sun Crusher, so that she would never be able to do so again. When he was older… when Leyla was a little girl… he had used those powers to find her, had stolen memories from a Jedi spy for Red Hand, from Tahlia, and even from her aunt Mara, all in the interests of recovering her. And Mara had even given him her permission to do so, for the sake of appearances.

But her great-uncle Luke had also spoken of using the Force in similar ways, to confound the minds of enemies… and he, too, had warned of what a questionable realm of the Force using his powers in such a way had left him, until he'd become convinced that such powers were of the dark side.

But this was different.

Right?

How many Jedi who had fallen in the past had gone through such routes of self-justification before taking that final step that sent them over the edge? Leyla couldn't answer that question- but she did know one thing for sure.

Eight billion sentient chiss were running out of time.

"Take over," she murmured in a daze; Nabrin shot her a look. "Try to force him to ground without shooting at him; see if Commander Na'czin's forces can help you drive him over an unpopulated area."

"What are you going to do?"

She swallowed. "I'm going to try to help you."

He wordlessly took control of the shuttle as she settled back in her seat, letting her eyes drift mostly closed, reaching out across the kilometer that separated them from the ithorian's ship, searching, feeling…

It was agony; a distant part of her mind registered what Zekk had been saying to her weeks ago, about the ends justifying the means, about betraying who she was, and as she fought deeper, felt the senator's sudden unease, confusion, as he registered something was wrong but couldn't quite comprehend what, she was angry, she was bitter at what she was forced to do, bitter at the way this had become her burden when she'd never asked for it, had never asked to be snagged out of hyperspace leaving Eriadu with Vulcor… and she funneled that anger and bitterness inwards and used it to push further, to see from Ryoqim's eyes, to feel his frantic efforts to keep his old ship in the air, he only needed another eight minutes before it wouldn't matter anymore, he couldn't let that brat of a girl win, not after the way she had brought down everything he'd worked for, all of his plans to teach the galaxy a lesson for its failings for his people, for his beautiful planet, now a charred and ruined wasteland, surrounded by a galaxy triumphant, a galaxy that had forgotten about Ithor in the wake of its victory, a galaxy that deserved no better and never would again until they understood true despair, true anguish…

There was a jolting sort of pain and a hoarse scream; it wasn't until Nabrin touched her arm, sparing precious attention from flying, that she realized the sound had come from her own throat. "He's down, a squad has been summoned out of Csaplar," the chiss assured her. "Is he…?"

"Go back," she gasped, even as he was swinging the shuttle around to pass back over the spot where the cargo ship had made an ungainly but intact landing, skidding across ice-fields, "go back. We have less than eight minutes." She fumbled frantically with her crash-webbing, checked to make sure her lightsaber was secured on her belt, and reached for the small compartment where Nabrin had stored the precious container, the vacuum-sealed box that would trap the pathogen and keep the peoples of Csilla safe. "Get me as low as you can and open the hatch."

He shot a startled look over his shoulder, even as he maneuvered carefully closer to the downed ship. "The cold, Jedi Fel… you need a thermal-suit, your cloak is hardly sufficient for these temperatures."

"No time. And, you know… Jedi. Are you ready?"

"Five seconds."

She positioned herself, one hand gripping the rail just inside the hatch where the ramp would normally descend. The ship wobbled under a gust of heavy wind as Nabrin slowed it, hovering on repulsors- and then with just a moment of warning, the hatch opened with a hiss and a blast of cold air rushed into the shuttle. Taking just a moment to assess the conditions on the ground, she released the rail, leapt forward, and put her concentration into slowing her descent, lest she break a leg on the unforgiving ice of the frozen planet.

X-X-X-X

Bastion

Ashik hated feeling useless. The worst had been the days after the supposed assassination of Jag, Soontir, and Aristocra Formbi, on a trip to the outer colonies; a trip for which his boss, the ambassador, had told him to stay behind. He had stayed behind, had done the tasks assigned him, had handled communications from the ambassador's wife and daughter… and then had felt the devastating wave of failure upon receiving the news that the Fels were dead, mere minutes after conferring with the ambassador's wife.

When he'd received the wholly unexpected communiqué from his former employer's sister, asking that he meet with Major Davik Antell, his first instinct was to be suspicious. But one look at Antell had served to convince him that all was not as it seemed; even for an Imperial, Antell carried himself with a stiff determination that spoke to an upbringing in Chiss society. And in the months that followed, as he allied himself with the Fel-family shadow-child in the interests of learning the truth and seeking justice, as they traveled to Csilla and then Coruscant, and then to Yaga Minor to liaise with Zekk and Tahlia, the uselessness had given way to a different sort of purpose.

Now, Ashik felt not only useless, but wholly confounded. For hours, he and Soontir paid keen attention to the happenings with the engagement among the Chiss, the Empire, and the Galactic Alliance. Until, finally, the news had been passed down through Admiral Nhylatich that a fourth force was present for and largely directing the focus of the battle.

The Empire of the Hand- longtime secret empire, forged by the hand of Thrawn, eventually disbanded and largely integrated into the Ascendancy, as the Fels had been. And at the helm- Cem.

Relief that Cem was alive was nearly outweighed by Ashik's confusion, confusion that only compounded in the last twelve hours as word had reached them that hostilities were ceased, that Niathal was stepping down and transferring command to Gavin Darklighter, that the forces of the bothans and Sorosuub were also immediately standing down- at the same time that the flagship of the forces of the Hand, the Star Destroyer from which Cem was directing the battle… had disappeared without warning, following a hasty transfer-of-command of the rest of his ships to Admiral Reige.

Twelve hours later, the chaos was still being sorted through.

Wearied and contented that the present conflict was at an end, Soontir finally retired to get some rest. Ashik sighed and went to do the same, but stopped as he passed the door of the room Naviin was sharing with Ashlin. The children had been put to sleep hours earlier, but a muffled sound caught his ear and he glanced in, glowing eyes piercing the dark of the room.

Naviin was sitting up in his bed, and he looked over, startled, at the intruder. Another sniffle was poorly-suppressed, and Ashik beckoned the boy forward. He hesitantly climbed from bed and followed the chiss to the kitchen, where he climbed quietly onto a chair as Ashik poured him a glass of milk. He settled down opposite the boy and eyed him questioningly. Naviin looked mildly chagrined, but Ashik spoke softly, reassuringly. "Your parents are well; you should be able to see them tomorrow."

He nodded glumly, eyes still red.

"Something else troubles you?"

Naviin spoke to the table, words choked. "It's Leyla. I think she's in trouble."

X-X-X-X

Csilla

It was cold. For a moment, that was all she could register as she rolled heavily to her side, as a gust of wind threatened to knock her over once more. Her hands were bare and already practically numb as she scrambled to her feet and sucked in a breath that felt like air freezing her lungs in her chest. Drawing on the Force, she did her best to insulate what little warmth she could, to at least keep her hands and legs working as she struggled over the icy ridge, the gash in the otherwise smooth perfection, left by the skidding ship that lay fifty meters before her.

A quick exertion in the Force summoned the vacuum-sealed container from where she had rolled away from it after falling. Too bulky to fit inside the pocket of her cloak, she tucked it under one arm as she struggled her way against the wind.

Ten paces away from the aft-end of the ship, the hatch opened and the silver blade of her lightsaber was up in a flash, yet still barely in time to catch the flash of blaster fire- and she wondered just how much havoc the extreme cold was wreaking on her reflexes. Another shot was deflected down into the ice near her feet, and it sizzled, water evaporating instantly under the high temperature.

And then the figure of Ryoqim- tall, imposing, menacing in a way that was like a mockery of the gentle-hearted ithorian species- was slipping away from the hatch, using the mass of the ship to keep cover between the two of them; not that he need have bothered. Leyla, foolishly, was not carrying a blaster.

But she did have the Force. Grimacing, fighting against the piercing cold, she gathered her strength and, rather than go around the ship, went up on top of it. She came down in a crouch, using her hands to balance herself- the intense cold of the durasteel of the hull was painful against her exposed palms- and ignoring the pain, she sprang lightly across it and flipped off the other side, twisting as she fell to land in front of and facing the ithorian.

His bulbous eyes narrowed, and she shook her head, lightsaber ignited and in guard position before her. "It's over," she called to him over the rushing wind. "Give me the vial and you needn't die here, like this."

"The Ascendancy would not readily forgive my actions," Ryoqim pointed out sardonically, tauntingly.

"Then you can come back to Coruscant and face trial there."

Time was ticking quickly by. "I think not," he sighed, seeming to weigh and consider his blaster in one hand, the black canister in the other. "They wouldn't understand. None of you do."

"I understand enough to know that you're confused about this," she said, edging closer to him. "The Ascendancy has had no part in this, they do not deserve this."

"None are exempt from their just punishment," he hissed suddenly, bringing his blaster to bear once more.

Leyla barely had time to deflect the first shot. By the second, she had her bearings enough to send the ricochet back at him; it struck his left leg, above the knee area, and he roared in pain. And with that distraction, she reached out in the Force and wrenched the canister from his hand, practically sensing the deadly purpose within, knowing that she wasn't yet too late, she still had time. Another quick exertion sent his blaster spinning away, skidding across slick ice, out of reach.

The ithorian had fallen to his knees in pain, one hand clasped against his upper leg. Wary, Leyla crouched down herself, pulling the case from under her arm, gently placing the deadly vial within. She closed the lid, and a tingle ran down her spine; a glance at the wounded senator assured that he was not in any position to come after her, had no other weapon. Reaching quickly to depress the button to seal the box, she saw the ithorian open his two mouths…

Her finger was centimeters away when the world shook around her, sent her stumbling backwards to land heavily onto her back. A ringing filled her ears, there was a dull sort of pressure in her head, and she reached up, eyes squeezed shut, arms shaking as she gingerly touched her hand to the side of her head, realized that blood was pooling in both of her ears and dripping down to stain the ice beneath her head. And it took her far too long to register, in her paralyzing pain, through the buzzing in her head and the deafness in her ears, that this was not the result of some concussion grenade… but rather, was simply the work of a creature with the capability of emitting a concussive scream through its four throats and two mouths.

The wrenching sound of metal forced her eyes open and Ryoqim was before her, favoring his injured leg, but standing tall as he used those deceptively strong hands with their long, brittle fingers to tear the top of the case from its hinges. He didn't even bother to retrieve the vial of Alpha Red, knew as well as she did that she had drastically underestimated him, had underestimated his ability to fight the pain of the blaster ricochet, had underestimated the weapons he possessed in his hands, in his lungs.

And he knew, as well as she, that she was going to die.

She couldn't move; she could barely hear. The wind battered her body, whipped it with shocking cold, cold that was starting to settle numbingly into her very bones as she struggled to clear her head, to find her peace in the Force, struggled to even move away from him as he approached her, as he knelt before her… as he wrapped those unnaturally strong fingers around her throat and yanked her upright.

She scrambled for purchase with legs she could barely feel, found herself shaking and kneeling, gripping at his hands, as his fingers tightening slowly around her neck, restricting her air-flow.

A Jedi could live without air far longer than an average being of most any oxygen-breathing species; but even a Jedi could not live with a crushed windpipe and a broken neck which, as she tried desperately to claw at his arms with numb fingers, seemed to be Ryoqim's intention. Her panic and pain were preventing her from tapping into the Force as she should, from finding a way to get away from him, but as she fought, she caught a glint of silver from the corner of her eye and, letting her eyes drift closed, relaxed as much as she was able, even as he must surely be moments away from killing her with one swift squeeze…

The sound of the shot couldn't even be heard above the wind; but the sound of his roar, as he suffered a second blaster burn, echoed around inside her head, sent another wave of pain through her traumatized ear drums.

Ryoqim's grip loosened as he turned his attention towards the direction of the shot, Leyla exerted her last energies in the Force… and a swift thrust upward sent the silver blade of her lightsaber straight through the ithorian's body, burning a hole through his tunic as the blade pierced his chest.

As the life drained out of him, he released her, and she fell backwards again, lightsaber dropping loose in her hand, the silver blade nearly invisible against the backdrop of ice on this forsaken, frigid world. In an absent sort of fascination, she watched as the ice evaporated in an instant beneath the energy-blade before she retained the presence-of-mind to switch it off as she closed her eyes, breathing heavily, numb and stunned.

Her reprieve was short-lived. A hand gripped her arm- and she could feel it, so that was something- and a voice was barely heard, shouting over the wind. "Come on, get up! You have to move, Leyla!" She tried to say something, anything, but the effort of just acquiring enough air to breathe was using all of her energy. "Come on," he pulled her upright and she suppressed a groan of pain, but the effort of finding her feet, even as she leaned heavily on Nabrin, helped her focus.

Ryoqim- dead. The pathogen- not yet released, but the containment box damaged. Time- running short.

With effort, she slipped her lightsaber into the pocket of her cloak and struggled forward, noting vaguely that Nabrin had already recovered the Alpha Red vial. He grabbed her hand and pulled her, not towards his shuttle, but towards the closer ship, the cargo vessel which Ryoqim had crashed. The movement got the blood flowing, helped her connect again with the Force, and she pushed aside the pain, the buzzing dizziness, and moved faster of her own volition, trailing the chiss by only a couple of steps into the ship.

"Seal the hatch," he shouted over his shoulder.

She did as told, checking the pressure seals twice to make sure that they were sufficiently contained and cut off from the exterior air of the icy planet. The feeling was gradually returning to her numb fingers, as the adrenaline started flowing again. "Can you stop the countdown of the timer?" she called after him, voice rough and hoarse, as he hurried with the canister to the cockpit, where the lighting was better. For a terse moment, he didn't respond.

"Maybe," but he sounded unsure. "I won't know until I can get the casing open. Jedi Fel, check the cargo hold and see if any more of these god-forsaken devices are lying in wait."

She supposed it would have been just like Ryoqim to lead her away from the ship, distract her with recovering one vial, while another sat undisturbed back in his ship. It was a small ship, and did not take her long to locate the cargo area, which was mostly empty. What storage space was being used seemed to be occupied by non-perishable rations and hydration packs, other odds and ends that might assist in long term survival for one on the run. There were a handful of compartments, however, that could well have been hiding more of the Alpha Red derivative, so she crouched low and carefully opened the doors one-by-one, and gingerly poked through the sparse contents. As she was opening the last door, a sudden tingle of danger ran down her spine, and heavy footsteps sounded behind her.

She made to spin around, but was gripped firmly around the shoulders and something descended over her mouth, even as she attempted to gather her sporadic strength and fight back. Choking and struggling, it took her several seconds to realize that she could still breathe, even as she tried to throw off the grip- with a final burst from the Force, she succeeded in sending her assailant backwards, even as a low voice murmured, "Stop fighting."

Whirling, she stared in confusion at Nabrin while she brought her hands up to the breath mask he had slapped over her face. "No!" he commanded. "Leave it."

And with a sickening jolt, she realized that they had been too late to stop the release of the pathogen, and could only hope that the ship was as airtight as the systems indicated, that the crash-landing had not compromised the seals. Another horrifying realization struck her though- it was not she who should be wearing the air filter.

Nabrin must have read the confusion in her eyes, and he smiled sadly. "It is too late for me- it was too late the same instant it was released into the air. But you are human- even if your biology is susceptible to this strain, it should not be as deadly, nor as fast-acting- the mask may yet save your life. Don't take it off."

Her stunned silence lasted ten more seconds- until the elderly chiss stumbled, his breathing suddenly more labored, and she hurried over to him even as he began to sink slowly to the ground. Lowering him gently, half with her own strength and half with the Force, she felt the first welling of tears in her eyes at the unfairness of it all, now that they were so close…

"Jedi Fel," he murmured. "Leyla- do not pity me. I unleashed this horror into the galaxy, good intentions be damned. It is fitting that I should die of it…"

"No," she choked, "it isn't. You've spent twenty years working tirelessly to right the wrong…"

His lips quirked a bit wistfully. "And how better to right that wrong than to have died saving my own people?" His voice was fading fast. "What warrior could wish for a better death?"

The tears spilled over and she wondered how she could have prevented this- she could have insisted he stay outside the ship while she tried to disarm the timer mechanism- but at the same time, a small place in the back of her mind was awed at the grace of the passing being, the calm and gentle acceptance of what must come. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she said thickly.

"Of course you didn't, my dear. But I am old, and I do not mind giving my life for my people… giving my life for one such as you…" His eyes drifted closed, and when he spoke again, he had shifted to Cheunh without even realizing, apparently. "Give my crest to Mitth'raw'nuruodo…" he murmured, "and tell him…"

His breathing was shallow and the words were mumbled and jumbled together. "Yes?" Leyla prompted quietly. "What should I tell Thrawn?"

"Tell him that he… chose wisely…"

His ragged voice died as he slipped into a deep unconsciousness, and Leyla knew that he did not have long to live. She had not seen the effects of the pathogen up close like this, and was part-horrified, part-grateful at the speed and relative ease of it all. Thinking back, she could only hope that it had been this quick and simple for the millions of bothans who had died on Torolis six weeks ago.

For two minutes, she stayed sitting on the ground, his head in her lap, tears spilling over her cheeks, and then sliding down around the contours of the mask that rested over her nose and mouth; one hand clasped one of Nabrin's wrinkled blue ones, and the other lay on top of his chest, over his heart, feeling the beat that grew softer and more erratic, even as the spark of his life faded quickly from the Force.

And at last, with a last rise and fall of his chest, a last stuttered few beats of his heart, and a single convulsion that shuddered across his otherwise still body- Nabrin was dead.

She sat for another minute, trying to control her grief even as her muddled mind tried to work through what to do now. With the pathogen in the air, she couldn't leave the ship without releasing it and condemning every chiss on Csilla to sudden death. The ship probably had a self-destruct sequence she could activate, but she wasn't even sure if that would be suitable to destroy the substance before it leaked into the atmosphere.

The patch on the left breast of Nabrin's tunic showed the crest of the Ascendancy, overlaid with the Inrokini colors and the symbol of the position of syndic. Leyla unclipped it and ran her fingers lightly over it a moment before tucking it in a pouch on her utility belt. Gently moving the grey-haired head from her lap, she rested it down on the deck, and then removed her heavy outer-cloak and draped it across his upper body, respectfully concealing his face- peaceful in death- from sight. With a last shuddering sigh, she pulled herself shakily to her feet and staggered to the cockpit- where the canister of deadly pathogen was sitting innocently on the control board.

Her only option was simple enough- she only regretted that she wouldn't have the opportunity to follow through on Nabrin's last wish. But the ship was contaminated, the escape pods were contaminated, and the only way to ventilate the ship would be to cycle the air outside- surely a ship of this size would not possess the heavy-duty air scrubbers afforded large warships which never saw atmosphere. Her search through the cargo hold had not uncovered any spare oxygen-canisters, nor did a cursory look around the cockpit.

She had one hour of air. Not enough time to go much of anywhere and even if it were- she could not release the substance. Even if she found an inhabitable planet in this region not colonized by chiss, she could not risk the mutation of the substance, the mutation that would likely kill her once her hour of oxygen was up, when the pathogen had no other living hosts to invade.

Communications were still down in this region; she could not even send a message to precede the ship before going to hyperspace, were she to try to go to base, where surely the extra quantities of the counter-pathogen were stored. And the last thing she would want was for her ship to emerge from orbit near the small planetoid, with her possibly unconscious, probably dead… and if they towed her in…

Vulcor was on base. Olyxes was on base. Dozens of innocent chiss and eickarie were there.

Even beyond that- the possibility of the contaminated ship falling into the wrong hands…

No, the ship had to be destroyed, and she had no choice but be destroyed with it- but it couldn't happen here.

X-X-X-X