Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- . -

"Dr. Greer just checked in." Terry scrolled down, his PDA emitting little clicks as it acknowledged each tap. "It confirms her account. His report states . . . there was a mechanical malfunction with one of the – the hydrating tubes." He almost winced at the stutter. "He's corrected the problem and the production Plant is settling back into normal production patterns."

His master made no move to stop, and after a moment Terry determined the older man had heard him and was deep in thought.

As well he should be – losing the production Plant would mean the ship would be without a main power source, unless the installation of G-101B was stepped up. That was a risky prospect in itself; no one was soon to forget how violently G-101A had worked to try to break the bulb, its first day there. The Angel had nearly succeeded with strength alone; if it hadn't ripped out most of the temporary stitches and bled to unconsciousness no one had had any doubt that it would have eventually succeeded.

A Plant that could shatter glass designed to absorb even kinetic energy by striking it.

And G-101B wasn't in nearly as poor of shape physically, and had the added innate ability to manifest metal. Had they not stripped G-101A of all the implants, he didn't doubt the Plant would have ripped open its own chest cavity to free a piece if it meant destroying the bulb.

If G-101B awoke and realized where it was, they could consider the bulb as good as shattered. Not to mention Dr. Greer and Dr. Shrew had both laid out their plan to more gently bring out the change from a humanoid Plant to its true form, and Knives was nowhere near far enough on that journey to produce the kind of power the ship was accustomed to using. Many of the core processes would have to be shut down for days, and should G-101A use that opportunity to try to escape, their final containment strategy would be rendered useless.

"Did the good doctor indicate what caused the mechanical failure?"

Terry brought his mind back to the task at hand and scrolled quickly through the rest of the report. "Corrosion," he replied, then frowned. "Though he added that he checked the maintenance logs and no corrosion had previously been observed."

The commander of the New Kennedy continued with measured pace towards the lift, his face and shoulders relaxed. "Well, that answers that," he murmured softly. "Were any of Ms. Boulaise's party allowed in that wing of the ship?"

Terry clicked out of the report and pulled up the travel logs for the party. He'd been anticipating requests for regular reports on their whereabouts, so had created a query group just for them. He'd already customized the views to his master's preferences, and was able to tell the answer at a glance.

"No, sir," he replied. When the commander didn't respond, Terry continued. "Aaron Carter came the closest, accompanied by Lt.s Stalworth and Minsky, about six hours ago. They entered the main control room and remained for seven minutes."

The commander's voice was worryingly mild when he spoke again. "Who authorized that visit, and for what purpose?"

This time Terry had to go hunting for the daily reports made by the soldiers that had been assigned babysitting duty. By the time he located the proper information, the lift had already returned, and they both stepped inside.

"Lt. Stalworth authorized the visit, for the purposes of . . . consulting." That was a nice spin to put on 'receiving a recommendation.'

"I see."

Terry marked the report to read later, and closed the document viewer on his portable computer. "Would you like me to arrange a meeting with General Phillip?"

His master shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Have any of Mr. Carter's recommendations been implemented?"

Terry didn't have to look to answer. "Yes. None of his suggestions to the computer systems have been taken, but other, less significant recommendations were evaluated by Captain Faber and put into effect."

"I'd like a complete list of all of those modifications to our security since their arrival. Also, schedule a conference with Captain Faber."

Terry immediately moved to do so as the lift stopped, and followed exactly two strides behind as the commander purposefully stepped out.

"What does Dr. Shrew have on her schedule today?"

Another quick tap, and he viewed her calendar. "She's currently scheduled to be testing G-101A in the electromagnetic imager."

"And when are those tests scheduled to be completed?"

He tapped the appointment. "Another two hours."

His master uncharacteristically frowned.

"I believe it's the first time she's been able to use that equipment on the Plant since it was removed from the test environment," he added. It was extraneous information, something he usually didn't volunteer, and he almost held his breath as he waited for a response. They were nearing the commander's private quarters, and the imposing man's pace never slackened.

"Have we any updates on her progress?"

He shook his head. "She hasn't filed any new articles since about four hours prior to the Plant's attack on the civilian doctor." He hadn't really read them, either, though he was sure the commander had. Most of them seemed to be data-gathering-related. She seemed to sense his patience with her project was starting to waver, and rather than attempt conjecture she was merely amassing as much data as she possibly could, to be analyzed at a later date.

Commander Gray sighed, a little regretfully, but still didn't slow. "I suppose she's earned her research time. Send a priority message. She is to euthanize the dying Plant at the conclusion of the current tests."

Terry penned in the quick message, tying it to the commander's digital signature, and waited for the ACK to bounce back.

Just in time. They reached the commander's quarters, and his master finally paused as the door silently opened. He regarded Terry, and the younger man met his gaze squarely.

"If the Plant hasn't been destroyed in four hours, notify me."

"Yes sir."

- . -

She walked forward, waiting until the doors had closed behind her before allowing anything remotely like surprise to be visible.

This was . . . unexpected.

Millie Thompson looked up, straight at her. The young woman's eyes seemed a little unfocused and more than a little dilated. Her hair was clinging in unbecoming clumps to her face, which was slightly streaked, as though she'd been crying. Her expression, which was also surprised, didn't look as though it quite belonged to her facial muscles.

She was in a typical patient robe, otherwise uncovered, and had kicked the light blue blanket into a ball around her feet. Her hands balanced on her thighs as though she'd been scratching the daylights out of them. They had been rubbed raw, and it occurred to Elizabeth that that was the first time she'd ever even seen them bare.

Other than the huge bed, a somehow smaller-looking Millie Thompson, one extremely tense Meryl Stryfe, and a chair, there was little else in the room. A dark disc in the ceiling indicated the monitoring equipment, and beside the bed were a few machines, one feeding her fluids and two others apparently monitoring her vitals. There was only one door, the one behind her, and no one else was in the room.

Meryl was seated stiffly on the edge of the great mattress, to Millie's left, and her expression was guarded. Not outwardly furious, but certainly not welcoming.

Millie didn't immediately cover herself, which Elizabeth would have expected, but instead stared hard at her. Trying to remember who she was, maybe?

"Hi, Millie," she said evenly. "How do you feel?"

Millie beamed, and again, there was something not quite . . . something missing. "Oh, I'm feeling fine, Miss Elizabeth! Thanks for asking!"

No slur. No speech impediment whatsoever.

But hadn't the reports said brain damage? Clots? Unconsciousness, loss of memory, loss of motor, speaking, and cognitive skills? The woman had just said her name, so she was obviously able to collect and properly analyze the data coming in from her eyes and ears . . .

Elizabeth finally broke eye contact to stare incredulously at Meryl. The tiny woman was dressed as she was, in a borrowed, light gray civilian uniform and matching boots, and Millie's reply didn't seem to faze her.

Obviously they'd been having a conversation when she'd so rudely entered.

Elizabeth noted that Meryl did not seem to have a PDA. So the tracking device was in the uniform, somewhere. They'd have to at least locate them before they did anything else-

"That's wonderful, Millie," she replied, still staring at Meryl. "Meryl, may I speak with you a moment?"

The brunette clearly considered saying something spiteful; it was obvious the way her eyes flashed. But instead, in a very civil tone, "There's no need. Whatever you need to say can be said in here."

Elizabeth let her own eyes narrow. Considering the woman was an insurance investigator from one of the most renown insurance brokers on the planet, it was astonishing how unworldly she could be. Elizabeth glared pointedly at the camera in the center of the ceiling, not surprised to see it was active. "I didn't realize Millie would be awake, and we wouldn't want to upset her in her condition." Which was more mystifying by the minute, despite her unfocused eyes she was blinking and shifting like a normal person –

"Doc told you, too, huh?" Millie asked sadly. Elizabeth glanced at the larger girl; she had started rubbing her legs again.

"Eh-heh, she says the darndest things sometimes, doesn't she?" Meryl even leaned slightly into Elizabeth's line of sight to try to pull her attention away.

What the hell . . .?

"The audio has been disabled," Meryl added, with a trace of smugness. But, again, less than she would have thought. Considering their last conversation had been anything but civil –

"Is there something you needed, Elizabeth? A list of Vash's close friends so Commander Gray can send his little soldiers to go eliminate them as well?"

Ah. That was more like it.

Elizabeth contained her sigh. She'd anticipated anger, certainly, and would not be offput by the other woman's attitude. From Meryl's point of view, she deserved it, after all. She'd given Commander Gray the information he'd requested almost immediately, and she'd given him accurate information at that. The compromise between the twins, Knives' plans for his sister Plants, the whole soufflé. At the time it had been necessary, and she didn't regret a word of it.

It would make their escape a little more difficult, certainly. Getting out wasn't going to be their main problem. Not getting caught again was. Despite her bluff, eventually the commander and his team would locate Eden. It was exactly what she said it was – a patch of green on a brown planet. She'd given him accurate logistical information, as well; if he actually did defeat whatever Knives had put into place to protect the freed Plants, there was nothing stopping him from putting them back into their bulbs.

She could only hope that the resources he had would be spent locating those Plants and making contact with the cities, rather than hunting down five civilians that couldn't stop them anyway. The best they could do was go to the Feds, but without any real incentive to switch to solar or fusion power, such as Vash the Stampede destroying the remainder of the fifth moon, she didn't have much faith that the towns would keep their solar modifications. They'd go back to what they knew. The Plants.

They were minor in the grand scheme of things, and that might be the only thing that saved their skins.

Millie shook her head, apparently in disapproval of Meryl's words, but didn't say anything. Instead, she started rotating her feet at the ankles. It looked like she was warming up . . . they were letting her walk around? Wouldn't that just dislodge the clots faster . . . ?

"I'd really prefer we speak in the hall," Elizabeth insisted pleasantly. Just because some nurse had told Meryl they weren't listening to her didn't mean it was fact. If Dr. Shrew had seen Millie's mouth open, she could guarantee it was all being recorded for posterity. Surely the doctors didn't realize Millie was . . . well, almost fine. Otherwise there would have been three whitecoats in there and she'd have already read the report of why the girl had been accompanying Knives on his rampage through the ship. "We really wouldn't want to trouble Millie with business talk-"

"I became an insurance investigator on my own merit," the tall girl said crossly. Whatever her expression lacked, her voice did not. She was having no problems producing the right tones of voice. "And you're not here to talk about the policies on the converted plants, anyway. So just spit it out."

Meryl's face took on a very odd expression, half-defeat and half something else. Elizabeth barely registered it. How on earth could Millie . . . well, perhaps it wasn't so hard to guess. Meryl's involvement at this point was extremely limited to nothing at all. She honestly wasn't sure what would happen to the two girls if they left them there, but she doubted they'd be allowed to return to Bernardelli. They might be allowed to send reports, however . . .

It didn't matter. If Meryl was wrong, and the audio hadn't been disabled, they'd said too much already. Now, more than anything, they needed speed.

"We need to leave," she said without preamble. "As quickly as possible. Millie, I didn't expect to see you . . . looking so well, but I'm glad." If she were mobile, it made things much easier. Mobile and coherent . . . maybe Dr. Shrew had gotten it wrong. Though it wasn't too likely that anyone that had managed to do what she'd done to Vash would get something as mundane as human brain damage wrong –

"Well, great minds think alike!" the other girl chirped. "Do you know where Mr. Vash is? And do you have access to the room where they're keeping the bulb Mr. Knives is in?"

What?

"We don't have time," she started. "And we can't transport Vash – he's not stable."

Millie opened her mouth, but Meryl cut her off. "Where is he?"

Where wasn't hard to guess. "Here," she said simply. "Probably undergoing more tests. I heard that he stopped behaving like a Plant after he went after Doc, so I imagine the only reason this room isn't swarming with astonished doctors is that they're all cooing over their current test results. It doesn't matter," she added. "We'd never be able to get to him. And even if we could, we can't transport him. We don't have the proper equipment."

"We're not leaving him," Meryl said firmly, and behind her, Millie's face crumpled slightly into a weird amalgam of resolve and sudden tears.

Could Aaron and Sunjy convince them or maybe drag them . . . no. If Stryfe and Thompson didn't come willingly, they'd never be able to get out. She didn't want to leave them here, but –

"Fine. Rescue him yourselves," she snapped, and was pleased to see Meryl bristle. Millie just looked even sadder. "The only thing we have going for us is that Commander Gray will be more concerned with recovering the freed Plants than tracking us down. Speed is imperative. How fast do you think you can run with Vash over your shoulder and an entire shipful of guards shooting at you?"

The smaller girl got to her feet, not an angry springing, but a slow and deliberate motion. "Is Vash going to live?"

That was a billion double-dollar question. "Not if we yank him out of medical care and throw him in the back of a truck for a two-day drive across the desert, no." Probably not even if they left him here. Even if he was completely stabilized, the experiments Dr. Shrew would perform in an effort to further her research would probably prove too much for his already taxed body. If he woke up and realized that Knives was a production Plant –

He still had the capability to destroy, just like he'd done with July. That he'd attacked Doc, of all people –

Too much of a risk. She wouldn't agree to transport him even if they had the run of the ship for an hour. And to hell with Knives, she was astonished Millie would even ask. Didn't she realize he'd been the one to hurt her? Had he somehow brainwashed her, was that why she'd been his backup?

"I think I'd prefer to hear that from Doc," Meryl answered evenly.

Doc. They still had to get Doc.

Actually, that was fine. The two of them visiting him would seem fairly normal, and put them in an excellent position. If most of the infirmary staff really were gathered around Vash – no, they'd have to confirm that.

Or arrange it. That could make things even easier still.

The door behind them slid open, and Elizabeth's heart sank. She half-turned, absolutely certain a bald headed, fifty year old man was about to walk in flanked by two guards. That the audio was off really had been too good to be true, but even that was acceptable so long as they didn't figure out what Aaron had done –

"Oh, hello, Miss Boulaise," a kind voice greeted. "I didn't realize you were here."

There was only one silhouette in the doorway, that of a young man in a labcoat, holding a black leather pouch in one hand and a penlight in the other. She didn't recognize him, but Meryl immediately plastered a smile on her face.

"Sam, wasn't it?"

He nodded, excusing himself past them into the room. "Our patient here needs a checkup, and it looked like you were on your way out . . . ?"

Elizabeth merely smiled. She'd been standing out of the range of the camera, but obviously they'd been watching it if they'd seen Meryl get up. Still, it was too good to be true. They really didn't have the audio on? Even though they could see that Millie was speaking? Or were they really just not paying attention?

They didn't know that Millie could speak, did they? Surely the commander wasn't withholding the report detailing Millie Thompson's obvious partnership with Knives. Then again, what would have made the girl protect him rather than shoot him? Surely there was no real merit to their conjecture that Knives and Millie were a couple. Surely they'd just drawn that conclusion from the fact that Millie Thompson regularly wrote him letters. Just as they thought Vash and Meryl had been lovers at one point – and frankly, they at least honestly could have been – it was clear from the last articles she'd read that they were writing Millie's involvement with the storming of the ship off as an act of loyalty, love, worship, or some twisted combination of the three.

She hoped it was merely telepathic or telekinetic control, maybe the inhibiting of his powers had caused the damage in her brain rather than an honest attempt to kill her –

But no. He'd been strangling her at the time. Maybe that had been for show, to see if he could use her as a hostage?

"Of course," Meryl was saying. "We were just going to look in on Doc, since Elizabeth decided to grace us with her presence." The last was delivered tightly, and Elizabeth had to give the other woman props for appearing to be very nearly concealing extremely anger. Anyone watching would think she was trying to be civil just for civility's sake.

Sam the nurse was no exception. "Of course. He's resting, but a few minutes wouldn't hurt. I'm sure he'll be glad of the visitors." He continued into the room, coming to sit on the edge of Millie's bed. The girls both hesitated as he reached for the blanket.

"Were you thinking about going for a walk, Millie?"

The tall girl gave him a dirty look, but said nothing, and after a moment he gently covered her back up.

"Maybe you were just too hot," he offered kindly. "I'm going to give you a little shot, and you're going to get really sleepy. It's okay to go to sleep, okay?"

He unzipped the black leather pouch, and Millie alternately stared at her folded hands or glanced at the pouch. Meryl was standing in the doorway but made no move to exit, and Elizabeth waited patiently as they watched the man administer the injection.

Millie flinched but otherwise didn't really react. For about seven seconds.

Then she relaxed back into the pillows behind her, and Elizabeth realized she was unconscious.

What the hell were they playing at? They'd give that strong a sedative to someone in her condition!

Then again, just what was her condition?

"Are you sure that was wise?" she asked, letting a little disapproval tinge her voice. "I thought her condition was fragile."

He had pried up one of Millie's eyelids, and was shining the light into it. "It doesn't matter," he said truthfully. "She's a time bomb waiting to go off. The clots will move when they want to. She could run a hundred iles and then come home and have a stroke watching paint dry."

"Will she wake up?" Meryl's voice sounded strained.

"I don't know," he responded, still not turning to them. "To be honest, it's a miracle she ever woke. When you get back from visiting your friend, hit the call button and I'll come down and show you some restraining techniques. The best we can do for her is try to prevent her from moving around or getting upset. A sudden change in her blood pressure is the most likely culprit to move the clots."

Meryl swallowed, loudly enough that Elizabeth could actually hear it. "I will," she agreed. Then she turned on her heels, without another word, and strode out of the room. She never looked back.

Elizabeth followed her out into the main hall, where she stopped. Apparently she had no idea which room Doc was in. Elizabeth hit the release button on her belt clip, and the PDA slipped out and into her hand. Private Asouard had sent her a message with his room assignment . . .

"You're just settling right in, aren't you," Meryl observed tartly. The halls were empty, and they were one part of the ship that was not constantly monitored. All the interesting stuff happened in the theaters and observation rooms, after all.

"Would you prefer we were both in your position?" she retorted, finding the message in the list and tapping it to make the details expand. "Being useful has kept me alive. You should consider doing the same. I didn't think . . ." She winced at what she'd almost said. "It hadn't occurred to me to hope that Millie would be coming with us. This changes things."

Meryl was quiet, and Elizabeth stowed the PDA back onto her belt. "He's in Observation two."

The women headed there, surprised it was so close to Millie's room, relatively. It was astonishing to think that a Plant had been releasing such dangerous amounts of energy outside a bulb and there had really been nothing between them and it.

Him.

God, she was thinking of Vash as an it.

They entered the room shoulder to shoulder, again noting the lack of attendings. Clearly something was going on, if Sam had been in such a hurry to knock Millie out and they were allowed to wander the main Infirmary hallway without a guard. Then again, perhaps that was because Meryl wasn't allowed to leave Millie's room and she was no longer escorted. Did they think she would prevent Meryl from misbehaving?

Or was that another test of the commander's?

This room was significantly larger than Millie's, and had more equipment. Besides hydrating lines and the standard monitoring equipment, the wizened old man was half-swallowed by a large silver cube, transparent on two sides. Inside of it, they could see the oddly smooth stump of his arm, and the pale, somehow too-thick looking skin that covered it. Shining steel hands, complete with three fingers, moved deftly over the limb remnants, probing and testing the synthetic skin they'd grafted onto him.

Even above the grafts, she could see angry flesh, and the blackened, painful blotches that only came from Plant radiation. It wasn't the first time she'd seen those types of lesions, but she couldn't muffle her shocked gasp.

Why would they have left any of his arm? Didn't Dr. Shrew know what radiation damage was? Was she trying to one-up the doctor? Since his sweeping rescue of Vash from the brink of death after they'd extracted him, perhaps she'd been feeling a little insecure in her talents, and had gone out on a limb? Literally?

Not that it mattered. Without this level of medical attention, he could well die from that injury. And there was no telling what it had done to the rest of him. She half expected to see more equipment, more fluids, but outside of the normal bags and a very small one with a light yellow liquid, there was nothing. Nothing to indicate massive organ failure, extreme pain, or most of the other symptoms.

Maybe Vash hadn't really gotten him as badly as it had looked?

Meryl had obviously never seen anything like this. Rather than shy away, the woman approached his side, openly staring. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady, but for some reason Elizabeth wasn't really sure he was unconscious.

Damn. She'd been hoping he was better off than this. She should have known.

Assuming Millie could walk, it might still work. Sunjy could carry Doc, Aaron could help Millie and she could probably wrestle Meryl if she had to. It was cutting it awfully close, though. And this was all assuming that they were able to find the vehicle depot, since Knives had done her the favor of blowing her jeep sky-high . . . of course, there was always the truck the maniacal Plant had arrived in . . .

"Hey, Doc," she said softly, and wasn't surprised to see his eyes slowly open.

Meryl jumped a little at his sudden awakening, but then smiled warmly. "Long time no see," she added, and he smiled.

"Good afternoon, ladies." His voice was rusty from disuse, but not as weak as she'd expected. "Or is it evening? I have difficulty keeping track."

"Late afternoon," Elizabeth supplied, coming around to his other side. She'd seen grafting equipment, after all. She accompanied all her injured men to the nearest and best medical facilities, regardless of time or priority of the project that had injured them.

"Millie's exactly like you said she'd be," Meryl said without preamble, and Doc smiled wanly. He also caught her eye, and Elizabeth merely nodded, once, like she was trying to adjust the high collar on the skin of her neck.

It was obviously enough of a signal, because thereafter he ignored her.

"I'm sorry, Meryl." It sounded sincere. "I know it must be hard."

The smaller girl rested a hand on the empty bed where his arm should have been laying. "I think she tried to get up earlier, but Sam came in and sedated her to give her a checkup."

Doc just nodded, and Elizabeth remained quiet. So they'd obviously had one of these conversations before. Why had Doc known that Millie wouldn't be as badly off as he and Dr. Shrew had originally decided? Had he lied, to give himself a little ace-in-the-hole? And if he could figure it out, why couldn't that woman –

Because Shrew was busy with Vash, she thought with a start. She was just distracted. As soon as she stopped paying attention to him and started paying attention to Millie-

Damn. She should have stayed in the room and distracted Sam. The entire point was to pull attention away from themselves, not towards them.

"I know they'll tell you to limit her movements, that it will be bad for her condition," he murmured after a time in his rusty voice, "but don't fight her. It will just make things worse."

Elizabeth cast around for a container, locating one on a wheeled tray against the far wall. She headed towards it as they continued their conversation.

"So when she wakes up, I should really just let her get out of bed if she wants?"

"Within reason, my dear Ms. Stryfe. Don't let her run up and down the halls."

Elizabeth carried the cup to a sink in the corner, filling it with the cold tap before returning to his bedside. He nodded his thanks and accepted the straw, drinking deeply.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I'd like to say it's a surprise to see you . . ."

She just smiled. "I'd like to say the same. I heard the scuttlebutt – are you going to be all right?"

He nodded, taking the straw back into his mouth again before releasing it with a nod. She set it within easy reach of his left hand. "I'll be fine. I could probably turn off this grafting machine now, actually. It isn't as bad as it looks."

"The burns look pretty extensive," she insisted, and he shook his head.

"More heat than anything. He wasn't able to focus properly," the old man muttered. "It isn't my first Plant burn."

"Most people can't say that," Elizabeth reminded him lightly. Surely he couldn't be telling her what she thought he was . . .

He shook his head with one of his wavy smiles. "When you get to be my age, there's very little that hasn't already happened to you once or twice."

"Most people don't get to be your age," she teased, and he chuckled lightly. It petered into a cough, but not a particularly deep one.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of such lovely company?"

"We got kicked out of Millie's room, remember?" Meryl said it lightly.

He nodded. "Ah, of course. So as not to witness the cursory attempt at tests. I imagine Sam's done by now."

Elizabeth blinked. "But he just started . . ."

Doc nodded knowingly. "Ah, but do you hear that hum, Miss Boulaise?"

Both she and Meryl froze. The ship had a hum all its own, the vibrations of the power running through the walls and ceilings. The overhead lights were also buzzing slightly, but he was right – there was something very low, like a large truck passing in the distance.

"That is the sound of an electromagnetic imager," he spoke into the silence. "I imagine it indicates that Vash stopped hemorrhaging energy after his attempt at communication."

"Communication?" Meryl's voice continued to sound strained.

"Just so, Miss Stryfe," Doc reassured her. "It is my guess he is trapped in an unnatural state between that of a conventional Plant as we know them, and his humanoid state. Vash was never meant to be put into a bulb, or to generate that kind of power. And he was never meant to stay in a state of transition between the two for longer than perhaps a few minutes." Doc swallowed, but shook his head slightly when Elizabeth moved for the water.

Obviously this was for her information anyway, not Meryl's.

"As such, it's likely he has no coherent idea of what's going on. He may not even remember who he is. He was confused, and in pain. Plants communicate by telepathy, and his was being inhibited, so he tried to bridge the gap, so to speak, by touching me." The old man winced slightly, as though in memory. "His hand was a bit warm, though," he added regretfully.

Elizabeth just nodded in sympathy, but her thoughts were elsewhere. So she was right. They were all crowded around Vash, getting test results. Most of the ship's security would be combing the ship looking for evidence pointing to foul play concerning the corroded tube - Dr. Greer had sent her his report, and it would explain the weird readings. It would be hard now for the commander to conclude he didn't have a traitor on board, and she was fairly sure he now had enough information to know it wasn't her people.

Maybe Knives really had been able to damage the production Plant's bulb telekinetically, but why he'd threaten the Plant's food, so to speak, was the weird part. Even if he had been responsible for the data deletion, this problem with the production Plant was too far-fetched to be explained away by Knives. Clearly there was something else going on, and it was just the distraction they needed.

They wouldn't be able to get Vash out. Not now. And Doc had probably been trying to say without saying that Vash's chance at the life he used to have was all but gone. Meryl hadn't broken down yet, so obviously the shorter girl was taking something else from his words, but Elizabeth was pretty sure she hadn't misunderstood.

But he was telling them they had a chance to get out of the infirmary altogether without anyone really noticing.

"How long do you think they've been at it?"

"About an hour, I think," he replied diffidently. "They can only keep the machine running for another fifty or so minutes, tops. After that, I imagine Dr. Shrew will retire with the data and start her analysis."

"Do you think they'll let – let anyone see him?"

Doc looked back at Meryl, then shook his head slowly. "I doubt it, my dear," he responded apologetically.

Meryl just looked away, the hand resting on the mattress curling into a fist.

So she'd figured it out too. Doc was telling them to forget Vash and get the hell out.

"Is it hurting him?"

Elizabeth looked back up, almost glaring at Meryl before she decided to soften the look. She'd like to think that he was going to die peacefully in his sleep, too, but reality was that it wasn't going to work that way.

"Oh, no," Doc reassured her hastily. "No, it's a method doctors use to get a picture of what patients look like inside without having to cut them open. It uses magnetic fields to penetrate the body and based on how those fields react, a computer generates a picture of what's there."

"Magnetic?"

He frowned deeply. "They removed all the implants a long time ago, Meryl," he explained patiently. "And if they missed one, this procedure would have removed it for them."

She just nodded, keeping her eyes downcast. "I . . . guess I just wanted a chance to say goodbye." It was almost a whisper.

It was also far too honest to be something Meryl would say. Elizabeth assumed a sympathetic look, and turned back to Doc.

He'd caught on as well; it was obvious in his pained expression. Having this conversation, knowing it was being recorded even if it wasn't being currently watched, was difficult. They were having to say so many things between the lines, and there was no way to really know if they were all on the same page.

"I don't think you'll get that opportunity, Meryl," he said, not unkindly. "But if you do, take it."

Take it. If they could get Vash out, do so. But how? He was going to be surrounded by at least ten medical personnel. Then there was the line of soldiers that were probably stationed on this floor, just in case the Plant managed to escape or someone managed to help him do so. After that, they had to make sure they had control of the lift without their tracking badges – and then it was just a footrace to see who could get to a vehicle first.

Well, he probably weighs less now than he did, she thought cynically. Still.

"So, Elizabeth, I assume you're a part of the project to introduce Knives to a bulb environment?"

She smiled a little, refocusing her attention on him. "More like an observer," she admitted with a tinge of self-deprecation. "Currently he's still sleeping off the inhibitors. Dr. Greer is planning on starting the stimulators in a few hours to encourage the physical changes while Knives is still in a coma."

Doc just nodded. "To prevent the power production inconsistencies they saw with Vash," he muttered. "They really think they can get a production Plant out of a humanoid one, don't they."

"They can," she said simply. There really was no reason to think that Knives wouldn't be able to produce the power that one of his 'sister' Plants could. They'd have to find a new calibration standard, and re-write all the charts, but the Gate was present in both types of Plants. That Gate, whether it tied to a different dimension or not, and thus got around physics as they knew them, was the same 'type' in either Plant.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "I wish everyone would stop forgetting their personalities," he murmured. "There's no guarantee that, if the process is taken at a more controlled rate, that Knives won't retain more of who he was."

"And no guarantee that he won't revert to the nature of other Plants," she countered.

To which Doc just continued to smile, cryptically. "Would you want to be the engineer working on that bulb, Elizabeth?"

The answer was self-evident – no. She wouldn't go near Knives as a production Plant. She wouldn't stay on the same half of the hemisphere if she could help it.

. . . was he telling her what she thought he was?

"I'd prefer it to drinking tea with him," she retorted, and Doc laughed.

"Very true," he agreed. "Still, as long as they've already lived, I wonder what a humanoid Plant's lifespan in a bulb would be. Vash and Knives are the antithesis of their sisters in every way. Freeborn to contained, curious to introspective, the compassionate, giving female to the violent, exploring male. Do you really think Knives' hatred will allow him to survive the next hundred years of drain?"

"I suppose we'll find out, if we survive the next two weeks," she quipped. What was he trying to tell her? That it would be a mercy to kill Knives rather than leave him here? What the hell did Doc think they could possibly do? They were four mobile people, including the possibly resisting Meryl, and two wounded ones. An army with four guns was going to storm an entire ship?

Sure, Aaron had tied enough 'recommendations' together to hide the only one of real import, but that was lift control. He'd given them the way out, a key to the back door, so to speak. Getting to the lift was going to be their main problem, and a stop by the cold generation room was not on the way. And smuggling Vash out besides . . .? Everyone single one of them would be carrying someone!

Although, if Vash had stopped showering everyone with Plant energy, they might be able to forgo the suits.

No! This was ludicrous! It was a bad enough plan as it was, and –

And they'd have to leave Vash. She'd already come to terms with that. He'd want it, he'd willingly, even forcefully sacrifice himself if he knew it meant their freedom. And there was no doubt they were quickly wearing out their welcome on this ship. This was a matter of life and death, or at least quality of life. He would choose this if he had the choice.

Of course, his life was a series of piss-poor decisions, starting with not clubbing his brother over the head and beating some sense into him when they were kids, culminating with making such an open-ended promise to said brother. Vash's decision-making process was not the most rational on the planet.

Elizabeth sighed, trying to hide her inner confusion. Dammit, she'd made this decision already, there was no need to hash it out again and again. "You look tired, Doc."

He nodded. "Yes, I think I'll have a spot of nap. It's been a while since I've really slept, you see. Exciting times." He turned to look at Meryl, his eyes soft and friendly. "As for you, my dear, you take care of Millie Thompson. Have faith in her. I'll visit you when I can."

Have faith in her . . . to pull through? Or to . . .

To do something.

To do what? Had Knives . . . made an alternate plan? On the off chance his storming of the ship failed, that he might have communicated to Millie Thompson? Was that why it was so important that no one know she could speak? Was that why she was in the unlikely condition she was in?

But what on earth could the Plant have done that would make someone with apparent brain damage be apparently unaffected? Transplanted her real brain somewhere else? Picked a human that didn't use her brain anyway?

Transplant her brain . . .

Elizabeth blinked, struggling to keep her nonchalant look. Slightly more active brainwaves than they'd thought. Her concern that Knives was already communicating telepathically with the production Plant. Millie's ability to analyze and correctly identify signals coming through to her damaged brain.

What if she wasn't doing the analysis?

She glanced at Doc, surprised to see him watching her, almost expectantly.

"Too exciting, actually," he murmured. "There used to be an ancient earth saying – may you live in interesting times. It was actually a curse, for change creates tragedy as well as wonder."

Change. Change creates tragedy and wonder.

He changed her brain. Knives changed her. The change would kill her eventually, but it would allow her to function.

Knives' brain was doing the calculations for Millie's. The damage was the result of some kind of telepathic tampering, probably because he'd been inhibited at the time. Currently, he was laying in a bulb, crunching the numbers like a processor because he'd wrecked Millie's ability to do so on her own. Even though he was in a drug-induced coma, he was thinking for her.

She was his backup plan. Millie was the one he was counting on to free him. That was why she'd wanted to know where the bulb was. That was probably why she wanted to free him in the first place.

So would she have the ability to use skills that he normally would? Did Millie now have the capability and intelligence of Knives? Or at least the ability to access it? If she had Knives' knowledge of the computer systems, then –

Then anything was possible. They could do anything. They could take her to a terminal and shut the entire ship down if they felt like it. In minutes.

"Interesting or not, last I checked people still need sleep," she reprimanded. "Rest. We'll come check back with you in a little while."

He just nodded, apparently satisfied that he'd given her enough information, and closed his eyes. Meryl was watching him, her own eyes slightly narrowed but her expression calm. How much of that had she picked up . . . ?

When Meryl's eyes met hers, she could see the resolve in them.

So she'd caught enough.

She'd realized they could possibly pull off rescuing Vash.

They needed to get back to Millie, and wake her up. They didn't have much time.

- . -

Author's Notes: Look! Forward motion of the plot! Go me:is pleased: Again, I have no beta-reader, so if you noticed anything wonky, please let me know. And thank you thank you thank you for all the lovely reviews! The last chapter got five all by itself! I can't believe you guys are still reading this monster . . . but it makes me a happy camper indeed. Thanks, you guys. And girls. And others.