Authro Notes:
It's been a bit of a dry spell for me writing-wise. I recommend at least skimming over the previous few chapters to get yourself situated and back on track. Hopefully the coming chapters won't be so widely spaced in publication.

Moving right along...

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/

Enigma:
Interior Corridors
.

Sasha Zura marched away from the bridge conference room toward the brig, and thanked whatever gods could give half a damn to listen that she had a task to focus on, even one as simple as 'go and get some people.'

A rage –far more than mere anger or simple frustration, but a primal visceral indignation– burned through the soldier. It was focused at all that had happened to her and to those she cared about, and focused especially at those who were responsible for it. The same people who had wrecked those she loved, and then dragged her into a dizzying web of espionage and intrigue against her will, had by their shortsighted, self-serving machinations and sheer arrogant ineptitude, managed to set all Lylat ablaze in Total War. It was all the more disgusting that she watched it happen firsthand in real-time, and all the more aggravating that she lacked the knowledge and the means to prevent it as it unfolded.

More than anything at that moment, with fists clenched so tight her fingertips threatened to break the skin of her palms, Sasha Zura desperately needed to scream out and punch something, or someone; anything to vent the writhing buildup boiling inside her. The husky soldier may well have lashed out and done just that, had she not seen a few of the Enigma's crew scurry past. They took little notice of her, and just went about their business with nothing more than a cursory glance before moving off. No doubt the ship's crew were confused by recent events, looking for answers, looking for direction. They may be aimless and unfocused for the moment, but at least Sasha had something to focus herself...

She was a soldier, an officer, a leader. For now, she must put the personal misgivings and outrage –justified though it may be– onto the shelf, and save it for when it would be useful. Do the task in front of her, one foot in front of the other.

Having briefly steeled herself, Sasha entered the Enigma's brig facility.

Three figures immediately turned to see the soldier as she entered: Gillian Morrow with a piercing look of expectation, Richard Cooney with a haunted vacant stare, and her father Kellam Zura with an uncomfortable combination of concern and relief. Sasha had no desire to draw out the awkward moment, and set herself to the task at hand.

"Griffon's condition has been stabilized," the younger husky informed, then looked to Rick and Morrow as she continued, "I've been instructed to bring you two to the infirmary"

"Then lets not waste any time," Morrow briskly stated as she walk straight past Sasha.

The old raccoon simply nodded as his response, and followed Morrow's lead in eerie silence.

Kell Zura tailed behind the other two, but just as he passed, Sasha clasped him by the shoulder and leaned close-in.

"It's all coming apart at the seams, Dad," she whispered urgently into his ear. "There's gotta be something we can do."

"Yeah kiddo, couldn't agree more, but we gotta take this one crisis at a time," Kell responded with the same quiet urgency. "I need to check on my troops, get everyone on the same page. I'll see if I can gather 'em all in one place –lets go with ship's mess– and decide our next move. You're invited of course, plus anyone else you think you'd think to bring."

"Good to know," Sasha replied with a small nod. It wasn't much, but there was an option open now, a path forward. It was enough to start from. "You should see Mom and Maya while you're at it. They'll be worried, and I'm sure they'll be relieved to see you."

"Yeah..." the older husky said wearily, almost as a sigh. Then he looked in Sasha's eyes with a tender sincerity as he spoke softly, "you go and see them too, when you can."

"If you two are quite finished, I believe time is of the essence," Morrow pipped up from the corridor just outside, waiting with her arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

Sasha gave a little nod, silently promising to see Maya and her mother as was recommended, and continued the business at hand. Without another word, having said what needed saying, she stepped out where the others waited, and started toward the Enigma's infirmary.

No sooner than Kell was out of earshot, Morrow stepped close to Sasha, speaking firmly as they moved, "we have a problem."

"Really?" the young husky replied, bitter with sarcasm and resentment. "Just the one problem?"

"The other issues we have can be addressed, but only if we can secure the Enigma, and we can only secure the ship with the support of Kellam's soldiers." the canid spy hastily explained . "Our problem: your father seems... hesitant to assist us."

And with damn good reason as far as Sasha was concerned.

"I triggered the memory recall, let him know what your orders were," the younger husky responded, "He knows the mission, he knows what you want him to do. What more did you expect?"

"I expected him to carry out his orders like the loyal Cornerian soldier he is, like he always was." The gradual acceleration of Morrow's speech betrayed her frustration and loss of control, "now more than ever, we need–"

"Screw your orders," Sasha's words cut her off like a guillotine's final judgment. "Screw your mission, and most of all: screw you."

The older pale wolf flinched with a small gasp that escaped her, taken aback by the sudden turn of their exchange. While the group kept moving along at their autopilot pace, Morrow took a couple seconds and deep breath to settle herself for her response.

"Sasha Zura, listen to me very carefully," the spy spoke slow and deliberate now, "I don't believe you fully appreciate the gravity of the current situation. Events are now in motion across all Lylat that–"

"I damn-well know about Contingency Five," Sasha growled through clenched teeth, having lost patience for Morrow's machinations. "I know about the impending attack on Corneria, and I know the Enigma is now targeted by Venom's forces. Never mind how this is going to play with the CSB, or your boss, or whoever's boots you lick for your position. Now that this whole scheme is blown to pieces, we'll have to rethink everything just to survive the day, let alone where to go from there."

It was probably for the best that they'd just arrived outside the Enigma's infirmary, as the discussion might well have come to blows if it'd gone on much longer. Pity though, since in the raging back of Sasha's mind, Gillian Morrow would have made a fine outlet for her rage. A deeper part of her hoped she'd get that chance soon.

Rick however, who'd utterly ignored Sasha's and Morrow's tense exchange during the transit, simply walked straight into the ship's infirmary without so much as a word, prompting the others to follow him in as they exchanged matching icy glares.

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Desperate Measures


/

Enigma:
Officers' Cabins
.

Maya Kaido opened the door to the corridor outside, where she was immediately confronted by Keith Graham, the grayish canid guard assigned to watch the cabin.

"For your safety, please stay inside!" he instructed harshly, but with a worried desperation about him as he glanced away.

"What's going on?" Maya asked as she matched his gaze along the corridor.

A few figures hurried about their business in the distance, quickly turning a corner out of sight as their discussion merged into the background din of a dozen other unseen conversations beyond.

"It's under control, we're working on it," Graham said as he stepped into Maya's view, obviously a lie.

Looking past the guard, Maya saw a grizzled figure march relentlessly toward the cabin, with resolve in his step and grit in his teeth: Kell Zura.

"Graham!" the older husky barked as he closed in, the other nearly jumping with surprise. "Gather everyone in the mess hall for an emergency briefing. On the double, soldier!"

"But, what about our guys on security detail outside?" Graham asked, taken aback by his commander's sudden appearance.

"The local gunmen don't appear entirely hostile, not at the moment. Ship's own personnel can stand watch." Then Zura's voice dropped to an urgent whisper as he glanced around, like someone might be watching him. "There's other more immediate concerns now, Graham. That's why the briefing."

"I guess it did blow up in our faces then," Grahm sighed, rolling his eyes, "You did know something we didn't–"

At this, Kell grabbed a fistful of the other's shirt and yanked him face-to-face, snarling, "save your smart-ass tongue for when mortal danger is no longer a factor, or so help me I will cut it from your smart-ass mouth! You have orders! Execute them!" the husky growled, and shoved him away.

Caught off-guard and slightly bewildered, Graham caught his footing and gave a hasty "Yes sir!" as he turned and scrambled off.

Once Graham was gone, Kell Zura's tough-guy soldier facade faded. Like a deflating balloon, his whole body slumped as he exhaled a weary sigh. Only then did he seem to finally notice Maya, standing speechless in the cabin doorway, having frozen in place during the previous exchange.

There was a short moment, where the cat stood transfixed, silently terrified, and all Kell could offer in comfort was a muted, "sorry you had to see that."

"That's... okay..." Maya's voice cracked and wavered as she spoke, and her whole body trembled. She hadn't even realized the tension and fear that shot through her, the adrenaline spike as the reality of her situation began to show itself in earnest.

Tess Zura stepped up next to Maya and held the cat's shoulders. She flinched a bit at the touch, but the cat's trembling died down. Then Tess looked to her husband, with a stern but caring expression carved on her face.

"Kellam, tell us what's going on out there: the truth," she quietly demanded, and added with great concern, "is Sasha alright?"

"Kiddo's tough," he responded with a quick, almost automatic nod. "She's not hurt, and she's holding together pretty damn well all things considered, but the truth..." Kell hesitated, glanced around and at his wife, a jumble of raw conflict fighting over his face, "we're all in terrible danger."

"I figured as much, honey," Tess said, surprisingly calm as she reached out and guided her troubled husband into the cabin, away from the hubbub and chaos outside.

"You shouldn't even be here, this ugly-ass situation is no place for civilians." Then the older husky's measured military tone cracked, revealing a tender vulnerability as he confessed, "if something were to happen to you–"

"It's alright, Kell," Tess cut him off, pulling him into a tight embrace. "As long as I'm with you, I know I'm in the safest place there is."

There was a moment of hesitation over Kell, like he was about to argue the point. Eventually he thought better of it, and let out a sigh as he resigned himself to be comforted by his wife.

"I gotta talk to my troops," Kell whispered. "We gotta try and contain the situation, get everyone out of this alive and well, but part of that truth you wanted to hear: I barely know where to start."

"Then, start with the right thing," Tess assured with absolute certainty.

Kell broke away with a sudden jolt.

"The right thing?! What even is that anymore?!" he ranted, pacing, fuming. "The way things are so screwed around, the way everyone with a say in things is a four-faced self-serving prick; I don't know who has the best interests in play, who might betray us, who might sell us out. What the hell is 'right,' when there's a fistful of opposing opinions on the subject all yanking my chain every which way?!"

Tess grasped her husband, stopping in his tracks, "Kellam Zura, Husband, my greatest love and treasure, listen to me. You don't have to get hung up on what anyone else says is right, you only need to do what is right."

She pulled Kell into a kiss. It was brief between them, but it was familiar, intimate, an affirmation of ultimate trust. Even if only for a moment, they were content to have each other. As quickly as it started, it ended, and yet something was different now.

When Kell Zura spoke next, it was with certainty in his voice and steadiness in his stance, "I know what I gotta do."

"I know," Tess said as she gently brushed his cheek.

His composure regained, Kell gave a quick sharp nod and exited the cabin, leaving Tess and Maya to themselves once again.

"I'm so sorry..." Maya muttered, shaking her lowered head. "I don't feel like I belong here."

"You're right," Tess agreed. "You don't belong here, neither do I, and yet here we find ourselves."

"It sucks..." the younger feline uttered weakly as she buried her face in her hands, and let out a sudden yell, "it sucks and I can't do anything about it!"

Maya broke down, and collapsed at Tess Zura in a helpless shaking heap, sobbing into her shoulder. The older husky caught her though, and held her while she spoke soft words of comfort, "that's where you're wrong, Maya dear, utterly wrong. We have a choice to make here, a significant one. On the one hand, we can sit out, let others decide and act, let the chips fall where they may and accept the outcome. On the other hand, we can do what we best can for those who might benefit from it, and it may be exactly what they need to make it right."

Tess held Maya out at arm's length by her shoulders, and looked directly into the young cat's horrified eyes as she continued, "I love my husband, very much so. I've always been a beacon of support and comfort in his hardest times, and I'll be damned if I cease to be so when my Kellam needs it most, risks be damned..."

Then it was Tess whose voice wavered, whose demeanor faltered, whose desperation leaked through her next words, "but Sasha's here too, and I daresay in far greater turmoil, and in just as much need. I love my daughter, but as a parent loves their child. I can't do for her now what she needs done, what I know you can do."

Maya backed off from the older woman, and sat down on the cabin bed to collect herself, asking "what can I possibly do for Sasha at a time like this? All I know is fashion, clothes, running a store, negotiating deals–"

She stopped herself as she felt the sheets and covers under her hand. The linens were clean, and the bed neatly made. As Maya thought about it more, she quickly recalled the cabin was well stocked; soaps, towels, empty wastebasket; like a room at a comfortable hotel.

In a sudden shift, Maya bolted up from the bed and asked quickly, "who's in charge of shipboard supplies? Not sensitive things like fuel or weapons or repair parts, just everyday consumables: linens, crew comforts and such."

"I believe there's a quartermaster, or something like it," Tess replied with a growing sense of interest. "What are you thinking, Maya dear?"

"It's not much, but I think I've got something," the cat answered, fueled by a crazy idea.

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/

Enigma:
Ship's Medical Center

Agony. Humiliation. Regret.

If the stakes weren't so high, the threats not so dire, if he were treated in a or more advanced medical facility, Connor Griffon wouldn't be awake as he was now. Instead, the avian spy, or what functional parts remained of him, lay on an intensive care bed, alive, but significantly worse for wear. From what Connor understood, the nanites had reduced his heart and lungs to little more than shredded, tenderized meat, useless scraps of a broken body. Even the blood itself was being broken down and rendered useless by those little scrappers, and who only knew what else the nanites might have trashed if not for Olsen's sudden treatment.

Thus, a bouquet of surgical tubing and hoses sprouted from Connor's chest, tethering him to a small machine next to his bed about the size of a trash can; a 'cardiopulmonary bypass pump' as the doctors called it. It breathed for him now, bubbling and whirring with its little pump as it oxygenated his blood and forced it through his arteries and veins, spitefully keeping him alive at death's door.

Even on the harrowing receiving end of it, Connor couldn't help but admire the thorough, brutal efficiency of Dr. Andross's plans, plans like 'contingency five'.

Anger. Resolve. Sheer stubborn Willpower.

He needed to be awake and aware, at least a little while longer, long enough to finish one last task: one last thumb in the eye of great ape who thinks he sees and knows everything...

"They'll all be here soon," a tired voice nearby said, "and you're absolutely sure about this?"

Next to the infirm Connor was Dr. Cadan Olsen. The older owl leaned against a nearby counter, sleeves rolled up and feathers ruffled, utterly frazzled and worn out by his recent efforts. Nearby, Rachelle Cooney worked quietly over another intensive care bed over the still form of Alastar Korvyn. Otherwise, they were all alone. The rest of the Enigma's medical staff were dismissed after their work was done, which was just as well. Connor needed the privacy, and there was nothing more the medical staff could do anyway.

All there was to do was to wait for the others to arrive.

"So, Rachelle," Connor said to the busy raccoon woman, paying little heed to the searing pain it caused him to speak, "I guess I have you to thank for hacking the ship, am I right?"

"Really?" Olsen exclaimed, scowling at his impetuous patient. "After all you've been through, with all that's at stake: that's what concerns you?"

He could hardly blame Olsen for his minor outrage, since the old owl wasn't wrong. Things were dire, and by all accounts Connor should've done all he could to rest his beleaguered body. Even the simple act of speaking was a miserable ordeal. Though the heart-lung machine could do it's life-saving work without Connor's own organs, his body's reflexes still sucked air into his scrambled chest, and those otherwise useless breaths could still be used to communicate with his voice. In spite of the burning pain it caused him to do so, Connor couldn't help kicking over a few rocks, if only for posterity's sake.

"Oh come on, I know you helped install this ship's systems when she was being built," the avian spy informed Rachelle. "You don't expect me to believe you didn't hide a backdoor or two you could access later, do you?"

As her response, she simply continued to work on Alastar with her back turned. Still, the older raccoon's conspicuous silence was telling, and that was answer enough.

"So you did have a sneaky backdoor!" Connor rasped out, fighting back a fit of coughs. "You know, I had the best techs I could find run a fine-tooth comb through every system on this ship once I started answering to Venom, and they still didn't find the way you got in. I knew you were good, but... wow. I just gotta know how you pulled it off."

Having finished her work with Alastar, Rachelle returned her items to her shoulder bag and turned around, saying, "it's bad form for magicians to reveal how their tricks work."

"Okay, fine. Keep your secrets then," Connor said in a hoarse sigh, sitting back in his bed, "but could you at least return the favor, and keep a secret for me too?"

"What do you mean?" Rachelle asked, stepping forward with a worried twinge.

"Don't let them know how bad I've got it," the battered avian requested, "at least, not until I've said my piece first."

"I won't lie about your prognosis," Olsen objected, shaking his head.

"I'm not asking you to, I just–" Connor's breath halted a moment, and with great effort he wheezed in another breath to speak again, "I just want to put in a few words with the others, before the whole truth comes out."

The older raccoon woman shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and let out a long sigh, "I won't say anything for now, but you should."

"That's all I ask. Thank you."

A small bustle at the far end of the medical center ended the quiet moment.

"They're here," Olsen stated with an uneasy waver. "For your own sake, please try not to make things any worse with them."

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/

Comments,
"Anonymous" Richard Cooney, former member of Lylat Central Intelligence.

I'm not sure what I expected when I went in there, with adversaries, old friends and begrudging 'colleagues' at my side in equal measure. I had no plans anymore, no recourse; my personal worst-case-scenario was in play...

I expected to see Lylat burn to ashes, but I should have known better.

Connor was stubborn, dogged, and for a spy some might say he was reckless. He was willing to go out on dangerous limbs where no one else would dare, take the chances nobody expected. Though it sometimes got Connor into trouble, it served him well over his career, I helped him cultivate his particular style of bold Intelligence and in the end, I exploited it to trap him.

I should have known the desperate measures he was prepared to take.

\


/

Sasha Zura, along with Richard Cooney, Agent Morrow, General Silver and Commander Karasu, all entered entered the Enigma's medical facility. Cadan Olsen and Rachelle Cooney were already there, resting against a counter top opposite of two intensive care beds. On one bed was Alastar Korvyn, who laid motionless aside from the slow rise and fall of his bare, slightly damaged chest. Propped up on the other bed was Connor Griffon, with an assortment of tubes and hoses linking his chest to a nearby machine.

"You asked us here Connor, and here we are," Karasu prompted as he took an uneasy look at all the equipment. "Should you even be awake?"

The avian spy answered with a steady, yet disconcerting tranquility in his voice, "no, I really shouldn't, but that's beside the point..."

Upon seeing Gillian Morrow, Connor stopped his words cold, deliberately and obviously averting his gaze away from her.

"Oh, I see, this explains everything now," he groaned with pained sarcasm, "and here I thought my day couldn't get any worse."

"I see your brush with death hasn't tempered your tongue," Morrow quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Between their barbed exchanges, Rick just stepped forward to Connor's bed without a word, shoulders slumped and head hung low.

Now, standing over his bedridden pupil, the old raccoon uttered weakly, "I'm so sorry..."

"Hey, stop that old man," Connor scolded, wincing a bit at the phrase. "'Sorry' doesn't solve the problem: you taught me that."

"There's no problem left to solve: war is coming, and there's no way to stop it," Rick recited in a monotone mantra. "I'm sorry, Connor, because sorrow is all I have left."

"Will you shut the hell up with that crap?!" Connor sputtered, triggering a nasty fit of coughs in the process. He took a moment to settled down, and continued on, "I didn't ask you all here just so I can say 'I told you so.' For what little it's worth though: I told you so."

"Then why, pray-tell, did you ask us here?" Morrow inquired.

"Let's all get something straight right off the cuff: however much we hate each-other's guts, we're all enemies of Venom now," Connor declared, looking intently over his gathered audience. "If we want to get out of this alive, maybe even do something about it, it's only fair I put all my cards on the table. Before I was cut off earlier, I meant to tell you that there's far more to Venom's strategy for Contingency Five than just plain old fashioned 'war'."

"Of course there is," General Silver grumbled with an odd combination of frustration and pride. "There always would be more with a brilliant mind like Andross at the top."

"Whatever your intel is, I'm sure it can wait." Morrow insisted with just a hint of haste. "We have to escape before–"

"It can't wait goddammit!" Connor squawked. "You got one good shot, maybe, to get ahead of this, but you gotta listen."

Something small changed in Rick upon hearing that. It wasn't an instantaneous switch, but it was enough for the old raccoon to take Connor's hand, and offer an assurance, "I'm here. Talk to me, Connor."

The avian spy nodded, and grimly announced to the group, "Andross finished the teleporter array."

The group's reaction was varied, and mostly muffled by the others' murmurs, whispers and quiet questions. Gillian Morrow's reaction, however, stuck out like a sharp spike.

"No, that can't be right," the pale wolf denied, trying to hide her simmering worry. "With something that drastic, my sources would have surely found something."

Hearing this, General Silver let out a low rumbling chuckle.

"Do you find something amusing, Silver?" Morrow demanded, shooting an indignant scowl at the gorilla.

"He's laughing, Agent Morrow, because Venom Intelligence has identified every single agent the CSB has ever sent." Connor answered, losing his patience at this point. "I tagged several of your cronies myself for crying out loud! You only have 'sources' at all because we stopped bagging them, and started feeding them useless fake intel instead. Now please, shut the hell up so you can hear some actual intel for once."

"Fine, so Venom has a teleporter array now," Morrow huffed, visibly flustered, "I presume you'll tell us what that means in a more specific sense?"

"It means that Venom is going to attack Corneria directly." Olsen explained in a grimly clinical tone. "If Venom uses the teleporter array the way I believe they would, in theory, they could drop invasion forces or heavy ordinance nearly anywhere in Lylat. The teleporter could bypass screening fleets, orbital defense grids, and even surface-based garrison forces to appear right on top of their targets."

Connor took it up from that point, saying, "Venom's fleet is on the move, just like I said, but whatever fleet action is out there is a diversion, a feint on the largest scale. Andross is gonna make some big show and bluster with the fleet to provoke the Cornerian forces into a response, draw the bulk of their space navy and its firepower away from Corneria itself. That's when invasion forces get sent through the teleporter array, straight to Corneria's surface."

"It's not the way I would do it, but I admit it's a sound strategy," Silver grudgingly complimented. "In this, the Cornerians can't turn around and react to the invasion force slipping in the back door, not without compromising their engagement against Venom's advancing fleet. Corneria herself will be neck-deep in Venom's invasion forces mere momentsafter initial hostilities: a decisive victory."

"A bit presumptuous, aren't we, General?" Morrow questioned, planting her hands on her hips. "The Cornerian people are nothing if not stubborn and prideful, who'd fight tooth-and-nail against such a brazen invasion. Any victory Venom might possibly win would be Pyrrhic at best, if at all."

"As much as I loathe to agree with the likes of you: you're right, you hit the nail right on the head," Connor said with an agonized nod; a pain which seemed entirely separate from his physical condition. "No matter how it happens, when Venom takes the fight to Corneria, it's gonna be the very epitome of ugly.It's why I never wanted war, not like this. I pushed for the Red Dust plan specifically because it would have eliminated the desire for direct war."

"You would have poisoned Corneria, you damned fool!" Olsen accused. "You know that never would've worked!"

"We would have saved Corneria!" Connor countered, desperate to make his point. "In Corneria's time of need, when their air became toxic to the point of catastrophe, when Corneria's people had a desperate need for relief, Venom would have reached out with the means to help. We could have worked together to move forward past all this cock-swinging saber-rattling political bullshit. That's what you always wanted Rick: peace and cooperation across all Lylat. That's what I spent my entire time with Venom trying to make happen, and we were so close to making it happen..."

Deflated and defeated, Connor Griffon turned away from the others, and just stared straight up at the ceiling.

"But that's all gone now, thrown out because you had to go kick a hornet's nest and screw it all up," the avian spy said, quieter now, and oddly bereft of outrage. "Congratulations: you win, go celebrate your 'victory' while you still can. Now get out, all of you."

Having none of it, Morrow strode forward, indignation in her step, "now hold on just a moment–"

"Everybody out!" Connor squawked, cutting her off, leaving the room in tense silence.

At this, Sasha Zura stepped in front of Morrow, and motioned the group to exit according to Connor's demand.

"We're gathering in the mess hall to discuss our options, I suggest we head there," the husky addressed the others as they all shuffled toward the exit.

"Zura, stay a moment, please," Connor requested once they'd crossed most of the way out. "Karasu, wait outside. I need to discuss something with you too in a minute."

The husky and raven exchanged a confused glance, and drew curious stares from the others present.

"I see..." Karasu replied with an awkward nod.

A few more uncomfortable moments passed as Karasu directed everyone else out of the medical center. Soon, it was only Connor Griffon, passed-out Alastar, and Sasha Zura.

The room was so quiet with everyone else gone: no more questions, no squabbling, no outrage. All that remained was the whir and bubbling of the machine next to Connor's bed. He looked so much smaller now, so much weaker as he stared blankly overhead, sunken back into the sheets. Sasha surmised he was putting on a front for the others, a facade which he didn't bother to maintain for the husky now.

Sasha came right next to avian spy, full of confusion and questions. Before she had a chance to say anything though, Connor went first.

"I am so goddamn sorry," he mumbled, his voice far more tired and worn than when the others were here.

"Look, I don't need your apology," Sasha said has she knelt down, bringing herself close to his level.

"Yeah, well, I'm apologizing anyway," Connor insisted, turning to look the husky in her eyes. "I'm sorry for what I've brought on you. I'm sorry that I fell for Rick's stupid tricks again and got you mixed up in all this. I'm sorry that everyone is using you, manipulating you, even I was jerking you around. I didn't bring your family and friend aboard for nothing: I was gonna use them as leverage against you."

"I figured as much," Sasha replied, quietly angry. "Dick move, by the way."

"Damn right," Connor agreed, and inhaled a raspy, painful-sounding breath. "More than anything though, I'm sorry for what I'm about to do to you right now."

Sasha jumped to her feet in a small spike of anger, standing over Connor's broken form as she demanded, "what could you possibly do now that's worse than putting the people I love most in peril?"

With a nonchalant shrug, he answered, "I could put you in command of the Enigma."

"That's not funny," Sasha growled, jabbing a finger to his face. "Seriously."

"No, I'm putting you in charge now, seriously," Connor retorted, brushing her hand away with his own. "I don't make jokes like that when I'm about to die."

"You're dying?" Sasha questioned, "I thought your condition was stable."

"When the doctor says I'm 'stable,' it just means I won't die immediately," Connor explained, forcing the sarcasm through. "Andross's nanites didn't quite finish the job before Olsen's treatment zapped them, but enough damage is done that there's no coming back, not without a whole slew of organ transplants that would have to happen basically right now. And I'm not opened up at the moment, so..."

"What about Alastar?" Sasha asked in a moment of worry, motioning toward the passed-out canid nearby.

"Oh he's fine. His fancy cybernetics kept his organs pretty much intact," Connor assured as he shot a look to the other bed. "He's just sleeping it off now."

"And they couldn't do something like that for you?"

"Olsen muttered some guff about if he had his fancy lab setup, or if could put me in stasis, but we don't have any of that. I'm going to die, and nothing will change that. That being said, Olsen's treatment did buy me a few extra hours, and I intend to use the time I have to do the most I can–" a nasty coughing fit interrupted Connor, but he pressed on in spite of the pain it must've caused, "but a few hours just isn't enough time for me to do what I need."

"And what's that?" Sasha asked, "what do you need?"

"I have only one concern right now, one mission for this ship and her crew: survive." Connor uttered in a quiet, grave voice. "They all deserve so much better than to be disposed of like trash– you deserve so much better, and you're the only one I can trust right now to get it done."

"This is..." Sasha started pacing back and forth at the bedside, "a lot."

"You've been kicked around, lied to, ordered and coerced into unsavory actions that you have every reason to despise," Connor said, sounding more desperate, pleading. "I cannot possibly make it up to you, and I don't expect nor want forgiveness. What I can do –and what I hope you'll accept– is give you the chance to take the god-awful mess we find ourselves in, and get everyone out intact. Most importantly, you deserve the chance to act on your own terms, not obligated to anyone's orders or requests or demands: you call the shots, you decide what needs to be done."

The irony of what Connor said wasn't lost on Sasha, to be 'given agency' only to be demanded to get the ship out safely, but she didn't press the issue. In all likelihood, her own survival and the survival of her family really would be best achieved with the survival of the Enigma itself. Her interests and Connor's stated interests were aligned, and Sasha bet he was counting on it. Even in his dying moments, the spy played his game, setting his pieces in place.

"Why are you picking me, and not your Ex-O, Karasu?" Sasha asked the necessary question. "I barely know anything about this ship or crew."

"It's not about managing the ship or crew, it's about managing the clandestine clown-posse bouncing around inside her hull," Connor admitted, spitting bitterness from his beak as explained. "Right now it's the perfect storm of Rick and Morrow and Silver: they're all used to throwing a ton of authority around with resources to back it up, and they've all got their own agendas. If I hand off to my Ex-O while they're all on board at a time like this, there's gonna be a nasty power struggle. They're liable to bully Karasu, toss him around and pull at him until he's torn to pieces, or snaps entirely. Then the crew falls apart in a nasty three-way mutiny, and everyone gets killed by Venom anyway."

"And you think I can do any better?!" Sasha blurted out, stepping back with arms outspread.

"In all honesty, you weren't my first choice for this either," Connor admitted, "but here we are."

"Then who was your first choice?" the husky officer asked, "And why aren't they here having this conversation?"

The avian spy looked past Sasha, to the door out of the medical center, and answered, "Rick."

"Oh..." Sasha reacted, just starting to understand Connor's reasoning.

"You've seen him, he's practically an empty ghost walking after the bad news hit him," the avian uttered weakly, regret tugging at his words. "You're a trained commander, Sasha, used to managing personnel in your charge, so you tell me: does Rick look like he's fit to command right now?"

She took a moment to consider, recounting her brief interactions with Rick since he came aboard, making note of his body language and the few words he used. She didn't want to lie to Connor, and she could only arrive at one answer to his question.

"You're right..." Sasha reluctantly agreed, frustrated but resolved that Connor won't change his mind, "regardless, there's still going to be a power struggle here, and worse yet, and you're painting the target on my back now."

"Yeah? So what?" Connor said, sitting up in the bed and staring right back at the irate husky. "Does your squad still trust you? Does your father still want to protect you? Does Alastar still kinda like you? Sure, there's gonna be a target on your back, but I promise you, they've all got your back. Your father would choose you over any factional nonsense in a second. His forces have the manpower and firepower to hold the others down, even at gunpoint if need-be. Your squad is loyal to you personally, almost to a fault; they might need a little convincing, but they'll be on board for you. As far as Alastar goes..."

"I'm with Sasha!" Alastar's voice suddenly piped up, followed by an ungraceful flop as he fell off his own bed with a curse of, "Bugger!"

Sasha palmed her forehead at the sudden interruption. It frustrated her a bit, true, maybe a little embarrassed too, but she also hid her face to hide the small laugh that escaped in the moment of amused levity. Most of all, she was relieved Alastar was alright, if a bit awkward in how he showed it.

With an annoyed groan, Connor turned to the other side of his bed, asking, "just how long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," the battered canid answered as he pulled himself to his feet, holding onto his bed for extra support. "Still getting the walking sorted out though, legs being asleep and all."

"Are the Cooneys listening in too?" Connor inquired, taping the side of his head.

"No..." Alastar said quickly, then scratched the back of his head, shrugging as he reconsidered, "maybe?"

"Whatever, doesn't matter if they are," Connor said dismissively, turning his attention back to Sasha. "My point is: you've got a solid contingent of enforcers right at your fingertips. If the three knuckleheads challenge you, you smack their arrogant asses right back down. Don't you dare give into any stupid demand they make. You grab them by the ear, and you drag them to safety kicking and screaming if you have to. Hell, make that an order from me you: my final order to a valued asset."

Sasha knelt down next to Connor, taking his hand as she said, "how about a last request from a friend instead?"

"I didn't know we were friends," the avian spy responded, honestly surprised.

"Neither did I," Sasha admitted, shaking her head, "not until now."

"When you go out there, when you face them all, they'll want a plan for what to do next." Connor said with a quiet urgency, "a few of them might even have an idea or two; that'd be a first."

"We're already gathering in the ship's mess to figure out our next move," the husky responded, giving Connor's a hand a light reassuring squeeze.

"That's good, that's a good start..." he replied with a weary, hoarse sigh, "and I now gotta break the news to Karasu too."

"How will your Ex-O take it?" Sasha asked.

"He'll understand when I explain," Connor said with a nod. "He's practically married to this ship, and he's used to taking orders from those who don't have a spacer's background. My advice: deffer to him on matters of ship operations. Just tell him where to go, and as long as you can keep the others off his back and off the backs of the crew, he'll make sure you get there."

"Like a Lieutenant and Sergeant," Sasha recited. "Got it."

"Oh, and one last thing, Zura."

"Yeah?"

"It'll be a hot minute while I talk things over with Karasu and set things up..." Connor quickly looked up and down the dirty, disheveled, messy heap that Sasha still was at the moment. "Maybe, take that time and clean yourself up a bit."

"Is it that bad?" the husky said, and looked herself over. Sure enough, she was just as sweaty and dusty as if she'd just stepped in from a sandstorm outside.

"You look worse than I do, and I'm dying here. For the crew's sake at least, their new Operational Commander shouldn't go around looking like..." Connor trailed off, gesturing up and down her figure.

"Looking like a sweaty filthy mess," Sasha said, finishing the idea. "I get it"

In public civilian life, Sasha wouldn't let herself be caught dead in such a state of disarray if she could help it. The fact that she was about to be saddled with command responsibilities, with unfamiliar subordinates no less, made her appearance all the more important for first-impressions. On top of all that, the dirt and sweat and whatever else just felt downright itchy and uncomfortable.

The more she thought about it, the idea of a cleansing shower sounded better and better.

\


/

Titania's Surface:
Engineer-General Aster's camp.

Engineer-General Suleiman Aster breathed deep the bone-dry, cooler evening air of Titania's infinite desert, satisfied with his work. The sun had lowered its position in the sky considerably, dimming its light a bit, and casting dramatic long shadows far across the sand from everything it touched; buildings, vehicles, people. The reptile's own shadow stretched out before him for several meters before it faded away.

It was time. Aster focused his thoughts, and began.

With a great rumbling and shaking of the ground beneath his feet, another shadow crept forward next to the slim reptilian scientist. Swiftly, the shadow overtook his own, utterly dwarfing him in scale, and humbling all the other structures and equipment nearby. A few soldiers and nearby personnel stopped their current activities to witness the current spectacle in all it's splendor.

Behind Aster, the Goras titan rose to its full tremendous height, blotting out the sun in its entirety, casting the camp in darkness. The black of its skeleton-like silhouette was broken only by the lights shining in its 'eyes'.

Aster could sense everything the Goras could sense, feel everything it could feel, see everything it could see. The camp seemed so much smaller from it's towering perspective; even the mighty battlemech, bristling with it's dizzying array of weapons, seemed utterly outmatched by the might of the Goras titan it was meant to originally fight.

The power to annihilate Venom's enemies was now at Engineer-General Aster's very fingertips, as easy and intuitive to command as a thought. It was incredible, exhilarating, and it was his alone to utilize...

Something caught Aster's attention. The heightened acuity of the Goras's senses detected four small fighter-craft descending from distantly overhead. They quickly ignited in the flame-like blaze of reentry, roaring down from the sky like four meteors. The mystery of these fighters' purpose was quickly answered when a communication overlay entered Aster's vision.

Incoming transmission. Stand by...

An image of a scowling, silver-gray wolf appeared from inside a cockpit: Star Wolf.

"Andross sent us in for air support," Wolf O'Donnell informed gruffly over the comm. "I'm gonna need you to upload tactical data and any other local intel you got."

Aster was of mixed opinions about Star Wolf. Though effective, these mercenary pilots had a reputation of being unruly, loose-cannon types, liable to cause problems and leave a mess in their wake. That they were favored by Andross annoyed some of Venom's military hierarchy, but Aster paid little heed to such insecure bluster. He had something now that Star Wolf would never have...

"The assistance is appreciated, but I assure you, I have the situation well in hand," Aster replied, flexing one of the gigantic arms of the Goras titan through the air. A passing thought occurred to him that he could very easily flick the Wolfen fighters from the air, like mere insects.

"Look, I don't make the mission, I just get it done," the wolf growled, "data and intel: now."

\


/

Enigma:
Officer Cabins

Sasha Zura stepped out of the tiny, steam-saturated bathroom into the officer cabin she was using. She'd only taken a brisk, 'military-style' five minute shower. It wasn't ideal, but at least the many days' worth of sweat and Titania's sand were finally out of her fur, much to her relief. Dripping wet, Sasha roughly toweled herself off as she moved into the cabin itself to make the most of limited time. Then a thought suddenly occurred that she should've thought about before: she didn't have a change of clothes on-hand.

With an annoyed grumble, she lowered the damp towel down from her face. She got a harsh jolt when she finally saw, and yelled out, "Maya!?"

Sitting on the bed, looking utterly embarrassed, was Maya Kaido.

"Hey," the cat replied, offering an awkward smile.

"What're you doing here?!" Sasha asked frantically, not quite sure what to do with herself. She might've been in the complete nude from showering, but it's nothing Maya hadn't seen before, but Maya was fully covered herself, and also the situation was really weird–

"I saw how dirty you'd gotten when we last spoke, and I knew how much it'd bug you," Maya answered. "So I got you a little something that I hope helps."

The dark-furred cat set a hand on a neatly folded set of garments next to her on the bed. It was one of the same gray-and-black uniforms Sasha had seen other crew wearing throughout the ship.

The husky grabbed and held up the uniform's shirt to get a better look and feel. All the while in her baffled state, she stammered out, "how– where did you–"

Maya stood up from the bed, scooping up the dark uniform trousers as she explained, "I convinced the quartermaster that I needed a fresh set of clothes, so he gave me a some basic uniforms to change into." Then the cat slyly added, whispering in Sasha's ear, "I gave him your measurements though."

To demonstrate, Maya held up the black trousers against Sasha's hips. The pants hung down to just the right place on her ankles, and the waistband contoured neatly across her stomach without much extra slack. Though Sasha wasn't wearing the garment itself yet, she could tell right away it would be a perfect fit.

Elated, the husky flung her arms around Maya, embracing her in a tight hug.

"Thank you so much!" Sasha squealed, trying not to let her words degrade into sobs of incoherent joy.

"It's the least I can do," Maya said, and gently rubbed her hands down the husky's bare, still damp back. "There is one more thing though."

"Yeah?" Sasha asked, gently holding the other's shoulders.

"Sasha," the cat whispered intimately in her ear, "I love you."

"But, you said 'it's not the same'–"

Maya stopped her lover's protest dead with a sudden kiss.

"Just because it's not the 'same love' doesn't make it any less lovely. Variety is the spice of life, and you are a flavor I never want to be without. No matter what else happens in my life, whoever else I might see, there will always be a special place for you in my heart."

"That's real pretty and poetic, but..." Sasha uttered, awash in a torrent of confused, conflicting emotions, "I'm not sure what that means for us."

"Anyone else I might be with has to be okay with what you and I have," Maya declared in no uncertain terms. "I'm not giving you up Sasha, not ever."

In that moment, the husky held Maya's head in her now steady hands, and kissed her back deeply.

Time was short, and there was so much to do, so much to prepare. Caught somewhere between relief and regret, Sasha released her lover from the kiss and embrace.

"I gotta get dressed," she said, looking down at her totally exposed self, "I can't go out like this."

"Right, right," Maya agreed with a pleased giggle.

The next minutes were a flurry of sleeves, buttons and zippers as Sasha donned the Enigma's uniform with Maya's help. The cat not only lent a hand in the transition, but also lent a bit of levity in her conversation.

"Oh, and about my love stipulation," Maya chimed in playfully, while she hooked up a supportive comfortable bra for Sasha, "it goes for you too, by the way."

"What?" Sasha asked blankly while she threaded a belt through the trousers.

"I guess it's kind-of sort-of like an open relationship? I don't know," Maya babbled while she helped get the uniform shirt on. "Look, when you do get with someone else, I wanna hear all the juicy details! Who else could I gossip with about something like this?"

She hadn't thought about the idea, but she didn't really have a chance to, especially not lately. For now, there was too much else going on, so it'd have to be shelved for later discussion.

"How about we get somewhere less dangerous first?" Sasha suggested, failing to hide her embarrassed state from Maya.

"Okay, okay!" the cat said as she stepped back, having finished her dressing task. She stepped back, and took a proud look at their handiwork, "I gotta be honest, this is a damn good look on you."

From the polished, sturdy boots, all the way up to Sasha's lengthy pale hair; done up in a neat, authoritative style; the ensemble was all a perfect fit.