When there is time to pay attention, I discover that Catalog has suffered some damage. It is recovering.

The IsoDidact’s skin suddenly takes on a hopeful color. His ancilla connects with me, and we conduct a diagnosis, which is positive enough that the suit allows its occupant to rise to awareness.

His eyes search the large command center and find first me, then the unmoving carapace of Catalog.

“Where are we?” he asks.

“Away,” I say. “Our next jump will begin shortly.”

“Jump to where?”

“A random location. Far from here. Somewhere safe.”

He looks around the command center. “Are we on a carrier ship?”

“We are. Gargantua-class.”

“How did you arrange that?”

“I am resourceful, as you have observed. But this was provided by your wife and the Lifeworkers.”

“Remarkable. Change that destination,” he says. “I have another coordinate.”

His armor feeds me the new coordinate. This must be the location of the lesser Ark, just as the Librarian had promised.

“Did my wife escape?” he asks.

“I believe so.”

“To Requiem,” he says.

“Yes.”

“With my original.”

“They traveled separately,” I say.

His expression softens. “Old friend,” he says. “I owe you my life.”

“Again,” I say. “Chakas could have murdered you in your sleep back on Erde-Tyrene, and he didn’t.”

Somehow, he finds this amusing. But he quickly sobers. “How many humans in the compound survived?”

“Only a handful.”

“Not enough to rebuild what was lost?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

The IsoDidact’s face turns grim. His dismay and anger is heartening. Chakas believes that Forerunners should feel guilt, especially for such heinous actions.

“I know where the Lifeshaper will go,” he says, “once she’s finished her duty to my original.”

“She will return to my home world,” I posit. “Where a few humans might yet remain.”

“Almost certainly. I wish I could follow her … but we must reach the lesser Ark, and soon.”

He gives the order. The jump is not as rugged as some, but it’s no walk in the short grass. We arrive with few core reserves to spare at a small, permanent portal about a thousand light-years from where we began.

Despite myself, I am impressed by the IsoDidact. He is better than his original and better than Bornstellar, who was a bit of a goof. I am more cheerful now, if a machine can feel cheer. I am also hopeful that the Bornstellar Didact will assign me to return to Erde-Tyrene, if it has not been captured by the Flood, and search for the Lifeshaper, protect her.

Home. A place I would like to visit one more time.

The portal station is deserted. The platform and cylindrical buffers are empty, the ancilla seems old and eccentric—but functional.

It refuses my query for information. I am not authorized. “It asks for our identity,” I tell the IsoDidact. “Why is this portal out here, with so much capacity, yet unused?”