He pointed to the displays. “We’re attracting attention.” Tracking symbols flocked around tiny points of light moving into position along the limb of the planet, coming up from behind its curve—and then appeared far out in the system. The symbols blossomed into readouts of size, class, capability.

“Forerunner vessels,” Sharp said. “Newer. Powerful. Hundreds of them.”

The new ships were communicating with our own—perhaps trying to take command.

“They say they’re in control of this system,” Sharp interpreted from the battle displays. “They welcome us—invite us to join them.” He looked at me dubiously. “To surrender. What are they still doing here, in the Burn?”

“We need to release the others,” I told him. “They’re our last hope.”

* * *

The remaining stasis bubbles were in the final stages of depletion and decay. Sharp and I worked out means of forcing the issue. Warrior-Servants, exerting all their strength, can wreak real havoc—and we did just that. We grabbed for heavy, hard implements. Fortunately, the ship was old enough that its re-shaping capabilities were minimal, and it soon yielded pieces of interior framing, furniture, and console supports with sufficient mass to be swung with real effect.

We battered. Fully energized, a stasis bubble can resist almost any imaginable force. But weakened, they shimmered and radiated in the ultraviolet with each of our coordinated blows. We were desperate. And for once, we were in luck. The fields blackened, then popped with a burst of brilliant blue light.

We had just enough warning to avert our eyes.

The Builder sprawled across the deck—female. Her armor spasmed and she lay curled up like a dying insect, face beaded with sweat, skin dark and blotchy.

For a moment, we wondered whether she was infected.…

Her eyelids flickered, opened. We backed away. Then Sharp moved in and turned her over, gently twisted her head around, looked into her eyes.

“She’s not sick,” he concluded.

Catalog lay on the deck, twitching, unable to raise its five limbs. Its carapace was scarred and crazed. It had suffered a lot of punishment.

Neither looked strong. Nevertheless, Sharp grabbed up the Builder and I took Catalog, and we dragged them to the main bridge.

The ship was still working to revive and return to full duty. The effort was both noble and pitiful.

“Very old … hulk,” the female Builder observed, struggling weakly to free herself from my grip. I let her go, then caught her again as she fell forward. “How did I get here?”

“We were dropped into this ship and sent to a Flood-infested system.”

To this she responded with an unbelieving glare. “They wouldn’t do that!”

“Look for yourself.”

Sharp lifted Catalog, tried to set all its limbs under it, then let it down gently. Three of the legs held, the other two folded. It fell back with a heavy thud.