“All right,” said Steven. “I think that'll do the trick. If this goes right, that pile of meat won't want to be anywhere near us.”

“By all means, make it so,” said Zeck.

Steven typed a command into his console. The effect was immediate.

“It's working,” said Zeck. “Look, it's actually moving away from us. I can see land between the ship and the meat now!”

“Great work, Broyle,” said Bob.

“Thanks,” said Steven. “I ended up using the repulsor to mimic the chemical signature of that organic stabilizer Chad came up with. There was a phial of it in his rouncey. It's one of the few things that's managed to hurt the meat gobbets. They must remember.”

“Chad,” said Bob. “Even in death, he saved us.”

“How did he go, if I can ask?” said Steven.

“It's, er. A conversation for another time. We've more pressing matters to attend to.”

“That's for sure,” said John. “We've got a mad Colonel on the loose and a ship that won't fly.”

“Where would the Colonel be?” said Zeck. “He must know by now that we're onto him. Where would he go? Med bay?”

“He wouldn't be worried about his health right now,” said Bob. “Let's see, he doesn't have his suit. He doesn't have Ouroboros. He doesn't have any allies left among us. He might still have that weird mitt he found at the Resistance bunker.”

“Wait, what weird mitt?” said Zeck.

“Some gauntlet he found in the armory. He kept putting it on and waving it around. It wasn't attached to his suit when when we fought it outside just now. He could still have it.”

“Hold on a second,” said Zeck. He dashed around as if he was looking for something on one of the consoles. After a few seconds, he found it. He pointed to a panel that had clearly been screwed on during the Churlian refit. “The egg symbol,” he said. “There was one like it on the modular synth. The Colonel had me open the chest that the gauntlet was in. The same symbol was carved into it. Only those were broken eggs. This one is merely cracked.”

“It's up there, too,” said John, pointing at another panel above the viewscreen. “And there's one on the captain's chair.”

“The Keeper asked me if I was hatched from an egg,” said Zeck. He ran his tongue over his chrome-capped teeth. “He kept calling me a lizard. The skeleton in the truck. He had teeth like mine. Some normal, some pointed. I always thought they were just malformed. I've always worn dental caps. My whole life.” He went over to the console that held his severed hand. “That's why the Colonel needed my hand, specifically.” He picked his hand up. “This is how he got into the ship. It's why he asked me to try on the gauntlet. It's why the lock on the synth only opened for me. It's in my blood. These things are all bio-locked, programmed only to work for people with traces of Saurosapien DNA.”

“You think you're descended from Saurosapiens?” said Steven.

“Their technology seems to think I am. Maybe the Keeper wasn't being cryptic. Perhaps I really was hatched from an egg. In my veins runs the blood of ancient sorcerers who walked amongst the dinosaurs.”

“This is a weird turn of events,” said Steven.

“I'm not shocked,” said John.

“You're telling me that Ex Ova is a real secret society?” said Bob.

“It's not a secret society,” said John. “That's a myth that sprang up over the years. Ex Ova was a branch of the Churlian military. Top tier, elite secret forces kind of stuff. Like the ship we're standing in, they fell into legend after the chaos that ended the war.”

“Perhaps they were secret forces because they all had Saurosapien DNA, too,” said Zeck. He tapped the panel with the egg symbol. “The Empire needed them to fly the Cormorant, and use all of the other Saurosapien technology they've dug up. None of it would work for somebody without whatever it is that's stitched across my double helix.”

“I think it would be generous to say that you're all making a few leaps of logic,” said Bob, “but if we assume you are correct, and the Colonel needed your hand to get into the ship because the original crew were all Ex Ova-”

“Ship,” said Zeck, “where are the previous crew?”

“The remains of the previous crew are in the rear jettison bay, awaiting your decision. Would you like to examine them, or shall I discard them now?”

“Neither,” said Zeck. “Not yet, anyway. Can you show me the rear jettison bay on the view screen?”

The scene on the view screen changed to a high angle shot of a long, cramped room. Twelve bodies lay in two rows, well preserved by the dry, sterile environment of the ship. Their skin looked like paper. Their uniforms were neat and pressed. Old wounds that perhaps had killed them were cleaned up and sewn shut. They looked very restful. All but one.

The Colonel, naked and dripping with slime, crouched over one of the bodies. Away from his suit, he only had one leg. There was a hole in his torso that went all the way through, but didn't seem to bleed. Instead, it seeped pink goo from a mechanical pump nestled inside. On his left arm, he wore his working replica of Corrigan's Claw. He was holding the gauntlet, and he seemed to be examining the inside of it. After a moment, it became clear what he was doing. He peeled a strip of dessicated skin from the corpse in front of him, coated it in the slime that covered his body, and slid it into the gauntlet.

“Sick,” said Steven.

“What on Earth is he doing?” said Zeck.

“I've got an inkling,” said Steven. “Bio-interface tech usually requires the flesh to be living. Otherwise, you could kill a bloke and then stick his finger in a tube to hack his computer, or pop his locks open. Or just cut off the finger and carry it around with you.”

“That's why he needed to keep my hand alive,” said Zeck. “Lucky me, I guess.”

“If that goop that covers his skin is similar to Omniblood,” said Bob, “it may have the effect of temporarily revitalizing the dead skin from that corpse. It's a well-documented phenomenon. Ghoulish sorts call it the 'Frankenstein' effect. It allows the nanobots in the Omniblood to retrieve vital information from the body's cells, and sometimes even use them as support for healing and reconstruction of necrotic tissue.”

“So if the gauntlet thinks the skin is alive-” said Zeck.

“The gauntlet will think he's got the right DNA,” said Steven.

“And the Colonel will be able to use it,” said Bob.

“Will that work?” said John.

“I'm not going to wait to find out,” said Zeck. “Ship, eject all items in the jettison bay.”

“Alert,” said the ship, “there is a living crew member present in the jettison bay. Safety protocols prevent me from jettisoning at this time.”

On the view screen, the Colonel slid the gauntlet onto his right hand.

“Override safety protocols,” said Zeck, “on the order of- On the order of me, the commander of this ship.”

“Biological affirmation required for safety protocol override,” said the ship. “Please press your flesh to the armrest console of the captain's chair.”

“Weird way to phrase it, but I assume this will suffice,” said Zeck. He sat in the captain's chair and put his palm flat on the armrest.

A circle of light spread inside the jettison bay as the exterior door irised open. Off screen, a repulsion oscillator whirred to life. The bodies of the previous crew, dry as dust, blew away like tumbleweeds. The Colonel staggered against the wind created by the repulsor. He pressed himself flat against the floor, slid a few feet on his own slime, then flipped over backward. It looked as though he'd be sucked out with the rest of the garbage, but just before he reached the iris, he raised his right hand. He hung suspended, his wispy hair blown back. He made a fist with the gauntlet, clenching whatever he'd grabbed onto.

“Critical failure in jettison bay,” said the ship. “Jettison repulsor array is offline. Repair time estimate not available at this time.”

The Colonel fell to the floor. The iris behind him was still open, but the wind had stopped. He reached out with Corrigan's Claw and began to crawl.

The cleaning bot chirped in annoyance when it spotted the trail of pink leading to the jettison bay door. The slime was streaked with red and black. “He can't last much longer without his suit,” Sheryl knew. She crept up to the door and pressed the switch to open it.

“Entry is barred,” said the ship. “Jettison bay safety protocols are not in effect. Jettison bay iris remains open. Jettison bay repulsor array has experienced critical failure.”

Zeck's voice came over a nearby intercom mounted in the wall. “Sheryl, can you hear me?”

She pressed a button on the intercom. “What's happening?” she said.

Zeck briefly explained what had happened with the Colonel.

“Can you open the door?” she asked.

“Yes, but-”

“Do it,” she said. The door slid open.

The Colonel was on his belly, pulling himself forward with Corrigan's Claw a few inches at a time. He looked up when Sheryl stepped in. “Lieutenant,” he croaked. “I knew you'd make it. We must relieve Strauss of his position as Commander. It was necessary to get inside the ship, but we can't allow him to-”

“I don't work for you anymore,” said Sheryl.

“Of course you do.” He flopped over onto his side. The slime pump in his chest moved in a direction it wasn't meant to. The Colonel winced. A stream of blood ran down his torso, followed by an ink-black trickle.

“You're falling apart,” said Sheryl. “Your suit has been destroyed, you know.” She nodded toward the open iris. The edge of the meat blob was just visible outside, spreading and stretching over the ruins. “And Ouroboros.”

“Yes,” said the Colonel. “So it had to be. No matter. I'll have a new one built, better than the last. This ship has a medical bay the likes of which we've never been able to duplicate, though our engineers and doctors have certainly tried. They'll-” he groaned and shifted his weight. “I'll be in the best shape of my life by the time we get back to Churlia.”

“You won't be going back,” said Sheryl. She raised her blunderbuss and pointed it at the Colonel's face.

He laughed. “You won't shoot me,” he said. He raised the gauntlet. The blunderbuss twisted from Sheryl's grasp. He clenched his fist, and her arms pinned to her sides. She rose off the floor, clutched in the invisible grip of the gauntlet.

“You've been out of the Sparassa for too long,” he said. “You've been brainwashed. By Plumwine, by the attercops, by those petty scofflaws you dragged here with us.”

“'Brainwashed.' We wouldn't have made it this far without them,” said Sheryl. “I used to think you were the reason we always made it back alive. But we didn't. Only a handful ever came back from any of our missions. You, me, and a scattering of others. We made it back despite you, not because of you.”

“The strong survive,” said the Colonel. “The weak, the slow, the incompetent, they die. It's the way of the world. That's what war is for. To separate the wheat from the chaff. Those that survive the Plumwine invasion will be the best that humanity has to offer. And if Plumwine wins, perhaps humanity's time has passed. The lizards had their time in the sun. Things like this ship are all that's left of them now. Perhaps in a few millennia, Plumwine will be the only creature left on Earth. If it happens, it happens. The winner deserves to win. That's why they're the winner.” He coughed, and a reddish glob of molasses-thick sputum splatted onto the floor.

The crushing grasp of the gauntlet wavered, then vanished. Sheryl fell from where the Colonel had suspended her. She landed perfectly on her feet.

The Colonel grabbed futilely with the gauntlet, waving and thrusting his hand, but it had no effect. “Damned eggheads,” he said. He half roared, half grunted and pulled himself to a standing position on his one leg, balancing with no small amount of grace. He lunged at Sheryl, reaching with both hands as if to choke her. His teeth were bared, shining points of metal in neat little rows. Sheryl's remaining wristblade shot out with a snik. She swung it almost casually. The gauntlet and the replica of Corrigan's Claw both clattered to the floor. The Colonel screamed and fell onto his back, viscous blood and dark ichor spraying from his stumps.

Sheryl picked up the gauntlet by its middle finger. The Colonel's severed hand slid out and landed with a wet smack. “It's almost sad,” she said. “You were a Churlian Colonel. You had all the power you could have wanted. But you spent your whole life in pursuit of the one thing you could never have. Did you know? You must have. You know that Burts and Meat Rom have the Saurosapien DNA. You deduced that Zeck has it, just as I did. But did you know that I have it, as well?”

Sheryl slipped the gauntlet on. Inside, she felt a thick wet paste of skin and slime, but overlooked it and continued. “I think you must have known all along. That's why you kept me so close, isn't it? That's why you trained me, groomed me, pulled me back in when I left. Is it why you took me in the first place?”

“I didn't,” said the Colonel. “I didn't know.”

“You can't lie to me anymore,” said Sheryl. “Plumwine didn't brainwash me. He's a monster, yes, just as you are. Just as I am. You think we're a better kind of monster, but we're not. You're not even so different from Plumwine. You tell half-lies and half-truths, so that nobody is sure what's real and what's not. He tells complete lies, fabricated from whole cloth. And he shows complete truths, gleaned from the fabric of reality. He showed me the truth of how you took me from my home when I was a child. He showed me the truth of everything I ever did in your service, every life I took as your right hand, every way in which we destroyed a little more of the good that lives in the world.” She made a grabbing motion with the gauntlet. The Colonel lifted off the floor, dripping slime and syrup-like blood. After a few seconds, the bleeding stopped again, clotted by the nanobots in his veins.

The Colonel tried to speak, but couldn't get his breath. Sheryl loosened her grip the slightest bit. “Yes,” he wheezed. “I knew. I always knew. I kept it from you to keep you safe. I knew those pretentious Ex Ova snobs would snatch you up. They're a cult. A useful one; they acquired this ship. But they're dangerous. They don't take no for an answer.”

“Not unlike a certain Colonel,” said Sheryl.

“I knew you'd never reach your true potential with them. They could never understand one such as you.”

“I thought you wanted to keep me safe,” said Sheryl. “Now it's about reaching my potential?”

“It's both,” said the Colonel. “It's all of it.” He wheezed, cleared his throat and gave a wet cough. “You have to understand, Lieutenant. I've always known you were special. Too good for the Ex Ova. Too good to be a squire all your life, even though you were the best I've ever had.”

“Chad was better,” said Sheryl. Keeping her eye on the Colonel and her grip tight, she reached down and picked up her blunderbuss. With her one free hand, she aimed it squarely at the Colonel's chest.

“Wait,” he said. “You're right. I've been too possessive of you. Too protective. You're ready. I see that now. You've been ready for some time. To know the truth. Valeria.”

“I know the truth,” said Sheryl. “I remember all of it now. My true name. How you slaughtered my parents and took me from my home. How you left my brother sobbing in the corner.” She pressed her finger to the trigger.

“He lives,” said the Colonel.

She paused.

“Your brother. He lives yet. I know where he is. What his name is. I look in on him from time to time. Kill me, and you'll never find him.”

“You died begging,” said Sheryl. She pulled the trigger and released her gauntlet grip on the Colonel.

The missile shot from the blunderbuss and lodged itself in the hole in the Colonel's chest. The force of it pushed him backwards through the iris, propelled by the graviton drive of the missile. The projectile, still programmed to seek Plumwine's flesh, arced slightly to starboard as it left the ship. The Colonel landed in the growing blob of meatstuff with a flat smack. The iris closed. Sheryl dropped her blunderbuss on the floor and walked away.