Xeno Core

Its walls may be made of fused rock and melted slag, but some plaster will cure that readily. The space is long, two hundred ubits wide and five times that in length. The ceiling is still unfinished, the final design left to the honored guests gathered in the nearly finished gaming hall. Its rough, warped surface disrupts the lights set into it, causing dark patches to form in odd places in the empty building.

Around a rectangular table sit eight elder Tserri, dressed in what has come to be recognized as station casual attire. Long pants fitting loosely around the lower legs, tied above the boots by a thin, fibrous cord. Above this is a long sleeveless tunic that hangs to just above the knee. A wide belt with many pouches and pockets sewn onto it holds each waist snuggly.

They all wear clothing of a single bright hue, forgoing the patterns and decorative embellishment common among the populace. Each is also sporting thick fur ranging from white to silver, age having final say in their coloration. Bright eyes still peer sharply from their aged faces. These are no foolish youths eager to please, nor doddering lackwits drooling in a corner.

Joining them as the station representative is Willon the younger, as well as two of his Tserri security officers. There aren't any cameras installed yet, so I'm watching from the suit cameras. The view is limited, but at least it comes with audio.

The only other person in the building is a single volunteer, providing catering from the small kitchen attached to one end of the large hall. Oh! I know him. That's the fellow that runs the fried meats cart outside Glian's garage. Well, if he pleases our guests with his cooking, I'll talk to Yosip about getting him hired. He'll surely do even better when supplied with fresh ingredients from our garden levels.

Pointedly ignoring Dunc, Jetanda turns to his subordinate, Donna to address her remarks. "We appreciate the new building, don't think we don't. But I can smell a bribe when it's left sitting outside my tent. What favors do your masters seek, child?"

Donna looks at her superior for permission before answering the elders. "Consider it a show of good intent. Our organization wishes only to maintain the peace between the various interest groups onboard. You," she gestures widely with all four arms, indicating the group of gray hairs by splaying her claws, "represent one of those interests."

"Ha!" The old one beside Jetanda, a grizzled male in vibrant orange tunic barks sardonically. "You want a portion of our holdings. Don't waste what precious time we have left to us, youngster."

They happen to be my holdings, but I forebear speaking. They don't know I can hear them.

Donna's partner, Skint speaks up. "Damn right we do. Question is how much you gonna give us, old timer."

The camera in Donna's suit turns to take in her superior. His face betrays the same shock I feel at Skint's breach of decorum.

"Back down, Skint," commands Dunc brusquely. "Why don't you wait outside, keep the kids away?"

With a quick scowl the reprimanded guard leaves the spacious hall. The clangor of his footsteps on the stone causes some of the elders to wince, but the grins on the faces of the others tell me that Skint had cost us the first round. That's unfortunate, but I had foreseen some difficulties during negotiations.

As if sensing my thoughts, Dunc reaches into a compartment built into his armor. He pulls out a shield module, large enough to protect a single door. He sets the small device onto the table. Bucket put it together for me, in exchange for letting them have access to a few mineral samples.

"Please forgive my soldier. He's a little blunt, normally a good thing in his line of work." Dunc shrugs his armored shoulders. The light gleams off the golden skulls set into his pauldrons. "As you can see, this gizmo has no serial numbers. Completely absent from official station records."

The predatory gleam in the elders' eyes would be better suited to young warriors eager for a kill. A white furred claw snatches it up and brings it close to her face. "This thing's still got that new toy shine to it," she comments as she puts it in one of her belt pouches.

Unfortunate. I was hoping Jetanda would take it. The camera built into the device should be useful regardless. A camera in the heart of Laceweaver Row. The Tserri elders seem appeased, at least.

"Official records, I'm sure," quips an old male with a missing ear. "Whose private records are this thing mentioned in?"

"I promise you," Donna answers smoothly. "Not a living, breathing person on this ship has any documentation regarding your new device."

She's being completely honest. I don't draw breath any longer and no one else that knows about it has high enough access to read the files it's mentioned in.

Jetanda makes a shushing motion to the scarred elder. He crosses both sets of arms across the yellow of his tunic, scowling and working his jaw. He squints at Dunc suspiciously but refrains from further complaint.

The meat vendor picks this time to bring in trays of fried treats. He even serves those vile squivers. Complete with gruesome red sauce. Maybe I don't like him as much as I thought.

While the elders eat, Dunc sits back, content to watch. Donna helps the vendor pass out sanitary wipes and collect the trays. She even receives a few polite smiles and words of thanks from the cantankerous group.

"Let's start again," says Donna into the silence. "We aren't trying to take anything away from you. What we want is to make sure that we all can continue breathing and eating. If your people keep pulling components out of the walls, that isn't too likely."

"We can offer you parts. Supplies," Dunc adds, gesturing with his hands. "Whatever you need to keep your people happy, so long as you keep them from making our people unhappy."

"Off the official record?" The one eared elder sounds more tired than angry.

"Of course," Donna assures him hurriedly. "We all win here. Crime goes down. Everyone is happy. And the people will have you to thank for that."

"Or to blame when this starts biting people's faces off," complains a long-haired female. Her wispy white fur contrasts with the vivid yellow-green of her outfit, waving slowly as she turns to address her peers. "Gregan's right to be suspicious. Why would the Grays want to help us? Our people tried to take their worlds. We're lucky they gave us this place to stay in, out of their way."

"Better than dying with those stubborn fools back on Homeworld," another elder exclaims.

Dunc asks, "What about your home world? Why did you attack us, anyway?" He leans forward, staring intently at Jetanda. "As a mercenary force, we thought, for some other party, right?"

Jetanda turns her head, breaking eye-contact. "Yes. The ships arrived one day during the long drought. Prey was growing increasingly scarce, and we were willing to listen to the spirit voice of the ships."

She pauses to drink some juice the street vendor hands her from a large pewter tray.

Gregan takes up the explanation, scratching at his missing ear. "Vessels like the Silent Stalker and Broken Leg. Not all would go, hoping the herds would return. There was food on the ships, and promises of green meadows with new creatures to hunt."

"But once onboard," another elder continues, "we were given tests, and taught how to fill our new roles."

"The aptitude tests they gave us said I should have been an electrician," Jetanda barks out with a sneer. "I was a village priestess, watching the stars and guiding our hunters in their rituals. Electricians are a strange clan, not one I can direct."

"They?"

"The voice. They never showed us their face, much like the spirit your Yosip keeps bound." Gregan waves one claw, as if clearing the air. "The test said I should be out on the ground, waving a gun around. More I hear what they thought we ought to be doing, more I think it was just pulling jobs from the air."

Nods around the table answer his statement. I add another task to the crew's busy schedule. We're going to need to set up classrooms and distribute educational software. The poor crew will be working hard for the foreseeable future.

Honestly, it had been a lot easier when I had just needed to stab people. After a good stabbing, problems tend to disappear, or at least stop fighting back. I have no idea how the Duv manage to keep the Empire running.

"Go back. The long drought?" Dunc's voice pulls me from my reverie.

The Tserri elders shift uncomfortably in their seats. Jetanda clears her throat before answering.

"Yes. The plants had been slowly starving. We'd light great bonfires and place tall torches in the fields to help drive away the long drought. We'd been doing it since our grandparents were young. It helped, but it also stripped the grounds and left ash heaps in the wastes away from our lights."

"Our people were not farmers," the old one in the violent green robes adds. "We only learned these things from your people. If we had your wonders, we could still be living under the fast-flowing sky."

"What caused the drought?"

"We did not know. It was as much a fact of life as the stars or the clouds. The ground was cold and dry and increasingly so for as long as the story tellers could remember."