Xeno Core

Yosip isn't very happy when I give him the highlights of the Tserri history. His scarred face knots up, tension showing in the set of his remaining eye. He lets out a deep sigh before forcefully relaxing himself. He sets both hands slowly down onto his desk.

"So they're from that rogue planet Jim and Wendrus thought was a pirate base. With only starlight and a few torches to help the plants grow, no wonder they were starving," he ruminates, more to himself than to me. "Any more information about this mysterious voice they followed?"

"No, sir. No idea why whatever it was would choose to set them against your people, either. Did you hear the latest from Matron Bell?"

"Yeah, Mos, I heard," he grumbles. "More Tserri ships. At least this group wants to stay in their vessels. I wonder why, though. They can't be growing anything edible on those things."

"Correct," I agree. "We've been over the schematics for their various ship designs. They don't have that capability. Their crews must be running low on rations, by now."

"Wonderful. I suppose we'll find out when they get here. Are we expecting any assistance from Matron Bell?"

"Not as much as we could hope. Centra city will be sending a couple shipments of grain up before the Tserri are expected. Other than that token gesture it will be our responsibility to keep them alive."

It will be taxing, but hopefully not impossible. We've been expanding our food output steadily. Far from the single hydroponics room aboard the Resurgent, several levels of artificially lit farmland fill the interior of Kalibern. The irrigation system doubles as farms for algae and small aquatic creatures. The fields themselves support a thriving ecosystem of small animals that keep the soil rich.

The tough stalks of the plants are processed for their long fibers. An entire industry has established itself, providing custom outfits for the station residents. Yosip is wearing a uniform made from local materials. It looks good on him. His older outfits were getting stained beyond the station's ability to clean, anyway.

Larger livestock prey upon the field creatures, keeping their numbers down and providing eggs, milk, and other staples. In exchange they recieve a portion of the food waste, little as that is. They graze on pasture levels fertilized with other kinds of wastes. The ranchers are making good credits. They're also spreading those credits around pretty freely, bolstering the local economy.

Warehouses bulge with preserved vegetables from the first harvests, as well as dried meats. Freezers contain fresh produce and frozen aquatic foods. Nothing stays in there long, but it serves as a central processing facility, to better coordinate disparate efforts.

The aquatic farms contain creatures bred for quick population turnover rates and have been feeding the hungry populace for some time. Squivers, of course, as well as bivalves and a beautiful creature they call a calamar. They remind me of my grelld, but they don't seem well suited to leaving their watery homes.

It has eight long tentacles sprouting in a ring from its central body. Each is covered in suction cups that it uses to manipulate the shelled creatures or the poor squivers. When it eats, it brings its food to a beak hidden between its long arms strong enough to crush the calcium carbonate armor of the tough filter feeders. The arms are a highly prized treat among the crew. They're quite expensive due to the creature's relatively slow growth rates compared to the other things being raised.

All of it supported by edible algae and long red kelp fronds that grow from the sediment allowed to build up on the bottoms of the tanks. The plants are harvested regularly and are a staple of many diets. Different tanks are kept on alternating growth cycles, increasing the availability of fresh food.

We still import food from below, but the number of malnutrition cases Zra and the rest of the medical team had been treating has become almost none. Many are still not eating as much as they would like, but things are improving. The fruit trees won't begin to produce for at least another season, but many look forward eagerly to that time. Already the first flower buds swell, tiny green dots on the tips of thin branches.

Sales of designer fashion, surprisingly, make up our major export. Centra city is reportedly experiencing a new trend mimicking station designs and they're quick to buy our local surplus. They also accept any excess gold the excavation crews discover, gladly removing the heavy metal from our storage rooms.

Most shocking is that tourists arrive almost daily. Tserri offering guided tours have been fleecing them before leading them to cheap flophouses. There the tourists are overcharged again, paying hotel prices to sleep in spare rooms and converted sheds. An entire line of useless bric-a-brac is available to them near the docks. Offerings range from outfits to hand made toys and decorations.

They can even buy custom knives made by 'unregistered' fabricators, operated by Gregan and his family. Those are sold in the dockside bar operated by another of the elders and their family. A distillery ran by yet another of the elders, using equipment we kindly donated them, makes a nice profit off the sales there. If they're going to sell alcohol anyway, we might as well make sure nobody is going to be poisoned due to inferior equipment.

In an effort to increase the rate of cultural adjustment the Tserri will inevitably suffer through, Yosip has authorized the construction of a recording studio as well as a trivee transmitter. Once it's all completed, educational programming will be available at all times of the day.

A surprising number of crewmembers have volunteered to share their personal collections of entertainment files. Some of the tourists have made a habit of donating to our collection as well. Enough that we'll need to set up more than one channel if we want to make everything available. Bucket had even agreed to help write the programs necessary to keep it all running. They really are a blessing.

Their partner Conglomerate has been staying busy as well. They've had their many arms full assisting Zra in the clinic, taking medical scans to establish Tserri biological norms. Soon their findings will need to be sent off, to be added to stores of knowledge kept on Selber Prime. Copies are being kept on storage drives buried deep within the stony interior. They're where they'll be safe from stray radiations.

I've also got them working on a chemical synthesizer for my own uses. Being able to craft needed medicines as they are required will be useful beyond words. A distribution network would also be nice, but I don't know how to fit that into the existing station designs without a complete overhaul. Someday an idea will come to me, or some new technology will fall into my tendrils.

Bucket and Pale both seem bigger. The number of arm units each is composed of has definetly increased. Bucket has two new arms while Pale has only one new addition. I imagine the mineral samples are the source of this recent growth.

"Say, Yosip? Would you be against trying to gain another of whatever Bucket is?"

"Don't have those files, eh Mos? Don't know what they call themselves, but we call them Ropers. They don't seem to mind it, anyway. Why?"

It's times like this that I wish I could shrug. "They seem to be useful. How quickly do they reproduce, normally?"

Yosip shrugs, the exhibitionist that he is. "This is my first time working with one. They have their own territory and most of them like to keep to themselves. Our two are an odd pair, from what I've heard of them."

I'll have to ask them, when they aren't so busy. Until then I leave Yosip alone in his office. There are plenty of new camera feeds to sort through.

Now that the Tserri can make their own components I finally have decent coverage of the common areas. Vandalism still happens, but far less of it. Dunc and his team are able to focus on more important work. Jetanda has most of them bustling about, running errands for her and her cronies. I'd object, but it's too much fun seeing them running around in their intimidating battle armor with custom knitted belts clutched in one set of hands on deliveries to frightened tourists.

The locals refuse to warn the marks ahead of time, making a game of it. Not one tourist has refused to buy the damnable belts, either.