Free of the dark and cavernous dreamscape, I find myself once more in my crystalline body. Safe inside my secure alcove, the voice of the Ship-Mother reaches me, carried by wires and translated into the electronic thoughts of the system. She does not sound pleased.

  "Don't touch it," she snaps. "Who knows what might happen!"

  Desra raises all four arms wide, safely away from Ekes' memento. The shifting light reflects off her fur and colors her in fluid hues. "Sorry, sorry." She backs away slowly, a harried look upon her face.

  The two of them move with uncertainty. Nervous starts and stops punctuate their confusion. It is a kindness to end their discomfort. I wait until Desra sputters an unintelligible complaint before I announce my return.

  "Error, syntax not compatible," I state in emotionless and unaccented Selber. Both of them jump. Desra knocks the desk with her leg, rocking it and causing the asymmetrical shape to fall to the floor. "Please state the nature of the emergency."

  "Stop fooling around," laughs Eva, smiling broadly. She runs a slim hand through her crest, restoring it to some semblance of order. "You had us worried."

  "That was not my intent," I inform her, resuming my normal speech patterns. "The device should be safe to handle. I do not believe it will continue to be a problem, Ship-Mother."

  At a gesture from Eva, Desra stoops to retrieve the cluster of colored rods. "Does it matter where I put it?"

  "It should not, so long as it remains in this office."

  "Shit," mutters Eva. Then, more loudly, "Is it a bomb? Will moving it too much set it off?"

  "Do not worry. It functions as a communication relay."

  "That was a long comms call," complains Desra, waving her arms about. "You could have let us know what was happening."

  "I shall do so in the future," I concede. They seem only slightly mollified. "But first, allow me to tell you what I have learned."

  Eva and Desra listen intently as I relate the thaumatists' plan and the part the station will play. They ask only occasional questions, saving their objections until I finish. Eventually, they agree to their part in the coming events. After I finish explaining, a chime sounds at the office door.

  Desra opens the door, admitting the observer of the day. Jurer Nov enters and I can see a wide brimmed hat hanging down her back, complete with orange ribbons. Everyone makes introductions and afterwards Eva makes a hasty excuse to leave.

  "I'm late to the program," she says cryptically. "The children are preforming the 'Epic of Kalibern' and I've already missed the beginning." She ends with a glare at Ekes' relay. "Keep our guest entertained, Desra."

  The Ship-Mother hastens through the station, heading to the community center where the children are preforming. Desra, accepting her fate, chats with Nov. The Jurer settles calmly in one corner, content to gossip with the administrator about possible trade deals between the two peoples.

  Some might find their conversation fascinating. I am not among their number. Quickly growing bored, I decide to join Eva in observing the children. Since I don't have to travel there physically, I'm able to begin watching before she arrives.

  The center is dark, lit only on one end. In the shadowed sections, seats form many rows where Tserri and others watch intently. I spot more than a few aviaformes in the crowd, as well as some of the Selber administrative staff. In the very back, scowling fiercely with his metal arms crossed over his chest, sits Don Yosip. Next to him is the only empty seat in the building.

  Under the bright lights, a group of children acts out a scene from the legend that gives this station its name. The young Tserri all wear tight gray suits save one. Each of the gray suited children additionally dress in brown cloth cut to resemble poorly cured hides. The final young actor wears a blue under-suit and nothing else, though a fake tail drags along behind him. All of them hold long brown poles with gray painted ends; mock spears crafted of surplus building material.

  I recognize Han among the group, though who he is meant to be is unknown. Hanging from a cord, a chunky brass pendant glitters on his chest.

  "If we are to craft this sword," Han announces, gripping his pendant in one claw, "then we must brave the perils of Darcy Marsh."

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Yes, hero," agrees a young female that I recognize as Glia.

  "It is so," adds another with fur of a close hue. "But it will be perilous."

  The child in blue limps forward, putting great effort into leaning upon his spear. "That which we seek lies deep within, guarded by many monsters."

  "Let me fetch it for you," announces another child. "I can handle the danger."

  The crowd titters as if at some joke but quickly return to a more somber quiet. The aviaformes in the crowd do not seem to understand what is so funny, either.

  "So be it," declares Han, waving his false spear above his head in a wide arc.

  The lights go dark inside the community center. Sounds of frantic movement from the actors echo in the darkness. Someone in the audience coughs and another laughs quietly at some private joke. It is during this intermission that Eva enters the building.

  Yosip stands, the status lights of his artificial limbs providing enough illumination for Eva to spot him in the dim interior. She makes her way along the wall to the back and takes the empty seat. She must pass an elder Tserri who hurries to relieve himself during the change of scenery.

  "Have I missed much?"

  "Only most of it," complains Yosip, retaking his seat with a grunt. "But at least you're here. It means a lot to the kids."

  "I know," she answers quietly. "But I couldn't leave."

  "Shh, it's starting," hushes Yosip as the lights return.

  The chosen child bravely crosses the stage area, spear held in all four claws. Tufts of grass decorate the ground and walls and the area is awash in a verdant glow. Dripping sounds echo from hidden speakers, and recordings of selber night calls play in a loop.

  The youth moves forward, scanning the area with great diligence. Twice he stops to check the bunches of grass scattered around, rustling the dried stalks noisily but finding nothing. Then, with obvious delight, the youngster spots something and points dramatically forward. He marches ahead confidently, spear held at the ready.

  When the youngster reaches the center of the lit area, two more children leap from behind clumps of dried grass. Bron and Bran silently menace the brave warrior child with snarling faces and waving claws. The green light makes the black suits they wear shine a sickly hue. Their claws also reflect the light, a special paint on them glowing lurid red. Monsters or predators makes little difference; they represent the challenges of the marsh.

  Thus begins a silent combat. Despite being outnumbered, the young warrior faces the challenge without hesitation. He swings and thrusts with his blunt spear, young face lit with determination.

  The three exchange blows but never touch one another. Their inept attacks must be overlooked; this is performative. Circling around the warrior child, the brother monsters attack in turns. One draws the attention of the spear wielder while the other claws at his back. All three flinch at attacks that swing past them, staggering around as if in mortal pain.

  Crying out in pretend agony, the spear fighter thrusts his weapon at the brothers in a battle of endurance. Eventually the two brothers fall to the floor in evident defeat. The light vanishes for the length of a breath, then returns.

  Dripping with stripes of red, the young warrior returns to where he began, a glass orb held high. The lights go out once more. After a brief but noisy interlude, the cast stand once more upon the stage.

  The wounded warrior kneels, presenting the orb to Han. With grave dignity, Han accepts the tribute with one claw and removes his pendant with another. He flips open a panel on the amulet and withdraws a black glass orb that, other than color, is identical to the one he holds in his other claw.

  Upon placing the new sphere inside the device, it begins to emit a pale glow. The stage lights grow dim to emphasize the shining necklace and Han walks forward holding it aloft. The rest of the children form a group behind him.

  The child in blue, stuttering only somewhat over the difficult words, announces, "And so the hero restored life to the heart of Kalibern. But the sword of light was not yet complete. The wounded warrior, unable to continue, stayed behind with the blessing of the hero and founded the line of Spere, which rules there to this day."

  "Buncha greenies," whispers Yosip.

  Eva jabs him with her elbow, then makes a shushing sound. He lifts his metal shoulders in a shrug but makes no further comments. His glass eyes shine with mischief.

  The next scene shows the children journeying to a snow laden mountain. From the wall behind them hangs a white tarp upon which the fabled peak looms in shades of brown and blue pastel. There they must face the harsh elements to retrieve another portion of what will be the sword Kalibern.

  White powder drifts from above; a fierce blizzard that sends the children sliding backwards. A howl plays over the speakers and Han points his staff at the peak of the painted mountain. I don't get to find out what happens next, unfortunately.

  Long range sensors detect a vessel at the edge of the system. Readings match our records and identify the ship as Niala's Cabin. The Cabin shows extensive battle damage and does not transmit the usual clearance codes.

  Back in the Ship-Mother's office, Desra works to establish communication with the damaged vessel. Jurer Nov watches with evident bemusement but remains out of the way. Desra repeatedly transmits directions for the Cabin to dock but receives no return confirmation. The computer predicts that the Cabin's present heading will bring it into collision with the station.

  With no way to know if the Cabin can control its course, we watch as it closes on the station. The ship slows, but not enough. It impacts in a collision that warps the structure of the docking tower. The damage, while extensive, is not immediately threatening. Bent plating and twisted support beams can be replaced later.

  Emergency repair crews rush to the scene. The entrance ramp has to be pried open; the servos operating it smoke dangerously and refuse to operate. Gold and black armor suits converge on the area, ready to assist.

  "How bad is it?" Desra sits in the command seat, questioning the first technician to make it inside the wounded ship.

  "Not as bad as the outside," replies the technician. "When we have more information, we'll let you know."

  "Understood," she replies. Deactivating the comm, she turns to Nov. "I'm going to check it out. You should come with me."