Zra sits alone in the observation booth. Arranged around him are several screens. Most show charts, presumably monitoring the various vital signs of his patient, Granny. Three screens in the center of the display show the view from hidden cameras in her cave-like room.

  "Did you receive adequate information, Zra?"

  "Yes. There was definitely an increase in brain activity and heart rate while you were speaking to her. I've also found the same pattern when reviewing my own interactions with Granny."

  "Interesting. What does it mean?"

  He chuckles, then bends over the controls. His claws move in a blur, entering his theory into the computer system even as he explains it to me. "I think that she recognizes the language. The portions of her brain that are activating have clearly defined functions, according to the old records." He looks up the camera, ears flicking. "I had to request additional clearance to even access some of this information."

  Why would the Imperium restrict access to biological information about their old allies? Even as I ask myself, I realize that their caution is valid; the Western Arm show mastery over manipulating organic systems. Giving them easy access to more would only increase their options.

  "It is well that you did. Will continuing to speak with Granny help her?"

  He answers with a complex shrug. "Nothing else we've tried has been effective. Physical therapy barely makes an impact on her charts. She shows no preferences for any feeding regimen, except brief flickers if the attendant nurse has a habit of talking to themself. We're having to make this up as we go."

  Zra heaves a sigh, then reaches out with one claw and grabs a nearly empty water bottle. He drains it and tosses it into the recycling chute. The mechanism whirrs and the empty container is whisked away.

  "The recorded number of full recoveries from tribal control are very few. Of those, nearly all were grays. The one instance of another species regaining their mental faculties, a being called Darv Ward, claimed to have spent only five days among the tribals." Zra scratches at his furred chin. "Could be that it helps her. See here?"

  With one claw he indicates a false color image of the blue scale's brain. A scale on the side indicates how the colors correlate to intensity.

  "This region also activates quite strongly. The documents Prime sent link that area to negative emotions and even pain response." He taps the desk, thinking. "I think that we should proceed. This is more activity than she's shown since arriving. If the negative response worsens, we'll switch to another treatment."

  "It's unfortunate that we don't know your other patients' languages. If it helps Granny, they too might benefit."

  Zra dips his head and continues to enter his findings into the system. "Can I ask you a question, since I've got you here?"

  "If I know the answer, Zra."

  "What's wrong with Pale? They act like nothing's happening, but I'm trained to notice these things."

  "What things?"

  "To start with, they've lost arms. The ones they do still have are smaller, too."

  Bucket shows the same symptoms. Mentioning that might reassure Zra, but it might increase his stress instead. I think back, trying to recall anything strange about the conglomerate entities' recent actions.

  "Bucket acquired a sample of the drug used by the thaumatists. It causes structural changes inside the bodies of its users. It is possible that, in an attempt to understand the drug they foolishly sampled it."

  His claws fall still. "Is that what's wrong with the Squivers? Scanning your thaumatists rarely returned meaningful data, but some of what we got might be internal structures."

  "I only offer a possibility. Both have shown too much intelligence to take such a risk."

  He laughs and says, "You always bring more problems, don't you Mos?"

  Before I can defend myself, he asks another question.

  "Jetan was in here, by the way. He wanted to know if those squiggly things the Squivers to hunt pests are venomous."

  That's actually a good question. I recall no instances of any kind of reaction to their bites, beyond simple bleeding. It is possible that other species might have an adverse reaction to the bite. There are many Mos who cannot eat byumberries, due to intense swelling of the throat and mouthparts. I detest the taste.

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  "Not in my experience. I'll have someone bring you a grelld as soon as possible."

  "That would be great. I'd like to run a few tests, find out for sure."

  "It should be simple enough. Enjoy your work, Zra."

  Going over the list of people I could ask, I keep coming back to Glia. The young Tserri might enjoy a chance to explore forbidden territory. Before I can send anyone on this errand, I'll need to request a favor of the Ship-Mother. She remains aboard the damaged vessel, but I occasionally glance at the boarding ramp. When she exits the ship, I will know.

  If she can approve a document with the necessary level of formality to appease the guards, sending future envoys into the enclave will become many times simpler. I spend a short time drawing up a suitably impressive draft, complete with copies of official seals. It lacks only the Ship-Mother's authorization.

  Of course, I add my own approval to the document. When I print it out, it will be in the form of a tight scroll. It is unfortunate that I must use paper; cured hide would be much more regal. I wonder if tsegla hide would make passable parchment but discard the idea. There aren't enough of them on the station to be a viable source of leather, anyway.

  Perhaps I take longer than I realize, for I see Eva walk down the exit ramp of the Cabin. Beside her ambles Ship-Father Dunc, with Desra and Nov a suitable distance behind them. The commanding officers are mid-conversation.

  "I might as well stay after the repairs are done."

  "Please, don't delay your schedule on my behalf," pleads Eva. Her face is dark with embarrassment.

  "Nonsense," declares the much larger male. "I'll get to spend the time with my Dunc. And besides, it'll be good to see old friends."

  "You could always visit them on Prime," she says, attempting to sway him. "They love visitors."

  "Too many greenies," he answers, waving away her offer. "Why bother, anyway, when they're coming here soon enough?"

  "Greenies, Ship-Father?"

  He jumps at the sound of my voice coming from behind a cluster of bright red flowers. Eva covers her mouth with one hand to hide a smile.

  "Green stained feet," she explains unhelpfully. Eva frowns at the older Dunc. "It's a rude term."

  "How will the greenies find out if they never leave Prime?" Dunc shrugs. "You thought it was funny a moment ago."

  "You leaping like a frightened gorcatcher was funny," admits Eva with her own shrug. "Did you need something, Mos?"

  "I do, Ship-Mother. I would like you to authorize a document giving its bearer authority to enter the Squiver enclave."

  Her tablet chimes inside her belt pouch when it receives the file. She pulls it out and looks over the document. After nodding to herself, she offers the device to Dunc.

  "Fancy," she comments. "Sure, print out a copy and I'll sign it when I get back to my office."

  "Not how I'd have done it," complains Dunc, handing the tablet back to her. "Font's hard to read."

  "What's this about anyway?"

  I quickly explain my plan to send young Glia in to purchase a grelld for Zra. "They're perfectly safe, if properly trained," I say in conclusion.

  "That's fine, I guess," answers Eva slowly. "But what happens to it when Zra's done with his tests?"

  "Ah. That problem has a solution as well. There is some small demand for the creatures as pets. I believe it will be simple to find it a home."

  "Might be worth getting a pair for myself," mutters Dunc while rubbing his chin. "They could sell well, if we can culture their eggs."

  "Should I expand the scope of young Glia's mission?"

  "No," Eva declares, slashing one hand downward. "If Dunc wants to profit off of our new guests, let him make his own contacts."

  "Don't be too hasty, Eva," objects Dunc, raising both hands. "You've already got both ends of the burrow guarded. Who else am I going to get to repair the Cabin! Let's work together on this one."

  Eva taps one foot against the deck plating, apparently deep in thought. Behind her, Desra attempts to hide her amusement. Dunc watches, brow creased, as Eva draws out the moment. Her demands, when she declares them, leave him momentarily stunned.

  "Give us twenty percent of any future sales of grelld, and you can have access. I also expect you to pay Glia a significant bonus, since she's the one doing all the work."

  "Don't forget all of Zra's efforts," adds Desra. "Since I assume you'll want any relevant medical information we can give you?" She reveals her many sharp teeth in what might be intended as a disarming smile but comes across as very threatening.

  They can finish negotiations on their own. I, meanwhile, have some official paperwork to print out. It might also be a good idea to inform Glia that she has a job to do. The last I take the time to listen to is an indignant response from the visiting Ship-Father.

  "Ten percent would be too generous of me. It's my technology that makes selling frozen embryos viable."

  I hope to find the youth at her father's garage. Inside the shop, a pair of Tserri mechanics take abuse from a group of tourists. The three Selber wear slick black outfits consisting mostly of synthetic leather straps. The crests of two have been styled into elaborate braids held together with countless white beads. The third is completely bald.

  "Do we gotta wait for? Just print out a new actuator for Harli here and we'll be on our way," insists the bald tourist.

  The customer in question, Harli, nods his head. His braids rattle: the movement causes the plastic hair beads to strike each other. Some of the beads bear scarlet designs of stylized stars and planets. The third chuckles in a vain attempt to be menacing, causing his own beads to rattle. This one's plastics are marked with the same symbols but drawn in black.

  "You two go on break," announces Glian from atop the stairwell. He walks down, a steaming beverage held in one claw and two others cradling a heavy tool of great complexity. "What's the problem, friends?"

  The two mechanics remove their toolbelts and hang them on a wall mounted rack on their way to the break room. Their attitude is completely different, hiding snickers rather than smiling in a servile fashion. They never once glance back at the three unlucky troublemakers as they leave.

  It looks like I have enough time to warn Zra to expect more customers soon. I'll wait to see how badly Glian beats them before alerting security. There's a chance these three will be able to walk themselves to the hospital.

  "And we expect a discount," declares the bald tourist, taking a step closer to Glian. "Furball."

  Never mind, I'd better find someone to carry these idiots to the healers.