I do not regret allowing young Glia this opportunity. It frees me to concentrate upon other tasks, such as preparing for alien guests.

  Our clinic, packed with recovering burn victims undergoing dermal regenerative treatments, is first. Zra sits in the break room, enjoying a reheated meal with a male nurse and gossiping about their coworkers. I wait for a break in their conversation before I speak. This is more important than which nurses are sharing personal quarters, but it is rude to interrupt.

  "I'm sorry to burden you with this, but six alien patients will be arriving soon. Matron Bell continues to insist that her planet will not host conquerors, so that makes this our problem."

  "It's more than that," adds the nurse with a knowing sigh. "We've got three of their better doctors sedated two doors down. Out on a company hiking trip and didn't get the warning to find shelter in time. Another pair of them just left, along with a few secretaries."

  Honus cannot boast many doctors, being primarily home primarily to farmers and merchants. Even losing a few severely limits their ability to handle a major medical emergency.

  Zra accepts the news that the newcomers will primarily be his responsibility with a weary smile. Even with Pale and the cadre of nurses to assist, the head medic is always overworked. The nurse, whose name tag identifies him as Quinn, pulls out a data tablet to make notes as I give them what information I have.

  "We're going to need dedicated facilities for each one," explains Zra. "Monitors built to accommodate different body structures and maybe some information about what kind of beings we'll be hosting."

  That last is rather important, I think. "Let me find out. When I know more, I'll contact you again. Until then, I'll see about getting your operation moved to somewhere with more room."

  "The sooner you can, the sooner we can start working," Zra says, gathering up the empty trays.

  I leave them to finish their break. They need the respite, however brief.

  The work crews are currently hollowing out a refuse heap on the surface. The space is supposed to be put towards warehouses, but it would be perfect for a new medical facility. The old location can be cleaned out and used as storage instead. I check in on Glia while drawing up some basic floor plans using a program that Eva had installed.

  Though she is not preforming the task as I had envisioned, still Glia is handling the situation well. The casteless soldiers she plays guide to show every sign of amusement.

  I watch as she follows the group out of a rundown shop which specializes in unusual trinkets. While the shop itself sees little traffic, the owner supplies several smaller vendors who operate out of the docking tower market. My records indicate that the elderly proprietor of the shop makes a tidy profit.

  "Now that you've got some money," the youngster asks once the group is back on the street, "what do you want to spend it on?"

  "Food," answers Lubi only moments ahead of another soldier who says, "Alcohol."

  Glia laughs. "And music, too? Yeah, come on."

  She leads them from the out of the way shop supplier, and they follow her as if she were their general. Their group draws a lot of attention, but most are content merely to watch. The group stops at the different food carts along the way and enjoy the fried crawlers and batter encrusted meat slices.

  At one point a group of orphans, for reasons known only to them, decide to make a game of running in circles around the soldiers and their guide. The orphans laugh as they dodge between the long limbs subtly marked with burns and bite scars.

  Lubi and his fellows seem unbothered, though they slow their pace so as not to inadvertently harm the youngsters. Glia is much less amused, shaking her claws at the laughing miscreants and growling impotent threats. The orphans laugh louder at her exertions, but leave when nearby adults begin to draw near.

  Once they're able to travel freely again, the squad makes it to their destination without further incident.

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  "I'm not normally allowed inside," admits Glia, waving one upper arm at the sign.

  'Nevrin's Discount Liquors' proclaims the sign. I know this place! They're one of my best customers, always willing to buy large batches of anything I brew. Lucky soldiers.

  Lubi and his fellows make noncommittal noises as she ushers them inside. There is no camera within the premises, but all sales are tracked through the station's comm network. I wait impatiently to see what they purchase but am not idle. My designs for the new hospital progress nicely.

  The amount of time they spend within seems excessive. The store doesn't carry a varied enough stock to make such a decision so difficult, but there may be other reasons for the delay. Casteless soldiers like Lubi are rarely presented so many options; perhaps they are suffering from overload of choice.

  A data packet sent from the establishment catches my interest. I open the files expectantly, only to be overcome with disappointment. They purchase only one bottle of wine. A cheap brand brewed by a local group of disabled veterans.

  Well.

  I cannot fault them for choosing to support fellow soldiers in their retirement. It is commendable, really. Besides, I do not truly need the income, it is simply a way for me to feel like a part of the community. An indulgence, yes, but one I do not regret lavishing my spare time on.

  Glia comes out with the heavy bottle in her arms, smiling broadly. The soldiers each tap the bottle, then the youngster's head, with an upper tendril before continuing their tour. This treatment only causes her to grin more widely.

  I hope their inexperience dealing with children does not lead them to intoxicate Glia. A mistake I myself might have made when first exposed to these people. It is only after spending a great deal of time with them that I know that alcohol can harm an undeveloped young body, much like if acetylene were poured into a spawning pool.

  "For later," Glia promises her eager followers. She waves extravagantly to draw the attention of one of Jetanda's runners.

  The runner, after a brief negotiation, accepts the bottle and a small fee. The bright-eyed adolescent confirms the destination and starts jogging in the direction of the docking tower.

  She then takes them to another establishment wherein fine drinks may be purchased, The Blind Chief Bar. Laughing tourists stagger out, supported by locals only slightly less drunk.

  Adorning the sign next to the door, a full-sized painting of a Tserri in old-fashioned leather armor welcomes guests to walk into the wall a few ubits from the door. Round chits of glass shine mirror bright from its eye sockets and all of the chief's fangs are gleaming titanium. As if the resemblance was not already obvious, the armor is painted yellow and black.

  I wonder if Yosip knows about this place. Doubtful, it's still open.

  The floor plans I come up with are nothing extreme, but I believe them to be passable. They will of course need to be modified once we know more about the former tribals that will be arriving, but I dedicate a section to housing them. Larger than the current facilities, these plans include rooms that can be isolated easily in order to individualize the conditions within.

  With something to present to her, it is time to contact Ship-Mother Eva Chel.

  She is still in her office, reviewing water consumption reports. The live feed tanks, thankfully, function in tandem with the other filtration apparatuses, and the tenders of those tanks are currently petitioning for an expansion. The Ship-Mother carefully thinks through the pros and cons, occasionally glancing up at the main screen where a list of each is carefully presented in blocks of text. Emotions flit across her face, fast as the shifting surface of the sea.

  Eva sets down the tablet and takes a deep breath. "Mos Denn, could I get your opinion on this?"

  What excellent timing she has. I wish to speak with her anyway. Reviewing the map of the area, I'm able to see that there are only two options for expansion. Knock out a wall and take over a neighboring facility on one side or the other, or build upward, creating an entirely different facility on the exterior of the asteroid.

  "An additional, mostly isolated ecosystem would be my recommendation. It'll need heavy shielding, but I suggest we place it right here," I bring up a map on a small section of the main screen and light up a sector of bare rock. "If one group gets sick or their food plants die off or something, the other site can be used to reintroduce uncontaminated samples of our target biosphere."

  The location I indicate is above a nexus of power cables and water lines. Service tunnels under the surface provide an ideal place to connect new tanks. Nodding her head, Eva agrees.

  "And this location," the proposed site of the new hospital, "is the ideal spot for an upgraded medical facility. I've got some tentative plans right here for you, as well."

  She nods again, but adds, "Find a way to add a veterinarian to the layout and I'll have a look. There've been complaints on that front as well."

  Might as well add a service bay for biomechanical devices and organisms while altering the plans. Pale, or parts of them, must occasionally fall ill as well, I think.

  "While we're discussing the hospital, it would be useful to know just what kinds of beings are going to be living there."

  Eva sorts through the stack of tablets upon her oversized desk. She smiles triumphantly when she finds the desired device and holds it momentarily before continuing. It slides into a hidden slot on her side of the desk. Once there it connects to the wider network.

  The files it contains are small. That isn't too surprising; there are so many species under the sway of the Southern Tribals that obtaining information about any one specific race is a daunting task.