"And you think I'm the one most qualified for this?"

  I don't blame Donna for sounding incredulous. Her posture as she paces in front of Eva's desk is stiff and tense. The armor she wears slows her movements none at all, so used to the weight is she. Only her head remains unarmored, helmet sitting upon Eva's desk.

  "In complete honesty, nobody is," answers the Ship-Mother, running a slender finger along the unworn helmet. "You might not be aware, but finding precursor sites in any kind of recognizable state is rare. Finding them on inhabited worlds, even more so."

  On every screen in the office are maps of the crater. One portion in particular receives most of the focus. There, jutting from the melted bedrock of the world, an irregularly shaped ceramic structure can clearly be seen. Spherical surfaces are visible between gaps in the tortured stone.

  "But why me?"

  "Because I can trust you. You don't owe anyone from the old trading companies any favors, so I can believe any reports you send me."

  "There are others," begins Donna, but Eva cuts her off.

  "Yes, there are. I want you to pick a team to send down to the dig site. You know the Matron's preferences, but otherwise you can have anyone that doesn't outrank you, on my authority. You have the training I need to keep the focus on what we can learn, not on how much profit can be squeezed out of it."

  Donna glares at the much smaller officer but seems to be considering her options.

  "Denn, your thoughts, please?"

  "Of course, Ship-Mother. My own people can trace much of their current power to looting the remains of progenitor race tombs," I answer unabashedly. "Though, I might recommend caution. Anything capable of destroying a civilization of such power often is far too resilient to the ravages of time."

  "I meant about Donna's qualifications," clarifies Eva, adjusting her uniform slightly.

  If possible, Donna's glare intensifies. Eva Chel, however, merely smiles with cloying sweetness while awaiting my response.

  "Donna is an experienced leader, maintaining order in her assigned sectors. The other traits necessary for this task are adaptability and integrity, I believe." Eva nods in agreement, so I continue. "Other members of the security force accept 'gifts' from station residents in exchange for neglecting to patrol certain districts. You have never accepted one of these gifts." It seems she was unaware of this illicit agreement, as her defiant glare transforms into an indignant scowl.

  "Who's been accepting bribes?"

  Eva shakes her head. "Later. Go on, Mos."

  "Right. You're also well trained in the operation and repair of the vacuum suits that we suspect may be necessary for navigating the inside of the uncovered structure. The atmosphere inside may be poisonous, or some other unknown hazard may lurk inside."

  "But I have to command this team from up here, to keep the peace. There's more you're not telling me. "

  Eva's smile falters momentarily. Donna's guess is slightly too accurate.

  "We've asked a few tourists about their experiences with security," Eva adds reluctantly. "And most had only positive things to say about you." She covers her embarrassment by picking up and examining Donna's helm.

  It would be more unusual if the rest of the security team were in as high regard. Yosip's selection criteria was to appoint those most likely to cause trouble if left unsupervised to the prevention and suppression of said trouble. The fact that Donna is so professional is an anomaly.

  Donna's ears lay back against her bare head, twitching with the tides of her thoughts. It might be possible that she plans some new objection, but Eva gives her no time to voice it.

  Raising one slim hand, Eva retakes command of the conversation. "Zsuchus is my first recommendation. He's been pestering me nonstop, and I want you to take him."

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  Donna shakes free of her inner thoughts. Unexpectedly, she chuckles, perhaps at her own brief encounters with the pilot. "Keep him busy, you mean? Alright, who else?"

  The discussion continues, but it is clear the project is under control. I check in at the new hospital and find that all is proceeding smoothly. Satisfied, I then access the cameras of the former. There I come across a conversation in progress.

  Sitting in the old clinic, supervising the removal of the last of the medical equipment, Pale works over three separate data tablets. Their many arms move quickly, comparing the information on the devices.

  With them are Benn Pink and Mimba, two nurses working the same shift.

  "Where do you want these boxes?" Benn's arms are full of packed away files. His oily crest hangs limply, and his uniform is disgraceful. Stains and wrinkles ruin the professional aura he is meant to exude, making him look more like a grifter borrowing an old suit to perpetuate their latest scam. Tired lines crease his face from four consecutive shifts.

  Pushing a wheeled cart, heavy with equipment is Mimba. She scratches at her russet fur absently as she works with one arm. Her green and blue uniform is immaculate, the swirling pattern undisturbed by stains of any kind.

  "You know where you're going," answers Pale. "Asking for each item you remove is unnecessary."

  "Yeah, you say that," protests the gray nurse. "Then Zra'll get something that should've gone to Bucket or something because the last guy through here used the wrong label and I'll be at fault for not confirming it with you."

  Mimba chuckles. "Quite the optimist, yeah?"

  "No, don't act like I'm crazy," Benn complains, then yawns widely.

  "Not crazy," she retorts. "Sleep deprived."

  Pale lifts an arm bristling with sensors to examine the nurse. "Go get some rest, Benn," decrees the medic, lowering their arm back into the writhing knot of their main mass.

  It is then that I notice that the conglomerate entity looks further enhanced than the last time I had observed them closely. Two additional arms are present, at least one of which is surely responsible for their enhanced verbal communication abilities. The entity's speech is much improved. Many of the arms are also longer, increasing the entities reach greatly.

  "We can take care of this for a while," Mimba states confidently when the tired Benn starts to protest.

  "Fine," agrees Benn, too exhausted to fight. He sets down the boxes, stifling another yawn.

  Mimba shakes her head as she watches the other stumble through the clinic. She slows her pace, keeping close to him until he reaches the exit. She has to remind him to set the boxes he holds down before he can walk out with them.

  In the main lobby she unloads her cart. Not all of the equipment is to be removed to the same place. Pieces needing repair or upgrade form a pile to await Bucket's attention. Storage drives containing personal data pertaining to individual residents are to be copied and archived. Some heavily damaged or outdated components will be sent to be recycled.

  A paltry amount of credits ensures a constant pool of workers, each hoping to earn an extra pittance carrying the packages through the busy station. One of them, a thin Tserri dressed in vertical stripes that matched her onyx fur and emerald eyes, arrives to volunteer, and Mimba registers her for deliveries to Bucket.

  After listening to Mimba explain the task, and receiving her credits, the dark-furred worker picks up a heavy bundle of components and asks, "Is it true they captured a blue scale? What's that even mean?"

  Mimba looks around to make sure there are none who might overhear before answering, "You'll find out soon enough. Yeah, they did, though she's not very talkative." She shrugs expressively, disappointing her audience when she continues, "Dunno why, but the grays all treat her like an honored ancestor."

  "What, cause she's old?"

  "Like, gran's gran, old, yeah," answers the nurse with a laugh. "Even Pale acts funny if somebody mentions the blue scale."

  The courier nods her head, thinking over the news as she leaves on her first delivery.

  "Don't be spreading any gossip, though," cautions Mimba.

  The other only laughs over her shoulder as she hurries off.

  To me, the fact that not a single package has yet been reported lost or stolen says much on the improved state of the average resident. Vandalism is still a common occurrence, but now it is often graffiti rather than destruction or theft of infrastructure. There are many things that they still complain of, bringing numerous petitions to the Ship-Mother, but even the poorest can expect to eat when they wish, if not what.

  The residents deserve most of the praise. They are the workers installing piping and ventilation, the farmers growing food and tending tanks of sea life, and they are responsible for the creation of hundreds of small industries that together make the station a livable place.

  On a life supporting world, they would thrive without help. Cast adrift in the hollow rock that is Kalibern, they of course must depend on the technological superiority of the Selberfeld Imperium to support them. And yet, they do more than just accept this assistance, they learn from it in order to become more independent.

  I wonder if my people were once like the Tserri. Chaotic. Free thinking and expressive. A momentary flare of jealousy overtakes me, but it dissipates quickly.

  Because I then picture these people having to defend themselves against the Southern Tribals. Even with the new tools and knowledge that they possess, they stand no chance of resisting even a solitary young chieftain.

  There is little I can do but prepare for the inevitable. My dronefeathers, now numbering five, continue to infiltrate the flocks of stonefeathers that infest the station. Glian has a new bipedal robot under construction. And with Sba City nearby, it may be possible to have some runic defenses installed.

  Ship-Mother Eva Chel will need to approve the project, but that shouldn't be an issue.