Eva sits quietly; one leg crossed over the other.

  "These improvements," explains Donna, gesturing at the main screen, "won't require any extensive construction or rewiring project. We can have the workers come in and apply them directly without interfering with any of our existing systems."

  "Radiation shielding, heating, light. There are so many applications, with their uses being limited only by the amount of surface space available," I add, speaking into the brief pause.

  "Secondary power storage?"

  "Good question!" Donna smiles broadly as I switch the display. "Not only storage, but we can have them install arrays to provide small amounts of energy to the system." Now the screen shows power usage by area, with areas with greater demand in darker reds and lesser in pale pink.

  "We estimate a five percent decrease in strain upon these systems," continues Donna. I highlight the sector around the primary docking tower. "Provided that adequate surfaces can be found to safely bear the runes."

  She goes on, describing the defensive applications as well as intimating that it would be a potential way to build familiarity with the Spanless Empire. Eva listens in her chair, listening but not commenting. It is hard to tell what she might be thinking when Donna finishes the presentation.

  We wait to see what she decides. Donna stands in a relaxed yet ready stance and casts her gaze around the room slowly, like a hunter waiting on prey to spring from dense foliage.

  Eva adjusts her uniform, clearly enjoying herself if the small smirk she attempts to hide is any indication.

  "Hm. Alright. Let me think about it," answers the Ship-Mother. She taps a finger on her desk. "Send these plans to Bucket. If they think there's potential here, we'll move forward with your proposed changes. On a small, cautionary trial run."

  "Glad that's out of the way," mutters Donna. In a louder voice she continues, "I've spoken with the chosen group. Benn took some convincing, but the others were eager for a chance to explore."

  Eva nods, almost absently. She brushes some imagined dust from her sleeve. "And Zsuchus?" She asks as if she is uncaring of the answer, but the slight tensing of her neck muscles gives away her interest.

  "Eager to fly," answers Donna. Her left ear quivers minutely. "I'm thinking of making him team leader."

  "Really?" The Ship-Mother looks up. "Not Benn Pink?"

  Donna nods confidently. "Zsuchus is the most committed, I think. All the others have their own reasons for joining the team, but he's the one I'm most confident actually cares about the project. He has the experience to be a valuable recruit for any passing ship and he knows it and still seems to think this is his best option."

  The pilot is young, but his experience training the many Tserri pilots in the system has only made his skills greater. His only real chance for further promotion, in my opinion, lies outside of the system. Many seasons from now, when the proposed shipyard is complete, his options will be unlimited. Until then, he languishes at Kalibern, one pilot among many. It takes no great skill to make the tame trips from Honus to Kalibern.

  "I also think that it would be more efficient to allow the more," she twirls one claw in a slow circle, "scientific members of the team to focus on the artifact. Leadership will keep Zsuchus too busy to cause trouble while freeing the others from distractions."

  At this the Ship-Mother chuckles. "I wouldn't describe Grita as scientific, but she works hard." She shifts in the oversized chair. "Alright. Anything else you needed? I've got a meeting with Pack Leader Gelen later, and I'd like to sneak a meal in before."

  "That should be everything," confirms Donna. "Thanks, Eva."

  Eva waves one hand before rising. She has to make a little hop to reach the floor. Donna pretends not to notice. A chair capable of holding Yosip's heavy form is much too large for the far daintier Ship-Mother. Since she seems unwilling to use station resources on herself, I put in a minor repair order to exchange her seat for one more appropriate.

  The two officers leave, each for their own destination. On her way out, the Ship-Mother places a final order, authorizing the next set of expansions.

  The rocky body of Kalibern provides nearly everything necessary for manufacturing. Currently, the station exchanges most of what is refined here for finished goods and food stuffs. With food production finally keeping pace with need, and the many idle claws available, it is now possible to begin focusing on creating industrial infrastructure.

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  Near the secondary docking tower, there is still available space for factories. Additional recycling plants are also needed, to supply the material hungry manufacturing industry. Even when the entirety of Kalibern is hollow, still there will be waste to recycle. Food wrappers, old clothing, broken electronics, and many other things are constantly ending up at the current facilities.

  Bucket, many biomechanical arms writhing at his workstation, is busy designing a more efficient system to sort the refuse. I look over their work before disturbing them with yet another assignment. A series of enzyme baths designed to break chemical bonds paired with centripetal separators, sequentially removing lighter elements until only materials that can be sorted magnetically remain. The design seems complete, so I decide that this is a good time to interrupt.

  "Interesting system, Bucket," I announce, startling the conglomerate entity. Their many sub-bodies whip around until several lock onto the speaker I use. "Sorry to startle you."

  A series of lights flash along their many limbs in a pattern not too unlike their amusement signal when communicating through radio transmissions. It gladdens me that the entity continues to maintain their continual good cheer.

  "My condolences," the entity says in a mechanical monotone. They clearly have not yet grown an arm capable of the more refined speech Pale now uses. "Loss of appendage is always difficult," Bucket concludes, drawing in their limbs and making them droop momentarily.

  It takes a moment for me to understand, but I realize they are referring to the destruction of Minn. "The 'shell was useful," I agree. "I hope to have a replacement soon."

  I briefly allow myself to imagine a battle shell wandering the station, repurposed carapace dense with runic energy. The thought amuses me. I can imagine one of the locals challenging it to a duel, thinking it an invading warrior. Best to continue using Glian's current bipedal designs.

  Bucket laughs visibly again before stretching their limbs out once more. "You require assistance?"

  "Consultation," I clarify. "I wish to contract the installation of a few defensive runic arrays in key parts of the station, as well as some refinements to the energy grid."

  "Squiver runes?"

  "Indeed."

  Bucket is quite perceptive, though I cannot imagine them knowing other sources of magitech. I send them the plans for the arrays.

  "Approved," announces the entity. "Provide data and allow observation. This process might be useful," they conclude, already returning to their work.

  "Excellent. I'll let Eva know. Thank you."

  Bucket waves one metallic limb higher than the rest in clear dismissal. That's fine, they have much to occupy their time. I do as well and for that reason do not let the rude behavior bother me. No, there are other things that cause me much more concern.

  "Mos Denn, bless this warrior," intones the priestess.

  She stands surrounded by friends and family within the Laceweaver Row community center. Next to her is a young male, thick with muscles under his orange fur. While the priestess dresses in long ceremonial robes, the warrior youth wears only a short leather skirt. He nervously clutches a long bone dagger in one claw.

  Her words are repeated by those around her in a low chant. Almost hidden by the crowd, I spot the frail form of Jetanda, watching with a grim look on her face. I fear they'll keep this up until I acknowledge them in some way. Embarrassment floods me, but I cannot bear to watch them pray any longer. The youth also seems highly uncomfortable. It would be an act of kindness to end his suffering.

  I dim the lights in the hall. The chanting stops, cutting off raggedly in the sudden darkness. Quickly, before they can recover, I set the lights above the central pair to maximum illumination.

  The gathered Tserri gasp, but the priestess seizes the opportunity. She shouts, "You have been blessed, Jettan!"

  The warrior stands straighter, a smile lighting his face. Around him, friends and family cheer for the youth. I return the lighting to normal settings, hoping to calm them, but they only cheer louder. I wish they would stop.

  The crowd closes around him. The priestess draws back quietly, arms raised, allowing Jettan his moment. One by one the gathered Tserri embrace him, whispering encouragements in his ear.

  When Jetanda takes her turn to embrace the youth, he whispers excitedly, "Gran, did you see?"

  All four arms around him, she whispers back, "He didn't have to do that, you know. He rarely answers prayers." Her graying face is practically buried in his shoulder. I have to apply extreme filtering techniques to remove the noise of the crowd to make her words intelligible.

  Jettan laughs, squeezing the elder tightly before releasing her. She lifts one claw warningly, pointing at the camera. The warrior follows her gaze, then nods seriously.

  "Thank you, Spirit."

  Another round of cheering causes me to worry. It is with relief that I watch the crowd turn towards the attached kitchen, from which younger Tserri carry trays of roasted meats and baked vegetables. The priestess leads Jettan and his grandmother to places of honor at a table draped with colorful cloths.

  Plate after plate are piled before the young warrior to sample before being passed around the tables. The redfin looks especially delightful, with a garnish of kelp and Tserri herbs. Laughter and conversation fills the hall. It's hard to accurately guess anything else they might say, beyond cheers of the youngster's name spontaneously rising up.

  Jettan will be joining the security force, starting the next morning. One of the very first to reach full adulthood while aboard the station, he is the first to receive a ceremony like this. I fear that I will be repeating this performance many times in the coming seasons.

  The thought fills me with mixed feelings. I do not wish nor deserve a place of reverence among these people, yet it clearly fills some need within them to have me act so for them. I am not unused to onerous duty, and this is no more distasteful than any other task I have completed while serving the Spanless Empire.

  In all honesty, it feels good. Among my own people, while honored, I knew that I was nothing but a living weapon. Feared and tolerated, but not loved. Here, I am so much more. These people truly need me, and more, they seem truly appreciative. I think I would gladly continue to embarrass myself for them.