Yosip warily leads the trio of dust eaters down the ramp. Each footstep clangs when it lands. His body is tense, ready to leap at any moment. Yosip's mechanical gaze shifts around continually, scanning the passing groups of shoppers and laborers with professional paranoia.

  Somner Zek moves with casual ease, unlike her guide. Her green robes swirl around her as she shifts to gawk at the colorful displays.

  The other two, wearing the gray robes of the Jurer caste, keep close together. Any loud or sudden noise causes them to cringe deeper into their encompassing robes.

  A light blue feathered aviaforme also follows them at a slight distance. His white vest and pants are made of some synthetic material. Not a Don then but some other rank within their society. A pouch hanging from a strap around his neck bulges with odd shapes.

  "We'll stop by the command level, first," announces Yosip. "Then we'll see where you lot are needed."

  He waits for acknowledgement, and nods when he receives it. "Good. Stay close, and watch your pockets," jokes the former Supply-Master. His black zelsilk vest and trousers shimmer as he leads them through the busy tunnels.

  Yosip relaxes noticeably when Han runs up out of the crowd, grinning mischievously. Even in his uniquely designed suit, his lack of height causes him to easily get lost from sight. Clutched in his upper claws is a package.

  Han offers the parcel to Yosip, who takes it with a frown. I focus on the package. It bears a label announcing the name of the product. A local birpa company's offering, sold out of a popular shop. The logos are bright, cheerily stylized Tserri faces. I see the problem. These are anda root flavor.

  Han laughs at the gray officer's scowling face, since Yosip hands out the bottles anyway. The young prankster opens his and takes a long drink.

  Yosip opens his with a weary sigh and takes a much more modest drink. The glass clinks against his lower jaw. The skin around his camera eyes wrinkles at the taste.

  Zek drinks hers happily, though her companions have mixed reactions. One seems to enjoy it, taking small sips as they slide down the tunnels. The other takes only a single drink, then offers theirs to Zek. The Somner accepts it greedily, pulling it close to her body.

  The aviaforme displays the least reaction, drinking his birpa silently. His attention is entirely upon the architecture they pass. He stops in his distraction to look closer at an air vent.

  "Hey, Shawn! Keep up," yells Yosip from across the noisy tunnel.

  The blue feathered being looks up, his eyes wide. "Sorry!" He hurries to rejoin the group, startling the two Jurers when he runs up to them.

  While they take their places in custom chairs placed in front of Ship-Mother Eva Chel's desk, I'm able to observe them with my other senses. Most of them, anyway. The aviaforme remains an uncomfortably bright flame to my esoteric senses.

  Yosip's limbs bear enhancements that draw energy into them and convert it into a protective field. Doubtless to protect him from exposure to radiation, though he also bears runes that can handle much greater levels of energy. Good. He deserves to wear the runes of a warrior.

  Zek's insides are a complicated mess, but in comparison to her companions, she is a well built construction. One in particular causes me distress. Her brain is studded with foreign growths that glow with thermal energy. The heat output increases as I watch, and the Jurer turns, fixing her primary eyes upon the panel that hides me from sight. White film covers her primary eyes.

  "Rude," she mutters, much to Zek's amusement.

  Eva snorts, thinking the comment directed at her. "Welcome to Kalibern. Thank you for agreeing to come here. We're eager to see just what you'll be doing. I admit, I'm curious." She smiles warmly at her guests. All but Yosip seem oblivious to the gesture.

  Yosip shrugs his heavy shoulders. "For this trip, they're going to focus on radiation shielding."

  The Jurer, Es if I recognize the voice, snaps her pedipalps in irritation and huffs up her torso. "We intend to focus on modular installations," she says irritably. "Stone blocks that can be moved around as your needs change."

  Nodding, the Ship-Mother gestures behind her back. I am the only one to see, so it must be a signal to me. She draws a little square with one finger, then wiggles all of the digits seemingly at random. From this I conclude she wishes me to activate the main screen for her, though why she doesn't simply ask remains an infuriating mystery.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The screen activates, showing the hazy view of Bucket's workshop. The conglomerate entity raises one sensory body, noticing the small signal light beside the device.

  "Yes, still working," the synthetic voice states before returning to the data tablets spread around them. I also turn on the only display screen still under my control in their workspace. Eva smiles sweetly at the engineer from its display.

  "So we see," she almost coos at Bucket.

  Yosip suppresses a chuckle, almost choking and startling the dust eaters.

  The various independent cable structures composing the conglomerate entity spasm in what I assume is shock. They had clearly assumed that it was I, checking in on their progress.

  "Ship-Mother," states Bucket, calming their erratic movements. "Greetings."

  Biomechanical arms extend, retrieving data tablets and sorting quickly between cryptically labeled files on their personal system.

  "Greetings," replies Eva, smiling slightly. "Is this a bad time? I have some guests that need to borrow your workshop. Do you mind sharing the space?"

  She makes another surreptitious gesture, so I split the display screen in the workshop. One half remains a real-time image of the Ship-Mother. The other is a still image of Yosip's group, which I take from the security server from their walk through Kalibern. Multiple of Bucket's sensory appendages swivel to better interpret the images. Eva's smile widens slightly.

  "Dust eaters? Send them," replies the entity. The sensory devices upon their nearly tentacular arms scan the images so closely that I play part of the unaltered security scans for them.

  Es snaps irritably, but a simple application of sound filtering programming mutes her rude noises from the transmission. Bucket likely still notices the slight alteration to the signal, but they do not indicate it in any way I recognize.

  "Wonderful," beams the Ship-Mother. "I'll have them escorted to you." She nods sharply. I take this as another signal, and end the transmission.

  She doesn't say who should escort the dust eaters, but I assume that she wants me to organize this as well. I send a message to the closest squad on patrol and they change direction.

  Eva straightens in her seat. In order to give her the same intimidating height once enjoyed by Yosip, her chair sits upon a new dais. Nothing extravagant, only half a ubit in height. It is enough that those around her do not loom over her during this meeting. I don't think she even notices, naturally assuming that others are no larger than herself in some act of supreme self-confidence.

  She keeps the delegation busy, asking questions about the process and smiling politely at the arcane jargon the thaumatists answer her with. Yosip watches with detached disinterest, occasionally trading jokes with Han and their blue feathered companion. They relax visibly when the door opens to reveal a pair from station security.

  "Wonderful. Follow these two. Yosip, could you stay behind for a bit?"

  "Sure," he grunts. "I'll join you later, kid," Yosip says, putting one metal hand upon Han's armored shoulder. "You keep this lot out of trouble, yeah?"

  "Yessir!"

  The three robed thaumatists follow the armored Tserri out. Shawn and Han follow after a final farewell to the Ship-Mother.

  When the door closes behind them, leaving the two gray officers alone, Yosip quips, "Not bad. The Squivers were impressed. You'll have to tell me how you got Denn to stay silent during the entire meeting."

  Eva snorts, and relaxes. The sudden release from stress causes her to bend over her desk and inhale loudly. She looks up with relief on her thin face.

  "I know," Yosip says mysteriously, rubbing at his nose. "You get used to it. Mostly."

  Loud guffaws from the Ship-Mother cause Yosip to slouch into his seat.

  "I never," manages Eva, between bouts of laughter, "understood why he always insists on proper ventilation."

  Yosip nods sagely. "I thought it was just a quirk, another of his odd mannerisms. Then I went to Sba City. Without proper filtration I never would have survived."

  I feel that I should be indignant, but cannot bring myself to care. In my experience, most aliens smell unpleasant. It somehow seems fitting to learn that they feel the same about my kind. Former kind, now. Regardless, having proper filtration and ventilation is important when there is no natural breeze to break up the formation of toxic chemicals in the air.

  "You look good," Eva remarks. "I like the new clothes. Think I could get something made from that material?" She reaches out, touching the loose vest Yosip wears. "Smooth," she says, smiling.

  He lets her finish examining his ceremonial garb. When she leans back in her chair he stretches his neck. It releases a loud cracking noise. I hate when he does that.

  "Sure. The aviaformes already want to try selling zelsilk. I'll let you know when they send the first shipment over."

  "Thanks."

  Awkward silence fills the room. The gentle whirring of the vents is the only sound. The two fidget in their seats until Yosip sighs heavily and says, "So what's wrong?"

  She shakes her head, denying his question. "Nothing I can't handle."

  Yosip nods. She looks at him, scrutinizing his scarred face, then nods, pleased at what she finds there.

  "I'm not going to try to take your job," Yosip says, rubbing his face with one mechanical hand. "The Squivers are treating me alright, so far."

  "Don Yosip," teases Eva, face darkening slightly.

  "Yeah. Sure, but they aren't trying to make me some holy figure."

  I share his pain. It is one thing to be respected, but to be worshipped?

  Yosip shakes his misshapen head. "Their power structure is strange, though."

  "Oh?" Eva leans on her elbows, eyes widening with interest.

  Yosip shrugs. "Yeah. Everyone is free to do whatever they want, so long as it's what's best for the group and nobody of higher rank says not to. They don't give me much direction and don't seem to care what I do."

  That's an interesting interpretation of the situation. When each individual is trained to a single purpose, they need not await orders to perform their primary function. And if a task is indeed assigned to a worker, little care is given to how the worker accomplishes it. Higher castes are not trained in menial labor and would have little useful to contribute, instead trusting that their orders will be fulfilled by those who know how best to do so.

  "If you need something to do," Eva says slyly, "Jetanda would love to speak with you."

  Yosip suffers a brief malfunction. A servo in his face begins twitching erratically, tugging the gray skin around his mouth until it looks like he's laughing silently.