Reaching one end branch of his prehensile tongue into the pouch hanging around his neck, Shawn pulls out a compact device.

  The object is cylindrical and extends to nearly a ubit in length. Shawn operates it with another end of its triple tongue, pressing pressure pads to activate the electronic tool. He waves it around, taking readings of the station. It clicks and hums in his long tongue, making an electronic record of everything.

  Ventilation, power conduits, water processing, he scans everything within reach. The others in the cramped room are happy to let him wander out.

  "Why did the firelight have to come with us?" Jurer Es, in another of her foul moods, slaps at the cubic block of stone on Bucket's workbench. "They hurt my brains."

  Jurer Zi and Somner Zek silently signal agreement with their grumpy companion, though with less agitation. Zi turns the cube, surveying the pattern etched upon it from another angle, then responds, "He left, so don't worry about it. We can finally concentrate so let's finish this project."

  Each of the three consumes the contents of a vial drawn from their bandoleers. Watching quietly until now, Bucket speaks. Their mechanical voice cannot express emotion, but the movements of their many bodies can simulate the emotional cues of my own kind with surprising accuracy.

  "Please, elaborate. Describe the nature of the pain?"

  The entity shapes their arms to resemble a sort of morbid curiosity seldom seen outside of hardened Somner, too long on the front lines. Perhaps recognizing the similarity, it is Zek who answers.

  "We each are the physical manifestation of higher dimensional existences." She pauses, rethinking her words. "Or the physical extension of multidimensional processes. Most of us are almost invisible, powerless upon the few other levels we can potentially sense and interact with."

  The conglomerate entity signals their understanding. They listen attentively to the jargon dense explanation, though most of it washes harmlessly over and past me. The basic idea she attempts to explain is that the aviaformes possess a natural defense that most beings lack, that irritates beings capable of sensing higher dimensional frequencies.

  Bucket then expresses an interest in how thaumatists can detect these frequencies at all.

  "With this," she taps one of the vials strapped to her torso. "Dust that allows us to see."

  Bucket reaches a single arm closer to Somner Zek. The tiny claws built into the end of this unit flex as it draws closer to the Somner. She doesn't resist, going so far as to draw her tendrils clear of the questing arm.

  The arm closes around the vial and draws it out of her bandoleer. Once the glass container is free, Zek returns to where she can oversee the other dust eaters. She acts as if the encounter had not just occurred.

  Bucket draws the vial of dust closer to their center of mass. Their many arms circle closely around the container, scanning it with all the senses available to the biomechanical entity. Long bodies slither over each other to get closer.

  "Don't be a fool," Es shouts, startling the many armed Bucket. "You see what it does to us, don't do that to yourself!"

  Zek spreads her many tendrils menacingly. She puffs up, attempting to reinforce her authority over the other two. "We have orders."

  "We are not to give-"

  "Correct," interrupts Zek. "I gave nothing. We are also not supposed to interfere if outsiders acquire the dust, unless asked. This Bucket has yet to ask for guidance, yet you interfere."

  Es deflates, drawing her tendrils close to herself and lowering herself closer to the floor. Zi too assumes a submissive posture, mollifying Zek somewhat.

  Meanwhile, Bucket continues to tighten their bodies into a complex knot around the thaumatist drug. If they were in the command room, I would be able to tell what types of scans they take, but this is not possible so far from my ability to sense. I'll have to ask for their data later, if they survive.

  They then transmit a radio message, directed at me. Bucket wants me to have a dronefeather come down to their workshop. I send confirmation, as well as a request for their scans of the dust, since we're trading favors. They promise to provide a detailed report once they can compile one.

  Fine. I can wait, if it must be. The flying automaton doesn't take long to reach Bucket's workshop, though I startle a few Tserri getting it there. Shouts of 'I told you they worked for the government,' follow the dronefeather on its flight. It simply isn't possible to keep it only in the areas stonefeathers normally occupy and still reach the destination.

  Or perhaps my opening doors remotely to allow the flying device to move through different areas gives away its artificial nature.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  "Good. Take this to Pale," commands Bucket, holding out the vial for the drone to take in its mechanical feet.

  The three thaumatists pretend not to hear Bucket ordering the device, focusing on their work. Zi and Es inscribe the small blocks, attaching runic arrays to each square surface. I notice that the Jurers prod Zek with their upper tendrils when the dronefeather flies away, carrying the vial. She prods them back and they all continue working.

  No longer distracted by the drug, Bucket directs their attention to the completed cubes.

  The stones glow slightly in higher light frequencies, invisible to most creatures, along the embedded runes. To test the efficiency of the cubes, Bucket first sets up a series of devices designed to measure local radioactive particles. Zek draws closer to the entity, observing their testing equipment closely.

  Then, once everything is in place, they remove one of the radioactive crystals from the shielded storage where they normally keep it. The entity's devices register a brief burst of ionizing particles when the shielding first deactivates, but quickly displays a decrease in energy levels. The stone cubes, right next to the detectors, glow brighter in their invisible light. They continue to do so until Bucket returns the crystal to safe storage.

  "Satisfied?"

  "For now," confirms Bucket.

  Zek signals her understanding, as well as gratitude.

  Pictures of a stonefeather grasping a glass container as it soars through industrial areas that the creatures normally avoid get spread around the comm network.

  It is then that I notice that Han is not present. Nearby cameras also fail to locate the Tserri youth, so I expand my search.

  I find him in a small park, watching from a bright green bench as sba chase nightsingers around. The scaled and feathered creatures leap after the tiny detrivores, squawking loudly when the shiny black vermin get away.

  Sitting beside him is Shawn, who continues to wave around his portable scanner. Currently the aviaforme is as fascinated with the sba as young Han. The pair watch together as two of the small creatures squabble over a gor, each pulling upon a different chitinous leg. A third creature joins the scuffle, kicking and squawking. Brown and white feathers scatter across the grass.

  Han laughs, pointing with one claw. Shawn trills melodiously, capturing images to take back with him.

  Their fun gets interrupted when three male Tserri approach. They wear the loose trousers and long belt currently in fashion, yet their torsos are clad in archaic leather armor. Each bears distinctive scrollwork, though all have a similar fur pattern. To a one, they are dark orange with white stripes across their face.

  The newcomers move menacingly, with one of their horned creatures held on a leash. It strains to reach the Shawn, sharp hooves digging into the dirt. One of the Tserri, larger than the others, scowls, wrinkling the white stripe of fur that crosses his eyes.

  "Little trouble, I know you," the leader states in the heavy accent of the mountain tribe. "You killed my cousin's tsegla. Got him in a yellow suit, you."

  The other two mutter in low voices, nudging each other with their lower arms. Shawn jumps from the bench and backs away but does not flee as I would expect. He stays, though he looks very nervous.

  "My suit's yellow, too," answers Han, staring back at the taller male. He taps one gray and yellow metal boot against one leg of the bench.

  The thug leader growls but comes no closer.

  "You don't wanna try it," warns Han. He might not have his laser weapon, but he does not need it against foes so lightly equipped.

  The beaten copper knives they carry cannot pierce Han's armor. Nor will their own leather, even with studs of worked copper, suddenly prove capable of protecting them from the youth's industrial alloy encased claws. It is only risk of harm to Shawn, I think, that keeps the youth from attacking.

  Still, the three leather clad Tserri begin to back away. When Han doesn't pursue them, they quickly retreat. Claws shaking in anger are the worst threat they present as the three flee. Only the beast, the tsegla, shows any sign of aggression as its owners drag it away.

  Han, who doesn't look quite so small to me anymore, slumps where he sits. I wonder how many seasons until his adulthood ceremony should be preformed, almost anticipating the event.

  "Sorry," says Shawn, shaking slightly. He walks back around the bench, trying to calm his plumage. "Reflex."

  Han slashes the apology away. Patting the open spot next to him he grunts, "Sit. The witches don't expect us back any time soon, and I'm not done yet. Are you?"

  "N-no, but sitting sounds good," answers the aviaforme as he collapses into the metal seat.

  They sit until they both return to a calm state, barely speaking to one another.

  "Shit. This isn't fun anymore," grumbles Han. He stands up with a huff.

  Shawn rises as well. "Would you be willing to show me the aquariums?"

  "The water farms?" Han's ears perk up. "That could be alright. Watch 'em swimming around."

  "Oh, that too," replies Shawn as he swaps out a storage chip in his scanner for another from his neck bag.

  The pair make their way to the newest installation, chatting as they walk. They draw a few stares from curious station residents, but are left alone. Probably for the best. The closest they come to further trouble comes halfway to their destination.

  A roving band of orphans activates the aviaforme's fear display when they rush by, joking about their teacher's graying crest. Shawn looks like a flaming gas leak, dancing in place as his light azure plumage vibrates. The youths laugh as they dash towards their daily classes, unaware of the mayhem they're causing.

  When they get to the large breeding tanks Han marvels at clear vats full of very young redfin and bright sprouts of transplanted kelp fronds. He points out where tiny clusters of banded bivalves cling to the rocky bottom and shows the feathered visitor the kalamar eggs resting in a cluster of fronds.

  Shawn nods, replying distractedly. He focuses more upon the mechanisms keeping the water flowing through the contained ecosystem. His scanning device never stops moving.

  The next tank over, containing a near copy of the former but with larger bluegills instead, draws Han's attention and he rushes over. He chatters excitedly about the differences between the two aquatic species. When he sees that the bivalves are of a spotted variety, he begins another spirited explanation.

  The last tank finally gets a reaction from the feathered alien. He actually drops his recorder, which Han dives to rescue.

  Inside the third vat swim freshly hatched squivers. Their many legs kick as pink swarms of them move through the water. Shawn falls to the ground, vestigial wings beating against the stone as he laughs.

  "I know what dish I wish to try while we're here," cackles Shawn when he recovers.

  Han bears his own version of an evil grin.

  Disgusting. They still resemble too closely my own spawn to feel comfortable with.