Security Chief Dunc Wollen leads his squad of guards down the corridor. In the very center of the formation, Jetan holds a sealed case in his claws. The youngest member is the recipient of many envious glances from the rest of the security force as they march, but they remain professional.

  Clinging vines crawl inexorably up the rough walls around them. The plants help to purify the air as well as serving to deaden the loud footfalls of the heavily armored squad. Tiny creatures crawl along the winding stems, beneath the notice of the watchful guards.

  Another squad with Donna at its head marches down a different passage. These Tserri escort the robot Howan between them. More civilians pay heed to Donna's squad than Dunc's. It is understandable; Howan is much harder to overlook than the small metal case that Jetan carries. The mechanical biped wears, or seems to wear, standard mark five vacuum armor. Though primarily unpainted, the false suit wears a darkened visor. To the uninitiated, it must look like a criminal being escorted for deportation.

  These two groups of guards take different routes to the same location. Both teams are escorting their charges to the secondary docking tower. There waits Zsuchus in a transport shuttle.

  They arrive at close to the same time. Dunc gets there earlier, but not by much. Jetan hands off the secure package to Zsuchus just as Donna's team climbs the final ramp.

  Dunc raises one gauntleted hand in greeting. Donna returns the casual wave with one claw from across the platform. She gives a quiet order to her team then gestures for Dunc to join her. He does so with a shrug. The two walk a few paces away from the rest of the security force before opening a communications frequency between them.

  His rank permits him to set the tone of the conversation, yet Dunc allows Donna to speak first.

  "You know anything about this?"

  "I've heard rumors," confirms Dunc cagily. "Which 'this' are you referring to?"

  Donna growls low in her throat before replying. "Yeah, you know something. At least answer this, since I know you're going to play dumb otherwise. Sir. Why does the robot have the same name as my dead uncle?"

  He chuckles modestly at the complement. "Not my secret to tell, Donna. But I can say that if you really want to know, ask the person that built it."

  She nods brusquely and turns away. Her suit camera plays over the shuttle. Dunc's team is already backing away to make room for her own.

  "All right, I'll leave you to take charge of this mess," says Dunc in an attempt at casualness. "I've got to go look at a new dorm. Place I'm at's rated for three, and I'm only me."

  Donna acknowledges his weak jest before returning to oversee the loading of the shuttle. A pair of her squad come out of it, each on either end of a shroud wrapped bundle. Inside are the remains of Benn Pink.

  "Take him to the hospital," she orders. "They've got the equipment to preserve him for shipment, once we get the word."

  "Yes ma'am," the pair answers in unison and hurries off. Their burden sags between them.

  The others under her command load Howan into the shuttle. It sits between stacked crates of supplies. Tools, data tablets, portable lights, and hundreds of ubits of electrical wiring take up most of the storage space. There is little room for the automaton to move, but that is a luxury enjoyed by the living alone.

  I preform a final systems check upon Howan before Zsuchus can launch his transport. Everything seems fine. Dunc should have no trouble operating the device and I should be able to watch unobtrusively.

  Donna's suit chimes with an incoming communication. She accepts the transmission and her brother's voice comes from her suit speakers.

  "Donna, I'm not going to be able to make my shift tonight."

  "Gau shit," spits Donna. "You know I need you to keep Skint out of trouble."

  "Yeah, yeah," reples Donnan. "That's the reason we're speaking. Have Skint take off too and he can join me."

  "I'll think about it," she says. "I'll let you know."

  Donnan starts to reply but she ends the communication.

  "Mos Denn, you busy?"

  "I have time, if you need something."

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  "I do," she confirms. "Find out what that rascal's up to that he needs m-, uh, Skint's help with."

  I don't even have to check the recordings; I already know what he's planning. But it wouldn't do to spoil the surprise for her. Luckily, her order doesn't demand that I inform her directly, only that I learn myself.

  "And let Skint know he can take the next shift off."

  "Easily done," I answer her.

  "Thanks, Mos."

  "Think nothing of it."

  Skint and Donnan are already together. Both males are wearing rumpled station casual. It is clear neither expects to report to work this shift. The pair of them are at Donna's home sitting upon cushions strewn about the floor of the central room. They hold half empty birpa bottles in their claws and seem otherwise relaxed. Recordings of a local band play quietly in the background.

  I'm able to observe them through the lens of the comm terminal built into a side alcove of the room, but their expressions are hard to read from this angle. Skint's armor sits in a pile beside the front door. I access the suit and activate the built-in speakers, as well as the camera.

  "Donna agrees to let you both miss work," I announce.

  Donnan jumps in startlement at hearing my voice coming from the empty armor. Skint merely smiles.

  "Yeah," Skint declares. "I knew she would. She's too soft sometimes."

  Donnan glares at the larger Tserri before relaxing. "With you maybe."

  Skint's laughter is as large as he is, booming out and filling the whole room. He stands and offers one claw to his companion. When Donnan accepts, Skint pulls the smaller male to his feet.

  "You sure this is alright?"

  "Yeah, Skint, I told you already," Donnan assures him. "Mos, you ready with your part?"

  "Of course, Operative. I've marked a batch of bivalves for disposal. Two separate cleaners have noticed them, so I had to security lock the container." It's been gaining more attention, that a small crate of spoiled meats is under secure seal. I imagine that the rumor mongers are enjoying the speculation.

  "Good." Donnan rubs his chin with one claw. "And the bottle?"

  I pause, thus insuring dramatic effect.

  "The delivery should be at the door just about-"

  A chime at the door interrupts me. One of the youths I occasionally employ to bring completed beverages out of my auto brewery waits outside.

  Skint opens the door and exchanges a clawful of credit chits for the glass container. Entirely unnecessary; I pay the youth well enough. Still, the excitement on his young face prevents me from chiding either party involved. Let him have the money, and may he enjoy it.

  Holding the ornate bottle in one massive claw, Skint closes the door. He shows his prize to Donnan and the other nods appreciatively.

  "Pretty bottle," remarks Skint intelligently.

  He isn't wrong. The dark green glass holds reliefs of tranquil scenes of primitive life. Tserri figures gather fruits and berries to bring back to a great vat at the top. Along the bottom the same figures drink from flat bowls around a stylized bonfire. Specks of silver suspended in the glass catch the light as Skint turns the bottle. Even the label is an example of high craft. An illustration of an older Mos Bruen stands in the center of the label with four bottles of different sizes clasped in his tendrils.

  "Nice glasswork," comments Donnan. His eyes track the movement of the liquid barely visible within.

  While I would like to claim credit for the design, that honor instead must go to Begen. His skills programming the adjustable press far outstrip my own. I'm sure it's because of his long sessions forging custom visors for the security team. Although each follows the same design, they must be fitted to their wearers' heads.

  "It is," I say in agreement. "The label could stand improving; he's supposed to be covered in runes, not a maze pattern."

  Skint laughs loudly and starts to reach for the edge of the removable label. Donnan swats his claw.

  "Not until it's empty, yeah?" He waits for Skint's grudging acceptance. "Good. Stick that in the cooler and let's go pick up the 'valves."

  Their trip is uneventful. Mostly. The sight of the two well-known security members sneaking through the crowds does draw a few odd looks. The returning half of the circuit is even more ludicrous. Skint stands out in a crowd, even unarmored, but carrying a small barrel over his complex shoulder adds to the spectacle.

  On their way back to Donna's home the pair separate. Skint carries his burden back to the quarters he shares with his squad leader. Donnan proceeds to the closest open market to secure chew roots and a bundle of spices.

  Donna, nearly done with her shift and showing obvious signs of fatigue, speaks into her receiver. "Hey Denn, you remember what we discussed earlier?"

  "Of course," I reply. "You were worried about your brother. I can assure you that he's staying out of trouble."

  She doesn't seem entirely convinced. "So, what did Donnan need to take off work for that was so important?"

  "He had some heavy things that needed moved around," I state. Not an untrue answer, though hardly enlightening.

  "Sure," she says, narrowing her eyes. "Whatever. I hope he's done 'moving things' and ready to get to work. We've finally got the trail of a major weapons manufacturing operation. I need those two. Get them moving for me, alright?"

  "I'll let them know that the situation has changed," I answer, careful to keep the disappointment from my voice. "Where do you want them to meet you?"

  "Right, uh," she stammers in distraction. She pulls up a map of the level she's on. "Send them to the service ramp across from the shopping district." She takes off in a different direction. "They can be part of the warehouse raid. I've got to get to the rest of my team so we can take out their manufacturing capabilities."

  Makes sense. Disposing of any illegal or unauthorized weaponry would be only a temporary measure if those responsible for spreading them are able to continue creating more.

  I let Donnan and Skint know that they're needed to help secure a contraband stockpile.

  Skint growls at the news. He stands over a pot half as tall as Donnan in which roots and bivalves simmer in a thick white broth.

  Donnan puts one claw upon the larger male's back. "You can celebrate after work, yeah?"

  Skint slams an oversize tin lid onto the bubbling concoction. "Yeah, but the stew'll be no good later."

  "Maybe," allows Donnan. "The bottle'll still be good, though."

  Skint brightens a bit as he turns off the heat source. "That's right. Alright, let's go."