While the three guards have their fun with Zsuchus, I take the opportunity to visually examine Oolian Dags.

  He, like the rest of his group, is wearing a slightly outdated suit of vacuum armor painted black and metallic yellow. The suit gleams in the white light of the local primary. Inside the suit, Oolian looks as healthy as any time I have seen him. His firm gray skin barely conceals the motions of interior musculature as his jaw moves in speech.

  "Answer me, starshot!" The more heavily built male leans over Zsuchus, helmets close. "What's the problem?"

  Zsuchus pokes one finger into the other's chest plate. "Back off, friend. I'm just following orders."

  Les and the other planetary guard surround the pilot, one on either side of him. Realizing he's outnumbered, as well as the smallest person there, Zsuchus foolishly takes a step back. Luckily, none of the three he faces choose to take advantage of the opening he presents them.

  Zsuchus turns to face Les. She has yet to show true belligerence to the explorers, instead proving to be a very private individual.

  "You, at least, understand why I'm here, right? Because you had to leave your post to check on your friend." Zsuchus takes another step back and raises both empty hands to chest level. "But it looks like he's fine. So, who's trying to make trouble here? It isn't me."

  She nods slowly, once. "Oolian's fine, as you can see." She blinks twice in quick succession, then rounds on her companions. "I told you two to stay away from that Dondrik." She levels one finger at Oolian. "Do you know anything about this?"

  "Not that it should concern you, but I don't know what you're talking about. I was on the comm until me and Indi heard starshot here having trouble."

  "You were with him?"

  "Yes, Les," answers Indi. "Not much excitement while we wait our turns in the hole. So I was watchin' Oollie make a fool of himself with that new female."

  The grin on Oolian's face is confirmation enough that he had been talking with a female. I'm not sure why that matters, as Les is female as well and none of the males present seem embarrassed to speak with her. A snort from Zsuchus announces his own disinterest in the subject.

  Of those present, Les seems to react the most. Her frown is almost a match for one of Yosip's grimaces, though his face never grew so dark even when angered. Les crosses her arms across her chest, muttering, "Curse that Geleste."

  "Whatever," announces Zsuchus. "If you aren't sick, would you mind helping me put my tent back together?"

  Indi and Oolian cast dismissive glances at the remains of the pilot's tent. They turn to walk away, laughing sardonically.

  "I'll help," offers Les. She kicks at a broken support pole. "First, let's clean up this mess. We brought a spare tent, just in case. Looks like you need it."

  The pilot accepts her help with a muttered, "Thanks." The two of them heap up the debris, separating out Zsuchus's belongings into another pile. When Les leaves to fetch another tent, I decide that Zsuchus will be alright on his own.

  I'm about to terminate my connection with his suit when I hear a familiar voice complaining loudly in the distance. Zsuchus turns to see Spen Dondrik approaching the camp. We watch together as he marches angrily up to Les and begins shouting at her.

  Zsuchus, less patient than I, runs to get a closer look at the confrontation between the two guards. Les matches her voice against Spen's, defending herself and hurling disparaging remarks back at Spen. The pilot reaches them only to be ignored by both. He has to dodge the bundled tent that Les tosses aside in her anger.

  "I never liked you, Spen, and you aren't making yourself look any better with this performance," shouts Les. She waves her arms around, adding the squeal of mechanical servos to the discordant cacophony echoing off the naked stone.

  "Like it matters what you think," Spen yells back. He looms over the slightly smaller female in an attempt to be intimidating.

  Les, unimpressed, shouts up at him, "This how you keep that Geleste of yours submissive, just yell until she's too tired to resist?"

  Snarling, Spen raises one arm, fist clenched. A black and yellow gauntlet catches his arm and both suits whine. Zsuchus, owner of the superior armor, keeps the disgraced Spen held tightly.

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  "Let go, starshot! Ooof-"

  Anything further he wishes to say comes out in a gust of lost breath. Les lowers her foot, removing it from the new dent in Spen's armor. She turns to her rescuer, face still twisting with dark emotions.

  "Let him go, starshot," she hisses. "I don't want help with this."

  Zsuchus releases his hold upon the barely breathing Operative who falls to the ground in a mess of armored limbs. She kicks him again and sparks fly.

  "You might not need help," comments Zsuchus dryly, "but I still do."

  "Shit," she mutters. She kicks Spen once more, hard, sending him rolling across the stone. "Yeah, your tent. Shit."

  "I got it," offers Zsuchus, bending to retrieve the thrown bundle. "Catch your wind."

  She waves one gauntleted hand in agreement, bending over to breathe more easily. "I've wanted to do that ever since we were put on the same squad. Ha!"

  She's just starting to straighten up when Indi and Oolian emerge from a tent, unarmored and swaying drunkenly. An empty bottle of spirits rolls out after them as they stagger over.

  "Wh-what's all that noise?"

  "Nothing, Indi," answers Zsuchus with easy confidence. "Just a minor disagreement."

  Indi nods confusedly but his partner, eyes never leaving the prone figure of Spen, shakes his.

  Oolian takes one unsteady step towards the unconscious Spen and nearly falls. Les catches his arm in one gauntleted hand and holds him up without effort.

  "Easy, Oolly. He'll recover, but it's a mystery which of you three'll have the worse aching head tomorrow." The inebriated guard begins to protest, but she silences him with a look. "You two get back to your tents, before I feel obligated to file a report to the Matron."

  They mumble their agreement and stagger back out of the sunlight. They both enter the same tent, nearly tripping over the empty bottle on their way in.

  "Come on, starshot," taunts Les over her armored shoulder. "Tent isn't going to put itself up."

  "R-right!"

  Well. I've no need to watch them set up a tent. I'm highly familiar with the concept, even if the actual process they use is different to that of the Spanless Empire. Although, to be honest, most often I would merely oversee the erection of the shelters; that's what casteless soldiers are for, after all.

  "Are you listening, Denn? I asked you a question."

  Dunc's agitated voice startles me from my reminiscing. "Sorry, Operative. Could you repeat your enquiry?"

  "Fff-fine. I'm ready to get out of this closet. Can you take over Howan for a while?"

  "Of course. Is there anything of which I should be aware, before I take control?"

  "Nah," he says, standing and opening the door in the same motion. "Just stay near Grita. The robot's carrying some of her tools." The skin around his left eye twitches as he explains.

  I see. Tools she was perfectly capable of carrying into the artifact herself, she now requires assistance with.

  "Is she injured?"

  Dunc waves one arm in loose imitation of the Tserri negation gesture. "She's alright. I guess you were busy when she and Fren got the order to take as many samples as they could from the, uh, lab?"

  "Thank you. That is indeed useful to know." I was going to have Howan abandon the equipment. The 'shell exists for defensive purposes, not to act as a casteless servant, hauling and lifting. That its burden helps accomplish the mission recontextualizes things somewhat; it remains paramount that orders be followed precisely.

  Dunc takes his leave, off to intake nutrient or expel waste or some other biological function from which I am now free. Without the need to care for a fragile, slowly dying body, I am free to devote more time to fulfilling my purpose. If only that purpose were still to destroy the enemies of the Empire. Still, I find a certain fulfillment in aiding these beings.

  With renewed resolve I connect to Howan. The robot, mid-step, staggers slightly before I'm able to adjust its balance. Grita glances back, evidently alarmed at the mechanical stutter.

  "Careful with those tools, Howie," she commands.

  Howie?

  "It can't understand you," opines Fren. From the resignation in his voice, I can only conclude that this is not his first time saying so. "We're lucky it didn't resist when you started loading it up."

  "You're a good robot, aren't you Howie." Grita sticks her tongue out at Fren. Her voice is oddly high in pitch and is similar to the way some Tserri speak with young tselga or other animals. "Fren's just jealous that you like me better."

  "Ha ha."

  I do not like the way she speaks to the 'shell. It is demeaning to both herself and to me, er, the unit. I wonder if this is perhaps the reason Dunc had needed to escape but dismiss the thought as unworthy of the skilled Operative.

  Fren adjusts the large sack of bones he carries upon his back. If fabric from the pack were to be caught by the sliding plates of the suit it could impede its proper operation. All of the storage compartments of the vacuum armor also hold samples, their previous contents now filling the robot's arms. That would explain the sheer quantity of devices and data tablets it now carries, more than a single individual would normally hold.

  I hope that the additional scans of the walls and various equipment will give our translators enough to complete the basic analysis. The many samples of alien animals will definitely keep Pale busy for the near future.

  We haul everything out of the ancient artifact and emerge into bright light. There we encounter the final member and leader of the planetary guard assigned to this project. If I remember correctly, his name should be Weapons Operative El Nosstun.

  His eyes are small for his species, merely large rather than huge, and dark beneath a bulging forehead from which sprouts a thick crest. The smile he presents might be intended to be friendly but comes across more as slightly feral. His armor bears a few minor repairs; El might have actual battle experience. In one hand he carries a data tablet. His other remains close to the pistol at his side.

  "My crew told me there was some kind of problem inside," announces El. "I'd like you two to wait here. Go ahead and set those things down, over there," he orders, gesturing with his tablet. "I need to know what you think happened, so I can compare with what I've been told." He turns his head to glare at Howan. "And could you please power down the robot?"