From the observation platform Bruen can easily see down into the exposed portion of the pool. Thrashing bodies make the surface froth violently. The water is a thick, cloudy blue.

  "The close conditions trigger their territorial instincts," Bruen comments.

  From his peripheral eyes he can see Yosip nod his head. He reaches one tendril into a pouch he carries and withdraws a raw gibbet of red flesh. With a flick it sails through the air and splashes into the disturbed water. The hidden activity below the surface grows more energetic and the water darkens.

  Yosip tosses a piece of meat into the water from his own pouch. He grimaces at the sticky residue left on his metal hand. He tosses another chunk anyway.

  "Why not give them a larger pool? Wouldn't more survive?"

  Bruen answers with silence. Yosip shrugs and throws another hunk of meat. It lands with a splash.

  "How many do you think are in there?"

  Bruen empties his bag into the frenzied water. "Many hundred."

  "Yeah?" Yosip rubs his head with one hand. "It would be unsustainable if they all survived, I guess. With those kinds of numbers, you'd eat everything on a whole planet after four generations." The gray officer's grimace deepens suddenly and he glares at his bloody fingers. A smear of red mars the chrome cranial plate.

  "Indeed." Bruen turns to leave, tentacles rustling against the rough stone. Pausing before gliding down the ramp to the main tunnel, Bruen asks, "Do you have any offspring, Yosip?"

  Yosip shrugs. Following at a slow walk he adds, "Never paired up before the accident. Couldn't find anyone compatible." He laughs, tapping a metal finger where his legs meet. A muffled clang answers. "No longer have the equipment."

  "Ah. A common occurrence," answers Bruen. "Mos Gol cannot produce offspring for similar reasons."

  "Can't say I've met him."

  "Her. You'd remember if you had. She's as highly augmented as yourself."

  Bruen resumes moving with Yosip right behind him. The two pass groups of aviaformes, Tserri, and workers and soldiers from Homeworld. They pause when they see a young aviaforme playing with a toy spaceship. The chick waves the wedge shape around with its tongue making odd sounds.

  "Whoosh! Rrrrr-ooooom!"

  "That reminds me," Yosip says. "The modifications to my ship are almost done."

  "The vessel you claimed from among those once floating outside?"

  "That's right. The rest may be gone, but we got to keep a few for Sba City's uses."

  Bruen signals dismissive agreement with his upper tendrils automatically, then rethinks the action. He stills the appendages before asking, "How many ships do we have access to?"

  "Three," replies Yosip. "Mine, Wikky's, and one that's still being argued over." He waggles one hand before adding, "If we had to, we could get a few of the miners currently here to lend us theirs. Probably not worth it."

  "All coreless?"

  "Yeah," agrees Yosip with another shrug. "Good enough for local use. Patrols, diplomatic visits, and whatever the third eventually gets used for."

  "Patrols?"

  Yosip nods. The two continue down the tunnel while Yosip explains. "I've got a crew put together, too. Han, of course. He's on the ship, playing chief over the others and having a great time. Then there're the two kids. They've shown an interest in engineering, so I've been letting them train.

  "I'm taking Noftun along, too. He sold his little rock biter as soon as I talked to him. Seemed excited, but it's hard to tell with that one."

  Bruen pauses long enough to comment, "He's an excitable one."

  "He'll be running scanners mostly but during any ship-to-ship encounters he'll also have weapons control. Han was a little upset but Noftun's the better shot." Yosip looks at Bruen for comment but receives none.

  The two make it to the end of the section of tunnel and enter the main area. More bodies fill this area than any other in the entire complex. Busy aviaformes shop beside tourists from Honus, Kalibern, and the free fleets. The combined noise of so many conversations in mixed languages is deafening.

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  Yosip signals to Bruen with one mechanical arm before ducking into a nearly deserted diner. Bruen follows without seeming to hurry. It helps that nearly everyone makes way for the pair.

  Glancing up at the sign beside the door as he enters, Bruen notes that the name of this place is The Broken Core. Inside he wishes for the eyelids his companion owns. Light refracting from crystalline shards all over the place blind his sensitive eyes. With an effort of will he activates the runes inscribed upon his carapace. The runic arrays absorb the overabundant light waves and shunt them off to a lower dimension.

  When his vision clears, he sees Yosip, surrounded by dancing lights, laughing at him from a corner table. Bruen snaps his pedipalps angrily, drawing attention from the few other patrons of the establishment.

  "Over here," calls Yosip, waving and ignoring the other diners.

  The well-dressed aviaformes return to their meals after getting a good look at Mos Bruen. He supposes that he and Yosip will be the topic of gossip for the next few days. Even the Tserri couple in matching blue outfits resume their own quiet conversation, taking only occasional looks around the room.

  The table in question has seating appropriate for any of the local races. Bruen glides over and lowers himself gratefully into a sand filled depression. Good sand, Bruen notes. Not too gritty but still providing a fine gradient of particulates. It cushions his weight like the embrace of the sea.

  "Kind of expensive, but the food's worth it," Yosip says once Bruen is comfortable.

  Taking in his surroundings, Bruen notices that the many-colored crystals embedded in the walls and furniture glow in frequencies visible only to his prosthetic. Aviaforme servers swerve between tables, depositing food and drink in a complex dance.

  "Very colorful," Bruen remarks.

  "Yeah, but at least there aren't any orange crystals." He shudders. "I still wake up at night, frantic, looking for your da before I realize I can breathe."

  Raising his upper tendrils in imitation of a shrug, Bruen refrains from commenting. The green feathered server coming to take their orders, however, has plenty to say.

  "Can't keep orange crystals, for some reason," she whistles conversationally. "Those Tserri won't admit it, but I know they walk off with them." She turns her head from side to side, eyeing the fur bearing patrons with a glare. "I'm Mel, thanks for coming! Well, what'll ya have?"

  Mel uses her long tongue to pull a small tablet out of a pocket of her pink and white striped vest. She cocks her head, turning to look back and forth between the two males.

  "Salt gourds, fried, with yellow sauce. We'd also like the daily special," rattles off Yosip. "And bring us a bottle of albulb spirits, Kalibern if you have it."

  "Right away," chirps the aviaforme. She rushes off to inform the chef.

  "You've been here before," states Bruen, impressed.

  "Once or twice," admits Yosip. "It's quiet enough, usually."

  There aren't many patrons. Only a third of the thirty tables dotted throughout the thematic diner are in use. He notices that many of the empty tables have large decorative crystal formations upon them that would make eating in a group a difficult experience.

  "I'll have to remember to come back," Bruen decides. "It's gaudy, but nice."

  A flash of vibrant green and pink alerts Bruen of Mel's return. She walks up bearing a tray at her waist hanging from cords around her long neck. On it are two steaming dishes of sliced vegetables with yellow sauce drizzled over them and a dark bottle. Next to the bottle are two tall glasses seemingly carved from giant gemstones.

  "Enjoy," she says as she sets the tray upon their table. "I'll be back with the glazed leather steaks."

  Yosip pauses, one gleaming hand midway to the tray. "Leather?"

  "Leatherback flings," answers Mel cheerily. "Frozen, but they're sensitive to too many things to transplant."

  "Thank you, miss," Bruen says, pulling his own dish closer. The blue glass bowl emits an enticing aroma that reminds Bruen that he has yet to eat that day. He reaches for the small knife and skewer in the dish and slices a portion of the fried gourd and brings it to his mouth.

  Just as he begins to enjoy the taste, he's distracted by a loud gasping and shocked comments made in loud, excited voices. He scans the room quickly. Shit.

  Gliding through the fancy establishment, as if they own the place, march an inquisition division from the capitol. At the front, in tight formation, are five Pel in full riot harness. Runed battle gear hides their mottled shells but marks them no less easily.

  Behind them are six thaumatists and two chitinous 'shells. Two faded gray robes, two hooded green robes, and a pair of bloody blue in the rear. Each battle shell, moving with false life, is under the control of a mixed pair of Somner and Jurer. Bruen can detect the colored flickers of invisible power dancing between the trios.

  The Svost require no such weapons to be deadly. The blood-robed killers move with the casual grace and confidence of apex predators.

  Yosip places both metal hands across his mouth and nose in what Bruen assumes is an attempt to hide the reactions of his soft and expressive face. Gratitude briefly washes through Bruen's mind. This is no time for the antics the Trader's race so often indulge in.

  The largest of the Pel enforcers separates herself from her company and slides up to the pair's table.

  "Mos Bruen," she declares. "We're here to take you into custody for crimes against the Spanless Empire. We need to take your companion, as well, I think. At least for now."

  "Now what is this about," demands Yosip, face draining of color. He makes a choking sound, but dark fury keeps him from releasing the war cry that Bruen dreads. The alien returns one hand to cover his lower face, the other clutching his stomach defensively.

  "We have reports from loyal citizens that Mos Bruen and Don Yosip have been hiding the presence of an intelligent artifact," says the Pel in formal tones. She stands straight as she speaks, primary eyes looking over the table with the detachment proper for one in her position.

  One of the 'shells clatters as it crawls closer upon the artificial legs grafted to its carapace. Animating runes glow visibly on the dead chitin in bloody hues. The ferocious warrior seated with Bruen makes a loud, aggressive sound with his throat at the construct's approach. The heavy, rotting scent of the thing causes a reaction deep within Bruen as well, but he stills that inborn aggression immediately.

  "Calm yourself, Don," recommends Bruen quietly. "This isn't a fight we can win."

  Yosip looks at him in a way that Bruen cannot interpret. The alien breathes heavily, shaking with visible rage that doesn't match the worried concentration upon his face. Still, he hunches lower into his seat, curling up slightly. Bruen supposes that will have to be enough.

  "Please follow us peacefully. Your behavior will be taken into account when it is time for judgement."