"All right, Captain, try speaking."

Brooks took a breath. The mask over his face would appear to most eyes, including those of the !Xomyi, to be normal. But it was a complex 3D projector and filter over his mouth that served two purposes; to filter the air, and to make it look like he was speaking the language of the !A!amo.

"Hello, I am Captain Ian Brooks," he said.

Lagging only slightly behind, came the words in their best approximation of the !A!amo language. He could not have transcribed them if he had wanted; largely he could pick out many clicks, high sounds outside of the standard range of human hearing, and glottal stops.

"Good, the mask is translating your words well. Although, the !A!amo do not have naval vessels, and therefore lack the term 'Captain'."

"What does it translate my title to?"

"Simply as 'chosen leader'. Or . . . we believe as much. The !A!amo are a group whose language we know only somewhat well. We have had to fill in gaps with some knowledge from other nearby groups of !Xomyi who we believe speak related languages."

Brooks nodded, then reached up and took off the mask. It was one of the most important pieces of equipment he'd have with him. Without it, he wouldn't even be able to communicate with the !A!amo.

"The table is prepared," Y said as he placed the mask back in its case. He'd have spares with him in the unlikely event that this one failed.

Brooks looked to the table through the clear curtain. He had already changed into a cleansuit and had his body sprayed with a chemical that would cleanse it. Until he went down to the surface in seven hours he'd be in this clean room.

Stepping through the curtain, the deck in here felt colder than it did on the other side, and he wished he could at least wear shoes in here.

Getting on the table, it conformed to his shape and leaned back so that he was horizontal to the floor.

Y loomed over him.

"You must know, Captain, that what we are doing here is typically very ill-advised," the doctor said.

Brooks found himself a little annoyed; he might have felt differently had he not been on the examination table and Y above him.

"I agree," Brooks said. "It's risky going down there. The !Xomyi could be hostile, the megafauna is hostile, the moon could break apart and come down on us ahead of schedule . . . nevermind the damage that this rushed contact will do to the !Xomyi even if everything goes right."

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"That is an ethical issue, yes, but my point is really the threat of contagion," Y said. "While the !Xomyi are alien and therefore cannot be infected in the classical sense by external microbes, it is still possible for hostile colonization to occur."

"Well, that's why we're here," Brooks said, pointing to the table.

"Yes, gut re-lining is a good process, but the results are not always perfect," Y replied. "There have been cases where-"

"Let's get started," Brooks ordered.

"Very well. You may experience some discomfort, I am sorry to say," Y replied. "But shedding the majority of your internal gut lining cannot be anything but."

"Not my first time," Brooks said, grunting as the clenching in his stomach began. It was more than a little discomfort.

"As I was saying, even with this, and with the cleansing of your surfaces, there is the risk of contagious spreading."

Brooks said nothing; words were difficult to make when his body was betraying him so strongly.

Y continued. "Though I do not wish to alarm you unduly. From my studies I believe the risks are low - for you or the !Xomyi. There simply is a chance."

"Good to know," Brooks grunted.

Y wished that humans could understand that even a statistically tiny chance, when spread over a large time frame, became alarmingly more possible. Though, he reasoned, even if some bacteria found their way down and infected the environment, the world was doomed already.

"Just remember to inform me if you find any strange growths, colonies, or other such things upon your person," Y added.

He did not wait for a reply that he knew would not come, judging by Brooks's look of concentration.

"To be honest, the most difficult aspect from an infection control standpoint will be making sure that different groups of !Xomyi do not spread diseases to each other."

"We just have to keep . . . . disparate groups separated," Brooks said, breathing sharply.

"Yes, I understand the transport ship will be sectioned off so that different !Xomyi groups can be prevented from encountering distant groups who might have diseases novel to them. Still, within the enclosed system of a ship, there is a threat of pandemic."

"How much longer?" Brooks asked.

"We are half done!" Y said happily.

The Captain's look of annoyance was not veiled this time.

"Due to the extended time you will be spending down there, your preparation must be extremely thorough," Y said, then sighed and shrugged. "Going down to a new world is not as fun or easy as it has often been portrayed," he lamented on the Captain's behalf.

"We sometimes overlooked the finer details," Brooks said in a moment where the pain lessened.

"Ah, yes, fine details reminds me. I am concerned with your body's reaction to the local pollen," Y said. "I believe there is a strong chance it will trigger a severe allergic reaction in you, in particular. Your Antarctican upbringing means you were exposed to fewer than most planet-born humans, and therefore you are more susceptible."

"But I like to think I can manage them better than those born on ships or stations," Brooks grunted. Then another wave of pain hit him.

"No, actually, you fall in a middle zone where your body has been rendered sensitive to such particles, but not used to any! It is very unfortunate."

He paused, as Brooks said nothing. But the look on the Captain's face made clear why.

It was unfortunate, Y, thought, but the Captain had volunteered for this mission. He decided that continuing to talk would provide at least some distraction from the cramps.

"After you have recovered from this, I will be performing a few minor operations to put a filter into your nostrils for the pollen. Your mask will shield some, this should catch the rest. Though I cannot guarantee full protection, it should keep you from being incapacitated."

"Urk," Brooks managed to say.

"Also, while I am certain it has been mentioned to you, do not eat any local food while you are on the planet."

Brooks took a deep breath. "That may be unavoidable," he managed to get out. "For social reasons . . ."

"True. I will also therefore be installing an enzyme processor into your stomach. You may feel its presence, it is approximately the size of a clementine orange." Y paused. "Or would you prefer its size in centimeters?"

"I don't care," Brooks bit out.

"Very well. It will detoxify any native food you eat, though too much might still get through and could cause issues. My modeling of the effects of their exotic - to you, at least - amino acids and proteins suggest that their food may cause cramps at the mild end, death at the most extreme."

"At least I'm well-practiced handling the former," Brooks said. It felt like the cramping in his gut was dying down.

"And you skirt far too close to the latter on a regular basis for my tastes," Y said. "But, well, Captain, it is time to replace your gut biome with our specially-created one! Please bear with me, this may tingle."

It was more than a tingle, Brooks thought.