"We're already behind schedule, and we just started," Ham Sulp growled to Pirra. His eyes were fixed on the loaders as they very carefully hoisted each cloning tank onto a crawler.

The tanks and equipment combined weighed over two tons each, and yet neither the loaders nor crawlers had any trouble with their burdens.

"Chew?" Sulp asked her, offering an open bag.

"Dessei don't chew," she replied, trying to keep from being short with the man. "Sir."

"Your loss," the Commander said, popping another piece into his mouth.

The bag proclaimed it as smoked dovoq flavored with green tea. She knew none of those flavors, though Alexander had told her that green tea was unlikely to bother her. Dried foods, chews, flavored water. They were all bizarre things to her; but then, Dessei had much different palates than humans.

Another cloning tube went out of the room. The being within was shifting, hands clenching and unclenching.

"Can we be more gentle with them?" she asked Sulp.

He looked to her. "I've got these movers on the gentlest mode. We can't get more careful unless we want to slow our moving rate even more."

"I just think they're getting disturbed by the movement," Pirra replied.

"Probably," Sulp agreed.

"Can't we just go slower?" Pirra asked. "Is getting the job done quickly more important than doing it in a way that keeps them safe?"

"Lieutenant, some of these clones are about ready to pop out of their tanks. In some cases it might be as early as tomorrow. We want to make sure they are within reach of doctors when they do that. Because otherwise, half of 'em are gonna crawl out and just die on the deck."

The man frowned severely. "Why are you even in here?" he asked. "This is a joint operation by Quartermaster, Sci, and Med. And you're a Lieutenant in Response."

"Yes sir," she replied, biting back a retort. "Commander Cenz has given me permission to be involved in the operation as an advisor due to the fact that they're living beings. If an emergency situation should arise, I have authority to be involved."

Sulp pointedly looked around the room. Over a dozen cloning tubes were in motion now, each slowly rolling across the floor towards the hangar, where they'd soon be going into the medical station.

"I don't see an emergency situation," he growled.

"The clones seem disturbed, sir," she said, struggling to keep her cool. Sulp could test anyone's patience, but today he was being particularly onerous. "It's not an emergency situation, but-"

"Then keep an eye out for one, Lieutenant," the man growled. He stepped away, throwing up both arms. "Hey, what are you doing you idiot?"

His final words were spoken to a drone that had begun to veer out of line. A series of strange coded beeps came from the machine, and Sulp shook his head.

"I don't care if there's a mote on the floor! Unless it's an important mote, just roll over it!"

"Wait, let me look, sir," Pirra said. The crawler had come to a stop - the whole line had done so - and she darted between them to look at the spot.

It wasn't her singing stone, as she had hoped, just a folded sheet of paper. Picking it up, she stepped back out of the line, while Sulp cursed the drones back into movement.

It bothered her that he was cursing up a storm by the sleeping ones. They were likely aware of things around them, on some level, Cenz had told her. They could therefore hear the whole slew of filthy words and slander that the head of the Quartermaster department was heaping on his machines.

She knew that the man was an expert at his job, kept his tongue in line when it mattered, and was from a bizarre human spacer culture for whom strings of expletives were not just acceptable, but downright polite.

Still.

The scrap of paper was not one of those old weird human pieces made from bits of tree, but rather made from a kind of plastic that mimicked those properties.

Carefully, she unfolded it.

It had just two words on it; Ema and Dav.

The antenna on her head twitched, rising up from her feathers, as some scent caught her attention. It was the dovaq, she realized, and the smell reminded her of burning tires.

"What is it?" Sulp said over her shoulder. He resumed chewing, and the sound grated on her ears. Even Alexander's quiet chewing could be off-putting to some of her kind, and the quartermaster was being far louder than that.

"Names," she said. "The paper isn't like what we use on the ship, so I think it must be from New Vitriol."

"Probably fell off one of the cloning tubes," the man said. He reached around and took the piece of paper from her hand. "We can put it with the others."

"Others?" she asked, startled enough not to comment on him taking the slip.

"Some other notes like this have been found on the tubes since we got here. Probably the cloners, naming the clones they took a shine to. Heard of it happening with amateurs in the people-making business. Emotional connection."

His words were like a stab into her heart. "They're people in those vats, sir," she said. "I can understand an emotional attachment."

"Sure, you can," the man replied. If not for the sadness in his voice, it would have seemed mocking. "But we're talking about people who were trying to mass grow human beings. Who were willing to let the majority die or come out sick. For 'em to then be forming an attachment . . . well, in my view the caring shoulda come a lot sooner and in the form of not cloning at all."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Pirra couldn't come up with any response to that. Sulp walked away, and after a moment she went after him.

The man had gone into a small office, and was pulling a box out of a cubby as she came in.

"What are you going to do with it?" she asked. "You said there were others."

"We don't know which tubes they fell off," the man said. "So I've been collecting the loose ones in a box."

He picked up a small box and shook it. There were several dozen slips of paper in it.

Pirra carefully picked up one and saw that it had the name Dum on it. Another she could see had Tos, and another Heg.

"Are these all names?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sulp grunted. "That colony took up a common spacer trend - short names. Short means bigger letters on your jacket, less sounds to call each other. Lots of little reasons lead to that. That Apollonia girl, I bet you diamonds to dross that she picked that name herself, bein' an outcast. Nor sounds a lot more proper by the standards of a place like that."

"I see," Pirra said. "But why name them? Putting some kind of claim on them? They didn't even know that these clones would survive . . ."

Sulp didn't answer for a long moment, but snatched the paper from her hand and put it back into the box.

"Rads make having kids hard in space," he said. "I bet that the named clones were people's kids. They were just . . . excited. Hopeful."

He shoved the box of names back into its spot.

"They didn't think it would go so bad."

*******

Dr. Verena Urle's office was a paradigm of efficiency, Brooks thought. There was her primary desk, there were bookshelves filled with physical copies of the most important documents, displayed perfectly, everything lit, everything neat. There was very little else, save for a chair for him. No photos, no knick-knacks, not even an errant paper. No sign of life.

It was a spacious room, but with the scale of Medical Station 29, it could afford to be. Yet the sparse nature of the furnishings made it feel almost too large. Uncomfortably so.

"I am quite busy, as you may guess, Captain," she said. Her voice was inflectionless, merely information with none of the warmth. Not at all the woman Brooks had once known. "Perhaps you can appreciate my hard copies of The Complete Medical History of Humanity another time."

"Of course," he said, pulling his eyes away from the shelves. It was easier than looking the woman in the eyes.

"We have begun offloading the clones and their equipment to your people," he began.

"I am aware," she replied. "I have already received reports that it is behind schedule. I was under the impression you ran a tight ship, Captain. Was I wrong?"

The hardest part, he knew, was that it was not meant to be a snipe; if she said it, it was just likely to be true.

"I run my ship well," he replied. "But with something of this nature, slow-downs can occur. I'd rather make sure it was done right than quickly."

"We manage both, here," she commented.

"With all due respect, Admiral," he said, using her rank instead of title. "We are not a medical facility. We are a city-ship, and this is something we will handle as best we can. I have full faith in my people; they are doing their best. Once they are in your hands, we will all be happier."

The woman nodded sharply, and looked down. "There is another matter which requires your attention."

"The transfer of people from your station?" Brooks asked. He'd been informed ahead of time; it was not often that a ship such as his came here.

And Medical Station 29 was a hard place to work - or live. There was a long list of people asking for transport off, and the wait could be years.

"That is correct. My people estimate that your vessel can take 10,000 emigrants."

"Ten thousand!" Brooks replied. "That's a substantial increase in population, Admiral."

"That is the second time you have called me by my rank," she replied. "It is better if you call me Doctor if not Verena."

"Very well, Doctor. But you understand my shock; our population cap is set at 40,000, and we're already at nearly 35,000."

"Yes, but these people will not be living on your ship for long. You need only take them to the next port - I believe your itinerary has you heading to Gohhi Station after here? They can certainly take on many of the transfers, who will then be free to move wherever they wish."

Brooks was unsure how he would manage that many people. "Is this an order?"

"Yes, Captain, it is. But consider it in a humanitarian interest. Many of these transfers have been on the waiting list for five or more years, and they are only seven percent of current requested transfers. I expect that after taking your clones aboard, we will have many more."

Brooks could not reply. In a way, they had an easy task, merely being the courier of these beings. Those who were in too poor a condition to have been moved from New Vitriol were now in the care of specialists of the Sapient Union, whose job was simply to make them as comfortable as they could in their passing.

And here at Medical Station 29, they would have to help those they could, watch many die anyway, and then help give the best lives possible to thousands of others who would likely never know a full life.

"I would order you to take more than ten thousand if I could," Verena added. "But I estimate that this is the most you can comfortably transport."

"We also have a number of people from New Vitriol," Brooks noted.

"I took them into account," she replied. She was looking down at her tablet and not even making eye contact. In a way, he was glad.

She said nothing for several moments, and Brooks cleared his throat. She looked up.

"It is good to see you, Verena," he said. "How are you doing?"

"I am fine," she replied evenly.

"Will you see Zach later?" he asked. It seemed an obvious question, but with how she was anymore, he couldn't really know.

"I will see my ex-husband later," she replied. "But it must wait. There are many important matters - these clones, and something else."

"I know it will mean a lot to him and to the girls," Brooks added.

"I understand that it will have an emotional impact," she replied. "There is a more pressing issue, however. I have a special patient. I had hoped for you to bring your Cerebral Reader to meet him, but her initial reaction to the station does not give me hope."

"What is the issue with this patient?" Brooks asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

He had met her since her accident. But it was always hard.

"He is one of the altered from the Battle of Terris," she replied.

He sat forward in alarm. The battle.

"What is the nature of his . . . condition?"

"It is severe," she replied. "And currently there is much I do not know. But most important is that this case must remain a secret, Captain. You must tell no one in the crew about it, besides whomever you choose to bring with you."

"Who do I need? You mentioned Apollonia, but I don't think she will be up to it - not yet. We only just took her in, and days ago she was awaiting execution. She's going to need some time to adjust, to learn-"

"Understandable reasons," Verena replied. "Instead of her, I suggest Ambassador Kell."

Brooks frowned. "What is going on, doctor?"

"I will inform you more at 2030 hours," she replied. "Dismissed."

The sudden dismissal caught him off-guard.

Verena was already looking back down at her tablet, and Brooks awkwardly stood, moving for the door.

As he reached it, he could not help but look back.

"I am glad you are well, Verena," he said.

She glanced up to him, and gave the barest of nods in acknowledgement. Then she returned to her work.