“Who would have been out to sabotage you or your convoy?” Munto asked.

“There were always groups who didn’t approve of colonization and hominization of planets. Terra only knows how many. But almost none of them were actually violent over it,” Rix leaned back, lost in recall.

“What benefit would there be in sabotaging your efforts?” Munto tried to see a motive.

“Most likely, political. I never payed all of that too much in the way of attention, but it’d make sense. Sabotage the tech structure of a far flung colony so that it disappears and becomes an embarrassment, channel the resources somewhere else. Just because we were basically a stratocracy doesn’t mean we’re immune to the human ego or corruption,” Rix gestured vaguely.

Munto considered this.

Given their lack of much prior experience with organics, preferring to stick to the exploration part of their charter, Munto considered a resource constrained equation.

It made sense that competing entities, consuming a set amount of a given resource, would willfully compete for greater amounts of said resource and complete particular acts to place an opponent at a disadvantage in consuming said resource.

And in a society with constrained resources, it would perhaps be logical to do so. However, by that same token, entities should consider the investments of a given resource from the perspective of overarching benefit.

In the case of colony building, it made sense that it would consume a significant amount of resources from an outset, but the return on the investment, assuming a prudently selected site, would be several fold greater.

In short, Munto could see no benefit in a Terran sabotaging a Terran colony attempt.

“What resource would be so constrained that a member of your species would resort to sabotage?” Munto continued thinking.

“Well, assuming it was someone in the TSC, probably someone either opposed to us having a new colony or someone paid to have that opinion. If it was someone else, who knows? I know the TSC was more or less looked down on by the other nations, but I never really paid it much mind,” Rix shrugged.

“Would returning to your departure point provide another opportunity for a clue?” Munto suggested.

“Most likely. I’d hoped to find something here, but I guess that was a pipe dream,” Rix looked over at the walking frame for the first time in several minutes.

“Seeking your species is not an invalid effort,” Munto replied, leaving out the statistics of finding Terrans.

“I appreciate the thought, Em.”

“If we are able to determine the ultimate fate of the Terrans and perhaps obtain evidence to that effect, including potentially other Terrans, we would be able to assert adequately your status as a Terran and my status as non-malfunctioning,” Munto explained.

“Speaking of which, what’s the chance your fellow TACITs know we’re here?” Rix asked.

Munto took a moment to think about the likelihoods as well as their own variant estimates.

“Approximately 37% likelihood that they are searching in the area of our departure for us, approximately 10% likelihood they have an estimate on the direction in which we were oriented for travel, and approximately 1.3% chance they have a fix on this region of space to seek us out,” Munto double checked their numbers.

“I thought space was big enough they’d have trouble accomplishing that last figure,” Rix’s face appeared to scrunch.

“In theory, yes. However, as I have been accessing GALNET through the station and am able to make queries substantially faster than the average organic, if they have a means of tracing the queries, then it would be quite easy to localize this area of space,” Munto said.

“I don’t suppose there’s a way to slow your queries down,” Rix suggested and Munto flashed an instant ‘negative’ rune.

“While not impossible, it would require significant extra effort on my part,” Munto replied. “A bit like focusing on a particular sensation or on the equivalent of ignoring said sensation. It would not be impossible, but would require the focus do to so, so as to prevent taking a particular action reflexively.”

“Like holding onto a piece of ice and trying not to think about it being cold?” Rix wondered aloud.

“I believe that to be an appropriate approximation,” Munto flashed the rune for ‘understanding obtained’.

“So we’ve got to get some food or some way of keeping me fed, run the mass scoop to keep the fusion going, and then we have to plot a course to go home, all before your fellow TACITs find us,” Rix enumerated.

“That is a reasonable summary. Given the time dilation impact as well as the distance covered, it is likely that we have several weeks before they arrive, unless there are TACITs which have been alerted to our presence already and are on the way,” Munto ran through the search pattern they would execute in a similar scenario internally.

“So we might have a few weeks lead time but on the other hand, we might not,” Rix summarized.

“Correct.”

“Will they do anything to Blyyn if we do get discovered and run?” Rix’s face showed a strange degree of concern.

“It would be exceptionally irregular. They are most likely to inquire for data from the station’s logs and sensors and ignore Blyyn unless some additional directive were in play,” Munto said.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Like a quarantine concern?”

“Perhaps, but given that the station will have logs regarding the use of the medical field, it is unlikely that would be of any particular note,” Munto replayed the walking frame’s memories of the meeting in the docking bay.

“Even my little excursion in walking her back to her quarters?”

Munto’s thought pattern froze and retraced that segment of memory. The Terran had not put back on his helmet for that. It hadn’t even registered to Munto.

Quickly, they began running the likelihood of bacterial/viral infection, incubation times, latent impacts, and even immune responses by Quinn.

Rix was not unclean, but given how much the Terran sweated and breathed through his mouth when conducting particularly strong feats, it wasn’t impossible that the station was in fact contaminated.

Even though Rix had come right back, that might have been enough.

“That is a concern,” Munto flashed the symbol for ‘chilling realization’.

“What would they do then?” Rix asked.

It took Munto a bit of internal digging, but eventually found the ‘medical containment’ protocols within themself.

It was one of the few areas where TACITs technically had authority to act against organics. Exactly how was not clearly defined, but the authorization appeared to be enough.

“If they determine there to be a risk to a breach of quarantine, the organics are to submit indefinitely until such time as the quarantine is ended,” Munto said, flashing ‘chilling realization’ again.

“So Blyyn could be stuck here for a very long time. From what you’ve said about her from station records, I don’t think she’d object to that too much,” Rix shrugged.

“TACIT quarantine limits including nothing in and nothing out. Blyyn has no back-up food supplies onboard,” Munto said, spelling it out.

“So… indefnitely could mean that she starves to death?” Rix’s face was one of horror.

“Exactly. Unless they think she’s a risk to breach quarantine. In which case, they have freedom of action to maintain the quarantine,” Munto said, leaving the statement hanging in the air.

“Meaning that if she tries to leave or someone else tries to get in to get her food, the TACITs can intervene? Can TACITs commit violence?” Rix asked, his face looking more and more grim with each passing word.

“Under normal circumstances, no. Medical containment in a galactic setting however is one of the few times where it is technically possible,” Munto said, flatly.

Rix appeared to think for a long minute.

“Hold on. How does anybeing interact without that being a risk?” Rix pressed.

“Standard inoculations are maintained for all spacefaring species. You’ve had none and being from over 900 years ago, I cannot definitively say as to whether the inoculations would do any good against anything you might be carrying or anything you might encounter,” Munto displayed a rune for ‘worst case scenario’.

“If I’m understanding you correctly, I could already have gotten something from Blyyn or the station and/or I may have breathed wrong on the station and now some ancient bug that’s nothing to me is now at risk make Blyyn sick,” Rix attempted.

“That is correct.”

“How do we fix it?” Rix immediately responded.

“Elimination of atmosphere and all organic materials would provide enough quarantine over a period of no less than 30 days plus exposure to strong radiation would be nominally sufficient,” Munto read from the directive.

“Well, that’s not happening. All organic materials includes me and Reggie and Blyyn,” Rix shook his head in disbelief. “So, we’ve got to ensure that Blyyn either has a way to feed herself for a long time or she needs to come with us.”

“That is a not unreasonable summary of the related outcomes.”

“Well, I wanted to know how to make a trade. I guess this is it. So, how do we make it happen?” Rix stood up and stretched.

“Which option do you believe to be optimal?”

“If it were me, I’d say lets go for an adventure. But, given how she reacted to me, I’d bet she’d rather stay here, far away from me,” Rix said, bending in half and grasping the backs of his knees.

“In that case, I recommend I command the autofabricator to produce sufficient mass scoops and a portable printer loaded with standard Quinn food templates in order to support Blyyn for no less than 100 weeks,” Munto said simply.

“But that’s using her own stuff. How is that helping?” Rix prompted.

“Quinn often have issues manuevering in space due to their instincts to fly in open spaces. The installation of the mass scoops would be significantly eased if you were to place them and provide for the appropriate hook-ups,” Munto explained.

“Fair enough. Now we just need to tell Blyyn all of this,” Rix looked at the walking frame, meaningfully.

“I’ll handle that. You go get suited up,” Munto said and reached out to the communciations systems.

--

‘Blyyn, are you available?’ Munto’s mechanical voice and text came from the panel in Blyyn’s command center.

“Um, in what sense?” Blyyn asked the prompt on the command communications panel.

‘Do you have adequate time to discuss a matter of some importance?’

“Certainly. What is it? Something wrong?”

‘In a manner, yes. Due to the period of time during which you were unconscious and Rix returned you to your quarters, you may have exposed one another to microorganisms and/or diseases uncommon to the other.’

“Like he’s going to get sick?”

‘Possibly. Alternately, you may become ill.’

“I’ve had all my shots though.”

‘Due to the time period involved, that may not be sufficient.’

“So what happens? I get loader only deliveries and run quarantine for an extra two months. You two do whatever it is that you need to on sticking with the same.”

‘There is a complicating factor.’

“I figured there might be. What is it?”

‘If a medical quarantine is declared and enforced by TACITs, they operate a strict nothing-in, nothing-out policy with anti-organic enforcement if required.’

“Wait, does that mean you’ll lock us in?”

‘I am unable to do so in my current capacity and Rix maintains sufficient controls that he would be able to circumvent any actions I took to this effect.’

“So you are fugitives.”

‘Officially, I am a malfunctioning TACIT core that has been hijacked by a member of a species whose extinction status is disputed.’

“Same difference. You’re being tracked down and if they find you, things will happen.”

‘A reasonable summary.’

“So how long is a TACIT quarantine?”

‘Indefinite, depending on the anticipated countermeasures required.’

“Countermeasures in this case being?”

‘Formulations based on standard inoculations, Level 3 medical sterilization fields, elimination of all organic materials.’

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

‘You would fall under the category of organic materials.’

“Oh….”

‘Indeed. And your food supplies, while sufficient to permit you to survive without resupply for several months, may not be enough.’

“So what’s the good news?”

‘Rix and I are going to outfit your station with a portable printer/autofabricator equipped with Quinn food templates and mass scoops. This would provide you with sufficient supplies to maintain your food supplies.’

“I’m not really into autofab food.”

‘It is intended as a gesture in good faith given the situation.’

“So how long do you two have until you get tracked down?”

‘Uncertain.’

“Well, you’re just full of good news. I guess what do you need from me?”

‘Will you accept our outfitting of your station?’

“I can’t really say no.”

‘You can, but it would be inadvisable. I am surprised your station is not already equipped with an equivalent.’

“There’s a bunch of this station that doesn’t see much use, so they’ve pulled a bunch of the old auxiliary systems over the years.”

The pair sat in silence for long moment before Blyyn’s communication board chimed with a message. Since messages were comparatively rare, tending to be various system wide notifications, Blyyn didn’t normally do any more than glance at them.

Tabbing it up, she blinked long and hard at it. Virtually, so too did Munto.

*****

**System Terran Message** Do not attempt to return to origin. Coordinates 0101A-777-003M. Additional coordinates to follow.

*****

“What… what does it mean?” Blyyn asked aloud, not intending to.

‘It means we have less time than we thought.’