Tonn Rojer glares at Operative Drop angrily before handing him the small white tube of ointment.

"While I can't say they didn't deserve a little rough treatment after what they did to Vin, I think you may have taken it a bit far there, Gel," complains the medic, looking through the cabinet mounted above his desk for another tube for the two in the examination room.

The target of this short tirade only laughs, dismissing the medical officer's concerns with a wave. He pops open the tube and begins rubbing the foul smelling green unguent into his face and neck.

"This is no about Vin. These pair are gonna be depended on," he states calmly, working the medicinal cream deeply into the scarred gray skin of his arms and chest. "I would no trust 'em to keep me soup wet in the rain."

"More likely they'll be someone else's problem," the medic opines sarcastically. "Who's Jim planning on stuffing in the hot seat?"

"No his choice. The Matron'll be appointin' one 'o her get."

"Pull those trousers back up! There're crewmen walking by," admonishes the medic in shock. Gelly ignores him and anoints his legs and lower regions, completely lacking shame. "Not Hestrun?"

A sharp whistle comes from the hallway outside the open door, eliciting a glare from the disappointed Tonn.

Gelly shakes his head in negation, short crest waving slightly. "Nah, Joa won't let him get away that easy. One 'o his uncles or some such. Failed up, standard story," he explains as he pulls his black trousers snuggly into place.

"Right. And with that much, mmm, talent, let's say, in one area..."

"Aye. Those two can become competent or die tryin'," laughs the wiry Operative as he leaves the office.

His form is much less repulsive when coated in a glistening sheen. Intellectually I know it isn't mucus, but it still pleases me, satisfying something that had been missing for too long.

---

Marta Spere and Tulson Rah ride together inside the cramped hold of Jumper. Teah sits in the cockpit with Nett supposedly serving as copilot but in fact fast asleep.

The rest of the space is filled with stacked up ingots of gold and platinum. Trade goods, supposedly, but what can they hope to get for such useless dross?

Whatever, I would trust Marta to sell mud to swamp dwellers and turn a profit.

As far as things we need, the list is endless. Ship-Father Tollek, however, has decided Marta should prioritize getting a power core for the station. She was also handed some hard currency, slips of colored translucent plastic embedded with circuitry, and told to 'increase our horticultural scope'.

Perhaps with more plants to practice his arts upon, Tollek will manage to keep one alive. If he has to spread out his attentions, they may have time enough to recover.

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

Teah also found space for a few small gadgets she built. Things she was told spacers of the Imperium had inferior versions of, or didn't have at all that her own shipmates had gladly traded for. Sets of randomizing dice, better multipurpose tools, and of course modular vacuum armor components, as well as small odor absorbing devices and other simple things.

Most of the components she had traded for, Tulson being her primary supplier, but Mar Lummer proved willing to sell her various components out of ship stores. Others she won from dicing, and she hoped to spread the game to the Niala's Cabin.

"I saw the cargo manifests. I even helped load the first hundred bars," Tulson says wonderingly to her shipmate. "But seeing it piled up like that is hard to believe."

Marta nods with a serious look on her gray face. "Our raises weren't big enough."

Their confusion is easy to grasp. We should be paying them to take this worthless excess mass from us. Teah's goods obviously have a much greater value; filling the hold with the useless weight of soft metal is an odd choice. The platinum may be sturdier, but its ability to hold an enchantment is even worse than that of gold. Power flows right through the metals with little resistance.

"We could use a fighter ship. Maybe two. If we can't keep them, maybe they can be assigned to Kalibern," Tuslon says, lost in thought as she idly pulls a data tablet from her pack.

She may be overestimating the value of those gadgets. Ships seem to be a rarity, even among their people who so rely on them.

"Dirt. We need fresh dirt with all the little crawly things still in it," Marta says, shuddering slightly with poorly repressed memories. Her companion's face twitches in response, nearly suppressing a mirthful grin at Marta's expense.

"We're not wasting credits on that. We can bring that up from Honus for the price of fuel. What kinds of animals and things should we get? They'll be fed on waste, right? I hope they have something we can use," the engineer says while pulling up lists of the supplies available at their destination. The glow of her tablet lends a blue tint to the crowded hold in which they sit.

They discuss it for a bit longer, but eventually come to an agreement. At least on the basic organisms they'll be focusing on. Both of them want to acquire some of their favorite treats, but space is limited as yet.

The plan is to create a functional food web on the developing station. Wastes will be fed to aquatic creatures living in large tanks whose numbers will be kept in check by being caught and eaten by residents. The droppings of those creatures will be used as fertilizer for large interior fields. A thriving biota should convert it into rich soil in which crops can be grown by dedicated agriculturalists.

Something to eat the worms and other decomposers, preferably also edible to the crew, which would also help aerate the soil and improve nutrient flow. Until dedicated handlers can be assigned, most of the creatures they choose will need to be self-sufficient.

A small population of livestock might one day be possible. If everything works out, the inhabitants of Kalibern Station won't have to rely on preserved foods. Greater variety would come in time, but fresh food is almost always better.

"That one's cute," says Marta, looking over the engineer's shoulder. "So fluffy!"

Several more options are discussed, and often quickly dismissed. There are choices ranging from flying pest eaters to ameboids meant to cling to and clean the walls of the waste processing tanks.

"Oh! Look, Marta," exclaims Tulson showing her tablet to the Diplomat. "I love squivers!"

Excitedly I look at the file she has open, copying it quickly to shipboard data banks.

The file contains information on a small bottom feeding creature, with complex eyes that uses an arrangement of whiplike filiments to propel itself through the murky water in which it lives. Scavenging detritus for sustanence, they serve an integral role in their ecosystems as an easy source of food for many small predators.

Natives of the Selber homeworld, the average adult squiver can be expected to reach a length of up to three bits.

They are usually enjoyed boiled, with a thick red dipping sauce at upper class parties.

"I could eat fifty of them," she squeals out gleefully, a huge smile on her face.

"Not me," exclaims Marta, waving her arms emphatically. "Their black little eyes creep me out. Way too many of the little things."

Barbaric. The creature's look like unmolted young, only days after hatching.