The lesser stonefeather is native to the world of Klonn, one of many flying creatures native to this harsh and rocky planet. Their name derives from their charcoal, white, and brown coloration, well suited to hiding against the pockmarked surface of their homes.

Their preferred habitat is deep cave systems, where they hunt small flying vermin for sustenance. They use their mineral rich beaks to carve their nests into folds in the stone walls, high out of reach of flightless predators.

Though inedible due to toxin glands buried inside muscle tissues, they are valued for their nutrient rich droppings and ability to inhabit the cramped confines of small enclosures. These creatures are often employed as pest control in many larger sealed colonies.

Yosip scowls as he reads the data file displayed on the main screen of the command center.

"Marta bought some of those, yes. And warned everyone not to eat them, too," he says impatiently. "The only fool that tried it is still in the med bay."

"Yes sir, Zra's been keeping me updated about the case. Dunc confiscated that net launcher he'd used to catch it. Did you-" I'm interrupted by a commotion at the entrance.

One of his aides runs into the room, a huge smile on his young face. "Sir, Zsukas is back with the latest shipment from below." In his arms is a large box from which steam rises. He sets it down on the table and rushes back out, too eager to stand still long enough to be dismissed. A clumsily hidden box bulges from under his uniform as he flees.

Opening the steaming paper box, Yosip pulls smaller containers out and places them beside the main box. On each container is a pictogram of a large two-legged animal holding a tray of smaller roasted animals. A thick brown fluid drips from the smaller plastic containers. As he sets out the packages the others on the command deck crowd around him like desperate scavengers, hunger evident on their faces.

"There's enough for all of you," he says gruffly, not looking up from his task. "But you'll wait until I've gotten my plate ready first."

---

Wiping grease from his face, Yosip pushes himself away from the table and stomps heavily to his office. Closing the door behind him with a grunt, he carries himself to his desk and slumps into the reinforced chair.

One of the administrators left behind can deal with the mess.

"Bring that file back up," orders Yosip as he activates the display over his desktop with a few keystrokes. "I'd like another look at it."

An image of a dirty gray and brown feathered creature fourteen bits from beak to tail tip forms in the air.

"Never heard of training one as a spy, not successfully anyway. Not smart enough to learn anything complex." He leans back in his chair, producing a low creak of complaint as its reinforced structure redistributes his massive bulk.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Not exactly what I was thinking, but pretty close. Among my people, crafting artificial creatures to serve a task is not an uncommon practice."

At my words his eyes, both the mechanical one and his organic eye, gleam as he realizes the potential uses to which he could put such a disguised construct.

"And the furballs already leave the horrid things alone. Stonefeathers. On second thought I don't think I want Glian to be connected to this in any way. He already tried to sell us out once, let's not give him another chance, hmm?"

He begins typing out a missive to be sent down, requesting the transfer of both a skilled engineer as well as a biologist.

"Can't expect too much," he says with a shrug as he sends off the request. "But we'll never get what we don't ask for."

It might be several days before any personnel arrive, if they're sent at all. Leaving Jetanda and her people unsupervised could be more dangerous than confronting them without enough information.

While Yosip is correct not to trust Glian, the mechanic has access to much of the equipment that would be needed to build an artificial stonefeather. Perhaps it would be possible to enlist an agent to offer Glian work on my behalf.

Scrolling through the list of residents, I realize that we don't know very much about them. Only a few have enlisted, less than twenty, and the Selber administrators tend to avoid them when possible.

A few stand outs have garnered the attention of Yosip or another of the administrative staff. While these individuals might be more inclined to work outside the rules, they also are harder to trust. It wouldn't do to have security apprehend any agent I manage to recruit.

I attempt to draw up plans myself, but they resemble in no way the model I had hoped to imitate. Deleting the evidence of my failed attempt, I return to the information gathered about our populace. There should be many with the necessary training, if the many unauthorized modifications being made are any indication.

A club in the Broken Leg has more equipment than our files can account for. Unregistered weaponry of unreliable origin has been circulating around the station. There've even been counterfeit credit chits turned in by three street vendors, one of which we suspect of making their own.

"Mos Denn. Somehow this is your fault. You attract trouble."

What did I even do? I flip through various camera feeds, unable to find anything, before returning my attention to the Supply-Master's office.

Inside sits a fuming Yosip Peal. Before him, projected above his desk, is the reply to his request for more personnel.

"The Grand Matron," he says in tones of exaggerated patience, "has made contact with another group of Tserri refugees and has graciously extended her welcome to them. They're on their way here already."

As if summoned by his words, long range scanners begin detecting ship after ship entering the system. Swarms of small fighter craft of a type unseen before escorting two massive wedges. They dwarf the two parked on the docking arm, Roaring Challenge and Lesser Moon, by a large degree.

The energy signatures are erratic, and one fighter explodes, sending glowing slag flying out to impact the flickering shields of the rest of its squadron.

"She also requests that we send down a shuttle to collect our new engineer," he continues. "Nothing here about the biologist I requested, but they'll be bringing their whole team." He dismisses the message from the Matron and activates the built-in comms in his desk and says, "Get the docking arm cleared off, Eva. It looks like we'll need all the space we can get to fit those behemoths."

"I'll have Zsukas prepare for another round trip," I offer helpfully.

Nodding he says with a short chuckle, "That kid needs the flight time. Smooth landings, rough take offs. Spilled gravy all over the place."

I'll have to trust the Supply-Master on this, as I no longer can enjoy even rough transit between the stars.