Spen's voice reaches me from sensors embedded in his suit. No visuals accompany the angry words, but I can imagine his face, twisted with rage and sorrow. Static warps the signal, but I'm able to clean it up enough to be understood.

"Why? Things were finally going well for us. It isn't right, not right."

Another voice answers him, almost kindly. "Life isn't about what's right. It isn't right that children fall ill and die. It isn't right that each day hunger haunts the people, or that accident can lame a great hunter."

She sighs, a slow exhalation that carries with it a lifetime of regret. "Life is about going on. Keep finding ways to make it to tomorrow. See this ugly creature?" Rustling carries over the transmission, cloth rubbing against itself. "His name is Belern. Beside him, with the reddish fur? That's his sister Berla, and the two are a menace."

"Kids," answers Spen despondently. "Dunc wanted kids."

"And still does, I wager." She coughs, and footsteps can be heard faintly. "Thank you, Bessin." I hear her drink, and after she finishes there are more footsteps, probably this Bessin person.

"Not for much longer," sobs Spen. "That son of yours saw to that."

"Noorun must have been desperate, to try something so foolish," she answers. I finally recognize the speaker as Jetanda. If Spen is sitting in Laceweaver Row, it's no wonder that he isn't showing up on any camera feeds. "I hope you don't blame me for what happened. He was always a secretive one, Noorun, and none of us knew what he was planning."

"No, not really, but I expect you to see to it that none of your family make a similar mistake."

There should be a comm terminal nearby them, if I guess correctly. I know that she has access to the network, anyway, so I compose a short missive and send it to her. A muted chiming sounds over the suit's sensors right after. Good, she got the message.

They grow quiet for a long moment, before Tserri laughter filters across to me. "Hurry your gray ass along, Dunc still lives."

"What?"

"Go, child!"

Metallic thumping and heavy breathing replace the almost imperceptible sounds of domestic life. In my mind I can see the armored youth running headlong through the warren. Yes, there he is now, on the only camera in the area, sprinting down a hallway.

I alert Yosip, as well as the nurse currently watching over Dunc's unconscious form.

"Good work, Mos," the Supply-Master says with a rare smile. "About time you did something useful."

His jest is easily forgiven, and I take the compliment with grace. "Of course."

Yosip taps away at his desk, and in no time has orders streaming out, directing Donna to the medical bay. The contents of his message are sealed behind security codes to which my access has been restricted, but I can hazard a guess. 'Apprehend Spen Dondrik.'

I play back the video of Spen, running through Laceweaver Row. His armor shows signs of recent combat, streaks of melted metal mar the fine finish. It might not be sabotage that disables his camera transmission, but battle damage. Still, that does not excuse his wanton destruction of my dronefeather.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

No weapon had been found with Noorun's body, though it is possible he had dropped it while running from the angered security squad leader. If so, it may be unrecoverable; none would admit to possession of banned weaponry when it is simple enough to disassemble and repurpose it. Recent repair logs indicate that numerous repairs are scheduled, patches for plating with holes melted through along the path the running gun fight had taken.

Donna finally makes contact with her superior and gives me a better look at him. His eyes are dilated and his skin shines with oil. Moving erratically, he shows symptoms of exposure to the alien toxin. The suit he wears is damaged more than I was aware, unseen angles revealing themselves to be marked with holes like an infestation of stone boring worms.

"Want to come in under your own power, or do we need to wait for Skint to get here?"

"Let's wait," Spen answers, swaying on his feet. "I think I need him to carry me."

She takes his rifle, as well as the stunner still at his waist. Spen's balance fails him before the large Tserri can arrive, and he collapses against the corridor wall. The fresh officer's posture relaxes slightly when Skint does show up, and she greets him briefly, brushing one set of claw tips against his.

"Should we get him outa that suit?"

Donna scratches that suggestion out of the air with her lower claws. "He's melted in it, like. You'll just hafta carry him."

She receives a grunt as a reply, as the muscular male hefts the prone officer over his complex shoulder. The suits clang together loudly, and Spen thrashes before falling quiet again. The extra weight doesn't seem to bother Skint, but he winces and tracks a flake of gold paint that chips off his shoulder as it falls to the deck plating.

Hoping to aid in Spen's recovery, I alert the medical bay that they'll need to have someone ready to cut him from his metal shell. The full extent of the toxin's effects are still unknown, but the sooner it can be treated the better the officer's chances of recovery.

Donna looks upwards as if seeking guidance from the unseen stars before leading the way. She walks oddly close to him on their way to the medical bay, accidently bumping the larger male several times. Each time he is forced to catch her, holding her for the length of several breaths before releasing her, to insure she does not fall.

I fear she too is suffering from exposure to the toxin, the first Tserri to exhibit unusual behavior. When they reach their destination, I have the healers scan her. The results show her system to be clean of the compound. Perhaps it is merely stress and lack of sleep affecting her balance.

After being shucked like a freshly boiled bivalve, Spen is gently lowered onto a medical cot. The medical facility is cramped, with its many beds containing oil slick occupants. Dunc lays across the room, silver crust forming at the edges of his fleshy mouth. Other cots host tourists exposed during the attack, including Gelest. The gray female shivers uncontrollably under her thin blanket, as do many of the other patients.

Teams are currently analyzing the canister as well as its deadly contents. Initial scans of the device are available, so I make a copy of the file for myself before having a look. It bears little resemblance to technology employed by the Selber. The object contains organic components, sheets of protein that separate the gas from the metal casing. The hinges resemble muscle fibers to a startling degree.

The egg-like device employs crafting techniques unknown to the inhabitants of this system. It can only have come from far outside Honus. Alien script located on the exterior matches nothing in my, admittedly limited, data banks, though that signifies little on its own. Several advanced devices had been wrested from the tribals over the many long years of conflict, of a level beyond even the host species' means to produce yet marked with primitive writing.

With few other clues to follow, the next site to investigate would be Noorun's home. Taboo prevents entry, but the hunger pains have began to cause complaints among the children. Soon the body will be carried up to the newly available memorial garden and an efficient search may be made of the small dwelling.

It is fortunate that no others live within the collection of rooms. Not only is there no other to share the blame, beside the mysterious supplier of the weapon, but no one to object to security forces going through every shelf, cabinet, and closet.