Dunc's condition continues to worsen, despite the best efforts of Zra, Pale, and the rest of the medical staff. His body wastes away; the toxin blocks his ability to absorb vital nutrients as well as disrupting brain activity. The other victims, even Spen, are beginning to stabilize, though none have yet regained consciousness.

As the worst exposed, Dunc Wollen is least likely to make a full recovery. Even if he survives, the aftereffects of the poison coursing through him will be with him for life. The treatment itself is causing damage to his body, as silver dust deposits build up in every orifice of his thin and oil-slick body. He requires much more attention than the other patients, and I watch as Zra wipes away the metallic crust that slowly forms on Dunc's face.

"This stuff isn't supposed to do that," he complains. "We need more data."

Zra's concern causes the conglomerate entity to examine the secretions. Pale takes some of the silver flakes into one of their industrial purpose arms. The flow of their arms' ceaseless movement rearranges itself, to some pattern known only to their emergent intelligence.

After several long moments, their movement returns to normal and Pale sends rapid communications to their sibling entity, as well as myself, excitement modulating the signals. The high levels of the biochemical causes bizarre interactions with the structure of the nanoprobes. The program built into them can't function properly when the chemical overwhelms and degrades it, and the damaged probes seek any exit point available.

The jargon hides the essential point; the medicine isn't working. The cause of their excitement eludes me, but Bucket's response is quite enlightening. The rapid bursts of the message indicate curiosity.

"Your plasma filters require testing, performance at large scale pending investigation, molecular structure of toxin compatibility highly probable."

I suppose getting to test a new device is not unlike the thrill of taking an unbloodied weapon into battle, though it seems slightly morbid when the battlefield is a youth unable to reject untried equipment. Still, if this helps him to recover, he would surely approve. His closest next of kin is outside the system, and his partner occupies his own bed, so the decision is left to the Supply-Master, to whom the safety of his crew has been entrusted.

Yosip allows the procedure to go forward, too busy to look too deeply into the request. He and Jetanda are currently arguing about the casino. Again. It seems tourism is down in the wake of the gas attack, and she blames lack of security. The strain on his scarred face as he talks with her threatens to rip free his skin from his metal jaw.

"And how many guards do you need, exactly? How will you pay them? Enough so that they can't be bribed? Screening, training, loyalty tests, maybe?" He shakes as he stands over the audio receiver for this voice only call. "My family still remembers what the Navy did during their rule, and we won't repeat their crimes."

"Well and good, but Noorun never should have gotten his claws on those weapons. The people are desperate. They don't feel safe." Her own voice quivers at the end, the recent days draining her strength almost beyond bearing. She makes regular visits to the medical bay, always with several of her family protecting her.

Her visits have an unexpected calming effect upon the Tserri that witness her, surrounded by strong males as she watches over the fallen Selber. The protests that were so frequent have ceased almost entirely. Public opinion now pities the victims of the attack, though resentment still simmers quietly.

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"We'll install better scanners at the docking tower, higher resolution, more power," he allows, "but even they can be fooled."

"Yes, that would reassure many. Make an announcement of it, make sure the broadcasters are aware. I have a niece that thinks she's a reporter, I'll call her and send her to watch the work crew."

Yosip relaxes and collapses into his chair, causing it to complain loudly. "Sure. The people deserve to know when we add new locks to the door."

He ends the call and leans back in his chair. "Mos, you hear all that?"

"I'll get Bucket started on some new scanning installations."

"Good. Eva? Could you help with the next meeting, please?" He sits upright once more before continuing. "You've got such a way with the little monsters."

I check his schedule to determine what he's talking about. The students at the learning center are due by soon for a field trip, where Yosip is to answer questions from the bright young minds. A task he's far better suited for than myself.

Pale is already attaching the necessary equipment to Dunc's prone body, so instead of bothering them I contact their counterpart. The new scanners Yosip wants should occupy little of Bucket's time, a sentiment the conglomerate entity agrees with. They already have plans drawn up, only physical assembly remains undone.

"Wonderful work, Bucket. The sooner you can finish those scanners the happier Yosip will be."

"Simple project, parts already have, little fabrication necessary." Bucket is already sorting through the nearest pile of components and pulling seemingly random bits of possibly functional technology out to place on his work bench. They then fire off a radio burst, containing combat upgrades for the next model of vacuum armor.

The attached note says the outer armor plates are hardened against thermal energy, as well as including antidotes for the poisons commonly available from Honus or other Imperium worlds. Other changes include measures to prevent the suit locks from being sealed shut and back-ups for various comms equipment. To make up the weight difference, it has fewer storage compartments, but that is easily correctable with judicious use of bandoleers and belts.

"Before I leave you to your work, is there anything you need from me?"

"Nothing needed, resources still sufficient, growth progresses steadily."

Indeed it does. Unless my cameras are malfunctioning again, Bucket has acquired two additional arms. They are smaller than the rest, and still shiny, so I'm sure I would recognize them. Still images from days before confirm my suspicion. How long until a third conglomerate entity is produced?

Other matters are more pressing, such as fight breaking out in front of the medical bay. One of the horned creatures lies dead, a steaming hole burnt through its torso. Standing near it is its owner, an angry male with red-orange fur and a black stripe across his eyes. Across from him is a youth holding a pistol of alien design. It tapers to a point in front; this protrudes from a spherical central body. The central body is also the handle, gripped in one of the childish claws. From the top a green crystal sticks partially out, identical to the twenty-seven others that Bucket now possesses.

Blood runs from the younger Tserri's leg, and more blood coats the tips of the dead beast's horns. The older male has claws clenched around the hilts of his knives, but he has yet to unsheathe them.

"I would not murder a child. Drop your weapon and leave, before the Skulls show up," the older Tserri half shouts at the youth.

The youngster keeps his pistol aimed at the owner of the dead monster, clearly distrustful of the armed and armored stranger.

"If we wait, they will take the blaster anyway, but they'll take you too," the youth shouts back. "If I leave, blaster or no, the Skulls will come find me."

His words prove prophetic, as Donna and two of her squad arrive. They had been alerted at the same time I found out, but take longer to reach the facility. Regardless, the youth surrenders easily and begins relating his tale to Donna. The other chooses to resist.

His knives flash out, one in each claw. Arms blurring, he stabs the armored forms again and again, but succeeds only in chipping his blades and ruining their tips. One backs away and begins circling around the knife fighter while the other holds his attention. The first punches at the knife wielder, but he easily avoids the attack.

Unfortunately for him, he dodges right into the waiting claws of Donna's other minion. One armored gauntlet locks around each of his wrists. He's quickly restrained, and they drag him away, to be assigned to a work detail.