Yosip blusters into the camera, "This isn't something you should play with, rock."

Thankfully he has chosen to have this meeting in private. Yosip sits alone in his private office above the war room, face dark from the powerful emotion he has allowed to overtake him. On the large screen set into his office wall, Yosip has two images arranged next to each other.

On the left side of the display is the stone fetish Jetanda had gifted to Dunc Wollen. The glass chip set into the center of the stone has been captured mid glimmer. Orange fills the silicate matrix set within the porous gray rock.

The other display is of our home, Kalibern Station. The image is one I believe was sent from a member of Gelen's fleet on approach to the docking tower. The clear domes surrounding the docking arm are arrayed in a roughly circular patch. Artificial lights of many colors wash through the domes in an image frozen in time.

Upon further inspection I notice that the stone fetish is of nearly the same shape as the station when seen from that particular angle. I may be prideful, but I can admit when I am mistaken. The charm left on Dunc's bed is not a representation of the spirit world, but of our own small world. What I had interpreted as a means of sending prayer to a distant entity is in fact meant as a way for that same entity to locate those begging for help.

The reasoning behind it is alien to me. If this guardian spirit is able to locate a three bit long stone, surely it could just as easily locate the thousands of ubit long station that contains that tiny rock. My mistake lies in believing there to be any sense to these fanciful rituals, that they could have a reasonable basis for understanding.

"They've even started setting up altars in common areas," Yosip complains. "Surely you've noticed?"

Not as such. Though, now that he mentions it some of the decorations that are always going up do seem to resemble the small fetish. The significance of these altars escapes me, so I ask, "Are they spending inordinate amounts of their time tending these altars? I haven't received reports of unmet quotas nor excessive absences among the work details."

Oh! There's a claw drawn portrait of our Supply-Master set into the wall above that one! The likeness is horrible, but the metal rimmed eyes are unmistakable. Black and yellow ribbons form a frame around the portrait, which has a small pile of electronic components left on the ground below it.

"It apears that they've decided you're their intermediary with the spirit world," I say as I add an image of the shrine in question to his display.

While we speak, his assistant Eva Chel bustles efficiently into the room. She sets a data tablet on his desk and turns to leave. She pauses at a gesture from the Supply-Master.

He scratches at the stretched skin between his camera eyes with one metallic claw. "Eva, review the records, find out who put up this, this-" Her eyes follow his gesturing metal hand to the screen.

"Yessir," she answers quickly, cutting off her superior. She glances quickly at the display, skin darkening slightly in empathetic embarrassment.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Shut it down," orders Yosip. "This can only lead to trouble."

"Yessir," repeats Eva Chel. She turns her head away from him, but the camera reveals a slight frown upon her gray face.

I find myself in agreement with Yosip. As admirable as he can be, he is unable to speak across the dimensions and command those higher beings that dwell there. To expect such things from him would only cause disappointment.

It is not likely that Eva will locate the video she seeks. Not because she lacks skill but for reasons of data storage. Each camera operates constantly, sending streams of information across the network. Certain data banks collect and store this mass of video. In order to create room to store new feeds, old ones are deleted regularly. Only twelve days or so worth of information is ever on the servers at one time.

Bucket has been a great help, writing programs to sort and reference the various bits of video. Anything older than a couple days is compressed, slowing access to it but increasing the amount that the servers can hold. As often as we've needed to access the temporary records lately, it may be a good idea to add more storage capacity. Yet another task for our overworked construction crews.

The conglomerate entity sends an alert to the war room, interrupting Eva's sweep through the data banks. An information packet, which she forwards to Yosip. I snag a copy during the transfer. The files are details about the biotoxin and a lexicon of the language that the files taken from Noorun are written in.

The grammar and syntax are odd, matching no language of which I am fluent so closely as that spoken by the tribal chieftains. Not possible, as that breed are not known for their literacy, let alone their engineering prowess. The contents of the message make little sense, and I can only assume that it is written using a cypher of great complexity.

Though I do not truly believe that the Southern Tribals are responsible for attacking our crewmembers, the possible connection between them and the unknown supplier is too dangerous to allow without response. Increasing the priority level of certain projects might cause rumors, but in the event of a tribal breach the additional security may be the difference between survival and integration into the tribe.

The deployable barriers, so useful during the riot, need to be reinforced. The rioters had normal, rational restraint when balked, but tribals would batter their own bodies to death to knock down each barrier. The call of the chieftain is irresistible to those who fall under its influence.

Just the thought of those creatures walking around my corridors, polluting the air my residents rely upon. It disgusts me.

Though there are none of my own people living here, still I have come to view them with some fondness. I watch over these people and work closely with their leaders. If a chief were to come here, it would all be lost.

Yosip and Eva Chel continue working on their separate tasks, so I trust them to preform diligently.

"Donna, are you busy?"

She's on patrol with one of her squad mates, currently in an airless corridor between work sites.

"I am," she replies, growling low into her suit microphone. "What do you need, Mos?"

Her blunt remarks are charming. The way she leaps directly to the point while remaining polite is rather refreshing. "I wished to inquire about the child you brought in for questioning recently."

"The one with the fancy gun?" She taps her subordinate on his shoulder and they both stop. As a response to his questioning ear flick she points upward with one claw. "What about him?" The suited Tserri waves affirmative before he continues on without her.

"Did he say where he found it?"

"No. I recognized the weapon, though," she answers. "Noorun shot Spen with it."

"Yes. But the power source for the device is dangerous. Did you notice anything amiss with the child? Loss of appetite, excessive shedding, unexplained dehydration?"

"We've got it in safe containment, no need to worry about that," Donna replies. "The kid seemed fine. Maybe a little tired? After the day he'd had I didn't think anything of it."

"Thank you, that's good to hear. Do me one more favor and I'll let you get back to your business."

Rather than answer she slowly taps her gauntleted claws against the side of her suit.

"Right. Just remember to take your radiation medicines."