The light shining in Bucket's workspace is brighter than most rooms on the station. I don't think Bucket needs the light to see, considering the sensitive equipment they have no doubt made part of their own bodies. In addition to the normal lights that all rooms share, Bucket has installed additional bulbs that emit in the ultra-violet range. There is even an additional camera that detects in that range for my benefit.

With it I can see that their bodies are able to absorb the higher frequencies. Some process inside them converts the light into usable energy before releasing heat as a byproduct.

The many arms of the entity work the biomechanical pistol apart. At the core of the device is a creature with features that are almost fungal in form. A mouth-like root structure forms a deep pocket in which a specific crystal is normally grasped tightly. The veiny orifice is currently relaxed, unable to feed upon its lifegiving crystal. A nerve cluster set into the handle of its body serves as a trigger for the gland at the end of its other immobile arm.

The components that Bucket removes serve to focus and control the glandular emissions. A glass and wire array that bucket sets aside would serve to focus the released energy into a concentrated burst. If they didn't take such detailed notes, including simplified translations for communicating with the rest of the crew, I would be entirely lost as to their actions.

They communicate constantly with Pale, coordinating areas of expertise. They agree that this creature is not the product of natural evolution. The entities also believe they could make the creature reproduce, though do not seem eager to make the attempt.

Part of the decoded message instructs Noorun to feed and water their new pet. I had assumed the message to be cleverly hidden behind a cypher, as the deceased Tserri had no animals living in his dwelling. His rooms had only soft cloth animals that resemble the stars of a popular tridee program. What other parts of the message might be more obvious than they at first appear?

I review the message with a more critical focus. It starts by introducing themselves as a shared friend of an unlucky individual. It includes instructions to allow their new pet to feed at least once every eighteen days for at least one third of a day, and to always wet its food when it would be expected to perform its tricks.

Next is a section requesting delivery of the package to Operative Wollen, as well as advice for how to open it. No mention is made of the contents, though the biotoxin also is not written about anywhere within this file.

Finally, a section thanking them on behalf of Patron Lovak Tussa, of the Coalition Navy and another individual. This might not be a fabricated organization. The name is familiar, though the Tussa I recall is named Vin Tussa, and ranks as an Operative of low standing. The fact that the message is written in a language so similar to that which my ancestral enemies speak had made me doubt that it had been translated properly, though the conglomerate entities assure me still that the message is accurate.

The second individual is listed as Shaper Mudd, Chief Architect of the Western Arm. The name means nothing to me, nor do I recognize their title. Well, to call the galaxy enormous is to describe an ocean as a bit of water. The portions my people have explored are vanishingly small compared to the totality of space; why should I know every petty empire that rises only to fall again within a single lifetime?

Is it worth distracting Yosip from his important tasks to satisfy my curiosity? I check his usual place above the war room, but there is no one there. Ah, power draw from his domicile matches the levels seen during his infrequent sleep intervals. Another time, it seems.

Eva sits in the lobby at the base of the second docking tower. She's wearing red and gray station casual, leaning against a decorative stone. Beside her is one of the Tserri that works closely with her. Desra also wears short tunic and loose trousers, though decorated with blue and yellow triangles. Eva is learning to play the tile game from her friend, scrunching up her face when she loses.

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"That's three," declares Desra. "You owe me lunch."

"Fine," Eva concedes with a slight huff. "You won't trick me again next time."

Desra coughs out the Tserri laugh while they pick up their game. This is the closest I've seen the pieces, which are triangular tiles with stylized figures and animals carved into one side. The goal seems to be the arrangement of five tiles into arrays. I gather as much from the way they're splayed into such groupings across the springy moss the two sit upon. The tiles go into a draw-string bag that matches Desra's outfit.

They stand up and head to the adjacent shopping district. Desra leads the way, practically bouncing. Eva has to walk quickly to keep up with her taller friend. She's frowning slightly, but her eyes sparkle with hidden amusement.

The pair head right to a small open-air eatery. They take places at one of the small tables and the older Tserri behind the grill greets them with the casual attitude reserved for regular diners.

"What'll you two have today, hm?"

"She'll have the usual," answers Desra. "What do you have that's fresh, Bikam?"

"Just got some redfins, and a nice kalamar," offers Bikam, spreading his upper arms wide. His lower arms are busy scooping kelp fronds out of some brine. Four-legged creatures with thin blue shells cling to the fronds, crawling lazily about the green leaves. Bikam spreads the kelp across his grill and the little creatures die quite quickly.

"I can't eat a whole kalamar," Desra complains, crossing both sets of arms across her chest.

"Redfin it is," agrees the merchant. He drops a flopping creature, crimson fins crisping quickly, onto the grill. He slices it open, killing it, but doesn't remove the organs. Instead, he adds shredded kelp to the opened creature. Its orange hued scales turn red as it cooks.

The two chat happily as their meal cooks. Eva authorizes payment from her station provided account, tapping a few prompts on a pad that the older Tserri provides. The Operative's grasp of the Tserri language is still basic, but the others are familiar enough with her language that they are able to communicate in a pidgin tongue.

After they eat, the two go their separate ways. When Eva is alone, I decide to ask her about the decoded message.

"Hello Eva, how are you today?"

"Gor down my back! Don't scare me like that, Mos."

If I could have walked up to her waving my tendrils, I would. I will admit that a voice coming suddenly through a hidden speaker in an empty corridor could be startling.

"My apologies, Eva. I was curious about the encoded message recovered from Noorun's place. Have you had a chance to look at the translated version?"

"I have," she answers slowly. "But it isn't a good idea to talk about it out in the open. Wait until I get to my room, alright?"

I have no reason to deny her request, though I've already waited this long. When she gets to her place she goes inside. I don't have any cameras set up inside the private dwellings of our crew or residents, but she solves the issue by placing a video call to an empty dwelling.

I remotely activate the device on the far end. She seems disappointed with the empty room on the other end of the call, but the view from her end is much more impressive.

Eva Chel lives in a well-furnished set of rooms, though only her main room is visible to the camera. Table and matching chairs of polished stone, white with beige streaks, sit in the middle of the room, looked over by shelves of mementos. She sits in a high-backed chair of the white stone on a beige cushion affixed to the seat.

"What can you tell me, Mos?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid. I was hoping to gain some insight from yourself," I admit. "Do you recognize the language, at all?"

"No. Do you?"

"Not precisely, though it is scarily similar to a language that I do know. I can send you the language files for that one if you want it?"

"Yes, please, Mos. It might be relevant."

"I doubt it," I deny. "The language I'm sending you is spoken by a bunch of primitives."

"You call my people primitive twice a day," she complains.

There isn't much I can say to that. "It's surely less than you imply. Regardless, these people don't use any form of technology, often not even simple tools."

"Then they can't be the same group. You're right," she says, tapping away at a separate comm tablet. "This is like a simplified version of the other one. They share a common origin, though, that much is clear."

"Do you know anything about this Coalition Navy? What do they have to do with this?"

"Before my time, I'm afraid," she demurs, glancing at her tablet. "It split a bunch of families apart. I can tell you that much, but they were a dark time in our history."

"Is the Tussa one of these split families?"

"Almost everyone has relatives that went into exile," she answers calmly, eyes still on her language comparison.

An exiled faction of their people, working with beings in some way related to the Southern Tribals.