I engage the services of a private courier group to have a package delivered to Glian. It's meant as a welcome gift and is composed of different bottles of the fruit wine that I've been storing away between sale batches.

The delivery specialist that Jetanda's group sends to assist me is young, which is to be expected. The courier whispers to himself, twitching his ears as he walks through the back corridors to the distillery. It nestles deep within the protective stone, far from the radiation that so ruins alcohol in deep space.

For some reason, those employed by the station to distribute food and other resources have become reticent to enter the brewery. I'll need to further automate the distribution system, if I wish to continue my little hobby.

The small fermenting vats are kept sealed away, buried beneath heaps of dense machinery. Only bringing fresh fruits into the facility requires the aid of living beings, all other steps of production are handled by complicated devices under my direct control. Sealed bottles awaiting delivery accumulate in the dark, temperature-controlled storage room.

The cool air causes the courier's red-gold fur to stand on end, or perhaps the frequent shuddering whine from mechanical arms might be the cause. His sensitive ears can be seen twitching, focusing on the assorted clanging or burbling noises that surround him. He need not be worried; I monitor my brewery for structural stability often; none have been injured within it.

The youth selects from the available bottles, referencing a list provided for the assignment. Glian deserves the best of what I produce, as a reward for coming to the attention of those who run the station. He slips the three dark glass bottles into his courier pouch and leaves as quickly as he can. His lower set of arms shoot warding signs, clicking claw tips together rhythmically as he runs.

Perhaps the youth fears the flights of stonefeathers thick in the area. The feathered creatures keep the pests that swarm near the intoxicating aromas of rotting fruit from propagating too greatly. One swoops right past his head to snap up a winged blur. The youth jumps, releasing an involuntary growl.

I wish to watch the completion of the delivery and see Glian's reaction to the gift, but something more important requires my attention. Dunc is awake. The last to recover, and the one most grievously harmed by the biotoxin, he is gaunt and weak. The young officer's skin hangs loosely from his frame, and he struggles to sit up.

Zra and a nurse are helping him eat. Zra hold Dunc and the nurse spoons a thin gruel into the youth's quavering jaws. Spen sits nearby, also still recovering. Gelest is due to be released soon, but clings to Spen like a chick under its mother's wing.

Dunc's eyes hold no recognition of those around him. Spen mourns openly, clutching Gelest to him for support. Mashed fruit pulp and juice runs down the thin chin of the badly weakened operative. The nurse wipes it away, worry plain on his furry face.

"H-How bad is it, doc?" Spen is too tired to be angry. He sounds defeated, worried that another blow would strike him soon. He wipes his face with one hand, holding Gelest's shrunken form tight to him with the other.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Zra turns to look at the two holding each other. Gelest flinches under his gaze. "He can barely speak. His memory centers seem swollen, bruised." He scratches distractedly with a free claw. "I don't know how much will come back to him, or when."

Spen nods. He takes a deep breath before asking another question. "I want to take him home, to be around familiar things. Do you think that I can?"

It takes a moment for the medic to consider, but he assents silently. The two Selber collapse together in relief. "But you need to keep in contact with the clinic. The toxin is out of his system, and he's shed the last of the nano drones, so it should be fine. You've both been through various stages of the recovery process and can help each other. Today he needs to rest, but you can all go tomorrow morning if he's able to walk out of here on his own."

Spen starts to answer but the healer holds up one clawed hand. "He's not fit to return to duty, and until you've passed a full examination neither are you. Use this time to recover."

The gray officer hides the shame he must be feeling well. To be declared no longer worthy of serving their empire must gall him greatly, though he bears it with great reserve. Perhaps he focuses on the wording, that he may regain that privilege soon, if he proves himself.

He wraps his other arm around Gelest, who buries her face in his neck. Tense silence broken only by Dunc's slurping fills the clinic. All the other patients are gone, and the place is empty other than them. The calm shatters when the door opens unexpectedly. Gelest whimpers in surprise, and Spen half rises when he sees who's entered the room. The weight of Gelest drags him back to his seat, but his eyes don't leave the new arrival.

"You, come to gloat?" Spen glares at the younger officer standing in the doorway. The gray individual walks slowly into the room, shaking his head sadly.

"No," his high-pitched voice answers. He puts his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket.

"Then why are you here, Vin?"

Vin Tussa, who the two operatives had beaten nearly to death once in an unfair fight. And a relative of the one claiming responsibility for the terrorist attack on our station.

"We don't need any trouble," interjects Zra. "These three are still under my care, and I won't have you causing them to collapse from stress."

Vin shakes his gray head. "Not from me."

He drops onto an empty cot and stares at the floor between his feet. Zra dismisses the nurse, who takes away the tray and bowl of fruit gruel. The nurse casts angry glances at the young pilot, but does as ordered.

"I'm here to apologize," Vin says, looking up to meet Spen's cold gaze. "I didn't know my uncle would take it this far. I didn't even say anything to him."

"Don't feed me that gua shit," spits Spen. "You must have known, why else would you be here?"

"I heard about the attack down on Honus, this morning," answers Vin. "The Cabin's in the system making deliveries, and I pulled leave today. When I heard your names, I came here. Yosip had me interrogated, but he released me after I proved I'd been part of a squad the whole last year. What he told me lined up with what I already knew. I'm truly sorry."

The young pilot pauses to collect his thoughts. The others in the room stare at him silently. Spen shakes, and muscles on his face work as he tries to control himself. He may not be as much of a lost cause as I had feared once. Vin evidently sees the anger on the other's face, and he rushes to continue.

"I didn't tell anyone, except my squad mates. I got it hard enough showing up in bandages, to also make enemies with all the friends you two left behind," he explains. "Your Supply-Master has their names now, though, and so does Dunc the elder."

Spen thinks for a short time. "Lendi Vesk, Robar Ind, and who else?"

"Not Robar, he died in a clash with the Navy bastards. The other two are Skel and Jir Lumber, brothers."

The name causes Spen to nod. "The Lumbers played a big part in the revolt, so it was probably Vesk. Her family were incredibly loyal to the Coalition."

"Yeah. So were mine. I'm sorry they're causing so much trouble."

"I'm sorry too, Vin. I'm sorry we didn't kill you then. Get out."