The ships forming lines at the system edge are oddly beautiful. The curved hulls studded with weapon arrays. The form fitting sheaths of energy wrapping them. It's a shame that they aren't here for friendlier reasons.

The ships are similar in design but each shows unique variations. Of the twenty-five ships, no two are exactly alike. The organic components growing across the ceramic hulls show the unique touches of their individual commanders. They all the share the look of predators, however.

Any Tserri salvage vessel that goes near them is shot at. There are several destroyed hulls floating at the edges of the space they occupy. The invading ships even move like living things as they attack.

Jaw-like weapons bays belch clouds of ultra-fast missiles and corrosive volatiles. Swarms of projectiles pierce the thin shells of the rock eating ships, spilling their precious air into the cold void. My sensors show that not all the miners are dead, though it would be unwise to attempt to rescue them as yet.

Yosip seems to share my thoughts. Instead of rescue efforts, the Supply-Master is trying to formulate a defense against these unknown hostiles.

"They still refuse to talk to us, Eva?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," she answers from her station. "Gelen's a different matter. I've got him waiting, if you're ready to speak with him."

At Yosip's gesture she puts the Tserri leader's image on the main screen. The various members of staff in the war room quiet down, though it proves unnecessary.

"I want my people rescued!" The normally placid leader of the free fleets has been skipping his grooming. The graying pelt stands at rough points. His loose vest is grease stained and wrinkled. "They won't last long on the emergency air they've got, assuming they got to it in time."

"Believe me, Packleader, I don't like wasting their lives any more than you do." He grimaces, a particularly frightful contortion of his gray flesh and chrome implants. "But I can't send my pilots to their deaths in a futile rescue. We need to figure out why these ships have shown up, and why they're being so aggressive."

"Does it matter why? They've killed entire families and doomed others to a slow death by carbon poisoning." Gelen's claws snap angrily at imaginary foes as he speaks.

Some of the crew begin murmuring among themselves but quickly quiet under Yosip's masterful gaze. "We've had our best people working to decode the signals they use between themselves. It's almost identical to encryption we've encountered recently, so we've been making some progress."

"Mostly course corrections and telemetry data," supplies Eva, "but we've also overheard a few interesting details."

She sends him a data package containing the information that she had put together about the invaders. It isn't much, but Gelen might be able to put the intelligence to use.

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"We still don't know what they look like, or any details about their biology. For all we know the ships could be empty," grumps Yosip.

"They use engine designs that we've never encountered, but we've taken readings and have come up with a few working theories. Their ships are giving off an enormous amount of radiation," explains Eva. "Enough to kill either of our people if we were exposed to it for very long at all."

"We can't get close enough to board their vessels without getting blasted, and would die before getting to do anything useful even if we could get on board," concludes Yosip.

"Send those Skulls of yours," demands Gelen. "Their suits are supposed to make them immune to that kind of radiation."

"My security teams," Yosip answers, emphasizing the name, "are not trained for that kind of situation. They walk around scaring thugs and helping old folk find their lost sba."

Not to mention that the senior members are still on medical leave. Dunc and Spen, while properly trained for ship-to-ship combat, are in no condition to engage in it.

"I'd go myself," declares Yosip, "if I could wear the bastard suits."

Silence fills the war room. Looks of discomfort grace the faces of the various crew. Even Gelen winces at Yosip's poorly chosen words.

"You know, there might be a way I can help you with that, Supply-Master."

"What scheme have you got going now, Mos?"

"No trick," I answer. "Just a thought. If you were to carry me with you, I could keep you safe from the radiation. I wouldn't be able to do much else, or to protect more than one person. But..."

"But that would leave the station without its power source," declares Yosip.

"True," affirms Eva, "but there are enough power reserves that we should be alright for half a day without having him. It won't be pleasant, but it's possible."

"Which still leaves the problem of getting to them without being killed on the approach. Any bright ideas?"

It takes everyone a moment to realize that the odd coughing sound coming from the main screen is Gelen's laughter.

"That guardian spirit of yours might make something my people have been arguing for possible," says the old Tserri. He runs his claws through his untidy fur, as if just noticing the state of himself. "You ever jump from a high place, Yosip?"

The conference continues, but I stop paying attention to the proceedings. Yosip will let me know what I need to do when it becomes important that I do it. Until they decide amongst themselves upon a course of action, I have other duties to which I must attend.

"Are you listening, you stupid rock? Hello! You said you'd help me if I needed you!"

Donna hisses angrily at the hidden speaker next to her. She stands to one side of the main shopping district outside the primary docking tower. The crowd flows around her, not giving her trouble. Off duty, she's wearing station casual and is indistinguishable from any other resident of the station.

"I'm here, as always," I say quietly. "What problems need my attention?"

"You said you'd help Skint out, like you helped me."

"Yes. And I have," I reply. "His debts were quite a bit larger than your own, I had to take out a loan against my brewery."

"Then why is he still unable to afford to take me out? Are you sure you paid off his charges?"

"Of course I'm sure, the data files are right here...Oh."

That slimeless lump! How could he have accrued such debts? His account is in worse shape than it was before I repaired his finances.

"Hold on, let me look at something."

Pulling up his transaction history shows numerous transfers to an account labelled only with a number. No name is attached to the account. Odd.

Checking on the unnamed account's transaction history gives me a hint as to who might be its owner. Many transfers between the nameless account and the official ledgers of the casino indicate the owner is someone working for the casino. Accessing the stored footage of the interior of the gambling hall shows Skint spending a lot of time inside.

"If you want him to be able to afford to treat you properly, perhaps you should talk to Skint about his gambling addiction."