When I'm finally at rest in my slot in the heart of the station, I'm greeted with a host of problems.

All the batteries are empty. Numerous sectors had to be sacrificed, denied power to maintain function for vital systems and areas. My brewery's latest batch is ruined thanks to the outages. And Donna is still upset about Skint's financial troubles.

Worst of all, Yosip is locked in his office and refuses to communicate. Except with me.

"Tell them I'm taking the day off," he bellows. "And the next several." He paces around the room, stowing his possessions in a thick canvas bag.

"They can remove the tumor, Yosip. It's still early enough to be completely safe. Pale and Zra are both confident in your chances."

"Let them cut more of me away later," Yosip snaps. "The doctors have taken enough for now. First I'm going to go and try to drown in hedonism until I can't remember the sound of your voice being farted from walls with eyes."

"It wasn't a pleasant experience for me either, Supply-Master."

"Well, you can't get drunk, no matter how much alcohol you try to brew."

That was uncalled for. "Then you'll just have to drink enough for both of us."

"I'll survive the tumor. The problem is the station. Too much is on the line, that depends on me, and there's so very little I can do about any of the real issues."

"That's right, the people depend on you. You're their hero, their protector. You give them hope."

"And what do I do to deserve it? I sit in my office all day, listening to people who want me to solve all their problems. I need a break."

"So you can't solve all their problems. You do what you can to make their lives livable, to give them something to believe in. You are in your office all day. Long after everyone else has left to go relax, you're still working."

"They want to hold a parade, Mos. Do you know what that is? It means I have to walk up and down the main passage all day, while they cheer for me. No, I'm not doing it."

"That doesn't sound so-"

"And a festival," he says, talking right over me. "Where I'm to give a speech about our little mission. They want me to lead a dance, and give another speech, and then they want to perform a play in my honor that the children wrote."

"Yes, but-"

"And the whole time," he rants, "I'm still expected to get all my work done. It'll take all morning just to authorize all the new housing proposals, and I have that meeting with Jetanda that I've been putting off."

"All right! Enough!"

He stops raving and pacing and looks up at the camera.

"Take a break. But let's get things organized first. Let Eva in here so she can start authorizing those proposals for you."

Having let some of it out, he finally relents. Yosip releases the manual lock on his door and Eva, who had been waiting less than patiently, is finally able to enter his office.

"Eva, Yosip needs you to continue overseeing operations for a while. He's going to take a medical sabbatical and will need you to reschedule all the events that the residents are trying to arrange for him to participate in. He simply isn't up to it right now."

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"Understood," she answers immediately. Eva then turns to look at the Supply-Master. "How long do you think you'll need, sir?"

"Ten days?"

"Enjoy your break, sir."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Yosip walks out of the office, a dazed look on his scarred face.

"Has he always been so hard to work with?"

"No, he's gotten a lot better," I assure her. "There's another task that I think you would have greater success with than I would myself, if you're willing. It's entirely for Yosip's benefit."

"Why don't you tell me what you want me to do, and let me decide for myself if it will help the Supply-Master," she replies.

"Well, Jim is in the system with the Resurgent, and they'll be here for some time while they undergo extensive refits and repairs. Yosip needs some time away from the station, and one of their small craft would be perfect for giving him the isolation he needs while allowing him to stay in contact should he be needed."

She makes a face at the camera that would be frightening on a less diminutive specimen before answering. "You could requisition one of the ore biters from Gelen's fleet with a lot less hassle, Mos. What are you playing at?"

"I could, couldn't I?" That's a thought. Well, if Ship-Father Tollek doesn't wish to be cooperative, it's good to know there are other options. "And let Yosip go out in a reminder of all the work that needs to be done? No, I think using one of the shuttles from his old vessel would be better for his recovery."

"That's actually sound reasoning, Mos," she says dubiously. "Alright. I'll get in contact with them shortly. Thank you for thinking of the Supply-Master."

"Someone has to, right?"

Eva laughs as she sits down at Yosip's desk. She launches into the forms without further delay, industrious as always. Other staff make their way into the room as well, working around her as they straighten up the mess Yosip tends to leave.

Bucket also stays busy, always tinkering with one project or another. Currently they're reviewing the information about the bioships. Blueprints, of course, but also genetic information.

They inform me that there were in fact crew aboard the vessels, though they had been subsumed into the structure of their posts. Vesk's remains have yet to be recovered, but both conglomerate entities wish to examine the cadaver when we do possess it. Pale has a theory they try to explain to me, about possible genetic contamination to the Navian.

Glian's new workspace, completed during my absence, is bustling with activity as well. In addition to the rack dedicated to security personnel, several other full racks of service bays line the expansive garage. He's making quite the fortune from his skills in repair and customization.

His daughter runs around the place, chatting with the young employees that are so new to the burgeoning organization. Glian looks on, both arms crossed over his chest, but the way his ears almost vibrate betrays the stolid posture he presents to his workforce.

At the back is his office, and beneath that is a locked workroom. It is there that he goes to work on assignments from the command staff. The complex artifice is not yet complete, though in form it now roughly resembles one of the crew. The crudeness of the bulking construction can be forgiven, as I'm sure he will refine the design if given time enough.

It surprises me when Dunc Wollen walks into the garage. The operative is not on duty, and will remain on sick leave until Zra is confident of his full recovery. He's wearing his uniform, though all rank insignia are absent.

I'm not the only one startled by his presence. Glian's daughter freezes at the sight of the officer, and her father steps closer to her. Dunc sees this and waves one hand casually, fingers hooked to imitate claws. Glian pauses at this strange display, cocking his head at an inquisitive angle.

"Relax, pal," Dunc offers, attempting and failing to sound casual. His voice quavers, but he continues. "I don't want any trouble."

Glian nods his furred head slowly. "What can I help you with, Operative?"

"None of that." Dunc laughs once, bitterly. "As you can see, I've lost a lot of weight. I just want to see if I can still use my suit, Glian."

"Bay twelve, sir," offers one of the young apprentices.

"Thanks."

It quickly becomes obvious by his struggles that the Selber is unable to don his equipment alone and Glian offers to assist him. Dunc's face becomes dark, almost like charred leather, but he accepts the help. Together they get him into it, though the fit is not snug enough for smooth control.

Dunc's movements are lumbering, slow and clumsy. The employees give him a wide space, but Glian walks casually beside him.

"That's enough, I think," admits Dunc after pacing the length of the garage. "Help me out of this thing?"

"Sure."

"That was harder than it should have been. It'll be a while before I'm back in fighting shape."

Glian swipes that from the air with both upper claws. "Work at it like this, every day, and it will be sooner than you think."

Dunc's eyes widen at the unexpected encouragement and a tired smile appears briefly upon his gaunt face. "Thanks."