"Shit," whispers Han.

The cover of our hiding spot is removed with a loud clang. Yosip then says something, scaring the youth. Han cringes down into a small ball around me chanting, "Shit, shit, shit, shit."

We're pulled out of the cramped confines. Han's panicked yowl takes marginally longer to echo back to me from the walls of the shuttle, letting me gauge the rough dimensions of our present location. The layout matches my memories of the interior compartment of a standard shuttle.

Yosip lifts us into the air, and Han's chanting gets faster. The Supply-Master rumbles something, hopefully meant to be soothing, to the scared youth. If the tightened grip he has upon me is any indication, it does not have the intended effect.

The Supply-Master continues speaking to the young Tserri in what I think are calming tones and eventually Han starts to unfold from around me somewhat. Yosip lowers us back to the deck and the youth stands up reasonably straight.

The officer's tone hardens slightly. Han flinches physically from the words, then reaches one claw into his shirt and wraps the sharp digits around me. His claw shakes as he pulls me free from the confines of his shirt. Yosip exclaims when he sees me, though the sound is more of defeat than of victory.

Such a selfless individual. The mere sight of me reminds him of the plight of the thousands left behind, having to make do with only the dregs of reserve power in the hastily refilled battery banks. That his voice becomes tinged with hints of worry and anger is of no surprise. He's on this voyage to forget about such responsibilities for a short time.

Han says something in a small voice, clearly afraid of Yosip's response. His fear is misplaced, however, as Yosip collapses back into the piloting seat. His metal hands are loud upon the controls of the shuttle.

The single screen above the piloting chair lights up, replacing the navigational data with a familiar face. Upon the screen Marta frowns, worry creasing her gray face.

Han stands quietly while the two adults discuss his fate, clasping me before him. The conversation is a short one, and Yosip terminates the connection with a grunt.

Yosip turns in his chair to regard the scared Han, a concerned look upon his scarred metal face. He speaks to the youth, gesturing with one prosthetic limb, occasionally tapping the various replacement parts installed in his body. Han flinches when Yosip taps the juncture of his prosthetic legs, where a specialized metal frame had to be installed to support the mechanisms.

When Yosip gestures at Han, asking a question in a low rumble, the youth responds by slashing at the air with his three empty claws. He almost drops me but tightens his grip with the last appendage.

The Supply-Master gestures again, and Han slowly walks toward him. When they are within striking distance of one another he stops, and Yosip reaches out one metal hand. He holds the arm there, with his empty palm facing upward. Han hesitantly places me into the open hand, which Yosip closes with a long sigh.

From my new position, I'm better able to view the navigational data upon the display screen. According to the charts, our position is just outside the system. Yosip, holding me firmly in one metal hand, inputs new coordinates, changing our course.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I would have expected him to return us to the station, but Yosip sets an intercept course for Gelen's fleet. Well, a section of it, at least. The fleet is rarely all together in one location, now that they're capable of harvesting the natural resources of the system fringes. We're headed toward the closest processing ship, a monstrous assembly of storage tanks and low-gravity smelters.

While we travel, I apply myself to my newest goal. I remember several of the phrases Yosip and Han use, though I have only the vaguest guesses as to the exact meaning of anything they say. Still, by repeating the phrases to myself, I am able to recognize a few common words or sounds that repeat in multiple sentences.

Learning two languages at once won't be easy, especially without the ability to speak. The situation is not entirely hopeless, however. One of Yosip's various implants is a linguistic translator, installed where one of his hearing organs used to be.

I can't access the software, but I can detect when it activates. It releases a subtle amount of energy, and functions by vibrating at frequencies that Yosip can hear inside his head. If he's holding me when the device activates, and I strain my senses, I can hear whatever Han says in both languages.

Han possesses no such luxuries, and relies upon his own knowledge of the Selber language. Only occasionally does he express confusion when Yosip questions him, though I suspect that not all such instances are due to lack of understanding on the youth's part.

Yosip chuckles, then stands up. He motions toward the crash couches lining one side of the shuttle. Han nods, then makes himself comfortable upon one. The Supply-Master retrieves two drinks from a dispenser built into another wall, never relinquishing his clutch upon me.

"Birpa," he says, offering one drink bulb to the young Tserri.

"Ch'shrr," answers Han, accepting the drink.

Yosip nods his bulbous head and returns to the controls. He takes a long swallow from the container before setting down the half drained bulb. The youth is snoring before Yosip reaches again for the rest of his beverage.

Yosip settles a friendly glare on me before commenting to himself in a half mutter. His angry glares involve more contraction of the artificial lenses through which he perceives reality.

Using only one hand he beams an information packet to the location of the proposed rendezvous with Gelen's fleet. The reply is only a few moments in returning, and consists of a simple acknowledgement. Yosip snorts, clearly displeased with the brevity of the message.

Unable to force the miners to be other than they are, he sighs and corrects for minor deviations in our flight path. It isn't truly necessary, but it keeps him occupied briefly. Other than that small diversion, he has little to do but talk to himself.

He looks once, hope filling his face, at the sleeping form of young Han, but decides against waking the exhausted youth. He gets up, intending to pace in what space is available, but Han stirs at the loud clanging of his steps. Yosip sits back down.

Eventually, after tuning our route as well as possible, Yosip opens a training program. It's simplistic in appearance. A grid of squares fills the screen, all grayed out.

Yosip selects one square in the center, using knowledge gained, no doubt, during his years at the academy I've heard tell of. The square becomes darkened, and a numeral appears inside the selected position. A two.

His next selection is an adjacent square to the first, which also darkens. His skill reveals itself, as several more adjacent squares also darken. Yosip grunts, perhaps seeing hidden possibilities.

The next square he selects is also adjacent to the original. When Yosip chooses the position, an image resembling a stylized smoke cloud expands out, turning the screen white. He's presented with the option to play again.

Masterful. Who else could solve such an intricate puzzle so quickly? He made it seem effortless.

Yosip grunts, displeased at his easy win. He plays several more rounds, winning each as skillfully as the first. Bored from the lack of challenge, he deactivates the training program.

His timing couldn't have been better, as no sooner does he close the program than a message appears on the main screen. The rendezvous is requesting permission to link airlocks.