Gelly handles the bulky hauler as if he had never been anywhere but at its controls. He concentrates on the display in front of him, ignoring the small sounds the cargo vessel makes as it works.

He only steps away from the command seat twice during our voyage. The first time he leaves it, it is for the purpose of locating the amenities. After relieving himself, Gelly takes pity upon me. He connects my interface to the computer system of the vessel, allowing me to look through the various files it stores.

The second time is for a brief nap. I barely notice his absence, so enthralled am I with the files left upon the hardware by the previous owners of the craft.

Of course, there are all currently available episodes of Capey's adventures. I don't bother with them, instead focusing upon the far more interesting genealogies present upon the computers. Still images of the deceased crew, with accompanying notes about interrelatedness and direct lines of descent take up a sizable portion of the information banks.

This is more information about the nomadic Tserri than I have ever had access to, and I do not wish to waste the opportunity. I cannot fit all the files upon the small information storage unit inside my metallic shell, but the more important or interesting parts fit easily.

Divided by tribes and clans, the nomads outnumber the station Tserri by almost double. This is no surprise to me. I remember helping to assign them to training courses and filling out crew manifests. Granted, the nomads no longer reside in the ships to which they were originally assigned, as they would rather live and work with members of their own family groups.

It is within these files that I locate images of the Tserri with which Han has became intertangled. They belong, or did at least, to the largest of the tribes represented in the ledgers. The Rust Mountain Tribe to which their families belong is composed of many smaller clan groups. Lines of relation flow through these groups, creating complicated loyalties.

A few of them are dead, and I make a list to assist in the station's recordkeeping, then transfer it to my housing's storage. They leave behind many survivors, however. Not just children and the elderly, either, but many adult Tserri still in the full swell of youth. I also identify the Tserri that had served as the crew of this vessel, the Blind Worm. The names will be of use to Gelly when he negotiates on behalf of their families.

Of the many tribes that comprise Gelen's fleet of free Tserri, the Rust Mountain Tribe is easily the largest. Gelen himself is not a member, thankfully, belonging to the Ice Vale Clan.

I don't know what tribes or clans exist on the station, never having thought to inquire. The Tserri onboard do not seem to care so highly for their previous allegiances, instead separating themselves by neighborhood or profession. Even the members of Gelen's fleet that settled aboard Kalibern had never shown any tendencies to clannishness beyond the expected hesitancy to reach out at first.

I set aside the familial records to see what other treasures might be hiding in the data banks. A section dedicated to the mineral analyzer details the various composites common in this system. The information about the natural formation of crystalline structures under microgravity keep me busily reading until Gelly announces a delay of plans.

A quick glance at the piloting station reveals that we're at a practical stop. Nothing nearby would inspire cause for a delay. I then notice that Gelly is completely without clothing.

"We need to talk. Can ye tell me if the witch can hear us? I'd like this to be just a friendly chat, eh?"

"I don't think so. Are you feeling alright? Have you been drinking the coolant, Operative?"

His face wrinkles in thought momentarily. "Bah. There're no spells clingin' to us? I don't want to rile her up if I'm wrong."

"I assume you put anything with a visible rune on it wherever your clothing is?" He nods and I continue, "Then unless they've created new tricks, we should be as private as it's possible to be. Go ahead."

His posture relaxes when he hears me. Gelly lowers himself into an empty seat, then looks up at me. With a serious expression he says, "I think the witch's messin' with yer Bruen's head. I've caught her standing over him, he fast asleep, workin' her charms. Is this a thing ye keep yer witches for? I brought it to him, and he already knew!"

My answer is slow in coming. There are many legitimate reasons that she might be acting such. In the unlikely event that he suffers chronic night horrors due to trauma, Bruen might require her services to aid his sleep. It is also possible that an injury or infection might require constant healing to prevent his demise. An implanted organ, otherwise functional, could be adjusted or recharged most easily while he sleeps.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Somner Zek is outside of my control," I state regretfully. "She likely views me as little more than an amusing toy. Even so, what matters most is that Bruen is aware of the situation. Is there anything else you can tell me about her actions?"

"Aye. The false eye in the center 'o his face lights up like a Honus sunrise when she's doin' it. White as anythin' with a tinge 'o the other colors at the edges."

Interesting. An eye shouldn't need much attention, so she cannot be preforming maintenance. In my experience, an artificial eye should be functional for many seasons. It's much more likely that the implant serves as some sort of focus.

"If you had told me this sooner, I could have looked over his implant. I understand why you wouldn't want to make an enemy of her, however. When next I'm in his vicinity, I will inspect this false eye more closely."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "That's what I were hopin' ye'd say. Now, before I put me fancy suit back on, there was somethin' else I wanted to ask ye. Can ye give me some runes to keep her out 'o me head?"

Sadly, I cannot. It is within my power to detect functional runic arrays, thanks to the energy they draw from higher dimensions, but I cannot identify yet the logic behind their behavior. I can sense the effects as they happen, but not why they manifest as they do. Creating them is well beyond my knowledge.

"Even if she could gain access to your thoughts, I believe your experiences with the chiefs should render you immune to anything she could do. Honestly, I'm more worried about what she could do if she got her tendrils on me."

"I had no thought 'o that," he mutters, scratching his neck. "Yer almost all runes. She could twist ye right to shape, if she were to want to. Make ye into a truly scary weapon."

Gelly sighs, the strain of his long adventure visible upon his scarred face. "Prime'd do about the same, I'm thinkin'. The Grand Patrons do no like when a dangerous device is no in their control."

"Do you think that's why they're taking a more active role in managing this system?"

"That, and Yosip showin' a profit when they expected him to struggle. He was no supposed to succeed so well, and they do no like it."

"If he hadn't been able to make something useful from Kalibern, most of the Tserri living there would have starved to death long ago."

"Aye."

"But that is ridiculous! There have been numerous occasions when supplies had to be shipped in-system. Why would your leaders allow that if they wished for Yosip to fail?"

"Why turn down easy profit if they thought it would no matter? Ye knew record were kept of how much the station owed. Lettin' Yosip dig for grubs that weren't there, they thought, but he done too well for his own good."

There are indeed records for each and every transaction between the station and the cargo vessels from other systems. Additional files list each shipment from Honus, along with the amount owed. The sum should be enormous, enough to cripple the station.

But those debts are gone. The station's accounts should all be payed in full, if not containing a hefty amount of credit. The casino earns enough money from the steady flow of tourists that, even after accounting for the small percentage the station receives, it is equal to the task. The miners supply a steady income as well. The station benefits from a modest share of the metal sales and then also supplies them with artisanal luxury goods.

While nowhere close to self-sufficient, the majority of the food and other resources the populace requires are now being produced by themselves in increasing amounts. The rest Honus can easily supply, with no need of outside assistance.

"I think I understand. The established suppliers are unwilling to accept the loss of projected gains they had anticipated. Forcing us to pay their inflated prices made them greedy, and the fact that the Tserri can almost feed themselves is intolerable. Correct?"

He shakes his head sadly. "No. It, well," he starts, then gives up with a sigh. "Let me get dressed."

Once again fit for decent company, Gelly takes his spot at the piloting console. He straitens his vest, then mutters, "Better." He looks over at me, then speaks quietly.

"Ye'd heard 'o the Coalition Navy, right? Well, we were only a part 'o the Coalition. Us, the blue scales, and the Ropers. The blue scales were in charge, though. After they went to hide on their home world, the Ropers started distancin' themselves from us.

"See, it were when the Ledu were found that the trouble started. The Ledu were alright, they were no the problem. They were nocturnal, perfect for late shifts. Low tech when we found their world, just started craftin' guns."

His eyes lose focus and he takes a deep breath. "But the tribals were there first. The Coalition didn't know that, and built a base. Took as many as wanted into space. Trained lots of eager recruits.

"Then they lost contact with the base, out 'o nowhere. The Ledu could no be saved, but they tried. The rescue teams, like as no, were captured and joined the tribe. Those as were saved were no the same people after."

He doesn't have to explain to me. I know how useless it is. When the bond between chief and tribal breaks upon the chief's death, the victim often dies anyway. Those under its sway for longer almost never survive. Severe mental damage, memory loss, comatose state, and other symptoms are common among those that recover. What I don't understand is the relevance to Kalibern failing.

"Well, that were the first time we met the tribes. The blue scales refused to let their newest allies die and threw themselves into the chiefs' eager jaws. There were few of them left after, less now. We still lose worlds. Almost lost Prime.

"The Navy were just us, then. Those in charge got stricter over the years, less tolerant 'o aliens. Blamed aliens for the loss 'o Birri-ka. That were a small nation, bombed when the chiefs ripped a portal open in the Founder's Market. That tragedy were just the first. More live in ships than on solid ground, and those that do are prepared to evacuate at any time. Saved lots 'o lives when the Tserri invaded."