The interrogation continues long enough that Gelly's Aunty declares a meal break. Tserri bring in trays, then quickly withdraw.

Gelly's Aunty gestures him over to her, then fusses over him possessively. She straightens the wiry officer's disheveled crest, ignoring the darkness creeping into his thin face.

It is while they eat that I learn the names of those whom I must convince of my usefulness. Of course, Grand Matron Bell is one with which I am quite familiar, though I learn that her given name is Maret. The two males, both Ship-Fathers, answer to the names Tikov Yon and Mor Istan. Tikov's left hand is missing the last finger, while Mor Istan is the male with only wisps of hair rather than a full crest.

Dunc the elder and the Ship-Fathers discuss shipping logistics to one side as they eat, leaving Gelly to his fate.

His Aunty has the name of Aliah Drop. I'm not sure how they determine which of their three parents' names to give to the offspring, but Matron Drop shares her name with her nephew but not her son. Another quirk of their strange culture, that, after having heard some of their racial history, seems to be an affectation that they adopt without completely understanding it themselves.

"You really should stop running off, dear," Matron Drop admonishes her nephew. He frowns as she attempts to wipe away a smudge on his face. Her frown deepens when she realizes the smudge is yet another scar.

"Aye."

He doesn't flinch as the elder lifts his arms, examining his new armor. "You aren't keeping this."

Matron Bell gazes fixedly at the Weapons Operative with more than the suggestion of a hungry predator to her demeanor. She picks at the fried redfin on her plate. "Let him be, Aliah. He was brought directly here when he arrived, and we've been poking and prodding him since."

"Fine," concedes Matron Drop. She returns to her seat. "We'll end this here for now. When Jim gets back with these new aliens, we'll resume."

"Then if you'll excuse me," Dunc Wollen says, wiping grease from his face, "I agreed to meet the medics here. I need to thank them for all they've done for my family."

He sounds sincere. Even with his distaste for beings not of his species, he must be truly grateful to Zra and Pale, as well as the rest of the medical staff. Supply-Master Wollen stands, offers his thanks for the meal, then exits the converted gaming hall.

Tikov and Mor soon make excuses to leave as well. Matron Drop is the last to leave, with Gelly trailing behind, still regaling her with his recent exploits.

Matron Bell pushes her half-eaten meal away. "So. Denn. I want to say, while there are none to take offense, that I don't disapprove of you, exactly. I'm well aware that you've been up here, you know."

"I assumed as much, though I didn't give it much thought. You left us mostly alone, other than selling us enough food to keep the people alive."

"Yes, I left you alone," she agrees, inclining her head slightly. "It wasn't any of us that informed Prime. The Tserri bought crops from my farmers, bolstering our economy. My influence has grown, thanks to Yosip's good management. If he wanted to keep his lucky power core, I wasn't going to cut down the albulb tree."

"The others, they too see benefit from Kalibern continuing to grow and prosper?"

"They've been making a handsome profit, yes," she replies, waving one hand absently. "Honus is no longer the gor speck it was, and I do not want it to wither now that it has begun to grow. We've become a valuable market, and the four of them are already in the best position to exploit it."

I assume it is the males she refers to. As potential trading partners, it can only increase their earnings to have a rich market to sell to. In a way, this is very familiar to me. Controlling access to a key resource by limiting access points is standard procedure for our military.

"But you have yet to rescind your ban upon Tserri landing on Honus," I accuse.

She nods, not losing her composure. "And it will remain in effect for as long as necessary. Not that I dislike the Tserri, myself, but it's bad for business to let attempted invaders wander the streets too freely. When my citizens are able to forgive the Tserri, then we will see. Don't forget, I'm the only one that would accept the Tserri in their system at all."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

After her capture during the initial invasion, it is a surprise to hear her say that. "Really? Forgive me for doubting you, but I had assumed you kept them off your world as some form of revenge."

She laughs as she stands up. "Not at all. I believe you're referring to the incident during the solar storm? A few acted poorly, but most couldn't stop apologizing to me. I almost felt bad when Jim rescued me, seeing how disappointed they were."

Matron Bell walks to the exit but turns to address me one final time. "Don't try anything stupid, please. I'm leaving the doors locked, not that I think that could stop you. You had better still be here when we return."

With that final warning, she leaves, locking the door behind her. I'm left alone sitting on the floor of a mostly empty room.

While I have no plans to attempt an escape, still I do not wish to sit in silence. With my wonderful, aimable cameras I survey the room.

Thanks to this building's original purpose being a community gathering place, there are many functional access points that would allow me to connect to the station's communication grid. I just have to get to them.

From my place on the floor in the center of the room, any of the sockets is equally distant. It should not matter which one I attempt to access. This could work.

I flex the clamps attached to my exterior, extending them to their maximum width. I start to lean but remain upright. Only one of my clamps touches the ground, and it lacks the strength to push me over. I relax the clamp and rock back in the other direction.

My case wobbles but remains upright.

Again, I extend the clamp, then release it. This time, however, I extend it again while I'm still moving. I also extend my other clamps in an attempt to change my center of balance. It fails to upend me.

Repeated attempts bring me no closer to my goal. I cease my struggles and ponder my situation. My failure is not completely without result, I notice. My casing has rotated almost a quarter of a full circle.

A thought pops into my mind. If I still had tendrils they would shudder with anticipation. I want to try it.

My reasoning is simple. My case is made of an iron alloy. The floor is ceramic, but the sockets I wish to access are made of a similar alloy to my housing. If I were to magnetize the two pieces of metal, then manipulate their fields into touching, I should be drawn toward my goal without having to scuttle like a lowly vermin across the floor.

I believe I can do it. I simply have to generate electrons, then move them in the correct way to generate an electromagnetic field. The only difficulty I foresee is preventing accidental harm to any unshielded electronics. I'll just have to be careful.

I power the two fields and begin to shape them. Charging the field around myself is no effort, but it is a strain to generate the one around the socket. The fields need to be very powerful to extend far enough to overlap. When they do, an impact is almost instant.

Dust fills the air around me, blocking my cameras. I wait for it to settle. When I can see again, I see that I'm no closer to the wall than I was before. The panel, however, is right against my case. Crushing one of my cameras.

I reabsorb the electrons, removing the magnetic charge that encases me. The panel clatters to the tiles. A ripped-out cord trails from the bent panel. Sparks rain from the hole in the wall. Thankfully there is nothing flammable nearby.

Stunned, I can only watch, unable to bring myself to attempt anything more. A radio emitter, now visible in the damaged wall, sends out a signal. Bucket wants me to know that they detect damage in the room I occupy, and that I shouldn't worry, they're sending someone to make repairs.

A technician arrives sometime later. He stands still, staring at the hole for several breaths before entering. The Tserri curses when he sees the extent of the mess but gets to work, muttering to himself. I debate the value of alerting him to my presence while he clears the loose debris.

His black coveralls are standard issue, as are the black and yellow belt and tool pouches. The armbands he wears are not. The special regulations regarding Tserri uniform allow for a broad range of customizations, and his armbands fall well within those bounds. What catches my attention is the embroidered patterns, portraying scenes from the same stories that decorate the shrines of the local cult.

The first describes Yosip bringing his people together and helping them build a new home. Another shows him conquering an orange creature made of spikes. I'm not sure what that one is supposed to represent. The final two show the foods Kalibern offers them on one and the enemies they believe Yosip to have defeated on the other.

He's clearly a member of Yosip's cult. I worry that revealing myself to him would cause more mischief than it would prevent, and remain silent. I do decide to reply to Bucket, at least. I let him know that the worker is doing an admirable job, and should be looked at for further training.

When the technician finishes replacing the panel, he turns to look around the room. He quickly spots the broken panel lying next to me, and comes over to retrieve it. Broken components litter the floor. The technician gives them only a brief glance, heading past the smaller pieces and straight for the broken panel.

He picks up the old panel but also grabs my casing. It is dented, and one camera hangs limply, broken from its socket. The Tserri turns me over in his hands to inspect the damage. He sighs resignedly when he sees the wires dangling free from the connection port.

The worker carries me and the rest of the debris outside of the community center, then places the lot outside the door. He keeps cursing as he walks back inside, looking for a broom. He shortly adds a full trash bag to the pile.

I remain there until Matron Bell and the others return the next morning. Next time, I'll have to remember that I have a radio.