A steady stream of traffic flows between the planet below and the station hanging far above. Medical ships take priority, other vessels giving wide clearance to the fast-moving emergency transports. Scorches from lightning strikes mar many of the painted hulls.

Storms wrack the surface of Honus. Atmospheric systems will recover, eventually, but they will settle into new patterns. The hospitals of Centra City cannot handle the overflow of patients. So many suffer from the massive explosion, whether from ruptured ears that bleed and cause the victim to stagger uncontrollably or broken limbs from being thrown about by the unprecedented ferocity of these storms. Many farmers, thinking themselves save, suffer from burns inflicted during the intense flash.

Ship-Father Tollek takes an active role in this emergency. His hangar is serving as a treatment center, where Tonn Rojer works tirelessly. Many members of the crew take this opportunity to train with medical equipment, serving as nurses for the duration.

I cannot help but notice that the wounded farmers and city dwellers alike do not refuse treatment from the Tserri nurses. A pity that they do not want these same volunteers to land where they could offer their aid more efficiently. Well, attitudes are softening, at least.

Gelen's fleet of rock chewers make up a reasonable fraction of the traffic as well. The alloys they carry are in high demand currently. There's talk of building a shipyard in the smoldering crater, once it cools down. That project will devour metals at a rate the free fleet will struggle to match with their current rate of production. While they are getting more proficient, they suffer from frequent injury.

Some traffic makes its way to the edges of the system. Construction crews, diplomats, merchants of course, and even a few tourists. Work is underway to construct a proper docking port around the outside of the irregularly shaped airlock.

"Seen us some mighty interestin' sights, while we were away," brags Weapon Operative Gelly Drop. He leans back in his chair, boots up on the table.

The others with him, his cousin Jim Tollek and Defense Operative Vren nod encouragingly. The three are alone in the officers' lounge, exchanging stories over drinks. Juice. They're due to return to duty soon enough.

"They've got a base set up underground. Walked through it for days without ever seein' the sky. Told me the ground was molten, at the surface. Whole place riddled with portals," Gelly explains. He takes a drink of his juice. "Fought over that one for longer than they can remember, they said."

"Caves," Vren says, raising his own glass. "Not too different than living on a ship."

"Aye," agrees Gelly. "With checkpoints set up ever so far. Nice and warm, at least."

"We found a real hot one, ourselves," Jim points out. "Right, Vren?"

Vren sets his glass down with a grin. "The biofactory? Almost wanted to shave off my fur, it was so humid. I had to replace the inside of my suit, to remove the smell."

"Those things made one nasty mess when we killed them," laughed Jim.

"The green ones were the worst of the horrors there. What kind of creature evolves blood that expands and hardens as it dries?"

The Tserri officer shudders. The other two laugh at his discomfort, Gelly the more heartily. Jim runs a hand absently through his crest.

"Those were pretty bad," admits Jim. "But at least I could look at them. The ones with the legs..."

Gelly slaps his cousin on the shoulder. "Legs are no so bad. Did ye see the videos from inside the sphere?"

"Hm? Oh, from Han's suit? Sure," Jim says distractedly. Still thinking of the horrors of this biofactory, undoubtedly. "Weird."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Tserri, but not," muses Vren. "Did the science teams ever figure out the original purpose of that installation?"

Shrugging, Gelly takes another drink before answering. "No. The Squivers have some secret, but I've no pried."

"Maybe you should," Jim says pointedly. "They've given you some kind of honorary title, use it."

"Yer talkin' to Don Gelly, then," smirks the wiry officer. "Mayhap ye should show some respect, eh."

Vren barks out a harsh laugh. "Honored Don, please use your influence and prestige to enlighten us humble savages."

"Fine," sighs Gelly. "But first, somethin' else me and the rock been thinkin' 'bout. Inside the sphere, we found the remains of a shuttle. I dug around a bit, and the codes match with the one ye traded for our Denn, Jim."

"Really? I've read the reports from Yosip," counters Jim. "But he made no mention of the shuttle. Hmm. That alien claimed to have made a power core. It was only desperation that made me believe, but I'm glad I did." His face lights with inspiration. "Did anyone think to show one of our engineers those crystals?"

"Well," admits Vren slowly. "I gave a dark green shard to Teah. I showed it to Terla first, to make sure it wouldn't harm them." He looks uncomfortable. His eyes dart from one of his companions to the other and back, again and again.

Jim finishes his drink and stands up. "Don't worry. You don't have to take her new toy away. There are other samples, making their way around. Snatch them up for me, if either of you sees one."

His two subordinates agree, though Vren seems less than reassured.

"She will be fine. Han sorted many of them by claw and suffered no harm. The dust eater also carried them on her person, though she's a harder one to judge." My words calm him somewhat, but he still seems worried. Looking to the others earns the Tserri only shrugs.

With a final straightening of his uniform, Jim exits the lounge. Gelly scratches his neck and shares a look with Vren.

"How many legs?"

Vren chuckles. "Eight and covered with sharp fur. Jim had so much stuck in him he could have passed for a two-armed Tserri from a distant clan."

Gelly guffaws hard enough to fall from his seat. Vren ignores his companion's buffoonery and maintains his own dignity. He sets his empty glass down on the table and walks across the room. He pauses at the exit and looks back at the still laughing Gelly.

"It's your turn to clean up," he announces and heads through the door.

The wiry officer pulls himself up, then rights his seat. He bustles about the lounge, dealing with the dirtied glasses and wiping down the tables.

"So, this Squiver," Gelly says, thinking aloud, "most likely tryin' to grow more power cores, aye?"

The thought is not new to me. The matching codes are impossible to overlook, though there is one problem with the theory.

"That's not how cores are grown. You saw the sizes of those crystals and you've seen my core. Though, it isn't any wonder he couldn't get any crystals to grow large enough," I explain. "The process is the secret of a very reclusive caste, but they aren't thaumatists."

"Do ye know the right way 'o doin' it, then?"

I don't. I admit as much to the officer, but add, "Even if I did, the cores we use aren't normally as powerful as those you are more experienced with. A battle shell or perhaps a large crawler are about the extent of their capability."

That isn't enough to discourage him. He puts all the chairs under the table, a distant look on his face. The cleaning finished, he too exits and heads toward his next work shift.

"Alright, they are no as strong. Ye think. Have ye tried pluggin' one of yer crystal spheres into a ship? Yer doin' a fine job of keepin' us movin', yerself."

I think about his question. It is not unlike Han's disappointment that smaller ships do not require cores. If a core were to be wired in place of their capacitors, would they not overload? But then, my travel case doesn't burn out solely because of the runic arrays inside, channeling excess power in a way that dissipates it.

"The systems I'm hooked into control most of it," I admit. "Though it may be possible you're correct. The arrays in cores that I've seen were fairly simple in comparison to myself, though perhaps new techniques have been developed since my retirement."

I find the idea unlikely, however. Gelly seems thoughtful, walking more sedately than is his normal fashion. The Empire has existed unchanged for a very long time. The very changeless nature of my people, born to our stations and living as proscribed by our traditions, had been a source of constant aggravation during my career.

Unimaginative is an apt word to describe my people. We are taught from the time of our first molt that the ways of the elders have led us to greatness and will lead us to even higher glories. Each caste has their role to play, in service to the whole. Knowledge is also kept strictly guarded, regulated by Duv by order of the emperor. New techniques in rune craft can be incredibly dangerous if even slight errors are present, after all.

He asks a few more questions as he works. He wishes to know whether he might acquire samples of both uncut and finished cores, and what it might cost. A few suggestions for trade goods prompts another round of questions about the relative value of trade goods. I do my best to answer him though he seems confused by a few of my responses.

"You really think they'd give me one for a case 'o birpa?"

"Only if they like the flavor you bring them. I understand that some are better than others."