"How much longer must we remain in this system?"

The Ship-Father paces in front of the command seat. His hands wave about as if caught by unseen currents. Nett ducks under an unexpected gesture from the Ship-Father as he turns in place. One arm extends, pointing at the screen.

On the main screen is Ship-Mother Eva Chel. Stress lines crease her otherwise smooth face. Her uniform, normally crisp, shows rumpling from long wear. Data tablets form an untidy stack upon her desk. From off camera the voices of distressed supplicants demand her attention, though she stolidly ignores them. She focuses her ire entirely upon Jim.

"Until we can find another working core to put in your ship. You're too easy to recognize with that monster of a ship. There's going to be a lot of attention coming your way, and that's not going to help us here."

They mainly want me to remain within the influence of those who can protect me. Not out of any sense of kindness, but because they see value in my continuing existence. So long as I continue being useful to them. They also feel that the Resurgent will suffer from being too closely associated with myself, as well as being known to have Tserri crew. My presence can only make them a more tempting target.

While the Ship-Father knows these things, he is not mollified. His spirit chafes under confinement. The fact that we are on the very edges of explored space taunts him.

"We're on way back now, anyway," grumbles Jim. The few disaster victims remaining onboard can be transferred to Kalibern when we dock. "Then you'll get him back."

"As if I could turn him down," Eva complains. "Jetanda's bunch would be a lot easier to deal with if they'd stop accusing me of exiling their," her voice takes on a mocking tone for a moment, "'spirit guides.' Your core's nowhere near as good, either. It's no wonder you snatched him and ran."

"I'd have taken a cracked one if it meant getting my ship back in motion," Jim says testily. "The speed we made saved lives."

"We've told them that, but Yosip, well," her voice fades and she frowns in an unconscious mimicry of the Supply-Master.

Yosip is working with Wikna, helping to direct the modifications to the exterior of the outpost. Every system has to be wired through the main hatch. They're keeping the irregular shape, for fear of harming the inherent distortion effect. Something for the tourists to pay to walk through, if nothing else.

"How many so far?" Jim's frustrated pacing stops. He looks right at her image, anticipating a response.

She sighs loudly and throws her hands up. "Fifteen. After he started charging for the privilege they just lined up. Reckless."

Jim laughs and slaps his leg. While he's so amused, I comment, "Perhaps you should duel a few of them yourself. Might do your reputation some good." He takes his seat, smiling.

Eva chuckles, some of her frustration dissolving. "He's right about one thing, at least. The Tserri hardly know you. They think your name is Tim."

Vren snorts from his duty station. "I have heard this," he confirms.

"No, I think not. I am interested in picking up a few new plants for my garden. Root rot took out the whole room, had to flood the place with disinfectant."

Not a single person in the command room can look at the Ship-Father. Even Eva looks uncomfortable, but she manages to say, "Well, there are a few shops that sell hardy plants from the Tserri home world." She sounds conflicted, perhaps afraid that he cannot afford the expensive plants.

He eagerly listens as she reluctantly gives him directions. No doubt her knowledge that the funds will be a boon to the local economy soothes her conscience. Jim has an officer end the communication, then exits the command room.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He heads to the sterile room that once had teamed with vibrant growths from various worlds. Nothing survives, despite the abundant care and lavish attention Jim pours into his plants. He remains there, happily planning a new arrangement until we complete docking.

I expect to be quickly removed, but that is not to be. Various systems, vital to the recovery of the passengers, cannot be interrupted yet. Treatment continues, even as they are being relocated to the larger facility on Kalibern. Some of the worst burnt cannot be moved until their current round of treatment is complete.

And since the ship is safely docked, Bella takes the opportunity to run maintenance on the engines. She doesn't expect to finish until her next shift. Until then, they require enough power to be able to run tests of various functions.

So, like Jim, I am forced to remain where I am, waiting.

Almost an entire day.

But eventually a lower ranking administrator comes to retrieve me. Escorted by a member of station security, the administrative assistant carries a smooth gray sphere that superficially resembles my own physical form in their hands. He looks nervous, aware of the trouble he would be in if something were to go wrong.

The way the security escort keeps looking at them, a gaze containing both jealousy and resentment, further amplifies the young administrator's apprehension. An orange, spherical glass amulet hangs from around the guard's armored neck, tied by leather straps. I'm beginning to worry, as well.

The switch happens with no complications. The panel opens and they pull me free. The lights dim momentarily before they insert the replacement. The panel closes with a soft click.

The administrative assistant lets out a relieved breath. His guard grows more alert upon sight of me. They mutter a quiet series of phrases in the Tserri language. A few of the words have meanings I do not fully grasp, connotations beyond their simple definitions, but I gather that he's praying.

Vren's ears twitch when he hears the guard's mumblings and he snorts silently. No doubt he finds their superstitions tiresome. I'm glad someone has some sense. The rest of the officers present merely seem mildly amused.

The Ship-Father enters the room in time to watch them carry me out. He nods before rubbing his hands together eagerly, already plotting a new destination.

Technician and guard carry me off the Resurgent and into Kalibern. No secrecy shrouds us this time. Crowds watch, though I cannot say what emotions fill them. The furred faces remain impassive when we pass them. Some among the onlookers continue gazing past us expectantly. But Yosip remains with Mos Bruen and might not return for a great stretch of time. Only a few scattered faces wear happy expressions, mostly the youngest residents.

Eventually we reach the administrative center of the station where we find Ship-Mother Eva Chel waiting for us. She frowns when she sees us but offers the junior administrator the dull gray orb that I will be replacing. The technician takes it and carefully places my round form into her slim gray hands under the careful gaze of the guard.

"Finally," she mutters, her expression softening. "Let Jetanda know that she can call off the sit in, His Balls is back."

What? Who's balls? Me?

She plugs me into the ready slot and slides the panel shut. I reconnect once more to the familiar systems of Kalibern station.

"What's a sit in?"

Eva turns to regard my camera, a mischievous look upon her face. "Your people don't have peaceful protest, Denn?"

"Our brains are hard coded for submission to the ruling caste. To disregard their orders is practically impossible."

"That might be the way things work with your people, but we do things differently."

"Obviously."

She glares comically into the camera before resuming her explanation. "Anyway, there have been a number of sit ins, that is, groups of Tserri putting themselves in the way, in front of manufacturing facilities. They've avoided any food production, this time, but they've been a real nuisance."

"So normal protesting, but without any chanting or signs?"

She shakes her head. "They have signs." She taps the control panel on her desk and the view from the front of Glian's new garage fills the main screen. "See for yourself."

The paved walkway is unseen beneath the press of sitting bodies. Armored Tserri, arms linked with their fellows, fill the approach to the mechanical shop. Some do indeed carry signs bereft of writing. Orange signs with a stylized representation of Yosip's face appear across the scene.

"They want Yosip back, but they'll have to settle for you," Eva remarks, turning off the video.

"I don't think Yosip is willing to return."

His situation is peculiar. Unwilling to be retired by his superiors, he opts instead for a working retirement at Bruen's colony. I can understand his distaste for retirement; my own experiences with it were less than stimulating. But to disobey one's leaders is beyond my ability to comprehend.

She shrugs. "For now. Until he comes to his senses, we're making a decent amount shuttling challengers and pilgrims between here and the new installation. Did you hear what they're calling it?"

I respond that I have not.

"Sba City," she says with a smirk.