Tales from the Inbox: A Profiteer’s Bargain

2951-03-29 – Tales from the Inbox: A Profiteer’s Bargain

There has been little action worth noting at Sagittarius Gate since our interview with Admiral Abarca. The defenses here are quite extensive, and all the more impressive for the fact that there are no planets or large bodies in this system to provide materials, manufacturing base, or work force for their construction. True, the defenses at Maribel are at least as extensive as these, but they are distributed to provide a defense network for a planet, whereas here the “fixed” defenses are in fact fixed to nothing in particular; a few fleet tugs could easily reposition the whole setup into new orbits in a week or two.

This week, I’ve elected to share part of an account sent in by someone who we’ll call Sacha T. (not, obviously, his real name). Sacha is, or more accurately was, an independent contractor in the semi-organized shadow industry of war profiteering. These vultures don’t directly plunder the Navy’s coffers, but they do pick over battlefields, smuggle people and goods across the lines, divert military supplies (probably those of both sides, though ours seem to be easier), and so on.

Sacha’s account picks up in the Anonga system, a backwater in Farthing’s Chain which has apparently become something of a clandestine hub for smuggling of war materiel.

Sacha slouched against the bar, staring into the amber liquid in his tumbler. Most likely, it wasn’t real Earth whiskey, despite the insistence of the nanotattoo-emblazoned barkeep, but it would raise uncomfortable questions if anyone knew he could tell the difference.

Ten years prior, Sacha had been the sort of person who would never have stooped to buying a drink in the cheapest bar on the decrepit waystation in such a sorry excuse for a star system, but now, he was the sort of person who hung around such places and drank whatever foul spirits were poured for him, without the slightest indication of revulsion. After all, the only people who were in his new line of business had long ago learned to bury any tendency toward revulsion which they had once had.

The stool next to Sacha’s creaked as a new occupant sat down. “Bad day there, bud?” The newcomer clapped a bony hand on Sacha’s shoulder.

Sacha shrugged without looking over at the other man. “No worse than most. Just not in any terrible hurry.” Without any outward indication of the shudder which his taste-buds were trying to propagate through his nervous system, he picked up the tumbler and took a sip, trying to picture the taste of a proper old-fashioned whiskey to replace the sickly-sweet, piney solvent which was actually coating his tongue.

“Funny thing about hurry is, you never know if you’re gonna be in it next moment.” The other man slid a reader-slate along the counter.

Sacha took another sip, pretending to savor the flavor, then finally glanced down at the slate. The garish symbols on its face might easily be mistaken for abstract art by anyone not familiar with the ways of the Reach’s underground, but Sacha knew their meaning all too well. Still without glancing over at the other man, he tapped a slashing series of marks in the middle of the screen, the ones indicating the fee. “I’ve seen this piece before, but there were two more green streaks here.”

The other man swiped through the holo-display menu on his section of the bar, then jabbed the icon for his choice of drink. “Would you be in a hurry if they were there?”

Sacha shook his head. “I’d still have time for a few drinks.”

The man took his slate back as the bartender passed by, depositing a tumbler of aquamarine liquid in front of him. Sacha tried not to wince; the only blue liquor on the menu was Bare Starshine, a distilled concoction infamous for its astringent, medicine-like taste, and for the trace toxins which had made most of the Core Worlds ban its import. Unlike the whiskey, the Bare Starshine was probably genuine. His would-be client had something to prove, no sense of self-preservation, or both.

“Y’know, it sounds like you could use those drinks, bud.” The other man picked up his tumbler, swirled it a few times, then downed it, slammed down the glass, and dropped a cred-chit into it. “I’ll go find out where those two marks went.”

Sacha grunted and took another foul sip of his own drink. “I might not have reason to hurry, but you do.”

The man gave no answer except the creaking of his stool as he shoved off from the bar and threaded his way out onto the station concourse.

He was back within ten minutes, which told Sacha that this half-crazed Starshine drinker was only a go-between. The real client was on the station, probably sitting in one of the slightly nicer diners on the balcony deck above.

“You were right. There’s supposed to be two green marks there.” The man tossed the reader onto the bar once more. This time, it slid across and bumped into Sacha’s glass, sloshing foul pseudo-whiskey onto its screen. Sure enough, the symbol for payment had been annotated with two new green streaks.

“I’ve got a good memory for that artist’s style.” Sacha picked up his drink as he surveyed the image to make sure nothing else had changed. “I’ve got an original on my ship. Stop by next shift if you’d like to see it.”

“Hey, thanks bud.” The other man grabbed his slate back and shoved it into a pocket. “Be there around four-H.”

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Tales from the Service: A View from Headquarters, Part 9

2951-03-22 – Tales from the Service: A View from Headquarters, Part 9 

A few days ago, Ashkelon and its small convoy reached Sagittarius Gate, where the ship on which we have been berthed formally joined Admiral Shun Abarca’s Seventh Fleet. 

Almost immediately on arrival, I put in a request to sit down for an interview with Admiral Abarca, as we were able to do last August (Tales from the Service: A View from Headquarters, Part 8) when he visited Maribel. To my surprise, his people scheduled the interview in time to feature it for this week’s text feed item. 

As with prior interviews, a full recording will be available on our datasphere hub. You can expect analysis of the Admiral’s answers from Ashton Pesaresi and the team on the main vidcast series later this week.  

This interview was conducted in-person aboard the battleship Philadelphia in the Sagittarius Gate system on 19 March. 

D.L.C. - Duncan Chaudhri is a junior editor and wartime head field reporter for Cosmic Background.     

N.T.B. - Nojus Brand is a long-time explorer, datasphere personality, and wartime field reporter for Cosmic Background.    

K.T.K. - Captain Kenneth Kempf is the Naval Intelligence attaché to Seventh Fleet commander Admiral Shun Abarca.  

S.R.A. - Admiral Shun R. Abarca is the commander of Seventh Fleet. 

[D.L.C.] - Thank you for seeing us once again, Admiral Abarca. 

[S.R.A.] - It is my pleasure to see you both again, Mr. Chaudhri. I trust that your crossing was uneventful? 

[D.L.C.] - I was somewhat concerened about the Gap crossing at first, but it was really no problem. I still remember when crossing to Sagittarius was considered risky business best left to the frontiersmen, but we’ve come a long way these past few years. 

[S.R.A.] - Yes, it’s getting quite safe, isn’t it? We haven’t lost a ship in the Gap crossing since the relief of the Lost Squadrons. Though there have been a few close calls, at least some of which your publication has reported on. Martin Westland and his ship come to mind. 

[K.T.K.] - And you, Mr. Brand. How did you handle the crossing? 

[N.T.B.] - Ashkelon’s as comfortable as any ship I’ve rode, Admiral. And Captain Mendoza was quite accommodating to the stir-crazies some people get out there in the Gap. He did everything he could to make us not feel so confined as we might. 

[K.T.K.] - Yes, I heard about your discomfort, Mr. Brand. Has someone from Seventh Fleet medical interviewed you about it yet? 

[N.T.B.] - They've got me scheduled for next Friday. How many people have that sort of reaction? 

[S.R.A.] - Ah, perhaps half of one percent of habitual spacers. Two or three percent of those less occustomed to a spacer’s lifestyle. We still do not know the cause, but suspect it may be related to the discomfort some feel during Himura star drive transitions. 

[N.T.B.] - Hmm. The Himura never yanked my chain. Weird I’d get this. 

[K.T.K.] - The admiral refers to analysis which is still in progress, which he has been following closely. That hypothesis is still unproven, and your interview with medical will perhaps be useful in disproving it. 

[D.L.C.] - It is strange to hear of an admiral being so involved in medical studies such as this. 

[S.R.A.] - Is it, Mr. Chaudhri? My command’s flanks hang in the open, and my supply lines all cross a region of space which causes such discomforts seemingly at random. I do not think that I can afford not to follow the issue. 

[D.L.C.] - That does make sense. 

[N.T.B.] - And yet, despite having no supporting positions and a tenuous line of supply, morale here at Sagittarius Gate seems quite high. 

[S.R.A.] - Partly, you are seeing the salutary effect of Ashkelon’s arrival on morale here. Seventh fleet’s battle line is still under strength, and we rely on the presence of mercenary auxiliaries to keep Sagittarius Gate secure. With a few more arrivals from the Core Worlds, we might allow their contracts to be transferred to other commands. 

[N.T.B.] - Yes, we have seen many reports of the heavy presence of Sovereign Security Solutions in Sagittarius, including their company flagship. 

[K.T.K.] - Sundiver has been here, yes, but since this interview is on the record, we cannot say where it is now. Other Sovereign forces on permanent station are more meaningful to the defense of this system. 

[D.L.C.] - Even accounting for the fact that we arrived aboard a new battleship for your fleet, the high spirits we’ve seen everywhere aboard your ship and elsewhere are hard to explain. Your command has been attacked more regularly and heavily than Fifth Fleet at Maribel, and many of its ships are far older than their Fifth Fleet counterparts. You also mentioned that the Seventh is under-strength. 

[S.R.A.] - The Fifth is also under-strength, but in different ways. Admiral Venturi has a solid battle line and numerous modern cruiser units. I have been given nearly a full fleet’s compliment of destroyers and light fleet units, most of them among the newest models available, but must make do with roughly half a proper battle-line and fewer fixed defenses. 

[N.T.B.] - That being the case, you would think the Fifth Fleet’s morale would be higher; spacers love the feeling of being watched over by plenty of big guns. 

[K.T.K.] - Fifth Fleet has also been in the fight longer and has had to defend far more places than we have. We have one system to defend, and have defended it so far. Fifth Fleet is defending an entire region, and has held the most critical point, but has been forced to cede much else. Trading space for time is always bad for morale. 

[S.R.A.] - I would love to be able to point to some factor of my command style which has produced the high morale you’ve seen here compared to at Maribel, but very rarely is anything so simple. We have less forces, but less to defend, and have not ceded any stars to the enemy. This is also a disadvantage; we have no stars to cede, should overwhelming force oppose us. 

[D.L.C.] - Ah yes. Your flanks hang in the open. You have no friendly port to retreat to, should the Incarnation find the strength to crush Sagittarius Gate. 

[K.T.K.] - You might think it strange to say this on the record, but this is as obvious to the enemy as to us. Mr. Chaudhri, your outfit’s transfer was not accidental. After Operation Firmanent, it is the opinion of Naval Intelligence that the enemy will decide that Sagittarius Gate looks easier than Maribel to reduce. Your team will report on many battles in the coming months. 

[S.R.A.] - Indeed. I expect the strongest attack yet seen on Sagittarius Gate to occur within the next six weeks.  

[N.T.B.] - Fifth Fleet expected a major attack on Maribel during January, and did not receive one. Naval Intelligence probably signed off on that prediction, too. 

[K.T.K.] - Indeed. All intelligence pointed to an attack on Maribel. That attack did not take place. We are still not certain why, or where those forces were diverted to. Perhaps they were being moved into position to attack us here already, along a circuitous route to avoid detection. 

[D.L.C.] - A major push against this system could really happen any day? 

[S.R.A.] - Absolutely. We do not have the mentality of a besieged force, as you have seen, but we are far more besieged than Maribel ever was. 

[N.T.B.] - And if Nate does go for Maribel after all, you’re having to plan an offensive to take advantage of it, and vice versa? 

[S.R.A.] - Correct, Mr. Brand. Though this is not likely to happen, we have several plans for a push outward toward the nearest Incarnation settlements, should an attack on Maribel still develop. Fifth Fleet will certainly move to liberate worlds if the enemy fleet concentrates more completely on this side of the Gap. 

[N.T.B.] - Why not break out now, then? Attack before they can gather their forces? 

[K.T.K.] - On this we can speak only in generalities, you understand. 

[S.R.A.] - An attack toward enemy systems before their fleet movements are known would present high risk for unknown effects on enemy morale and behavior. Such an attack in the necessary strength would leave Sagittarius Gate exposed. We might take a few stars only to strand Seventh Fleet deep in enemy territory with no supply lines, instead of a tenuous one. 

[D.L.C.] - Thus, you and Admiral Venturi must wait until the enemy moves, or at least starts to move. 

[S.R.A.] - Not for much longer, I hope. The tempo of enemy operations is slowing, especially here in Sagittarius. After their next big move, we will have much freedom to act, perhaps for a very long time. 

[K.T.K.] - With that, gentlemen, we must bring this discussion to a close. Admiral Abarca and I will be needed in a command conference shortly. 

[D.L.C.] - Thank you for your time, Admiral. And you, Captain. 

[S.R.A.] - It has been a pleasure to speak to you both in person once more. I hope we can do this again very soon. 

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Tales from the Service: The Firmament Melee

2951-03-01 – Tales from the Service: The Firmament Melee

Operation Firmament. By now you’ve already heard this name; by now Ashton and all your other favorite datasphere personalities have discussed its importance in great detail since Fifth Fleet announced the battle to the media six days ago. This, it seems, is our first unequivocal victory of this already years-long war. Most of Maribel seems to have not stopped celebrating it.

Perhaps you, too, have seen the vid-log snippets which have been bouncing around: the glinting hulls of the cruisers reflecting the light of their salvos, the massive flashing swirl of a strike-craft brawl between a dozen squadrons on either side, and the spectacular explosion of one of the Incarnation tyrants certainly make good vidcast content.

I have talked to some spacers who were there, and the victory is perhaps not as glorious as we might prefer to think. It is, however, no longer the place of this embed team to discuss the operations of Fifth Fleet. As of the twenty-third of February, when we came aboard the Ashkelon, we have been detached from that fleet organization entirely, along with the rest of the ship’s complement. As such, most of my usual official channels into Fifth Fleet’s upper command hierarchy have been cut for the moment.

Ashkelon is perhaps the newest capital unit in the Confederated Navy, having just finished its shakedown late last year, and I am struck by how much larger than Saint-Lô it is. The ship was, I hear, only assigned to Fifth Fleet long enough to play its bit role in Operation Firmament alongside its sister Maribel, and it, with us aboard, is soon to depart on a new assignment as of this writing.

The ship’s skipper is one captain Arik Mendoza. I fear he is far less content with our presence than Captain Liao was; he is young for a battleship captain, and likely eager to see the action denied his crew during Fortitude.

The spherical tac-plot projected above the gunship’s center console quickly became a useless tangle of swirling, multicolored blips, akin to a recently-shaken jar of Earth fireflies, and Lieutenant Wynn Richards kept his eyes on the flashing, sparking expanse of space directly ahead, and at the glittering, stylus-sized spearpoint in the middle of that view. Several more such sinister shapes dotted the void, forming three distinct clusters, each group surrounded by stabbing weapons fire and blossoming explosions.

Somewhere behind him, the two rapid-fire quad-railgun turrets projecting from the Magpie gunship’s sides were shaking the whole ship with their tooth-jarring rattle. Probably, Sullivan and Iwai each had a somewhat less cluttered, and thus somewhat more useful, view of the battlespace than Wynn did, and they were firing away at any target of opportunity without regards to the bigger picture visible from up front. No doubt they’d be alarmed if they knew what their section of three gunships had just been ordered to do, and Wynn certainly wasn’t going to alarm them unnecessarily. After all, if they were going to die, it would be suddenly, and there would be little for the gunners to do about it they weren’t already doing.

Flipping up the cover over one of the few non-dynamic controls in the entire cockpit, Wynn hovered his finger over a series of colored buttons. His was one of a few dozen Magpies modified before the battle with some decidedly non-standard hardware, and it was this hardware which the wires trailing out from the hard-panel and secured along the corner of the console eventually connected. “Two is ready, Lead.”

“Three, ready.”

“Slave to my helm.” Raman Beck, the section leader, instructed. Wynn held down a white button until its associated light came on, then tapped the green button next to it and released the controls with his other hand as the computer began taking commands from Beck’s controls.

“Sullivan, Iwai, check your restraints.” Wynn called into his onboard comms circuit. Most likely a secure harness and crash-padded station wouldn’t help them much if the new hardware went awry or if they ran into stray fire from one of the half-dozen intense sub-engagements whirling nearby, but it was the only hint he dared offer them.

“Arm TR-XE.” Beck called out.

Wynn pressed a yellow button until its associated light began to blink, and the hum of the gunship’s little reactor changed tenor as the TR-XE module haphazardly installed below the cockpit began to draw electricity into its capacitors. He dared not think about what would happen to him if a single piece of shrapnel or a single railgun slug happened to pierce those capacitors, barely half a meter below his chair as they were.

As the power indicators on the unit crept up toward maximum, Beck made a few tiny course adjustments. For the moment, the trio of ships was not being harassed by any of the two hundred or so enemy Coronach interceptors which more than a hundred Magpies and at least thirty Pumas were dueling in all directions, and Wynn hoped that six steady streams of railshot toward the nearest enemy units would dissuade anyone from trying to change this. They’d already fought their way into, then out of, one swirling melee in the last hour, and someone in Command had decided that the strike-craft engagement was going well enough to try a few dirty tricks.

Without warning, a damaged Magpie tore out of one of the nearest swirling engagements and thundered directly across the electronically locked paths of Wynn, Beck, and Lazarov. Behind it, a pair of sleek Coronachs closed in to finish off their wounded prey. Without thinking, Wynn disengaged the helm-slave and rolled to give both his gunners a clear shot at the Coronachs. Their fire, combined with that of one of Beck’s gunners, convinced the Coronachs to break off, and the damaged Magpie limped off to brave the long trek back to its mothership alone.

Without waiting for Beck’s order, Wynn re-slaved his helm to the lead ship. No doubt he’d get an earful for his hasty decision in the post-action briefing, but if it gave another crew even a tiny chance to make it home, he’d be content to endure Beck’s browbeating.

A moment after he did, the TR-XE system chimed its full-charge alert, and Beck flipped the master switch on his own console, changing the indicator lights from yellow to amber. “Engaging in five seconds.” Beck announced. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

Wynn tensed as the countdown reached zero, and his commander pressed another button. At once, the stored charge below him in the TR-XE module crackled along high-voltage conduits into a series of folder nodes, and the view ahead vanished into a coruscating swirl of blue and violet energy, turning a black more perfect than any void in its center.

Wynn flinched, but by the time his muscles reacted, the Magpie had already flown into the swirling vortex, and out the other side. The momentary feeling of being twisted in several directions that didn’t normally exist was gone even before his hands once again grabbed the control stick.

“Two is clear.” Wynn looked down at his tactical plot, which was now distinctly less populated and more comprehensible, even if only two pips within were the blue-green of friendly units. With their helms slaved and their starting formation so tight, the trio of gunships had emerged from their jaunt through a fold in the fabric of space-time barely a thousand kilometers from each other, rather than the tens of thousands one might have expected otherwise. “Forming up. What’s next, Lead?”

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Tales from the Inbox: The Progeny of a Nuisance 

 2951-02-22 – Tales from the Inbox: The Progeny of a Nuisance  

Nojus here again. You guessed it – we’re still in temporary quarters on Martikainen, and most of our vidcast equipment is still in its crates. This time, at least, we have a date certain for transfer, which happens to match the date of this feed item’s scheduled ingest. By the time you’re reading this, we’re probably already stretching out in our assigned quarters aboard the vessel which Duncan and I both hope will be our home for the remainder of the war. 

Naval Intelligence has cleared us to report generally on the rumors that Fifth Fleet outriders smashed up a group of Incarnation ships somewhere in the vicinity of Maribel. We have no clear idea where this battle took place or what strength it was fought in on either side, but it certainly didn't hapen here in the Maribel system itself. Hopefully when the details come out we won’t learn that it’s another Trond-Arud. 

As the little Nuisance argued with Donovan in hushed tones at the other end of the umbilical about the logistics of searching a ship’s trash compaction press for remains, a thought occurred to Svetlana Cremonesi. Obviously, she hadn’t thrown anything alive into the compactor aboard her Tycho Spike, not even a Nuisance, so such a search could only serve to make her departure even later, but all it would really take to prove the creature was lying about kidnapping would be to produce the fellow Nuisance it had named. 

“Donovan.” Svetlana made sure to use enough volume to cut the hushed discussion short. “You issue comms to the Nuisances, don’t you?” 

“Er, sometimes. When a Yixhari-” 

Svetlana dismissed his explanation with a wave. “Ask your data system if you’ve issued one to this Wsir-Virh.” 

Donovan muttered a few instructions into his wristcuff, then cupped one ear to his comms earpiece to listen to the reply. “We don’t seem to even have a Yixhari by that name registered.” 

“So then.” Svetlana stepped toward the Nuisance. “Who is Wsir-Virh?” 

This time, it stood its ground. “Is on ship.” 

“Not where. Who.” 

Before it could answer again, one of the constables returned from within Tycho Spike. “We’ve swept the crew deck, Captain, and found nothing. Do we have permission to search the cargo bay?” 

Svetlana shrugged and jabbed a finger at the control on her cuff which would unlock the access-way leading down to her ship’s pressurized cargo bay. “There’s sensitive stuff in some of those crates. Break a cargo seal, and you’re the bastard paying for it.” 

The constable nodded stiffly, already seeming ill at ease with the search. “We’ll be careful.” With that, he tromped off to gather his two associates and proceed down into the cargo section. 

When Svetlana turned back toward the Nuisance to follow up on the unanswered question, the little creature wasn’t where it had been. Donovan was facing the station side of the umbilical, hand to his mouth as he dictated follow-up queries about this mystery Wsir-Virh. 

Svetlana spun around, and realized there was only one place the Nuisance could have gone. “Damnation, Donovan, you weren’t watching it!” 

“Eh?” The Survey officer turned around, confused. 

“It’s on my ship. I warned it. I warned you.” Svetanla jabbed a finger at Donovan. “It was just waiting for me to turn my back, and-” She stopped, then smiled and opened her ship’s intercom. “Constables, the Nuisance has boarded my ship. If you find it before I do, apprehend it. I wish to pursue slander, trespassing, piracy, and endangerment charges.” 

Donovan cut his comms channel, a frown on his face. “Captain, what are you-” 

“What I said I would the first damned time.” Svetlana undid the safety clasp on her holstered pistol and drew it. “Repel boarders.” 

With Donovan’s stream of incoherent protesters following her every step, Svetlana strode aboard Tycho Spike and sealed the umbilical with a command override. At each pressure bulkhead, she stopped and sealed hatchways usually permitted to stand open, and at each compartment, she left Donovan and his babbling at the door while she carefully swept the space for any sign of the Nuisance. Once she was satisfied with each space, she sealed it off, and quietly set the atmospheric system to evacuate each cleared compartment and corridor section just to be certain. 

Lieutenant Donovan, whose imprecations likely kept him from realizing that Svetlana was depressurizing her ship room by room behind herself, continued to follow, as if something he said might undo what his halfwit charge had already set into motion. She knew not to expect him to try anything desperate - such a desk officer was he that he didn’t even have a sidearm, and he didn’t look the type to know what to do with one even if he had. 

When Svetlana reached the accessway down to the cargo bay, she found one of the constables standing at the threshold, seeming confused as to what he was supposed to be doing. 

“Are the other two of you down there?” She gestured with her gun down toward the cargo deck. 

“Yes, Captain.” The constable nodded, glancing nervously at Donovan’s increasingly shrill protests. Unfortunately for Survey, the station constabulary knew only too well that the Law of the Spacelanes did not tolerate hostile boarding of any ship. 

“Go get them and bring them up here.” Svetlana gestured forward. “When I get back, I’m venting the bay.” She gestured with her free hand. “Donovan, stay here.” 

“But you’re-” 

“On my own ship, where I just gave you a direct order.” Svetlana turned to fix him with only the briefest glare. 

Donovan finally fell silent and made no attempt to follow Svetlana as she went through the next bulkhead and sealed it behind herself. She cleared the next two compartments, including her own cabin, then set them both to evacuate, feeling only the briefest pang of guilt for what this would do to the Herculean jade-claw plant on her desk. The plant wouldn’t die outright in a few hours of decompression – they were popular aboard starships for a reason – but it would probably lose most of its cluster of plump, hooked leaves to bursting as the vital fluid within its thick outer skin broke through and boiled off. 

As she sealed another length of passageway, Svetlana activated the intercom once more. “Nuisance, if you come out now and go with the constables, you get to live.” She came around the corner into the ship’s cramped med-bay with her gun leading, but nothing vaguely rodent-like presented itself within that stainless-steel, antiseptic space. 

One by one, Svetlana sealed and evacuated the lounge, the cargo grapple control blister, the mess, and every other compartment as she moved forward toward command. Tycho Spike’s crew deck was long and narrow, sitting on top of its much bulkier engine and cargo spaces like a stubby dorsal fin, so she knew that nothing had gotten past her. There was, short of her command override unlocking the maintenance crawlspaces, only one way aft from where she was – if the Nuisance wasn't trying to hide down in the hold, it was just ahead in the command compartment. 

Taking a deep breath, Svetlana keyed open the door to command, gun aimed roughly where a Nuisance’s body would be if it charged out at her. 

The Nuisance was there, all right, its ear-crowned head peeking over the back of the pilot’s chair. “No trash compactor!” 

Svetlana scowled, imagining grubby Nuisance paws all over her ship’s controls. They were locked against tampering, but she’d probably spend half the outbound leg sanitizing them. “Into the corridor. Now.” 

The Nuisance’s dark eyes stared at Svetlana for a long moment, then its head disappeared. Just as she was about to issue the order again, it slid down off the chair and scuttled back into view, a bundle of dirty cloth held in its arms. 

Svetlana waved her gun at the parcel. “Drop the souvenir. I don’t care where you found it.” 

“No drop Wsir-Virh!” The Nuisance held the parcel tighter. 

Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “It’s something you nicked from my ship. Unwrap it.” 

The Nuisance hesitated, then slowly began to unwind the cloth bound around the object. After a few loops had come off, it began to squirm violently, and the Nuisance held up its prize. “Not steal.” 

At first, Svetlana didn’t know what she was looking at; it seemed to be a furry grub about the size of a small cat. When the folds of skin on the top end of the grub-like shape twitched and flicked upwards into a familiar crown-like arrangement of four ears and revealed two dark, curious eyes beneath, she understood. Tiny, plump arms detached themselves from the trunk a moment later to reach in Svetlana’s direction. “Wsir-Virh is a child. So how did it get on my ship?” 

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