Xeno Core

Several biological niches remain empty aboard the station, some by conscious decision. There is little place here for an apex predator, for instance. Smaller predatory species, which can serve in times of hunger, are encouraged to keep pests down, but nothing larger is nutritionally economical. In some ways it resembles a cave biosphere, where apex predators are seldom larger than two ubits long.

Most larger herbivores are also missing, as they would compete with the residents for many of the same edible plants. One day we might have herds of gau, but for now small flocks of sba provide protein in the form of eggs. The feathered creatures lay a clutch of three eggs at a time every few days. The Tserri may not have known about agriculture, but they are no strangers to animal husbandry. Children scurry about, searching for eggs each morning and their laughter is a true delight to my sensors.

The Tserri residents take to the raising of gorcatchers quickly enough, though there are many complaints about the ugliness of the squat creatures. Hairless skin of a mottled gray and green pattern isn't very attractive, I must agree. The beasts redeem themselves by being packed with nutrition, and I must assume, flavor.

The squat little things can be seen hopping around the caverns set aside for decomposition, catching the hard-shelled vermin that abound in the area with their long tongues. They need little tending and control their own numbers through cannibalism if allowed to breed unchecked, though the constant demands for more meat do not allow that eventuality to occur.

The aggressive horned creatures are of little interest to most of the residents. Too much effort for meat that their keepers describe as tough and flavorless. A true pity, as they are of a size to take advantage of the tallest plants growing in the decomposition caverns. Their dung is no doubt a wonderful stratum in which crops might thrive.

Stonefeathers also flutter about the various caverns and tunnels bored into the gigantic rock, feasting on flying vermin that the gorcatchers are unable to devour. Among the feathered hunters are my dronefeathers, disguised as living creatures. Wonderful mobile cameras that I can remotely operate if need be. Only two so far, but they provide useful coverage of places otherwise outside of my view.

As I'm taking stock of the growing biosphere actively converting the station's waste into fresh soil, rifle fire echoes through the enclosed space. I quickly check the various cameras in the area, but the unseen shooter obviously knows where the coverage is lacking; no images of the altercation are accessible.

One of my dronefeathers flits over to where the sounds originate, and through the artfully disguised eyes of the artificial creature I make out a familiar figure. Spen Dondrik stands above the body of a Tserri, fully arrayed in his armored vacuum suit. The body on the ground is dressed in light green station casual, and while I do not recognize him, his ears are attached to his brown-furred head in a way that reminds me of Jetanda.

Spen raises his rifle and before I can pilot the drone away, he depresses the firing stud. Electrified flechettes rip my poor drone into ragged edged components and the feed cuts off. Only one drone remains to me, and I'll be sure to properly thank the traitorous Selber officer.

I attempt to access the cameras in his suit, but the attempt ends in failure. The bastard has disabled my access to the equipment! His heavy footfalls allow me to guess in which direction he flees, though he manages to remain out of my visual range.

Messages to both the Supply-Master and the old Tserri matriarch burn their way across communication systems. No matter how fast Spen pushes his suit, he cannot outrun his fate. I include images of the slain Tserri in the messages, proof of Spen's misdeed.

Jetanda is the first to reply, and I choose not to repeat the phrases she utters in her righteous anger, justified though they might be. Such a response is far below her dignity, and she would be gently reprimanded if she were of my caste for her unseemly display. The actual content of her message is one of which I approve; vengeance is a fine thing.

From the Supply-Master a message containing slightly less profanity arrives soon after. Quickly regaining his composure, Yosip orders the security squads to apprehend the fleeing officer. The only way off the station is through the docking tower, and the security force races to beat their disgraced comrade to it.

Unsure of his exact route as we are, it would be inadvisable to employ the lockdown partitions. Too many vital station functions would be hampered over something that will be resolved soon enough anyway. Therefore, I must trust in those whose duty it is to protect the station from harm to do their job and instead focus on the body cooling on the ground.

As yet there is no protocol for the handling of the deceased. None have yet died here, save this member of Jetanda's clan. Even the food riots did not cause casualty beyond the scope of our healers' abilities. My first instinct is to have the body rendered into its components and spread across the composting fields. That would be most efficient, but my experiences with other races have led me to believe that efficiency is not the guiding principle of their lives.

I recall from observing the trivee programs popular among the populace that the Selber people often choose to consign their dead to the ground. It is unknown as yet how the Tserri treat their fallen members, but if their traditions are similar then that might be future trouble. Quarters are cramped caring for the living and the processes that keep them so; providing storage for the deceased is a luxury unavailable to us at this time.

Perhaps a compromise, with one of their emotion-fueled ceremonies before an efficient rendering of the deceased, unseen by the masses. I send a potential ceremony site and date to the aggrieved and hope she'll accept this mollifying gesture. She is slow in replying, thinking me perhaps one of the unappreciated administrators in Yosip's employ. Regardless, she agrees but asks about how the body will be interred.

Bother. I ask her to describe how her people would normally treat the matter, and the result is enlightening.

"The deceased are left for a time in their home. The spirit needs the familiar to prepare for the journey ahead. During this time, the rest of the village refrains from eating, so not to taunt the dead. When the hunger becomes too much, the body is taken from the village.

The body should be taken to a high place and left beneath the streaming stars. Tokens are left by the friends and family, little gifts to help the spirit of the dead find the spring of new life. Dried food, tools or weapons. I left tight rolls of cord beside my eldest brother. The body feeds the wild creatures and increases their number, ensuring the continuance of the tribe."

Well, that isn't too bad. A small memorial garden atop the docking tower does not sound unreasonable, as a means of disposing of the dead. First the request has to be sent off to the individual I've been having design rooms as I need to add them. The actual construction should be the work of only two shifts, I believe, though that that can be made faster by increasing the assigned number of laborers.

Marta would have had strong opinions on which plants to decorate the area with, I'm sure, though I think practicality might be the more important factor here. Plants that produce edible fruits or roughage should be prioritized. Among the suitable samples available to me, the best candidate is a vine that produces tart berries, native to the Selber home world. There are two different varieties, and both will be featured prominently in the new area.

The vines like to cling to rocky surfaces, according to the notes Marta left in the database. I include instructions to decorate the memorial garden to resemble a natural cliff face to the design request. One of the Tserri administrative assistants working under Eva Chel has shown herself to be a deft hand at interior decoration.

Just as I finish sending instructions to the young administrator, Yosip begins to speak directly to me.

"Are you paying attention, Mos? Dunc is furious. What happened to Spen?"