"Ladies and gentlemen, I am interrupting your regular broadcasts for an update regarding the recent contact. There's a lot to say, but I'll preface this by announcing a special voting session in all colony municipalities for the next two days. I encourage everyone to participate as soon as possible."
"It's… There's no way to describe it except how it is. The Turians have offered sanctuary for us within their space. After the tragedy of Tippy Tree at the hands of the Krogan, they're willing to house us in their territory, but not as subjects, there won't be soldiers in our streets. I wanna stress that we're not coming under occupation like back in Sol. The details are in the municipal halls, I'll be personally visiting several locations to explain."
"I know you're probably scared. You're worried that after four years of hiking through the cosmos, we're right back to being under the Titans' bootheel again. That at any time, our towns and homes will be blown open by aliens again. I share that fear. But we can't let ourselves be too afraid to act. This may be a golden opportunity to change our knowledge and position in the universe for the better. If nothing else, we can ensure that we'll never again come under attack."
"As of this time, my first visit will be to Chogin Industrial Complex at Banna in eight hours. After that I'll begin a tour of as many towns as my schedule allows. Neither I nor the civic council will be deciding our next move, whether that be accepting the Turian offer or going off on our own, that lies entirely in your hands. Thank you for your time."
00000
In a flash of bent light the frigate returned to standard velocity, its FTL bubble undergoing a controlled drop. Its unharmed crew went through the standard procedures, turning the vessel around to activate thrusters, slowing the velocity to allow it to align with the destination, its prow facing towards a nearby planet. Dozens of kilometers away another frigate exited FTL, then another at a similar distance, then a cruiser that required no maneuvers to align itself, just its retrothusters firing away.
Fifteen ships entered the system when a colossal vessel emerged, dwarfing the fleet by a gigantic margin. Thirty kilometers long and six wide, the twin tubes of the colonies fired retro-thrusters, slowing its ponderous bulk with no need or wish to emulate the escort's movements. Instead the numerous torches aligned its mass, causing some creaks to its inner frame but nothing that was overly stressful. It was spaced a little far from the rendezvous point, so the rest of the arriving ships didn't have more issues than usual.
Ahead of the arriving flotilla was a gas giant, its vast winds stretching beige and orange winds across its surface, stirring innumerable and fleeting patterns in the clouds. Every now and again a ship would begin a close dive along the clouds, close enough to risk being swallowed by the immense gravity, using huge intake vents to scoop up as much gas as possible, then sped off before they were pulled into its unknown depths. A handful of rocky moons orbited the planet, too small to retain atmosphere but not so small as to be ignored, as the nearest one showed; a handful of lights dotted its landscape, pinpointing sites of activity. While difficult to observe with the naked eye, lights from shuttles departed the surface.
But that was not to say the location was untouched. For in orbit of the moon was an array of stations; tiny compared to the newcomer, the kilometers of spanning networks hailed the fleet, tenders departing to lend aid. Some assisted warships low on fuel, the majority entered a formation around the colonies, attaching magnetic clamps by the dozens at regular intervals, helping to guide its weight where it needed to go. When they were finished the two colonies would detach, entering a stable orbit that needed only tiny corrections to maintain.
While the tugs went to work, a larger vessel of some six hundred meters left the orbital drydocks, elongated and unarmored next to the warships, escorted by a pair of frigates and an entire wing of fighters. Its destination was close by, where a heavily armored dock opened to the void, a short distance from a discolored patch of hull.
Unnoticed by many observers, a shuttle quickly sped ahead of its larger kin.
000
"Alright, excellent! Make sure my fourteen hundred meetings are on schedule, and someone contact a photography crew! I want a full spread of that view!"
Sayla looked away from the window, dismissing an aide as the doors fully opened, allowing Manswell to prance into the observation room. He was beaming, arms swinging as he marched right up to the window, planting hands on the railing to peer beyond. Somehow left behind was the slowly trailing form of Cincannato, the Turian liaison meeting her eyes with something closely resembling fatigue.
This section had a dual role: one side provided an unobstructed view of the gas skimmer docks, now hosting a plain gray alien ship identified as a cargo transport, and the other gave a wide view of space, past layers of plexiglass that could be protected by retractable armored windows. Right now the view was currently taken up by the gas giant, at least until the colony rotation pulled them away. For now, their new home. Mounted binoculars were spaced at close intervals in case the main tower was occupied, one of which Sayla wanted to rest against before stopping herself.
"Can you believe it!? If those paranoid idiots at Jupiter could see this!" Manswell rippled his fingers, chewing his lip a second. "I'd love to take a tour around the place. Especially those stations, are they normally positioned way out here?"
Manswell showed a lot of enthusiasm for someone who's position hung by a thread; of the millions of votes handed in, 51 percent voted to accept the Turian deal. 47 percent voted no, and 2 percent abstained. All confirmed after a recount Sayla personally led. The difference came down to a mere couple hundred votes, if a few more people let misgivings sway their ballots they could be on their way out of mapped space. Despite knowing the aliens were willing to seize beam weapon technology by force, Sayla was among the first to vote no. She wasn't sure whether to be glad to have avoided further violence or worried over their future, so she chose both.
Cincannato put his claws on the railing, not to gawk but to quietly sigh, "I'll see what I can do. The last report mentioned the Castellus Primarch planned to meet with you in person, I can bring that up beforehand if you wish."
"Splendid! Perhaps we can have the conference on the planet itself?" Manswell whirled around, sporting a grin while waving off an aide.
Cincannato clicked his mandibles. "Iritum? You are aware it's a… gas giant? Yes, that should be the right term. Or do you mean the moons?"
"Nonono, I mean the capital. To walk on a habitable alien world…" Manswell shook his head in raw amazement.
"I think he means Digeris." Sayla cleared her throat.
Out of hundreds of options, from densely populated core worlds to barely scouted backwaters, Sayla's pick of sanctuary was the Castellus system, a colony of some eight hundred million inhabitants centered on the planet Digeris. Her reasoning was simple: this system was close to the fringe of developed territory, but it also had eight other main systems and forty smaller ones between Castellus and the Apien Crest Relay cluster, hundreds of light years - thinking on such a scale boggled her mind - across a densely settled nebula. By the time trouble arrived they could be setting off into the galactic hinterlands. Convincing the civic council of her idea took up most of her influence, but she deemed it worthy.
Glancing in the direction of the planetary capital, currently nothing more than a small dot, she hummed. "Have you ever been there Captain?"
"On the surface? No, I'm afraid I've been far too busy. I've only ever been in orbit. But I've heard my crewmen gossip about shore leave. They… mentioned the rolling fields are pleasant vacation material. There's supposed to be shallow seas for fishing, albeit under regulation." His mandibles drew in, with his gaze on the dots of ships moving to dry dock. Sayla guessed he was thinking of his cruiser, of all the men and women he knew aboard. Just like the White Base during the War… Sayla halted the memories before they returned, she had too much work to do.
"That settles it, for your sake especially we should visit." Heedless of his issues, Manswell clapped. "Please pass that request along on the next communiqué, but until then I suppose we should do our actual jobs eh?"
As he spoke Sayla observed one of the Salamis class ships, the Nile claimed the print on its side, being towed by the Balls towards the opening bays of the cargo ship. Turian engineers asked repeatedly to examine its Mega Beam Cannons during the trip, but surprisingly Manswell had denied them access, a rare bolt of sense ensuring they didn't pay too early. According to Commodore Kuril once their research was complete the ship would be reassembled and returned, for what good it did.
Either way Sayla had plenty of time to discreetly wipe every bit of data off its computers and any other records on board, under the pretext of Grissom's anti-terrorism measures. Someone had to clean up Manswell's messes.
Muffling a sigh, Sayla watched the salamis detach from some of its Balls, allowing Turian made tugs to clamp cables on its hull, magnetic ones she guessed. She supposed she was being a little harsh on Manswell; he had the vision, organizational talent, and more importantly the charisma to bring together an eclectic bunch of outcasts, and turn that volatile stew into a viable, not quite thriving extrasolar colony, using barely understood alien technology to travel across a swath of the galaxy. Were she in his place Sayla doubted she would have as much success. Manswell just had trouble minding the small details, along with some nasty tunnel vision on subjects dear to him.
While the Nile lowered into the cargo ship, a GM departed a nearby bay. The dented mobile suit walked across the airless hangar, occasionally using its jets to stay glued to the floor, carrying the beam rifle stolen from the Titans during their escape from Side 5. Being more advanced than the rest of their hodgepodge MS arsenal it was chosen as the trade item. Another hatch opened along the side, the GM clearly hesitating to deposit the weapon on board.
Stumbling through the door, an out of breath aide tore her attention off the handoff, discovering a civilian man who nervously coughed when the trio turned. "Um, sirs? The uh, the first of the engineers arrived with equipment-"
"Yes I know, they said they were coming ahead of the cargo ship. Did something happen?" Manswell frowned in worry.
"Ah, no sir, or rather, ah… There's a bunch of bodyguards with a VIP too. He's in the deck below." The aide sweated.
"I'll handle this." Sayla powered ahead, to her irritation Manswell quickly pursued, and after another breath Cincannato followed. So what if they made a deal, Texas wasn't Turian property.
Seeing a few clearly upset Marines waiting outside the room, she motioned them out of the way and strode through the open door, only to be nearly shoulder checked by a Turian in thick red armor. Backing up a step, Sayla leveled a glare at the alien blocking her path, his face hidden by an opaque visor. Spotting at least three more moving in the way, she saw they were armed with pistols, limited armament which didn't fill her with any sort of relief. Intelligible chatter filtered from behind them, one voice quick and the other subdued.
"Move." Sayla raised an arm, and to her irritation the Turians didn't budge. Even more so when she peeked around the corner and the ones present blocked her view, not allowing her to discern more than a few other guards present.
Coming behind her, Cincannato composed himself to level a stare. "Trooper, stand aside."
A translator beeped a few seconds after some deep trills and clicks. "I'm sorry sir, I cannot comply with that order. You are not authorized to enter at this time."
"Authorized? This isn't your station." Sayla narrowed her brow.
"I am a naval captain acting under direct orders from Commodore Kuril. Unless there's a rear admiral in there you have no grounds to tell me no." Cincannato bristled.
Just as Manswell trotted up to scowl, the guards turned at a sharp trill, slowly and seemingly unhappily parting aside. Fast steps brought another Turian into view, this one causing Sayla to do a double take; it was the first Turian Sayla had seen in clothing instead of armor, a gray and blue outfit with rows of stitches on the chest, fitting the dull tones of his plates, and the subdued radiating lines of facial markings. Thin boots tapped off the floor, tiny next to the thickly clad guards. Oddly he (clarified as such when Cincannato showed the facial differences between males and females) was the most maimed one she had seen: his right sleeve was tucked up further than his elbow, although she didn't spot a limp or any other scars.
A grunt escaped Cincannato, she sent him a frown when he stood ramrod straight, eyes wide and delivering a salute. There may have been a quiver in his muscles, she couldn't see for sure.
"Ah, captain, at ease. Great timing. And you must be the human leaders, correct?" Rendered through the translator, the plain clothed Turian spoke almost warmly, dismissing the guards with a wave of his remaining arm. "Please, come on in. It's your home anyway."
"Excuse me, who are you?" Manswell raised a brow as Cincannato failed to relax in the slightest.
"Ah, so sorry. Used to being waited on." He gave a perfunctory curtsy. "Liliharex Quintus, Primarch of the Castellus administrative cluster. You must be… Director Manswell?" He hung a claw in the air, switching between Sayla and Victor.
"Primarch? Ah, yes that's me. I'm Director Manswell-" before he could do more than speak, Sayla marched forward, halting to glare at the guard who blocked her path. Behind the mask it stared too, but after a second it took a step back, allowing her to stroll to the Turian.
His crest flickered, peering down at her from four or five centimeters of height, meeting her narrowed gaze. "Primarch Quintus. I am Interior Minister Sayla Mass. Now, earlier I approved a shuttle who claimed they were transporting the first physicists as part of the official contract. I assume that is how you arrived on board without my knowing?"
"It is. Terribly sorry to have lied, but Commander Varbak was already rather incensed at me. Claims I'm being too reckless." Apparently unperturbed, Quintus nodded to an unmarked Turian. "Would really hate to make a big show of an official visit, so you'll forgive a more informal meeting. The report did mention that you are a straightforward group after all, I like that."
"That's flattering Primarch, but my colleague raises a good point." Silently thanking him, Manswell wasn't as calm around the guards as her, but his voice was steady, his body language betrayed little worry. "The fact that you are onboard on false pretenses is concerning, I understand the need for discretion but at this stage it impacts trust."
"So sorry, anyway, isn't that fascinating?" With little warning Quintus turned, motioning aside some guards to grip the railing, peering at the dented GM stomping back to the hangar.
Glancing at Cincannato, Sayla met a tiny nod but otherwise he gave no help, he was forcing himself still by the looks of it. Quietly groaning, she checked the time; who knew how much he had seen from here, she had to review the logs to tell. With luck he wouldn't have… she couldn't lie to herself.
"I've seen three different types in the past little while, two or three different design philosophies. According to the report, despite the weird shape these mobile suits are basically space fighters. Isn't that right Captain?" Quintus clicked his mandibles watching it depart.
"Yes sir-"
"Come closer, I can't hear." He gestured over his shoulder. Cincannato was still, slowly picking up his feet as the door closed behind him. Quintus only turned away to peek at Sayla's dry glance and Manswell's frown. "Bad hearing on this side, courtesy of this." He wiggled his stump.
"Above the elbow? That must be difficult. May I ask how you lost your arm?" Manswell gently prodded.
"Oh that tale is a long and sordid one, full of bravery and intrigue and heroism…" Quintus peeked when one guard crossed his arms, apparently staring. "Cmon, I can't spin a good story? Fine. Lost it in an industrial press in my teen years, worked through my service in a factory making starship armor."
"My sympathies." Manswell nodded while the guard resumed his previous act, but the Turian seemed to slump.
"Pity the machine, I was the dumbass tinkering with it." His frank tone took Sayla aback, especially when he lit up at the bay opening once more, allowing another GM and a Gelgoog to exit in succession. "Bit clunky, but you brute forced a viable auto balancing system without using eezo. Impressive thrust at these output brackets. I see a couple gun ports on that blocky mobile suit, but you appear to favor exterior weapons. Their development history must be a wild ride."
"Yes it is. Now can you tell me why you're here Primarch? Is it concerning the handoff?" Sayla probed.
"Oh yes, I saw the trade, very promising, the Krogan will tremble in fear, how many kinds of mobile suits are there? That one is way different than that other monoeye I saw, they must have been churned out quickly. Too different exteriors to be a straight upgrade, repairs suggest similar ages…" Quintus finally went quiet, rubbing his chin as they took flight. "Can you tell me a little about their history?"
Sayla exchanged a befuddled glance with Manswell, who shrugged. While he cleared his throat she observed Cincannato twitching his mandible, taking several quick gulps with his hands clasped behind his back, peeking to cause several guards to turn away.
"The details were in the report I believe. Right Captain?" Manswell raised a brow at the liason, who cleared his throat.
"That's correct. My report gave an abridged version of events, but the war these machines were introduced in was… twelve to sixteen of their years ago. None of these machines were new when they originally departed. I apologize, I don't recall what that timeframe equals in our system offhand." Cincannato answered carefully, Sayla had the impression he was deeply uncomfortable with this whole meeting. Although she considered the possibility that she was projecting.
Quintus clicked his maw. "So much change in such a tiny span, amazing. Reminds me of when my people first developed aircraft, you could see single or even double digit improvements in engine power or lift within months or weeks. Why, a child born when the first propeller aircraft took flight would be a young adult when jets were invented-"
"Primarch."
Sayla stomped to his side, raising a hand a body's length away. There she froze, aware that all the guards present were tensing, half their number diving for sidearms regardless of Manswell lurching, or Cincannato swinging himself with a snarl on his maw, a hair's breadth from shouting. Taking one deep breath, she ensured that Quintus had stopped to gaze at her, backing up to raise both her hands to chest level.
"My apologies. I meant no harm." She stated flatly, watching them slowly retreat from their weapons.
Quintus grunted. "No problem, I was rambling anyway. Varbak, why didn't you stop me?" He mustered a chuckle at one guard, who groaned. "Alright, enough dancing around. Commander, please step outside."
"Sir-" the indicated turian spoke with a voice which was oddly higher pitched than Sayla expected.
"Step outside. I'll be fine for a little while, and I want some privacy." Some warmth left his tone, and with a growl the indicated Turian raised a claw, making the guards reluctantly file out of the room. "Not you."
Mid step Cincannato paused, turning around to flash confusion. Quintus merely pointed at the floor, making him slowly turn to compose himself into something resembling calm, insofar as he could be. When the doors closed Quintus turned to rest against the railing, his attention fully on the humans.
"You know, I really like that act." He slumped first.
"Knew it." Manswell snapped his fingers, leveling a grin. "I used to do something like that on board meetings, helping liven up the place. And well, made the other execs think I wasn't serious about my plan."
"I know right? And it helps with civil morale, people think better of you when they see you acting all warm and personable, whether you're giving an address or out doing tours." Quintus chuckled.
Sayla exhaled slowly, finding that Cincannato was shifting his feet a lot. However, seeing the Primarch slump again had her tense.
"Of course, it is an act. A fun one that livens up your day and makes the citizens believe you have their best interests at heart. Which I do, but you try telling that to a room full of burnt out assembly workers, or the accountants telling you that the sector budget is in dire shape, or a room full of children whose parents aren't coming home." There was an unmistakable flinch from Cincannato, a subtle one but Sayla caught it.
"Or telling a bunch of refugees who are tired of war why a town died and there's an alien fleet around their home." Manswell dropped his smile.
"Aye, that's a problem alright. I can bet too that my visit won't help much, but who knows?" Quintus shifted in place.
Sayla was distinctly unhappy that he focused an expectant gaze upon her. "Primarch Quintus. Why are you here, really?"
"Officially? Hammering out the trade specifications, and speaking to Kuril about reinforcing his flotilla. Food, supplies, personnel-" one of his mandibles twitched. "But I neglected to mention that I have a couple other items on my agenda."
"Sir, may I ask what those are?" Cincannato risked asking.
Instead Quintus waved his stump at them. "How about an anecdote instead? A relevant one this time?"
"You didn't lose your arm in an accident?" Sayla glanced to find that the cargo ship was starting to lift away, preparing to depart.
"Oh I did, but the fine details are an… intriguing tale." He shrugged, "You see, I did indeed get my arm crushed in a press. It's a matter of public record. What that record did not mention was that I had made several unauthorized modifications to that press, to improve efficiency. I disabled the safeties so I could tweak the wiring, and as a result of a damaged fuse." Again he wiggled his stump.
"Was it worth it?" Manswell frowned.
"Absolutely. My tinkering improved pressure efficiency by twelve percent, and reduced power consumption by five. When applied to the whole facility the output rose by five percent overall. Not a bad trade then, an arm for an increase." Quintus crossed his lone arm across his chest. "The message of this little tale is that to win big, you have to be willing to gamble big. Whether it be personal risks, or new, unorthodox methods."
Leaving the railing, he swiveled to peer out the window again. Manswell and Cincannato followed his gaze to where the mobile suits departed, Sayla however kept her eyes on him, detecting a grunt.
His silence made her internally curse. "The Hierarchy wants to build mobile suits?"
"In a manner of speaking. Primarchs are often called the brains of the Hierarchy, and I am a primarch." Quintus chuckled exactly how she feared, aware of the men snapping over. "I have a full proposal written up somewhere, but the gist is that I'm funding an R&D program to develop a new space fighter. I would like for your people to help." He pointed a claw at them.
"How so?" Salya felt herself bristle. Being prodded to ask questions so much was grating.
"Technicians and test pilots mainly. Helps to have someone who knows what they're doing giving advice." His answer was prompt, smacking of being rehearsed.
"With all due respect, by and large your technology is superior to ours, outside of a couple areas. I fail to see how we could help you." Manswell frowned.
Cincannato coughed, making Quintus roll his eyes and gesture. "Primarch, sir. May I ask why you're interested?"
"What, that whole speech about sacrifice and rewards didn't leave an impact? Damn." Quintus groused, shifting in place. "Everyone is salivating over these beam weapons you have, Director. I've been setting up labs to disassemble and study your delivery, I'm already working on organizing a new production line. Hopefully within a year Digeris will be churning out beam cannons by the dozens. However."
He went quiet when the Gelgoog returned sooner than normal, softly landing near the launch bay, its monoeye swiveling to the departing cargo ship.
"I actually looked at the combat footage from the Hepatarus and the Aberrian. I saw a tiny, dreadfully primitive craft introduce so many new ideas that have been buzzing in my skull. I figure we should try it out, it's done wonders for you." Quintus only looked away when the mobile suit vanished from view. "If it doesn't work, oh well, it wouldn't be the biggest waste of taxpayer money in Digeris history. Remind me to send you the news report about the solar fuel project." Under the translator Sayla heard a trill which ended almost like a choke, his eyes briefly closing as he exhaled.
Salya quietly grunted. "That's… intriguing Primarch, but-"
"The current trade deal neglected to mention that we're not sending you out best." Quintus interrupted her with no sign of remorse. "Frankly, the tech you're getting is at best a generation behind, the bulk of it like the reactors is horribly obsolete. Partly to help you catch up, partly for security."
He shifted, clicking his jaw at her narrowed brow.
"Now, how does getting newer equipment sound? I can't promise cutting edge stuff, but more of our contemporary tech for sure. So instead of lagging you could be on an equal footing within a few years. In exchange for your expertise." He shrugged, acting like he was sporting a grin.
"Sounds too good to be true." Sayla answered, and to her relief Manswell nodded along. "Our safety is already at risk here. As of a short while ago, our biggest advantage is in your hands. You don't need anything from us at this stage. What guarantees can you give that you will uphold this bargain? One that I presume you did not tell your fellow Primarchs about, or many of your own staff either."
Quintus hummed, rubbing his chin with a claw. "That is something I didn't consider. Especially if something happens to me, like the last terrorist incident. Varbak is still jumpy about that."
"Terrorists?" Manswell raised a brow.
"Digeris separatists, they've been around since the Unification War. Every now and again they stir up trouble, more frequently lately with all the deployments." Quintus quieted when Sayla approached, halting an arms length away.
"Before we can even consider your offer, or any other you have, I want a formal proposal. In writing, checked by your own government. No anecdotes, no backroom deals, no verbal agreements. Do that and we'll consider your deal." Sayla tensed.
Quintus clicked his mandibles, and huffed. "I like you, I need more people like you on my staff. But very well. I'll submit a proposal in a day or two outlining my plans, although in return I do expect discretion on your part."
"Acceptable." Sayla backed up so Manswell could come up, leaving Cincannato to awkwardly stand in place.
"Oh, and before I forget." Quintus pointed a claw at Cincannato, who did a double take. "Captain, if they agree? I want you to head the project."
Cincannato balked. "Me sir?"
"That's right. Who else has the right blend of command experience and firsthand knowledge of how these things perform?" Quintus chuckled at his dumbfounded look, leaning back. "Again, assuming they say yes."
"Right, now that this business is over, perhaps we can shift to a more topical affair. For example the technology trade." He began, clapping his hands.
"Sure thing. And I suppose now would be a good time to voice another idea I've had. Nothing binding, just airing my thoughts." Quintus waved his arm. "There's a lot of mining infrastructure around here, I ran some numbers in my offtime about your resource needs. So, how would you feel about some contract work?"
"Contract? Something along the lines of guest workers? Ah, as in work for X result for Y payment with Z restrictions?" He rubbed his chin while she went to the window, tracking the cargo ship departing. By now it was just a shrinking plume.
"I don't think the translator rendered that correctly, but my idea goes thusly: there's four mapped systems in a twenty lightyear range of Castellus, the furthest is four or five days travel away. Nothing there is habitable but they're resource rich. You may have heard about this war thing going on, so we don't have the manpower to properly exploit those systems. An extra forty to sixty thousand experienced void miners can help us to meet quotas."
"That's a lot of personnel on our end. Volunteer only I presume."
"Of course. Plus you'll get up to date equipment and training, and a system defense force escort."
"Hmm, intriguing. Given those quotas you mentioned, how much of the extracted ore can we negotiate for?"
Sayla tuned them out. There was too much on her mind to listen, between mentally drafting her arguments for the upcoming civic council session, and drafting a future plan for what the expedition will do next. So many little things to take care of to keep the colonies functional awaited her.
What she didn't ignore was Cincannato going to her side, laying his claws on the railing. Like her he peered to the stars, only he focused on where the flotilla was gathering.
"What do you think?" He asked softly.
Sayla thought for a long minute, hearing Manswell and Quintus laugh over something. "I don't know."
"It's a lot to take in over a tiny amount of time. So much new information, new things, and…" his claws rippled.
"You wonder if you're doing the right thing." Sayla guessed, turning to see him lowering his head.
"Oh yes I do actually have a cybernetic arm, I left it on the shuttle in case the interference fried the software. Here's my port."
"Ooh, fascinating. Say, how expensive are these? We have a lot of people missing limbs around here."
Cincannato nodded, looking back to the stars. Sayla only checked in case Manswell wasn't doing something ill thought out again, noting unhappily that the guards were returning.