Sal’s head was still thumping has he made his way towards a dining hall on a mid-deck of Fifth Spoke. Considering the bombshell that Curtin had dropped with the delicacy of the alcoholic uncle drunkenly slam-dunking a newborn at a family gathering, the ensuring chaos was actually not as bad as he expected. There were only a few dozen screaming matches over the comms, three gunshots fired, and one attempted suicide which Sal took as a good outcome. Of course, knowing that there were traitors among the crew of Ruby Eye and perhaps Starheart was a deeply worrying thought, but Sal would leave the handling of that to his superiors. For now, he had a friend to meet.

  Entering the cafeteria, the sight struck Sal. When he had first entered here, it was still being developed for human sensibilities, with the plain white metal sheeting still eating away at the black-green living walls of the Cambiar. Now, however, the room was accented in minimalistic glass and abstract sculptures. The clean style, with high ceilings and a goddamn water feature running through the centre, was certainly making Sal wonder what living on Fifth Spoke in the long term would be like. The closest someone would get to seeing a place like this back in CCH space would be in one of the fancy hotels or resorts, built as auxiliary stations to Titanlock.

  Abel sat in the middle of the mess hall, if it could be called that, talking down to his comparatively tiny Cambiar partner. It would seem that, assuming Marcus’ appointment went well, the whole team of Torchers would end up with aliens to educate. Thinking on the program returned G9 to his thoughts, and the pang of guilt in his stomach. What would be the best way to make it up to them? Let them touch him, after he had pushed them away so forcefully? Maybe, maybe not. Give them a gift? Did the Cambiar even find materialism worthwhile? He would consider the matter later.

  Sitting around a cushioned bench and upmarket white tables were also Dusty and Stannock, the latter enamoured with talking to his tall Cambiar partner. Dusty, however, was practically enveloped by one of the huge, red Cambiar variants, a Delkar as he had learnt. Sal had not been happy upon hearing that the young man had been paired with the intimidating warrior caste of the aliens but settled down after he had a chance to speak with it. They had seemed agreeable and promised to protect Dusty, though they came across as a bit forward.

  “Aha! Here’s our little astronaut. How was your taste of spa- whoa hey, are you ok Sal?” Abel had initially trumpeted in cheer at the sight of the bedraggled engineer but saw his stitches.

  Batting away his friend’s hand from touch his head wound Sal groaned at the attention.

  Sal said, “I’m fine. Things went a bit sideways, but we got it done. There’s a lot to talk about, but only if you can promise to keep it quiet.” Sal had told Michaels to make the stitches as unnoticeable as possible, but figured the doctor would probably do the opposite. Knowing Michaels, they were probably rainbow coloured or flashed with inbuilt LEDs that said, ‘knick-knack hater this way’.

  Sliding into a seat opposite the others, with Abel returning to his previous spot, they egged Sal on to tell his story. Reluctantly, he told them of what had occurred on Ruby Eye. Though they were all in shock, it was Stannock who gave his insight first.

  “How strange. Goreskins and GaltCorp mechs? H&H is definitely not on good terms with them after we snatched up the contract for their colony ships, so how did they get their hands on those mechs? And why?”

  “Beats me. I’m more worried about the goreskins myself,” Abel considered. Trying not to bring attention to it, Sal spotted Abel lightly patting his small Uvolo companion on the head, as if it were a pet. “Getting some military mechs is one thing, but replicated humans? Either they stole them from Paradise, bought them off someone else who stole them, or someone in the CCH is growing them.” Abel shook his head in disapproval, still petting the alien.

  Dusty had been waiting to interject, “Or… could Heavenly Doctrine have grown them, and were planning on using them, before they blew up Ruby Eye?” Sal tutted him when his voice grew too loud. Dusty shied away in embarrassment when his partner, whom he had nicknamed ‘Titan’, seemed to rest a claw on his shoulder for support. What the hell was going on with these aliens? Did Sal miss a memo about them getting touchy-feely? Desperately looking for someone exerting some personal space, he looked to Stannock, who had disengaged from the conversation already.

  For once, the ashen man was not looking at himself but was judging his much taller affiliate. His partner Cambiar was from the caste called ‘Tenau’, who mostly acted as pilots, scientists and analysts. The faster than light travel used by the Cambiar did not involve S-Drives, that much was certain, but Sal lacked the knowledge of the precise nature of their technology. The tall Cambiar had crouched down to allow Stannock to look it face-to-face and was mumbling some instructions to himself.

  “Hmm, maybe a cream foundation would work better? Your skin has good texture, but, my dear alien friend, if you want looks close to perfection, you can’t just rely on natural talent. Well, maybe in your case you can. Good looking alien, you.” Then Stannock giggled and flirtily poked the alien where its nose would be - what the fuck.

  Sal clicked his tongue in annoyance and rested his head in his hands. Was karma rubbing it in how he was the only one getting, or perhaps not wanting, contact with their partner?

  Just as his inexplicable anger grew, Abel spoke. “Well, regardless of what was going on with the cargo, we now know that there might be traitors around here. I do wonder why they didn’t all attack at once, or destroy both ships, however. That part doesn’t add up with me.”

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  “Me neither,” Sal said. “I just hope the Cambiar aren’t too put out by the whole situation. Have we gotten any word from H&H yet? Sending a message back home from this far out would take some time, but not this long. It’s been, what, a week?”

  “Yeah brother, just about. Say, until H&H gets their butts in gear, we’re still going to be waiting.” Abel drummed his free hand on the table. “So, how has your contact been going with your new friend. What was it, G9?”

  “Yeah, G9. Well, it’s been… going. I feel a bit funny about the whole thing still.” Sal desperately wanted to mention his problem with how quickly the translators were developed but felt uncomfortable whilst other Cambiar were nearby. Instead, he felt obligated to talk about his incident earlier that day. He toned down both G9’s forcefulness in his recounting of events, partially out of sympathy for his partner, and because of how unusual it still seemed to him.

  Abel thoughtfully rubbed his head after listening, the alien he was patting looking up at him when the stroking had stopped. “Well, that is a bit of a weird moment, but I wouldn’t freak out too much. They’re just curious man.” His advice was not helped when Titan let out a rumbling, affirmative hum to the side, stroking Dusty’s shoulder.

  Unconsciously, Sal rubbed his surgery scars through his jacket. Curious or not, he wasn’t a fan of having the old wounds touched.

  Wanting to move on from the incident, he asked “So, what do you guys think I should show or talk with G9 about? What things do the Cambiar find the most interesting?” Sal had postulated the question not just to Abel, but to all the others.

  “I found the proto-wave animated movies interesting, not only for the events depicted, but from how humanity perceived such stories and ideas,” chirped the small Cambiar next to Abel. Sal vaguely recalled it had also received a nickname already, which Abel had messaged him about as soon as his candidacy was confirmed. It was something befitting its short size. Was it ‘Stumpy’, or perhaps ‘Manlet’? Sal couldn’t remember. Maybe he should ask G9 if they wanted one?

  “I liked the video games Dustin showed me. Though my digits are currently unsuitable for many human control devices, I am in the process of generating some more limbs for this purpose,” Titan deeply whispered and hissed, though their translator output a soft, almost feminine voice, that did not match their vastness.

  “Well, Mr Vigino, I for one found the documentaries on ancient history fascinating.” Stannock’s partner said. “Truly remarkable. Such interesting stories and fables from over two millennia ago that are still relevant today. Such a shame Earth was lost.”

  The alien finished dramatically with a sigh, resting a head in its palm. Not only was the way its voice, natural and not coming from any translator, and body language incredibly human rather unsettling, but the fact that it sounded exactly like Stannock made Sal’s jaw drop. Glaring at his crewmate, Stannock just sheepishly shrugged, cooly trying to retie his ponytail as he visibly began sweating.

  Abel and Dusty seemed to know already, with both of them giving Sal a similarly confused shrug. God, what sort of world of madness had he stepped into?

  “Well, uh, thanks guys. I think that helps. Would you all say proto-wave stuff works a bit better?” Sal was never one for much media consumption, occasionally watching a movie or two with the Torchers during rest days, but even he admitted that the stuff from before the age of space expansion was less tacky and had more soul to it.

  “Yeah man, all the neo-wave stuff is just so… crappy. Unless it’s Siralis Goldheart. Gods that man has a good voice,” Abel hypocritically mused.

  Sal wouldn’t say he hated the singer’s talent, but that his larger-than-life personality had always grated on his nerves whenever he popped on an inter-system network show. Knowing there were now aliens that could probably adapt a better singing voice than him over a few weeks made Sal feel a bit better.

  The materialistic discussion was cut short when a familiar face stepped up to the table. “Hello everyone.” Erohin said, his voice already growing unctuous. “Sal! You’re ok! I saw you going to the airlocks and was worried I wouldn’t be able to see your cheerful smile anymore!” The same plastic look of fake joy was still slapped onto his face. Sal couldn’t tell if he was being unbelievably passive-aggressive, or if he thought showering fake compliments would make him appear less annoying.

  “Hey Erohin. Yeah, I’m fine. Did everything go alright with the recreation decks during the evacuation? I’ve mostly only seen officers and engineers here on Fifth Spoke.” Sal said, considering he had barely seen any of the regular passengers of Starheart around.

  “Oh, us cleaners and waiters? We’re all doing just fine! You know what they say – a ship exploding might be hell for everyone else, but for us in customer service, that’s a Wednesday!” The most forced, painful laugh Sal had ever heard rattled out of the man. Christ, had something broken inside the guy from stress over the past week?

  “Uh, yeah sure. Say, as a bartender, what do you think of the drinks the Cambiar make?” Sal said, trying to make conversation.

  He had been forced to start eating and drinking Cambiar materials after the initial MREs ran out but was assured they were safe. True to their word, Sal’s stomach responded surprisingly well after eating some of the strange patties he was served. They had been formed out of the same white meat that the Cambiar seemed to eat for all meals and was somewhat bland if meatily textured. Sal had only seen the Cambiar eating a few times so far, which he chalked up to an efficient metabolism, and when it happened, it only took a few seconds. The digestive tendril would whip out rapidly before biting and tearing the meat to shreds, swallowing chunks as big as half a handspan in an instant.

  “Their drinks? Their drinks? Oh my god, these xeno drinks are just-“ Erohin caught himself. “Their drinks are just the best! I have so much I need to learn from them.”

  Sal had heard Erohin’s growing intensity, but was sure it was not in a positive manner towards his alien hosts. Well, Sal supposed that not everyone would appreciate alien life. There would always differing opinions and even the Cambiar couldn’t be exceptions to that rule.

  “That’s good to hear, Erohin. I do have to ask, last time we spoke, before the S-Jump, you said something about a ‘nemesis’ or someone you didn’t like? Were you able to sort that out?”

  “Hmm? Oh, that? No, that was nothing. Just a little tiff. We aren’t friends, but I’m sure we’re going to get even eventually. Ta-ta everyone, I’ve got some more drinks to make!” And with that, the strange bartender left them.

  Once he was some distance away, Abel’s pocket-sized Uvolo spoke up. “I don’t like him. He’s very… insincere.”

  “Indeed. A fake smile like that will ruin his cheeks for sure,” Stannock’s strange copying Tenau said.

  “Yeah, I don’t trust him either. Maybe that’s what serving H&H crewmen all day does to a person.” Abel laughed loudly.

  Sipping on some spicy, fruity drinks a Cambiar waiter had served the group, Sal sat back. Eventually, he would have to return to G9, but for now he could at least postpone the issue for an hour or two. The question was, what would he do to make it up to them?