The Half'star system always did evoke some curiosity among our people.
It is not thought that Psychons had traveled any closer to the Alk^inharda
than Half'star; but Half'star itself did garner some attention. Why a single
star should have exactly one gas giant planet, rather than no planets or
several, was always a puzzle that only seemed to lend credence to the
legends that the Giants' War disrupted this star system. Even less credible
is the author's own speculation that perhaps this system was the original
one of the Kor'ayi, the ancient enemy of the Orca'ayi. [....]

[from A Brief History of Psychon]

W-366 DAB 1820-1850: Study in Dissonance

The "Half Star" system was still three days away, and though some were skeptical about believing the words of an alien that it was a quiet, near-desolate system, it wasn't this which had created a few days of contrasting, dissonant moods.

In general, the residents of Moonbase Alpha had grown progressively quieter, in a sometimes obvious and often much more subtle ways, as everyone recognized the day that was coming, and had now arrived.

Yet, there had been a strange splash in the last few days: startling news that garnered much notice.

In a sense, the timing had been perfect, for the increasingly contemplative mood was perhaps the most fertile bed for the strange news to take better, more constructive root in. Yet perhaps some of it was the strange evasiveness evident in Alphan minds when thinking about the subject.

Even now, part of John's mind resisted turning to the subject, thinking he should really get back to reviewing his speech for later today. He reminded himself he wanted to include mention of the recent surprises in that speech, and finally got to thinking how it had unfolded, and some of the most startling results.

Sandra, knowing multiple languages herself, curious about this, and feeling it applicable to her Data Analyst role, had volunteered to help Smitty organize an initial study.

This had borne out the startling discovery that every adult Terran reported what Sandra dubbed 'linguistic dissonance' with some -- but not all -- the video samples of alien speaking. In the same cases, Maya had reported the language was alien, not English. In the cases where there was no linguistic dissonance, Maya had reported the language was English, though all, including Maya, agreed there was no way to determine if the aliens knew English via information obtained from the Khorask, or some other source or method. If it was the Khorask, though, they certainly got around -- which Maya took as a given anyway.

Koenig found the details of the specific cases fascinating, and thought about them again briefly, before his thoughts moved on, to consider the Alphan reaction.

What was already well underway was word of this surprise knowledge. It had spread like wildfire from those participating in the studies, apparently, but it was just as well. Tony was reporting a relatively high degree of equanimity about it, though not without some 'alien meddling' or similar phrases, yet even then, mostly chalking it up on the positive column, albeit not without hesitation. Everyone wondered about the 'how' and even more about the 'why' -- which also was healthy, John figured. He would address it today, in his speech. His mind began returning to the meaning of today, it solemnity, and the speech he intended to give, very shortly....

W-366 DAB 1900-2000: Commemoration

Today, much was being set aside. Essential duties were performed more quietly, with little excess conversation, except on a set of related topics. Many had asked for this day off duty, either outright or in trade for a day from whenever their normal weekend was.

Maya had quietly asked to be excused from any activity today, and though John didn't want her to think she had to stay in isolation in her room, decided not to make any argument. She knew what today was recalling, but had no experience of it.

The babies had no experience of it either, and were blissfully unaware, yet those babies among the crowds in various rooms seemed to soak in the quiet solemnity, and scarcely made sounds themselves.

The remaining 90% of Alpha were all too well aware of what today represented.

The main ceremony was in a room designated Main Observation, which was being dedicated today as part of the ceremony. The primary part of the ceremony, however, was a commemoration, and the Commander had long decided to remain more focused on that rather than his surroundings. Fifty gathered, the designated capacity of the room. Except for the Commander, everyone else was there by random computer drawing some days before. Many of the rest gathered in cafeterias or lounges throughout Alpha, to watch camera feeds from the ceremony, and listen. Between days off requested and it being evening now, the minimal crew manning vital stations watched or at least listened from they were.

"Today we assemble, either in presence here, in gatherings elsewhere, or in thoughts as you carry out duties, cognizant that it is one year after September 13th, 1999. Today is September 13th, 2000. We still sometimes count time in terms of a world which is far behind us, in a location unknown to us, perhaps forever out of our reach. Yet we also count days in new terms: It is 366 Days After Breakaway. Yet it is a leap year by the old calendar many of us used, or still use in some contexts. So it is thus 1 Year After Breakaway.

"In many ways, we are caught between the old and new. Caught willingly or unwillingly or even both at the same time. Our beautiful, brilliant blue Earth is far behind us in space and perhaps in time as well, as we travel a new course. What may have been centuries or more to Earth has been but a year to us.

"Yet it has been a memorable year, in all senses of the word. Filled with shock.... Filled with pain.... Filled with hope.... Filled with determination...." He stopped after each statement, to let everyone silently add his or her own responses. "Grieving.... Striving.... Struggling.... Falling.... Getting back up.... Launching oneself further, even while feeling grounded....

"It has been a year of quiet mourning. Mourning for those we lost in the days before the disaster. Mourning for those we lost on that horrible day. Mourning -- and yes, in a way, mourning -- for those we left behind on Earth. Mourning for those we have lost along our difficult journey.

"We have suffered terrible losses, in tragedies with little or no explanation, or explanations we found difficult to understand or accept. Not one of us has escaped the effects of that day, not only for ourselves being thrown into the inky blackness, but for losing someone close to us back on Earth or here. Though Earth is lost to us, we could only hope and pray that our families, friends, and everyone else carried on, remembering us as we remember them, yet carrying on as we have had to carry on.

"Besides grief, we have found wonder, both at our survival, but what we have survived, and other surprises as well. Passing through a black sun almost unscathed, all thinking there was something more to the experience than we can recall. The gentle Kaldorians, seeking new hope on Earth. Sight of alternate versions of ourselves, re-settling Earth. A planet dying from perfection, brought back to imperfect life. The Moon with atmosphere, rain, and a final sunset. The Moon colliding with a planet and surviving, while the planet and its people disappear into new existence. Perhaps some of our ancestors having come to Earth from Arkadia. Ourselves, discovering we know several alien languages, like we have been given a gift from a benefactor we cannot identify. Beautiful planets in space, encountering things we had never imagined.

"We have found strength in struggle, survived one crisis after another, not always without loss, but with us intact as a people. I say people, because I believe our struggles and our coming together are forging us into a new identity, even a new people. We are no longer just Earth people who were serving tours of duty on Moonbase Alpha. We are now Alphans. We have been calling ourselves that -- and been called that, from almost the moment of Breakaway.

"Yet it is not just a handy term, something we use for convenience. It represents us as a new people, a colony of Earthlings which has been cast out into space to find a new place in the universe, and has even perhaps founded a colony of its own, albeit through troubling method we can ill afford to repeat.

"We have found ourselves to be a hearty lot, and many of our friends, brothers, husbands, and wives have paid a price so that those they knew and loved could continue on -- that we can continue to remain intact as a people, not without loss of people but without loss of spirit, of humanity, of decency, of hope. Even if with caution, we have remained a welcoming people, doing the right things to others and among ourselves. We could have devolved into something scarcely recognizable or acceptable. We could have found mass madness, anger, hatred, yet we have managed to retain balance, and find strength, in ourselves and from each other, in growing community, signs of which many of us have seen.

"We have been learning to cope, whether through philosophy and increasingly in humor as well, through science or faith or both, through personal reflection and social togetherness, through bravery and fortitude, through a recognition we have seen some wondrous things along with the painful events.

"It is difficult to count sometimes, and people are not numbers, yet we must remember the numbers sometimes too, that no one is a number yet everyone counts. We started with 311 at the moment Breakaway began, have lost 43 souls passing away, and three from leaving, one presumably to his end. Yet 29 have been born here, including one baby girl just this morning, named Hope by her parents."

Abruptly, there was applause. Maybe for the new baby girl herself. Maybe for her name and what the word might represent to everyone. Maybe not just for her but all of Alpha's children and what that represented. John couldn't tell, then realized it didn't matter.

The applause quieted, and he backstepped a bit and then continued on. "We started with 311 people, have lost 43, have had 29 births, with 2 more expected, and 1 person has joined us from another world. So we stand at 295, expecting to be 297 shortly.

"It has been a tumultuous year indeed, yet we have seen such growth among ourselves; and while we remember those we have lost, do not forget those we have not lost.

"To that end, I wished to do something a little different in remembering names, and it is most appropriate that it is in Main Observation, and room designed by the Main Observation Committee to be both a place to remember those passed away, yet also be a place of life, continuation, conversation, and change. Memory, hope, contemplation, and hopefully even laughter rolled into one. All of you will get a chance to see it, but for now we started with fifty of us in here. Again by random drawing, most have been given one name of a lost Alphan to speak. More than half of us have been given the name of a new Alphan to speak. All have been given five or six other names as well, to think of those who continue our journey. I have asked each person to speak their list, starting with the deceased followed by a moment of silence, then by the others' names. By this act we will remember all, and in so doing, dedicate Main Observation."

The Commander began with his randomly drawn list. By sheer coincidence, his old, dear friend Victor had been on it, and even now, it was difficult to say his name. He managed, but not without a slight wobble to his voice. He gave a moment of silence, feeling a tumult even now, yet then seeing a peaceful image of Victor smiling and toasting 'everything that was.' That brought a slight, sad smile to his face, and allowed him to continue to what John momentarily thought of as 'everything that is' -- or at least a small part of it in the form of several more names of the living, including, first among them, a child, Miranda Crato.

He quietly left the podium and took the seat of the woman who left hers to deliver her list of names. Each person leaving the podium took the spot of the one who followed, until all the names were read. Though he was happy to hear the names of the new and the continuing Alphans, it was still difficult to hear the names of the deceased -- too many. Ted Clifford, Gerald Simmonds, Regina Kesslann, Tanya Aleksandr, Anton Zoref, Ernst Linden, Mike Baxter, Laura Adams, David Kano, Dan Mateo, Mike Ryan, Tony Cellini, Lew Picard, Paul Morrow, and twenty-three more. When the last person read his names, John stood up, to let him sit down and John return to the podium to add the last few words.

"We started that day one year ago with 311 people, and though we still struggle, we have seen signs of renewal and of change. We see hope for the future, in each other's eyes, and represented by new faces. So while we can never forget the past, let us not forget the future, but head into it, even as we make our future.

"I ask now for a minute of silence here and throughout Alpha."

When the minute had ended, he gave other brief statements, inviting everyone who wanted to come to Main Observation tonight to do so, over the course of the evening. He did not add anything about the personnel limit, that even here, no more than 50 could be at any one time. This had been covered in an electronic memo a couple days before. Nor did he mention there was food placed out in part of the room for this evening. This had been covered too. It was, in part, not unlike a wake, yet different as well.

Some soon quietly left, perhaps having to return to second shift duty, or perhaps feeling a little overwhelmed; but others started filtering in. It did indeed turn into a wake, filled with sadness and happy memories too.

John Koenig remained for almost a half hour, looking at all the pictures in one half of the space, and talking with some others in the other half, before quietly leaving, to allow another person in. He happened to pass Helena in the hall as she headed in the direction of Main Observation. There were a few others in the hallway, talking a little. Helena gave John a very subtle smile and a half nod, and he gave her a subtle 'thank you' look. It was all they needed to "say" at this moment.

R-367 DAB 1000-1300: Better Questions

In the week after his abruptly ended "discussion" with Maya, it struck Jim more and more how much of a fool he had been. He had decided to ask the alien about "who" all the aliens were, without stopping to think maybe she didn't know them all. Going after her on the Sidons had been pure spite on his part, he realized, like a bit of petty revenge in a way. He didn't have to like the alien that much to at least avoid being a hypocrite.

He had completely ignored the increasing pile of questions about a partially deciphered set of disparate alien signals, spatial and planetary phenomena, and other various items of science. For example, just what was that signal he had separated so easily, that seemed to be clear as a bell, easily separated into a representative sound, that meant nothing to him or any other Alphan to whom he had presented it in the past?

So he had started re-organized his questions, put different priorities at the top, and only one new ship configuration he had recently found on the recording.

He had approached both Tony and Maya a couple of days ago, apologized for Maya for his earlier words. She was quick to accept his apology, something he had heard about her. He apologized to Tony for jamming him in the middle of a pointless argument. Verdeschi paused, but then gave his acceptance of it, albeit more slowly than Maya, perhaps recognizing Jim was still uncomfortable around Maya, and fearing there would only be more friction again.

Jim wasn't sure he could promise there would not be more trouble, but he was determined to avoid something as truly childish as before.

So another meeting was duly arranged, and it was now that afternoon.

Not surprisingly, Tony attended this meeting. Though there seemed to be meetings he was attending for reasons other than Maya's security, Jim had no doubt the latter was at least half the factor here. He intended her no physical harm like that over-pumped prat Sanderson, but Jim had not made a good show of conversational graces.

He turned to his agenda. It was the clear-as-a-bell signal he tried first.

Maya visibly shivered.

"What is it?"

"Ohh, that is one you never want to hear... Universal Plague Warning'signal."

"Oh?" he asked, not sure if she was referring to a universal plague or a universal signal.

"Definitely."

"How many such signals are there?"

"Fourteen, at least that I was taught, though it probably is complete. The Khorask always give those out for free, on each trade -- probably what makes them relatively universal signals, actually."

"Is this another Universal Signal?" he asked, quickly changing the topic, bringing up a different distinct signal.

"No, that is not. I do not recognize it, either."

"What about this?" he asked, trying a third.

"Also not a Universal Signal. The sound representation makes me wonder if it is some version of an eepkond'arak. I don't know an Alphan word or contraction for it. Maybe like... 'We're scanning your base or ship but are adding an obvious component to it out of a polite warning we are doing so.'"

"Etiquette to scans?" Tony piped up, clearly surprised.

"There can be, but it varies significantly by culture. Can I see a visual representation of the wave'form'carrier?"

"Sure."

He showed Maya -- and Tony, who wandered closer for a look -- the waveform, and explained how he isolated the main component.

"Yes, that is an eepkond'arak. Instead of isolating that part, can you subtract it out and enhance the rest?"

The discussion continued.

R-367 DAB 1515-1600: Imprecise Flight

Alan had been enjoying teaching this class of Eagle trainees. Two very attractive sheilas was something of a welcome change, even though he knew of Sandra's mild discomfort around him, and Maya had shown no signs of reciprocal interest -- at least nothing he had recognized from the otherwise friendly alien.

Yet some of the charm was wearing a bit thin today, with one student sitting silently while the other shot him strings of persistent, odd questions.

Alan was getting exasperated. The early start where Maya had seemed like other students -- mostly in the same sort of range of reaction, learning, and questions -- had been evaporating in the last several days, in the blast of increasingly technical questions. He was struggling to keep the training on course.

"At this stage, you would push the throttle up to fifty percent," Alan explained on a new point.

"What is the force?" Maya asked.

"Uh, 50% of full," again trying to get her to see the point.

"What is full force?"

"Engine capacity." He could almost predict what she was going to say in response to this, and indeed, a moment later....

"I mean numerically."

Alan finally just gave Maya the thrust force figure from memory, one of the dozen or so he knew off-hand, wondering why she was being so persistent. I'm trying to train her to be a pilot, not a mechanic.

Far from being satisfied that such a key number was given, Maya only got worse when Alan started discussing turning controls. Every time he listed a degrees of turn, she asked more questions about numbers, obviously not listening to his main point, about how they worked. He didn't have the numbers, because they varied by nozzle and per degree of input. Maya was increasingly pursuing technical trivia, rather than listening. When he tried to explain, she started asking for equations, and he started wishing he had not said the class was open to all questions at any time.

Alan was exasperated. "Maya, I have given you the descriptions of how these controls work."

"You have?" she asked. "You gave me numbers that are on the controls, and..." -- she paused, in a way that he knew by now meant she was afraid of insulting him, but didn't know how else to proceed -- "a generalized meaning, but not how they translate to engine thrust."

"They don't always translate to a single engine or thruster. Turning that one simple control alters the thrust of various engines and thrusters, in differing ways, at each degree of turn."

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

Maya was now starting to lose her patience, not understanding what was so difficult about her request, yet still not wanting to insult him or get herself thrown out of the class or something, when she was otherwise enjoying it and desperately hoping for a chance for dri'trayt -- flight in a machine -- again. Yet how did he expect her to learn how to fly without all the data? She understood they did not have her talent at rapid mental calculation, but was it so difficult for him to see why she was asking? "Sorry, Alan, but I want to see those divided curves."

Finally, Alan was losing his patience. This trainee, so friendly otherwise, was proving increasingly stubborn. He decided to be more blunt, to maybe shake her out of it. "Maya, that's not the way we fly. We learn the basics, then the feel, and build on that in practice."

"The feel," she repeated flatly.

Alan could see she clearly did not understand. In fact, it was more than confusion. It really looked more like she felt he had just told her Eagles were constructed using popsicle sticks and kangaroo spit, and flown using incantations of black magic.

"Yeah, the feel... of how each input translates to moving the ship."

"But you already have that information. Isn't it basic flight data?"

Sandra kept looking back and forth between the two. Earlier, she had been smiling a little at first about the Psychon's hyper-technical frame of mind; but was increasingly frowning as she realized the two friends were getting rather more annoyed with each other.

"There are procedures," Alan finally said.

Maya went silent. That was usually a sign that she was deferring or about to do so -- something she did often, Sandra thought, even when she shouldn't. Sandra knew Maya was starting to learn she could speak up when she felt the need, but this time, she was shutting down. Why should Maya have to learn what to her might be a simple ship without what she probably considered simple information? Sandra wondered. Alan was being rather rigid. He had chosen a particular training model, and was known to even like having trainees with very distinct tendencies so he could show each varied responses and point out the good and bad ones and find a center. Now, confronted by someone who was totally distinct in the most fundamental approach, he was not willing to compromise.

Fortunately or unfortunately, time was up on the session. After Maya left with a guard, Sandra talked to Alan.

"Alan, what is so wrong with giving her the detailed specifications. If she wants to learn that way--"

"How am I supposed to test how well she learns if she learns some other method I'm not teaching?"

"Then teach it," Sandra said quietly yet firmly.

"She wants me to teach her in some alien way--"

"No, she is just asking for more information."

"Still--"

"If what she wants still results in the same reactions--"

"Then why not learn the same way?"

"Who says she won't still learn the 'feel' the ship?"

"She doesn't want to. She doesn't even know what I mean by that."

"You want to teach her that in some vague way. She wants you to teach her that in a more concrete way. Besides, if you give her that data, did you ever think that maybe she could be an early warning when an Eagle drifts from specification?"

"How so?"

"Alan, don't you see? The slightest variation from spec, and she would tell by the ship's reaction."

"She would still have to adjust."

"You just assume she cannot?"

"If I bring out the whole spec book, that is just going to kill the schedule."

"Highlight the important parts, keep your schedule, and see if she keeps up."

"You're assuming she can. I know she has a calculator in her head--"

"More like a computer. I have seen her in action. She absorbs raw data at incredible rates, and can calculate things faster than our computer. I mean Main Computer. These little things in the Eagles are probably nothing more than 2-bit calculators to her."

"You're the Data Analyst."

"She and I are not in competition. We each have strengths and weakness. Some overlap, and some do not."

"I am used to seeing a mix of cooperation and competition among trainees. It helps me better sort out each trainee's strengths and weaknesses relative to others, to know what is going well and what needs more work. You two are not competitive with each other."

"Then focus on other clues. She has given you a big one. Be her friend more than Captain, at least in this case. Or be the Captain and decide whether you can accommodate this. I know you think it is a lot, but I think it sounds simple."

"Hmmph, I'll think about it."

For some reason, Sandra got the sense he was uncomfortable around her and Maya. Maya's technical persistence and the women's relative lack of competition seemed to be getting on nerves already triggered by something else.

Sandra already knew Alan seemed unsure how to act around her. She had pushed him away when he tried to comfort her some weeks ago, Sandra uncertain of his motives, and still uncertain.

Plus, it seemed like he was looking at Maya with much the same eyes he had looked at her on and off for months. She wasn't sure about that, and felt strangely conflicted about it, before deciding if true, it was reassuring that he was not obsessing about her, maybe turning his attention elsewhere. Yet while that should have been something of a relief, and indeed was, it also again made her feel a little empty.

R-367 DAB 0420-0430: Complacency?

It had been a few unique days, but it was time to settle back into what had become a surprisingly quiet routine. However, with the Alkinarda Complex starting to rise over Alpha's horizon, now larger than when they had last seen it through windows rather than satellite images, about a week ago, Maya's concerns about it and her feeling about Alphan acceptance of its nature and, in her mind, lack of sufficient concern, were preying on John Koenig's mind, and his own musings were taking a dark turn.

He eventually redirected the end of a meeting with Tony to talk about this.

"Could we be getting a little complacent?"

"Huh?" Tony said, not sure what context John was speaking in.

"That we all believe we experienced something in the Black Sun, and are so eager for it -- whatever it was -- again."

"It is the first situation we have seen repeating out here, albeit on a more massive scale."

"Are we sure it is really a repeat, even in part? We jumped all over that, after Maya said it was sort of similar, and she's been trying to take that back ever since."

"Well, she did make the comparison," Tony replied.

"Did she?" John asked. "Or did we suggest it and she just went along, not knowing what else in our science she could compare it to?"

"I honestly don't know. If you are asking if she thinks she dumbed it down too much for us and can't entirely take it back without seeming like she's accusing us of being scientific simpletons, well...."

"She admits to not understanding what we traversed back then."

"So? I admit to not knowing either, and I went through it."

John chuckled, and said, "Good point." He paused, then added, "Maybe we're missing the obvious."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to ask it." He paused. "So let me pose it this way. If you had been a ground fighter in the last war, and had been moving from cover position to cover position in a terrorist-held area, only to find yourself running straight towards a laser gun nest, and managed to avoid getting yourself killed, and thanked God over it, would you rush right towards the same danger again looking for God's help?"

"Heavens no," Tony replied. "God could simply let me die the fool that I would be."

"If we rush the Alkinarda looking for... whatever we experienced before... again, would we be dying the fools?"

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking for awhile, until John asked for his thoughts.

"You are right. We have no choice but to assume the Alkinarda is that second gun nest, maybe packing laser rifles or sonic grenades at every window, and that it will kill us if the blue stars don't incinerate us first. Then if we fail and go in anyway...."

John smiled. "God helps those who help themselves?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions about what we--"

"No, I am speaking in the most generic way, I think."

"Well, yeah, when have we ever not struggled? At least one, some, or all of us?"

"Never. I think if it ever happened that no one did, we would all be lost."

F-368 DAB 1110-1130: Ship 'n Station

It had been a long day, starting early with the rather mixed Eagle training session. It was sometimes difficult going to sleep with thoughts of Paul in her mind, and tonight they were in full force.

Having spent some time staring at the alien poems of Kaskalon -- or Kaska'lon as Sandra had found Maya preferred to spell it (which Sandra had also listed in the official record) -- had her thinking of those cryptic passages, which mixed with fresh memories of simulated Eagle flight, was also bringing her back to the cryptic demands of the Graktor, who had captured the Eagle that Paul and David had been flying, with Victor and Tanya as passengers.

In fractured and minimal English, they had then demanded 'the ship.' Which ship? Whose ship? Why? The Commander's demands for explanation only brought no clarity, and Sandra could only watch helplessly as other aliens appeared and began battling the Graktor. Combat Eagles launched as a contingency were quickly fired upon by both sides, but held their own, sustaining damage but no fatalities. Yet the three-way battle left destroyed alien ships on and orbiting the Moon. The aliens had abruptly left, seemingly with Paul's Eagle, until a piece of Eagle girder, two meters long, wrapped like a pretzel around two fragments of an alien ship, was found. Video records finally revealed the Graktor ship which had enveloped Paul's Eagle had itself been destroyed, with the Eagle in it.

The evidence was indisputable, but once again, Sandra's mind, as she slipped to the unwelcome sleep of fatigue and distraction, wanted to dispute it. Wanted to believe Paul was alive, wanting to think he could have been saved. She drifted, and soon found herself 'somewhere' she had not been....

Sandra sat helplessly in the co-pilot seat of an Eagle, the pilot missing, the door behind her open to what she knew was an empty ship. She stared into the view of space, of battle, seeing the alien ship ahead of her, but looking at the controls, feeling powerless, still ignorant of how to fly the craft as an alien ship approached Paul's Eagle, Sandra shouting, "The ship! A ship is behind you!"

She wanted to take the laser controls and target the alien ship.

Battle debris began filling space, pinging against the Eagle hull. A larger piece flew by -- a few more meters and it would have crushed her Eagle's pilot section. All she can do is communicate.

Suddenly, she saw it. Huge and distant, barely visible as the wreckage of alien ships thickens. "Paul, there is a huge station thirty degrees left and twenty up."

"What?" he called back even as his own Eagle, in trying to evade another ship, ends up pointed directly at the station.

"The station! The station!" she shouts, simply. "Fly to it!"

"Got it. Sandra, follow me!"

"I do not know how to fly, and they are ignoring me, thinking this Eagle is dead. Fly to the station."

Alien voices crowd over her commlink. "The ship! Give us the ship!"

Sandra has lost Paul's voice. Paul flies towards the station. Sandra's Eagle is drifting that way. Paul's Eagle enters a landing bay in the station. Sandra realizes she is on a collision course with another part of the station. The Graktor sweep towards the station, begin attacking it. The Graktor's enemies do the same, even as they attack Graktor ships.

Sandra drifted ever closer to the station. The station began exploding. "Paul, get out of there!"

Alien voices again: "The ship! The ship!"

"The station is exploding!" Sandra cries out.

"We want the ship, now!" an alien voice overrides hers.

A brilliant flare of white. Sandra covers her eyes. Sandra opens her eyes. Station debris is flying past her.

She is safe. Paul is dead. They're all dead. Sandra is alive. The aliens fly away, still shouting "The ship!" over the commlink.

"The station..." Sandra whispers quietly. "He was my port of calm in turbulent space. He is gone."

Station debris adds to ship debris. Sandra feels shattered. The cloud of debris thickens. She feels like she is in a dream, wonders why she hasn't awoken yet, has to suffer the feeling.... A piece of debris too large to survive is on a collision course. She stares at it, trying to awaken. "Paul," she whispers at the end.

"Paul!!!" Sandra screamed herself awake, in a cold sweat.

Another nightmare of losing Paul. Another distortion of reality, adding in unreal elements like the station, but keeping other parts, like Paul being incinerated with the others, painfully true. Yet another hard dose of truth. She was alone again.

She tried calming her wildly-beating heart, but almost cried out slightly when her commpanel beeped. Her legs felt too wobbly to walk over, so she tried picking up her commlock from the nightstand, but her cold, numb hands had trouble pulling it from the charger, then dropped it onto the nightstand. Finally gaining some control over herself, she picked it up again and connected into the signal via the commlock. A neighbor was calling, and asked if Sandra was okay. A faint, muffled scream had been heard....

"It is okay, just a nightmare."

The other person sounded concerned still, but Sandra reassured the other more than herself, and Sandra was soon alone again, with her thoughts.

At least this nightmare admitted the truth, that he is gone, she thought. It was small consolation for yet another difficult night. It was barely the start of night, but she'd probably not be able to try again to sleep. Like so many other times, she didn't know exactly what to do, but decided to start by changing into casual clothes. She left her quarters, and found herself walking up to Paul's former quarters. He was gone, and these were not living quarters any longer, but an office, the Strategic Planning Centre.

At first, this space was going to be repurposed into a plant crop growing area, with a similar-sized office elsewhere for the SPC, but Sandra had surprised herself by requesting this location for the office -- which was to be used to expand and begin implementing parts of Paul's Plan, when possible. Sandra ignored all that now, picturing the space as it had been when he was alive, and the things now gone: the dresser, his spartan decorations, his guitar, the bed....

Yet she gravitated towards the viewport, and just stared out for awhile, over a relatively quiet Moonbase Alpha, the grey moonrock beyond, and cold, mostly dark space. She and Paul had done this sometimes, standing together, his arm often around her shoulder or waist. Now, she felt alone, her thoughts jumbled -- yet sometimes just staring out emptily. She only interrupted this when her legs got tired, to bring a tall chair, normally sitting next to a whiteboard used for detailed brainstorming diagrams, over to the window, and spent most of the rest of the night there.

F-368 DAB 0700-0900: Hollow Simulator

Maya was in the simulator. Alan had said he liked to get trainees in the simulator as soon as possible, and that made a lot of sense to her as well.

It was a strange simulator, Maya had thought on first sight of what appeared to be a somewhat damaged pilot module, with cables leading to it, sitting on top of some simple apparatus that he explained rocked it some to provide some of the small sensations of force which sometimes occurred despite the artificial gravity.

"We don't have a full simulator," he had said. Those were back on Earth. Pilots here were expected to be on frequent flights that kept them current, not needing simulators.

Maya was alone in the simulator, while Alan and Sandra sat in front of some status readouts, Alan giving her orders and advice.

Maya could tell he had continued to grow irritated with her frequent questions, and after the discussion about flying the ship by 'feel', Alan only seemed to grow more anxious to show her what that meant, via simulator.

Now she was here, and was not doing so well.

"Stop trying to overthink it," Alan said. "Stop worrying about what the power equations might be."

He pushed her to let her instincts guide her.

"I'm trying, but now I'm trying to calculate what the numbers might--"

"Just clear your mind of that."

"I am trying," she said, unconsciously letting some frustration creep into her voice.

Maya fought her instincts to calculate the flight out, to just use the controls in the generalized way Alan was trying to teach, but she found herself fighting the craft, constantly trying to correct its course, overcorrecting frequently.

"More gently, smoother."

How could she smooth the equations without the equations? She tried following the "gently" part instead -- and promptly put it into a nose dive.

"Whoa, you're too close to the ground for this."

"I know," she said with exasperation as she alternatively tried to go gently with the simulator, then fought it to regain control.

A few seconds later, she 'crashed' it.

"Whew," he said after the simulated crash. "That could have been fatal. Here's where you can do better the next time...."

He expounded on a number of points, most of them rather highly imprecise. Some she could follow, and she tried to adapt the rest, but her next performance, she 'put it into the ground' even faster.

"Well, you actually did a little better on some things, but...."

He was pushing hard, and though she expected that was rather normal for this sort of training, he also seemed determined to prove that flight by 'feel' was proper and her way was incorrect. She set aside that thought, not wanting to get angry. That she had learned to fly Psychon ships and other ships for real or in holosim was about those machines, she tried to tell herself, not about these Alphan ones. Who was she to say their way was wrong for the machines they had built for their purposes?

It was then that she realized the safety factor again. Their training must be optimized for their machines and procedures. After all, she found the number of hardware controls to be unusually high, the computer systems almost secondary and to her almost unneeded in parts. That she was trying to fly as if she were the computer was apparently not proper either.

Her heart sank. She had so wanted to keep in practice. Dri'lakor, and dri'trayt -- literally 'flight as creature' and 'flight in machine' -- both felt so natural to her now, and she had wanted to keep in practice on the latter on Alpha too while showing initiative. Almost the only thing she had herself stepped forward on....

Sandra was getting irritated with Alan. Far from taking Sandra's early advice, Alan was trying to mold Maya's flight skills into totally human terms. The Psychon was proving adaptable in other areas, but was not being pushed to repress Psychon thought patterns behind doing the other tasks. Here she was being pushed, and she was struggling severely. It was silly, and now Sandra felt she was being put in the middle of Alan's Terran procedures fighting Maya's Psychon way of thinking.

Still, this was Sandra's first simulator try, and she had to set those thoughts aside. She found herself taking gentle control over the craft, flying it a little at a time.

"No, no, you have to be more assertive than that, or you'll be letting the Eagle run you rather than the other way around."

This became Alan's frequent mantra with her, but unlike Maya, Sandra didn't crash it for quite some time. However, when she started getting in a bad situation, she went from in trouble to crashed in much shorter order than Maya, Alan shouting to take more control.

Her runs went rather more smoothly as time went on.

Sandra found herself strangely exhilarated after her first simulated flights, even though her performance still needed a lot of work. Alan was right in his advice, she instinctively felt, but it would take work. She would have to bring out more of her assertiveness and strength.

Then Alan handed the simulator back to Maya, and told her, "More like Sandra this time. Not all the way, though. Easier on the bird, but not too easy that it will get away from you."

Sandra could virtually hear Maya's thoughts about how little that probably told her. Maya could follow those orders, and did, but to no more real success, and Sandra could hear the frustration building in Maya's voice, and how much that made Alan's voice bark out orders more firmly. He was going all military, trying to break her of bad or 'undisciplined' assumptions or something, to make her a clean slate on which to write new orders.

Yet Sandra could tell this was not working on Maya.

Sandra, sitting next to Alan at the readout and situation screens outside the simulator itself, quietly said, "Alan."

"Sometimes it just takes longer," he said quietly to her.

"That is still with humans."

Still, after a few runs, Maya seemed to get better for a bit, but that was illusionary, for she was soon back to 'back' to 'crashing' or 'overstressing' the Eagle with bad maneuvers.

"Okay, that's enough for now," Alan said, not trying to hide his frustration.

There was no response from Maya.

When the trainee emerged from the simulator, she looked distant, almost resigned, and sad. The frustration Sandra had heard in her voice seemed absent from her expression, as best as Sandra could tell.

To Alan, Maya emerged looking like she had enough of trying it her way, and ready to try it the established way.

"Captain Carter Pilot..." she started saying.

He suddenly didn't like the sound of that. Her breaking out the mangled formality did not strike him as a good thing.

"I do not understand this training methodology. I am learning the various imprecise and overlapping terms in scientific areas, but they are often classifications over existing numbers or data. Here, I do not have the data; but you insist this is the proper way to learn Eagle flight, and I assume this is required for safety reasons."

"Maya--"

"I do not believe I can learn to fly this way without constant conflict. I will probably not be a safe pilot by Alphan standards, and I wish to... withdraw from this program before I compromise the integrity of the training, the integrity of a real Eagle, or of someone's life."

Alan was suddenly angry -- mostly with himself. Sandra was right, only more than she perhaps realized. Trying to make an alien buy into human military training techniques. He was about to have the first student ever to remove oneself from training, over sheer stubbornness on his part.

Almost as bad, he had Sandra's eyes almost literally drilling him with a very disappointed look, in a way he couldn't recall having seen before. That was a difficult thing to take too.

"Maya, wait. Come with me."

He took her to the reference room, and searched for the relevant binders. "Here, before you take these, let me apologize for being so damn stubborn, and let you do what you were trying to tell me was best and I was not listening."

She could have thrown it back in his face as too little, too late, or for taking so long. She could have taken the material sullenly from him. Instead, she looked relieved, and grateful, and simply said, "Thank you, Alan; apology accepted." Then she added, "If it doesn't work this way either, I will still withdraw, or you can remove me."

"Let's not worry about that again. Just read, and we'll try again at a later point. Here, let me point out a couple sections relating to what you have been asking about."

After that, Maya left, now knowing the schedules of guards she trusted, and calling one whenever she needed to. Sandra remained, giving Alan a tiny 'that's better' type of smile, but a mostly neutral look about it. Maya may have been very quickly forgiving, but Sandra still looked a little off-put by his tactic.

That annoyed him somewhat in turn. He was still right, overall. The rules and methods were this way for a reason. His now making an exception for the Psychon was a complicating factor, and also not one he intended to give out to others.

Almost as if reading his mind, Sandra said, "I was not asking for you to make exceptions for half the trainees, not even for me. I know exceptions are dangerous in your book; but rare ones do not have to become dangerous if you do not let them. We all have to learn to accept some changes, as difficult as that sometimes can be."

F-368 DAB 1020-2110: Surviving Sibling

Tony was working in his office, located in Security Center. He looked up and, through the window, noticed Leann Picard walking towards his office from across the main room.

He let her in.

"Mr. Verdeschi."

"Leann, what can I do for you?"

"I noticed there have been a few times, in the hallways, where you and Maya have walked past, but have not introduced us."

"Well, I don't always--"

"Mr. Verdeschi," she said quietly and calmly, "I know I said some things about Psychons in general the day you told me that Lew died; but that was the first minutes of grief talking. I don't want to assault her, or hurt her emotionally, or anything like that, and would hate to think that I might end up being the last introduction out of concern about that."

He looked at her for another moment, then said, "Okay, I'll bring her by your work station the next chance I get."

"Thank you," Leann said, then left.

Over eight hours later, Tony and Maya were in a Cafeteria, him for dinner and her for breakfast. Then, on her request, took her to the Main Library for awhile, leaving her to explore while he finally looked for some new fiction to read.

In the days after Maya's arrival, he had repeatedly tried to 'get back' to his 'main duty' in trying to help oversee the repairs, already seeing that even with cautious delegation, helping Maya was time-consuming. He had finally stopped trying to 'get back' after realizing John and Alan had those oversight aspects well in hand. Tony had been delegating more recently, and with Maya calling on guards as she needed, Tony was easing back into other aspects of his duty, while still helping Maya where he could.

He still preferred to keep an eye out -- both for danger to her and her as a danger to Alpha, but it was starting to be difficult to see her as the latter anymore. That reaction, if anything, worried him in itself, that perhaps she was lulling him.

Yet she asked for little: an occasional meal so she could ask him more questions; an occasional jog in the under-Tube; now today for a visit to the Main Library. She smiled more and more easily: his assenting to such requests, at answers to her questions, on a friendly greeting, or at other simple gestures. She smiled remarkably often. Sometimes he wondered if all of that was keeping him suspicious. Aliens that smiled too much.... Yet increasingly, he found it hard to keep that line of concern. Had he been wrong to treat her with suspicion these last few weeks? Absolutely not, he felt. Maybe the question was really if he was holding onto his concerns for too long. This was more difficult to answer, but he preferred to err on the side of caution, or at least reasonable caution.

Yet when he found himself looking forward to the arranged occasions.... Now here it was on a Friday night, and he was hanging out with a female alien in a library, instead of asking out a beautiful woman in hopes of finding a new girlfriend....

What was his world coming to?

It didn't help when Maya peeked around a corner in a funny way and smiled at him, that unbidden came the nickname for her he had mostly kept away from conscious thought lately: Catbird.

"There you are," she said lightly, then approached him, carrying a couple of books, the top one bearing the name Advanced Topological Theory.

A hyper-technical alien female in a library, he thought, adding further precision to his earlier thought.

They soon left, to head back to their respective quarters to change clothes. Schedule conflicts had caused Maya to miss a formal workout session with Anna earlier in the week, and had prompted Maya to ask if he he had some time just to go there with her, for some informal exercise. That was in addition to their "pattern" of jogging together on occasion, which was easier than to try assigning a guard, since Tony already jogged.

The fact he sometimes found her eyes on him was almost as difficult to process as his seeming attraction to her. It was all ridiculous, as Tony had proclaimed loudly to Lena on their breakup. So what if Maya looked mostly human? He could feel a little attraction to a lot of women that he'd not seriously consider pursuing.

Tony and Maya had not gotten far from the Library when Tony's attention snapped back to the present, for he noticed Leann Picard walking the hallway. They all stopped, and Tony carried out the introduction.

"Leann, this is Maya. Maya, Leann Picard."

Maya's moderate smile, something Tony had noticed she had settled on somewhat early in the introduction process, one she used to show she wanted to welcome a good meeting, but was not necessarily demanding it, now faded somewhat. Leann kept smiling, however, and offering her hand.

Maya's smile partially, cautiously returned, and she quickly shook, then said, "I'm sorry, but I must ask...."

"I know what you want to ask, and it is okay. Lew Picard was my brother."

Maya's smile faded, her head dropped a little, and she looked ready to apologize for her father's actions, but Leann held up her hand. "That was not your fault, not your actions. I hear you keep trying to apologize for things you didn't do. What happened is difficult, but you suffered losses too, and I am not going to compound the pain for either of us by listening to you apologize for something you did not do, and in fact prevented from becoming worse. Now tell me, have you eaten recently?"

"She just ate a--" Tony started.

"I did not eat much, and would be happy to eat some more," Maya interrupted quickly, much to Tony's surprise.

"Good," Leann said. "I happen to know the cook at one of the cafeterias, and that he was going to whip up a mean casserole for later-evening diners today." After a pause, she added, "That's a good thing. Mr. Verdeschi, you're invited too."

"Thank you," he said, knowing this was still necessary, and Leann obviously recognizing this too. It would probably not be for much longer, fortunately. "Please, as long as we're going to share a meal, call me Tony."

"Okay, Tony," Leann said with a smile.

A-369 DAB 0830-0840: Half'star

It had been over three weeks since leaving Psychon's star system. There had been enough repairs and recovery to do that no one had gotten bored such as on some prior occasions.

With more time, some were hoping that items of minor maintenance that had accumulated or put off and delayed repeatedly, could be dealt with.

Halfstar, a verbal translation of what Maya had written for the official record as Ayi'ab, was one of their few generic names for astronomical objects in their "neighborhood," was actually well named, for it was about half-way to the Alkinarda, and a half-brightness star compared to Psychon's.

Douglas McLeod was busily making observations of the star and its system, including verifying its sole gas giant planet was where Maya predicted it.

They had entered the system at a moderate distance, but they did enter the system, unlike the pre-Psychon predictions that had them missing it to the "right." The closer approach, determined after Psychon's destruction, was going to bend them even further to the "left" -- towards what Maya spelled the Alk^inharda, but which everyone else pronounced, and usually spelled, Alkinarda.

It was like cosmic pinball of a highly dangerous kind. Although no threat was known to Maya in this system or apparent to their scanners, this had subdued some of the Alphans. Morale was only starting to recover after Psychon.

The Dorcon Fleet 1, including the Archon's flagship, elsewhere in the galaxy, was now halfway towards the Psychon starsystem.

In private quarters, the Archon cursed that the war with the Weyweq, started to obtain their meson converter technology that they would not trade, was going to take awhile longer than expected. Years, likely. The Weyweq had more tricks than expected in their use of the technology, but they were a small power, and could not hope to stand indefinitely.

In the meantime, while two other fleets continued that, this fleet was left flying in the opposite direction for a considerable period of time.

Intelligence reports were still coming in about all facets of the empire. His predecessor and ancestor had done a fine job on the big picture, but there were always messy little details, some of which the young Archon felt no patience for but to which he still had to pay attention.

Intelligence reports on Psychon had proven thin. No reports of Psychon ships anywhere. Some were thought to have left, but some of their defenses had grown increasingly exotic, including suggestions of being able to transform things artificially. This was not unlike some hints of what meson converter technology could perhaps do, albeit in a very different way.

Psychons, not surprisingly, seemed to have more of a handle on true transformational technology.

Much to the Archon's irritation, no intelligence had come in regarding the Psychon system itself. If that did not change, the Dorcons would have to probe and analyze the situation themselves.

That was still too long of a wait, Syric thought, as he paced the throne room.

A-369 DAB 1200-1800: Moonbuggy Mission

It wasn't exactly the day most would want to spend a Saturday, but Alpha was fairly active today -- though this star system did seem quiet, and eerily empty, with only one gas giant and no apparent activity. It all seemed to verify the Psychon's claims it had been damaged by the war between the so-called Star Giants, the Orcayi and Korai, tens of millennia or more before. So he felt safe enough to go ahead with today's surface mission, with Maya.

As an adjunct of Eagle flight training, Maya had learned how to drive a moonbuggy -- far simpler than Eagle flight. All Alphans were to learn eventually, as a measure of readiness, ordered during their first year post-Breakaway. Someone learning how to fly an Eagle needed to learn moonbuggy use too, so this had happened more quickly. John decided to let her get more practice, letting her drive towards a site he had picked out, having wanted her opinions on it almost since she had arrived. It was about time she went there.

Around a low hill sat their destination, still somewhat distant. Even broken, hulled, open, and shattered, it was fairly impressive, remnants of a true colossus of a machine. The Satazius it had been named. It was the Bethan gunship that the late Dione had commanded.

While the ship was still minutes away, something else was closer. When Maya visibly noticed the small "field" of square markers just in front of a nearby hillock to the side, he explained they were the graves of the deceased aliens. He had already mentioned the battle, but had not gotten into details. He silently recalled some further memories....

Dione's body had been found. Despite having been adversaries, despite her transparent and unwelcome attempt at seducing him, John had been sad it had come to killing her, her crew, and their ship. However, he and Alpha had been boxed into a corner, trapped in a prolonged battle in two other powers' endless war, and had no choice but to knock down part of the box so the other part would let itself fall away.

Dione's body had been identified, and hers was the only grave with a name: "Dione of Betha, Commander of the Gunship Satazius"

The other Bethans, what remains were found, were in the dozens. More women were found near the fragments of the front of the ship, more men towards the rear of the ship. It was a curious partial segregation that could have been coincidental, or perhaps deceptive given the massively explosive damage done to the ship. The crew now rested together around Dione's grave, their own each marked "Woman of Betha, crewmember of Satazius" or "Man of Betha, crewmember of Satazius"

They could have all been placed in unmarked graves, or even a single grave, but that was not Alpha's way. A few had been autopsied, and all had at least blood and tissue samples taken, but they had each been returned -- away from but within "sight" of the ruins of their colossal ship -- and buried individually.

There was no way of knowing the aliens' burial preference(s), so all the Alphans could do was pick a typical human method. There had been no words as each found alien was soon buried, however. There really wasn't anything to say. It had been simple silence. John had already said his final words to Dione, in the final moments of her life.

For John and Maya, the final stretch was a long, quiet one. He wondered if she was thinking about the aliens' graves in some way. About two weeks ago, she had exposed one of her own fears, about making a misstep and being thrown out of an airlock for it. He hoped that with Helena's strong repudiation of that idea, Maya would stop fearing that. He doubted anyone had mentioned Balor having been thrown out of an airlock. It would eventually have to be brought up, but hopefully they could explain it as an action of last resort.

No part of the Satazius had remained intact enough to maintain an atmosphere. The ship lay in ten major pieces (all with further damage), dozens of mid-sized ones, hundreds of small ones, and an uncountable number of tiny fragments. Huge chunks of what had so far been largely unusable metal littered the approaches to the largest intact parts, and Maya got some practice following an existing but winding trail cleared months ago. The metal had proven relatively light but extremely tough, and virtually unworkable by current metalworking techniques. Some of it would not take any current human welding techniques, while some could be welded by one rather unusual technique. Some of it could be cut, but with great difficulty. Little could be made from it, so far; but experiments on some of the smaller parts continued. The ship portion he directed Maya towards had a lot of exposed beam work. Some beams lay on the ground, but many remained attached, with alien fusing techniques that were just as difficult and sometimes impossible to cut apart.

When the moonbuggy could go no further, reaching a small, roughly circular clearing that had been made, they stopped and got out, Maya retrieving the kit of scanners and sensors she had chosen and brought. Her own scanner was a work in progress, not yet functioning.

John warned Maya to watch for any sharp edges that could cut suit and flesh, then proceeded among the thicket of beams and semi-intact, semi-shattered hull and equally damaged "internal" walls. He described the problem, and she started scans, describing her best assumptions about what the metal alloy was, stating she was not aware of any current Alphan device that would help work such metal, but that she was still being introduced to Alpha technology, and would consider this problem.

They continued in. The debris had been fairly well mapped. They worked their way to one of the power units. Maya scanned its inactive remains with multiple scanners, and after a little thought about the results, indicated the unit was quite advanced, and quite hopelessly damaged. It had been left on the ship, as the unit was too large and too much "welded" to the remaining superstructure to move. She seemed fascinated by it nonetheless, and on questioning, indicated she would welcome further opportunities to analyze the equipment.

The results were similar they reached other technological hot spots, likewise in about equal states of ruin. The computer systems were all damaged beyond function. What was not shattered, was burnt to a crisp, and most of what was left either had either burned up on Alphan analysis attempts, could not be powered, or simply could not be understood, except for a few ideas in some cases.

After the discouraging initial results and the frequent need for maintaining or repairing Alphan systems, the efforts on the alien ships had largely stalled. Some sporadic effort was still ongoing, and yielding some interesting but not yet practical results for the most part. Alpha was going to include whatever alien technology they could make work and that was deemed sufficiently safe, but only a little bit of that had happened so far. Indeed, the original team exploring the hulks was in disarray given frequent other priorities, and only preliminary exploration had been made of the most recent ships, of the Graktor and their enemy, all crashed much further from Alpha.

Still, today's exploration was a useful exercise, despite only modest additional thoughts -- at least today. It would get Maya considering salvage possibilities and thinking of more things to scan for on later visits here and elsewhere.

A-369 DAB 1510-1530: Ring of Station

Sandra was once again studying the alien poems, trying to tease meaning out of them, this time in reverse order, thinking Maya's order, though probably as intended by the original sources, and faithfully relayed by Maya, may be misleading; or that even if true, that perhaps looking at them differently would help. She reached the one dubbed The Introduction last:

This time, it was not the evidently most symbolic and incomprehensible final two lines of this one that captured her attention, but part of the fourth line: 'the ring of station.' Everyone, including Sandra, had been assuming it was some bad grammar that had crept in somewhere; but now, she whispered the four words, then whispered, "the station." She abruptly remembered her nightmare. A distorted, altered version of the Graktor battle, her in an Eagle instead of Main Mission, a giant station added where none had been in real life. In her dream, she had pointed it out to Paul, he had tried to shelter in it, to the imagined death. The station destroyed, fragments flying everywhere. She ignored the nightmare images of ship fragments, ignored the pain that came even from a false version of Paul's death. What if Maya's memory or Psychon's memory was correct? What if one took the line literally? A ring comprised of the remains of a single space station?

So... what?

It did not lead anywhere -- it did not seem like a useful piece of information. Even the Moon had a ring. A ring of satellites. A ring of alien ship debris from this and prior incidents. Ring of ship, she thought, almost twittering silently at it.

Rings of metal, stuck in space, the smaller pieces largely impractical to waste individual rocket motors on downing, and tedious to transport by drop line with anti-gravity used to stabilize such loads. Available, but no time had been set aside for that. The larger pieces still impractical to move as well. Yet Flight 2 to Kaskalon had been set aside for scavenging opportunities in the 'rotting cities' on the surface.

Ring of ship. Did the Graktor want that? It was not even a ship anymore, and in fact now included parts of Graktor spacecraft.

Ring of ship. Ring of station. She lingered on the latter. Now there could be some impressive chunks of metal -- maybe.

She thought of Paul's Plan. At first, while others started calling it Paul's Plan, even that name provoked a little pain, and she had called it by its original name; but now, left as one of its primary guardians, guardian of what could become one of Paul's key legacies, she found herself wanting to use the name to honor that.

She forced her thoughts back to the topic at hand. One of the Plan's primary points was the need to obtain metal, even if currently unworkable and requiring research. Still, it was very little on which to act, and was the same problem again: taking small fragments was a lot of effort for little gain, and the big components were too large to move. At least with the debris around the Moon, Alpha still had time to consider the problem; but the material around Kaskalon would only be accessible for days.

Still, it might be worth discussing with the Commander. So she sent an electronic post requesting a meeting on Monday, less than two days away.

S-370 DAB 1920-2040: Never

"Never hit or strike a girl or woman. It is not what a good boy or man does, and no good can ever come of it."

Greg Sanderson's father had taught him that. Did every good father teach every son that, or just to the ones who seemed more prone to solving problems physically? Had his father sensed something in Greg, or was it just something rather common to say? Greg did not know. His father had died not that long after some of those statements, when Greg was fourteen. His father had been saying a lot of things before that, and then he had told Greg he was dying of cancer. He had not lasted long after that revelation. It had not been fair.

Now Greg was far from the world on which his father was buried, on that world's runaway Moon, now counting someone from another world as a member, and Greg had struck.... Did the strange-looking humanoid alien female from Psychon count as a woman? She wasn't even human, yet the word 'humanoid' implied close enough. Even Greg had thought of her as a 'woman' a couple times, more out of convenience, yet....

Greg had never even come close to striking a woman. Even an ex-girlfriend he had had conflict with, who one day had started striking him, had not garnered more than putting up his arms to deflect her, until she gave up -- and broke up with him. He had been angry then, but had not wanted to strike her.

Yet he had lashed out at the alien. He and others, even Verdeschi, had been suspicious of her, and suddenly finding Maya in a sensitive area....

Some of this he had already discussed with Dr. Mathias (part of the punishment), while he tried to hold down his disdain for that process. The truth was his assault had been stupid, but not much more than how accepting so many Alphans were of the alien.

A lot of questions came up about his reaction to Maya as a lion, but already, that was a memory that was fading. It was just too strange, yet also mixed with such massive relief that it had been a real incident, had been an alien's actual ability, rather than some total madness, actually had him setting that aside. Others were more creeped out, Greg knew. Good, they should be, he tended to think. Let someone else take up the mantle on that; he was glad to just to let the weird memories start to fade from mind.

He was still angry about the technicality regarding commlocks, and most bitter over what he considered menial duties. Peeling potatoes? Mopping the common-area restrooms? Hauling garbage and sorting recyclables? How unoriginal were those punishments?

That day over two weeks ago, he had stopped by to talk to Joan; but after the incident, when the dust was just settling, Joan had sided firmly with Maya. He and Joan had been friends, somewhat, more via Jane than anything, but it still irked him. Joan had attempted no further contact, and he wanted none.

At least his friends from his survey team had stopped by on occasion, and he to their quarters, or for getting together over a meal.

It was from a most unexpected quarter, at first anyway, that he found new female friendship. He had known Susan Crawford as an acquaintance, both before and after the birth of Jackie, now -- fortunately -- renamed George.

Only a few days after being released from detention, he had run across Susan just after they had gotten off their respective duty shifts, and they had gone to a cafeteria and talked. In the week since, they started striking up a friendship, often chatting in the open lounge near the lift in her residential block. Sometimes George was there too. Greg had not been the best around babies in the past, and George seemed to get a sense of that, sometimes seeming fine around Greg, but mostly getting fussy when Susan handed him to Greg.

Still, Susan eventually invited Greg into her quarters. George was always there, and that was fine -- like a silent, mutual agreement this was not about a relationship, but of a friendship. Greg still hurt from Jane being lost, and it soon became clear Susan still hurt from losing Jack, being widowed, and marooned on Alpha. Susan did not talk about Jackie/Jarak at first, nor did Greg vent his suspicions about Maya as he had with Joan. Yet eventually, over the days, both of them had started drifting to the topic of those aliens, sometimes quietly in the lounge, sometimes in more detail in quarters.

They had sympathy for each other's viewpoint -- and for each other.

Today was another day talking in the lounge. As people came out of the lift, sometimes with babies, sometimes not -- this block and level held almost half the families -- he'd look up and check who it was, give only the slightest acknowledgement before looking back to Susan to continue talking. He took little note that it was like old Security habits remained, but did notice Susan looked increasingly at ease around him.

That a few parents were uneasy with Greg was not something Sanderson sensed.

M-371 DAB 1030-1350: Growing 'Storm

By the time the Data Analyst got to discuss her latest thoughts with the Commander, she already doubted the wisdom of requesting a meeting for it. What she had was sketchy and not very useful, an interpretation that 'ring of station' may not be a grammatical error at all, but an orbiting ring of fragments of a giant, destroyed space station -- that Alpha had no means of retrieving anyway. Still, Paul had written into the Plan that such things must be considered. Thus the meeting. So she felt better as she went in and briefly summarized her new interpretation.

"I think it is an interesting thought," the Commander said. "How did you reach it?"

Sandra was surprised. She wasn't used to the Commander asking such questions. She felt under a tiny bit of scrutiny, and wasn't sure why. Maybe he was concerned about her state of mind. The answer wouldn't help, but she didn't want to be evasive either, for the Commander would recognize that quickly. She could omit some parts, though. "I was dreaming of the Graktor attack, only there was a station there too, and both they and their enemies were attacking the station as well, and its debris added to the ship debris. I later started wondering about the 'ring of station' phrase."

He seemed satisfied with the answer, then said, "You're right about all the impracticalities; but maybe it's about time we corner them."

"Commander?"

"De-orbiting the ship debris in lunar orbit was always a timing problem, both for not having much time to consider it, and for how little time from the burn there would be to retrieve the rocket. We don't have a lot of small rockets to spare, nor do I want to start borrowing reaction systems from Eagles for the same reasons. The spine booster is the only one we've currently got, and it's damaged. The winch system of slinging loads under the Eagle and keeping them stable via anti-gravity, is only for small loads, and the rockets are nowhere near the force of the main motors, anyway."

They speculated the hypothetical station must have been pretty large for its debris to make any sort of ring, even thin and all but invisible except to scanners. The problem was the same: how to displace large items, hopefully larger than an Eagle. In this case, it was compounded by enormous distance; a large delta-V would have to be applied, and with high precision, they came to realize -- a problem that cobbling a system of rocket motors together on short notice did not seem to solve. Eagles simply were not designed for anything large, and small stuff would not be worth the effort.

"What about hauling it behind the Eagle?" Sandra asked.

"But from where on the Eagle? You'd have to haul the object behind the Eagle, and chains would likely hit the engines."

"Yes, I was just thinking that as soon as I said it."

The discussion stalled, and eventually came to an end.

Though the discussion had ended, the thoughts it got going in John's head continued, and he eventually found himself in Alan's office, laying it all out. Chains fouling the engines was a huge concern, yet....

Alan got a thoughtful look, and said, "I reckon we could build a rig, in place of a pod, with long, curved, carbon fiber prongs... almost more like wings but curved far back, away and beyond the engines, and set up some chain-and-spring setup. Not sure how, but again, that is just for starters."

"I was hoping your training presented some sort of option as far as Eagle capacities. My training never mentioned anything like it."

"For using Eagles as locomotives on an unknown-mass drive? Ha! Sorry, nothing like that here either."

"Let's bring a technical designer in here...."

"Well, I first have to wonder about more basic problems, such as whether the navigation is even feasible."

"My instinct is yes; but you have a point. Let's have a conversation with McLeod."

Astrophysicist Douglas McLeod was incredulous. "Shoot masses larger than an Eagle--"

"Much larger, if we can," the Commander said.

"... at a distant Moon?"

"Basically."

"No, the precision needed is probably far higher, especially keeping the safety of Alpha, Nuclear Waste Areas, and other key sites in mind. Besides, flinging objects at an approaching Moon creates a high impact velocity and would vaporize most of the object on impact -- not do much more than create a new crater. It would probably make more sense to push things out in front of the Moon, though something about that bothers me. Maybe a curved approach, sneak up on the side... make each chunk take a tangential crash landing, which could be softer, maybe."

The Commander nodded slightly. "Sounds good."

"One problem."

"Unknown mass."

"You got it, Commander. That's a difficult navigation problem. Probably need to start the Eagle burn and then see where the Eagle and what it's hauling -- or maybe just the Eagle -- goes and compensate the course accordingly."

"But can it be done?" Alan asked with mild impatience.

"I don't know. I'll have to run some scenarios, and probably get someone from Computer involved."

"Talk to June Washington," the Commander said.

"Commander, if you don't mind me asking, why all of this in the first place?" Douglas asked. "What unknown masses?"

"Possible scrap metal in orbit of the planet we will be approaching in three weeks."

"Scrap metal.... Oh, Paul's Plan?"

"Exactly. Spaceship hulls have not been the easiest to deal with at this point, but maybe a massive station was designed differently."

After they left McLeod's lab, Alan looked at John and shook his head.

"I'm beginning to wish we could have considered some way of getting around this whole Alkinarda mess altogether."

"Alan, it crossed my mind. Our fate was altered at Psychon, and by the time we realized it, the bluish nebula was already the largest phenomenon in our sky."

"Yeah. Two ancient space powers warring, and that gets created? A tear, dozens of light years across, in this galaxy. I was with Tony in laughing at the term Star Giants, but when I saw that nebula, growing in our sky, again recently, even weeks away from it, I'm less dismissive."

"Giants stomping around..." John mused. "We'd have been ants to them, I suspect. The Half Star system behind us, mostly destroyed. Psychon apparently was just far enough away to escape."

Speculation on ancient events couched in legendary terms abruptly came to an end as they reached the Flight Design lab, to talk to Jim Haines. He had been Dr. Linden's assistant and protégé on ship design, and though he did not have Linden's level of expertise, he was still was a valuable resource to call on.

Jim Haines tended to feel relief any time he could return to his mainstay work. The Voyager records were a weight of their own, sometimes light when his fascination buoyed the experience, but still often difficult.

What was presented was startling and incredible. A new pod design with a very unique purpose? It was a breath of fresh air.

Within an hour, the idea of a carbon fiber design, though attractive and stirring up thoughts in Jim, including some curious tangents with the group, was deemed unfeasible for this purpose. Time was short, and to design something strong enough and with such a shape and relatively new materials was totally impractical, beyond even Alphan ingenuity at this point. "We simply haven't practiced at any beyond small scale experimental work, and this is big scale production. Even if we jerry rig it," Jim explained in summary at one point.

"What then?"

"Metal beams." The designer started drawing on a handy sheet of paper. "A beam or box girder along the long axis of where a pod would normally go, another two beams sticking at right angles, like ungainly wings, one at the front of the box, against the back of the forward section, and one at the back of the box, against the front of the rear section. Each attached to a docking mechanism at either end, like any other pod. Then a beam on each side, parallel to the main axis again. On the back, some sort of rig to turn two anchor points into three and still be clear of the engines and exhaust."

"Three?" John asked.

"Need three for a stable tripod in 3-D flight. Otherwise the Eagle or load could start pitching or rolling wildly.

"Oh, of course."

"I'm not sure I like tethers in space, but a tripod and this configuration may minimize the risk. Also, there would have to be counterweights in the front, probably on either side of the pilot module, maybe even slightly in front of it. Finally, maybe two diagonal or curved braces where needed." The officers just stared at the drawing for a bit, prompting Jim to continue. "It's back of the napkin kind of stuff, but this would have no moving parts. Find some beams of the right length or cut them. Then weld them together. Nothing fancy, given it sounds like there is some urgency. One bigger problem, though: we don't have spare structural beams like that sitting around. It could take weeks just to manufacture them all for a rig."

"Three," the Commander stated.

"Three weeks?"

"Three weeks, yes; but I meant three rigs, I hope -- more if possible."

"More like three weeks for one... if we're lucky. I can't speak for Manufacturing, either."

"What about some of the structural beams from those destroyed alien ships on the Moon's surface?" the Commander asked.

"From what I've heard, we've had minimal success working those materials."

"We're not talking fine re-working them into base sections or Eagle frames, but cutting and slapping some right-length ones together into a rigging."

"Hmm.... If we could get them to take welds.... Some are relatively low density, right? Total guess, but maybe the weight isn't so bad. Let me draw up something more. Do you know of any analysis describing characteristics of the alien alloys?"

The discussion continued, and a go-ahead for a more formal, but still preliminary, design diagram was given, and for Jim to start gathering a team.

M-371 DAB 1900-2010: Flights 3 and 4

The new idea was soon brought to Meeting Room CC, the one closest to Command Center, where they had been filling whiteboards with poems and plans.

The whole command staff, plus Maya, was there. The brainstorms were shared with those who had not heard.

Koenig added a Flight 3 of six Eagles, three of them what he dubbed Hauler Eagles, with three spotter/support Eagles. Yet there was some discussion of risk/reward that followed, including the possibility of getting to Kaskalon and finding nothing to haul.

Sandra made an observation. "There is another part of Paul's Plan that this might help with. What some of you might not know yet is we have picked up a temporary stowaway in our huge hyperspatial bubble."

"Oh?" Alan asked, while Maya got that already-familiar look of curiosity on her face.

"It appears we will be traveling with a dormant comet for a few days. According to Douglas McLeod, it was in the right place to be in the space that got encased in our bubble as we reached the far side of the Half Star system, and it is now traversing our space at the same pace it was moving in its own. It will eventually exit at the edge of our bubble, some days from now -- but well away from where it was."

There was quiet, and then Tony said, "So?"

"Survey teams have been finding some small deposits of frozen ice water in polar crater floors, and we take occasional comet hits. Both have sufficed for now, but we have had to consider energy-expensive backup plans."

"Like splitting out trace water bound to regolith?" Tony asked.

"It sounds like this comet will be long gone before the Haulers are ready."

"It is true," Sandra confirmed, "but with this new type of pod, we can be ready for the next one. Expanding our water supply is a key part of Paul's Plan too. Gathering small supplies from planets may not be sufficient, long-term."

"If we're so lucky as to have ready access to a small comet again," Tony said. "Besides, we could lose half the material to dispersion from the heat of the crash."

Sandra gave a tiny shrug.

Tony was not being argumentative for negativity's sake, nor was necessarily even treating each statement as what he really believed; but once again, trying to ensure points weren't missed. In smaller Command Conferences than the Commander used to organize, the diversity of viewpoints had gone down with the loss of Paul, Victor, and David. Even if the experience level of the survivors was higher than in their first months, it still wasn't enough. Part of what Koenig felt qualified Verdeschi for the role of First Officer was just how willing Tony was to be a contrarian to almost any viewpoint presented, even if he agreed with the viewpoint, or his arguments perhaps made him look like a fount of negativity -- or even a little foolish -- at times.

"That may be true, but again, the material cost of building is relatively low."

"Okay," Tony was saying now, "but are we sure about building three of these rigs right now?"

John sat back. "Same arguments on low cost, and say we only build one, and regret it when we get there?"

"True. I see your point. For the cost of some of the so-far otherwise virtually unusable alien alloys, and two standard pod docking ends for each Hauler framework, already salvaged from other largely destroyed Eagles, and the effort, we could have new multi-use tools at hand. What if the attempt fails at either purpose, and the idea has to be abandoned?" Tony asked.

"We can always disassemble the frameworks and reuse the metal and pod ends for other sensible purposes."

Tony sat back, putting his hands behind his head for a moment, then saying, "Okay, I'll buy it all, at least in these preliminary phases."

"Question is," Helena said, "can we build these fast enough to deploy at Kaskalon?"

"We don't know yet," John said. There was silence for a little while, then John solicited other opinions.

There were a few minor comments, but they soon drifted towards discussing the Flight 3 plan Koenig had jotted on the second whiteboard. Though various arrangements were discussed regarding searching for suitable fragments and just how much EVA might be needed to secure them to chains and hauling apparatus, the core idea stood up, and remained.

Alan scrutinized the board. "Well, if Flight 1 has at least one Eagle, Flight 2 has at least two Eagles, and Flight 3 has six Eagles, that's already nine Eagles. I'd suggest a Flight 4 for support roles."

"Comprised of?" John asked the officer.

Tony jumped in. "At least one combat Eagle, for a start."

"Combat?" Maya asked.

"Precaution," John explained: "You mentioned Kaskalon gets visitors from time to time."

"Yes."

"What else, Alan?"

"A refueling Eagle."

"Done."

"Flight 4 could drop the commsats instead of Flight 1," Sandra said.

Alan leaned forward. "With two Eagles in higher orbit, if we keep them far enough apart, we'd really only need two commsats, and that's four point coverage for most of the planet."

"Okay," John said, erasing the commsats mention from Flight 2, and after Helena mentioned medical need, added Flight 4 to the board.

With this meeting, the number of Flights had doubled and the number of Eagles had almost quadrupled, from three to eleven.

It was shaping up to be a complex mission. Mission launch was to be 23 days from now.

T-372 DAB 0830-1030: Weapons Training

When the door opened, Tony was startled to discover he no longer had that tiny bit of surprise upon seeing Maya's face. He was starting to get used to it, though she always seemed to give him something to look at, either with a welcoming expression, a new hairstyle -- she seemed to have many -- or just overall.

It wasn't just him adapting to her, but her to Alpha. Sandra and Tony had migrated management of Maya's time to Maya herself, overseen by Sandra and Tony but now hers to work out. Priorities still came from them or the Commander, and sometimes she had to ask to sort it out. She seemed to want to assign herself more work on top of the fact that she spent much of her free time studying technical matters, but John had insisted there would be times of stress with a lot more work, and when not those times, wanted her to have other time as well.

"Where are we going?" she asked with an open expression as she left her room and started walking.

"Well, it is probably time for you to try training on a sidearm."

This training, he was seeing to personally, so he took her to the Weapons Section. During the reshuffling of rooms started a couple months ago, Security Center had gotten its own target range, but the facility in Weapons Section was a simpler range, kept for beginners, at least for now. Everyone would eventually get weapons training, on the chance of a mission. Besides, Maya needed another introduction.

Petrov was seeing to minor upgrade tasks, and when Tony brought Maya in, Petrov eyed her warily. Tony brought Maya right over and introduced her, and happily, the wary expression mostly disappeared from his face, though it was not replaced with any real warmth or conversation. That had little to do with Maya, though, as he was not an expressive type, and was generally laconic in tone.

Still, it seemed good words about Maya had been filtering around the base, preceding her as it were, and much of the remaining wariness was simply mostly over meeting her face to face, rather than Maya as some like-father-like-daughter or some-strange-creature threat. It had been four weeks, and it seemed the goal of being able to let her move about on her own after a month was attainable.

Petrov asked no questions about Psychon weapons cutting right through the shield, but those questions had been answered some time before.

Maya seemed relieved the introduction went smoothly. Tony and Maya each signed off as trainer and trainee on the laser range, Maya signing in English cursive.

First, though, they sat down on a couple chairs to cover basic information, including safety.

Safety. As recently as a week ago, he didn't even trust her enough to let her walk on his right side, nearest the sidearm he always wore when in uniform. He had increasingly thought it silly considering that if she really wanted to suddenly harm him while walking next to him, there was little he could really do about an initial surprise. Besides, he found it increasingly difficult to distrust her that much. Why would she suddenly just attack him?

So finally, he gave it up.

Still, giving her weapons training had been a little difficult. It was only weeks from reaching Kaskalon, and John had pointed out she was going to be on a mission with a lot of unknowns -- except it was known to receive other alien visitors from time to time. Maya needed to know how to handle Alphan weapons. It was that simple.

As usual, Maya listened attentively to the training. She seemed a little hesitant. She had not handled weapons, but stated she understood the need.

When he finally gave her a stun gun, she took it tentatively, waited for his order, then aimed it tentatively at the laser-insulated electronic target, and missed badly. She was not shaking or anything. She just wasn't used to a gun.

Still, her aim slowly started improving to the point that she was at least hitting within the edge of the target, and an occasional, random near-center hit. Whatever it was that gave her high precision in calculation did not extend to any alien advantage in personal coordination. Though graceful with just about any other movement, such was not the case with a weapon. She had to learn targeting the old-fashioned way.

He didn't like her tentative attitude, however. Standing again off to one side during one volley series, out of danger but in view of her face, he could see a sort of calm that had not been there before, but still mixed with hesitation. It was not at all like he had heard from Alan on how she "flew" the Eagle simulator, pushing to the edge of the technical specs, almost aggressively yet with the calm of thinking she understood the machine's limit yet still having to learn that constantly pushing the machine to the edge when not necessary created a lot of wear and tear. None of that attitude was present here. She doesn't want to hurt anyone, he thought absently at first, echoing what he thought was like something she had once said somewhere. After Sanderson's attack, he realized.

Still, this would not do. So he set a new context for her. "Okay, Maya, you need to look serious. Pretend you are on a team with a few of us, and that someone else is threatening us. You've realized they only respect a show of potential force. You don't want to fire, but you will if you have to prevent us from being hurt." On a lark, he had left out an explicit reference to defending herself, leaving it implicit in the scenario but making it much more about defending other Alphans as well.

To his great surprise, Maya responded. Her look turned very serious. The tentativeness evaporated. She leaned her head down very slightly, much like any human would, looking forward with slightly upturned eyes from the angle. No smile. Serious, virtually unblinking eyes. Her unique eyebrows, especially at this angle, giving her an even more intense look. Whoa. "That's it, exactly." No, he didn't want to be on the wrong end of that look. Not nasty, just determined, calm, calculating.

F-375 DAB 0810-0940: Milestones

During the regularly-scheduled Commander / First Officer meeting, which was at 09:00 today, in the Commander's lower-level office, the topic of Maya's security was soon brought up. It did not take long for both to find out they had about the same opinion: it was time to disengage the guarding.

John called her. "I know it is late, but can you and Tony and I meet?"

"Of course, Commander. Please give me a few minutes."

"Good. Tony will head to your quarters."

Maya wondered what this was about. Tony seemed pleased about something, but said nothing as they walked to the Commander's office, near Command Center. The Commander also seemed pleased about something, but in a subtler way. She wasn't sure exactly how. Her curiosity was too much for her, and after greetings and some awkward small'talk, she asked, "Commander?"

"Have you realized you have reached two milestones in the last twenty-four hours?"

"What kind of rocks?"

"Milestones: major events in time."

"Oh, no, I did not. What milestones?"

"Your first month on Alpha, and that you've now personally met every adult Alphan."

She was quite surprised, on both counts. Had it been a month? Yes, it had. She hadn't even counted the number of Alphans she had met. "No, I did not. I hope it has been good."

"Well, it has," the Commander said, "but I hope you think it has been good, at least in some ways."

"Oh, yes, I am grateful so many of your people have been kind, and especially ones being friends, too."

"Do you feel more comfortable about your safety now?"

"Well, other than...." She trailed off, immediately regretting starting on a negative.

"Sanderson. Go ahead, just speak your mind."

"Other than Sanderson, most have given me at least polite meetings, some even more than that."

"What about the less polite greetings?"

"I understand."

"No, do you feel threatened by that?"

"No, not really, though I still feel nervous sometimes. Some have become more polite. It is the stares I don't understand, but there is less of that too." She suddenly had a feeling where this was going, and decided to short circuit some of the main'talk background. "Are you asking if I would feel safe by myself in the hallways?"

At first, it did not seem like either man wanted to confirm or deny her hypothesis. Finally, the Commander affirmed, saying, "Yes, please just be direct -- and detailed if you want."

She thought for a moment, having mixed feelings, but with one conclusion coming to the foreground. She had been thinking for some time, and now.... "I do want that. I mean I appreciate the company and the attention to my safety. Thank you, Tony." She abruptly added the last with a smile.

He looked a bit surprised by that, but then nodded, finally adding, "You're welcome."

"I want to do that, and I am ready, and do not think I will fear attack at any moment." She decided to take the Commander's request to be direct and detailed, and trust that he would not be offended: "If I do feel... threatened in some way?"

"Defend yourself, just as you did with Sanderson, or with anything you're learning in the gym."

"You do not need permission to defend yourself," Tony said, and even Maya noticed the Commander's slight look of pleased surprise. Maya had noticed subtle if inconsistent changes in Tony's attitude lately. She still did not feel he was feeling full trust in her, but she welcomed all the small improvements, and despite everything, she still liked him.

"Also, short of feeling physically threatened, if you feel hassled in some way, be sure to tell Tony."

"Okay."

"Okay, then, Maya, you're dismissed."

"Yes, Commander," she said as lightly as she could.

A-376 DAB 0525-0940: LQ12

The next day, Maya and John met, and she soon said, "I would like to make a request."

"Yes?" he said, thinking the tone of her voice was stronger, more confident.

"I am accumulating a lot of technical material and references to study and work on, and I am starting to run out of room. Others have advised me I ought to request a laboratory -- lab? -- of my own. I had thought it would be too much to ask for, but I have decided they are correct, and I can really use one, if there is something available."

He had considered this for awhile already, but was curious to wait, for a little bit anyway, to see if she would ask, regardless of whether or not others prodded her a little. This was another good sign. She had asked for virtually nothing for herself, and it was good to see her finally ask for something more significant.

"Granted," he said simply. "I already know just the place, if you're ready."

John brought Maya to LQ12, Victor's former living quarters, which had also doubled as a lab in many ways, the one he frequented the most.

No one lived on this level anymore, and Victor's bed and wardrobe had been removed, and most of his personal effects distributed about or stored. John had Victor's unfinished Saturn rocket model. One of the "Atonal Alphans" -- its organizer, Jack Bartlett, actually -- had respectfully requested Victor's violin to be used by as many who might wish to play it. John wasn't sure to where the vivarium had gone. Almost all of the art on the walls had remained, on purpose. The room had been repurposed into a general lab awhile back. He thought Victor would have agreed. However, it had not been specifically assigned until now.

He explained some of this, including that it had been Victor's living quarters. She seemed rather uncomfortable with the idea of taking this particular place as her lab now.

"Maya, I'm quite certain Victor would have approved."

She said nothing, but her expression lightened somewhat, and indeed, she was soon exploring and asking questions. He answered what he could, but deferred other questions for when van der Mir or another Technical Section person could stop by and discuss them.

"Some of this material is research, however. Victor was very inventive, designing or aiding on design of several key technologies used on Alpha, including the main force field, sometimes called the Bergman Shield, as well as other technologies.

Maya was a little surprised to learn that the elder scientist had designed the primary Alphan force field. He must have been much younger then, or that the Commander was simply referring to a newer generation of that shield, a step up significant enough to bear his name. The latter, Maya found unusual. It would have been like calling Psyche "Mentor's--" she quickly strayed from that thought to a few other examples, all of which sounded strange to her. Yet she found herself accepting this was a Terran form of honoring an inventor.

"What are these?" Maya asked of several spheres containing electronics.

"Some of them are for control equipment best kept in neutral atmospheres or vacuums, and are like some others used elsewhere on base. Some of them, though, I really don't know. I asked him once about one of them, and he only smiled and said they were 'toys which might eventually work.'"

"Toys? They seem to have purpose -- or at least some intended purpose even if experimental."

"Well, I'll ask Carl.... Actually, why don't you ask Carl to stop by some time and explain what he knows. On the rest, let me know if you ever find notes on them or otherwise figure them out."

She surpressed her surprise and simply said, "I will."

"Also, determine what you want moved from your quarters to here. When ready, call Sandra so she can assign someone to do so."

"Thank you."

Maya found herself alone in a room with yet more new technology, but she did not explore it at first, finding herself a troubled by the comparison her mind suddenly made between Mentor's almost unquestioned experimentation, and now Victor's. Psychon's scientists certainly had leeway, but voracious curiosity about all things scientific created a curious balance of extensive research yet scientists being subjected to curiosity questions that were hard to escape.

Maybe the same was true here, but the Commander's casual attitude to the 'toys' had her wondering now.

Mentor had been corrupted, while Victor was much beloved and as far as she knew had nothing but the highest regard for life, even to the point the Commander insisted Victor would have liked to meet Maya as well.

Where had Mentor gone wrong? Did her own inability to serve well as a check on her father contribute? Had Victor's well-liked nature assured he kept on a moral course, or was he intrinsically a more moral person? Could Maya herself steer a more moral course and stay away from such dangers? The thoughts swirled for awhile, and for the first time, she started confronting some of them instead of flying away.

After some troubled debate that did not really clear anything, at least not right now, she did come to one conclusion at least. She had already realized earlier, regarding her multiscanner idea, that she needed to talk to the Commander first. Now, there was a Science Board as well. She resolved that she would always keep someone apprised of anything more than simple tinkering. If she was inventing something truly new to them, she had to talk about it with them. If it were based on a conversation directly with the Commander or an officer -- someone with higher authority than the Science Board -- she'd talk directly with that person. If it were more general brain'storming on her part, she would bring it to the Science Board. Maybe she would never become like her father regardless, and her conditions were now so totally different anyway; but she was determined she would do what she could to further ensure that.

T-379 DAB 1800-1900: Where's...?

Greg Sanderson's increasingly frequent presence in Susan Crawford's life was giving her conflicting feelings. Part of her still did not feel ready for a new relationship, yet part of her did. The other part of the conflict was that even if she was ready, he probably was not, barely more than a month since he had lost Jane, his fiancée.

Another aspect was her son, George. He seemed to respond well to male faces, as if expecting there should be more frequent sight of one. The poor baby deserved someone he could treat as a father, and could later call Dad.

At times, she was starting to wonder if Greg could be a man in her life, if he would eventually be ready for a new relationship -- and whether Greg could be a father for George.

Though barely a baby, George seemed to be weighing in a little -- and his 'opinion', if it could be called that, seemed to be changing. At first, he had seemed to be a mixture of calm and fussy around Greg. Recently, however, part of that had started fading... namely the fussy part. George seemed to respond a little better to Greg. Maybe her baby boy was seeing in Greg something which had been missing in his life so far -- a more frequent father figure.

A lot of times, it was still out in the lounge in her residential block, near the lift. Less often, it was by a similarly-placed lounge in his. Sometimes, and more frequently of late, it was in her quarters, sometimes his -- still always with the baby.

When in the open lounge in her residential block, however, she noticed the irritation some of her fellow parents were showing. What was so wrong? That she was extending friendship to someone sensible and hurting? That she was entertaining thoughts of a future relationship with him? That maybe she wanted a husband again? That maybe George wanted a dad? That Greg could perhaps make a good, protective husband and father?

He had made no signs of interest in making this a romantic relationship, but had said nothing excluding it either -- and she had not 'pushed' or 'suggested' it in any even moderately direct way.

W-380 DAB 1930-2350: The Zoo

"She's a walking zoo."

That statement or ones like it, had become something of a joke, or a nervous statement, or statement of fear, about their newest resident. Though it usually came off as rude if understandable -- Dr. Pedro Gutierez too had his doubts about the wisdom of getting an alien so involved in the workings of a human colony -- the statement, though not one he had made up, felt like something which might have occurred to him with a sense of awe rather than fear.

He had been on some second-wave exploration Eagles to some of the planets the Moon had skittered by in its strange travels; but whereas botanists could easily find their subject of study, animals had the annoying tendency of hiding or simply staying hidden. Alphan missions, days at most, were too short to set up shop and really try to study.

It had been the weirdest thing to read that the Psychon could turn herself into other life forms. Hearing she had shortly thereafter turned herself into a lioness, however, had engaged the thinking part of his mind more than anything. From where did she know an Earth animal? A traveling space zoo? Or from lions living on other planets? Alphans had seen some plant and animal life that looked Terran, though no lions. Or maybe there were lions on Psychon?

Small traps set and removed from some planets had netted some small animals, some the same as Terran, some quite alien. Insects had been netted as well, with the same mix. However, back on Earth, the zoological community was pretty sure only a fraction of Earth arthropods had been discovered and categorized, and even among larger animals, there were gaps. Talking with Abigail Strong, Botany's manager, as well as Lena Andreichi, regarding their research into plant samples -- and some whole plants -- obtained from alien worlds had borne out similar results. Then of course there were the humanoid aliens, some of which looked almost or completely human. Hell, Dione even arrived looking like a classic 'biker chick' like those in the U.S. and some who had filtered into Mexico.

He counted himself fortunate to be in some philosophical discussions with Cmdr. Koenig, Dr. Russell, Prof. Bergman, and Dr. Strong over these increasingly intriguing results. Arkadia had proven most interesting, with a 100% of the remains -- at least those few which had been sampled -- proving to be the same as Terran. The hypothesis of Ferro and Davis had been discussed, but increasingly, it seemed their clouded judgment may have excluded other possibilities, some of which were just starting to get discussed just before the death of Bergman. Those had been fascinating discussions, ended on a note from the Professor reminding them of what every good scientist knew: their hypotheses were probably only covering some of the possibilities. The Professor, though not a zoologist, had to be one of the wisest men Pedro had ever met, and had a powerful way of looking at problems and providing grist for thought even where he could not claim expertise.

Now there was a metamorph turning herself into what was undeniably Panthera leo -- well, not undeniably given the lack of verification by an expert. Yet P. leo or not, she knew it from somewhere, and it sure as hell was not Alpha. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had asked for a discussion session, even though he'd not been on a list for such.

The Commander's memo weeks ago had made it clear he did not want Maya treated like some curiosity. All the remarks about her being a walking zoo only made Pedro realize having her show various animals would be treating her like a zoo. Besides, he was curious if she knew anything about zoology besides just turning into animals. He laughed at the thought: just turning into animals? Lord only knew that plenty of zoologists and even philosophers had wondered what went on in an animals 'mind', such as it was, if it even was a mind.

Of course, the last thing he needed was more trouble with the Commander. He had already gotten into an altercation which had drawn not just the Security Officer, who tended to be pretty good throwing the metaphorical hammer around, but the Commander as well. Alpha had not been something he had wanted to consider a permanent home, and having to move to smaller levels was far from a joy.

Fortunately, even if impulsive in his own way, he had avoided the seeming "passion cures all miseries" foolishness that among other factors, had resulted in so many children, as joyous as it still was. At that time, his own girlfriend had gotten caught up in the rumors about birth control and he wanted no part of fathering a child on Alpha until their more immediate survival was clearer. That had created arguments and strain. Even after she calmed, her own embarrassment had created more troubles, onto which was heaped a greater work load, that he had to sort out, but that while he was doing so, created additional strains. Their relationship had crumbled.

He finally had learned to delegate some of his tasks to others, his modest research department now growing, and borrowing people from departments whose work had become only sporadic since leaving Earth orbit. With Paul's Plan he had been brought into more interaction with Sandra Benes and to a lesser degree with Tanya Aleksandr. He thought the former cute but too quiet, but had quickly started falling for Tanya -- only for her to be killed in some strange alien attack before he could even consider whether she'd consider a date with him. Now he sometimes found himself pining for a woman he had scarcely known and was now lost.

Pedro had already met Maya in a random encounter in a hallway, some time before. She seemed charming enough, and strangely something of a beauty for an alien, but he tended to agree with Thomas Hayden of Hydroponics and Abigail Strong of Botany that mixing in too many alien ideas into such key enterprises could be dangerous. Pedro's department was not quite to key enterprise status yet, but the Plan had it heading squarely in that direction.

Nonetheless, he greeted Maya cordially when she came into one of the smaller, older Zoology labs, in a location which had not seen any repurposing in what he silently nicknamed the Great Migration. For a moment, he was surprised to see her arrive alone, then remembered the news that had spread a few days ago that Maya was no longer under guard, or protection, or whatever it was, from Security.

He started getting into some of the general background of Zoology. Part of its purpose had been to study animals under long term time periods on Moonbase Alpha, looking for signs of danger to animals from long durations on the moonbase, which might echo to similar concerns for humans. Tours of duty had generally been limited, though someone could have additional tours at later times, and a few exceptions had been made for longer tours, based on needed expertise, willingness to take personal risk, family situation, and for the sake of trying to see how well extended stays would work.

Animals, however, had no such limitations. He started showing her around, pointing out species.

This lab did not have all the animal life on Alpha, but his description of what was on Alpha soon ranged wider. It had all been relatively small animals, though. Arthropods, sponges and some other lower marine animals, fish, amphibians, small reptiles, some typical research birds such as doves and finches, and some small mammals, especially mice.

As he talked, he found she understood the subject of research, and the rules governing proper methods of such research.

Though listening carefully and showing curiosity to the animals, there were frequent points where she had been giving an odd but brief expression to each new species, downturning her head slightly but still looking at them directly, giving an even stranger angle to her eyebrows.

When he got to the mice, though, besides continuing his discussion on research, he reached into a cage to grab one, and offered to hand it to her. She smiled and accepted it with no qualms.

"I've never seen this creature before," she said.

"No mice?"

"No, but it seems like a wonderfully adaptable animal."

"What?" he asked, unsure what context she was speaking in.

"Oh, I didn't mean to get into metamorphic--"

"Hey, don't worry about it; just speak your mind."

"I metasensed it on contact--"

"You have been... metasensing some by sight before," he abruptly guessed.

She looked uncomfortable for a moment, but his curiosity was genuine, and she seemed to realize it and relax. "Yes, I have. It's not really sight, but a sense, though sight does play a small part, so I suppose you could call it a 'look.' It serves the same purpose as the direct contact sense, but via a different mechanism that takes a little more concentration."

"What about the mouse?"

"It seems to have very flexible instinct patterns, and if I could transform into one, I could probably plant relatively large instruction'sets into it as well. Still not as much as larger creatures, but more than most animals the size of mice. In fact, more than any this size."

"I'm really not surprised mice are flexible, but it is interesting to hear it confirmed in this way," he said with a smile. "That is probably part of why they make such good research subjects. We have long known mice are surprisingly adaptable and flexible; adaptable enough to flourish in many habitats and flexible enough to use in a variety of experiments."

She had understood the discussion about experiments before, but she suddenly looked a little chilled.

"What?" he asked.

"Just so long as you don't use me," Maya had said.

"What? Oh, by accident you mean."

They discussed a simple way he could verify any surprise delivery of an animal, since an occasional escapee did occur.

He then took her then to another lab, this one in the structure where Mentor's attack had breached and depressurized some rooms on three levels, killing Jane Clemens. This particular Zoology lab had been just on the other side of the bulkhead boundary and had been spared, unlike the rooms next to and beyond that lab.

He had been sad to hear of her tragic death, and if it had been between her or the animals, losing the animals would have been a small price to save a human life. Still, given what happened had killed Jane, unfortunately, he counted it fortunate the damage had not extended to Zoology Lab 7. After the Great Migration, this lab had been set up in someone's former quarters. There were various animals, as with all of the zoological laboratories, as he had realized he didn't want to lose all samples of a species from just one room being destroyed, so each species was in 2-3 labs. Nonetheless, it was convenient to make each lab somewhat emphasize certain things. So besides this including more of some species he had already shown her, this room's primary focus was in being one of Alpha's two main fish breeding farms.

It would be years before the numbers were built up enough for food use, but it was considered one of several essential initiatives in Paul's Plan. He discussed the initiative, but avoided mentioning there was only one Protein Production Unit, currently.

"I was starting to wonder if your metasense gave you any sense of similarity to animals you might have seen on Psy... er, well, I am not sure how long your planet was...."

She got a sad look. "No one fully realized how much it was already dying before the first volcano became rapidly active, and that was when I was only partway into adolescence. So I saw a lot of nature before then." She recovered and moved away from the difficult topic, saying, "I cannot sense species boundaries or anything so specific. It does not work that way. Either such a perception is beyond metamorphic understanding, or is far too detailed for any conscious grasp. I can, though, as you suggest, sense similarities."

"Yes?"

She smiled patiently at enthusiastic curiosity so poorly hidden that she had no trouble noticing. She apparently understood it, since her own curiosity seemed to be intense. "About a third of what I saw, in simple vision or in metasense, seem very similar to species I've seen on Psychon. About a third are familiar as metamorphic examples. The other third are either less familiar to a degree that suggests I may have seen more distantly related species rather than the same or close species, or are essentially unfamiliar."

"Metamorphic examples?"

"Other Psychons transforming into them. If one transforms into something, the others can metasense the creature."

Now that, he had not considered. Spreading 'knowledge' by example -- familiar enough of a process even if in such an unfamiliar talent.

"Are lots of aquariums a suitable way to grow fish in large quantities in later phases of the project?" Maya asked.

It was a good question, and he covered that there were advantages and disadvantages to numerous aquaria vs. one or a few larger tanks -- perhaps even Alphan rooms converted for that purpose.

R-381 DAB 1000-1800: Verb Tense

It was a small group that met Maya in an assembly area: Adam Bannion, a pilot'paramedic; Jim Haines, space'ship designer; and Carl van der Mir, electrical engineer. It was time for her to be a leader of a small group, something which still surprised her since she had first heard about it. The Commander had decided to assemble an Alien Ship Salvage exploration team again, and she was to be on it, as its leader -- at least this time.

All Psychons spent some time as leaders of small groups in school, but that was incomplete and a long time ago. For someone who had low expectations on arriving at Alpha, doing this only 37.1 days later was still rather unexpected. Having to order aliens around was stranger still. Yet she had accepted the assignment and some training on it, and it was time to use it.

She had been aboard the Satazius with the Commander twelve days ago. It was to be a different ship this time, a partially-explored Graktor wreck. Another such ship had captured four Alphans -- Paul, Victor, David, and Tanya -- only to be destroyed by other non-Alphan ships, with the Alphans on board.

Eagle 4 was ready, loaded by Service, readied by Technical, and checked off, with a walkaround, by Reconnaissance. It had the laboratory pod, with extra storage for retrieved items and extra boosters. It was the same Eagle which had brought her to Alpha.

All were dressed in spacesuits -- helmets off for now -- for what was to be a relatively short flight to 12.1 kilometers away.

They were all looking at her now. She almost froze at the stares, then rememberd a question. "The checklists are complete?" Each person nodded, and she was responsible for giving the go-ahead order. "Okay, then we may proceed." It didn't sound like the sort of orders that Captain Carter Pilot, Commander Koenig, or Chief Medical Officer Russell gave in their respective domain'spaces. Was she supposed to word it more strongly? Even though they followed, she wondered if she shouldn't choose a different Alphan verb tense next time, such as 'Proceed with the launch' or perhaps even just 'Proceed.' Polite but terse statements suited Maya too, but that was warring with a feeling that in this situation, and with her limited experience, it could seem overbearing. She felt like there was a contradiction in her thinking, but couldn't quite place it.

They traveled to the Eagle and boarded, and flew out to the alien wreck. Once there, they put on their helmets and left the Eagle.

Carl carried the small generator that would power the Alphan lighting already strung through part of the alien ship, even while adding more so Maya's team could explore further and more easily. He carried a long roll of more wire on the same arm. In his other hand was a box of analytical equipment, for the main purpose of the mission: exploration. Adam carried a box of lights, a camera, and a paramedic kit.

Once "aboard" the alien ship -- though she did not think the word aboard properly described picking their way onto a ship breached in numerous places -- she started feeling a little more comfortable, starting to scan parts of the ship.

The ship was not like what the Commander had termed a 'colossus' like the Satazius, but was quite a bit larger than an Eagle. Indeed, this craft coincidentally sat at almost the perfect logarithmic middle between those two.

"Ship bay," Adam said at one point. It was open to space in two directions: missing its bay door, which seemed to be the large fragment some sixteens of meters away; but its superstructure above was torn wide open. A tiny one- or two-person ship sat ahead of them, crushed to a metaphorical pulp underneath part of the collapsed ceiling, which had then fragmented itself.

"One of these bays on another of these ships sucked in the Eagle holding Paul Morrow, Tanya Aleksandr, David Kano, and Victor Bergman," Jim stated.

That ship had been destroyed. This one remained. She had been asked if she recognized the ships of the Graktor or their enemy, from prior knowledge. She had not.

The humans stood quietly, silently remembering their lost friends, and she stood respectfully as well for a number of seconds, before moving away -- followed by Carl and then the rest -- to explore other parts of the bay, but finding little more than shattered ship parts and crushed computer terminals.

Then Maya requested they all proceed through the rest of the structure. The going was rough. Some paths had been previously cleared, but some additional collapse had occurred, and even with what had remained relatively open was full of awkward transitions from smooth floor, to bent floor, to no floor, having to find awkward places to step.

They reached a door which was clearly jammed in its frame. She briefly thought if only she could transform into any of the vacuum-resistant creatures she knew; but they were beyond her current range....

"I have a cutting torch," Jim stated.

His tone seemed impatient, but Maya was not sure, and asked him to proceed.

Maya glanced at Adam. He looked bored. So after a bit of thought, she recalled something, and set him on another task.

When she looked at Carl, he was smiling a little. It was obvious he thought she was starting to understand this leadership task. Maya was not so sure, and shrugged lightly. He reached out and patted her shoulder.

While Jim's cutting continued, Carl pointed out some words on the hull or other equipment.

"Can you read them?" Maya asked, curious about the mysterious, partial gift of understanding of some alien languages the Alphans had apparently received. She already knew the aliens had been speaking a highly fragmented Alphan English, but was curious if the Graktor language, once the Alphans were exposed to some its writing directly, would be understandable.

"No, they just look like elaborate arcs and complicated spirals to me. Do you recognize them?"

She stated she had seen enough examples, but no recognition had come. Unlike the Bethan ship, which either had no Bethaen writing anywhere in it, or had had it burned away in the ship's destruction, and unlike Eagles, which had terse writing in quite a few practical places (though many lacked writing due to multi-use keys and overlays), this one seemed to have writing in odd places. Unlike the moonbase'city, it wasn't next to doors or on opening panels. It was just in very sporadic locations.

The current door was finally breached. Maya had briefly wondered why no Alphan had opened it before, but the initial survey had been incomplete due to other priorities. Like Psychon, she thought a little morosely. They looked inside, and it turned out to be group living quarters.

Adam, having heard the chatter, had returned, and Maya realized she had neglected to recall him, since he was supposed to remain with the group for any new part of the ship. She had to calm herself after thoughts that this was not going particularly well.

She moved ahead, pointing out more technological speculations, others offering guesses as well, as they went room by room. They finally reached what the Alphans most peculiarly had termed the bridge of the ship. Even trying to stretch some metaphors, she could not understand the naming.

At just that point, her sense of timing informed her the first hour was over. Time to report in. Sandra accepted her call, and she started giving all the detail she had, until Sandra reminded Maya that not all that detail was needed yet. The call thus ended soon after.

The bridge systems were mangled beyond belief. It had been at the front of the ship, and though this ship wasn't broken in as many large chunks as the Satazius had been, some severe compression had occurred, especially at the front. Maya knew they were a few meters below lunar surface'level now. She wasn't sure anything could be recovered here, but resisted the urge at more than an initial scan, wanting to complete the initial survey.

They moved on, and saw another door, bent, which lots of hull pieces blocking their way there. They shined their flashlights, which did not flash and some Alphans called torches instead, into the space, but the angles were poor, and they could not see anything.

"That space may contain access to a computer'core or drive unit, which I have not seen yet. Besides that space, there must be a level below us."

The others agreed, so Maya instructed Jim and Adam to find a way to work on making a safe alternate passage to the same space. She was about to ask Carl to proceed on checking out some of the technology they had noticed, more closely, when she abruptly realized bridge was a perfect metaphor for such a room: it served to bring together internal ship details and external information gathered to form ideas of needed tasks. It bridged the inside and outside of a ship. There, now the Alphan word makes sense, at last.

They moved on, Carl drawing her attention to something he noticed: a recessed, cubic space, approximately 32 centimeters on a side. "It just looks like a small storage bin, but looks too advanced," Carl said.

Maya scanned it with the Alphan equipment, and she frowned as she used device after device, already wishing her own multiscanner were complete, even though it had its own limits too.

"I estimate it was a tiny instant'transport unit, to get small objects from here to other points on the ship quickly. I am not certain."

"Wow, clever if true. Any chance of repairing it?"

She inspected it with her own eyes, then concluded, "Highly doubtful."

"Maybe we'll find some more intact examples."

"Please look for more."

They looked at other things as well, Maya speculating on the devices, assigning confidence estimates too -- though a few she recognized directly, such as finding a badly-damaged tyrtzaldaza'zeeor, one of the more advanced hyperspatial multisensors in this part of the galaxy. There wasn't really anything it would have found of interest on Alpha, Maya thought -- the same reason she doubted she'd ever communicate with another Psychon again.

It also didn't explain why they were, in their broken English, demanding a ship -- or more likely ships as the Command had speculated. Was there something wrong with these Graktor ships? Were the unknown Graktor words written on odd places a sign of places of stress fractures before the crash? Had they been through something that had nearly torn them apart?

"Carl, did I see the stress analyzer in your pack?"

"Yes, though I'm not sure why it ended up in mine."

"Can you scan wherever there are Graktor writings and see if there was stress underneath them?"

"I can, but are you looking for something other than the fact this whole ship is already compressed in various ways from the crash?"

"Yes." She shared her speculation.

Jim spoke from elsewhere on the ship. "We did already wonder if they were seeking replacement for their fleet of ships, but we didn't really see any signs of that."

Maya was going to give up the point, but as much as it might offend him, decided to counter anyway. "I am not an expert on ship construction, but I think it might be subtler damage."

"I think it is a waste of time. This whole ship is probably a mass of shock fractures."

She had to admit he was correct, and there was no sense wasting time. So she redirected Carl -- and herself -- to other tasks. After awhile, she checked for the progress on reaching the door from the alternate route, only to be given a grunt -- moving something heavy? -- and then a gruff "ten minutes." Still, the stress idea was bothering her, so she asked Carl to try the stress analyzer anyway.

Jim spoke again. "Maya, like Carl implied, that should have gone with my stuff. It was being repaired until the last minute and brought down separately. My point is that on seeing this ship, it was rather pointless that it ended up with anyone's stuff, because this ship is as much a mess in its own way as all the rest."

"I would still like someone to try."

"It would be a waste of my time, and is even more of Carl's because he's not as familiar with that scanner."

His point was perfectly logical, and her conclusion was as well. So why did it feel like she had lost some control she didn't realize she was supposed to have? Or was she overthinking the leader role? "Then can you please come up here to obtain the device and scan those places with writing that seems to serve no purpose?"

"I'm still working on getting to this other door."

"I meant when you are done."

"Why?"

Maya paused, feeling trapped. He had more expertise, but her curiosity was demanding an answer. Teamwork often meant seeking consensus. Team leadership sometimes meant giving orders. She struggled with the contradiction.

"Because given the mission parameters as I understand them, this may be a useful datum to obtain. Actually, we are going to be moving your way, so Carl can bring the device and you can start with words found in strange places in that part of the ship."

"Fine," he said, sounding somewhat unhappy over the commlink.

They met at the opened door and proceeded inwards.

"Computer core," she said almost immediately on stepping inside. There could be little doubt of that fact. There could also be little doubt of another: apparently total damage. The system seemed to be largely photonic and based on crystals, and every one she could see was shattered.

"The walls are badly crumpled on most sides," Jim stated. "I think this whole room was meant to be almost a meter higher."

"We have a body over here," Adam stated.

This was a newly-breached space, so this was the first the body, in a spacesuit but its shape looking humanoid and perhaps female, had been found. Her spacesuit had suffered numerous punctures, probably from the shattering crystals. She'd undoubtedly been thrown against the wall during the crash, too. Her face was down and in the other direction, fortunately.

Maya had been briefed on this possibility as well, but it was still troubling. Then she recalled her duty -- and more orders from the Commander. "I will note the location. A forensic team will have to return at a later point. Please do not move any bodies unless they are in the way."

They fortunately found access to a lower level, almost completely dominated by a drive system, Maya scanning as they descended the stairway, finding everything was still safe. Adam strung another light.

"Destroyed," Maya soon said, after some initial visual and sensor analysis. The bottom of the ship had taken the worst compressive damage.

More analysis inside the ship followed, but little was intact. The stress analyzer found no particular pattern to whether the oddly-placed writing correlated to stress patterns. So it was a waste of time in the end, she thought, critically.

Maya met up with Carl and Jim to brain'storm how to salvage some slightly more intact computer and ship systems, today and in the future. The Alphans had not had much success in the past, and this did not seem more promising, but at least on this count Maya was not returning without something.

F-382 DAB 1500-1600: Limiting Scenarios

The scenarios were ending badly. June Washington had expressed doubt about being able to implement this complicated request, and it seemed to be coming true.

For more than a week, she and Douglas McLeod, the astronomer/physicist, had been tasked with coming up with a solution for Flight 3, the three strange new "Hauler" Eagles whose "pods" were being assembled.

The problem overall was simple: the Eagles, on arrival at the alien world called Kaskalon, would be out of range of communications with Alpha and Main Computer, which could coordinate with the Eagles if they were in range. Trying to do this on Eagle computer systems alone was looking bleak. It had seemed that way from the start, and further design was confirming it. An Eagle computer system was not designed with enough processor power. It was a much more complicated problem than normal flight, having to account for an unknown mass being pulled behind, thus needing course and throttle adjustments almost second-to-second until they hit the right velocity and vector to aim at a still-distant Moon, and avoiding sensitive spots like the Moonbase, remaining Nuclear Waste Areas, remote research facilities, Survey teams, and other sensitive areas.

There was no time to consider upgrading the Eagle hardware. That would be a complicated project with extensive design, development, and testing time, and significant risk if the job was botched.

Alphans were not risk-averse, and could slap things together; but when she and Douglas brought this concern to the attention of Captain Carter and Commander Koenig, they had expressed similar reservations.

"We may only be able to do this once or twice per Hauler Eagle, then, once the Moon catches up with the Eagles and is within communication range," Koenig stated.

"Better than nothing," Carter stated.

"We'll still get out several times the investment put in, and will still have these frames on hand for later use if needed," the Commander concluded.

Flight 3 had just gotten scaled down. June was not particularly happy, but it was realistically the only thing to do. It wasn't the way she wanted to end the work week, however.

A-383 DAB 1300-1400: Inspection

John didn't know why Saturday was becoming something of 'moonbuggy day' in his schedule of late. Three of the last four Saturdays had included a moonbuggy trip somewhere. Once to inspect some of the damage repair from the outside with Karedepoulos and others, once with Maya to the remains of the Satazius to introduce her to salvage discussions, and now with Jim Haines to a site elsewhere in the crater floor to look at the unique new Eagle 'pods' taking shape. Jim had long known how to drive moonbuggies, and had been doing a lot lately for this project, so John opted to drive this time, to keep himself in practice.

Much had happened in the last two weeks, since that moonbuggy visit to Satazius. Maya had led a mission to a Graktor ship and found a few interesting things, and had shown potential in leadership, despite her own excessively self-deprecating report. Sandra's realization of what 'ring of station' might be, and all of the new planning which had exploded from there, including a strange new Eagle 'pod' being constructed.

A design for the new pod, very close to Jim's back-of-the-'napkin' drawing, had ended up being the final draft, and had been approved. The assembly was too large to go up a hangar lift, so they had to be constructed outside, and rather than take up three Eagle pads, special yet simple mounts had been designed and constructed as well, with construction taking place on top of them.

Some intact lengths of suitably-usable beams had been secured from the Satazius. Though alien alloys, including from that ship, had become notoriously difficult to work using human techniques, some metal beams and some techniques had been found for this relatively simple design purpose, and work progressed. All three 'pods' were reasonably far along, but one pod, which Jim drove to first, was the furthest, and getting the most focus, so it could be flight tested soon.

It had the small, hollow, 'box' girder, oddly colored yellow, to which attached the two silvery beams, one in front of the box, one in back, each beam sticking out to both sides. Two beam ends starboard served as two attachment points for another, longer beam running parallel to where the Eagle would be, and another long beam parallel on the port side. The back endpoints of each of the long, parallel beams would serve as mounting points for chains, and for more short beams to reach up and in from the sides of the engines to above, to provide the vital third chain-mounting point. Those final short beams were being worked on now, Alpha's sole outside mobile crane -- another would be built soon -- was assisting with that as John inspected the scene.

It was a strange, relatively simple, and useful-looking pod design that would have raised eyebrows back on Earth. There were other, far different, machines purpose-built for large-mass hauls; but none had been assigned to Alpha itself at any point in 1999. A year later, when renewed construction was to start adding further to Alpha, some might have been temporarily on site.

He ruefully mused that with this being September 30, 2000, some initial work would have probably been starting tomorrow, had they stayed safely in Earth orbit. Alexander Karedepoulos would have been very busy with new construction, rather than overseeing repairs or doing spot inspections on other, not-even-architectural work like the new pods.

John might not have been Commander then, since it was pre-Breakaway problems that had gotten him assigned. Then again, Command of Alpha was not meant to be a permanent tour of duty, and he might have been next in line after Gorski even without Breakaway.

John soon dropped those 'what if' thoughts about Earth. He was not on the habit of dwelling on those sorts of things about the past; there was plenty to do now.

He asked some questions, received more information, then got to his final main concerns. "How soon will the first be ready for flight tests?"

"Days. Mid-week, most likely."

Shoot for Tuesday morning. We need to get one of these rigs in the air."

S-384 DAB 1840-1950: Main Observation

It had occurred to Tony that there were some spots on Alpha which Maya had not seen, and Main Observation was one of them. She might have wandered up there on her own at one point, but she seemed to be hesitant about such things, so he set aside some time for Sunday, and had talked to Maya.

When Sunday came, he recalled he had really spent little time there. Maybe he wasn't the best person to show her -- or shouldn't be the only one. He asked just a few people, and ended up with Alan, Sandra, and John.

All Maya had known before was that Tony was going to take her some place she had not seen before.

After some travel in an elevator and a little walking, they reached a door labeled Main Observation, which she remembered was the place dedicated during the Breakaway Commemoration ceremony 18 Alphan days before. The camera view that day had been narrow, focused on the Commander and subsequent speakers. She knew it had to be a moderately large room, maybe like a cafeteria in size.

When the door opened and they walked in, she saw an immense room, two floors tall, and spanning a distance like no enclosed room she had seen since early adolescence. They were standing in a slightly lower portion of the first level, with four steps at a moderate distance ahead and to the right of her. To her immediate right sat a single console which appeared inoperable. The room's walls were nearly bare, but some showed extensive evidence of power couplings or data connections that were neatly capped off, no longer in use. There were many windows to her left at the main level, and apparently more windows on the upper level to her right.

No one said anything, splitting off somewhat, so Maya simply started exploring, thinking they evidently wanted to hear her thoughts, or just suddenly too wrapped up in thoughts of their own to explain.

Near some of the windows were a few seats, and one was occupied by a man reading a book, while a baby slept in his lap. He scarcely looked up, and she looked away, fearing he too would react negatively if she looked at his child. A couple more people were upstairs, staring out the window at the still somewhat distant but now dominating Alk^inharda Veil, which was still in the days-long process of rising over the horizon. These three people, whom Maya had already met, barely even acknowledged the Commander's presence, which surprised her.

She soon realized this was actually two rooms, separated partially by two short walls and a large door or barrier that was open. The other room seemed to have some other purpose, and she wandered that way. It looked like a large meeting room or office of some sort at one time, with more windows to the left. In this part of the area, there were paintings and sketches hanging from long strings. They were of people, some of whom she recognized from other pictures she had been shown. Professor Victor Bergman, Paul Morrow, David Kano.... There was a viewscreen, paging through pictures of planets and other views of space.

She recognized the back wall as the out-of-focus backdrop behind the Commander when he had been displayed on the monitor in Maya's quarters, while he had been speaking at the Commemoration/Dedication. What had this place been before a few weeks ago?

She found a list of names engraved onto a polished stone that was sitting on the desk. They were names of the people who had died. There was a small set of flowers standing in a vase next to the stone, but far enough away not to obscure anything, and on the other side of the flowers from the first stone was another stone of equal size and shape, but with fewer names -- only ten, four of whom she recognized, with a small gasp, as victims of Mentor. Tony looked over at her, but she composed herself and shook her head to him -- and herself, trying to remind herself of what they kept frequently reminding her, that it was not her fault.

A globe of Earth sat on the floor nearby. There were no divisions shown on this globe, just lots of little dots with two or three letters -- people's initials she guessed -- on it. It was not gathering dust, nor was anything else in here. The environmental system saw to most of the dust removal, but she could tell people took the effort to remove what little remained.

The whole two-room area was, despite the open nature, divided into two almost separate emotional halves: one a memorial area in the former office; and one, aside from the single console still standing, that was not as clearly a memorial area, though it was not entirely clear to her what, despite the relaxed presence of others. A place for contemplation and relaxation?

She wandered back towards the first room, and from the in-between ground, looking up at a large, almost square hole in the opposite wall, up high, at the same height and size as the Big Screen in.... Maya abruptly realized for certain what this all had been. "This was once Command Center, and your office, Commander?" she said in a nearly-whispered half-question, half-answer.

"Yes," Commander Koenig replied in a slightly louder voice, indicating it was not a funeral, despite the quiet of the place. "Main Mission, it was called, originally named in reference to this facility's original charter mission, kept as this base's main mission became main missions, and kept even after Breakaway, when our main mission was simply to survive and try to stay intact as a people."

She looked around again, trying to imagine the buzz of activity, part of Main Computer's interface taking up much of a wall, of more consoles for people to sit at. The single console stood there as a reminder of the latter, yet she noticed again the other people, one more now joining them, just looking out over the moonscape and into space, or simply relaxing.

"It is still a beautiful place," Alan explained. "Most of us still like to come up here from time to time to get the big picture of our surroundings, to relax, read, chat, or to remember and contemplate."

"It is not entirely a sad place," Sandra added, "but it is in part because so many who worked here are now gone."

It had been both an easy decision and a difficult decision to move from Main Mission to Command Center. The memories were a mix of good and bad, but there were a lot of memories.

At first, there had been no idea what to do with the decommissioned space. The Computer components and most of the consoles had been removed, along with virtually everything else. The Earth globe had been brought downstairs and stuck in a corner of John's now much smaller, rather stuffed office. Main Mission was left essentially empty, slowly gathering the small amount of dust not captured by environmental systems -- and collecting some half-joking comments about how no one wanted to see it turned into a cornfield, storage area, or just about anything else.

A suggestion had been to turn the whole thing into a memorial space, but John had immediately rejected it as too sentimental to dedicate such a huge space at the highest level to an oversized dirge, and others had agreed it would almost be disrespectful to what the area had been. Controversy had erupted, so he had turned over the whole mess to a committee, to debate both a memorial and what to do with Main Mission.

About a week later, they came up with something remarkably elegant, and on Day 339, they submitted their suggestion, called Main Observation, to the officer corps. Just the former office would be converted to a memorial space, with pictures of the deceased, some of the worlds they had visited, and where on Earth they and everyone else had come from. For the last, they requested John to donate the globe, which had been the Commander's globe since Alpha's inception. The former two-floor Main Mission, aside from the office, would be converted to a simple activity place, to overlook the breadth of their base, the lunar landscape, space beyond. It could be used to look at the view, to relax, read, chat, remember, or contemplate. A simple social or personal space. The doors which had sometimes closed to separate the Commander's Office from the rest of Main Mission would remain open, permanently.

One space for remembering the deceased, and one for the living, each space open to the other.

The proposal had also suggested Main Observation could be used -- and even dedicated -- during the then-upcoming Breakaway Commemoration. Memorial services could be held here too, though they suggested keeping funerals in the chapel.

It was more elegant in its simple division and fusion, and somehow, felt more... Alphan.

John Koenig had thought it a remarkable, balanced idea. So had the rest of the depleted command corps, including its relatively new member, Tony Verdeschi. It was approved immediately. The committee immediately renamed itself as the Main Observation Committee. They had started work that day, and, interrupted for only a few days during the Psychon encounter, and had quietly carried out the changes, gathering pictures of the deceased, asking for volunteers to paint some more so everyone would be represented.

John turned away, back into the larger part of the space. "Come upstairs," he said to everyone, but Maya in particular. "Take a look."

They all came together at the stairs, and climbed them to the upper level, where a couple stood staring out of the window at the end furthest from the stairway.

Maya immediately gravitated towards the nearest window, soon commenting, "Ohh, it really is a beautiful view."

Tony smothered a snide remark about it being metal moonbase, grey moonrock, and hostile space. Maya seemed to have a knack for finding the good in just about anything, starting from 'hospital' food to this now. She was stuck indoors for so much of her life she seemed fascinated by long-distance views.

Though Tony had visited Main Observation twice since it was dedicated, he came mostly for the memorial space, and only a little bit for the view. Something about Maya's appreciation made him wonder if he wasn't giving it much of a chance.

After a minute, Maya suddenly gasped, and she turned away from the one window and quickly walked back down the stairs, over towards the opposite wall, Tony following almost on her heels, John and the rest following. She walked to the nearest window and unerringly looked out of it in a certain direction even before she reached the window proper. Tony reached it, next to her, then John on the other side, Sandra and Alan behind them.

Tony looked at Maya's face, then followed her gaze. Out there, just barely above a lunar mountain, were two stars, not visually separated by that much. One was reddish, that he could guess was Half Star, on a similar angle to the second star but much closer, for it was obvious what that second, more distant, normal-colored star had to be....

"Psychon's sun?" Tony asked gently, having noticed she had known exactly where to go and look, probably having calculated, in a split second, positions and lunar rotation and all those vectors or 'arrays' or whatever in her mind, just to find her former sun. The gasp likely from realization it was about to set out of Alpha's sight.

Maya nodded tightly, otherwise just staring, as the sun she had known all her life was now so distant, further away from her than at any previous point in her life. As a child, she had traveled with her parents, Mentor and Taylia, some moderate distance into interstellar space a few times, before everyone had become occupied regarding Psychon's decline, and some started building much larger ships. This journey was so very different, with alien but mostly-welcoming company. She was leaving home'space, never to return.

It was a very strange feeling to Maya, feeling part of her heart left so far away, yet a growing part of her heart here among aliens who had become her friends. They had no reason to take kind interest in her star, where they had lost four of their own, yet still they stood around her, silently, respectfully, supportively. Though respecting the star, it wasn't the star they cared about, but her, she realized.

The Commander finally broke the silence, very gently. "What is its name?"

Maya did not look away as she solemnly answered: "Psyoliyask." She paused, then continued. "It is a very ancient word, probably from before recorded history, though we know it was a fusion of the Old Psychon phrase, Psychon'da Liyasla Sasskas, meaning Psychon's Lifegiving Warmth."

Tony repeated the words, Psychon and English, then commented, "Beautiful name."

She didn't let herself be surprised, but simply accepted his words with a little nod, still staring at her home'star.

No one left her side, and after another minute, Maya silently put her hand to the window, as if trying to let its feeble light warm her hand, even if only symbolically. Seconds later, it abruptly blinked out, having set over the lunar crater wall mountain. She thought it likely -- she hoped -- she would see it again, on Bridge'world and/or the flights there and back.

Without a word, but heavy-hearted except for the feeling of support from her friends, Maya turned and moved away, returning to the upstairs windows on the opposite side, where the Commander had asked her to come before, this time to look not so much at Alpha and Moon below, but at the spreading Alk^inharda Veil and Shepherds above -- and ahead -- of them.

No one had words of comfort for Maya's sadness, but they knew the feeling well. They had watched Earth's Sun fade into a bright star, before the first space warp had whisked them so far away it could only be found in telescopes, then be untraceable after they went through the Black Sun. Only they had traveled away as three hundred, to console each other, while Maya was leaving her star behind as the sole Psychon here. She felt this pain alone as a Psychon, yet shared in the presence of others as an Alphan.

Everyone turned their attention to the Alkinarda Complex, now enormous in breadth, even only partly-risen. Maya spoke. "Despite its known destructiveness and the half-lost myths surrounding it, part of me had always admired the the Alk^inharda Complex as so beautiful even at its much smaller size at home. To see it from here, so close, even knowing what it Veils...."

"It does look so beautiful," Sandra said.

"Like cotton candy sprinkled with blue diamonds," said an Alphan woman who had been standing with a man by the window at the end of the balcony.

"Cotton candy?"

Maya listened to the explanation and nodded quietly, still looking at the sight.

No one had to remind anyone else that the Veil hid not beauty, but a space-rending ugliness, which according to this "neighborhood's" legends was created during a titanic war. Nor that the Moon and everyone aboard was heading into some part or another of it.

Yet for the moment, the Veil was living up to its name, and the Shepherds looked like just that.

"Is that Red Sun?" Alan asked. "Just a few Shepherd stars to the left of that mountain?"

Without visible hesitation, Maya confimed.

Red'sun, pronounced Ayi'ry in Modern Psychon, was actually brighter than Psyoliyask now, but looked far less impressive, almost hard to find, largely because of the contrast of much brighter stars and huge bluish nebula behind it. Even as they watched, further below and to the right, another Shepherd suddenly snapped into view as it rose above the lunar mountain. It was still a pinpoint of light, still a star, but already bright.

"Look at the Alkinarda Rapids," Tony said, unaware he was reminding Maya of where the Moon could have been safely traveling towards, if only she had acted earlier....

The 'Rapids' had been the first to rise, but were actually at the trailing end of the Alkinarda Complex as it slowly moved through space. Tony thought it was so strange that the nastiest-looking part of the Alkinarda, aside from the austerely but dangerously-luminescent Shepherds, was actually the safest part of the whole complex. Going through the Veil was going to death. Their hope lay in the Red Sun system.

"Suddenly, I see why Red Sun is a sufficiently descriptive name," John said quietly. "Against all the blue, it looks so out of place."

They stood there for a little bit, staring calmly at what could be their undoing, all knowing they would have some struggle ahead of them. Somehow, they would either have to get the Moon across the Bridge, or Eagles if necessary, or go to lifeboat Eagles this side of the complex, or try to settle on a not very hospitable husk of a world called Kaskalon, or Bridge World.

"If that mess," Tony started saying, "so many dozens of light years across, is truly the remains of a war, I'm beginning to understand why some of the races around here call those former powers the Star Giants. I cannot imagine what could have created it."

"It's odd that none of us thought to ask, but what about that, Maya?" John asked. "What sort of power could create, intentionally, or via battle, or by accident, something so deadly and so huge, spanning across so much space?"

"If you are asking what technology, then something far more advanced than Psychon technology. It is known the galaxy has ancient, quiet powers, best left alone, in certain spots. Most are poorly understood, and if you see their technology demonstrated, it is probably for unwelcome reasons, and you most likely will not learn much about how they do it."

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," Sandra quoted.

"Yes, that is an appropriate metaphor in one way. A clever way of stating it."

"Not my words, but an author from Earth, named Arthur C. Clarke."

"We know what you mean by ancient powers," Alan said. "We ran across some in our own galaxy as well. I wish to hell some of them had simply left us alone."

"We were sometimes in their space," John reminded the rest.

"I know, but I doubt it was that difficult for them to understand our situation. Yet some still chose to interfere."

After that point, there was little to be said. So they headed back to the main level, and after they passed through the doors, John mentioned the capacity limit, and that it was off-limits during Yellow and Red Alerts, a more recent command decision.

This all seemed to make Maya puzzled. "Please forgive my impertinence for asking, but why all these rules? Why did you remove command from here in the first place?"

"Those are good questions, not impertinence. The answers are related. Main Mission was too vulnerable. It was a perfect place while in Earth orbit, and we kept working through here for most of a year after Breakaway, but realized partway through that first year how hopelessly exposed this location was during many of the dangers we face. After that we reached that conclusion, we almost immediately began setting up Command Center, deep inside the lowest main level, as some partial improvement in the situation, though it took until a couple months ago to make the transfer of all systems and command functions from here to there."

"You are right, Commander. I had helped Mentor in initial scans, before I knew his true purposes, and...."

She suddenly stopped, apparently feeling as though she felt she shouldn't have said any of that. She got no glares from Alan or Sandra; but Tony, while not glaring, looked a bit annoyed as he asked, "And...?"

"We noticed the room and its central, prominent, high-level location; but finding few life signs there, thought nothing more of it."

"Did you find a probable command location?" Tony, ever the security-conscious officer, asked Maya.

"I only ran initial scans before Mentor he sent me to study automated recordings of your travel towards our system. I did not think he had a reason to run more than a typical scan."

"Why not?" Tony blurted.

"Deeper scans can be perceived by many as a hostile act, even with embedding an eepkond'arak signal," she explained, while looking a little hurt. "A more superficial sweep is typically expected, though."

"Like two people who meet the first time," John observed, trying to defuse what sounded like an escalating conversation.

Tony, however, missed his attempt to divert the course of the conversation. "Do you think your father detected we had limited scanners, that we probably couldn't even detect your scans, and maybe went deeper?" Tony continued, insistently, maybe even with a hint of anger.

"I do not know," Maya said, quietly, her eyes barely meeting Tony's, and not meeting anyone else's. John already knew Maya had a strong sense of guilt over what had happened, that she largely had in check, and that John and Helena had both kept in check by reassuring her she was not to blame. Tony seemed to be bringing those feelings right up into Maya's eyes, which filled with haunting shame which Tony didn't seem to notice.

"What about--"

"Okay, Tony, she answered your questions," the Commander snapped, annoyed that Tony would still see the need to badger her on certain points, like he was still missing the interrogation that had never happened, despite everything she had been trying to prove in the meantime. Sometimes Tony, in looking for subtle negative points, could miss the obvious positive of something, even when he had been coming to recognize the latter. If it was frustrating for John to see, it probably had to be even more frustrating to poor Maya.

Tony held his tongue, and there were several seconds of silence, until John started giving a little of the background of leading to Main Observation. Maya showed a little more interest as he went through the description, but offered no further observations of any kind, obviously feeling a little put-off by Tony's reaction to her last offering.

Finally, John, not sure if it would help or was a ham-handed move that would do nothing, invited the current group to his quarters for a meal. Everyone accepted, and he had one called in, while Tony went to his quarters to get another chair for the table, for the five of them.

The meal seemed to ease tensions, and Maya was eventually back to looking everyone, even Tony to a degree, in the eye, and Tony was back to making jokes, which seemed to lighten Maya's mood further. There was no doubt: the Psychon was fast to recover, had a sense of humor lurking in her, and obviously always appreciated a meal with others. It was still a somewhat more muted meal, but the mood was nonetheless improved over half an hour before.

M-385 DAB 0610-0620: Holding Back but Hitting Hard

Maybe it was a feeling of guilt. Part of Tony's upbringing mixed with John's clear irritation over Tony's behavior. He didn't think of it much during the day, but it was a particularly disturbing dream the next morning.

As on the day of Psychon's destruction, he dreamt of seeing Mentor's sneering, laughing face, Tony trying to punch him hard in the face, but Mentor always dashing back or -- in a new twist -- Tony's fist hitting a forcefield. Try as he might, Tony could not land a punch on the "real" Mentor, until the forcefield faded away. Tony's next punch looked like it would connect, but Mentor faded away like a hologram, only for the punch to still land... on Maya.

He jolted awake, remembering instantly, and feeling more than a little shocked, guilty, and troubled.

He did not want to hurt her. He had even started to trust her, or more than just started.

That, he realized after awhile, was perhaps the problem. He had long trusted her -- based on John's word. Tony had never really gotten around to coming to his own trust of her. Well, he had, but never entirely, not about how she might have helped Mentor, about her potential as an officer on Alpha, or about her intriguing yet alien mix of warmth, metamorphosis, brilliance, and naiveté. She was easy to figure out in some ways, and so strange in others. It wasn't necessarily full-blown suspicion or distrust, but his own mixed signals, of wariness and welcome.

Perhaps he had been hurting her in the process, that despite all the time he had spent helping her adjust, she probably still sensed vague qualms from him, and that if she could not convince him, how was she going to convince all the rest spending a fraction of the time with her that Tony had?

It was a sobering thought, that he might be holding her back, making her feel more alien than she already was. Maybe he was even punishing her in a sense. It was troubling; but at first, he didn't know what to do.

M-385 DAB 1430-1945: First Free Flights

As Alan prepared for today's final class and simulator training sessions, he found it difficult to pick between Sandra and Maya for who he would announce as getting first flight. Both trainees had scored about the same in the written tests given last week. Both had improved in simulator work over the last two weeks, and were now well within the range of being ready for a true flight.

In Alan's system, First Flight would be two Eagles, one for each trainee, even though only one trainee would fly at a time, both with Alan as a co-pilot. Bill would pilot the other Eagle, which would allow the non-flying trainee a chance to watch the flying one as well as her own pilot. Then they would switch, the women staying in their Eagles, Alan moving to the other Eagle to co-pilot the new pilot, and Bill to pilot again. The fact of there being two Eagles would allow quick response in case the new pilot got in trouble, and there was a crash that Alan could not prevent, such that Bill could fly in immediately. A Rescue Eagle was on standby on a pad.

This system was all of Alan's invention, for Level 1 pilot training had not occurred on Alpha until after Breakaway. He had written the book.

Finally, he decided to let Maya fly first. She tended to be a little quick on landings, and he could probably slow her down a little more, yet still demonstrate a faster landing for Sandra, who still tended to be rather slow about it.

It was a subtle thing, and he could have easily decided the reverse, and over the same landing situation, but once he decided it, he didn't second-guess himself.

This was to be fairly simple: Pre-flight for the first one to fly, lift-off, some flight near the surface, then briefly into space, approach to Alpha, landing, and for the second trainee to fly, post-flight. Nothing less, nothing more.

No weapons practice, even though it had been recently simulated. Maya flat out seemed to be doing better on that. Alan had talked to Tony before, wondering if he had given her any training on hald-held weapons, and the security officer had offered the advice that Maya responded best to being presented scenarios, not simply targets.

Managing a co-pilot was not to be practiced either. It was only something they were just starting to learn, in class. Flight/Human Resource Management, some vacuum-for-brains labeler back at Central had dubbed it a decade ago, a poorly-ordered phrase whose FHRM acronym was sometimes even pronounced as "Firm" (much to Alan's endless irritation). Alan simply called it "leadership." Sandra had already shown advantage here. Quiet as she could be, she was used to having some authority. Maya, outside of a promising leadership role in a salvage exploration mission some days before, had almost no such experience in her life, outside of childhood classrooms -- and it was showing. Yet Maya was a quick study, as he had heard Helena state once, and showed increasing flashes of potential there.

As he went through some short simulator sessions, he decided it was indeed time. "So, ladies," he said afterwards, "you are both ready for first flights now?"

Alan looked at Maya pressing buttons smoothly with elegant motions of her hands and fingers. Yet.... Was she, of all people, being hesitant? She was hesitant in so many other ways, but had not shown it in Eagle training, except when he was trying, unsuccessfully, to train her out of Psychon ways of thinking about flight.

Ten minutes before, down at Hangar 4, she had went through the walkaround well, finding nothing -- as it should have been this time, because this was supposed to be a flight-ready Eagle. He had looked as well, just to be sure, as part of the point of first flight was to make sure the trainee was doing things correctly. She had signed out the craft, gave the go-ahead to board, called in the rig to carry the Eagle to the lift, and requested the lift to the surface, while monitoring systems and pressing buttons to check other things, to assure herself the engines would be ready to start.

Now they were on the surface, and she was hesitating, not a lot, but enough for him to see. A touch of nerves. Rather than address it directly, he went for a touch of humor.

"You're not going to break it," he said with a smile.

"What?"

"Maya, it is not a toy, but a complex, expensive ship with--"

"You are not helping," she said with an off-kilter half-smile, a slightly miffed voice.

Alan was startled by the directness and honesty of her response, that she was starting to take a few chances, trusting a little.

She closed her eyes, opened them, and began engine start procedures, announcing her moves and the results, while he double-checked on his dual set of controls. His hands were in his lap, however. This was her flight. He was not going to actually take the controls unless necessary. It was hers to fly.

She got clearance from Command Center. Maya took off, with the quick yet reasonable lift above the pad he had come to expect since she got the point about not overstressing the Eagle by taking it to technical limits. She switched on the anti-gravity lift system, throttling back on the lifting thrusters, and engaged the main engines.

Eagle 19 was flying. Maya was smiling.

He heard the chatter between Bill and Command Center that Eagle 12, with Sandra on board, was now launching.

He had already briefed her about the destination, once they had boarded: Navigational Beacon 19 initially -- coincidentally appropriate considering she was flying Eagle 19. She could fly it without the computer, but diligently programmed in her intended course, and headed there, smiling. Her nerves had vanished. She obviously liked to fly.

They went through the paces. Then he had her set a course back to Alpha -- or more accurately, had her think of one and then inform the computer. When his hands started hurting a little, he realized he ought to unclench his hands, which evidently wanted to grip the controls given Maya's unconventional way of flying.

They landed just fine.

"Excellent, Maya."

"Thank you," she said, then called in her status.

"Okay," Alan said when she was done. "Because of the dual flight, Sandra did not pre-flight her Eagle, and you will not post-flight yours. The next flight will be the opposite. One or two more might switch back and forth. Then you'll get your own flight, end to end, with more steps in between as well."

With that, he instructed her to stay in this Eagle, while he and Bill would switch.

Sandra waited in her empty Eagle, in the co-pilot seat, the door behind her open, the Eagle otherwise empty, she knew.

With a chill, she remembered her nightmare of a distorted version of the Graktor battle, Sandra directing Paul to a giant space station which had not existed in the battle, and seeing him killed in it. She got up and went to the back of the Eagle, then returned to the pilot seat, knowing she needed to be there now anyway.

She shoved the memory of the nightmare aside.

Alan arrived, and she went through procedures, called in her desire to launch, received permission via Yasko, and proceeded, a little faster than her usual still-slightly-too-hesitant pace. She enjoyed the switch from underside thrusters to mostly the anti-gravity stabilizers, and proceeded towards the navigational beacon.

It was a small thrill to feel the machine respond to her commands. She had always been passive on an Eagle. Well, not really. She had used scanners, even sitting in the co-pilot seat at times doing so; but flight-wise, she had always been a passenger, even if in the Pilot Module -- until now.

Alan felt more and more surprise as Sandra's first flight went on. Where Maya had started out a little more hesitant than usual but had quickly shed it, Sandra had started out less hesitant than her usual pattern, and stayed so. She still needed more feedback in some ways, lacking Maya's raw talent, yet making up to some degree with clarity of thinking and apparently determination, especially now. One of his meekest students, who had climbed up into range of being able to fly, was actually bettering some of his other first-flight students in the past, by not having any pre-flight jitters and even improving her flight a little over her better simulations. That was a surprise, and he looked at the slight woman in the pilot seat and wondered just where she was finding this bit of strength.

After flying for real with someone who, still unnerving him a little, flew with the computer being an afterthought formality, it was more comfortable for him to be watching someone who flew the Eagle more normally. Sandra was used to working numbers too, maybe not in Maya's way but still well. Sandra had worked the computer efficiently in simulation, she did so here as well.

They hovered and then circled around the navigation beacon, went up into space briefly, and returned. Even Sandra's landing was improved compared to simulation, still near the lower end overall but faster than any of hers from before, except when she had some early 'crashes' in simulation.

"Well, Sandra, that was excellent. Even better than your simulations."

She proceeded to calling the lift to take Eagle 12 down to the hangar, and stepped through all the requisite procedures.

Sandra had had a very focused look about her the whole flight. It was only when she was done that she smiled -- a little and only briefly, but he saw it. She'd still have plenty to prove yet, in more training flights, but it was a very promising start.

In fifteen minutes, all four met back in the training room, for the post-flight review, which was an open process. Flaws in both trainees' flights were to be discussed, and what they had done well was to be complimented. First, though, was a basic question.

"So how did it feel?" he asked the first flier, Maya.

"It was wonderful!" Maya almost gushed, like he had not heard her do before. She obviously loved being behind the controls of a spaceship.

The question was supposed to draw out responses of what the Eagle itself felt like in flight, and how well the trainee felt she had performed in flight. Sandra was smiling a bit, in a slightly off-kilter way that was perhaps the closest she ever came to a snicker. She seemed to be back to enjoying his reactions to Maya's sometimes-alien, sometimes simply highly-enthusiastic approaches to things.

He supposed that Sandra being back to relaxed was a sign she thought Alan was handling the situation better. Part of him internally responded it did not matter what Sandra felt about his techniques; but he had almost had a good trainee scrub herself out over his stubbornly sticking to the book, when Sandra had already tried to warn him. So another part of him decided Sandra being relaxed and Maya having fun were probably good signs. It still didn't get his question answered, though.

Suddenly, he remembered something Sandra had mentioned awhile back, perhaps more off-handedly than anything. Yet maybe now was the time to try it.

"Well, Maya, I am honestly happy you enjoyed it; but you'll get that question a lot regarding flying, so while in Level 1 training, treat it as a two-part question. How well do you think the ship performed, and how well do you think you performed? On the ship's side, tell me how it flies compared to specifications, by the numbers, but briefly."

"I think Eagle 19's engine one thrust was about 1-2% below spec at some ranges, but not others. I have an initial best'fit equation. The anti-gravity response seemed too strong by about 0.7%, I think, and seemed off balance, slightly stronger on port by...."

She listed a few more stats, briefly, about other systems. Bill looked stunned. He knew about her flying by equations, but this precision was news to him. Alan had almost forgotten the idea. Even Sandra, who had thought of it in the first place, while not looking very surprised, still seemed a bit gratified at just how well the idea actually worked.

Alan told Maya to write it all up, including any equations. She stressed that not all the numbers and equations would be exact, just estimates. He suppressed the urge to laugh, given this was far more information than usual.

They then got to the business of the trainees reviewing their own flights, which they did honestly. Sandra too had noticed one minor thing about her Eagle.

The debriefing eventually ended, Alan dismissing the two trainees with another compliment for each. Bill remained.

"So when were you going to tell me?" Bill asked.

"What?"

"That you found some Testing Tolerance Rig manual laying about after all and had Maya read it," he joked. "From what I could tell she did something like what Accipiter Systems would usually do once a year, if I understood your descriptions of the TTR correctly -- only she did it not with a rig but just by flying it."

"Pretty neat, eh?"

Bill laughed, then said, "Side effect of her flying by equations?"

Alan nodded. "That's her 'feel' it seems. The more the maneuvers made, the greater the combinations of thruster use and the more data for her to process and come to conclusions, it seems. At least that's my guess. I don't entirely know how she does it."

"Sandra scarcely looked surprised."

"She actually suggested the possibility, quite awhile back. I almost forgot until now."

"You know, I'm really surprised by Sandra in all of this. I helped with some of the training and simulator sessions, and now watched her in flight, and she did fairly good before and now better."

"Yes. I think we all had a good day, Sandra especially."

M-385 DAB 1800-1900: Fussy

Little George Crawford's 'opinion' seemed to be changing, his mother Susan noticed.

He had previously grown more comfortable around Greg Sanderson, but little by little, more and more, George would get antsy in Greg's arms, then even just in the same room as Greg. This did not happen so consistently with anyone else. Greg had always looked a little awkward with George, but Sue had assumed he would get better about it. Maybe it didn't help that Greg still had gruff outbursts about losing Jane, the resident alien, prior alien attacks, and the psychiatric discussions with Dr. Mathias. Sue knew where he stood, and was glad someone was being cautious, but something about his continued rants was starting to irritate her a little too. She understood his pain, but was looking for signs from him of a little recovery, a bit of healing. Other than acknowledging some of his mistakes in taking a little too much for granted in his relationship with Jane, and for being stupid in lashing out at the alien, little had changed in Greg's words and tone.

Lately, he had been ranting about the Psychon being granted Eagle training, and even worse, not just a lab, but LQ12, Professor Victor Bergman's former room which had served as both living quarters and his general laboratory. It had been repurposed solely to a lab after his death.

"I interacted with the Professor some in my role as a Survey Team lead. Not much, mind you, and I'm much more a surveyor and miner than a scientist, but it is damn disrespectful to his memory to hand over his space to some alien whose father wielded an awful lot of power against us. Who knows what she might cook up with access to Bergman's most cutting-edge experiments, or notes, or whatever he might have left behind."

That was his most quiet version of that rant, which was often louder, and he indicated that he was telling that to other people, to mixed reaction.

"A lot of idiots around here either shrug or say it's a good thing," he added once.

Such conversations, or others, frequently got loud, Sue sometimes agreeing but still increasingly finding the length and loudness of his rants increasingly irritating.

Even from another room, George would occasionally start crying when Greg voiced his opinion, and George would not be consoled quickly at such times. Two days ago, he had started crying as soon as Greg met them in the lounge.

Susan knew she wasn't the only one who didn't trust Maya. She knew that among the families, there was a great deal of distrust of the Psychon. The alien had rubbed several people the wrong way, a few of them specifically about the Psychon's reactions -- long, uninterpretable stares -- to babies and a pregnant woman.

The discussions had spread among the parents, and though some were dismissive of the concerns -- making excuses that maybe Maya simply hadn't seen even Psychon babies for years -- there had ended up being at least one parent in each family which took the conveyed stories about Maya's odd behavior very seriously. Sue was more than happy to discuss her own experience regarding the alien staring at her own baby.

Greg, though not a family man and having lost his intended wife, seemed to be on the right side of this concern.

Yet, she was starting to hear from some of her single and childless married friends that some of their mutual friends among the families were getting more than a little bothered by Greg's frequently being around this block of family quarters, especially in the lounge area. One day, Karen Smith, Smitty's wife, a mother herself, point blank told Susan, "He's starting to creep me out more than Maya does."

She had been surprised to realize earlier in the day that the visits with Greg had become less frequent, seemingly mostly of Sue's unconscious choice. Except....

Sue tickled George's palm, saying, albeit with a little less enthusiasm as usual, "George, guess who's coming to visit today? Greg is going to visit."

George started crying. Sue was startled. Had George learned to associate the sound of Greg's name with the man himself and George's recently declining appreciation of Greg's presence? Had George's 'opinion' of Greg fallen that far?

Maybe her baby boy was even brighter than she thought. Maybe he was brighter than Susan herself regarding Greg. She started reconsidering her 'relationship' with Greg as she tried to quiet her child.

M-385 DAB 2100-2200: Fuel for Clearer Thought

Tony's suspicions about Maya had been rooted in reasonable concerns, he thought; but it had been long lingering. He had no idea what to do about it at first; but after much of a day had gone by, finally decided to talk to a friend. He swung by Alan's quarters, on the chance he was there, and found he was.

"I come bearing beer," Tony said to Alan.

"Why don't you just shoot me right now."

"You don't want to try one of my better batches?"

"Define better. Dish soap, or Eagle fuel?"

"How about we talk?"

Alan seemed to have expected this, or had a quick guess, for he smiled briefly, nodded, and said, "So, mate, are you here to let me rail a little on the way you still sometimes treat the sheila from Psychon, or here to ask me something?"

"You have a knack for getting to the point."

"So do you, but in a sometimes blunt way."

"Yeah, I know."

"So...?" Alan asked, knocking back a sip of Tony's brew and finding it marginally more palatable than the last time.

"That's the thing. I don't know."

"Simple. You're paranoid. Okay, not paranoid, but overly suspicious at times."

"Just like that?"

"Sure."

"I mean, doesn't everyone already joke or say that being somewhat suspicious one of my defining characteristics?"

"Suspicious, but it is what makes you a good security officer, I think; but you've certainly been holding some of your suspicions about Maya for a long time. You had to command Alpha against a Psychon attack from Mentor, and it seems like you've never gotten over seeing John bring another Psychon -- Mentor's daughter no less -- into Command Center, after Mentor put you through hell on your first command crisis."

"Just like that?" Tony repeated.

"Sure. I've been watching you two, wondering why the hell you still act like you are going off John Koenig's words about her rather than your own observations."

"But I am," Tony protested.

"Okay, I'll grant that you've come around a long way. So you tell me, why don't you completely trust her? Is it the metamorph thing?"

"That she can turn into actual monsters? Sure, maybe it bothers me a little."

"That her father acted like a monster and she can turn into literal monsters or such?"

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"Are you sure of that? Have you ever thought of asking?"

"Asking what?"

"For her to demonstrate."

"She already did."

"No, not while Sanderson is in a rampage and you're forced to push her to use that ability, and then probably as nervous about the lioness as Sanderson."

"I'll say."

"Exactly."

"Just like that, ask her to demonstrate?"

"Okay, maybe not just like that. Might be rude. But you'll have to get used to it sooner or later. Maybe you should figure some polite way of asking her, or getting her to do it for some better reason, before we reach Kaskalon. Hmm, then again, John advised against idle curiosity. Maybe you should just wait, and be ready to accept it when she does it."

"Maybe, but...." Tony trailed off, not feeling like it was quite the problem.

They sat there for almost a minute, sipping on the beer, Alan's taste buds having adapted a little, or maybe just given up fighting for the moment.

Then something occurred to Alan in light of the recent incident regarding Mentor and Maya scanning Alpha from Psychon. He thought about it, and....

"Let me tell you a story, Tony."

"Alan, I never had much patience for parables or--"

"This is a good story. Well, mostly not a good story -- but a true one anyway."

"Okay, fine."

"Psychon was about as close to hell as I ever want to come. My Eagle dragged down there by an alien who could not keep his word. End up in the pit of a volcano, holding an alien spaceship graveyard, and now we're in it too."

"I know all that."

"Oh, no, not all of it; just listen, and let me put you on Psychon."

Tony relented, sitting back and taking another sip.

"So Mentor comes over the commscreen like he loves to do, as if showing off that he can infiltrate any comm system he damn well feels like."

"Yeah, tell me about it. He beamed his face all over Alpha. I've been meaning to ask Maya about that security breach."

"So you want to get on her case about something else too? Maybe you should just to let the real little stuff go, or if you insist and trying to seal every breach possible, learn 'right place, right time, right way.'"

"Yeah, coming from you that--"

"I know, bull in a china shop myself sometimes. Still-- No, no, just listen. Listen."

Tony made a gesture of final defeat, and Alan settled more into his "story."

"We didn't believe anything he said, and weren't about to follow his order to stay in the Eagle. So we head into his caves, all steaming, jagged, and then run across his miners, alien slaves really, and realize they are all brain-damaged aliens. Originally from those spaceships. It was a horrible realization, both about what happened to them and what might happen to us. Then Mentor's image appears, Picard dies trying to shoot past it, we run, and get captured by another of Mentor's balls of light.

"So I wake up and I'm strapped into this chair, for this brain-drain device, along with Bill and Helena, and eventually, we hear John selling out Alpha for his and our three lives -- to an alien who has so far failed to keep a single one of his words. So Mentor frees us, sort of, and I try to confront John, but end up stunned by one of Mentor's guards.

"We all ended up in a cell, with the Commander. Everything is orange there. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the hallways outside, the table and the pitcher holding water, and even the bars of food. I felt almost like we had descended to Hell, that John had just sold everyone to the Devil, that we were still going to have our souls drained from us anyway, and could do nothing but wait for it all to happen. Then Mentor figures out John has played a trick. Mentor ends up revealing it to us. I feel totally sheepish, but then worse when Mentor starts taunting us, threatening Alpha.

"Right then, this young Psychon woman walks up out of nowhere -- well, right where Mentor's image in the hallway had just faded away from, like she was stepping into his place. I had never seen her before, didn't know who she was except obviously another bloody Psychon, probably here to take over from where Mentor left in taunting us.

"She was one angry alien, which only made me angry, for we were the ones who had the right to be angry, not her. Only something was strange the moment she started speaking, calling the Commander a liar over Directive 4 and the nuclear Eagle. As clear as day: 'Negotiate with a liar? You disgust me. We welcome you as friends, and you plot to kill us.' I remember her first words to us well, mainly because they were powerful but made no sense.

"Yet as I watched John start hurling what we had seen of Mentor's actions and everything else at her, and she kept responding with words about 'vile things' John was saying against her father, and so on, and I finally realized she honestly did not know. John knew this. It was obvious he had met her before. He kept pounding the point to her, and she kept defending Mentor, repeating things he must have told her a hundred times to keep her from questioning. John tried to bash through each defense, while she defended herself and her father, in a battle of wills, until she was practically trembling in defensive rage.

"When she looked at me, as if to draw out John as a liar, all I could think to do was give her a calm nod, to show her nothing John was saying was surprising me.

" 'Mindless hulks, destroyed by your father!' he said, I think, and began demanding she go down to the pits to see for herself. At one point, maybe then, I thought I saw some doubt cross her eyes, but she just kept repeating 'You're lying' over and over. I could see she was slipping away, shutting us out. Sure enough, she finally had enough and just fled. I just ground my teeth, and thought that was the end, that she had been our last real chance, and was just running away.

"Then Mentor started pounding Alpha, taunting us again. We were getting desperate, with nothing we could do, when John abruptly noticed she was back. The woman who came back looked little like how she had left, like she was emotionally transformed. She looked utterly crushed, her head downcast, silent, humiliated beyond words."

Alan paused, to let it sink in, and he could see it was doing just that, surprised a little himself at his own words.

"We were all surprised she had come back, and it was instantly obvious that John had gotten through to her, that for whatever reason, she had gone to check, even if only to come back to call us liars again. But she checked! Then when Mentor blew a hole in that part of Alpha, her mouth just fell open in horror, and she finally let us out, asking only one thing."

"What?"

"That we not harm her father. 'We want to stop him, not harm him,' John said. She asked for nothing else. Nothing. Not for her planet, not even for herself. She could have been afraid we would attack her the moment she let the shield down. But she trusted John, or at least accepted his words, or just wanted to do the right thing, and just let us out."

They sat for a long time, saying nothing, drinking a few more sips of beer, but both finding it was back to tasting not so tolerable anymore.

Alan finally spoke. "Do I think she knew what it would lead to? Maybe not, but it doesn't matter. She wanted her father stopped, not harmed -- wanted him away from Psyche. From what I understand, she stood by and let John destroy Psyche, even after Mentor warned that would destroy Psychon in turn."

"She did nothing?" Tony said, not in a reproving tone, not even a surprised tone, just asking for more.

"She wanted her father away from that insane computer, even at the loss of their dying planet, I think. Did she want the planet to be destroyed? No, of course not. I think all she wanted was her father alive and Psyche dead, regardless of the planet. I have no doubt she thought everything came out in the worst way possible for her in the end, that her father and the planet both died with Psyche, leaving her life completely in the hands of aliens who her father had just savagely attacked. I can scarcely imagine how much pain and fear that caused her."

Tony wasn't drinking his own beer anymore. "I guess I didn't really listen to John very well after all."

"No, you listened, maybe not well; but you heard a summary, followed an order, and later read a report. You wondered about all the security violations, found out she was a walking security violation in her abilities, and never got the full horror of Psychon and the one very bright spot we found there. I think that young woman has a hell of a lot more courage and rightness in her than you are letting yourself give her credit for even now. She lost an enormous amount to do the right thing. You mostly accept that, yet go after little things which don't matter, or which might matter a tiny bit but that you go after with a sledgehammer rather than a gentle question.

"Tony, I should have told you the whole story before. If I had known you were still harboring doubts going back to aspects of her actions on Psychon.... Sure, she helped her father, but on little bits, nothing near his big picture -- his agenda."

Silence again. Then Alan added, as a friend yet bluntly, "For a smart bloke, you can be so thick sometimes, mate."

"Yeah," Tony said, sobered.

T-386 DAB 0830-1230: Command Center

Forty-two Alphan days ago, Maya had been brought directly to Command Center upon her arrival on Alpha -- from the outskirts of the alien city to its deep center and a fractious meeting with its secondary leader and security chief, Tony. Since then, she had scarcely been in that room, only when someone escorting her, often that same Tony, decided to stop there on the way to bringing her from one place to another. She had usually just stood in the back, quietly observing the process and interactions. In such brief time'slices, she had learned little. Since the security escort had ended, she had not been back here.

Now, she was back in this space, sitting in front of a console, being taught its more numerous operational details by Sandra, while the Commander and Tony watched. Lots of details. Things to check, scanners or sensors she could access, people to give status to, or accept orders from. She had helped Father with similar things on Psychon, and had been learning Alphan systems in other parts of the base, but this felt different than both.

In a brief pause, during which she was offered coffee, which she accepted, Maya thought how forty-two Alphan days ago, she had been brought here by the Commander and Helena, Maya feeling grief-stricken and nervous, and very alien. This time, she had walked here on her own, her grief was not gone but had slipped somewhat into the background, she still felt a little nervous, and was still an alien -- yet she felt increasingly like an Alphan, little by little, and her nervousness at this particular moment was not regarding being an alien so much as wanting to do a job and do it well.

The Commander watched her critically, but for professional reasons to assess her performance. Tony still seemed doubtful, but she kept wondering if it was less about her as a person than professionally at times -- still a considerable improvement. Sandra had treated her kindly from the first moment and did so now.

In the middle of handling some routine processes, came in an interesting series of events, which Sandra had Maya handle, with Sandra's help.

"Eagle 25 calling Command Center." It was Bill's voice.

"Maya, go ahead and accept it."

"Bill, this is Command Center."

"Eagle 25," Sandra corrected.

"Eagle 25, this is Command Center. Go ahead."

"My Winch Eagle is in position to lift the first completed Hauler 'pod' to Landing Pad 6."

Maya looked at Sandra, who looked at the Commander, so Maya looked at the Commander.

"Approved," he said.

"Tell Bill he can proceed," Sandra instructed.

"Eagle 25, you may proceed, Bill."

"Confirmed to proceed, Maya. Eagle 25 out."

"Maya," Sandra said, "call up the construction crew and warn them of Eagle 25's approach and why. Then bring up the view of the construction site on the Big Screen. Do you know how?"

"Yes." She did so.

Eagle 25 came in slow and high, lowering its winch, keeping just above the minimum needed to engage partial anti-gravity to keep it hovering with only minimal lift thrusters, to avoid blasting the astronauts below. The astronauts took over guiding Bill to move his Eagle so the hook was in position over the center of gravity of the rig. A metal 'eye' had been welded on the central axis of the 'pod' and it was soon engaged, the rig, large but relatively light, being lifted from its construction jig. Both the construction site and Landing Pad 6 were away from the base, the latter even more than the former; but within a minute, the 'pod' was being lowered gently to the pad. Bill then separated and moved away.

"Maya, order Alan to fly in and attempt docking," the Commander ordered.

She did so, and Alan brought in a podless Eagle 1, and cautiously brought it in for a landing on top of the unique new pod.

After a minute: "Eagle 1 to Alpha. I have a successful dock and lock."

This time, the Commander punched up the commsystem himself. "Good, Carter. Take it up for a first flight."

"Confirmed, Commander, first flight for Alpha's first new type of Eagle pod designed since Breakaway."

"Good luck."

The ungainly-looking combination turned out to be fairly easy to fly, according to Alan's verbal observations, him also adding: "Given that she's somewhat slower to turn, I'm still surprised how relatively light feeling she is."

Maya thought it an interesting design. Looking around, she noticed all the humans seemed entranced, or impressed, or something. Given it was their first new Eagle pod since Breakaway, they evidently enjoyed seeing it. Then again, so did she, especially recalling how a line from a legendary poem she knew had indirectly led to it.

Alan took it up into space, followed by a support Eagle, to start some general maneuvering tests, at one point approaching a few hundred meters of a high resolution photosat, which briefly shined a light on the Eagle. Command Center personnel now had a remarkable image of the strange bird. The salvaged metal glinted in some places, but also betrayed its origin from a destroyed alien ship and rapid work by other Alphans. The metal was discolored in some splotchy patches, as one Terran put it. Besides the metal beams, it had different colors elsewhere, like one pair of counterweights being jet'black, and another pair being multicolored. Someone suggested the whole rig should be painted white at some later point. Yet despite these comments, that didn't seem to dampen anyone's pride in having purpose-built the new rig. Indeed, the Commander ordered Sandra to post this photo at a later point.

Maneuvering tests continued, and Command Center soon stopped monitoring the chatter as they practiced.

Maya and Sandra settled back into some more "routine" training, now more on scanner and sensor systems, which she loved working on. There was redundancy -- not really redundancy, actually. It seemed there were usually two people, one of them often Sandra, who would monitor what was happening around the Moon, while Sandra, or Yasko, would handle communications. Maya was simply being given a range of practice scenarios and systems.

At the end of the four hours, and some 'good job's later, she was dismissed. She had made some minor mistakes, but Sandra's corrections and clarifications were gentle, seemingly unconcerned, and the others seemed to think she had done well. She was determined not to make any of the same mistakes twice. With the shared meal earlier and now a short-notice shift in Command Center, it had turned out to be a wonderful second'part to her day. She retired to her quarters, nearing the end of her day, feeling buoyed.

T-386 DAB 2130-0040: Fire and Glass

Maya was talking with her mother, talking about a variety of topics, none new, but new details, as always. Studies, social'fabric, boys and men, motherhood. Adolescent Maya listened intently.

The birds sang as they sat outside, on a blanket on the grass. A flutter'flyer danced about in the air around Taylia. "You have to start calling me Taylia sometimes now, in larger groups. You have become an adolescent."

"But you are my mother."

"You've heard other adolescents do the same. We are family, and bonds are tight; but in a few years, you will have to start making your own decisions. You will have to start separating yourself partially from us to make your own life, have your own role, find your own mate, and together with your own husband, create your own family."

"I still want to call you Mother."

"And you can, just less and less in larger group situations. Same about Father. He is Mentor. Your grandparents...."

It was almost directly from memory at first, Maya's dream, but like most dreams, timelines slipped and collapsed. A volcano exploded in the background. The timing in Maya's life was the same, but Taylia had been far away at the time. Here in the dream, she remained, and even had more and different words for Maya.

"Our world is dying," Taylia said sadly, "and you will have to make a decision on whether to stay or go."

"But that is up to you and Father."

"We are still ultimately responsible, but you now have a say."

The ground underneath them shook. They fled, hand in hand, down the formerly peaceful hill. The flutter'flyers spontaneously ignited and fell to earth, setting the grass on fire. The air grew sulphorous. Leaf'fatworms started raining down, out of the trees. Nectar'buzzers became flaming darts, threatening to set the hair or dresses of Maya and Taylia alight. A tree in front of them turned into a torch of flame. Amphicroakers started croaking a new tune as they were being cooked in their own swamps, Drak...tae, Drak...tae, Drak...tae, screaming in Psychon that they were being killed.

Distracted and frightened, Maya suddenly realized Taylia's hand was not in hers. She stopped and turned around, screaming her mother's name. Mother was gone, somewhere in a lava flow. Maya cried out for her, screaming "Mother" and "Taylia" -- but it was no use.

Father appeared in front of her. "You can leave with everyone else, or stay with me to save the planet."

"Where is Mother? Where is Taylia?"

"She died from the first new volcano."

Maya choked in the sulphorous air.

"I want to stay with you, Mentor my Father, to help you save the planet."

"Good, come with me."

They ran, hand in hand. In his other hand was a miniature Psyche. He pointed it at one volcano. It faded. Two more appeared. He aimed it at one of them. It stopped. Three more appeared. A tube jumped out of Psyche to one of them, it faded; but now they were stuck in one place. Four more volcanos appeared. Maya knew her father could overcome this. Psyche's tendrils began jumping all around them. A tiny field with one tree remained. Taylia suddenly had a grave. Psyche was growing huge; it looked like a volcano itself. Spaceships came. Mentor started grabbing them and throwing them into Psyche/volcano.

"Father, no! They came in peace, to help us!"

"A pretext, to attack us."

He did the same to the next ship, only the aliens inside looked terrified.

"Father, you can't. Psyche is making you do evil!"

A large bird with a white head fluttered down, looking ready to tear at Psyche. Maya pushed it right at Psyche, to do what it wanted -- what had to be done. Destroy Psyche.

"Understand, Maya--"

Psyche/volcano blew up, and her father was gone. Maya screamed. She screamed herself awake.

Almost half her life, compressed and somewhat distorted into a short but horrible nightmare. She shook, sweaty, got off the bed and paced around, anxiously, before trying to let a shower soothe her. It didn't work.

She had not confronted the dreams about the very end of Psychon, of her father's death. Yet she fled again, or not so much fled as got caught up in the horror of her mother's death. The irony of her two parents' deaths had not been lost on Maya, of Taylia dying from the first volcano run suddenly wild, as the ongoing environmental degradation accelerated, and her father in effect from the last, so-long-restrained one. It had shown up in other ways in her dreams, of Alphans sometimes not throwing her to vacuum, but fire. Fortunately, those dreams of fear were fading, and while her nightmares overall declined a little, there was still a metaphoric vacuum, being filled with more dreams of Psychon.

This was the most vivid return to the time of her mother's death, not long into Maya's adolescence. Taylia, burned and suffocated to death inside a badly damaged atmoflyer which had survived as sort of a temporary tomb for her and her colleagues. Maya had not seen the results, other than a funeral and final tomb, and she gave thanks that her nightmares were not of a burned Taylia, just a vanished one; but that was little comfort.

Maya paced. She was supposed to meet Tony for a meal and a visit to "another new place" for her, starting in only 63.47 minutes, but how could she do so with all this in mind?

Helena had turned in early. It had been rare, with her job and the frequent danger Alpha came under, or needing to catch up with routine administration after the calls were done. It wasn't necessarily that she was working all evening, though she was often on call and sometimes had to do so. After work, she was like most other people, needing time to unwind, even at the cost of a little sleep. Not tonight, however. She had purposefully ended the work day early, feeling the strong need to do so. Bob was first call this evening. John had been busy, unfortunately, so she had curled up with a book for awhile, and gone to sleep before 21:30.

She had been asleep only about ninety minutes when a call from the outside of her room interrupted. She got up and turned on her commpanel, and was surprised to discover Maya was outside, not recalling any instance where Maya had come here uninvited. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, it was not difficult to see Maya's eyes were troubled.

"I am sorry to disturb you during normal sleep'time," Maya said, "but I wish to talk, unless you would prefer me to return at a better--"

"No, that is fine," Helena said, walking over to retrieve a robe as she said, "Come in." Helena had long since unlocked her door to Maya's commlock, and Maya simply opened it then and walked in, looked at a lounge chair, and before Helena could offer, Maya asked if she could sit. "Of course," Helena said, sitting herself in the neighboring chair.

Helena already had a guess what this might be about, despite having discontinued the medical wrist monitor again a couple of days ago. Maya was still having nightmares, not in every full sleep period, but many of them. More than six weeks of them had to be taking some toll, despite Maya not outwardly showing any before.

When Maya said nothing, as if still trying to fight some resistance or last lingering trust issue or Psychon-to-alien concern, or maybe something as silly as thinking maybe some small talk was needed, Helena prodded slightly: "Just talk."

"It has been horrible. The nightmares are fading, but their statistical best'fit curve is not declining fast enough." For a short period, Maya talked numbers and clearly avoided the main point.

Finally, Helena reached out and touched the other woman's arm, saying, "Maya, just tell me the latest one, or whatever you want of it."

Maya smiled wanly and briefly at the gesture, then started talking. Stumbling at first, it slowly unfolded. A nightmare, or part of one. An idyllic scene, complete with what sounded like a butterfly dancing about Maya and her mother, only for the scene to turn volcanic. Maya and her mother running, Taylia vanishing and her father appearing, trying to save them.

The imagery was powerful even to Helena. Flaming butterflies setting alight the grass of the family home. What were presumably some sort of frog-like creature croaking out the Psychon word for death. Maya's mother simply vanishing in a heartbeat and poor Maya screaming, in her dream, for her.

Old, mostly healed wounds re-opened by her father's death, her world's death.

Whether Maya was discussing the whole nightmare was unclear, but there was a clear difference from the sole prior time Maya had talked about a dream. This time there was an emotional release, Maya's shaky voice turning to sobs. Helena moved her chair next to Maya's, put an arm around Maya's shoulder, and the latter turned to cry on Helena's shoulder, so overcome with emotion that her few coherent words were in Psychon.

Helena had dreamed of Lee often years prior, but remarkably little since Terra Nova. She had dreamed of relatives and friends lost back on Earth, various Breakaway-like motifs of being pulled apart. On Terra Nova, she had gone through what had seemed to her was the death and destruction of everyone and everything Helena still knew at that point. She could understand the feeling such losses, could understand the torment, at least in her way. Maya also had to deal with the loss of her entire planet, being marooned among aliens, and what she had touched on a little before but not now, her own father's actions.

Maya trailed off, then straightened up. This time, it was not an apology for "taking" Helena's time or such self-deprecating statements frequently heard from Maya, but simply: "Thank you for listening, Helena."

"Any time, Maya. If you want to talk more now...."

"No, Tony said he was going to be up late today, that we could meet for my breakfast -- a snack for him I guess -- and some place I have not seen before."

"Oh? What?"

"I don't know. Another surprise."

They chatted a bit more, but then Maya said, "I cannot believe how generous your people have been. Despite what you said aboard Eagle 4 that day, my expectations were low, and even if there are many that never come to fully accept me, I so appreciate what I have been given here. I do not know how I can repay that."

"Nothing more than your continued friendship."

Maya smiled, and nodded gently. "Always."

After Maya left, Helena thought about Maya's growth lately, and that of some of the people around her, especially Tony, who seemed to be more accepting of her recently, personally if not necessarily convinced professionally. Suddenly, Helena had an idea.

She checked John's commlock status, and discovered that despite it being a few minutes after midnight, he was still on active standby. She called him and found he was in Conference Room CC. It figured. She found him starting to put names to the various Flight teams. Tony was listed under Op. Salvage Cities -- Flight 2. That would not do.

After some brief chatting, she asked, "What about Tony on Flight 1, with you and Maya and whoever you choose as the fourth?"

"Then who would you put in lead of Operation Salvage Cities?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "Alexander Karedepoulos. Ancient 'rotting cities' sound like a good thing for him to check out."

"He hasn't led a team before. Besides, I was considering an idea of putting him on Flight 1, to help figure out where this mystery 'key' is located in Glasscit."

"Glasscit?"

"What someone, I forget who, dubbed the 'city under glass.'"

"Oh. Well, good idea to put him on Flight 1."

"Actually, it was Sandra's idea."

"Sandra?"

"She speculated it might be a very large alien city, and that we may need interpretations of much more intact alien architecture."

"Didn't you say Maya and Alexander don't get along well together."

"I told Sandra that too, and she said: 'Maya can get along with anyone who gives her a chance.'"

"Well, she's right about that," Helena said, before concluding, "Alien architecture, interpreted two people: one of them an alien, and one of them an architect. Perfect symmetry."

John laughed briefly. "It became an easy decision, actually, I just didn't get his name on the board yet," he said even as he walked over to do so. "Besides, Alexander knows I was not pleased with how poorly he treated Maya the first time. I doubt he'll repeat that, so hopefully they'll stay professional."

"Well, who else would you put to lead Flight 2 then, to the rotting cities?"

"You are asking me when you are the one suggesting moving Tony from it?"

"Sure," she said, trying to hold off a little smile. He sometimes had amusing reactions when she did that sort of thing.

He rolled his eyes, which at the moment, she actually found charming, and said, "Well... maybe Osgood."

"Which one?"

"Patrick."

"Isn't he a miner?" Helena asked. "Working on expanding the Catacombs?"

"Demolitions expert, leads a team, good at scanner systems."

"Okay. How about an Exploration team?"

"Already got the two of the teams who will be on base at the time out on two Eagles in Flight 2, I might put Sanderson and his team on board a third Eagle of Flight 2, which is where I was going to have Tony as the pilot and Flight lead."

"Keep an eye on Sanderson?"

"I'm fine with Sanderson going out with his team. He violated Security protocol, but his team is already the best, and usually stays out a full-month cycle rather than three weeks or going out less often like other teams. I'm not going to put him in charge of a full Flight, at least not on this mission."

"What if you have Patrick in lead? Greg led by an equal from another department? He may resent it on what may look like an Exploration mission."

"That's his problem, and if he makes it anyone else's problem -- about taking orders -- I may have to remove him from giving orders, or keep him strictly on lunar survey missions. So, Helena, why add this complication by taking Tony off Flight 2, for Flight 1 instead?"

"If you need to split the team, with two people who've not been on off-Moon missions before."

"True," John said, adding, "and Tony is good at playing devil's advocate during brainstorming."

Helena nodded.

"Okay, out with it," John said.

"What?"

"You've got another reason in mind."

John was getting better and better at reading her. "Maya."

"You mean her and Tony. It looks to me like Tony trusts her now."

"You know what I mean. Personally, he's fine with her now. Professionally, he has severe doubts."

"I know. I have my doubts too."

"Not like he does, and you and I both feel she's got a lot of potential."

"So you want Tony to see her on a mission, even though she's not going to be a lead. If she has problems, though, professional confidence of Tony in her may be damaged."

"Or he might see them as minor or moderate deficiencies which can be trained out. Didn't you say, at least once, that we all have our rough edges."

He paused with merely a nod, and then said, "You know I am only going to go along with this because you're right, not because it is you saying it."

Helena laughed. "Of course." More seriously, she said: "That is how it must always be, as I'm sure you know, no matter what." After another pause, she changed the subject somewhat. "What I don't understand is what we expect to send through this Alkinarda Bridge if we can unlock it. The Moon?"

"I hope so. I asked Maya about that possibility. She looked startled by the question, and said she did not know what the limits might be."

Helena sighed. "If we can't send the Moon...."

"Operation Exodus, to the planet, or maybe Operation Lifeboat Eagles."

"Through the Bridge? To what?"

"I don't know," John said.

"Are we convinced how dangerous the Alkinarda is?"

"Douglas McLeod has been running more simulations. As originally calculated, after the Kaskalon star system, we'd hit something of a relative gap in the blue-giant Shepherd stars and could suffer a severe energy drain keeping the screens up against the radiation of the stars. McLeod is thinking they're shielding any readings from beyond the nebula-like Veil behind the stars, even indirect readings. By the time we get close enough to separate stars from the material behind, we might be in the system, or beyond it."

"Maya was dubious about settling Kaskalon itself," Helena reminded.

"I've asked her again. She says she's forgetting at least one poem, but is remembering some interpretation or rumor that no one has settled there. Tony has mentioned it sort of makes sense that the Orcayi may have set up something that prevents anyone from lingering at what could be a very strategic point in space to control."

"So if we can't find the key to the Bridge, cannot start Operation Exodus, and have nowhere for lifeboat Eagles to travel towards either, we may plunge into the Alkinarda."

"Yes. We either survive it like the Black Sun, or us and the whole Moon gets torn apart by the heart of the Alkinarda."

Helena sighed. "We're always on the verge of getting destroyed by something. At least we've had some time to try preparing."

"How's morale?"

"Bob, as usual, is in better touch with it, and says there's actually some more hope regarding this situation, and that overall, attitudes seem to be changing more and more. Maybe you were right about the 'year of mourning' as you put it. Or maybe your words even gave people the idea they could get past it in some ways. I don't know, and it may be premature. That we now have had Maya on base for well over a month and she is genuine and of a helpful nature may be starting to restore a little balance, reminding us of what we already saw, that not everyone is hostile to us. I can say for sure that having so many weeks go without incident is an enormous boost to morale, and couldn't have come at a better time, after all the prior losses and having to abandon roomier quarters for smaller ones. Some mid-level, mid-sized residential rooms from before may have been reused, but everyone moved and took a hit."

John nodded. "For two months, we've had a spate of petty arguments that Tony thinks really comes down to the combination of low morale and smaller rooms."

"As we expected. Has it been as much as expected?"

"About the same," John answered, "though he said it has mostly dropped off more recently."

"Now, speaking about dropping off, I'm about ready to do so. How about you?"

"Guess so. I'll drop you off at your room."

He lingered there for a minute, and they kissed briefly, but both being tired, it went no further. There was always a reason it went no further, both seeming to hesitate, him the most, maybe still out of respect for Lee.

W-387 DAB 0000-0210: Oversights

It was not because he wanted to see her transform that Tony finally thought of taking her to one place, but rather he couldn't imagine how he had forgotten it. Maybe because he had last visited with Lena.

"Biosphere Intravenous?" Maya asked, looking bewildered at the label.

"Roman numerals. Biosphere IV."

The outer doors opened, revealing nothing of the inside. They stepped through, and Tony closed the outer doors behind them. There was a moderately strong airflow in here, towards the floor, but he'd explain on the way out. She was just starting to speculate on the word. "Biosphere. Biologic--" The inner doors opened, and he watched as Maya's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "How absolutely wonderful!" Without needing the slightest bit of encouragement, she stepped in and looked about. Front-most were various fruit trees, the apples growing some fruit. She stepped towards them. "Apple'trees!"

She looked like she wanted to reach for one. Even though she didn't, he thought it prudent to explain: "The fruit isn't to be picked before it is harvested by authorised personnel, and there are some similar rules for other plants; but this is open to everyone, to come here at any off-duty time. This is usually unlit at this time of the night. In the evening and early morning, there is a transition period where lighting decreases and increases, respectively. Once dark, it is not considered open to the public. For a first visit, I thought this would be a good time, and asked to have it lit for ninety minutes; but really, you can visit any other time it is open."

He wondered if perhaps bringing her here at 'night' was not quite as good as making her comfortable being here when other Alphans were, but maybe he'd bring her here some other time, or mention to some of their other mutual friends that she liked this space.

He had had another motive for picking the time, and just as he was about to mention it, she started walking about, exploring, needing no prodding to do so.

"This was built after Breakaway?" she asked.

"No, before. It is third in line of such research facilities of how to maintain a small, isolated biome."

"Third? You called it the fourth."

"Biosphere III was inside a station in Earth orbit. The first was Biosphere II, in the Arizona desert I think. And no, this is not like the clocks. Earth itself was the first biosphere, to us from Earth I mean."

"I understand. Clever."

They explored for awhile, him telling her a bit more about the space and the plants inside and another couple of rules, but also asking her if she and Mentor had kept anything like this.

"No, other than our own hydroponics and a few other plants scattered about the shelter'network, there was nothing like this."

"How was he intending to bring life back to Psychon?" he asked, not thinking, then starting to wonder....

She seemed to take it with some stride as she looked about, as if drawing comfort from the life here. "Psyche stored a lot of molecular patterns of plants and animals and such, but not all that many, because Psychon had lost a lot of species before Psyche was created. Some people who fled Psychon might have been able to bring some back. Perhaps some introductions from other worlds to fill severe niche'gaps."

Increasingly, even as she talked, she was looking up at the treetops more and more, reminding him of something again.

"Go ahead."

"What?" she asked, though he was sure she knew what he meant, and was just wanting to be certain.

"Fly around, if you want. Stretch your wings." He almost cringed at the last sentence; but again, her face brightened, and for some reason, she thanked him. John had said he had encouraged her to keep in practice and keep learning to expand her range. Presumably, she had been doing it in her quarters, away from the sight of others, where she had no real opportunity to fly far or run or anything like that. Tony had no idea how important acting in the new form was as opposed to the act of transforming itself, but she seemed instantly ecstatic at the opportunity here.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Then she got a really focused look, still with a half-smile, and abruptly, her form started fuzzing over, which struck him, oddly, as vaguely familiar, even though he had not really seen the actual moment of metamorphic transformation before. Deja vu, he promptly assumed. A glow then came over her, into which she vanished. It quickly shrunk to the size of an average bird. The glow faded into the fuzzy outline of an unfamiliar-looking bird on the ground, and the fuzziness faded away quickly. It was colored iridescent blue, bright red, and pitch-black. She looked at him, chattered in a bird-like way for a few moments, then promptly took to the air, flying around.

Tony finally closed his open mouth. He had never seen anything like it before. Part of him felt he should have been freaked out by it, but after his having to turn his back on her as a lioness, even though he had not really seen the act of transformation then, this probably seemed less frightening and just amazing.

Tony's eyes following the bird/alien, still in surprise by what he had seen. He had gotten more used to thinking of her as person. This was a very powerful reminder of her alienness, but he found himself taking it more in stride, even with the surprise and wonder mixed in.

Besides, after his conversation with Alan, most of his lingering reservations about her as a person had faded away, though that left his reservations about her as a potential officer, and the lingering strangeness of her as an alien. How could a person, even alien, do something like that? He'd seen and heard of some very strange things here in deep space, but Maya was such a hard-to-fathom mix of emotional warmth, strange mental powers, and alien beauty.

He watched as she flitted and fluttered about in the trees, chattering a lot, seemingly happy noises, he had to guess.

When he realized that he was happy she was happy, even he had to admit to liking her a lot more than he had expected.

Maya had not believed the sight. There, through an Alphan doorway, was the most nature she had seen in almost half her life. These were no Psychon salad plants in hydroponics solutions, scattered fruit-producing twist'trees, or small rooms of various berry'bushes. This was a large space filled with plants, some relatively familiar, some very alien, in what to her was mass quantity.

She had stepped through the doorway unbidden, looked around a lot as she walked and conversed with Tony, but increasingly, felt the urge to transform and take to the air, in flight which would be much less constrained and almost infinitely more interesting than flitting about her quarters -- or corridors back in the shelter on Psychon, where she had first learned transformation.

Tony quickly guessed what was on her mind, something he was getting a little better at doing, just as she had started understanding him a little better.

She thought of the kestrel and the dove, but both still were too strongly associated with bad memories to use casually here, the kestrel for injuring the Commander, and the dove for winging her way into the depths of horror in the pits on Psychon. The dove was a gentle bird, and the kestrel fast and strong, both suited to Maya's personality, so she knew she would likely use their forms again -- but not for awhile yet.

So she found something a little larger than a dove, namely a colorful thorn'hopper, a bright bird that liked to fly among trees of any sort, but named for its tendency to shelter in thorn'trees.

She concentrated, felt the comfortable wash of transformation flow over and through her, brought the deep image of the other into the foreground, embedding the reversion instructions and using parts of the bird's brain dedicated to things of which she had no need, to instead allow herself to attach a small part of her mind. She 'wrote' no instructions other than to listen for the sound 'Maya' spoken loudly, and this time, she did not include any instruction repressing the tendency to make loud noises -- something she had been embedding as an instruction when she practiced in her Alphan quarters. Here, she wanted to do nothing but practice and enjoy her flight.

Her mind shrunk to that, and looking only briefly at the human towering above her, chattering happily for a moment, she then took to the air, and flew about vigorously. These were longer stretches than she had since the halls and -- near the final moments -- caves of Psychon.

There was only the vague memory of such sights through other birds' eyes in the mind of the Maya/bird. She chattered in the excited enjoyment of the sights flowing around her, of twisting in the air, flying among the trees and even through some of the branches. The thorn'hopper was experienced at flying through tight obstacles, so more than anything, Maya had to practice releasing her own humanoid fears and let the bird's instincts guide -- but not dominate -- her. It was a tricky balance in many ways, something that took much practice. Even in bird form, she realized, by simple comparison of her experiences as other birds in a small room, that she needed more of this practice.

She practiced alighting on branches, trying to learn to take advantage of the pre-built instincts while still trying to exert some control. Yet she found herself either letting the instincts take over or taking too much control herself. Lose too much intelligence to operate smartly, or outsmart herself to the point of excessive caution. Her father had warned her about both, that they comprised one of the greater secondary challenges.

She watched the human wander slowly about the ground below, sometimes watching her, sometimes just sitting and seeming relaxed. Her avian instincts wanted to watch him as a potential threat, but the part of Maya's mind present repressed that, especially considering the thorn'hopper was prone to occasional semi-random dive bombing.

That same part that was Maya realized she had set no time limits regarding how long Tony might let her do this; but there was no 'Maya' call either, so she just continued flying about, until her 56.2 minutes in this form were about to expire. Then Maya/bird flew down to near the human, chattering happily, and alighted. Reversion instincts took over, and she was soon herself again, but feeling exhilarated. Her arms even felt fatigued for a moment, a fleeting metamorphic 'impression.' She was all smiles.

"You looked and sounded like you enjoyed it," Tony commented.

"Oh, yes, I've never experienced flight in such a large, life-filled space. Thank you for bringing me here."

"You're welcome."

They explored on foot a little longer, slowly working back towards the exit.

They left, Maya not without a look backwards before the inner doors closed and she listened to Tony explain the purpose of the air rushing downwards in the internal airlock system to two doorways, and how it helped keep pollen and small insects from escaping into the rest of the base, while they needed to look around and make sure nothing larger was trying to sneak out with them.

The get-together was not over, for Tony and Maya headed to an all-night cafeteria for her to get breakfast, and him a late-night snack.

Except for Carl van der Mir, who was just leaving, and presumably a cook somewhere in the back, the cafeteria was empty. It was one of Maya's now infrequent meal'time get-togethers with Tony.

There were other occasions, such as exercise, including martial arts he knew. Yet even on that, it was not always Tony. "Survival Training: Level 1" was a new course she was participating in with a few other Alphans, run by someone else -- all of whom tolerated her, neither very friendly, nor unfriendly. Among other things, the class included: climbing skills, food rationing, dealing with excessive cold and heat, and determining how to scan water and potential food for safety. Though Maya could not be poisoned, her testing things mechanically could be for others' safety, and her testing things by taste were not necessarily meaningful for humans.

Tony looked at Maya, whose expression had grown distant. "You know, Maya," Tony started saying, her attention quickly returning to him, "I never did say something I should have."

"What?" she asked, eyes widening a bit in a way he increasingly found attractive.

"That first meeting, when John and Helena brought you into Command Center. I never really said 'Welcome to Moonbase Alpha' or anything like that. Still haven't. I want to give you a proper welcome, as my people back on Earth did it, with a nice Italian meal -- or as much as I can manage with Alphan substitutes -- in my quarters."

It looked like she wanted to answer in the positive at first, like she didn't want to do what she usually did on Alpha. She still did, however, saying: "You don't have to. You have shown me plenty of welcome."

"I have tried, but there is still a big mistake at the beginning." She seemed ready to protest again, but expecting it, he had prepared a different tack. "You want to miss out on some Italian hospitality?" he said with an exaggerated hurt expression that he thought Maya would know how to interpret correctly.

There was little resistance, and was soon shaking her head at his question, then accepting verbally, saying simply, "I accept. Thank you."

"Fantastic. A belated real welcome. Like it was the first day, only this time, I have some manners."

Maya got a curious look, one of those he sometimes had trouble interpreting, but feeling light-hearted, said, "And no jokes about me never having manners."

"I did not have any such joke."

"You know, I actually find that surprising," he said, this time with mock disappointment -- or maybe even some real disappointment. "Somewhere in you is more of a sense of humour just waiting in the wings -- er, just waiting to escape."

R-388 DAB 1000-1200: Equational Flight

As Alan flew co-pilot with Maya as trainee pilot, he was relaxing just a little.

She and Sandra had started out with opposite tendencies in simulators: aggressively pushing the limits of machine in Maya's case, and meekness in letting the machine get ahead of her, in Sandra's case. First flights had seen them each far improved, and continued practice was only helping further.

There was no doubting Maya's raw flying talent. She seemed able to handle just about anything he threw at her now. There was something to be said for her way of learning Eagle flight by detailed flight control specs, flying it that way, and even adjusting to off-spec behavior in flight and then being able to report on it, in detail, post-flight. Three prior real Eagle flights, and all three times she had some comments on subtle -- and in one case not so subtle -- off-spec behavior. She was creating more work for Eagle Maintenance.

This was Maya's fourth true flight, and it was only somewhat coincidental that she was flying Eagle 4, the same one which had brought her to Alpha for the first time. It even had the same laboratory pod. Some time before, he had given her the specs on that pod and how its extra boosters and tiny thrusters figured into flight controls. She had absorbed it, and simulator flights with this pod showed virtually no decline in performance, again reflecting how her equational approach to flight could work well.

As they flew for real, he found himself realizing he was almost relaxed about her tendency of treating the Eagle's flight computer almost as an afterthought. He had finally gotten her to respect the need to at least keep it up to date, while he had finally gotten himself to respect that she could treat it as a formality only. It was a good compromise, he felt. Plus, if she suddenly got knocked unconscious for some reason, there would at least be a current course plotted in the system.

He was on musing on this again as they approached Alpha and happened to spot the Hauling 'pods' as they continued to receive work. Suddenly, something struck him.

"Dumb 'roo!"

"Alan?" Maya asked.

"No, no, keep flying, I just thought of something unrelated." It was not entirely unrelated; but he didn't want to distract her. Then again, pilots were supposed to be able to handle distractions.... "Actually, Maya. You know Flight 3 at Kaskalon is supposed to haul off metal if there are fragments of a destroyed station in orbit, right?"

"Right," she said, evidently now used to using that word in this manner, which she had not been early in training.

"We have a problem with the Moon being out of real-time communication range for much of the time at Kaskalon, and Eagle flight systems not having the hardware or software capacity to handle all the additional variables involved in doing it real-time."

"I do not think I can solve the software issue without much more time, and the hardware issue, I don't know enough at all to--"

"No, not each computer's system, but you."

"Me? I don't under.... Oh, I understand. There is only one of me, though I suppose if I could divide time and fly Eagles -- but I have duties on Flight 1...."

"Actually," he said, "I meant that since you'll be at the planet too, if we could set up a data link allowing you to view Eagle position and flight data, do you think you give navigation instructions to a pilot fast enough that they could use such instructions to fly a course that would put the assumed metal chunks on a long arc that puts it onto a nearly parallel course for a shallow, relatively 'soft' crash on parts of the Moon well away from Alpha and other sensitive locations?"

"Unknown masses. Interesting set of variables. Real-time calculation? Sounds like fun."

It was a curious and amusing response, one which instantly sounded like trademark Maya. He laughed, and still smiling a bit, said, "Is it feasible? Is it safe?"

"At first opinion, it seems so. I would have to hear more details and probably ask some more questions, and think about it a little more. Do you wish to discuss this now?"

"No, let's finish this flight first, then we'll get you more up-to-date on current plans, and discuss the relay possibility."

It wasn't a certainty yet, but Alan was excited. If this worked, they could start hauling any debris starting as soon as perhaps eight hours after arrival in orbit, rather than having to wait days for the Moon to be close enough.

Plus, it would only occupy the Science Advisor for 5-10 minutes for each Hauler Eagle ready to do the burn, allowing her to mostly stay focused on her Flight 1 mission.

The current flight soon came to the critical portion of landing, which Maya handled very well. Maya went through Initial Shutdown procedures, then per plan, Eagle 4 was brought down the lift with them on board. Alan listened as Maya communicated with "Eagle Nest" as the Eagle was picked up and moved to its parking spot. Maya then went through Final Shutdown procedures.

As always, training or not, there was a tech team ready to inspect the Eagle and first to hear any concerns, or find out whether a recently-repaired system was working well. Eagle 4 had been flown by others since repairs were completed, but this was Maya's first flight of it.

Amusingly, the technical man looked nervous, seemingly not so much about Maya herself as how much workload Maya's observations might add. A term had cropped up: Maya Flight.

Once Maya gained Level 1 certification, she would need to keep it current, and she might seek Level 2 as well. Maybe she would fly enough to keep a pace that would allow for her style of tolerance testing every Eagle within a year or two. She could not be a full time test pilot in the usual sense, as they took more frequent flights; but to overlook her ability to provide detailed flight analysis would be foolish, for it provided a piece of the maintenance puzzle missing for a year: access to the same sort of detailed information provided by the Tolerance Testing Rig at Accipiter Systems -- back on Earth.

Of course, even with that lower frequency of flights, her time could not necessarily be counted on. To rely completely on a single person, a single resource of unpredictable availability, was equally foolish. Ideas had already been bandied about between Alan, Jim Haines, and, before his death, Ernst Linden, to try to construct some sort of Tolerance Testing Rig on Alpha. Even a less sophisticated version would be a complicated undertaking, but still valuable, Maya or not. Alan was not about to abandon those plans.

Alan headed by Travel Tube to the central areas of the base. He found John in Command Center, and quietly but briefly discussed the training flight itself with John. When Sandra arrived, he indicated he wanted to talk with both of them, about Flight 3 at Kaskalon. They both moved to the nearby meeting room, and Alan discussed his sudden realization Maya might be able to help direct many of the early hauls, while Alpha and Main Computer were still out of communication range of the planet.

John looked dubious. "I know and further heard she's good with computation, but have not really seen much of it directly. But is she really that good?"

Alan, taking a drink of water, left a pause into which Sandra commented, "Yes, I think so, Commander."

"But to calculate a course for a huge fragment of metal bigger than the Eagle hauling it, and translating it to a course in real time. Besides, translating an Eagle course to real time thrust vectors and ultimately the controls...."

Sandra looked a little confused, first at John, then at Alan, and Alan knew why.

"There's a little something I didn't get into about our new trainee. I nearly drove her to washing herself out of the program because we had a conflict over how she wanted to fly the Eagle."

"Really? Don't tell me. She wanted to fly it mathematically."

"Something like that. Well, that, really. She kept asking for lots of technical information, but I tried to train her out of her calculating habits, thinking them interfering with proper flight. She didn't understand flying by 'feel,' had a lot of difficulty in simulations, and tried to withdraw, so I finally just gave her specs. She absorbed the specs about how flight controls translated to all the various thrust vectors, by equations on each. She can know where she's flying, account for all the meaningful gravity sources, still accept discovery of new ones, and even realize and adjust for out-of-tolerance behavior. The hell if I know how she manages all that real time and seemingly unconsciously, but she does, and in the process treats the Eagle flight computer as a mere formality. She only does that much because I insisted she update it on course changes in case she were injured mid-flight, so the computer and co-pilot would know where they were."

John sat back. "You figure out a pilot she can give instructions to in simulation. Get him up to speed on Flight 3 and this new possibility. Sandra, talk to Douglas McLeod and June Washington about getting their current programming modified for this scenario, and getting a scenario into the Eagle simulator. Make sure they back up their current programming, as we can still use it when the Moon gets within communication range of Kaskalon. I'll talk to Maya myself and make sure she understands all the variables and see if she still thinks it is feasible. Let's see if we can't get all of this worked out to have her and a pilot working a simulation by the end of the day. We have only six days to mission launch."

F-389 DAB 0830-0900: Babies and B-Movies

Maya wondered why Tony was being so nice to her all of a sudden. What little visible suspicion he still had about her had seemingly vanished this week, not long after the visit to Main Observation had ended stressfully and a quick dinner had only partially smoothed over it.

In the days after, there was no sign of that. He had started taking her to some parts of Alpha she had not seen before. Biosphere IV had been wonderful. He had even invited her to a "welcome" dinner to be two days from now.

Given how infrequently they had been eating together since her one-month "milestone" and not needing constant Security escort, she had expected they'd not eat together again between the evening they had visited Biosphere IV and the upcoming supper, but he had asked her to a Friday first-shift breakfast at her snack, and she had readily assented.

It was a pleasant meal, filled with talk mostly about her more recent Eagle flights, Flight 3 to Bridge'world, and the recent flight simulations for the latter.

Afterwards, he asked if she wanted to visit another new location before she went to bed. She agreed. He was smiling oddly, in a way she had learned seemed to be about something special.

She got a little nervous about being brought to a residential block level which she had previously learned was one of the two areas where the Alphan families resided. She wondered if Tony knew that she was not wanted around them. She wasn't sure about every family. However, no parent had been forthcoming with letting her meet their children, so she estimated a high probability she was generally rejected.

That rejection was still difficult for her, leaving her feeling hollow about something that she felt could have been a joy for her, interacting with babies. It did not matter they were alien. Of course, it did matter to the alien parents. It had dimmed her thoughts of being accepted as a possible mate if she remained here all her life. Even if a man wanted her, and even if she could have a child here, would her children be able to interact with any other child, or would they be rejected too? Would anyone want her and a family with her if their family would be permanent outsiders?

Now, she felt uncomfortable walking through this area. Fortunately, the hallways were empty. First shift had already started, and what parents had to work it had taken their children to other Alphans who worked other shifts. Unless parents worked separate shifts, she suddenly wondered, though this sounded strange for that would allow a whole family little time together except at sleep'time, which was not socially sufficient in Maya's judgment.

When they reached a door labeled Nursery, Maya wasn't sure what it meant. "A room where nurses socialize?" she guessed aloud, having heard that full'permission -- certified? -- Eagle pilots could socialize at a place called the Eagle Aerie Club.

Tony laughed, and as he opened the door, said, "No." They walked into a curiously-decorated anteroom with windows she could not readily see through yet, and Tony explained, "Where the babies often are when both of their parents are working."

Just as she had been thinking about families and being rejected by existing families, and wondering a little about an aspect of human child care, she was put right in the middle of aspects of both situations.

"Tony, I didn't know what Nursery meant. I don't think..." she started saying, not sure what to say without perhaps violating the privacy of the parents. She tried to find a polite way to back out of here, while carefully avoiding looking through the windows, now noticing Carla McNally, sitting at a desk near the door to the main room.

Almost as soon as he stepped inside the Nursery 1's anteroom, he was starting to have second thoughts about this. He had not seen hardly any interaction between Maya and children, and this part of the base was one she had not visited, but he was suddenly recalling his 'neutral ground' idea he had discussed with Sandra on one of Maya's first days here. That had been introducing her to adults. Now, she had been introduced, and.... He realized he had not been thinking. Still, if nothing else, she could look through the windows.

Even his misgivings didn't prepare him for what he heard next.

Carla McNally, one of the part-time nurses, a middle-aged woman who had grown children of her own back on Earth, watched one of the Nurseries for a shift or two each week. He knew at least one other person would be elsewhere in the multi-room Nursery.

She looked at him, and said, "Mr. Verdeschi, I'm sorry, but some of the parents requested that Maya not be allowed in here."

"What?" Tony said.

"I don't agree with it myself," Carla said, looking towards Maya, who was trying to cover up a hurt expression yet starting to nod. "But I have to respect their wishes."

"Which parents?" Tony demanded.

Maya looked a little alarmed.

"Sorry, and their privacy," Carla added.

"That is just outrageous," Tony said, his voice climbing.

"Tony, no," Maya whispered urgently.

Yet louder: "I am going to report--"

"Tony!" Maya hissed under her breath, finally catching his attention. "Some of the babies are probably sleeping," she said in a more normal but still-quiet, concerned voice. "Tony, I want to leave. Now." Maya turned to Carla, and said, "I am very sorry," then, without waiting for Tony, she turned and walked back to the door.

Unnoticed by either one, Carla looked at Maya sadly.

Surprised by Maya's sudden assertiveness, Tony reluctantly followed, into the quiet corridor. Once the door closed behind them, he let loose again.

"I am so sorry, Maya, that is about the most--"

"Understable reaction," Maya interrupted. Tony just about exploded at her response, tired of hearing Maya defer yet again. Perhaps she saw it, for she repeated, in a more soothing voice, "Tony, I understand, I--"

"Well, I don't, and I'm going to report it. John or Helena or someone has to tell those women that you can be trusted around their babies, or get you and them in the same room and--"

"Tony!" she said with a shocked voice. "You just cannot tell or force a mother to trust someone with her child, her baby."

"What, were there weirdos on Psychon too?"

"I don't know what that means. There were some young men or even a few young women who did not know how to act around babies, or boys and girls who would not calm down properly -- the immature. Or the brain-injured or the--"

"A large part of trust forms when one trusted person tells another that a third can be trusted."

"It is a start, but it is different for a mother, especially one with a baby."

"You haven't been a mother; how do you know?"

Maya could have taken offense at his poor phrasing, but he was completely missing the point, and though still somewhat afraid of sounding disapproving, just had to be. "Tony, it is not that hard to understand."

"Women's Intuition?"

"I'm not certain what you mean by that. Do you mean Women's Wisdom?" she asked before realizing humans might not have that term for that or Men's Wisdom -- of which Tony was not displaying much at the moment, or letting his reactions run away with him.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want to call it, doesn't always make it right."

"Maybe not; but Tony, in this case, it does not matter."

"Of course it does. You're always saying or acting like that, Maya: that your feelings don't matter, you don't matter. Well they do, and you do, and I'm starting to get tired of repeatedly hearing you say otherwise, when you should be learning by now."

She was surprised by his words, and realized she had said that so many times she was having trouble getting her current point across now, though she tried. "You're not understanding--"

"Half of them never interact with you. How are they supposed to learn to trust you? How long would it take?"

She was unsure why Tony was speaking with such certainty now and expecting everyone else to share in it when he had not, even very recently. It was as if he assumed he had been one of the most suspicious of her, and that if he, the Security Officer, was not any more, that others wouldn't be either. No, that did not make much sense. He just had strong opinions and feelings, it seemed.

"Maybe never," she said in response to his question about how long trust with the parents might take. "It really does not matter. They are the mothers of their babies -- parents of their babies I mean," she said, uncertain how they had ended up speaking only of mothers. "If they do not trust me, then--"

"But you are a good person. You're not some monster who is going to run up to steal their babies like in some B-movie."

"A movie with insects in it?"

Tony stopped as she asked with an expression he had not seen on her face before, half-serious, but with one of her unique eyebrows raised a little. "No, that is not what I... uh...." He stopped, then laughed, and said, "Well, a lot of B-movies..." he trailed off, taking in her expression again, this time noticing her mouth quivering, as if trying to suppress a smile. Finally, it dawned on him. "Did you just make a joke?" he asked, laughing.

"I tried," she admitted, smiling freely now.

"You succeeded. Damn good first Alphan effort, I'd say. Maya made a joke. Ha, wait until I tell Alan. And Pat, and--"

"Tony!" she said in mock distress, laughing, grabbing his forearm and gently but insistently tugging it, getting him to move away from the Nursery at last. She doubted she could have distracted him that much, and maybe he knew she was right and just wanted a graceful way out of his rant. She did not know, and did not care. She didn't care that he didn't tell her what a B-movie was supposed to mean, either.

Around the corner, Susan Crawford listened to Tony Verdeschi and Maya walk away from where Susan was, out of their sight.

Sue had been bringing her bright baby boy, George, to the Nursery. Just before turning the last corner before the hallway the Nursery was on, she had heard the Nursery door closing, and the Security Officer's voice, just starting to say, "I am so sorry." She promptly stopped where she was, out of his sight, for Sue knew perfectly well that he was frequently in the company of the alien female. When it became obvious he was indeed with the Psychon metamorph, Sue was going to retreat, but was abruptly fascinated as she listened to Maya argue that Tony should not be angry about the parents not wanting Maya around their children.

George did not stir at the argument, and Sue listened to it, surprised.

Sue was out of sight of the Psychon's alien face, and was scarcely that familiar with Maya's equally-unique voice, either; and she found herself hearing words any sensible and decent woman, mother or not, would know, to some degree, about trust and the bond between mother and baby -- what any good woman could have uttered to a man being purposefully or unintentionally dense.

Susan was simply listening to another woman, and in continuing to listen, discovered Maya also had a sense of humour and used it to finally knock Tony off track and get him to drop it. Maybe some part of him knew he was on the wrong side of the argument; but regardless, Maya had deftly handled the situation, and gotten Tony to finally leave the area with her.

Sue, rather stunned by what she had heard, remained where she was even as their voices now faded in the distance. Finally, she turned the corner, shifting George in her arms so she could retrieve her commlock and enter the Nursery anteroom.

"Good morning, Sue," Carla said, just emerging into the anteroom from one of the inner rooms in the Nursery areas.

"Was Maya just in here with Mr. Verdeschi?"

"Yes, a couple minutes ago; but I told them about the restriction and they soon left," Carla said in a somewhat clipped-sounding tone, like Carla wanted to give more meaningful details, but did not wish to antagonize Sue, who had not cared to listen to anyone's arguments for Maya.

"Well, what happened?" Sue asked, and when Carla said nothing for a second, Sue gave her a more insistent look.

"He brought her here, without her knowing what 'Nursery' meant. As soon as I mentioned the restriction, Maya looked like she wanted to leave, Tony got angry and louder, but Maya quieted him down, saying 'Some of the babies are probably sleeping,' then virtually ordered him out of the room."

It only added to what Sue had overheard from Maya herself. She took George, who was still sleeping, into the left-side room, where the cribs were. As she did so, and set him gently in a crib, she had a sick feeling in her stomach and heart.

F-389 DAB 0830-2400: Mass Drive

It was out of a small command conference that they realized they had overlooked a testing opportunity.

Yesterday, in simulation, they had proven that Maya could, from a remote computer link, take in raw data sent by a Hauler Eagle, and direct its flight in terms of throttle, pitch, and yaw settings, and get hypothesized hunks of metal propelled from Kaskalon to the Moon. Yet there was another test available to them....

Two Hauler 'pods' were now finished, with the third only days from completion. The second was about to get First Flight testing. They realized they could try pulling down some pieces of alien ship debris that were in the Moon's orbit. They had been carrying around debris of three of the four spaceships of Jarak's people in low orbit, the three destroyed Sidon ships in highly elliptical orbits, and debris from ships of the Graktor and their enemy in orbits ranging from low to high.

Despite all the course changes, only a few pieces had escaped lunar orbit and been shed, and only one had crashed into the Moon. During the Moon's course changes, most objects had been pulled along, though all had changed orbits each time, often to slightly higher ones.

They could be menaces to Eagle flight, but all Eagle computers were programmed with knowledge about them. Maya had already absorbed a grid full of orbital references about them, and seemed ready to avoid them. Yet a few pieces were in persistently particularly bad orbits. It was time to clear a few of them.

The computer programs to Haul while in Alpha's communications range had long been completed, so Maya was not needed for these tests. In fact, it was an excellent chance to test those programs.

Before noon, both rigs were in flight, with Alan and other pilots brought into the Flight 3 scenario, including two other Eagles for support. Each Hauler got into orbit in front of a piece of debris, while personnel on that Eagle and its spotter emerged to weld the ends of three chains onto each piece and then onto the back of each Hauler/Eagle combination. The fragments here were only a couple times larger than an Eagle, smaller than the simulations run for Kaskalon, but still a good test of the idea.

Various teams rotated among the activities, to give everyone some live work/practice. There were minor problems, and all were glad new procedures could be worked out here; but eventually, the first hauls were ready.

Sandra read off the progress of the Computer-run burn. It continued through the rest of the first and all of the second shift, different people taking over the monitoring on the ground, even the Commander only checking in a couple of times, but reappearing for the remaining burns.

In the end, four of the most dangerous pieces of destroyed spaceships had been pulled out of orbit and crashed onto the Moon.

That proved from end to end that the Hauler pods could fulfill their named purpose on at least some objects. The investment in time and resources, though not paid off yet, was starting to prove wise nonetheless. Even if Kaskalon came up dry, they could use these Haulers for other purposes, such as more clearing of lunar orbits if necessary, dragging down a small comet for its ice, or unforeseen duties.

The tests had ended at 23:30, and to try unwinding a little, John came up to Main Observation, alone, to look out the windows and think.

The Alkinarda Complex was in what was now a days-long process of setting. The 'Rapids' had set, along with some of the blue stars, though some were still in view. What was still in view was actually the 'front' of the Complex as it all moved through space.

"Victor, you would have loved this. A beautiful yet dangerous phenomenon in space. Remains of another ancient power. Another clue about this universe and the life in it." John missed his old teacher and friend. Missed his thoughts on recent events -- all of them. It had been a quiet couple of months after Psychon, relatively speaking, but a lot had still happened, with a lot more to come.

Somehow, things seemed somewhat different now than a few months ago. Victor and three other solid friends and colleagues gone, followed by more deaths, an alien addition, plus more births. The feeling that the transition from quiet mourning to hope, started before the commemoration, perhaps accelerating a little.

The battle-created monstrosity and difficulties of an ancient world could quash all of that; but they had survived before, via determination, ingenuity, luck, perhaps even more mysterious forces. They would fight to survive and cross a new bridge, or survive in some other way. Alpha had a mass drive to survive and perhaps eventually thrive, and he was responsible for it continuing on both.

He turned to leave Main Observation, with a look over to where Victor's picture hung in what used to be John's office. As the clock reached midnight, he shut off the lights and left.

F-389 DAB 2100-2130: Alpha Son

Elsewhere on Alpha, earlier in the evening, while the mass drive tests were still occurring, Maya was practicing something very different, namely some molecular transformation, this time trying again to transform directly from one animal form to another. It was still proving elusive -- and still felt like it would be for some time.

She had left an extra reversion'trigger that if an unexpected sound startled any of the animals she was trying, she should revert. Indeed, it was triggered, and she promptly reverted, smiling a little that at least that much had worked so well.

Standing up, she found her commpanel was beeping, that someone was outside her door. She dropped her smile to a neutral expression, and in checking the screen, was troubled to find out it was Susan Crawford, her face filling the monitor.

"Can we talk?" Susan asked.

Maya sighed slightly. "Susan," she said in an apologetic tone through the connection. "I am sorry, but Tony took me to the Nursery without my realizing what it was. I was asked to leave, and I did. I will not return, or let anyone take me there again."

"Maya, slow down. Please let me in."

Maya paused. Susan did not sound angry, but it was still often difficult to interpret humans, as much as Maya was improving her skills at doing so. Unconsciously, she shook her head a little.

"Maya, there is no one standing here with me, I promise I have no weapon, and I know you can defend yourself."

"I do not want to fight verbally either. Please, I apologize for not knowing where I was. It will not happen again." Maya did not ask for Susan to accept her apology, but simply offered it.

"I honestly do not want to argue either."

"Then... what?"

"Please, Maya, just let me in," Susan said.

Maya still had no idea what Susan wanted, but she sounded honest about not being a threat to her.

"Okay," she said tensely, and readied herself to transform into a fast bird if needed, then released the lock, remaining by the commpanel.

Maya's mouth fell open when the door slid open and she saw that Susan was not alone: in her arms was baby George. Still heeding the long-standing order, Maya unconsciously took two steps backwards, then looked back to Susan's smiling face and said, "I don't understand."

Susan looked Maya in the eyes. "I finally understand you mean no harm at all."

"I..." Maya simply said, still not sure how to process any of this.

Susan took a few steps towards Maya, and Maya stayed where she was.

"I overheard this morning," Susan explained, "when you were arguing with Mr. Verdeschi in the hallway, you defending my right to keep you away from my baby. I realized I was listening not to an alien, but another woman with perfectly recognizable woman's reaction, and a kind heart. I asked Carla what happened in the anteroom, and found out you practically ordered Verdeschi out of the room."

Sue could see Maya finally relax somewhat, but could also see she was still at a loss, so she took some more steps forward, and offered for Maya to take George in her arms. Maya's eyes widened, and despite alien features, it was so perfectly obvious that Maya was again surprised. "Go ahead," Sue encouraged.

Thankfully, Maya responded this time. Much to Sue's surprise initially, then none after a moment, Maya neither asked for, nor needed, any advice on how to reach for and hold a sleeping baby, and George scarcely stirred.

"I see you've held babies before."

"My older brother and his wife had a two sons and a daughter in the years before they left Psychon. Though a very busy man, he and his family often visited us, every few... at least once a month."

Maya found herself staring at a baby human boy, whom she knew was already some months old. He had dark hair, closed eyes, the now semi-familiar human eyebrows, was quite warm in her arms, and was just now gurgling a little in his sleep. "He is beautiful," Maya said.

"Thank you," Susan said. All at once, even more than before, Sue deeply regretted the deep pain she had surely caused this sensitive and caring woman. Still not sure how to apologize yet, she turned away, totally trusting the alien with her son who had been temporarily twisted by a different -- utterly different -- alien, and very slowly started wandering Maya's quarters, speaking a little at a time, lurching awkwardly into details of a difficult time.

"You see, I knew something strange had happened. George was born, put in an incubator, but then all of a sudden I was holding him in my arms, not knowing why, but not caring. There were half a dozen people with weapons, including the Commander, staring at me in shocked happiness, Dr. Mathias was sobbing, a nurse was laying on a bed, and another on the floor, and there was the smell of burnt circuitry in the air. I was so happy to hold my baby, that I did not care at first at all, not even a little, for some reason I still don't understand. I just felt joy. But I knew something had to have happened."

Maya's room was simply decorated, with a few pictures on the wall, a couple sculptures, and a fair number of plants about. There was some pieces of scientific equipment, including a microscope, and some sort of scanner. Her bookshelves held a variety of books, mostly technical but with a little fiction, art, poetry, and such as well. The closet revealed the dress Maya had left Psychon in.

"I quickly worked up the nerve to start asking. No one wanted to tell me, but that only made me more anxious, more determined really, and I started demanding answers. No one wanted to give me any information at first; but I had to know, and drove them until they finally took me aside, gave me a massively-scary warning, and asked if I wanted to hear, which of course I did. Have you heard?"

Maya nodded.

"So they told me, and though horrifying, I think I took it better than even I expected, though I definitely didn't want my son named Jackie anymore: Jack was my husband, Jackie was someone I never really knew, named by others after my late husband. So I instead named him George, after Jack's father. But when you showed up -- came to live here -- there must have been more horror and fear than I realized, because all I saw was another alien, especially after Koenig announced that you had transformational powers. I just wanted you nowhere near my baby or me, as you found out."

Sue had to give Maya credit for simply staying silent, and listening.

"I did not really listen the first time Commander Koenig introduced you on the base-wide comm. A couple of my friends tried to tell me that you did not know what Mentor had done, and helped us when you found out; but I did not listen to them either, just found a deeper fear I thought I had overcome, and lashed out defensively at you. I never gave you a chance of any sort, even when some of my most trusted friends said I should."

Maya's arms must have been tired from growing -- properly growing -- George's weight, for Maya moved to her bed and sat on it.

This time, George stirred and opened his eyes.

"I am sorry," Maya said to Susan, who simply ignored the apology. Maya noticed George looking up at her, so she turned her face down to him and smiled warmly, and starting to tickle his cheek in a very human gesture, saying, "Hello, George. I am Maya."

George made little happy sounds, and reached his arms up, one hand's finger directly for one of her eyebrows. Maya did not pull away, but this time, it was Sue finding herself apologizing.

"It is perfectly okay," Maya said with a mild laugh. Not 'it does not matter,' Sue noticed. George seemed curious but not the least bit concerned about Maya's appearance. "Perceptive little boy," Maya commented.

"He's seen me and other white people, and black people, and so on, but never a Psychon person."

Soon, he moved his arm away, then giggled more as Maya's finger moved to tickle the palm of one of his little hands.

"You found one of his most ticklish spots."

"Ticklish," Maya repeated, as if needing to memorize a word whose meaning was instantly clear from context.

Sue took a step closer, saying, "He likes you."

Maya looked up with a simple smile whose meaning was completely clear, then looked down again.

"You know," Susan said, "the three of us have something in common."

Maya looked up again, this time with a steady gaze of surprise and curiosity.

"Yours are far different than ours were, of course; but we have all been through physical transformations and reversions."

Maya smiled, accepting the tone it was offered in, then looked at George again as he made more sounds.

Finally, Susan said, "Please accept my apology for the hurt I caused you. It was wrong to judge you the way I did. I will try my best to undo the damage I did with some of the other parents. I would hope that we can be friends."

"Oh, of course we can, apology accepted."

DCS 7418,221;006-131: Pursuit

The young Archon, sitting in his throne room, looked at the asteroid slowly move across the magnification viewscreen, followed by another, with tinier specks all about.

"Psychon?" he asked.

"Fragments of Psychon, with no doubt," was the astrotechnician's immediate answer. "There are few pieces larger than these, but even those not by much: a factor of two."

The magview was replaced with a splitview of Psychon's star system diagram, former on the left, revised on the right. One orbit from the left side was missing on the right side. On the left side, where that former orbit was shown, there was a tiny circle at one point in the orbit, as a symbolic representation of Psychon's sizeable satellite: Renone, as the Psychons themselves called it, or Reenon by Dorcons. On the right, there were two new lines, one originating from a distance equivalent to Psychon's from its star, called Psyoliyask by the Psychons and Psyolask by the Dorcons. There was one more line on the revised chart, tracking clear across the star system, but close to where Psychon and Reenon had been.

"If one leaving the Psyolask system is Reenon," the Archon said, "then what is the other one?"

"Our probe ship, as one of its tasks on its arrival, was programmed to look for Reenon's course, since the precise instant of Psychon's destruction was not known due to various small gravity and hyperspatial tone propagation factors. The probe ship did not detect this extra signature. The first warship to arrive eventually did. It is an unknown. Its size and configuration are completely unknown, but it approached close to Psychon, though exactly when in relation to its destruction, is not clear from the evidence either."

"An interloper.... Psychon was already in decline, and then an interloper traveled through? Any more precise information?"

"No, the chaos of Psychon's destruction and the time since then has blurred most traces of the track, and it appears only as a pattern of variation across a very wide path, like vapor exhaust trail being torn apart by high winds."

"A starship?"

"Probably. Impossible to tell anything about it, however."

"Could it have attacked Psychon, and could Psychons have been on Reenon?"

"Possible."

"Both it and Reenon went hyperspatial?"

"Yes, Archon, some time ago."

"Towards which directions? Reenon first."

"Reenon towards the Atsindae Alcove."

The Archon turned towards his elder Consul, Sutro, and asked, "Would the Atsindae have any chance of doing damage to even a third or half this fleet if we sent that portion after Reenon?"

"If they leave now, estimates are they'd reach Reenon before that point. If there is a delay, no realistic resistance, but that would limit future strategic options."

"Yes, I'd rather decide how to deal with the Atsindae at a later point." He turned back to the astrotechnician. "Tell me about the unknown's direction."

"Towards Star 87488, about halfway to the Aliarda."

"Why there?"

"There is only a gas giant, without even natural satellites. Some legends say this solar system was largely destroyed during the same war of the two powers also reputed to have generated the Aliarda. If the interloper is a stranger to the Psychon/Aliarda area, they may not know the system's status and just be exploring it while on their way to the Aliarda."

"They are likely ultimately headed to the Aliarda Bridge, then."

"Probably, Archon."

The Archon turned to the technician and spoke louder. "Any further critical data?"

"No, Archon."

"Dismissed."

The technician saluted and left.

Archon thought for a moment, then turned to Consul Sutro and started issuing orders. "Split the fast probes. One to intercept Reenon, one directly to Star 87488, one to try intercepting the interloper in the Starbridge System, and three to travel around the Aliarda in case something is sent through the Bridge and we have to scan the usual outlet range. Split the warship fleet in a 2:1 ratio."

"The majority towards Reenon?" the Consul asked.

"No.... Latest intelligence indicates most Psychons were dying and evacuating for years before its destruction. My instincts are we will probably find the Psychon outposts on Reenon long striped of technology and abandoned, and the more interesting possibility is this unknown interloper traveling towards the Aliarda."

The wise old Consul, himself hoping for a Psychon transplant if there was one after this very promising young Archon received one, nodded, agreeing with the logic, and adding, "Maybe the interloper attacked an already unstable, weak Psychon, or maybe the timing was coincidence; but either way, surviving Psychons may have transfered to or taken over the interloper."

"Yes, though they could have easily transferred to Reenon just as well. It is the interloper's course towards the Starbridge System that provokes my greater interest."

"Then the flagship towards the Aliarda as well?" the Consul asked.

"Yes."

"Who should command Fleet 1.2 then?" the Consul asked, using the standard notation for when a fleet was split. Fleet 1.1 would of course be the one that the flagship traveled with. This situation had too many unresolved unknowns for the flagship to travel alone this time. Another situation where acquiring a Meson Converter could simplify things. Fleet 1 was by far the largest of the Dorcon Empire's formidable fleets, and even its two parts were each still larger than any other Dorcon fleet.

"Who is that young female Pre-Consul who I met briefly about a year ago, and who I have heard promising reports about since then? Varda? Is she among this fleet?"

"I am not certain, Archon. I will check."

Moments later, they had confirmation, including that the positive reports had continued.

"Good," the Archon said. "Elevate her to Sub-Consul at once, temporarily split the fleet, set her in leadership of Fleet 1.2, and have both fleets start their respective pursuits, immediately. The full Elevation Ceremony for Varda can wait for now, but convey when it happens, I will take part, if she does well in her leadership."

"Yes, Archon," Consul Sutro confirmed, then left.

Archons had long been very careful not to allow fleet military commanders to amass too much power. A fleet was nominally commanded by a military commander, but the true power lay with a Consul of some level, except when the flagship was present. Fleets being split during battle would usually result in a military sub-commander being in temporary authority of a small portion of the fleet, however; but a fleet being split outside of battle, while not common, did demand Consul involvement, and was often one good occasion to further test the mettle of new Sub-Consuls. It was Varda's turn.

Alone in his throne room, Syric had to admit to himself there was just something odd about this whole situation. The myth cycle surrounding the Aliarda was understood about as well by the Dorcons as anyone else, a little better in some ways. Though filled with idiotic terms like Star Movers, Star Makers, and Rages, it did make him wonder. The galaxy was filled with a fair number of 'ancient worlds' -- known as such mostly to Archons, Consuls, and top military leaders as places best left alone.

The rather distant corner of the galaxy where both Psychons and the Aliarda lay had drawn Dorcon attention quite some time back. Neither Psychon metamorphosis, nor the Aliarda and its attendant legends, were well understood. Both were understood enough to deal with in some ways, but both still held uncracked secrets. Psychons might be a diminished and scattered race now, but the Aliarda, to a young yet careful Archon, still gave Syric pause, as former Archons' logs likewise admitted.

S-391 DAB 2100-2200: Belated Welcome

For several days, Maya had struggled over a small detail in Tony's invitation for a belated "welcome" dinner. He had said: "A belated real welcome. Like it was the first day...."

He seemed to genuinely want to start over in some ways, and it had struck her that maybe she should take it a little more literally in one more way: dressing the same way she had arrived on Alpha.

She had to keep reminding herself that he had not framed this as any sort of romantic occasion, chiding herself at letting her fast-appearing hopes make her thoughts get rather silly or premature.

Why did Tony feel he had to remind himself this was a welcome dinner, not a date?

It was not difficult to remind himself of how ridiculous the latter thought was. Difficult enough trying to understand a human woman; why would he want to deal with an alien woman? He'd only just gotten over being suspicious about her. What he had told Lena was true, and he set the thoughts aside.

However, he had misjudged the charming woman from Psychon nonetheless. His instincts were usually good, but he shaded more towards over-cautious. Any first instincts about someone being a good person had been dead on all his life, on virtually every occasion; and most of his first instincts about someone being trouble had been correct, but sometimes he was uncertain and/or over-suspicious about someone, and on such occasions, the end results had gone both ways.

He was glad it had not gone bad with Maya. Then again, he was always glad when it had not, since he really didn't want people to be bad. Still, he had, even for suspicions, lacked some decorum early on. I nearly shot her on sight the first time. On stun, of course, but still.... He had held his suspicions with her far longer than other 'on the fence' cases, when he could have jumped off earlier. Was it because she was an alien? That had to be part of it. They'd taken a beating from aliens, repeatedly, and from her own father no less, as well. Maybe Alan had been right about that.

He had apologized for his initial rudeness, and she had accepted it. Now, he wanted to make up for all the rest, and simply show she was welcome, not just tolerated.

So he prepared what she had enjoyed so much in a cafeteria: lasagna. Only it was his own recipe. Well, Mama's recipe somewhat modified, to make some Alphan replacements for ingredients not available or not available in the same form.

The lasagna could not be properly cooked in a microwave. Far from it, he thought. He had reserved an oven in the kitchen for a batch, along with baking some hearty rolls. He diced the tomatoes for the lasagna very fine. For some reason, Maya hated raw or cherry tomatoes but seemed to like finely-diced and well-cooked tomatoes, or tomato paste. Maybe it was an alien thing. Then again, others seemed to like some forms of food but not variations -- in form or in preparation -- of the same food.

He considered tiramisu for dessert, but he wasn't sure whether it would fall under 'too rich' for her taste. Some of the usual ingredients weren't available on Alpha, either. So he instead made an even more modified version lighter on some ingredients. It did not look much like tiramisu anymore, and he wasn't sure of its taste, but decided to go with it anyway.

He then realized he hadn't considered what to wear. He usually did, but this wasn't a date, so he didn't need to dress to impress.

When he remembered his off-hand comment of partially resetting to the first day -- he forgot the exact words but recalled the general intent -- it suddenly became simple. Uniform with the same sort of jacket. A bit of symbolism. Suddenly he wondered if she'd show up in her own native dress. Probably not. He pushed aside the vague sense of disappointment at the thought, remembering how nice she looked in it, but not having to remind himself this was not a date.

Preparations nearly complete, he waited for her to arrive. As usual, when the commlock 'rang,' she was a few minutes early. In addition to having computer-like handling of data in her mind, she seemed to have a strong sense of time.

The door opened. Catbird. She was in her Psychon dress. He had last seen it at the funeral, sans feathers; but it now had its feathers back on. Even her hair seemed to be the same as he remembered, with a fairly simple bun held by some of her own hair being in a couple small braided twists, and of course the spiky hairpins.

He smiled, and said, "Hello, my name is Tony."

She laughed lightly, and said, "Hello, my name is Maya."

"Welcome to Alpha, and to my humble abode."

"Thank you," she said as she swept in, all smiles and feathers. "Is that lasagna that I smell cooking?"

"Yes, and the cooking is done already, in an oven. Just brought it here a couple minutes ago."

"In an oven? You can do that?"

"Have to do that with lasagna, to do it right. Time can be reserved by anyone. Can't always get it, unless you sign up early, and it is out of the way for most; but sometimes, it is worth it."

"Ah."

"Please, sit down," he said, holding out a chair, being a gentleman even if this was not a date. She seemed to understand the gesture, and was soon seated.

She waited patiently as he got the last few items. Then they were soon eating bread and salad.

There was some further small talk, expanding away from food, and Tony fed in some more topics, including Eagle flight and weapons training, until the conversation eventually drifted into just how welcome she had felt from some on Alpha. Most Alphans treated her with professional courtesy but little else, but some had become her friends, while she had had conflict with others. He knew those who came into further contact with her had usually been won over to some degree or another, but some had created headaches for her. Sanderson, Haines early on, Hayden, Strong he suspected too, Crawford he was beginning to suspect, Stewart, and others. Not to mention himself in part for awhile.

She avoided discussing the negatives, or downplaying them in her usual way, and he did not press.

Antipasto was eventually over with -- both seemed to be eating slow, savoring the food and conversation -- he brought out the main dish, along with one of his other specialities. She took her first bite of his lasagna, and her face lit up. "Oh, this is even better than cafeteria'lasagna."

"Thank you."

Along with the lasagna, he had put out a glass of beer, and once and awhile, she sipped at it, saying nothing and with no real expression. He decided not to ask, at least not yet.

"Tony, what does 'hammer instead of lightning bolts' mean?" she asked after another bite of lasagna and sip of beer.

"Hmm? What?"

"You, Helena, Sandra, and I were talking about days of the week. My second day here, I think. There were many unfamiliar words like: Romans, Germanic, Nordic, Jupiter, and Thor. You said, 'Thor was probably Jupiter, hammer instead of lightning bolts.'"

Tony laughed. "I can see why that would have been baffling."

"Mm."

"Let's see. Hermes, Loki, Mercury, Hera, Neptune, Mount Olympus, Asgard." Maya tilted her head, with an off-kilter smile too, which he found very charming.

So he listed a few more names, until she finally said, with light-hearted exasperation, "Tony...."

He laughed again, then said, "Mythology."

"Really?"

She knew the word. Historical religion, not as interesting as current beliefs; but she asked more questions anyway, and heard a little bit about beliefs about human'peoples called Greeks, Romans, and Norse, and interchange of cultural ideas.

Partway through, her thoughts drifted. Cultures in space, some sharing ideas, some stealing. Some staying isolated. She did not know the patterns, but knew it happened. Psychon and Terrans were now sharing ideas, each learning from the other, little by little, more and more; and for the briefest moment, Maya wondered what what would evolve from it -- what history might perceive. She was but one person enmeshed with 296 others who were millennia earlier in their technological development, yet there was sharing, and some of it was personal, friendly. That Psychon and Alphan culture were in many ways similar helped, though they still could have ignored and isolated her. That was happening to a degree with some, but a few were taking the effort, and some not even treating it as effort....

"Maya?"

"I so much appreciate that you have been kind to me," she said with sudden, open earnestness.

"Well, I'm not sure I've always been that kind. I almost ended up stunning you when we first met."

"You apologized already. You are welcoming me now; that is what matters."

Tony did not know what to say to that, other than a nod. He changed the topic somewhat. "Speaking of welcome... well, lack thereof.... Has Sanderson given you any more trouble of any sort?"

Maya paused, looking at him, and he wondered if she would say anything either way, given her recent protectiveness of parents' rights to keep her away from their children.

"No. He sometimes gave my strange looks in the hallway that I could not interpret well. Not hostile, but not friendly either, I think."

"So he's still doing that?"

She shook his head and stated, "Negative."

She did not elaborate, and he took a swig of beer, only for her to add something.

"He came to talk and apologize."

He practically choked and nearly spit out his beer. Poor timing on her part, though he would have almost laughed if he hadn't been so surprised by the answer. "He came to your quarters?"

Maya nodded.

"And you let him in?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He sounded different. His tone."

"But he could have been..." he started, then decided not to argue. Maybe she was starting to judge Terrans better. Risky, but he let it pass.

Having just thought about Alphan parents reacting to her, he recalled his earlier thoughts. It wasn't necessarily every parent, but perhaps one in each family. Plus, he had his suspicion about how it might have started, and maybe it was his fault.

"Tony?"

"I was just thinking to the other morning, at the Nursery. Actually, more like weeks before. Among all the parents, I introduced you to Susan Crawford and her son George first. He was once named Jackie, and I don't know if you--"

"I was told about Susan, Jackie, Jarak, and Rena. Horrible--"

"I wasn't even thinking about your transformational ability or that she and her newborn had been put through forced transformations of a sort, and reversions. Given my own... earlier attitudes, it should have occurred to me that Susan might have even stronger associations. It took me weeks to realize she was probably the worst introduction to start with. You don't have to answer, but I'm imagining the trouble may have started from her and if she poisoned the well among other parents...."

"Much or most of it is partially my fault. I stared at a baby and at a pregnant woman too long, when I should have known better given my own difficulties interpreting human stares."

For some reason, he could understand and accept her explanation. Also, Maya had sidestepped any acknowledgement of who -- or whether she had any prior conversations with parents. He knew better than to ask. "Well, I just wanted to apologize," he said.

"There is no need to apologize."

Again, she did not get specific, avoiding, even in her deferment, anything that confirmed it was that encounter with Susan and George. He decided not to press, realizing he was pressing for information when Maya had been right, from the start, that blasting away at the resistance would only make it stronger.

Tony brought his beer up to his mouth.

"Susan stopped by my quarters today."

He sputtered again.

"What? Was she not happy about me bringing you there?"

Maya shook her head, and he assumed she was shaking her head to indicate, 'No, she was not happy about it.' When she said nothing further, he took the missed drink, still thirsty, and hoping she would decide to explain.

"She brought George with her."

This time, Tony did spit out his mouthful of beer. "You're doing that on purpose," he accused her with a smile. "And don't you dare apologize," he quickly added, pointing a finger. "You really do have a sense of humour. Good timing; but you're serious about the event, aren't you?"

She nodded, then said, "I was stunned. She let me -- asked me to -- hold him, and he was so beautiful."

Tony paused, looking at how pretty Maya was smiling so happily, then as the moment faded, asked, "That's wonderful, but why?"

"She heard us arguing in the corridor outside the Nursery."

She sipped a little from her beer, as she had been doing occasionally, with no great relish.

"So how do you like it?"

Deer in headlights again... but abruptly, that familiar look faded, to be replaced by a smile as she responded, "Is there any method to answer that query and still be your friend?"

Tony made an exaggerated groan. "You too, Maya? I think I just got my answer, then. Pretty creative response, though; maybe even better than Alan's asking me before the last batch whether it was dish soap or Eagle fuel."

Maya laughed, openly. She really is quite beautiful, he thought. The fact that she was, completely on her own he assumed, also making light of his beer was a curiosity. He never minded. He knew he was no expert micro-brewer but mysteriously, he seemed to be the only one working on beer, rather than weak 'shine or pseudowine or such. People seemed to be willing to try his brews, to a degree, either to be social or in hope he would stumble on a good recipe. Alpha had had records on virtually everything, yet not a thing on making beer. Either it had not been recorded here, or it had been lost during that first space warp shortly after Breakaway, or from some other computer fault.

"Speaking of soap, what is Soap Sud City?" Maya asked.

"Soap sud... oh, of course. Uh, just give me a minute." They had both long since finished their main course, so Tony stood up to retrieve il dolce, his pseudo-tiramisu.

"Verdeschi-style Alphan tiramisu."

"Tiramisu," she repeated as she occasionally did when hearing a new word, not necessarily always a question, but as if to hear the word or better memorize it or assure her pronunciation was correct, aside from her distinct accent.

"From Italy."

"Ah, your home'nation'state."

"Yes. Did I mention that?"

"It is in the generalized Roster."

"Oh." So she'd been browsing people's entries. Of course, there was nothing wrong with it; that was why it was out there and people put some information in it. He suddenly wondered if she had added anything to hers. He had the urge to ask, but neither of them had tried the dessert yet.

"Tiramisu translates roughly as 'pick me up.'"

"Pick me up?"

He explained the expression, then waved his fork in her general direction. Interestingly, she picked up the cue, then her fork, and tried some. Though he was not too impressed with his own results, she had didn't seem to mind it too much, but no exclamations or expressions of gustatory delight followed either.

"My first try at this variation. I'll have to work on it."

"It is good."

She seemed to mean it literally. At least she wasn't finding it too rich, and maybe that was a plus for her. Nonetheless, he'd have to work on it.

"Oh, you asked about 'soap sud city.' I don't recall hearing it put that way, but...." He proceeded to explain, but she latched onto the Space Brain as a lifeform part, and she got sad.

"Do you know much about them?" he asked.

"Very little. They reportedly exist in at least several galaxies, and seem to have some purpose or influence; but no one is sure how."

"What would have resulted in the area of the destroyed one?"

"I don't know. Some speculate they may be shepherds of a sort. Others speculate they may make -- or perhaps only keep -- conditions good for life. Some populated areas of the galaxy don't have one nearby, however. Others say they are but nexuses -- nexi? -- in a larger organization. Yet there is free will in the universe, and few treat them as a god yet some do. It is all rather mysterious with them."

"Any chance they and the Orcayi and Korai are somehow related?"

She looked startled at the association, but shrugged and raised a hand. "Little is truly known of the Orcayi beyond the legends of their mostly dead world. Less is known of the Kor'ayi. I doubt they can be the same as the Space'brain, however."

"Not what I was saying. Just an Association of Ancients, so to speak."

"Association of Ancients? Interesting thought, but the ancient powers scattered here and there across many galaxies are poorly understood and much about them is little more than myth, a sort of semi-fictional or wholly-fictional history, little of which I understand except that certain legends are known to be true. If they interact, no one really knows, I think, despite speculation otherwise -- rumors with high uncertainty. What the Orca'ayi left behind to cross the Alk^inharda is high certainty. I am sorry. I do not mean to sound defensive again. It is just that earlier conversations--"

"You were trying to press home points when we were sometimes not communicating well, or when you felt we were treating your warnings too lightly. I understand, Maya. You don't have to apologize. In fact, you can stop apologizing for little things where you fear my being offended because of you being... Psychon or something. I mean apologies can be important socially, and your early caution to do so even more probably made sense, but you maybe went a little overboard or have been keeping it up too much."

"Oh, okay...."

"I know, not very precise, but--"

"No, I think I understand the social statement."

"Which reminds me.... The same applies for being on missions. None of us are perfect. If you make a mistake, admit it, as you always do; but you don't have to apologize for it, unless you think it is more severe. Make the same mistake again, and you might have to apologize."

"Is this all true even as a team member rather than a team leader?"

"Yes."

"Being professional?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking. Not really a rule, but just a good way of going about it, at least with most leaders, officers, or commanders."

"I understand."

"Remember, though, that you will be technically in a lead role for a few minutes at a time, during Flight 3's Hauler burns, assuming we find suitable station debris, of course."

"Understood."

"Well, what I mean is that we've apparently gotten to the point of having pilots who will obey your orders in simulations, but if you encounter resistance in the field, and you do not feel it is justified resistance, be ready to put someone in their place."

"In their place?"

"Tell them it is an order. Order them. Of course, make sure you're not ignoring a justifiable concern. John or I will probably be listening on most, and Alan on all, so you'll have backup on both counts."

"Okay, and thank you."

"Well, it is just business, and we all need to get this right, and someone making a pointless protest about being ordered by you serves no one."

"Still, thank you."

It was fairly clear Maya did not entirely buy into the quasi-military aspect of things. She could be professional, yet seemed to draw lines somewhat differently. He still had misgivings about John's experiments in making her a leader, not to mention her out in the field away from controlled or limited situations. Even the salvage exploration mission was a relatively safe experiment, compared to a planet known only by mysterious, vague, and perhaps misleading poems and legends.

He still debated just why he had been assigned to Flight 1 with John. He didn't doubt that with two first-time planetary exploration team members, Karedepoulos and Maya, and the possibility of having to split even their small team, that having two leaders was the right thing, but both Commander and First Officer on one Eagle Flight when there were several others?

He set that aside when another thought returned to mind, that he had almost forgotten to bring up with Maya.

"I trust you," he started simply.

Maya looked surprised and puzzled. "About what?" she asked after a pause.

"Well, remember you asked me to trust you that you transforming into people was subject to rules, and did not involve scanning minds?"

"Yes?"

"And you said I didn't have to answer. Well, I'm answering, and saying I'm trusting you."

"Thank you."

"You said if it was the only thing you could ask me to trust you about, that you were asking for that. Well, it certainly doesn't have to be the only thing, and there need not be a limit."

"That is very generous."

"Well, I trust that you mean no harm, and mean to help. It just took me awhile to figure it out in full," he said, reaching out to pat her arm briefly.

The meal was over. It had been a slow, comfortable meal. Somewhere, during it, he had made a decision, not even all that consciously, that he was happy with being her friend, sharing meals or occasions like this, maybe some humour if she continued warming to that. It had crossed his mind to just ask her out, but she did not seem ready for such attention, and he again recalled how ridiculous that would be. Plus, though he really liked the pretty Psychon, and some part of him might have considered pursuing further possibilities, if she seemed interested, she did not seem so, he realized with a little disappointment.

Maya found herself surprised yet happy about this meal, feeling very welcome indeed, by a man that had only been half enthusiastic about it before today -- or more precisely, before about a week ago. Since their fractious ending to a nice occasion in Main Observation almost precisely seven Alphan days ago, their relationship had almost immediately ceased to have negative aspects. She didn't understand why.

Tony had been mostly friendly before, but now seemed like a friend, with no qualifications.

She complimented the meal politely yet with enthusiasm, declaring the lasagna the best she had tasted, and her favorite Alphan dish.

They both stood up, Maya standing in front of him, smiling unbidden, Tony looking at her and saying 'good night,' and strangely, the sudden thought flashed through her mind that she would not mind if Tony kissed her briefly. She instantly quashed the thought, not wanting to damage his intent, how wonderful it had been, and the progress made between them.

M-392 DAB 1440-1820: Redsun Space

It was a quiet group that waited in Command Center. Above Alpha's horizon, the Alkinarda Complex was rising again, a tiny fraction of what satcams showed as having swollen to 144 degrees, a huge sheet of strange astronomical phenomena. Not yet risen over Alpha's horizon was Red Sun, actually an orange-red star. It was ahead of them, standing some light years away from the Veil and its Shepherds, but in the wide-angle satcam view, looking like it could brush against the Veil -- yet also looking like it could be swallowed in a heartbeat as well. The blue Shepherd stars were even closer to the Veil, as if indeed somehow 'shepherding' the Veil and what it concealed -- yet appearing even more ready to cook Alpha if they failed to find the key to the Bridge and the Moon shot past Red Sun. There was no escaping the feeling of enormity, or of finality, especially knowing the Veil and Shepherds only hid something more dangerous, what Maya had described legends which called its core the Dark Heart of the Alkinarda.

Since their approach had caused some visual separation of the Shepherds, Douglas McLeod had gotten some astronomical and astrophysical readings from the Veil that hinted there was some powerful and expansive 'engine' in the heart of the phenomenon. Many still felt it could perhaps be another Black Sun experience, perhaps even be a further clue to help unlock it. Yet the thought that they shouldn't just make such a casual and perhaps lethal assumption had spread somewhat, though not without some divisiveness over what some had astutely observed was Maya's likely 'interference.' John had made a point of getting his metaphor about God and laser nests to 'slip' into the grapevine. Officers could be somewhat removed from it, but it had eventually spread, and lessened some of the controversy.

They were now roughly in the area where the Moon and its strange hyperspatial bubble of normal space would impinge on the boundary of the star's hyperspatial influence, and cause the former to collapse. Alphan calculations, even once the fact of this phenomenon had been discerned, had always been fairly rough, despite some refinements. Maya had helped refine it further, but it was still a 2-hour estimate window in this case.

The Science Board had approved, 8-1, a very interesting experiment devised by Maya and Dr. Conway, of perhaps being able to detect not just the gas giant planets, but terrestrial planets, upon 'entering' a star system. It was a startling little proposal of matching several copies of an existing device onto the Scintillator Pool, which John had virtually forgotten about, and creating an indirect means of detecting certain gravity waves. The project was called the Indirect Gravity Wave Detector, or IGWD. Maya had done enough programming that she would be able to interpret the results and have it converted to an orbital image. Her work had been checked by June and incorporated into Computer, and now Maya sat at a console, not to use the IGWD yet, as the 'radar'-like picture the Moon's entry into the system wouldn't return for hours. It was to give Maya more practice on Command Center systems.

"We have crossed the Space Normal Boundary," she finally got to announce calmly, before returning to practice on other aspects, overseen by Sandra.

"So, we're finally here," Tony commented quietly to John. "A few weeks ago, I would have laid even odds at getting bounced to somewhere else first."

"We may end up wishing for that," John returned, equally quietly.

"Yeah, I know," Tony said.

"Still, to be more prepared for a change, even if most of the information is vague...."

"That was a break."

This time, though, Tony looked at Maya briefly, as if acknowledging she was part of the reason for the break.

There was little to do at this distance from the star. The Moon, though sublight now, would still be slowing further. It was far too soon to launch Eagles, but virtually everything else was ready.

However, Alan suggested launching all three Hauler teams for more practice. Each team consisted of an Eagle carrying one of the new Hauler 'pods' -- all complete now -- and a normal Eagle to serve as "Spotter" in finding and guiding Eagles to debris and carrying astronauts and equipment to hook up bolts to debris and chains between those and the hauler pods. They could continue practicing on pulling down debris accumulated in various lunar orbits from destroyed alien spaceships. With the remainder of today and all of the next day, each crew could make perhaps 3-4 pulls, adding 9-12 more objects crashed on the Moon to the 4 done so a few days before. The high end of the range would mean all of the largest pieces would be out of orbit and no longer a hazard.

This was deemed a good idea by the Commander, and within the hour, was commenced. Maya and Sandra would help coordinating this, but the teams were well-trained by now. A few of the runs tomorrow were to be directed by Maya, remotely, to give her and Eagle crews more practice in her doing the rapid calculations and giving navigation orders. She would be doing this for at least half the hauls at Kaskalon, while the Moon was too far away to allow communication with Main Computer.

However, for these next few hours, other than coordinating the launches and a few other items, activity was fairly routine, until the console Maya was working beeped a new sound.

"Data from the Indirect Gravity Wave Detector," she announced. She began scanning the raw results, and as in other cases, she was outrunning the computer and soon announcing results were consistent with the orbital information she had provided weeks before.

Computer then caught up, and Maya punched it up to the Big Screen. An orbital diagram. The orbits were from Maya's original information, but the planet's current locations, just detected, were shown as pulsing dots -- at exactly the expected locations. There were smiles all around. It was a much more complete picture, days before they'd usually have this much.

It was soon back to routine, but the feel in Command Center was of this being the calm before a potential hurricane, with Kaskalon -- Bridge World in transliteration -- as the eye. It was a poor metaphor visually, yet somehow felt apt to the Commander.

[End of third part]