Tales from the Inbox: The Siren Stone

2947-05-28 – Tales from the Inbox: The Siren Stone

Apologies for the late delivery; the system we have developed to ensure reliable delivery of Tales from the Inbox and other text feed items is online, but a few hours to propagate the data across the HyperCast network from multiple distant sources are required. In the future, Tales from the Inbox will continue to arrive a few hours later than its previous ingestion timestamp, but we are working to tighten that gap somewhat.

Today’s entry was sent in by none other than Nojus Brand, back in action after his run-in with a chitinous predator on the arid world of Barsamia a few months ago. Evidently he lost all the footage of his most recent brief, dangerous expedition to a solar flare – but he wanted to make sure to let everyone in both of our audiences know that he’s back with new dangers in mind.

Nojus paused to glance out the tiny, radiation-proof window in the side of his landing craft several times before he finished suiting up and checking the seals. The world outside was nothing like the tropical hothouses, frigid crags, and baked deserts he usually frequented on his little expeditions, and for once, he felt a little bit uneasy.

The uneasiness, he told himself, had nothing to do with the nearly fatal outcome of his most recent outing, or with the long shadows cast by the dead, corroded hulls of two much larger landing craft which he had chosen to set down beside. No, it was something else. The picturesque, untamed wildness that marked most of his destinations had become a familiar and even comforting factor in Nojus’s travels, and now that he had found an entirely new type of peril, the sense of danger lost long ago had made a creeping return. This time, he would have to tackle an environment without his Reed-Soares Personal Survival Utility.

“Warning.” The lander’s comm, still tuned to the frequency of the beacon installed beside the two dead landers, spoke in the recorded voice of a previous visitor to the system. “The surface of Golgotha A is a Class 2 hazardous environment. Do not land without proper precautions. Warning…”

Tromping over to the control panel, Nojus switched off the volume. The beacon would repeat five times, then go silent for ten more minutes, as it had been doing for at least fifty years. Most Class 2 hazards needed no beacons, of course; the hostility of such places was usually detectable from orbit. The first of three planets in the Golgotha star system, however, hid its horrors well; all that the first explorers had seen was a barren orb with a nitrogen atmosphere, crust studded with valuable mineral formations.

Later expeditions, seeing the hulks of abandoned landing-ships studding the surface near the most promising mineral fields, must have proceeded with greater caution. This caution had done them no good; for two whole centuries, nothing that landed on Golgotha A ever rose to orbit again.

The Elliway Expedition, first to return from a ground survey of the aptly named Place of the Skull, had survived thanks more to luck than to Captain Elliway’s incorrect theories about the fates of all who had come before. One of the junior researchers had stumbled on the vacsuited corpse of one of her predecessors and discovered that every electronic component - shielded or otherwise - in the dead explorer’s possession was hopelessly fried. After a bit of exploratory simulation, she had warned her compatriots, and Elliway had lifted off only hours after arriving.

Armed with the data brought back by Elliway’s crew, Nojus would not be the first to safely spend time exploring Golgotha A, but he suspected he was its first tourist. His equipment had all been modified to minimize risk, with the replacement of all ferrous and conductive parts with composite and ceramic. With luck, that would stave off the fate which had befallen many explorers before him.

Camera drones would of course carry the same risks as any other equipment, so when Nojus activated his cameras, they extended off the roof of his landing craft on a pair of long, articulated booms. Panning them in opposite directions, he recorded several seconds’ footage of the gray desolation and the corroded landers. Introductory voice-over work could wait until he was back in the relative safety of orbit.

“Day one on Golgotha A.” The suit microphone picked up the words as usual. “I’m about to open up and take a step outside.”

Taking a deep breath, Nojus stepped into the airlock. His suit-gloved hands were empty, and his right hand hung uselessly at his side, missing the presence of a survival multitool. It couldn’t be helped; Reed-Soares’s smart-metal construction used a large amount of iron, and just like the rest of his kit, all iron had been left in orbit. A few “dumb” composite tools housed in an external compartment would have to do on Golgotha A.

The magnificent desolation outside the lander was something Nojus suspected only the first humans to have landed on Earth’s moon would have found familiar. Grey, powder-fine dust covered the flat plain of the landing site, which stretched to the horizon in all directions except where craggy mineral formations rose into sheer bluffs. The thin atmosphere bore enough wind to scatter footprints, but the ruined remnants of partially-unpacked research equipment lay scattered around the wrecks of long-dead explorers’ landers. Most of the expeditions seemed to have wandered about the landing area for several hours before meeting their doom.

“Beautiful scenery.” Nojus remotely pointed one of the boom cameras at the nearest stand of mineral formations, so the viewers could see how the massive formation glittered and threw off tiny rainbows when the ruddy Golgotha sunlight struck it. “I recommend a visit.” This, he punctuated with a laugh; his viewers would know better. He hoped they would, anyway. Only he was crazy enough to go for a hike on such a perilous planet.

The laugh seemed hollow and empty, like the landers’ hulks in the foreground. “Right. Let’s go take a walk to that formation.”

Nojus took only a few steps before his boot turned over a fist-sized chunk of crystal underneath the dust. Stooping, he picked it up, fingers tingling in knowledge of what he was holding. The grayish crystal formations studding the planet were beautiful and would serve as an ore of several valuable metals, but like the sirens of legend, they enticed with one hand and slew with the other. The crystals had doomed every expedition to Golgotha A, manned or automated.

“See this?” Nojus held up the crystal for the boom camera he knew was following his progress. “If I were wearing a standard suit, I’d be dead right now.” He hurled the crystal off into the distance, away from the pieces of corroded equipment at the landing site. “But I’ve come prepared for this place. No iron in any of my equipment.”

The crystals were deadly because of their odd interaction with iron, of course. Baked by their red-dwarf primary’s eons of irradiating solar flares, the unique mineral had a high-energy crystalline lattice which, though quite stable, would break down quite violently with the right reactant.

Metallic iron was, of course, exactly the reactant the crystals desired. The electromagnetic emissions of this breakdown were violent enough to fry electronics of all kinds and stun the human nervous system, especially since the reaction ate away at the ferrous alloys of standard shielding. Even the tiny crystal chips blown by Golgotha A’s wind, blown against the side of a landing craft, were enough to wipe out an entire expedition, and this was likely the fate of the first explorers to set foot on the world.

“Nobody knows if there’s life on Golgotha A.” Nojus continued, for the benefit of the audience. “Soil testing has proved inconclusive. If there is, it’s probably underground.”

He turned then to stare at the camera. “And if there are predators here, I mean to find them.”

Details

Editor’s Loudspeaker: Datacast Blackouts in Håkøya

2947-05-25 - Editor’s Loudspeaker: Datacast Blackouts in Håkøya 

You may have noticed that our last Tales from the Inbox feed item was delayed by almost twenty-four hours. This was not because of human error or a technological fault. Naval Intelligence has asserted control over the HyperCast relay station in the system and several others, and it reserves the right to impose total or partial datacast blackouts for reasons of “military security.”

Such a blackout was ordered during the time when Tales from the Inbox was meant to be ingested, leading to the delay. The reasons for this blackout were never explained to civilians here in-system, but it probably has something to do with a security alert on all orbital stations that began shortly before the blackout.

I can’t verify this information, but it has been hinted to me that one of the so-called KR-ships (crewed by Ladeonist insurgents as with other examples of the type) was spotted stealthily approaching one of the cruisers of the Fifth Fleet’s van. This unverified story bears the ring of truth, because Navy gunship patrols and local defense force activity have both stepped up since.

All of this leads me to conclude that rumors of Captain Bosch’s force tangling with Sagittarians and suffering badly may not be as outlandish as first thought. Bosch has yet to reply to personal messages on the subject, but the Navy’s datasphere dispatch system continues to accept them, suggesting that, in their records at least, he is still alive.

I have discussed this situation with Ashton and the other members of Cosmic Background’s Centauri staff, and have come up with a few measures to prevent the loss of feed items in the future. In addition to preparing several stopgap Tales from the Inbox episodes in case of another blackout, I will begin duplicating all my feed activity across to Centauri thirty-six hours or more before the scheduled time of publication. Hopefully this will prevent more such mishaps in the future.

Again, this is not a military news feed. If that is what you wish to find, you will find several good ones recommended by other fans in the social-link datahub for this feed. I only bring up the situation because it is affecting my ability to deliver content for your entertainment on schedule.

Details

Tales from the Inbox: Revenge of the Recycler

2947-05-21 - Tales from the Inbox: Revenge of the Recycler

Today’s entry of Tales from the Inbox is quite delayed. The reason for that will be explained in a later text feed item once an information embargo has been lifted. 

Obviously most of you will be aware that we have confirmed datastream proof of a Sagittarian cruiser being picked up on the outskirts of a system on the near side of the Gap. For the moment, this incursion has not resulted in any violent confrontations, but Cosmic Background – like every other news operation which operates on the Frontier – is following the situation closely.  

The Fifth Fleet’s lead battle elements arrived in Håkøya this week, and some of you will have seen the impressive assembly of warships now sharing orbit space with Argyris spaceport in footage shown in our week’s vidcast episodes. Since the only significant military presence in this system since its colonization was the lighter ships of the Arrowhawk squadron, the Håkøya system has never seen anything quite like this. 

What we’re seeing here isn’t even the main Fifth Fleet. The battle line itself has taken up station at Maribel due to that system’s better-developed interstellar infrastructure; most of what has come here has been the fleet’s “outer line” ships, mostly cruisers and fleet destroyers, along with the escort ships and logistics ships which service them. Even without the heavy battlewagons, Håkøyan space is now better armed than any system in Confederated Space other than Sol, Centauri, and the Strand border-posts. 

Today’s entry was relayed to me by Ulrik Kulkarni, a senior officer aboard the destroyer Rheanna Zhu, arrived as part of this force. I cannot verify it, but it is similar to other stories I have heard from far less reputable sources; I have every expectation that it is true, or at least mostly true.  

Ulrik studied the numbers rendered on the ensign’s data-slate for several seconds, concentrating very hard on not letting his reaction show in his face. “Thank you, Mr. Itamar.” He handed back the slate, then waved the junior officer away. “I’ll look into it.” 

Ensign Itamar scurried off without remembering to salute, but Ulrik had never been one to stand on formality among officers, and his thoughts had already moved on to what he should do about the information. Itamar’s numbers didn’t lie; Rheanna Zhu was, despite being a ship manned by twelve officers and twenty enlisted crew, exerting its atmospherics as if it had almost fifty people aboard.  

A quick dive into the maintenance logs of the atmospherics revealed no irregularities; just before the ship had left Centauri to join the fleet’s move out to the Frontier, most of the life support machinery had been replaced. Problems that could result in nearly fifty percent over-exertion of atmospherics would not have made it past port inspection teams, much less Zhu’s veteran maintenance personnel. No pressure loss events, even minor ones, had registered in Itamar’s analysis, so there was only one thing Ulrik could conclude. 

“Skipper, are you in your office?” Ulrik called out, knowing his earpiece comm would carry his words to the correct recipient. 

“Negative, Mr. Kulkarni.” The commander’s heavy breathing told Ulrik where she was before the explanation came. “If it’s urgent, I’m in fitness.” 

“Be right there.” Ulrik hurried past the lift to use one of the ladder-shafts, which brought him down to the correct deck as fast as was practical. Entering the fitness center, he spotted Commander Gajos straining against the elastic resistance of one of the multifunction aerobics harnesses. Other than her, the compartment was empty. 

“Something urgent, Lieutenant?” Gajos picked up on Ulrik’s haste and got out of the machine, mopping her face with a towel. 

“I think we have...” Ulrik lowered his voice. “Stowaways, Skipper. Ten, or even fifteen.” 

Gajos looked around to see what Ulrik already had; there was no-one to overhear. “How is that even possible?” She kept her voice as low as his, and to his relief appeared to be taking the claim seriously.” 

“The atmospherics are running at one hundred fifty percent, with no maintenance problems to explain the power draw. They’re designed to handle quite a few guests in an emergency of course, but...” He didn’t need to finish the sentence; ten to fifteen stowaways, properly armed and coordinated, could overpower the thirty-two officers and crew relatively easily. 

“Keep this quiet. Who else knows?” 

“Itamar.” 

“Ensign Itamar, report to my duty office immediately.” Commander Gajos barked, knowing her own comm unit would whisk the order to the young officer immediately. “Lieutenant, get me a map of the places we could have that many stowaways without noticing. I’ll be in my office. Do it personally.” 

“Aye, Skipper.” 

Gajos was already in motion, striding past Ulrik toward the corridor. He followed after a few seconds, snatching a data-slate out of a dispenser chute near the lift and calling up the ship’s schematics on his way back to the ladder shaft. The pressure hull of a destroyer was not known for containing a large number of hiding-places; assuming none of the official crew were involved in the stowaways’ designs, it would not take long to fulfill the skipper’s request. Crew cabins and the engine room were easily excluded, as were the command deck, lounge, fitness center, sanitary compartments, and other high-traffic areas.  

Turning these areas green on the schematic, Ulrik had only the cargo areas, low traffic maintenance crawlspaces, and a few other areas left to search. There were so few, in fact, that he knew he could peek his head into most of them before Commander Gajos had finished swearing the young ensign to secrecy. Dropping down to the bottom-most deck in the pressure hull, he quickly walked through the twin pressurized cargo compartments, then peeked into the auxiliary life support spaces to verify that the cold, silent machinery contained there had not sheltered any stowaways.  

Searching on his own, without even a side-arm in case of trouble, was a risk, but Ulrik knew that he was checking the lowest-probability areas. If he did happen on any hostile stowaways, he could raise the alarm with his comm earpiece. 

One by one, Ulrik excluded some of the larger areas on his schematic, narrowing down the search area. Once he was down to four of the most likely locations for a number of stowaways to hide, he headed up toward the skipper’s duty office to report 

On the way up, however, he paused at a closed hatch leading off the ladder shaft. According to the schematic, the space on the other side of the sealed doorway was a maintenance space for the primary bio-recycling system, where the ship’s organic waste was dehydrated and then fed to specially gene-edited bacteria. The space needed air pressure and oxygen, but the foul smell of the sewage digestion process ensured that it was sealed off behind airlocks, with its atmospheric ductwork isolated from the main network. The compartment was large enough to house a dozen stowaways, to be sure – but Ulrik chuckled at the idea that anyone would subject themselves to its noxious conditions voluntarily. 

Entering an access override into the bio-recycling compartment airlock, Ulrik took several deep breaths and hopped inside, taking several deep breaths as the outer door sealed. The pressure inside was the same, of course, and the foul smell was not dangerous, but there was a good reason why cleaning this particular compartment was the worst punishment the skipper could mete out. 

The inner hatch clicked and hissed as its seal broke, and Ulrik held his breath. He planned only to look, then close the door and head up to see the skipper and Itamar. If there was anything out of place, a single glance would be enough to spot it. 

The hatch whined in distress, opening far slower than usual, and Ulrik stepped up to look for the source of the mechanical problem. Just as he did, the hatch shuddered and shot into its recess too quickly, as if relieved of a great weight – and perhaps it was. The lieutenant had only a fraction of a second to wonder why the inside of the compartment was dark before the darkness extruded itself into the small airlock with a noxious sucking noise, and a wet, sticky wall of black goo pressed him gently but firmly back against the outer lock. Even though he was holding his breath, the odor of the stuff – to say nothing of the stuff itself – invaded Ulrik’s nostrils. 

Gagging and trying to get a hand over his mouth to prevent the spongy ooze from getting inside while he spoke, Ulrik eventually managed to rasp out an override code for the lock, in the hopes that his comm would pick it up. 

After several desperate seconds, Ulrik felt the lock bump and hiss behind his back, and it slid with familiar reluctance to one side. Pushed slowly by the wall of sludge into the ladder shaft, he grabbed for the rungs and clawed his way upwards, ignoring the heavy plopping as gibbets of ooze fell several decks to the bottom of the shaft. 

The hands of a surprised and then horrified crew tech helped Ulrik onto the floor of the next deck above, but the crew tech barely stayed to ensure the unrecognizably soiled officer was alive before dashing off to clean his own hands and arms. Coughing and gasping for air, Ulrik lay on the formerly pristine deck for nearly a minute. 

“Skipper.” He eventually remembered to croak, for the benefit of his comm unit. “I think I found our problem.” 

This sort of malfunction with the new type of bio-recycling systems used by the Navy may be uncommon, but I don’t think we can deny that it takes place. The bacterial colony used to break down waste needs to be kept to a certain population, but if the system intended for regulating its growth malfunctions, it often expands well outside the bounds which it is meant to occupy. The result is an entire compartment filled with sewage-fed bacterial mat, which is just spongy and porous enough not to block inflow and outflow of air. 

Ulrik is lucky; in other variants of this sort of story that I’ve heard, crewmen entering the compartment unawares have been badly injured or killed by this phenomenon. 

Details

Tales from the Inbox: Seeker in Scales

2947-05-14 - Tales from the Inbox: Seeker in Scales

You may refrain from sending me your own version of the rumor that the Arrowhawk squadron tangled with Sagittarians in open battle this week on the far side of the Gap; I have heard several versions of this story, and Naval Intelligence flatly denies every one of them.  

This would mean little if they also prevented me from publishing them, but their ambivalence to my sharing these rumors suggests the stories are (at least as far as their office at Håkøya is aware) false. I’ve sent messages personally to Captain Bosch, but he has not responded to them, owing to the long turnaround time on communication sent along the mostly-complete chain of HyperCast relays which spans the Sagittarius Gap. 

The increased Ladeonist criminal activity on the Coreward Frontier, while verified and noteworthy, is also not within the purview of this text feed, and I do not need to be informed of it. Acts of terror are that cult’s usual strategy, and while their movement into the Frontier is a new development, it likely has more to do with the crackdown on their activities in the Silver Strand and other backwaters than it does to an actual expansion of their numbers and resources. It is not surprising that the mass movement of people from the Core Worlds and the Colonial Reach has brought along such unsavory elements as the Ladeonists. Perhaps once the Sagittarians have been dealt with, the forces the Navy is concentrating in the region will be used to root out their redoubts. 

Stories on this text feed have always been chosen with an eye toward the mysterious, the unknown, the shadowy, and to those who seek out the same. Jaska N. graced this space in a four-part series about his escape from the Rattanai slavers who destroyed his home settlement in Hegemony space (Tales from the Inbox: Rattanai Rematch). In his escape, he rescued an odd sapient which called itself Ina - this odd creature, seemingly made up of a swarm of metallic (possibly mechanical) constituents, proved useful, if uncomfortably friendly. 

Jaska, after parting ways with fellow survivor Karley, let the xenosapient Ina lead him into the Brushfire nebula, to what is probably its world of origin. 

The little runabout’s landing skids clattered down on crumbling rock, and Jaska leaned away from the controls. Though hardly the galaxy’s best pilot, he was glad he could still land a small ship on a flat surface. A storm had complicated the landing, but despite lightning and driving rain, the final approach had been relatively smooth. “We’re here.” Unbuckling his crash harness as sheets of rain beat against the hull above his head, he spun the pilot’s couch around and stood, mindful of the heavy planetary gravity overriding the weaker A-grav of the diminutive ship. 

A lithe, scaly figure slipped quietly out of one of the two bed-racks in the back of the crew compartment, seeming more to pour itself off the bunk than to climb down. Ina’s blue-black face-plate betrayed no hint of emotion or thought, but the way her whiplike, barbed tail cut the air suggested agitation. Despite any nervousness, she jumped to wrap him in a simple embrace communicated her thanks more than any three symbols drawn on the face-plate ever could.  

Jaska returned the embrace, long since used to her swarmlike composition and the way her plate-like components shifted loosely under his arms. Despite asking many times, it was still unclear to him whether Ina’s “scales” were machines or organisms – if they were machines, they were so sophisticated that they mimicked flat, beetle-shelled organisms, and if they were organic, it was no surprise that their metallic shells and perfect intercommunication mimcked networked machines in a local datasphere. 

The embrace, as intimate as one between lovers, dragged on several seconds beyond where mere gratitude would have been satisfied. With Ina’s cool, glassy face-plate pressed into his shoulder, Jaska cleared his throat. “What are we looking for?” 

Ina lifted her head, and Jaska had to push whitish pseudo-hair out of the way to see what she had to say. In three-letter segments replaced about once a second, Ina spelled out her message. “IWI-LLS-HOW-YOU,” her face flashed out. “ITI-SCL-OSE.” 

“Air outside is breathable, but should we wait for the weather to clear?” Jaska gestured to the viewpanel at the front of the ship, over which the rainwater flowed in cataracts. 

It was little surprise that Ina’s face displayed only two letters in response: “NO.”  

“Let’s see what we’ve got for coats, then.” Jaska gently lifted Ina off himself, then rummaged through the ship’s various storage compartments until he found a pair of insulated ponchos in the survival kit. The rented ship was meant to allow the renter to camp out on remote planets for a few days, so it came reasonably stocked for inclement weather. 

Even as he shook out one of the ponchos, Jaska found Ina’s sinuous, prehensile tail winding itself around his waist. Allowing himself to be turned around by its gentle pressure, he saw the message in her posture long before “ICA-NKE-EPY-OUD-RY” finished flashing across her face. 

“No thanks.” Jaska shook his head. She could indeed keep him dry – the swarmlike sapient could envelop him like a suit of scaly, symbiotic armor. Indeed, this trait had proven invaluable to their escape from the Rattanai slavers who had destroyed Jaska’s home settlement, but Jaska preferred not to give her an opening to use it. 

It wasn’t that the process was unpleasant – indeed, it was quite the opposite concern. Ina had proved herself quite capable of making the experience thrilling and even pleasurable, and it was obvious she derived a similar enjoyment from attaching herself to a cooperative partner in such a way. Symbiotic bonding seemed to nourish Ina in a way Jaska couldn’t understand, and she grew weak and feeble without it. Jaska liked Ina, but her symbiosis represented a fate far worse than death – it represented a way in which Jaska could lose his individuality, and perhaps even his humanity. He had allowed her enough contact to regain her strength, but no more. 

Perhaps understanding his reluctance in part, Ina did not force her dubious protection on Jaska. She always offered, but never pressed. Though obviously not human and no more subject to humanlike sexuality than the ship itself, she was content to match her mannerisms to her lithe female shape, as if she could slowly tempt him into accepting her symbiotic attention by swaying facsimile hips. Indeed, even the designation “she” which Jaska gave Ina was probably no more meaningful than to assign a gender label to the gun strapped to his belt. 

“ASY-OUW-ISH.” Ina took the second poncho, examined it, and set it aside, seeing no need for it. Her tail uncoiled from Jaska’s waist, and she stepped aside to give him space to shrug on the plastic garment. As soon as he had, she darted to the airlock and opened the inner door. 

The lock was so small that Jaska and Ina were pressed tightly together in its one-square-meter footprint, but neither of them wanted to be outside in the rain alone while the lock cycled a second time. When Jaska’s boots crunched down on the broken stone outcrop on which he’d landed, there wasn’t much to see – the rain hid everything more than fifteen meters ahead. 

“I hope you know where you’re going.” Jaska called out, detaching a Reed-Soares multitool from the ship’s belly compartment and configuring it into a long hiking pole. Though local time was near mid-day, the rainstorm hid everything in near total darkness, except when a purplish bolt of lightning cut across the sky. Oddly, there was almost no wind. 

Ina turned to face her human companion, a simple “YES” already glowing from her face-plate. Unlike Jaska's voice, the glowing letters had no trouble cutting through the hissing downpour. Oddly, the hairlike strands spilling from Ina’s head seemed to repel the rain without becoming wet. 

“Lead on, then.” 

Ina stepped in close and took Jaska’s hand in her own. As always, the scale-like components of her fingers shifted against each other under his grip, as if her hand was about to come apart if he squeezed too hard, but none of the scales slipped free as she pulled him gently forward. In Jaska’s experience, the scales only lost their grip on each other when she wanted them to. 

Soon leaving the rocky but clear ground of the outcrop, Ina led Jaska down into a gravelly, muddy ravine. With each step, his boots sunk in and then sucked free of the muck, but Ina’s nimble feet barely left any tracks. Being far lighter than she appeared, and crowned with a halo of whitish, water-repelling hair, she seemed to dance elf-like beyond the grip of the rain and the boggy ground. 

The sodden hike ended less than an hour’s walk from the landing site, and though Jaska was fit and healthy, the mud and then a rough uphill climb left him panting when Ina stopped and let her hand slip out of his. There, at the crown of a barren hill, Ina stood staring off into the distance as Jaska recovered his breath. 

“Are we... there yet?” Jaska, leaning on his multitool hiking pole, stepped up to see what his companion was looking at. A curtain of rain prevented him from seeing the opposite slope of the hill, much less the horizon beyond. Even when a particularly bright flash of lightning shot across the sky with a crack like the splitting of the world, he could see only a number of distant silhouettes, equally likely to be lifeforms, ruins, or simple rock formations. 

Ina turned to face him, the letters “WEA-REH-ERE” flashing on her face. “JAS-KAD-OYO-UTR-UST-ME?” The addition of punctuation – a question-mark – in her three-letter message segments struck Jaska as odd. 

Jaska frowned. Little good ever came of someone asking such a question. “You have not done me any wrong yet, Ina. Don’t start.” 

Ina put her scaled hands on Jaska’s shoulders, then leaned in as if to kiss him, though she lacked a mouth or lips with which to do so. He realized what she was going to do too late to stop her – all at once, her humanoid shape dissolved, and a fluid rush of scaly components flowed into the cowl of his poncho, wrapping themselves around his head, then proceeding down his body and limbs. The scale-like constituents crawled under his jumpsuit and undergarments to interlock over his skin. 

Knowing what to expect, Jaska held his breath as her face-plate contorted until it covered his own face. The feeling of Ina’s composite body wrapping itself around his own was, devoid of the terror of the first time, a very nearly comforting experience. 

“I know you didn’t want this.” Ina’s voice, produced by the vibration of the scale-components over his ears, whispered sweetly. “But it’s the only way.” 

Jaska threw back the poncho’s hood and brushed Ina’s hair back out of his face, ignoring the clink of his newly mailed fingers against his newly visored face. “The only way to do what?” 

“Pluck a shard.” Ina laughed brightly, and as usual, every one of her scales laughed in unison, vibrating with mirth. “That’s why we’re here. With the shard, I can be complete.” 

“No more symbiosis?” Jaska felt an itch developing on his side, and just as he despaired of scratching it, the scale covering that patch of skin did it for him. 

“A shard of this world will sustain my strength.” Ina whispered seductively. “But I will still be capable. We make a good team, Terran. We can do much together.” 

“Too good for my comfort.” Jaska grumbled, but the honeyed voice in his ears found more than a little sympathy in his thoughts. “Where is this shard?” 

A bolt of lightning, seeming to move in slow motion, split the sky above their heads, and Jaska saw tiny sparks of its light reflecting from something nestled within the boulders of the hilltop. Stepping up to the odd object, he saw what it was – a bulbous xenoflora of mirrored metallic flesh studded with crystalline thorns. 

“This is your shard?” Jaska reached out to tap the plantlike organism. It rung at the slightest touch, loudly enough to be heard over the rain. 

“One such, yes. The closest to where you landed.” 

“What do I do?” Jaska held up his hand, feeling a slight tingle in his fingertips. 

“Pull it free, but do not wound it yet.” 

Remembering that he was many times stronger with Ina’s scales coating his arms, Jaska reached out to grip the “shard” where it protruded from the ground and pulled, gently at first but with increasing force. Stubby, twitching roots surrendered their grip on the pebbly soil, and the plant lifted free. 

Jaska held the odd thing at arm’s length. “Is this all we came for?” His hands were tingling more strongly now, and he wondered what the feeling meant. Perhaps some irritant on the plant had seeped between Ina’s scales. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“Ina, what-” 

“Do you trust me?” Ina raised her voice slightly, though it lost none of its seductive tone. 

“I think I do.” The purpose of the question still wasn’t clear to him, but the answer was obvious; when Ina had suggested the trip without explaining what she was after, he’d agreed without too much argument. 

“Then be still.” 

“Why-” 

The twitching pseudo-plant leapt in Jaska’s hands, and in spite of himself he squeezed it. At this pressure, the growth split open to reveal a branching manifold of pale crystals surrounded by golden filaments, all glowing with sinister light. 

The tingling in his hands and arms became a burning sensation, but Ina’s scales locked against each other, and he could not move to drop the plant. With a sudden spike of panic, he knew the sensation to be radiation – he had ventured out of the ship without a geiger counter, and Ina had led him to an organism that was highly radioactive. Under the scales, he imagined his skin discoloring, bruising, and then finally sloughing off in sheets as it was consumed by the harsh energy put off by the organic crystals. 

“Ina, you-” 

“I said be still!” The voice lost some of its honeyed charm, and gained a measure of impatience. “This will only-” 

But Jaska didn’t hear the explanation delivered to his ears by the vibrating scales. His vision swam, and consciousness fled, with the glow of the shard-plant chasing him into oblivion. 

Jaska sent this account in, of course. He did not die, but he was forced to spend several days recovering from the ordeal before he was healthy enough to pilot his rented ship back to a civilized world. Whether he still travels with Ina or not, he did not say; he does say that the sapient got him back into the ship and nursed him back to health.  

What the creature did with the “shard” he does not know. 

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