After a long, steaming hot shower he began to feel mostly restored. He dressed in clean shorts and a blue jersey. The helmet and relief options went into the sterilizers, the used clothing into a separator, and the suit and gloves into the recycler.
When he approached, the inner door slid up slowly so as to displace a minimum amount of air and any dust particles that might have escaped the powerful vents.
The outpost's main room was an open, Getesaph-style chamber. Its plaster walls needed scrubbing. Secondhand tables, chairs, and comm stations had been scattered around it. A pair of blocky foodstores sat across from the door. A few short halls led to work alcoves that could be closed off for privacy. Some Humans got tired of the endless communality of the world around them and just needed a place to sit and be alone for a while.
“Arron! How's life in politics?”
Cabal was one of the room's three occupants. He was a lean, copper-skinned man who managed to slouch in every chair he sat in, no matter how contoured it was. The other two were Rath and Regina, both short, round, sienna-colored women. They were also both anthropology students getting in some work in the xeno-field. Arron suspected they were also lovers, but had never felt the need to ask. They waved absently to Arron as he plunked his portable down on an empty chair, then bent back to studying whatever graphic the table laid out between them.
“Today, life in politics is bad.” Arron headed for the food-stores, “I spent my morning at a blast site. Couple of buildings went up right in the heart of the Handworks quarter.”
“We heard it go,” said Rath. “Didn't rattle us here though.” She stopped herself. “God, when did a bomb blast less than two kilometers away become passÉ?”
“Just shows you're becoming like the rest of us, Rathillvna.” Cabal raised a pouch of bubbly, brown liquid to her. “Hard as diamond and mad down to your little toenails.”
Arron shook his head and lifted the lid on one of the food-stores. Cabal was an antiquarian. He sold Terran ephemera to the locals, everything from books and beverages to honest-to-God antiques like watches and furniture.
“So you say,” said Rath amiably. “Hey, Arron, you've got a hywrite waiting for you.”
The university? Arron straightened up with a bottle of water in one hand and two packs of ration bars in the other. His expression must have looked stunned, because Rath frowned at him.
“We all got one.” Rath hit a key on the table's edge and froze the graphic. Arron saw it was a video of a group of ty Porath demonstrating one of their massive trawling nets. “They're from various departments of Bioverse. Basically, it says this is our world now and you've been declared useless. Ship offworld or be shipped. You've got two months.”
“No, I got that one already.” Arron shook his head. Then he thought of something else. “Hey, Cabal, are you planning a trip to t'Theria before the push-out? I could use a lift.” Cabal had a small converted trawler that he used to sail from one port to another, arranging buyers. He could have gotten a plane, he said, but boats inspired fewer random shootings from nervous islanders.
Cabal raised his brows. “You? Heading for t'Theria? I thought you were strictly a Getesaph native.”
Arron ignored that last. “I need to meet somebody coming in with the corpers.”
“My God.” Regina leaned back. “Don't tell me you've got a Human friend?”
Arron smiled indulgently and popped the cap on the water. “Yeah, actually, I do.” He swigged some water down. “I met her at college…”
Rath's brow wrinkled in surprise. “You actually went to college? As in left your enclave and lived at a university?”
Arron smiled crookedly. “Didn't realize I had such a stable psych outlay, did you?”
Rath shrugged. “I wouldn't trust you in the same building as my sister.”
Cabal snorted. “So, this friend you made during this grand experience of living at a college instead of getting your degree off the wire like a normal person, is coming in with the corpers. And?” He made a “come-on” gesture with his free hand.
“And”—Arron mimicked his gesture—“she wants to pick my brains.”
Cabal whistled. “You are going to consort with the enemy?”
Arron sighed. “Actually, I'm running an errand for the Dayisen Rual. They want the relocation schedule updated. Somebody didn't think that the Getesaph might be worried about being left on the ground while the t'Theria are up above them.” He shook his head. “But I might talk to her about stuff, yeah. Things might be better if someone in the corp knew how complicated the situation here really is.”