With a sensation similar to the genetically imprinted memory of the egg, the Dutiful Burden fell toward the station and, beyond it, the event horizon. Though the overseer’s bowed head and twitching tail signaled his dislike, S’linth found he rather enjoyed it. A return to the universe’s womb—a permanent one, if he and his crew did not find a way to arrest their descent.

S’linth purposefully moved around the bridge. Unlike the sinuous, graceful movements of Third Councilman Sha’a, or the halting, timid steps of the nictitator, he strode with confidence: proud, almost boastful leg-to-tail, tail-to-leg steps. The thump of his tail was a strong counterpoint to the anxiousness that had prevailed on the bridge for too long. Now, he provided an anchor for his crew. He portrayed confidence, and for him, his crew returned it.

He came to a stop just outside touching distance of the science station. “Science, report.”

“Captain, I simply cannot replicate it. I’ve tried numerous different energy matrices, all with what I believe to be identical signatures. Yet, each time I attempt to incorporate the energy within the matrix, it collapses, its cohesion vaporizing before it can fully solidify. I simply cannot re-create the anchor.” Frustration wafted off the Resaurian (no fear, now; a victory!), but underneath it, a hard core of determination to support his captain.

In addition to demonstrating strength to his bridge crew by stopping by each one, he also was able to taste the emotions of each and determine where their full support rested. Though some wavered, the underpinning of their emotions radiated a quiet confidence. A willingness to follow their captain wherever he led.

“If I had a cycle or so to study,” Science continued, “I might be able to understand what the ancients accomplished. But right now…”

S’linth radiated confidence. He’d known from the moment the gravity anchor failed they were doomed; the science officer simply did not have the expertise to attempt to replicate the anchor. Like so much, this too had been lost to the conservatives.

Step-thump; step-thump; step-thump. S’linth continued his prowl around the bridge, all the while keeping Third Councilman Sha’a and the nictitator from direct visual contact. The rasp of S’linth’s scales across the deck was a soothing susurration to the commanding impact of his tail. He stopped at Tho’sh’s seat.

“First Navigator. Report.”

“The Dutiful Burden is one point four ris-units above the event horizon.”

“The alien vessel?”

“Point seven-four-three ris-units.”

“And the station?

“Point seven-three-nine ris-units.”

“So close?”

“Yes, Captain. I’m surprised at how quickly the alien vessel managed to close with the station.”

“How did it accomplish this?”

“I cannot say, Captain.”

“And why? Why close so quickly with the station? To what purpose? Even if they stacked the station’s occupants nose to tail they could not transfer but a fraction.”

“What does it matter, Captain?”

Sha’a’s voice slicked the air. Though no scent accompanied the pronouncement, S’linth still felt as though he’d been immersed in brackish liquid. The sudden heat of hate radiated from Tho’sh at Sha’a’s voice. Though he reciprocated, such blatant scents were extremely dangerous. S’linth shockingly brushed a fingertip quickly across Tho’sh’s shoulder. The first navigator reined in his pheromones and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.

“It matters a great deal, Third Councilman.” He tried with difficultly to keep his voice neutral. Too much baggage was now attached to their relationship for the easy respect of the past. S’linth turned, too sharply, to gaze at Sha’a. “If the aliens find a way to escape the Demon, we may be able to replicate it. If the solution involves the station in some way, then understanding it is also important.”

“The captain wishes to rescue his crew, just as he said from the beginning. He’s determined to continue to interfere in Resaurian affairs. His maliciousness in dragging us across the photon sphere is proof enough of that.”

So, revisionist history. S’linth almost shook his head in disgust. Is this how it happens? Did the councilmen millennia ago also wish to hide their heads in the nest and casually change what really occurred? The thought sickened him.

“I believe the alien captain dragged us across the photon sphere because we held him against his will. It shows determination and amazing ingenuity. I have to respect him for the one and admire him for the other.”

“You admire him?! How dare you—”

Lucky for the nictitator, Comms interrupted. With everything that had occurred, S’linth had reached the point where the unproductive—it had taken crossing the photon sphere of a black hole for him to see the Resaurian in his true light—would not be allowed to make such statements on his bridge without consequence. Even with the councilman aboard.

“Captain, the alien vessel is hailing us.”

S’linth moved to the side of his command chair. “Respond to the hail, Comms. Captain Gold, this is Captain S’linth. How may I be of assistance?”

The bridge of the da Vinci materialized and the strangeness of numerous alien faces greeted his eyes. Their monochrome, too-smooth skin almost made his skin crawl, until he remembered what he’d witnessed. Commitment, honor, determination, mercy. Aliens they may be, but they espoused everything the Resaurians claimed to stand for. In fact, he thought darkly, more so than some.

“We’ve managed to latch on to the station with our tractor beam. However, though we’ve found what I believe to be a very workable plan to save ourselves and the station, we cannot do it alone. Since it appears you too are in dire straits, I feel we can pool our resources and save all of us.”

Sha’a butted into the conversation with an imperious manner. “What if we wish not to see ourselves saved?”

The rage of hate engulfed S’linth with a suddenness that snapped his jaws shut tight and sent his tail tip quivering. It had all become too much. The vapid overseer could’ve broken the fang all by himself, but for the councilman to behave as though the captain were not even present? That tunneled the nest. A nest-breaker could not be allowed to remain.

The thought cooled his heat with a splash of frigid ice. Could he really be thinking of breaking centuries-old traditions?

“Then you’ll be dooming yourselves to death. We’ve got the key to escape and unless you’ve figured it out, which I doubt since you’re still falling, you’re going to die. I’ll gladly share it with you, provided we work to save everyone. If you don’t, not only will you condemn yourselves, but you’ll be murdering those on the station and killing innocent aliens as well. You espouse peace and acceptance and yet you show yourselves to be as callous as the worst Klingon. Uncaring of the devastation you leave behind due to your traditions.”

The words sank into S’linth like mating fangs: incessant, hot, irresistible. Though the captain spoke to Sha’a, S’linth felt as though the words were tailored for him and him alone. The echo of his previous sentiments only enhanced their barbs, making them impossible to ignore.

Sha’a continued to speak; his tone made it sound as if they were discussing the price of fertilizer in a casual afternoon meeting. “You don’t know the first thing about our culture. Your specialist has scanned a cube or two about us and now you profess expert knowledge? You try and stretch a skein across a skeleton that does not fit. This is Resaurian business, Captain. I told you at the beginning, Resaurians deal with Resaurians. Even those who’ve spent millennia on the station would agree. Even unto death.”

S’linth knew nothing of humans, but the small upward stretching of the lips looked exactly like baring of fangs. “And I said at the beginning, Third Councilman Sha’a, you should speak with them before making such a blanket statement. You see, I have spoken with them, as have my crew. And they’ve a very different opinion of this matter. Those grandchildren have been working alongside my away team to save the station you consigned to oblivion.”

The creasing lips did indeed turn into a baring of fangs, albeit small ones; the captain’s words spiked in intensity. “That’s right. Grandchildren. The aliens you put on the station have been dead for centuries, and their children and grandchildren have been toiling on a prison barge that has lived centuries beyond when it should’ve been decommissioned. Would you like to see those children at work?”

S’linth felt as though a disemboweling fire claw had struck, spilling his insides onto the deck.

When no Resaurian moved, the alien captain shook his head in disgust and slashed his hand in the air. A new image materialized on the viewscreen. Though in slow motion and incredibly fuzzy—in a detached way he realized the recording had occurred across a time dilation—S’linth easily picked out the Resaurian young. Their size gave them away immediately. Nevertheless their blue scales stood out like neon. Young. True Resaurian young.

A miasma of disgust washed through the bridge, practically choking all. That they’d participated in keeping Resaurian young in fearful, dangerous servitude for endless cycles made them all physically ill. It didn’t matter that they’d not known. The guilt hung around their necks like months-old skin sheddings, and would not dislodge.

Captain Gold’s face appeared once more. “Would you consign the children to death as well?”

Fang and claw, the words struck at S’linth’s soul.

“I will not stand for this deception,” Sha’a finally responded, his voice low and dangerous. “There are no young on that station, and that you would use such against us shows the monsters you are. It will be my pleasure to see you destroyed in the Demon.”

A deep, long hiss burst from S’linth, forcing every Resaurian in hearing to puff out his neck muscles in a reflexive defense. Hiding in the nest when you don’t like what your eyes lay plain before you. The humans knew nothing of Resaurian young and could not have replicated such a fine forgery. All they had said had been the truth from the beginning.

With a suddenness he’d become known for on his rise to captaincy, S’linth made his decision. Though it felt like shifting the weight of the nest, he moved forward and spoke words he never believed it would be possible to say. “No, Councilman, you will do no such thing.”

“What?” Suliss slithered forward. “How dare—”

S’linth whipped his head in the nictitator’s direction, bared his fangs, and piled out the hatred and rage that had built hour after hour. The spitting hiss caused the nictitator to stumble backward and cower against the wall; he had no wish to accept a challenge he would lose.

“Security, remove this unproductive from my bridge immediately.” He turned away before watching for a response; he did not doubt his crew.

Sha’a did not realize when he’d lost. “So, you betray me. After all I’ve done. You would violate every tradition of our people. Betray them for aliens.” At a genetic level, the voice of the councilman pulled at his loyalties. However, S’linth had witnessed too much for his conscious brain to give in to such directives without question anymore. He no longer felt under the command of the councilman.

“Security, remove Sha’a from my bridge as well. Keep them in separate holding cells until we return to the nest.” He turned away without once acknowledging Sha’a. To do so would only give some validation and leave a crack open for his crew to doubt.

With the most difficult part past, S’linth turned back toward the viewscreen to find wide eyes and open mouths on the aliens; he couldn’t be sure what it meant, but at this point it didn’t matter.

“Captain, I believe you hailed me with an offer?”

The captain slowly nodded, closing his mouth.

“If you will trust me with your plans, I swear, we will help bring our children home.”