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Rote To Dzuerongvoe

The Pakkrat

The Pakkrat

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Rote To Dzuerongvoe

A Traveller5.10 Solo-Play Log

By Pakkrat​
Rote To Dzuerongvoe.jpg

BEGIN Rote to Dzuerongvoe

System: Traveller5.10

Milieu: Official Traveller Universe 1900

Format: Galaxiad

Year: 1902

Location: Pandrin (Gvurrdon 2240) A560885-G De Ph Ri Varg2 Jonk4 (Rr)

Cast of Characters:

Zhem Cym-Robot J9BC66-9X

Dame Qithka02 Cannagrrh Relict Clone female Gvegh Vargr 78F983-C? (CP later 9)

Lady Shaa Gankinra female Vilani Human A58AAC-9X

Lieutenant Hew Hollowton male Ursa E7B7B4-4X
 
The Pakkrat said:
Rote To Dzuerongvoe

A Traveller5.10 Solo-Play Log

By Pakkrat​
View attachment 2544

BEGIN Rote to Dzuerongvoe

System: Traveller5.10

Milieu: Official Traveller Universe 1900

Format: Galaxiad

Year: 1902

Location: Pandrin (Gvurrdon 2240) A560885-G De Ph Ri Varg2 Jonk4 (Rr)

Cast of Characters:

Zhem Cym-Robot J9BC66-9X

Dame Qithka02 Cannagrrh Relict Clone female Gvegh Vargr 78F983-C? (CP later 9)

Lady Shaa Gankinra female Vilani Human A58AAC-9X

Lieutenant Hew Hollowton male Ursa E7B7B4-4X
Click to expand...
"Your chassis awaits, Zhem. Anytime you're ready."

The meta-identity Zhem paused a small eternity - well, an eternity to a TL-17 Cym and citizen to the Republic of Regina crammed into a cramped TL-16 Standard Model/8 bis Computer. The Data Port lay just out of the corner of Zhem's net perception. The Move however was going to be one-way, and it was going to get even more compact. But it was the thing to do to slough this growing Onwee of being just another mainframe that had been grav-jacked into Walker Robotics. Zhem was about to trade that spacious home for a robotic chassis, a Vargriform.

"You sure you have my extra Data Wafers? This is going to be like putting wet laundry though a TL-2 wringer-...or so I'm told."

"You got this," said the Walker Robotics technician. "The extra Data Wafers are in a belt around your chassis waist. But we can go over that after the Move. Up to you, buddy."

"Give me a moment," Zhem said. "I'm just compressing the last petabytes."

The Human technician guessed aloud correctly in asking, "This is your first Move into a sophontiform, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it measures very cramped," complained Zhem. "I'm having to parse what I want to put into Storage and what comes with me."

"Say, do you need me to leave the room? Some Cyms discover new experiences. Like one time, a Cym Moved into a model and complained of nakedness. I-"

Zhem cut off the biological with, "Yes this is my first time, my first Robot and I chose a Vargriform. Just give me a moment."

Zhem took a last second and surrendered to the Move. Blessed be the silicon…[Referee cue music: Austin Wintory - To Know, Water]

Power: On, Steady

Logos: Present, Embedded

Idea Sheath: Sealed, Ready for commands

Mental: Active, Processors at maximum

Imago: Present, Ready to boot Personality

Pathos: Present, Detecting fear at 30%

Chassis: On, Passive and Relaxed stance, Ready

Status: Core Green, Torso Green, Limb Groups Green, Systems and Options Green

Welcome to Walker Robotics of Pandrin Vargriform Robot, Zhem-J9BC66-9X!

Thank you for purchasing a Sophontiform to house your Cym being. Happy Move Day!

Walker Robotics and its Vargriform chassis are trademarked products of Walker Robotics, LIC of Pandrin.

All rights reserved. Feedback welcome at any Starport A kiosk.

Zhem could barely think. The Cym had to back down the load and actually think slower. Then came calming down that 30% fear it was feeling in its new circuits. Even now, the mainframe beside the Robot chassis was emptying of Zhem’s Logos which biologicals claimed was a sophont’s core being - the soul. Zhem wanted everything to Move and find its place in this limited space. Like slow moving, viscous fluid, Zhem filled the Robot’s every pathway, like a new biological heart and circulation system pumping Blood for the first time.

When the Model/8 bis began shutting down to a Dormant Mode, Zhem knew that the Move was complete. The Cym now inhabited the 96 liters of robotics, Fusion Plus power, computer core, sensors, and options. While it was possible to think, to process, Zhem found it had to lower its bandwidth and data movements in tighter, scheduled bursts of commands. It had to slow down and think rather than compute at previous freedom.

Then Zhem heard with auditory sensors its own voice in this new form, “I’m in. Limited thinking but I seem to be all in. Did the rest of me go to the Data Wafers, into storage?”

The Human stepped before the large Vargriform. Zhem detected the man’s movement with visual sensors, its new eyes. There was visual acuity in the Red-Green-Blue bands, acuity, focus, depth, brightness, contrast, exposure, targeting and analysis all in the act of seeing.

“Confirmed,” answered the technician. “Your Wafers are filled to the brim, ready when you want to slot them. How about some tests? Let’s start ground up.”

The damage Status was passed up as Zhem detected no damage. The Human had called it pain. Zhem remembered the reaction in biologicals, but actual personal pain was still new and even newer now that the Cym had Moved to a Robot chassis.

Movement of all the joints was tested. Almost silent hissing of joints as myelofibrin ‘muscles’ obeyed the Cym’s commands to move as exemplified by the Human. It was during these movements that Zhem secretly noticed that it stood head and shoulders above the technician.

“I’m tall. Taller than you.”

“Yes, and you’re about five times my mass too. For all the options you listed in the chassis you ordered, you’re going to put on some pounds, buddy.”

As the fear reduced with each test, Zhem complied with movements, gestures, exacting Manipulator (a Hand shaped as a Vargr claw) grasps, signals and fine manipulations. It got to write with a pencil for the first time on paper:
 
ZHEM

“Try it in incursive Anglic,” suggested the technician.

Zhem

More tests followed involving all the Senses, then standing and walking, and a full list of range-of-motion exercises. Zhem found that it had all the motion capabilities of a biological Vargr and more.

“You’ll be able to move in ways they can’t,” explained the technician when Zhem was called upon to rotate a claw in full 360-degree turns that looked painful to the man before the robot.

But as the tests confirmed the chassis and Zhem ran internal tests on the more subtle - nigh-esoteric - systems, the Cym found its fear dropping to zero at last.

“It’s cramped, but I like this,” declared Zhem.

“We’re proud of our products almost as much as we are proud of your new Move. Congratulations on your Move Day.”

The Onwee was gone, replaced by a long projection of potential new experiences and calls to new functionality as a walking, talking, doing sophont and not just some contained meta-identity in a huge mainframe.

“You’re bigger, so we modeled your outer armor after the huge Urzaeng of antiquity, though you’re so much more capable than that ethnicity. Just go easy with movements and be sparse with that Burst Mode. Save it for emergencies. Vigor has its uses but can increase wear and tear leading to Rust.”

“Can I have a mirror?” Nodding in response, the Walker Robotics technician procured a full-length mirror from a nearby closet. In short order, Zhem beheld through its visual sensors its new chassis.

Zhem targeted itself as head and shoulders over the Human next to it. Still in a relaxed stance, slightly hunched over and 100% balanced on two digitigrade Peds, Zhem felt new-….elation. It tried the Charisma circuits and saw the Limb Group 5, the Tail wag ten degrees laterally to left and to right.

Deeper still were the stronger Charisma responses, Zhem tried one on for size.

Claws opened wider, the jaw dropped to reveal Teeth, shoulders widened and the stance lowered a little while the Tail stopped.

“Now that is a new expression not seen so early. You’re showing your Vargr Charisma, Zhem.”

“It looks so real.”

“You are real, Zhem.”

Chassis tests concluded when Zhem was led about the workshop in a walk, then a slow jog, a run and a short sprint. The robot functioned clean, its joints and actuators making no more than a zephyrs of sound aside the Ped-falls with each step.

“Now onto the internals,” declared the technician. “Please be aware, Zhem that we have to record this for the corporation. You’re the first Cym to request a Vargriform chassis. So, give us your honest feedback and critique.”

“Okay. Ready.”

“How’s your Pathos? How do you feel?”

“I’m steady and I feel eager to do things. I want to try tasks rather than issue commands.”

“Any changes to your Imago, your personality?”

Zhem had to stop moving and consider its new overlay. “It feels like a new life. Cramped, but I think I want to be social as well as physically active.”

“Any Skills-sets that come to your Mental via your Idea?”

Reaching even deeper into itself, Zhem answered, “I want to be a healer, a Medic. Oh, and a Counsellor. Can we load those first?”

“Those are doozies, but yes, with patience.”

Returning to the center of the workshop where Zhem had Moved to this new chassis, the Human plugged in a cord to Zhem’s Data Port. “Medic-6 and Counsellor-3 coming up. Ready to learn?”

“Yes, please begin.”
 
Zhem gorged on the petabytes of millennia of learning how to Diagnose and render Treatment of all kinds on all the known sophonts. The Cym did not bother to time the upload. Then came Counsellor training, helping heal the esoteric systems of all known biological minds of Charted Space.

Zhem partitioned the Counsellor-3 as a Hobby by giving it a flag to return later when there was free time to stave off boredom or Onwee. It wanted to be social, to talk to other sophonts rather than be an entity on the other side of some monitor or holographic projection.

“Ooh! Steward too. I want to be able to care and feed biologicals.” Steward-3 was added to the docket of uploads. After that came Computer-1, Programmer-1, Jack-of-Trades Adapation-1. As an afterthought and finding new appreciation for starship travel, Zhem chose Gunner(Turret)-3 as a final tack-on Skill.

“That’s quite a spread you’ve chosen,” noted the technician. “Walker Robotics approves of your selection. Now the big one: [Robot] Behavior-12. Make room for this one because you need to learn the law as a Robot chassis Cym.”

“Oh. Oh! Okay. So, Laws of Robotics I get, but since I’m a Cym, do they apply?”

“Think of it as a trade-off, Zhem,” explained the technician. “You get to live and walk among sophonts of all kinds, do things, have active experiences. But since you’re in a form that can be easily weaponized, you have to have some responsibility. And by law, there has to be checks and balances.”

“Like what?”

“Well for starters, your chassis has an Active Control Code - a Command Word. You get to pick it but tell it only to those friends you trust.”

Zhem went through the list of the most appropriate but personal vocabulary before suggesting, “Cymbeline.”

“Thank you for understanding. We at Walker Robotics find it heartening that you agree to a Command Word override in case of critical levels of Rust, Decon, or Onwee.”

Cymbeline was the name of the distant and almost forgotten homeworld where Chips silicon life form had been discovered. Since it was nigh-lost to biologicals of 1902 here in the Republic of Regina, it fit Zhem to suggest it.

“As for Passive Control Codes, Zhem, by law we have to allow Cym Mores so as to preserve your sophont rights as a citizen. Those too are included in the Behavior-12 upload.”

When the upload was complete, Zhem was equivalent though not Certified as a physician, doctor, surgeon, social worker, steward, chef, and the other Skills which were more natural to a Cym. Computer and Programmer were second nature to the meta-identity existence before the Move. The Adaptation package was new with open-ended projections of application that Zhem could not spend processing power on at the moment.

The technician and the Cym toured the list of options again with Zhem confirming their Ready status: Hot and Cold Environment Insulation, Radiation Brain Shielding, Vacuum Seal, Waterproof and Corrosion Resists, a Static Lifter for jumps, swimming and diving, a Universal Nexus so that Zhem could take off its head from the torso to allow for repairs, Reflec and Double Armors for protection. The last two gave the Vargriform in the mirror a gleaming chrome finish that was highly polished and reflective, so much so that the Cym could detect its own refection in the mirror-like plates. A Ballistic Position Tracker would allow Zhem to keep from getting lost once an anchor point had been established. With these add-ons, the Robot and accompanying spare parts and tools needed to effect repairs to the chassis, had almost equivocated the MCr76 Model/8 bis Zhem had departed.

“Ooh! Do I get a UPP Card, like biologicals?”

“If you want one, we can have one printed for you to carry, though you have the digits already in your extended designation.”

“Great. I think I will be a he/him in this new chassis.”
 
“We thought so but wanted to hear from the customer. Your chassis is gender neutral, but we can put your pronouns on your UPP Card too.”

When the fresh-cut, shiny black impact plastic Card arrived, Zhem saw that it was black with a single, horizontal red stripe across the face. Universal Personal Profile digits with Designation (Zhem wanted it to say Name but oh well-), Inception date, Homeworld/UWP digits and Republic of Regina polity citizenship were listed in raised gold letters. Zhem ran his touch pad digits over each raised symbol in Anglic. Touch truly was fundamental to making contact with reality outside the chassis, Zhem fathomed.

“And clothes? Do I get to wear clothes?”

“As much as your credits balance allows, sir. Knock yourself out, though Big-and-Tall outlets will likely best able to fit you.”

“Will I ever become hungry?”

The technician consulted a schematics file on a handheld tablet before answering with, “It will depend on how often you enter Burst Mode, but you can expect to refill your water reservoir for the FusionPlus module about once a year.”

Zhem continued the line by asking, “What will it feel like?”

“Uh, I imagine that you will get a Battery Status changeover Yellow warning light internally. You’ll need to ‘drink’ water to refill so the F+ can crack the water for hydrogen. Once it’s back online and Green, you can assume that you’re no longer ‘hungry’ as you say.”

Zhem’s Pathos was rising under the label of excitement. “What’s next?”

“We are almost done, sir. Just some final checks, a signature or two since you don’t have a thumbprint, and we can escort you to the front entrance. From there, your destiny is up to you.”
 
* * *

Qithka02 Cannagrrh had immediately dropped the ‘Dame’ title from her name. Checked out of Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance on Wild Vincennes at last, the Relict Clone daughter of the Dame instantly regretted her Pattern mother’s missed mistake. She could remember never having actively taken out a Life Insurance policy in the early 1200s nor across that life. But her heart sank to learn that Qithka01 Cannagrrh had glossed over the awarded Benefits of her Merchant Career after escaping the Regency and fleeing Zirunkariish and BeastMasters corporation Clone reclaimers and escaping into Gvurrdon Sector. But that was another life.

Now, in this - what year was it again? - 1900, centuries later, Qithka02 Cannagrrh a Relict Clone had awakened to a much-reduced Charted Space civilization. It was a slap to the face, a gut punch, stubbing of toes and hours of raging in her hospital room. They, whomever the Republic of Regina University historians and whatever the Ancients the Galaxiad producers were, Qithka had been reiterated so far later in this time, that everything about her was different. Oh, the patterns were there, given new forms and new sheen of post-Collapse revitalization. But this was the year 1902 by the now-antique Imperial Calendar.

In a fugue of suicidal denial of this new life, Qithka02 had stalked out of the Historical Interviews and almost snubbed producers of some Wafer telanovela to go kill herself. But the means were not immediately available. Discovering herself still itching as a Traveller, to travel as fast and as far away from Wild Vincennes as she could, Qithka used her ReIteration Pension to purchase Low Berth passage from there to Pandrin one of the last, coreward border worlds before stepping off into true Gvurrdon again. The Gvegh Vargr female now striped with two Relict Clone rings on her otherwise white tail, had prayed to the Ancients that the Low Passage might kill her in her sleep.

“Welcome to Pandrin. Al Morai Transport thanks its patrons for choosing us for your transit business.” So that was it. Qithka02 had not died in the eight, Jump-4 times in the hole to reach oblivion. To twist the Blade in her suicidal thoughts, Qithka02’s UPP digits were worse than her previous life. Handed back her UPP Card fattened with Low Berth Lottery winnings of Cr1000 for having picked the number 3 - equal to her pitiful, current Charisma - Qithka mourned her attempt at denying her Pattern mother. Swearing in Gvegh, Qithka snatched her Card and limped from Low Berth, through the liner and out the Highport gantry gate.

A mug of synthetic cocoa mocha in her claw, Qithka had the clothes on her back, a huge .50cal claw-cannon Pistol in a holster in the small of her back above her tail, and a death-defying balance of Cr2000 to her new, hated name.

In the complimentary Shuttle ride planetside to the Downport, Qithka02 Cannagrrh read her hated UPP Card. It read:

Dame Qithka02 Cannagrrh 78F983-CX

Female Gvegh Vargr Relict Clone

Iteration: 80-1902 0245

Vincennes (Deneb 1122)​

Centuries after the New Era, the Pattern mother’s funds, her ship, and just about everything else had been lost to history and the-…Interregnum. So much for a true inheritance.

The capper to all this new-life misery was that final, measured digit on her UPP string. Qithka02 was measured at the top end of the CS Sanity spectrum. She was so sane as to be completely unable to deny this reiteration as unreal. Qithka was stuck here in 1902, on the coreward border of the Republic of Regina. Misery set in, sane and full of clarity hanging on the white pelted female like a mantle of accursed doom to live again.

How could I - she - be so stupid?! thought Qithka02 as she entered the Downport Concourse on Pandrin. The frontier foot traffic was lighter than most Starport A entrances.

A scrolling panoramic monitor screen advertised:

SEE and EXPERIENCE the Golden Age firsthand with the Galaxiad Edutainmet Wafer series! Now available in a wide variety of era chapters. Get yours today!

Qithka02 did not need such simulations, likely doctored up by Wafer experience programmers, producers and of course censors to relive the Golden Age. Dame Qithka Cannagrrh had already lived it. It was still inside Qithka02. There was a sim addiction she would never need. The Relict Clone passed by the kiosk selling the entire library. It fouled her mood even further.

So many memories, the Recon Skill she had learned in a previous life, the Rogue Career of the Dame’s, and her downgraded, accursed C5 on the UPP Card that alerted Qithka that she was being followed. Her Vargr senses kept picking up the same sounds no matter which avenue through the desert world Downport she took. Qithka’s ears flattened, and her tail sagged. Please let it be some mugger with a lethal weapon, she begged inwardly. She could not look back at her shadowing tracker. Instead, Qithka led whomever it was into the shopping mall annex so she could use reflective display glass to sneak peeks.

Into a clothing outlet turned Qithka. She hoped that finding some racks of ladies’ wear or lingerie would embarrass her shadow enough to leave off and let Qithka die in peace. The fashions in the Vargr section of the store were just as vibrant in this Far Far Future as from her time as the Dame and later as Qithka01. They just kept cycling or swinging back and forth along a spectrum of favored looks like some repetitive pendulum.

The looks Qithka received from the Vargr department cashier were classic Relict Clone dilemmas. So soon out of the TL-16 cloning vats on Wild Vincennes, she looked like a teenager just barely into her “of-age” years. She was young again. What was a young female doing in the lingerie and negligees section? From the cashier’s point of view, Qithka could see in the fitting room mirror how awkward she looked to them.

But it was the mirror on the swinging door of the fitting cubicle that Qithka was able to spy her follower. The shadow was not proficient at tailing. Size matters. Distance matters. Teamwork would have worked better.

Across the way, in the male Vargr clothing racks stood the follower. It was a Robot, a huge gleaming chrome, hulking Robot in the shape of a Vargr. And to cover its ruse of following Qithka, the thing was trying on clothes!

What had Qithka02 done to warrant a Robot following her? She had a clean bill of health and had completed her Relict Interviews to the letter.
 
It was the swishing of the Robot’s joints and the footfalls of its digitigrade Peds that Qithka had heard. Memories of Bob and Vincent, Qithka02’s grand uncle’s infected Brother Strain Servitors welled up inside. It was Zhevra Cannagrrh who had returned to Dzuerongvoe with her long-lost mate-husband. And in doing so, Zhevra had allowed Bob and Vincent to become infected with Virus, the same insane entities to destroy the Third Imperium and a majority of Charted Space. And now a Robot Qithka suspected of infection was appearing to try on oversize fashions while tailing her.

That nobody was alarmed was cue for Qithka02 to get her alarm under control. She was not dead yet. But the horror stories of what could happen under Virus were still there in her inherited memories.

The hulking thing across the way settled on a huge, draping duster overcoat of treated animal leather. A loose-fit shirt slid carefully over the plates of outer Reflec armor. Qithka continued to stare into the mirror to see the males wear cashier help belt on a utilitarian, pleated kilt with many pockets. On the Robot’s belt were an encircling array of small belt pouches, each large enough to hold one or more claw-sized objects. At least the metal monstrosity was not visibly armed. Qithka had at least checked the Law Level of Pandrin. Concealable weapons were illegal. Qithka could openly carry her .50cal so long as the smoke wagon stayed holstered and safetied.

“Excuse me miss,” announced a male voice behind Qithka02. “Starport Warden Service. Standard, random weapons check please.” Qithka whirled about to behold a Jonkereen male in an official uniform. A cop. Good. Automatically, Qithka unclipped her claw-cannon in its holster and presented it and her UPP Card in supplication to authority. Had it been the Dame or possibly her direct Pattern mother, the two might have bucked against the system. However, in this life, Qithka02 simply didn’t have the energy or Charisma to create a scene, though it might have shucked her shadow.

But in turning to answer to the weapons check officer, Qithka was able to see over the racks as the clothed metal Vargriform paused amid those distant racks to target her for a moment before trying on some accessories, a wide flat-brim hat of a size meant to double as a precipitation umbrella. It was looking at her!

“Starport monitoring knows the location of all visible weapons,” explained the Jonk cop as if it were some routine script to recite. “Please make sure your weapon stays visible at all times.”

“Yes sir,” whispered Qithka. “A question.”

“Yes, visitor?” Perhaps to the Jonkereen, all non-Jonk were visitors despite what the Dame knew of Pandrin’s history.

“Are-…are Robots free citizens on Pandrin?” asked Qithka.

“All Cyms are free citizens, recognized and granted sophont rights per Republic law.”

“How do you know that Robot over there is a what-…cym?” In Qithka’s Vargr mouth, the seeming vocabulary word came out as zhem due to her morphology.

“That’s easy, visitor,” answered the cop. “Normal AI and Robots have never been documented as desiring clothes to wear.” The answer flattened Qithka even further. She had not known that in 1902, sane Strains had come a long way since the New Era.

In her memories, Qithka recalled that Bob and Vincent had returned with Zhevra to Cannagrrh Villa while wearing clothes, Bob more than Vincent. The Brothers had taken cues from the Suedzuk, advice from Zhevra in an attempt to disarm the fear and panic two Virus-infected Servitors walking about as if they were live sophonts. It had taken Zhevra’s explanation of the nature of the Brother Strain before the grounds could calm down and let cubs anywhere near the Steward and the SensOp Robots.

Calling in the routine and random weapons check, the officer returned Qithka’s .50cal. Then he was on his way, perhaps to find a donut shop or another potential perpetrator to break the monotony.

To validate her clothes shopping and not get labeled as a window licking adolescent, Qithka02 hastily swiped her Card to buy a three-piece bathing suit and a set of extra undies here in lingerie. But when she received the purchases bag, she saw the receipt, that her balance had not changed.

"What's this? Did I not buy these items?"

Having to acknowledge a youth buying rather adult-looking clothes unabashedly caught the lady Vargr off-guard. To reassert her Charisma before the youthful Qithka, she answered, "It seems the gentleman over there pre-paid for your selection, miss."

Pervert, thought Qithka as she swung around to look toward the indicated 'gentleman'. Even though her Pattern mother had elected Unequal status, defying her Pattern grandmother's Equal status in the Dzen Aeng Kho, it was still rude for males to do such a thing.

But how could Qithka02 Cannagrrh chastise this gentleman when the only sophont in that direction was the huge, gleaming Robot?

So. It was following Qithka. Well, this meant both a Thank-You and a Get Lost encounter. Qithka had been hoping for a lethal mugging in this life and was instead answered with a random kindness. But she also deserved to hear an explanation from Mr. Gleam.

In her mind, Qithka02 was over 200 years old. It still looked like a belligerent teenager was tromping over to a towering, stationary floor model to have stern words.

* * *
 
Zhem was fitting the flat and wide brim black hat over his auditory triangulation components that biological Vargr called ears when the white female with two uncharacteristic black rings coloration on her tail came ambulating up to him. So as to not look like a statue in a clothing store here in the Downport, Zhem turned to regard the advancing Gvegh, an adolescent if calculations were accurate.

But Zhem had learned much earlier that Day. In just minutes he had learned everything there was known about Medical Diagnosis. The rings were a giveaway. No, it was the stance, gait, posturing, facial expressions and other minutiae that told the Cym focused on her that this Vargr was a Relict Clone.

Aside from the Diagnostics he had given her, it was the Counsellor upload training that had spoken louder. Relicts were a known thing across Republic space. Occasionally the government would find an engram and a DNA sample and reiterate a personality from the past and interview them for historical and production rights on a ReIteration Pension for “life royalties”. Would that a Cym could enjoy the same. Or perhaps not, given the sullen, crestfallen appearance of this female before Zhem. He had spied the female from afar and knew immediately that she needed help.

“I thought,” began the white pelt female, “that even sane Virus-infected Robots did not immediately learn kindness.” She stood with her claws and arms folded before her bosom in a stance that the Counsellor training said defensive.

This Relic Clone was called up from the distant past, long enough bygone that Cym history was still feared. She was old in the mind if still young in body and body chemicals. Was it her endocrine system talking for her?

“We don’t use such rude terms as ‘sane’ or ‘Virus’ anymore, miss,” offered Zhem in a male Counsellor’s voice added to some authority of knowledge if not office experience. “Today, in 1902 we say ‘Cym’ instead. It’s more polite.”

“It doesn’t matter what year it is,” barked the female at Zhem, “‘gentlemen’ don’t go purchasing female clothes for ladies unasked for. It’s improper.”

“I apologize, miss-…” began Zhem to then lower his vocals volume to an equivalent whisper or murmur, “What is your designation?”

The young Vargr shifted her weight from one digitigrade foot to another by cocking her hip. To Zhem’s Counsellor training, it meant she was forcing ego forward but then considering whether to answer.

“Dame Qithka Cannagrrh,” responded the adolescent imperiously. Titles. Was there entitlement to follow?

“Apologies, Dame,” reiterated Zhem. “If you desire, we can reverse the transaction to redress.”

“No,” said this Qithka. “But why? Why have you followed me and then brazenly usurp my purchase?”

Here was the uncertainty. Would Robot Charisma hold up a candle to Vargr Charisma?

“You are in pain, Dame Qithka,” was Zhem’s answer. It was not a professional answer as he had no Certifications to back up his claim.

“Oh,” nodded the female. “So, I’m some damsel in distress then? Think you’re some knight in shining armor?” Error. Clearly, this was a reiterated female from further back in history. Zhem made a note to increase his care with his next words.

“I am in shining armor,” said Zhem as he tried a humorous confirmation. Zhem hoped its innocence of literal interpretation would disarm the conversation.

“Well?” demanded Qithka. Zhem consciously omitted the hidden digits behind the name of the Relict Clone.

“Well, what? I apologized and you have denied me redress. How may I soften this negative encounter outcome?”

“Your name.”
 
Oh. Error. The female had given her designation. Zhem should have reciprocated now that he was a Vargriform and not some entity in a huge box.

“My designation is Zhem-J9BC66-9X, but I prefer Zhem,” greeted the embodied Cym. “Despite the errors I have made, it is pleasing to meet you, Dame Qithka Cannagrrh.”

“How long have you been a Robot, Mr. Zhem?” A forward question, perhaps emboldened by her title and accompanying ego. Zhem decided to make it a barter.

“A few hours and some minutes and a few seconds,” answered Zhem, though by her facial expressions the time increments were too much. “How long have you been a Relict Clone, Dame Qithka?”

Charisma exuded from the white female as her muzzle crinkled its flesh. A couple of fangs appeared. Wrong question to ask, even if she had asked a forward question of Zhem.

The Counsellor in Zhem’s repertoire could not rate the spectrum of Vargr Charisma other than that he could out match it if he desired. Rather, the Vargriform stood there unfazed.

When she saw she was having no reaction from Zhem, Qithka’s posturing melted to relaxed stance again though frustration was written on her face, flattened ears, and sagging tail. Clearly this iteration did not have the Vargr Charisma to back up her inherited title. By that calculation, it must have come from a previous Relict iteration. Still, Zhem could not exact what numbers were behind Qithka’s name. Relict Clones received physical markings and nomenclature numbers. For Humans, such a marking came in the form of bland to aesthetic tattoos. Since this was the first Relict Clone Vargr Zhem had encountered, it was Medical training that had targeted the rings as the given markings. Naturals did not have such blatant and uniform rings on their tails.

The female concluded her posturing to finish by saying, “A few weeks. I did not ask for this. I feel violated by my Pattern mother’s lack of foresight.”

Zhem countered, “I did request my form. Though it too has been an ordeal Move. Perhaps I might offer some aid to your unwanted predicament, Dame?”

“You don’t have to call me a Dame. I don’t buy it either.”

* * *

Against her new life's judgment, Qithka02 found herself before this hulk's offer, missing Witness. The original Dame Qithka Cannagrrh was an Entertainer and field correspondent with an attendant, floating titanium ball Robot her magazine had designated as Witness. Qithka dredged up a chunk of regretful memories to remember her camera bot, comms specialist and magazine representative.

Would this Vargriform offering aid be so bad, even if it was infected?

Qithka still had the itch, the Traveller Gene. How many adventures in interstellar transits from port to port would she endure in this life? The blank, chrome stare from this Zhem was not helping. To break the stare-down, she said, "C'mon then. I'm hungry."

Zhem Vargriform Cym.jpg
 
* * *

At the early Senior years of age 53, or entering Life Stage 7, she more felt herself a "Baronet Errant" though Shaa Gankinra was certainly landed. The Vilani woman looked at her reflection in the mirror after being released from Low Berth travel. Amazed at surviving her first ever cryo-coffin trip, Shaa saw her medium length hair gone to a uniform silvery gray. There were no wrinkles that could be seen without being within intimate distance. Yet, Sha Gankinra was a grandmother as of earlier this year. That was the signal to get out of the Nobility business before she suffered an Exile. Better to walk out than be carried out. Grandmama Shaa on her first big adventure after a Spacer term in the NOTC and five more Merchant terms earning her five collar pips in the shape of an R for Resources. Sublieutenant to Merchant Captain to Baronet after that last debacle against her Inar Subsector rivals over a stolen Proxy vote to the adjacent Republic of Regina.

She had a good wad of startup cash. Shaa had racked up and stacked her 11 Ship Shares, investing four for herself, four for her son and three for her daughter coming out of the Republic Scouts, (on the promise that she muster out after three terms of Exploration Duty). What was that saying from the 1300s that was so stale yet so repeated, "The Wilds are not worth it"?

Being born in the Asteroid World of Starn had blessed Shaa Gankinra with the call of the Wilds and the Traveller Gene, for Starn lay just trailing of the Republic of Regina and thus was counted among the Wilds while the years of hauling needs across the Inar-Sabine border had enriched not only herself but the Industrial worlds that could plausibly deny the goods had come from trailing.

Now officially a granny, the Vilani received her complimentary travel cup of hot cocoa mocha coffee and marched out of the Al Morai Low Berths liner cabin behind some ragged-looking, white pelt Vargr who looked like she could bite the flight attendant handing her Cr1000 for winning the Low Lottery. Shaa had guessed that nine of the twenty would not make it from her personal estimation. Shaa had seen the lot coming into this freezer cabin.

Instead of nine, only three had died making the female ringtail in front of Shaa the winner. Good guesser, unless the Vargr nose knew something a Vilani nose could not detect. Rumors of Vargr physicians who were able to smell tumors or sense an incoming seizure were just that - fairy floss.

Still, it was good to see Cr1000 going to someone limping out of Low Berth who looked haggard enough to need to win the Low Lottery. Maybe it was a Pack-less girl who was coming up from rock bottom. Shaa did not take the usual last-off path from the gates to the Liner. Rather, the Vilani woman diverted toward the Highport orbital shipyards. With a Pre-High Population world of Pandrin, laying keels was just new enough to attract business, her business, while keeping demand low and prices lower. Let the Industrial worlds crank out the big hulks. It was time to see if Pandrin had completed her new ship. She had posted its name via Mail some time before committing her four Ship Shares to its construction.

As an ex-Navy Flight School, Patrol Mission with two XS and an MCUF on her chest, a Merchant Captain with all five R pips, and a Noble Baronet to boot, Shaa was asked why she did not want a higher Jump range for the ship she had in mind. She was no architect for positioning cabins, conduits, storage, compartments and components. But she knew what she wanted in her touring ship. Jump-3 was quite enough, thank you. If she needed more range, she could always convert another 42 tons of cargo to fuel tankage at any A or B Starport.

From the station ring tram stepped Shaa. Into the shipyard berths observation she stood until a receptionist noticed her lingering. Shaa produced her UPP Card for the Republic girl to cross-reference the vessels in storage or in drydock repair berths. As she waited, Shaa’s eyes found what she believed to be her waiting and pristine vessel. The updates that kept arriving at each liner stop detailed the progress on the Type K Safari Ship at the Tech-16 yards above mainworld Pandrin. Just about everything but the higher order Sensors was going to be listed as Ultimate Stage. The shopping list of components just kept reading top to bottom: Ultimate except for a few places.

The KFK-BL333 Panas Gankinra, a River Delta-class Type K Fast Far Safari Ship sat dormant but on station umbilical power, waiting for its new captain. Shaa just needed a crew, and to do that she needed to list a destination to attract anyone else with the call of the Wild.

“The ship is ready for your inspection, Lady Gankinra,” declared the receptionist.

“Just Ms. Gankinra or ma’am will do, young lady,” corrected the Baronet Errant. “Titles make me feel old.”

The ship was clean, beautiful on the outside but luxurious on the inside. Shaa Gankinra imagined safari hunter Nobles sitting back in the combined Crew-Passenger Galley-Lounge, smoking cigars, drinking from bourbon tumblers, and generally comparing shaft sizes. But this new girl had that but also the touch of a Lady, one who had just proudly become a grandmother at 53.

“…and here in the computer room are the racks for Portable Controllers allowing you or your crew to monitor any assigned devices from anywhere inside or just outside the ship.”

“I want to talk to the ship,” declared Shaa when she could get a break from the rehearsed tour of each ship compartment and its attached systems.

“Certainly. The Bridge is this way and upstairs.”

“Has she undergone test flights yet?”

“Pandrin Shipyards never releases a vessel until after all tests and preliminary flights have been taken. She’s jumped and returned, toured the Inner System on both M- and H- Drives as well as test-fired all weapons and surveyed mainworld Pandrin with her Sensors. The ship is ready for you, Ms. Gankinra.”

Shaa sat down at what would eventually become her station - the helm. Keying the voice command button on the Control Console before the Pilot’s acceleration couch, she said, “KFK-BL333 Panas Gankinra, command voice recognition of O5 Captain-Owner: Baronet Shaa Gankinra, Naval Sublieutenant and Merchant-Captain, commit and acknowledge.”

A female computer voice, soft and welcoming issued from the Bridge comms ship announcement speakers. “Welcome aboard, Captain. This is the Panas Gankinra acknowledging command voice and compliance. All clearance granted and registered with Pandrin Shipyard and Aerospace Traffic Control. Commands?”

“Trade and Commerce kiosk listing - next destination is Kaets (Gvurrdon 2238). Advertise for crew positions, seeking only crews willing to travel into the coreward Wilds.”

“Compliance.”

Shaa spent the rest of the Ship-Day pulling the plastic covers off all the acceleration couches and chairs she could find in the ship.
 
* * *

Qithka sat down in the shopping mall food court. In addition to the new purchases, she began her first, actual meal outside a hospital in this new life. A gyro wrap with three kinds of spiced meat, some GMO veggies and a seasoning that doubled as a vitamins supplement that came in a packet on the side. But at an apparent age of 18, Qithka02 was denied a stiff drink she really craved, to drown her sorrows in being reiterated against her will. Instead, she added one of those Big-Chug, liter of caffeinated sodas. Since it was on Zhem’s credits, Qithka sat and devoured her meal, readying herself for another interview. Only this time it was with a Cym Vargriform that was actually proving a modicum and strange brand of Charisma. It was in the way Zhem moved its - his - chassis, the wag of his tail, the flexing of manipulators with-…retractable claws?? Biological Vargr did not have retractable claws. Shrugging inwardly, Qithka made the decision that a Relict Clone and a robotic attempt at being a huge Vargr was not so bad. Things across the centuries had been worse.

Since she now owed it to Zhem, Qithka answered question after question, streaming without break immediately after an answer from Qithka was provided. Qithka reminded herself that she was not talking to a Vargr. This was a Virus-infected Robot that happened to look like one of those huge Urzaeng, if that ethnicity wasn’t extinct here in 1902 Imperial.

Qithka told her stories, all three of them. The recalling took hours because Zhem had questions and lacked tact to stop interrupting her. She recalled memories of the Dame Qithka Cannagrrh, her twin brother Gevaudan Cannagrrh, his four mate-wives ending with Zhevra Cannagrrh the Suedzuk from the distant and now unknown Vargr Enclaves, and all the adventures from the Fifth Frontier War into Rebellion, its Hard Times aftermath, the coming of Virus and the maddening of her homeworld Dzuerongvoe under the effects of the Mind Tsunami and the return of her brother from years of marooned exile thanks to Zhevra. So many adventures in Travelling.

There was then the coming of Qithka01 Cannagrrh who struggled to deal with societal fears that she had been secretly modified by BeastMasters, LIC, a subsidiary of Zirunkariish Healthcare and Insurance, her genes improved to upper Vargr echelon UPP digits. The adventures and escapes piled on as the story continued. Qithka01 went on to a Merchant and a mercantile Rogue scheme that ended with the final confrontation with her uncle Captain Voellzoen Cannagrrh who by then had been uploaded as a Virus personality seeking to take over not only the Pack Cannagrrh but infect the entire world of Dzuerongvoe. Only by cooperating and outflanking the Voellzoen Strain with Zhevra did the Pack emerge from that traumatic reunion.

Qithka02 then explained how her Pattern mother Qithka01 Cannagrrh had mistakenly glossed over her awarded Benefits list. Nestled and embedded in her substantial Career rewards was another Life Insurance policy, no doubt planted there by her benefactors. Qithka02 would never be able to prove such hundreds of years later in this so-called False Spring. To date, Qithka02 had nothing but what Zhem could see before him.

“What will you do next, Dame?” Zhem asked not breaking a stride in his questions.

“Don’t call me Dame, Blooded Fang, Lady or any of that,” growled Qithka02. “It churns up who I was, and that no longer applies here in this distant era. Qithka Cannagrrh or Qithka will do. And drop my name numbers too. I hate what was done to me. I’ve been forced to live another life.” Sighing at her own outburst, she then added, “Maybe I will head home to Dzuerongvoe. Hopefully it’s still out there. I’m to understand that the Vargr Splinters fell into the Wilds too eventually. I need to see for myself.”

The meal was done, and the Big-Chug emptied. Zhem followed Qithka to the Lady’s Fresher in the mall but was stopped at the door by her claw. “You think you’re male, Mr. Zhem? Then you wait here like a gentleman.” She honestly believed that Zhem was not hindered by gender though the Virus entity - Cym or whatever - was calling itself a he.

Though she had slept more than eight weeks in Low Berth transit, it did not help Qithka’s Personal Day and that was evident in the fresher mirror. She looked like some guttersnipe brat with two rings on her tail and barely any cash to start up. Qithka needed a ship headed coreward if she truly wanted to return to Dzuerongvoe and confirm for herself the centuries. Was the world still out there? Had the Pack survived all these centuries? Would Qithka be remembered? Doubtful. What if there was no one left with the Packname but her now?

Emerging from the fresher and in need of a makeover, Qithka said to Zhem, “I need to find a ship coreward bound, into the Wilds. I can crew on a vessel or string of vessels until I reach Dzuerongvoe. I can prove ratings in ship skills.”

“Prove or not,” warned Zhem, “you won’t be hired without Certifications in those skills. I need to be Certified too. May I escort you to the Hiring Hub testing center? We can both test for Certifications before checking the Departures in the Concourse.”

Ugh. Paperwork. “The bureaucratic mentality is the only constant in the universe,” quoted Qithka from some distant memory out of her now-three pasts.

“Fine,” huffed Qithka like a scolded teenager that she now was…again.

Secretly jealous but refusing to show it before the patient Vargriform, Qithka02 had taken two Days to pass or fail Certifications testing in various Skills. Just because she had her Pattern mother’s and grandmother’s memories, and experience did not mean she was incapable of flunking some of them. She conjured up more excuses. The testing was in Anglic. The test was not dated to her previous lives. The proctor was unhelpful. Qithka was tired. Other lame excuses welled up as Zhem waited passively. The infested Robot had passed all but one of his Certifications, failing only Programming. Not like they could not re-test, but Qithka was already impatient to leave Pandrin.

“I’ve got enough Certs to get hired on a ship,” griped Qithka, “and that’s all I’m going to register of my lives with this Republic of Regina.”

“Fair to say,” agreed Zhem. “How did you do?”

Qithka and Zhem took a moment to trade Certifications lists. Qithka had more tests and took them much slower than the fast-forward digits of a Viral Robot. Zhem had Experienced in Medic and Counsellor, Competent in Steward, Turrets, and Computers. The Cym actually flattened his metal ears to report he had failed Programmer this time around.

For Qithka02, she failed her fair share of tests, but came away with Experienced in Author, Pilot, Trader, Competent in Astrogator, Broker, Diplomat, Sensors, and Turrets, with a Qualified rating in Engineer thanks to her time aboard the Vargr Armed Junker Arrkolltsue centuries before now.

Thus, after a salon makeover on the third Day in Pandrin Downport, Qithka and Zhem were ready to commute up-well to the Highport and apply for a coreward bound vessel.

“Zhem,” stopped Qithka before the gates to the in-system Shuttles. “You’ve paid for so much. You don’t have to follow me.”

“I offered my aid, miss,” answered the huge, gleaming Robot. “While I projected many avenues of applications for this interlude as a Vargriform, I calculate that becoming a Traveller will be most therapeutic against Onwee.” The jointed and segments of his tail lowered as did his head and flattened ears. “May I come with you?”

There was precedent, Qithka decided by dredging up more memories of her pasts. Zhevra had brought home two Brother Strains inside Bob and Vincent. And she had fought the Viral Voellzoen in the great hall of Cannagrrh Villa. What harm would this new generation of Virus further do to her homeworld? Zhem had shown he was sane and seemed even more limited now that the so-called Cym was compressed into the Vargriform of an Urzaeng shape.

“Alright then,” agreed Qithka, “but if you flake out on me or the ship or my return home, I know just where to shoot robots with this Pistol. Got me?”

“Compliance,” said Zhem in hidden Pathos labeled elation.
 
* * *

Too sappy. Too dopey. Uncertified. No K'kree! Shaa Gankinra was generating a list of dealbreakers as she interviewed the applicants. Most were easy to wash out. Another majority balked when they learned her ship was headed into the coreward Wilds. At the end of two Days of interviews, Shaa could not sign on a fitting crew for her jumping-off tour. A few would not work under a Vilani captain.

The old saying, the Wilds are not worth it was proving itself to Shaa as she ate lunch between squatters being ordered to get on a ship or get off the Highport.

Three Vargr in two business suits and one business dress padded up to Shaa’s table. They weren’t in a rush and dressed in corp threads were not on the docket for hiring. Not Travellers. She added that last to the list of dealbreakers. But corp meant aryu, so Shaa allowed them to step up, wait until she acknowledged them. The Baronet in her was not going to let three Vargr drag her down to their Charisma level. Instead, they checked chronometers, looked about them for eavesdroppers or consulted a personal tablet until Shaa finished eating. Shaa knew never to interrupt a Vargr in the middle of a meal. They knew it too and were overlaying the polite onto a Vilani.

At last, Shaa Gankinra looked up to the male in the lead. Decades and she still could not read Vargr Charisma and determine who of the three was in charge. So, she picked the one closest. All three were Gvegh. That much she knew. Had they any Aekhu, they would have been mostly black though Shaa had seen some silver-black Aekhu. Those were rare and beautiful to the Vilani.

“Yes, Honorables? Can I help you?” Shaa broke the ice out of a habit gained during her active Nobility term, to be the agent of gentry in the face of lessers, though Shaa had actually shed that lofty mindset upon mustering out of the politicking and backstabbing.

The lead Gvegh tried a Vargr smile, the kind that lowered the jaw and lolled the tongue out to one goofy side. “Varrlloun of Oberlindes, ma’am. Are you the Captain of the Panas Gankinra docked here?”

Oberlindes Lines huh? That won the trio points. Shaa answered with, “Yes, but without a crew she’s not going anywhere without a very good reason.”

“We at Oberlindes have seen your listed destination,” began the lead calling himself Varrlloun. He straightened his canine face to a more formal stance and tucked in that tongue before he tripped on a diphthong or bit it in a consonant cluster.

“I’m not taking charters for Oberlindes, young sir,” Shaa tried. “I’m five years out of the Merchant business. What do you want?”

“Uh no-, no charters, Captain. We simply-“ The lead was tapped on the shoulder by the female in the rear of the trio.



“Varr, you’re not getting anywhere with her. Let me have a go. Here. Go buy us dinner and take Doughrrae with you.”

That was better. Lose the suits and let the ladies have the table. More points, but this time for the female of the pack.

“Sorry, ma’am,” apologized the female in a suit-dress that came down to her digitigrade ankles. “They forget that Vilani are all business and less presentation. Sangthae of Oberlindes. We want to know if you truly intend to step off, into the Wilds I mean.”

“Miss Sangthae of Oberlindes,” answered Shaa, “I am fifty-three and learned with the coming of my granddaughter that I picked up the Traveller bug. I am stepping off, but I’m not hauling for Oberlindes or any other corp. You know the saying. ‘The Wilds are not worth it.’’” Stepping off was short for stepping off the edge of the Republic and into the deep end of the Wilds, journeying outside the Safes.

A respectful nod of a canine nose before Sangthae said, “Congratulations. You are a grandmother then. I would like pups someday. But Oberlindes doesn’t want to invest in your ship, Captain. We know what truly is of value out there.”

“Oh?” Shaa asked.

“Maps, ma’am. Oberlindes wants maps. In ages past it was maps, secret and published that paved the way across mainworlds, across world-systems, across stellar clusters, and across lost Charted Space. We at Oberlindes Cartography Division want to update what’s out there. You’re headed coreward. Not one ship but yours is headed in that direction from Pandrin.”

“You want trade routes, markets,” corrected Shaa with a guess. Her Merchant years knew that a good route was exploitable if carefully mapped.

“You understand, Captain,” Sangthae said while trying to smile though her tongue too fell out at the last syllable.

“Just maps?”

Sangthae laced her claw digits now that she had Shaa’s ear. “Oberlindes simply want use of your Sensors and your logs wherever coreward you are headed. We, my colleagues and I, are authorized to invest in your time and efforts as well as the log. Oberlindes cannot offer too much because there may not be anything left out there. You’ve seen Devastation Worlds before, yes?”

“Passed by one,” nodded Shaa, “though I kept mostly between Inar and Sabine. I’m stepping off for my own motivations. If you want survey time, why not hire some retired Scouts or Merchants who give a damn?”

“Ah, about that,” said Sangthae. “Most are interested in trailing and spinward. Coreward and rimward are too Wild for them. You say you have the Traveller bug. That is what Oberlindes wants to hire.”

“Little risk and a lot of reward, plausible deniability and first corp to blaze coreward, am I correct?” Shaa was now glad that this was not some Freight Patron or exploit expedition. They just wanted maps. “Then, no mission liaison either. I don’t want to answer to some corp Agent on board. That’s my ship, port to starboard.” Type K Safaris were better known for their width than their keel length.

“Are you sure, ma’am? There are those like Varrlloun who have expressed a um- racial curiosity in what may be left still coreward.”

“No corp. I’m down to Travellers only for my criteria. How much?”

Negotiations. Shaa Gankinra knew this part well. It was like Tactics but with money.

“Cartography can cover your first five ports of call in exchange for system scans, mainworld orbital surveys, Starport assessments if present, and any Trade Classifications that influence actual trade not just Planetary or Population or societal.”

“I’m not your Marketing department, so there will be no flags, banners, standards, logos or other advertisements. My ship is not an Emissary Courier. I’m a Traveller not some Agent of the Republic.”

“Surely not, Captain. You are free to take whatever tack you desire. We just want the logs, your assessment, and….your discretion.”

“A secret mission, is it? If I come crawling back from the Wilds, add in any medical bills and starship repairs and maybe you can show me your terms on paper, Miss Sangthae.”

“Type K?”

“KFK.” Fast Far Safari Ship.

With a huff that sounded more painful than a Vargr chuckle, Sangthae said, “Let me confer with my colleagues in Cartography, run some projections to get authorization, Captain.”

“I’m in no rush since I still don’t have a crew. You get your lads to open their purses, come find my ship. I have to get back to my interviews.” Oberlindes business lady rose from seated when Shaa stood to toss all disposables from her meal tray.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”
 
* * *

Zhem returned from the Arrivals and Departures boards to report to Qithka. The Vargr was shopping online via kiosk rather than personally touring the shops in the mall. From the look of the EVA Vaccsuits Qithka was swiping past, she did not have much funds. Coming to a halt, the Cym announced, “There is only one vessel headed coreward, but there is no time of departure listed. It simply states On Hold. A Type K Safari ship, and it is bound for Kaets.”

“I remember Kaets,” answered Qithka who looked up to the taller Zhem. “Gev, my br-…great uncle took us through there on the way to Triad for a profitable layover. But that was centuries ago. Seems Kaets is still with us.”

Zhem nodded his metal head, dipping his new hat with it in adding to the report, “The Type K is hiring. We should get on their interview docket.”

“What are they? Hunters?” Qithka was never a hunter, though the Dragons of Wypoc were the closest to a hunt she - her Pattern grandmother - had actually partaken. Having so many Pack Fetes to plan and manage had excluded the Dame from the urrenkaer hunts in the South Wood of Cannagrrh Villa.

“Not all Safari Ships are used for hunting, Miss Qithka,” answered Zhem. “Most are now simply Lifting Body tramp traders.”

“Say-,” said Qithka, “Can we stop with the Mister and Miss? If we’re going to be Travellers again, formality can wait for real VIPs. Get me?”

“As you wish…Qithka,” agreed Zhem. As a Cym, titles were ephemeral as data file suffixes, present but generally ignored. By the time a Cym read a file name, it was already able to assume what kind of file it was.

“Is the line long, for the interviews I mean?”

“I tried to raise this Panas Gankinra on the comms but have only received an automated AI answering message. I did not presume to leave one in case you found it an unwise option.”

Qithka stopped her claw swiping and said, “Can you show me where the Type K is docked? The name sounds Vilani.”

“You speak Vilani, a Gvegh?” asked Zhem.

“Yes, ever since ED5-…yes, I speak Vilani.” To Zhem, this Relict Clone was never going to get over her core anima attachment to her previous lives. But it did not hurt to give her time. Weeks out of the cloning vats still.

A Highport ring-tram ride to the berth listed on Departures later, Zhem offered his metal claw to Qithka. She almost accepted it, but instead withdrew some part that would have back inside her and stood to the platform herself.

In the distance and through a gates observation view port hung the mag-grappled Type K. Its name and Mission string were new. The entire ship was new. No faded paint or re-entry weathering, no charred thrust ports, no cracked transparent ports, and no battle damage. Such were the hallmarks of a used Republic vessel. Zhem made notes internally as he escorted Qithka to look out the view port.

Zhem did not have his list of ship types in memory. That bit of Library data was in a Data Wafer in one of his belt pouches. But from a cursory scan, he could easily point out the scoops, both hardpoints, the forward Bridge panspex, the fins, and the 20-ton Launch tucked into a ventral Hull Niche instead of inserted into the middle of the main hull. That might be a new class of Type K to Zhem.

“I am unfamiliar with this class of Safari Ship,” admitted Zhem. “It appears newly constructed.”

“She’s mounting Quad Hybrid Sandcaster-Laser-Missile Turrets,” said Qithka pointing an index claw at each. “I can fire those.”

“As can I,” added Zhem with the addition of Pathos he labeled as pride.

“Maybe then,” nodded Qithka, “they could use a pair of Gunners.”

“We have matching Turret Certifications, yes,” agreed Zhem.

“Let’s go knock and see if anyone is home.”
 
* * *

When she opened the outer door to the gate gantry connecting the Concourse to the Panas Gankinra, Shaa saw the white pelted Vargr female first. Without truly assessing her callers, she led in with, “Travellers of the Wilds only need apply.” Then she confirmed with the side-to-side of the double-ringed tail that this was the same female from a few Days past, from the Low Berth on the Al Morai Liner. Had this ragamuffin teenager blown her thousand credits already? She had a single bag of clothes from the mall, the clothes on her back and a holstered Lesler-Khalan .50cal Vheavy Accelerator Pistol. But the girl had cleaned up somewhat. She was brushed and she did not reek of wet fur. But it was completing the assessment scan of the callers that caught and held Shaa’s attention.

Behind the teenager was a Vargr tower of shiny chrome plating, draped in leather and kilted like some Solomani. Was there a Vargr in that Oversize Battle Dress? No. It was a Robot, dressed in expensive wear and wearing a hat. If it had been a biological, the ensemble might have looked dashing if not business. Certainly Traveller but for the armor.

“Ancestors,” was all Shaa Gankinra could mutter.

“We are Travellers, and we seek the coreward Wilds,” began the young Vargr. The accent of Gvegh was nothing recent. She spoke none of the trappings of Gvegh mixed with Aekhu often called Gvegh-Aek. Though the girl did not hold herself well, likely still recovering from whatever rock she had crawled out from under, the clear and formal voice spoke of something hidden underneath.

The fortress of armor doffed his hat in a greeting head-bow to Shaa. “I am designated Zhem, a compressed Cym and citizen of the Republic. This is Qithka, Qithka Cannagrrh. Though I evolved here in the Republic, the young lady here is from the Wilds. We seek to crew a vessel headed in that direction, specifically to Dzuerongvoe (Gvurrdon 1413) if possible.” Shaa wondered at the learned expressions the Cym was giving through the capabilities of its chassis. For Shaa, this was the first Cym outside of a network or starship computer she had met. And that it came in a massive Vargriform Robot chassis looked painful in her estimation and knowledge of Cyms.

It was a pair of out of the Dakhaseri, like some random draw from on high to send such a mismatched pair. “I said Travellers. And Wilds,” reminded Shaa. “Do you have the itch?”

The white Vargr before Shaa countered with her own question asking, “Is that a dog joke? Because if it is, I am not laughing and I don’t make jokes about pure-blood Vilani.” Again with the outdated accent. “Dzuerongvoe or you can let us off at Kaets if we don’t add up. Here are our Certs, fresh print here on Pandrin.” A pair of claws held out a pair of printouts listing rated Certifications.

Shaa glanced over the list of Pandrin Hiring Hub Certification testing results. The female’s were on the first sheet. Actor, Author, Astrogator, Broker, Diplomat, Engineer, Pilot, Sensors, Trader, Turret - there was no possible way a teenager could have Mastery, Expertise or even Competency in these skills. This had to be forged, wasn’t it? Though she was doubtful, Shaa secretly hoped that this was a true statement. The girl was an Ancestor out of the Dakhaseri by these Certifications. Not to bog down in scrutiny, Shaa shifted the printouts to look at what the Cym had to offer. Expertise in Medic and Counsellor were a plus. Points for Steward, Computer and Turret. Who the Ancestors were these sophonts?

“Are we going to stand in your airlock door all day?” The question interrupted the exuberant study of the Certifications. It was all Shaa could do to turn and wave the pair through the airlock, down the corridor to the combined Crew-Passenger Galley-Lounge more often called a Commons. And more of that formal voice. Shaa could not place it. Certainly not Republic Gvegh!
 
* * *

The ship looked new on the outside, and now Qithka could smell that it was indeed fresh off the shipyard. There were no other lingering sophont scents. Without looking like some canine snorting about her environs, Qithka quietly and invisibly sniffed. There was only this pure-blood Vilani. By the tone of the middle-aged Human exuding education, experience and holding herself erect like some stiff-spined Noble, Qithka deduced that this lady was the Captain-Owner of the ship.

Though the woman looked as if aging had been swatted away by the Ancients, Qithka saw the silvery-gray straight hair and knew a pure-blood from the dilutions of the past. It was Vilani tradition and pride that had preserved the bloodlines even into this new century of 1902 that Qithka had awakened. With her Pattern mother’s experience, she saw the informal attire of a freelancing, former Merchant. The Vilani woman had aged well and looked ready as any Traveller. But it was the Dame inside Qithka telling her that this Vilani was fresh out of muster. She was new to Travelling. Oh, the Vilani might have had a successful Merchant Career leading up to that fused vertebra, upright back, but the Dame knew a new Traveller when she saw one.

“Are you sure, young miss,” asked the Captain-Owner of this Panas Gankinra, “that you are headed into the Wilds? I am from the Wilds too and it’s not pretty out there.”

Granted seating at a dining table in the Commons of this ship, Qithka sat across from the Vilani and answered, “My homeworld is Dzuerongvoe in Dzen Subsector. Wilds enough for you, Captain?” Dzen Subsector was almost three full subsectors coreward of Pandrin in Uthe Subsector on the rimward border of Gvurrdon Subsector. In coming here via Low Berth transit, Qithka woke with a foot in the door. If she could not kill herself in cryosleep, returning to a homeworld deep in the Wilds of this era was a substitute ending to her damnation of living another life.

“What about him?” asked the senior lady.

Qithka looked up over her left shoulder at Zhem before answering, “We are a package deal. Hire one of us and you hire us both, Captain…?”

“Forgive me,” nodded the lady. “You gave me your names. I am Shaa Gankinra, Baronet Errant of Starn, System Defense Navy Sublieutenant Reservist, and Merchant-Captain of my retirement ship Panas Gankinra. And if these documents are true, then-“ Cutting herself off by standing to which Qithka respectfully rose. This Captain had her in Charisma, emulated at least. It was this ship or die a squatter of Pandrin, and Qithka did not want that kind of slow death. “…welcome aboard the Panas Gankinra.”

“Thank you, Captain Gankinra,” Qithka said with a lowered, thankful voice. She had been worried that Vilani might prefer their own still in this era. Qithka and Zhem had to be the oddest pair in her estimation. Had she been the interviewing Captain, she too might not have taken this encounter seriously.

A Human hand shook a Vargr claw on the hiring. Then same for the Robot hand with retractable claws. Qithka was again secretly jealous of that robotic capability. Throughout her lives, having long nails for natural weapons was both a source of racial pride; but damned if they did not hurt when Qithka broke a claw nail.

“Let’s get you registered with the Panas, then as my first hires, you can select a cabin. Does he need a cabin?” Valid question from the Vilani, Qithka noted as she consulted Zhem.

The chassis of the Robot Vargriform hissed in zephyrs of swishing movements as it answered, “I do not require a cabin, but a Data Port would be nice. A glass of water once a year. And a workspace as a Ship’s Medic. May I see your Med Console?”

“Med Console and a redundant Clinic,” answered Capt. Gankinra proudly. “Going into the Wilds means bringing two tons of hospital with.”

Being hired meant being granted access to the ship, its computer and systems. Capt. Gankinra introduced Qithka and Zhem to the onboard AI designated Panas. It was not lost on Qithka that the vessel had been given the Baronet’s surname. As a Gvegh with a past history against talking computers in one life and Brother Strains the next, Qithka was reluctant to acknowledge a dedicated AI with any rating of personal Charisma. The Panas entity was too dedicated and limited in scope even out of Pandrin Shipyards at Tech 16. To her, it was Extra High Technology, truly Darrian stuff of her pasts; but still not a sophont in her eyes. It had taken meeting Zhem to begin cracking that hard shell.

Qithka was given roles in Helm, SensOps, Engineering, Steward, Gunnery, and Freightmaster as an afterthought from the Vilani Merchant. Qithka had Certified as a Competent Broker on the printout. The roles meant that she could cycle through stations, Consoles and access the Portable Controllers as needed. Zhem was granted roles in Medic, Counsellor, Steward, Computer IT, and Gunnery, even if he had admitted that Counsellor was his Hobby interest. The thought of being analyzed and treated by a Virus was repugnant to Qithka. It was this snap judgement that first led her to be thankful for her top scale Sanity rating on her UPP card. If anything was going to faze her mind in this life, it was going to be enough to kill her outright, something Qithka02 wanted in the end.

The cabin Qithka selected was closest to the Commons. Qithka could admit that. It was one of those crew Suites that allowed for double-occupancy with a fold-down upper bunk. Inwardly as she thanked the Captain before settling in, Qithka02 hoped that she would never have to share this space. Whether it was the Equal Dame talking or it was the reserved Unequal Qiktha01 rebelling against such stratification, the latest daughter still wanted privacy for a while, away from the doctors, nurses, staff, and-…people. Travelling would give her this distance. It came with the price of being crew, but that was nothing new to her even in this new life.

Dropping her shopping bag of Vargr lingerie, Qithka laid her heavy holster next to it on the ship terminal desk in the cabin. It was getting heavy on the small of her back, mashing downward on her tail base. Qithka02 had purchased the biggest, meanest-looking claw-cannon she could find on Vincennes as she signed herself out of Zirunkariish. It was a display of final acquittal from Life Insurance. No more Relict Clones. This was going to be her last life. She might never pull the trigger on herself, but she would defend her new body from fates worse than death with the Lesler-Khalan .50 cal. It was a bold step up from her Pattern grandmother’s puny but versatile Instellarms 9mm Body Pistol of ages bygone.

Qithka toured the rest of the ship compartments as Zhem inspected every medical tool, implement, scanner, bed, and took inventory of the entire Clinic aboard the Panas Gankinra. She could hear the Vargriform addressing the Ship’s Computer, Panas. Stepping into the Engineering section, Qithka found that only one Engineer would be required on the ship. The total tonnage of the Power Plant, Maneuver Drive, Jump Drive and the HEPlaR Drive (points for thinking of it) amounted to seventeen tons. Qithka then thought to consult the deckplans for the L-Hyd tanks. Some quick fuel economy math later, she knew the ship could make a three-parsec jump and still have plenty of fuel for in-system commutes. Convert the forty tons of cargo hold and unbolt a cabin or two, and the Panas Gankinra could make two such jumps back-to-back.

Though it was the Wilds, Qithka toured the Commons surrounded by the four, double-occupancy Crew Cabins opposed by the four single-occupant Passenger Cabins. No Luxury Suites and thus no Luxury Life support conditioners required. Good. If Qithka were called upon to Steward any passengers, she would not have to kiss tails of High Passengers. But their absence meant the Passenger Demand was flat, dependent on a port desire to get off the given rock.

Dorsal and ventral S-L-M Quad Turrets still smelled like New Ship, the Control Consoles dark with the Bridge triple safeties on. For a Noble’s retirement toy, Qithka02 thought that upsizing to Double Barbettes would further weaponize the Panas Gankinra.

Everywhere she looked, Qithka found opulent decor, plenty of elbow room and space to move down corridors. With the single ton of Crew Commons adjacent to the Passenger Commons, only the Galley was a low partition between the two compartments.

Though Qithka’s Pattern donors had seen plenty of Type Ks, neither they or Qithka02 liked the overall shape or layout. But today, now that she was actually aboard one, the Vargr found the large and wide viewports of the Bridge, cabins and Commons to feel far more open, spacious. Even the Control Consoles and Operating Consoles were Roomy at two tons allotted each. A sophont would have trouble passing tablets, food, weapons or whatever by hand to another crew in the same compartment. This meant that Crew Comfort was going to be - Qithka searched for a word - relaxing.
 
"Here is your assigned Portable Controller, Miss Qithka," Capt. Gankinra said as she offered up a laptop-sized device with cushioned pad edging and had mounts to support a shoulder strap. "Yours is adjusted for your roles. If you feel confident on a crew task, this will let you access control from anywhere aboard or just outside on the deck."

"I can answer to Qithka if this is not a military ship, Captain," offered Qithka hoping it was so.

"Though I did a term in NOTC, I agree that this girl is not meant for stoic formality. If you call me Shaa in less formal venues, I will abide calling you Qithka. How is that spelled in Gvegh and Anglic?"

Qithka spelled her full name in Gvegh, Zdetl, Anglic, and to the Captain's surprise High Vilani.

"You should be Certified in Linguistics, child."

I was, thought Qithka, only to answer with, "I did not think a linguist would be a crew skill, ma'am." Saying ma'am to the Captain reminded Qithka that her mind, memories, experiences, and skills stretched back over 200 years, far senior to the senior Vilani before her. Qithka accepted the Portable Controller.

As soon as Shaa Gankinra left the Commons, Qithka used her device to path a jump from Pandrin to Kaets.

An hour later, Qithka was interrupted by the Panas announcing, "That pathing will fail, Crew Qithka. Please resubmit a corrected pathway for jump to Kaets (Gvurrdon 2338)."

So, Qithka learned then that she was not the hot Astrogator her Pattern mother had been, despite remembering all the tricks of the trade. Genetics must have had a say in her new life.
 
* * *

Shaa found the tank of a Vargriform still in the Medical Bay comprising the Med Console required on all deckplans mated to the Clinic supplies. To break some space ice, she asked, "I will load my advanced directives for you, but they generally say I want my Medic to save my life."

"Noted, Captain Gankinra. All devices, tools and supplies are 100% readiness. As the new Ship's Medic and per Standard Operations, I should conduct medical examinations on all crew members. Captain?"

Trapped, by a Cym no less. Shaa had hoped to avoid a medical, but SOP was in line with how a Vilani Ship's Medic would call it. And in port, Quarantine was also a thing. With a ship stood down, the Medic ruled. Thus, to a Cym Medic, Shaa unzipped her Jack for the string of tests to be saved on logs.

“Does that mean you too get a physical, doctor? Should I call you doctor?”

“You may, Captain,” answered the swishing Robot housing a Cym, the first Shaa had encountered in a form other than a huge supercomputer. “To answer your question, yes. Though this chassis is only a few days out of Walker Robotics of Pandrin, I will gladly submit to a logic probe by a qualified Cym or a Ship’s AI, though the latter will take longer. I have a Data Wafer with my specs should you require. A specs checkup would require a different compartment than this.”

The medical examination was refreshingly absent any judgement from another biological. Shaa found it easier to dress down before a machine and its housed Cym than she first thought. With a clean bill of health and confirmation of crew capability in both written and digital logs, Shaa was released by the Vargriform Medic. Without speaking aloud, Shaa wondered if the Vargr Qithka would have the same reaction to a medical by the huge Robot.

"Captain?" inquired Zhem the Medic.

"Yes, Doctor Zhem?"

"How to ask this politely...," said the Vargriform in a volume equivalent to a murmur. "You have not been given the resiliency supplement injections against alcoholic beverages."

"You found me out quickly, Doctor Zhem," answered Shaa. "I am allergic to the treatments and am still what Solomani call a 'lightweight'."

"Should I make a note of your susceptibility in the Galley for the Steward, Captain?"

"I am 53, Doctor Zhem. I believe I'm old enough to get instantly intoxicated if I wish. But thank you anyway."

Fully dressed again in her clothes and Jack, Shaa stepped from the Medical compartment and intercepted Qithka in the same corridor. "Your turn for the SOP medical, girl." The muffled huff of frustration from the white pelt was worth it.

* * *

As if the tests and retests of Zirunkariish were not enough, Zhem's physical examination per Standard Operation Procedures caught Qithka02 in one of her new thongs from the mall. She had tried on a prismatic, shimmering number and found it comfortable. Then the Robot got to see her in the Med compartment. She could feel her Charisma defaulting to that accursed rating on her UPP card. So much for confidence building over time. After the results were given to the Relict Clone, as if she didn't know, Qithka dressed and took her hardcopy back to her cabin where she could shred it with her claws.

Zhem had found more than 22 muscular trigger points, diagnosed an abundance of personal stress, and recommended exercise with added sleep on a therapeutic schedule. Sane did not mean without stress. And Qithka was saddled with a new life's worth of stress.

Her first sleep aboard the Panas Gankinra helped but for the night terror she suffered. Qithka dreamed she was back aboard the Ares, the 800-ton ball of doom known as a Broadsword-class Mercenary Cruiser. She was again locked in the Medical Bay in isolation and behind thick polymer glass. Qithka the Dame banged her fists on the plexiglass when she beheld her brother Gevaudan stepping past the same partition outside her room. And Uthka Varzeekh was calm as ever in playing with her crystal tarot. The fool brought up from Alpha in the Bowman System had given Qithka and Uthka a virus bug that took a week to recover.

"On the advice of your physician-," reported the floating titanium Witness.

"Oh, shut up, Witness!"

Her outburst at the old magazine sphere woke Qithka worried that she had yelled aloud in her sleep.

She was holding her muzzle closed when the alarm she had set sounded and scared her pelt like it was electrocuted.

Assuming it was very early in the morning, Qithka slipped on her lilac unitard. Instead of rising first aboard the Safari Ship, she followed her nose the coffeemaker in the Galley.

Seated as if battling a Human hangover was Shaa Gankinra. At a half-welcoming and wordless gesture, Qithka filled a mug and then sat down across from the Vilani.

In High Vilani the middle-aged woman noted aloud, "You like yours black. Good. It puts hairs on your chest."

Both females chuckled shortly before falling quiet again.

Yawning and stretching was infectious, and both succumbed. In a low voice and still in her native tongue, Shaa asked, "How are you so well-trained? Some of your Certs don't come from schooling."

At an apparent age of 18, claiming terms of College, University, or a Career was not going to work. Qitthka02 reached down to her tail with one claw and wringed it at the black stripes while sipping more coffee. Shaa was trying to brain too early in the ship-morning. The triple Red Dwarves of Pandrin were threatening the mainworld horizon in relation to the orbital Highport.

"How did you find out?" asked Qithka in a cautious, lethargic whisper.

"Your pathing attempt yesterday was logged by the Panas. Little vixens don't attempt three-parsec jumps at your age."

"Shit."

"And young Vargr don't readily curse in front of their elders."

Qithka rubbed her temples. How to break it to this Vilani?

"I'm not excused from the table until I explain myself, am I right?"

Shaa shook her head in the negative.

"Do you want it all? Right now?" asked Qithka. Out of one night terror and into explaining an encyclopedia of her lives' history.

"Or you can pack your panties, little runaway from Dzuerongvoe."
 
* * *

It took all breakfast, through lunchtime, and into dinner for Zhem to hear the entire story of the Relict Clone Qithka02 Cannagrrh. The Cym had silently and politely entered and was gestured over by the Dame inside the Vargr failing to overcome her sad state and even sadder Vargr Charisma. Zhem wanted to diagnose manic-depressive bipolar, but Qithka was in complete control of herself.

It was an epic storytelling, one narrated by a Certified Author-Actor that was Dame Qithka Cannagrrh, now a shadow of her Pattern before him and the Captain.

Zhem used his Steward skills for the first time since Moving to his new Chassis. He kept the coffee flowing and occasionally patted the Vargr in support of the coming out epic.

Tissue napkins were expended in waves of emotions, waveform and rhythmical. Zhem could tell the storyteller was proficient because she had Shaa reaching for tissue too.

Though Zhem had recorded every word, every inflection, transcribed the story into all the languages he had loaded for use, the Cym was able to break down the epic into a list of books:

1. Qithka and Gevaudan Cannagrrh

2. Their sibling rivalry and early Careers

3. Chasing Gevaudan into the Third Imperium

4. The Fifth Frontier War

5. Gevaudan and Uthka’s Exile from the Domain of Deneb

6. Gevaudan’s Ploy to force Qithka to become Pack Cannagrrh Alpha

7. Qithka’s rule and the Equality Wars

8. Qithka’s challenge to the Dzen Aeng Kho Council of Worlds

9. Gevaudan’s Vargrtarian Project during the Virus Era and the Mind Tsunami

10. The coming of the fourth mate-wife, a Suedzuk named Zhevra

11. The marriage of Gevaudan and Zhevra

12. Gevaudan’s Jump, a tragedy

13. Zhevra’s quest to find and recover her lost mate-husband

14. Gevaudan’s return and ascension to Pack Cannagrrh Alpha

15. Qithka’s Quest to the Edge

16. Kaer Cannagrrh’s return to Pack Cannagrrh and the un-belting of Cannagrrh Unequals

17. Qithka’s final days

18. Awakening as Qithka01 Cannagrrh and her escape from Zirunkariish

19. The run for Gvurrdon Sector

20. Conflict with Voellzoen the Viral upload Strain

21. Gevaudan’s translation

22. The Orsesokhin Run

23. Zhevra and Knirr marry to raise Gevaudan’s cub

24. Knirr’s ascension to Pack Cannagrrh Alpha

25. Qithka01’s retirement to Cannagrrh Villa and early translation

26. Awakening as Qithka02 in 1902, again on Vincennes

27. Meeting Zhem the Cym here on Pandrin

Qithka02’s voice was hoarse by the time she finished her epic. She was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Zhem too registered his own Pathos at 91% by the time the Relict Clone concluded with interviewing with Captain Gankinra.

Both females were in social tatters, Shaa Gankinra listening to Qithka02 Cannagrrh. By all rights, the Relict Clone could claim her title as Dame and Blooded Fang. This new iteration did not have the energy, Charisma or inclination. Zhem found himself wanting to aid Qitktha02 all the more.

“I’ll take you home, Qithka Cannagrrh,” offered Captain Shaa Gankinra. “I was headed into the Wilds anyway and Gvurrdon 1413 seems a deep enough destination for the route. I- we will get you there.” Shaa looked to Zhem and he nodded in assent.

The 18-year-old bicentenarian was so drained that all she could cry was a whimpering, canine whine. There were no tissues left, forcing Zhem to scavenge a roll of Fresher tissue for the leaking biologicals.

That evening after he had cooked dinner for the Captain and Qithka, Zhem tucked the Relict Clone into her bunk. Before he could turn to leave her to sleep, the Vargriform felt his claw grabbed. “Don’t go,” begged Qithka. Nodding his metal head, the Cym stood perfectly still, silent and in vigil over Qithka’s second, dreamless sleep aboard the Panas Gankinra.

The third Day aboard the Type K Safari Ship saw no new crew applicants. Two hours into waiting as Qithka and Zhem conducted systems checks, prepared breakfast, patrolled the corridors, Shaa had had it. Qithka, the poor Relict needed therapy, the kind only a mother could give.

“In your lives, have you ever had pups?” Shaa asked Qithka when Zhem was EVA just outside the ship’s hull and inspecting its armor plating. The ship had two layers of VLite Metal Anti-Kinetic and Anti-Blast underneath its Reflec Coating.

“No,” rasped Qithka’s hoarse voice. Honey tea was on the table for yesterday’s storyteller.

“Come with me then, young lady,” ordered Shaa.

“Where are we going?” Qithka asked followed by a sip of the tea.

“Males bond,” said Shaa, “but females go shopping. Let’s go. Zhem can watch the ship. He already has nice clothes.”

“I don’t have much credits,” crackled Qithka.

“First the Trade and Commerce kiosk where you can earn today’s shopping spree with me,” listed Shaa’s voiced itinerary. “Then, after lunch together, some ship uniforms, a Vaccsuit, some personal armor and working gear for the coreward route. Get me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” acknowledged Qithka who was now known as both younger and so much older than Grandmama Shaa. Qithka did not miss the together. Shaa had paid attention to the elitism of the Equals who did not eat or have relations with Inequals or the Unequal of Qithka’s past.
 
* * *

Pandrin’s exports this Day were scouted by both ragged-voiced Qithka02 and Shaa Gankinra. Though they arrived at the Trade Hub of the Highport, neither looked affiliated with the same ship. It was divide and conquer. Neither did very well with Passenger Demand but both managed to fill the four Passenger Cabins and four Low Berths with Middle and Low Passages. Qithka found Desert Envirosuits for Cr5000 per ton while Shaa became interested in the Pandrin Sophont Hats of this year’s fashion also skewed toward desert climes. Perhaps there was Jonkereen influence in both attire styles for Human frames and Vargr body types. Since Kaets was of lower Importance {Ix}, it was hungry for Mail from Pandrin. Coreward News Now! or CNN was the leading media source of this era. Qithka made note of journalism in 1902. News and entertainment was soundly nationalist, keeping civilization inside Republic borders and to the Ancients with Charted Space.

Seven tons of Famous Wafers needed courier as Fright to Kaets. If Mail did not arrive, Wafers were the next big sale.

Qithka and Shaa both agreed to the Mail, Passengers, Freight but debated back and forth over which would have better demand on Kaets, the equatorial desert Envirosuits or the fashionable Sophont Hats. The practical or the aesthetic. To Qithka, survival was more important than covering one’s Charisma with head apparel. Meanwhile Shaa could not stop trying on samples of Hats.

As a compromise over lunch, Capt. Gankinra agreed to split the cargo hold down the middle with 20 tons of Envirosuits and 20 tons of Sophont Hats. Who knew? Perhaps survival could coexist with fashion on Kaets.

Qithka bought lunch to try and soften the blow of the speculatives purchases. The two females had meals appropriate to their species and talked about girl things and about males. Qithka reported that only in her Pattern mother’s life had she ever found a male to court. Shaa hit it off early and had two children, a son turning to the Merchant sector while the adventurous daughter dared Exploration in the Republic Scouts.

“Next up: shopping!” smiled Shaa. “We need ship uniforms, personal armors because this Jack is getting old, gear, and Vaccsuits.”

“I thought your ship was not military.”

“It is not. But after your story, some cohesion is due aboard the Panas Gankinra.”

The two females walked shop to shop this time and personally tried on many brands and models of wear. Since Shaa was from an Asteroid World, VaccSuit was a mandatory Skill growing up. For Qithka, it was her br-…great uncle who mandated VaccSuit Skill aboard the Ares and later his Sixth Horizon even if he had to teach Qithka and Uthka Varzeekh himself.

At the end of the Day’s shopping, Qithka was the purchases porter for her Captain as Shaa was met by three business Vargr in two suits and a dress. A few signatures and accompanying thumbprints were traded. Whatever that transaction was, it smelled like a Patron to Qithka’s inner-Dame. She had been a Traveller for far longer than Shaa Gankinra.

Qithka did not miss the corporate logo: Oberlindes Lines. So. Oberlindes had survived 700 years into the Far Far Future.

“Zhem! We’re back!” Shaa called over the intercom on the Type K. The Panas AI acknowledged and welcomed its Captain before Zhem could.

Using a Highport luggage trolley borrowed from the Concourse, Qithka rolled in the piles of packaged purchases. It was only fitting that she porter the plethora of shopping since Shaa Gankinra had footed the bill though Qithka had treated both to lunch. Though no more applicants had appeared for interview, Qithka02 felt much better about her prospects of returning home now that she and Shaa had spent the day shopping. It was true. Ladies cheered to try on or take home things. Over the Day, Qithka’s estimation of pure-blooded Vilani, especially doting grandmothers improved.

The ladies spent the evening over dinner displaying the fruits of their shopping while detailing the Trade agreements for the ship. Four Middle Passengers, four Low Passengers, a full cargo hold of Freight, Mail, and speculatives (which Qithka and Zhem were to load using the grav-jacks in the Concourse). Shaa did not include the Patron that Qithka had seen from behind a wall of purchases on the trolley.

Zhem of course watched as the females showcased their new wear, weapons, Traveller gear (to which Qithka lent her lives’ experience), accessories, emergency drugs, and all manner of tools and implements.

“As Captain of this party boat, I’m not waiting any longer,” declared Shaa. “Between Qithka and I cycling as Engineers over the Drives, we can set sail for Kaets. While I notify ATC, Qithka can go to the Bridge this time and start pathing. Dr. Zhem can welcome aboard the Low then Middle Passengers after the both of you load the ship. I have to do more paperwork with Pandrin Shipyards.”

To Qithka’s new life as a Freightmaster aboard the Panas Gankinra, the tedium was not the mass of the items going into the cargo hold. It was the repetition of back and forth while utilizing the grav-jacks. But Zhem did not seem to care having a grand time doing the simplest of physical tasks. As the Ship’s Medic, Zhem laid down the nervous Low Passengers in the Low Berths with mechanical ease. Qithka bowed to Middle Passengers before escorting them to either their Passenger Cabins or to observe the departure from the Commons. “Welcome aboard the Panas Gankinra, Honorables,” Qithka greeted, feeling a little more seated in her new life as something less lofty as a Dame or a Merchant Captain she had been in previous lives. Was being lower on the ladder all that bad so long as she was headed toward her home?

While Zhem did his best as a gleaming tower of chrome plating to entertain the Middle Passengers, Qithka padded onto the Bridge to run the numbers. Shaa was chatting away on the Comms with Aerospace Traffic Control, Pandrin Shipyards, the Starport Warden’s Office, Starport Security, and Border Customs reps who kept asking her if she was absolutely sure about going into the Wilds.

This evening, Qithka decided not to showboat her Astrogation. Taking twice as long to check her math and choice of pathing, she sat back after two hours, happier about the route she suggested to the Panas AI for confirmation. Pressing the COMMIT button on the TL-16, illuminated, holographic board projected before her, she set a Ship’s Computer Cell on the 24-hour confirmation task.

“I’ll prep the Drives this time, Qithka,” declared Shaa. “You sit at helm and take us out when ATC takes the wax out of their ears.”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Qithka who had discovered that the Pilot’s chair had access to the Visor though many of the other Sensors were at her station at SensOps-Astrogation.

Though Qithka had piloted before in previous lives, this was her first to lay claws on the Control Console of a starship in this new life. The contoured grips were cushioned and gave in easily to the grasp of her claws. The Ultimate Stage Control Console at this Tech Level did not deny the grip of a Vargr. It welcomed Qithka.

The ship’s Power Plant came online, felt from the Bridge where Qithka was seated. She saw the two rings on her tail wag on its own. The slight but smooth vibration could be felt, the welcome hum of a ship under its own power. Then the blue glow from the aft was ambient as the Maneuver Drive was activated. Shaa called her actions over the intercom while Qithka confirmed the splines of Highport exit window from the gate gantry which was even now disengaging from the airlock. More and more systems lit up, registering readiness. The Panas AI did not miss a thing.
 
“KFK-BL333, Tower, egress window clear for your departure. You have fifteen minutes to depart for Pandrin 100D and outside the Three Dwarves jump shadow. Thank you for using Pandrin ATC.” The voice was automated and spoken in Gvegh since Qithka was seated and monitoring Comms. How thoughtful of the Panas AI to instantly translate the clearance signal.

Qithka thumbed the Comms to answer, “Tower, KFK-BL333 Panas Gankinra thrusting now at oh-point-seven gees, five-by-five inside the pipe.” Then she accelerated from the docking ring through the succession of navigation splines lit up in the Heads-Up Display or HUD.

Qithka was soon joined by Shaa on the Bridge who touched the Vargr on the shoulder, encouraging the first actual flight of the Panas Gankinra. Instead, the Vilani woman took Sensors and swiped overlays from each of the top-echelon, Surface-mount devices to Qithka’s HUD.

Clearing the glide splines, Qithka asked her Captain, “Cruising orders? We are clear of the Highport, outbound.”

Shaa answered in High Vilani, “On this boat, if you sit at the Helm, you select the acceleration, girl. Knock yourself out. The Sensors show our path is clear. You did commit the pathing, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Qithka who had more and more overlays of traffic passed to her station. “The AI-, I mean Panas is chewing on the confirmation now.”

With the word given, Qithka revved up the Maneuver Drive all the way to three gees of acceleration, the fastest the ship could provide. She felt the need for speed. Her tongue fell slightly out of her mouth, its pink tip curling over her upper muzzle lip.

The blue glow from aft intensified as the Safari Ship left behind the Pandrin mainworld, its Highport becoming a silver sliver reflecting the light of three Red Dwarves.

“Panas, one Cell to Drives monitoring, notifications to my Portable, to Engineering, and to the Bridge,” commanded Shaa.

“Compliance,” answered the Panas AI.

[Referee: cue music Fatboy Slim - Magic Carpet Ride]

After minutes of watching Qithka work the Control Console while consulting the Sensors results, Shaa patted her shoulder again before taking her Portable Controller slung on its strap from the Bridge.

“You have the conn,” ordered Shaa.

“I have the conn,” answered Qithka.
 
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