Salvador walked into the newly constructed restaurant, barely able to stop himself from gawking at the room-wide skylight, exposing a front row seat to endless space. The Cambiar had made some impressive works so far, but they had outdone themselves with whole establishment, the fancy tables, mostly lit by enhanced starlight above, and soft music playing from an actual live band. Admittedly, the Cambiar were playing instruments that bore no resemblance to the authentic instruments of proto-wave jazz, and were attached to parts of their bodies, but the sound was near identical, so Sal couldn’t complain.

  Moving between the tables, Cambiar waiters dashing about, Sal found the table Xin had booked. The size initially seemed far too large for the Torchers, but he remembered their alien partners would also be attending. Sliding into a wooden chair next to G9, dressed in a simple black dress, Sal felt a bit out of place. He had ditched his regular jacket and jumpsuit in favour of a presentable shirt for the earlier investigation discussion, but he still felt underdressed compared to most of his friends. Even Abel, who never put the effort into zipping up his jumpsuit was wearing a well fitted suit jacket, and Marcus had pinned his bangs up, sapphire eyes almost glowing by candlelight. Sal wondered if his eyes always that shade of blue. Sal barely saw them that clearly. Xin had worn a Chinese dress, something typically affiliated with clan celebrations, but spared no signs she cared for such restrictions on attire.

  The one person who fit the scene worse than Sal was Stannock. From god knows where, the narcissist had donned a full blown zoot suit, styled in bright scarlet hues, and was proudly showing it off to his partner. The worst part was the fact the more reservedly dressed Cambiar was actually admiring the garish thing. Notably, less and less of the Cambiar were using translators around the ship, forgoing the device in favour of their seemingly fluent, if not somewhat husky and whispery, English skills. Stannock’s partner fit that bill, his voice now identically matching his near-clone’s.

  “Sal, hey Sal,” A small voice nattered at his side. “How do I look?”

  Turning to G9, he saw them bobbing in excitement. They still had their translator on, but Sal felt it wouldn’t be long before it would be discarded.

  “You look rather dashing, considering you were just learning about shirts the other day.” Sal still often saw G9 wearing large, oversized tops that hung off their frame comically. “That being said, is there anything under there?”

  “Sal!” G9 exclaimed in mock dismay.

  “I kid, I kid. So, been waiting long?”

  “Nope! Abel’s been keeping us busy with his funny little fake stories.”

  “Hey!” Abel said. “I’ll have you know all of my stories are one hundred percent real, no half-truths or lies. You can tell that to little Jaws here.” He jutted his chest out, exposing the miniscule tooth hanging by a string.

  “Yes, yes, we are all aware,” said Stannock. “Now, can we get back on topic? What sort of food are we exactly getting tonight? I’m sick of the patties we’ve gotten so far. Even if they aren’t poisonous, it has been too long since I’ve expanded my taste palate on something exciting or exotic.”

  “Ah, relax my dear. I have been assured that our newly instated galaxy-class chefs have learnt much of human cuisine from the past few weeks and will be proud to show off tonight.” The alien next to Stannock matched his voice with a tone full of pride.

  Even in the enchanting glow of the restaurant, with most light being enhanced starlight straight from the heavens above, Sal could swear the Cambiar looked a bit different. Was their skin ever so slightly darker, almost a dull yellow compared to the bright gold it had once been? Almost… ashen?

  A disturbing idea had been planted in Sal’s mind as G9 got his attention, “Sal, was everything ok at the meeting earlier? I heard the captain was mad.”

  “Oh yeah, he was absolutely pissed. Can’t exactly say I blame him…” Sal trailed off. “But in someways he’s getting his just desserts. This wouldn’t have happened if he had kept a better handle on his crew.” Sal had little care for the man following Thomas’ revelation. Sal wouldn’t divulge the Keeper’s secrets yet but would probe about long term residency with the Cambiar over the next few days.

  “Say Sal, have you ever had bad captains or leaders before this Curtin?” G9 asked.

  G9 had been intrigued to learn more about Sal’s past over the last couple days. They had asked about the big arcs of his life, and he had recalled some his history. At least, the parts he felt comfortable going over, and even went into the little aspects that he himself barely reflected. Sal had come to realize he had never been a great chef, at most a half-decent fry cook for morning hangovers when the team all got too drunk together. Sal wanted to try and change that aspect about himself, if H&H could get them out of their current predicament.

  “Bad leaders, hmm. I had one who I wouldn’t say I liked, per se, but he was damn great at keeping us alive. Mean as shit and twice as crabby as Elijah has ever been - Old Captain Briggs.” Sal let out a whistle.

  “When did you serve under him?” G9 rested their chin on a fist as the two of them tuned out the background conversations of the other Torchers.

  “Ah, that was back in the Recon Fleet. I joined up after H&H after they… helped me with a personal matter. I felt the need to repay them a debt. I considered joining up with a pre-existing colony but most of those are either well-paying but rough to live in industrial estates or incredibly difficult to join if they’re of better quality. Lacking the skills, and honestly wanting to prove something to myself, I went for the Recon Fleet.”

  “Wow, that sounds exciting! Say Sal, what do the Recon Fleet actually do? I’ve done some reading, and most parts seem self-explanatory, but the Recon Fleet is different from the Expedition Fleet’s scouts, right?”

  “Yes, well, the Recon Fleet still does a lot of scouting, but it’s not for new lands. Instead, their whole job is to look out for enemy forces and fleets that could prove dangerous to the CCH near the borders. They aren’t meant to usually fight them head on, but just to get an idea of what we could be up against.”

  “Is it… dangerous?”

  “On paper, it seems suicidal – charging into potentially enemy territory and finding out who’s there. However, most of the time, it was a whole lot of nothing. The recon ships are small and decked out with stealth gear to hide them after S-Jumps. That being said, I first met Abel in a pretty sticky situation.” Sal leant back, teasing out the event.

  “Oh? Did it involve him trying to arm-wrestle you? Me and the other Cambiar in the group are making a bet on who would win between him and Titan. My money’s on Abel though.”

  “What?” Sal frowned in disbelief. “You guys don’t even have money, right? Never mind. It was after we first got moved to a new ship with good old Briggsy. That man had never smiled a day in his life, and on a good day you were lucky not get something tossed at your head. Still, best captain I’ve ever had. We were searching a system near New Paris, mostly because Siralis Goldheart was doing a concert there, and someone high up was a big fan I guess. In a routine scan of the place, as I’m trying to help this massive dude with a silly Caribbean accent with a stupid necklace move some cargo, we get lit up – a goddamn clan fighter ship is lost in the middle of nowhere and decides to take us out. Why? No clue, probably just wanted some kind of ‘honourable death’ that some clan warriors are obsessed with.”

  “Wait, you met Abel as you were getting shot at?” G9 pulled their chair closer.

  “Yeah, what perfect timing. So, I rush over to see what I need to fix, and I find out the ammo loader for the last working gun is fully dismounted. Completely detached, and that means no ammo for shooting back. Can’t get back to the bridge to get others to fix the main weapons, so I’m stuck on my back trying to push this giant thing back in place.”

  “Was it scary? Was Abel scared?” The Cambiar’s tail was wagging frantically, drinking in every word.

  “Oh, believe me, I’m shitting bricks. Alarms are going off as Briggs is shouting down the speaker. So, on my back, pushing as hard as I can against the loader to get it back in position, and suddenly this giant guy squeezes in next to me and starts pushing too. I figure he’s worried about dying and, frankly, don’t blame him. Now, initially, I think he’s going to break the damn thing and I, pretty stupidly I must admit, thought I could do it on my own. That ends up with me not only doing my best to shift the loader above me, but I’m also smacking him on the arm, telling him to go get help. Out of nowhere he shouts ‘No, I can’t die! Mr engineer, please, I need to pay off Mr Caffeine!’. Abel cared more about paying off the stupid goddamn coffee machine he had leased than drinking vacuum!”

  “Well, that does sound like Abel. Did you get the ammo attached? Did you survive?” G9’s voice had escalated to the point of hysteria.

  Sal just gave them a look. “G9. I’m right here. Did you think I died?”

  “I mean, you could be a ghost. Ghost engineer, woo-woo!” G9 waggled their claws in Sal’s direction, earning a scoff.

  “No, I didn’t die and I’m not a ghost. I’m still sitting there, dumbfounded, when Abel locks in, grits his teeth, and pushes the ammo loader in by himself. Next thing I hear is the gun blowing some clan fighter into stardust. Five minutes later, we’re sharing some terrible coffee from good ol’ Mr Caffeine.”

  “Wow! And after that?”

  “Well, we went back to Titanlock and Abel got into maintenance so we could work together. After moving to the Expedition Fleet and running a few practice trips, we meet with Xin and the rest is history.”

  “Torchers unite!” G9 stuck their arms up in celebration, and Sal reluctantly did the same.

  He had wanted to seem cynical about the stupid gesture, with his limbs held aloft, but looking around the table at everyone in their nice outfits was undeniably comforting. They had come a long way from the start of the Torchers. Sal and Abel had gotten on well, but Sal had been cautious to open up what little he could to the man. Xin had been in a rough position at the start of her employment in the Expedition Fleet, with Doctrine heritage not being looked upon kindly by those in the lower decks. Sal and Abel had made a point to make her one of them. If people from all races and backgrounds couldn’t work together as Torchers, then anyone could. Well, Stannock had tested them at first, but he was… unique in every sense of the word. Marcus and Dusty had slotted in easy enough, though the former had taken some serious work to go beyond monosyllabism. Casting his gaze around the table, even now, Sal knew he closed off his deeper parts of himself more than he should have. As far as he cared to admit, those fragments could stay sealed until the day he died.

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  “Say guys, I don’t know about you, but I heard a rumour that someone saw ‘One-Shot’ Olegovich!” Abel whispered, breaking Sal from the stupor. “Right here, in the Cambiar fleet!”

  “Another story full of bull, Abel? Come on.” Xin was obviously not impressed.

  “Sorry, who is this person? Olegovich?” G9 was confused.

  “Someone not worth thinking about.” Marcus muttered, sipping his drink. His partner, a stocky Onusian, gently rubbed his shoulder, drawing his attention away.

  “’One-Shot’ Olegovich is a Doctrine clanlord, third in line for the Broken Fang. Most clanlords sit around and let their underlings go to work, but this guy is a real piece of work. Almost like something out of a film. Legend says he’s got so many cybernetics that you can’t see him when he moves. And that his gun is powerful enough to tear through ship hulls!” Abel was obviously getting into the story.

  “Yeah, except it’s probably bull.” Sal interjected. “Sorry Abel. No way a clanlord would fight himself, unless he was crazy. And besides if we were here, he’d be disguised.”

  Sal tried to dismiss the wild claims, though a small part of him feared that he could be wrong. If the Doctrine had infiltrated the crew, who exactly was on board? And how many clans would be needed to get into such a large population? One? Two? A dozen? Changing topics, the group moved to lighter subjects.

  “Ooh, I wonder what desserts we’re going to get! Do you think they’ve made ice cream yet, Xin?” Dusty was practically humming with excitement, and the effect rubbed off on Titan. The looming xeno buzzing with enthusiasm was slightly more worrying, their crusher claws snapping shut every few seconds.

  “Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Ace? Have you guys figured out udders yet? Are the chefs milking themselves as we speak?”

  “Ms Rouse, I can assure you, if we have developed the production of ice cream, it will not be from a Cambiar with bovine appendages.” Ace said, shaking their head. The little alien had barely known Xin a week and already looked fed up. Sal couldn’t blame the small guy.

  As the first appetizers arrived following that horrible mental image, G9 spoke up. “So, Salvador, you’ve seen a lot of the Fifth Spoke so far. Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s been a lot of variety.” Sal stuffed a juicy red blob in his mouth. It was unexpectedly salty but not overwhelmingly so. “The ship has almost entirely changed since we first arrived, and I don’t think I’ve seen everything so far. There’s a swimming pool somewhere. A swimming pool! I don’t even know how to swim, and I want to try.”

  “That’s great Sal. I was wondering… there’s a spot in the centre, called the ‘hive point’. Have you visited it yet?”

  Sal shook his head, cheeks full. “Nope. Why?”

  “I was hoping that… after dinner, we could visit it. Together.”

  “Ok, sure.” Sal said, slightly hesitant. Was this a ploy? “What’s there?”

  “That’s a surprise!”

  “A surprise huh? Well, I think I’ll have to treat you to one back then.” Sal looked towards the others at the table. Xin and Stannock were arguing about the best way to define the flavour of the food in front of them whilst Dusty and Abel were showing off the comical difference in sizes between their two partners. “I can’t say when, but when Starheart is safe to return to, how about I show you around, let you see what human hospitality is like. Word of warning – it’s a lot worse than here.”

  Warning disregarded, G9 squealed with joy. “Really Sal? Thank you! I wanna see what it’s like where you work, where you eat, where you sleep, everything!”

  “Uh, let me tidy the dorm up before that last part.” Sal thought on the trunk beneath his bed. If there was anything he could get off Starheart, it would be that one item. Finishing his plate, Sal noticed Marcus was sitting quietly, occasionally looking at the Onusian next to him. Neither had spoken much about their partnership, but at least they weren’t arguing.

  “So, Marcus, how’s the ship been going? You mentioned you wanted to look at the ship’s engineering systems, or their equivalents, I guess. Find anything?” Sal asked.

  Marcus, a bit disconnected from the conversation, jumped slightly when Sal addressed him, but gave a thin smile. “Well, I’m still a bit new to the whole Cambiar way of manufacturing and processing, but most things are relatively analogous. For in system burns, their ships use an efficient gas produced from breaking down all waste materials they find. When I mentioned the usage of electricity for electronics, they tore down some walls to show their neural wiring off. They grow it out like thread and just stick it everywhere. If there’s an issue, like it breaks or there’s too much power coming down the line, they just grow some more.”

  “Huh. And the walls? The hulls? Where do they come from?”

  “Well, the Cambiar workers can eat almost anything. They just chew up a bunch of raw metal ore, process it internally, mix it with some natural binding agent and neural tissue, and just spit out all the hull they want. Guess that’s how they’ve been changing the ship so much recently. The new materials and looks are still made the same way, just with different raw goods and colourings. You need wood? They just chew up the same base material but tell it to act like wood when they put it down. All the walls are hooked up to those veins we saw on day one, which is how they get nutrients and stuff, but it’s all hidden away now. In a way, the ship’s alive. But it still needs a brain to actually control it all, but I guess that’s what the pilot’s for.”

  Sal was a bit disturbed by the thought that the whole environment around them was alive, even managing signals from all over like a primordial computer. The thought was put on hold as the main courses arrived, the Cambiar being served a large, writhing pale thing seated in a twisted shell.

  “Wow, they’re actually giving us fresh hyizka!” G9 said.

  “Fresh, what?” Sal prodded his plate, thankfully free of any moving creature, which consisted of the same white meat he had eaten previously but seared like a steak and surrounded by an orange moss.

  “Hyizka. It’s our main food, but eating it fresh is a rare delicacy. The fact we get to deshell it is a great honour!”

  Before Sal could enquire what that entailed, G9 opened their mouth as wide as possible and started sawing their teeth back and forth against the shell. The exposed end of the still living creature ducked back inside the conch, but the Cambiar’s teeth were making short work of its exterior. The other Torchers looked at their fellow aliens doing similar things, with Titan simply crushing it beneath their expansive maw.

  Once G9 had opened a hole in the shell, their digestive tendril wormed out their mouth, coiling in the air before meeting the hyizka’s exposed section. A soft whining noise escaped the creature as the tentacle dove in, bulging as meat was bitten and swallowed. From G9’s vocal appendages a satisfied hum escaped. The whole act could only be watched in mixed enchantment and disturbance by the humans, with Abel doing his best to hold the shell for his small companion.

  Once they had finished the meal, with the humans acting relatively meek with their cutlery in comparison to their counterparts, footsteps closed in behind Sal. Considering the presence of traitors amongst the crew, he span, knife hidden in his palm. Instead of a clan assassin or another goreskin, a duo stood, one familiar, one unfamiliar.

  A tall, midnight black Jherl stood, forcing Sal to crane his neck from his current seat, and beside them a slightly portly man with a heavy moustache and massive smile.

  “F5? How are you doing?” Sal’s tone was a little hesitant, as the alien had certainly not skimped on any additional human features.

  To match her tall frame, a pair of large breasts now hung, shrouded by a loose tanktop. Flared hips clung to the sides of a tiny pair of denim shorts.

  “I am doing rather well! I hope you are enjoying the meal. My boyfriend here, Cesare, put a lot of hard work into it.” F5 clapped their… her hands together and smiled.

  “Ah, Fae dear, it was no problem. I just used a touch of love! How was it Mr Vigino?” the plump man’s voice was as cheerful as his face, a heavy Italian accent making itself present.

  “Oh, thank you Cesare, it was great. Is… Fae doing ok?” It would seem that F5 had taken up a new name, or maybe it was a pet name of some kind. Who knew. “The investigation of Ruby Eye was a bit dicey, but I think we got out well, all things considered.”

  “Of course, signore, she was fine. Just a bit of bedrest and she was right as rain! I did feel the need to thank you though. I am grateful for you and medico Michael’s quick thinking. I must ask, Salvador, do you have much connection to the homeland, to Italia? Through your family perhaps? You do not share the accent as I do, but I did not wish to assume.”

  Salvador got his surname from his father’s side. His dad never spoke much about his relatives, or early life in general, and briefly mentioned once that he had moved away from them as a teen. Sal had no intention of caring about his mother’s side of familial history.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t. I take it you still carry some traditions?”

  “Ah, of course Salvador, of course! I must introduce you to my nonna once this situation is a bit more, eh, stable. I am sure she would love to meet a lovely man such as yourself.” Cesare looked down at his comm-device. “Apologies everyone, we must rush off. We have a date at the viewing lounge. Take care!”

  The Torchers gave some farewells before settling into silence.

  Eventually, Abel was proud to shatter it. “So, is no one going to mention the boob-shaped elephant in the room, or am I?” His little partner poked him in the ribs soliciting a wince from the man.

  “I thought they were definitely too small.” Titan huffed, the now definitely feminine translated voice clashing heavily with the deep rumbling of their natural tones. The large Delkar looked down at their translator in response to hearing their own voice and seemed to fiddle with it, perhaps preparing to remove it.

  “I must say, she did have the proportions down but perhaps could have used a better model for reference.” Stannock’s poncy body-double said, gesturing a cupping motion to the air. “After all, there’s so much better ones out there.” No one missed the twitch of his eyes towards his human partner.

  “Oh, we’re talking about references now, are we?” Xin stood, slammed down a hip flask she had somehow snuck in her dress, and pointed at the slightly ashen Cambi- wait, how the hell did she sneak that drink in? The dress was clung to her body like plastic wrap. “How about we talk about you and your modelling, Stannock two-point-oh.” Her drunken slur was apparent, and Sal’s head was in his hands. Gods, no.

  “Oh, please Xin, I don’t deny it. I just need to get some more… measurements before I can fully achieve the perfect results I desire.” The alien’s gaze ventured crotch-wards for a split second on the now profusely sweating Stannock, his eccentric suit not helping the situation.

  Abel thumped the table with his cutlery chanting “MEA-SURE-MENTS!” After some delay, his tiny partner joined in.

  Sal and G9 shared a concerned look at each other as the chaos intensified.

  “Please, Big S, just… shut up for a bit.” Stannock practically whimpered.

  “No! I won’t stand for such disrespect.” ‘Big S’ said. “This woman spits on our honour as prime specimens!” The alien sat back, squinting at Xin.

  “Big S? Wait, wait… As in, Big… Stannock? Are you kidding me? Stan, I knew you were in love with yourself, but convincing your partner to mimic you?! You are fucked!” Xin was climbing on the table, only held back by both Ace and Dusty’s efforts. Meanwhile, Abel was laughing so hard that he almost fell from his chair, and Marcus and his partner were calmly sitting and drinking their drinks as if nothing was happening.

  “It’s not like that! I just saw him and knew what I was meant to be!” ‘Big Stan’ said proudly, shielding his ridiculous looking companion.

  “You bastard, you’re ruining this first contact by being yourself! You’re a dead man walking grey-skin!” Xin had grabbed a steak knife and was halfway across the table.

  “Well… lovely weather we’re having.” Marcus said, monotone and actively avoiding looking towards the fight to the side.

  “Yes, quite lovely indeed.” His alien companion said in a similar tone, sipping some water.

  G9 and Sal looked to each other and sighed together. An unspoken message sent and received, they both stood, and left the carnage behind, giving a farewell over their shoulders to anyone listening. Sal sincerely hoped that a medical team wouldn’t be needed by the time Xin was done.

  “You grey son of a bitch, I’ll kill you!” Xin’s voice echoed as they exited the room.

  So much for ‘Torchers unite’.