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A persistent cough echoed through the tunnels of Levski. More and more people were falling ill with an unknown disease, and medicines were running out. I was tasked with obtaining supplies.

Shortly before my departure, I ran through the gallery of the Grand Barter Bazaar to say goodbye to Pike and Alaska. I spotted the two of them—and couldn’t believe my eyes. Husky and Brubacker were sitting with them. Where on earth had the two of them come from? We hadn’t had any contact since the investigation at the Onyx facility. Alaska and Pike had an inglorious farewell with Brubacker.

Alaska wanted answers and grilled Brubacker. But he hemmed and hawed. It was a strange reunion. Amidst a steady stream of coughing people, we stood facing each other like a divorced couple circling each other suspiciously.

“… okay, but not here,” Brubacker finally said.

I nodded toward the exit. “I know a quiet place.”

In an abandoned borehole control station, we stood facing each other between old boxes and loose cables. Brubacker told strange-sounding stories. About time travel, attacks by the Vanduul, and a secret organization that wants to save humanity. The Vanduul wanted to steal the time travel technology and attack humanity in the past. Smith and he would play a role in this. It sounded totally crazy. Alaska accused Brubacker of telling fairy tales. He admitted that it seemed implausible to him too. But after what we had experienced in the Onyx facility, what would still sound strange? Alaska didn’t seem satisfied. Brubacker reacted indignantly. He emphasized that everyone was there voluntarily and that he had recommended that they leave.

I felt like I was on quicksand. Nothing made sense, everything was falling apart. At some point, I couldn’t listen anymore and burst out with my anger.

“You had only one job during our investigation: to publish everything. Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because at that point, no one knew that a Vanduul capital ship was on its way to Nyx. Because we may have triggered it ourselves at the Onyx facility, because we may soon have many people’s deaths on our conscience, because I wanted to protect them too – but above all because Smith brutally demanded it.”

I waved him off.

“Vanduul attacks are nothing new in Nyx. And we risked our lives during the investigation; Hermieoth lost his. I wonder if it was all for nothing.”

Brubacker gasped for air, then fell unconscious to the floor. The conversation ended abruptly. Husky took Brubacker to the hospital and then met with me.

“He’s being taken care of. I’m going back to see him in a minute.”

“OK. That was a very emotionally charged meeting. We should sleep on it and let things calm down. I have to go get some medicine for Levski.”

*

When I returned from my transport flight, the medical situation in Levski had worsened dramatically. Queues of people had formed at the clinic. A wheezing cough hung in the air. Patients waited on benches, their faces contorted with pain, clutching their stomachs. A doctor ran through the rows, ranting.

“It’s the spores from those damn mushrooms that grow everywhere.”

What did he mean? Miner’s Horn fungus had always grown on Delamar and was a resource for the settlers. It had never caused any problems before. I found the answer in a tunnel leading to the Grand Barter Bazaar. Guards stood in front of it, signs warned of mold danger. One sign read: avoid Molina. I spoke to a guard.

“What’s going on here? And what is Molina?”

“There are weird mushrooms growing in there that release spores. It’s dangerous. There’s already been one death, his name was Molina. They named the stuff after him.”

I had to take a closer look. Equipped with a rubber suit and a protective hood, I entered the tunnel. I brushed aside the guard’s warning. My rubber boots squeaked with every step. It was uncomfortable and much too warm. After a few meters, I was in the middle of it: mushrooms overgrowing the floor, walls, and boxes. It resembled a silent invasion. Myriads of spores drifted through the tunnel like a fine mist. Fascinated and horrified at the same time, I looked at the intruder. The mushroom body resembled Miner’s Horn, only the color was different. If Alaska were here, he would certainly have a scientific explanation. Science, that was the solution. I took a sample and went to the clinic with it.

The doctor stared wide-eyed at the mushroom bodies. Next to the Molina Mold, I had placed a Miner’s Horn.

“Are you tired of living? And what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Examine them,” I replied curtly.

“Not necessary. I have spores from the lungs of the deceased Molina.”

I looked at the doctor grimly. “And now? Case closed or what?”

“From a medical point of view, I have enough samples, just no cure yet. Until then, the question is where the stuff comes from and how we can contain its spread.”

“And who’s taking care of that?”

“That’s the station administration’s job. But they don’t want to send anyone in there. There’s a shortage of protective suits.”

Thirty minutes later, I had been tasked by the station administration with organizing protective suits.

It proved more difficult than I had thought. I spent days scouring the shops in Stanton – nothing. Was someone exploiting the emergency situation for speculative business? Or was the People’s Alliance being deliberately harmed? I had to accept that there was no official way to get protective suits. It was time to take a different approach.

*

An asteroid flew past the cockpit window… then another. Ahead of me, between the asteroids, lay my destination, my last hope. More and more adrenaline rushed through my body. Ruin Station. The market there offered everything—last chances, disappointments, profits, and death.

Rancid air, dim light, rusty walls, trash. The entrance hall was anything but inviting. At least Amelia Boyd’s corpse was no longer hanging in the passageway. I passed the armed guards and went straight to the market.

The vendors in the shacks loudly touted their wares. But they didn’t have what I needed. I tried my luck at the admin desk.

“Protective suits?” grumbled the guy behind the barred counter. “They’re in high demand right now.” He paused for effect. “Maybe I have something for you. Wait five minutes, then go upstairs and ask for Tex.”

Upstairs – the gallery above the market. The realm of the gangs, the place where dark deals were done. Access by invitation only. I bought a can of Rust at a stall and waited – five minutes. Then I stood at the stairs. The guard silently pointed his weapon at me.

“I want to see Tex!” I said firmly.

The guard lowered her weapon, motioned for me to follow, and went up the stairs. She led me through dark corridors to a balcony overlooking the market. She pointed to a shabby sofa.

“Sit down! And don’t move!”

Then she disappeared. On the balcony was a second sofa and a grill with small flames licking around skewers. It smelled of burnt meat. The muffled sounds of the market drifted up from below. I looked around nervously.

Then a guy appeared. Dirty tank top, scarred face, tattoos. He took a skewer from the grill, sat down on the second sofa, and nibbled on the charred meat. Two gorillas stood behind him with their arms crossed. After he had gnawed the skewer clean, he threw it over the railing and licked his fingers. Then he looked at me.

“You’re looking for protective suits?”

I nodded. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“That’ll cost you.”

I nodded again and wondered if the protective suits were worth the price, no matter what he asked for. I couldn’t imagine that this guy had goods of any usable quality.

“Money is one thing I’ll get from you. You’ll owe me a favor, which I’ll call in when the time comes.”

I looked at Tex, confused.

“Then I don’t really know the price.”

He leaned back indifferently on the sofa.

“Credits and a favor. Take it or leave it.”

What choice did I have? I took the deal. On the refinery deck, he handed me a container of protective suits. Most were yellow, some were dirty olive green. I didn’t even want to know where they came from.

A few hours later, I was back in Levski and met Rebekka.

“We can’t get the epidemic under control and have to do something that not everyone in Levski will like: We’re going to ask the UEE-based aid organization Alliance Aid for help and work with the UEE.”

I looked at Rebekka with my mouth open.

“Zero, I want to ask you to take a leap of faith and put your aversion to the UEE aside. I know some say that our ideals are worthless if they don’t stand firm in the face of deadly danger. But what are they worth if they only exist in history books and no one lives by them anymore?”

Gerald’s words when I joined the Rust Society came to mind: The Rust Society stepped in when people were not being adequately cared for by the authorities, and I could help free people even if it meant indirectly helping the UEE. And it wasn’t just about strangers. Alaska, Pike, and Husky were in Levski. Brubacker was in the clinic. He had probably been infected by Molina. That didn’t explain his strange behavior when we met again, but he didn’t deserve such an illness. No one did.

“You’re right, Rebekka. I don’t have to become a friend of the UEE, but I do have to find a new balance between total rejection and unconditional support for the UEE.”

Rebekka looked at me intently and took my hand. For a moment, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s do it. Transport flights to help Levski out of the crisis, even if they fly the UEE flag.”

Brubacker’s implausible explanations would have to wait.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)