Salu didn't know when he had stopped hearing the foot steps of his escort. Somewhere between the meeting place of his clients and the point where he exited the building the man with the blue stripes had turned around and left him on his way without so much a word. It didn't matter, really. As long as his clients knew he hadn't drawn the attention of any strangers they wouldn't complain. Salu would simply follow the imprint where it led him. Back into the daylight and through a maze of mostly empty alleys all the way back to main promenade. Here the events surrounding the strange meetings he had today would fade forever from his mind. Or, at least, that's what should've happened.

He had no idea why every lozenge given to him by his current clients had failed in their final task. Perhaps his nervous system didn't particularly care for their choice of amnesiac agent, or they simply didn't use enough of it. It was normal for those who hired an intermediary to provide their own drugs in the form of a dropper with torushia and dried kuwit leaves or powder, but never had he seen a simple pill filling in for both of those.

By now the light projectors dimmed to mimic planetary twilight, the glow of holograms advertising the promenade's many establishments finding their turn to shine. There, in a side street, underneath a rotating band of yellow glyphs he couldn't read, he went down a narrow set of steps. The door of the place was wide open, enticing anyone casting a glance there with sounds, smells and lights that promised a good time. A borlokhu casually leaning against the wall next to it—dark and broad shouldered, with eyes hidden behind a black visor—was the only deterrent.

"Evening, Ranbli," Salu offered in greeting. Silence. Not even a single twitch of a muscle betrayed the hulking brute when Salu entered, but he knew not to expect a word from him during his shift. People tended to shy away from him, but if one were to find him during his off time, one would quickly learn he was a much gentler soul then he let on. To Salu he had rattled on about all the strays he took care of on his block along with his daughters. Salu had been pretty sure that along the list of names were some that didn't belong to cats or dogs. Maybe later he would hear more about it after meeting his contact.

It didn't take him long to spot the shiny, blue head of Murchiru Kurrurcha with its distinct spiraling grooves on the temples. He went into the booth the snailhead had chosen for this evening and felt the slight vibration of what he hoped was the last privacy field for the day.

Kurrurcha had a sour look on his unblinking face as he stuffed some red gelatinous globs into his mouth and slurped them up with a sharp gesture of his head. "Much too sweet," he gurgled. "But this is the only place in the entire habitat that serves it."

Salu sat down on the cushion next to the grimacing snailhead, a little fascinated how anyone could keep eating something he hated. "This is that alcoholic thing you talked about last time?"

Kurrurcha scrunched his nose and upper lip, following with a light toss of his head: his people's gesture for affirmation. It was close enough to the common nod that most people would know what it meant. "Feel free to try some." He shoved a bowl with more of the jiggling mass closer to Salu who—curious as he was—scooped out two fingers worth of the stuff. It didn't have much of a smell until he put it under his nose and overwhelmed his olfactory receptors with a pungent sweetness that almost made him recoil.

Politeness and a little bit of daring pushed him to give it an exploritory taste. It hit the back of his nostrils with a vaporous chill that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Thinking he had to at least try as much as he had taken, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and tilted his head back, slurping the jelly down his throat.

Cold, and then an enjoyable burning with his oral and nasal cavities filled with intense sweetness. Yes, it was slimy but he could get used to that, and the flavor was to his liking despite its strength. He jabbed his fingers back into the bowl, claiming it as his own.

"You should try proper kerpike some time, not this trash." Kurrurcha said that, but Salu could tell he was pleased a foreigner had discovered one of his people's traditions.

"I'll take you up on that offer if you can actually find the stuff," Salu jested.

Kurrurcha ignored the light jab. "Let's focus on business, shall we? Since you're here I'll presume they haven't figured it out yet."

"Both Shadowstar Company and my clients believe someone in Shadowstar leaked the plans for the blockade. On the side of my clients this old man specifically suspected Taillon. It makes me fear for his life."

"Fear for his life?" Kurrurcha repeated. "How so?"

"The old man..." Disquiet took hold of Salu, remembering how casually Taillon's life or death was discussed by this particular client. He was certain the old man had already decided on the latter option. "The longnecks got nervous and he was already figuring out an excuse to take Taillon out. Said he was paranoid enough to kill himself."

There was a moment where Kurrurcha quietly regarded Salu with his bulbous, mucus covered eyes. "You feel it would be your fault if that happened," he surmised correctly. "I will try to see if I can plant some misleading evidence but you're going to have to tell me more. Firstly, tell me why your clients suspect Taillon."

"It's because I told them he was eager to find the leak. He immediately offered to lead the investigation when it came up."

"Right right." Kurrurcha pulled out an ordinator sheet, activated it with his thumb and tossed it on the flat surface of the table. He pointed at what Salu assumed was a portrait, though it was hard to tell. "Taillon would be the man in this—" He noticed the problem midway through his sentence. Stains of noise disrupted the image, moving about like small fish or tadpoles in a shallow pond breaking the surface with their backs.

"Pardon me." Kurrurcha pinched his thumb and index finger together as if to hold something. A flick of his wrist aimed at the ordinator sheet and the spots of noise started to fade. "That takes care of that. Just some minor demons. They probably got stuck in the privacy field when I activated it."

Being without implants, Salu could only perceive the cypher plane through output devices like the ordinator sheet's imaging layer. He had no desire to dive in and experience the madness and chaos of that realm directly. It was better to leave it to those with the right knowledge like Kurrurcha who with two swift taps of his finger forced the sheet to reload the displayed information.

The snailhead pointed his finger at the reassembled image. "This is the man you've seen in your mediations with the Shadowstar representatives: Wurims Taillon?"

Salu nodded. "That is him."

"They're aiming for someone that high up? Just who are these humans working together with the longnecks? What did they look like?"

"Very orthodox. The strangest one there had light blue stripes on his skin, grey in blue eyes, hair like a sheep. Pretty sure he was the lowest rank there. They called him an 'acolyte', and the old man 'excellency'. That one had slightly darker skin than mine and green eyes."

"Anything else they mentioned that could give them away?"

"I remember them saying they weren't experts on warfare, but that's pretty obvious if they needed Shadowstar to do it for them." Salu pored over his memories of the last mediation for anything distinct and therefore possibly useful. "'Juurinai error cluster'? Does that mean anything to you? Sounded like some kind of high science thing."

Kurrurcha shook his head in the common manner but accompanied it with a flash of his lower teeth. "I'm afraid that's not my area of expertise."

"'Mosaic resource'? No idea what that is."

"You don't?" Kurrurcha said. Salu was certain he detected a hint of amusement in the snailhead's voice. "It's what make human civilization possible."

"Still never heard of it."

Kurrurcha regarded him with those bulbous eyes again. "Glamour? Fae matter?"

"Don't tell me 'mosaic resource' is another term for the witching stuff."

"It is. You must've lived around orbitals and nomads all your life if you've never heard it called that."

It was Salu's turn to stare incredulously at Kurrurcha. "Who calls it that?"

"Lockfeet. No offense."

"None taken."

Kurrurcha nodded his head a few times in that snailhead way of his. "So an organization headed by lockfeet arrogant enough to think they can replace torushia and kuwit with a single pill? That doesn't exactly narrow it down, but if you could give me some more clues it might."

"Well, they seemed really bothered by the name of that new dollfucker ship—"

Before Salu could say another word, Kurrurcha cut through with a glare so intense it would make even Ranbli feel ice crawling down his spine. No mean feat for someone without eyelids or eyebrows. "You know that by being here and talking with me you're on their side, right?"

"Apologies for that one. I swear on my mother's free will and my own I'll never use it again." Within the League of Nomadic Peoples the snailheads—or rather the Chucchereen—and the Mezhained were by far the most important members. Where the former afforded the League its network of diplomatic and trade connections, the latter gave them the brute strength to enforce pesky little things like free travel and sovereignity for all its member nations.

"I'll forgive it," Kurrurcha said with a slowly relaxing stare. "Now tell me about the name."

"According to them it wasn't a Mezhained name, but from something called Yaviqaa instead. Apparently it means 'Threads of Causality'."

"That is not a language I've ever heard of. If any of my connections know of it I'll be endlessly lucky." Humanity was so numerous and spread out that even a language spoken by as many as there are honey bees on a single planet could be unknown given enough distance or time. One could extend one's life far beyond what was considered sane, study languages that entire time, and never learn the significance of the phrase 'Threads of Causality' in Yaviqaa.

"They said the name was 'him' mocking them."

"'Him'?" Kurrurcha looked incredulous. "They didn't say who it was?"

Salu shook his head. "They did not."

"Not very useful, I'm afraid. Anything else?"

Salu closed his eyes and thought back to the mediation but very soon he shook his head.

"I see," Kurrurcha said. "What about their strategy? They can't exactly harass the Golden Fleet in Kayaalid space."

"They realized that too. Their plans are paused until your friends get out of there."

Kurrurcha turned his eyes back to his ordinator sheet, swift fingers changing the image to an information feed maintained by the locals. "Well, it's lucky they could think of a way to break through. Building an entirely new warship like that. Just incredible!"

Leaning in to get a closer look at the report, Salu's eyes just happened to come to rest on the name of said ship and he began to spell it out phonetically. "Vu-lee-loy-nan Shi-sur-na. So that means 'Threads of Causality' in that crazy language?"

"That would have to be her given name: Shissurna," Kurrurcha informed him. "Vulilognan is her designation and title. It roughly translates to 'fifth young wandering sun of gold', meaning she's the fifth warship of the Golden Fleet."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the big one with the cylinders isn't a warship?"

"No she's not. I've met her once. Old as she is, she's still a lovely girl."

Salu ignored the strangeness of ship minds existing outside of ancient mythologies and cut straight to his point. "Then how is this Shissurna the fifth warship when there are only four."

"Tragic story. Their second warship disappeared in an experiment where—" The words died on the snailhead's tongue as if he was stuck in time, staring with those lidless eyes.

"Kurrurcha?" Salu said as if to urge him back into responsiveness. "You better not have some rare illness that's acting up now. I have no idea how to explain this to Ranbli."

After one moment of silence more, Kurrurcha slowly turned his gaze to Salu. "I know who they are," he informed him with a soft voice.

"They."

"Your human clients and who's mocking them."