Two human beings, descendants of the same ancient Mother Terra, stood side by side, but Earl and I had opposite reactions. His was a resigned sigh while I tempered my elation, knowing how unpleasant would be my next task.

I would have to interrupt Captain Ohm, in the middle of a preening, shatnerian speech, denying him the pleasure of hounding a poor automaton into sputtering self-destruction. Despite the wonderful news I had to tell… I knew he would not be pleased.

14.

A dozen or so well-armed greenies were already setting up a cordon by the time our motley assortment of travelers hurried through the small forest and approached the base of the transporter tether-tube, whose gripping claw anchored it deeply into the planet’s surface. The security personnel looked sternly focused and determined. One would expect humorless professionalism from the colorith and dorvish team members, and perhaps even from the single, green-clad human. But the demmie majority seemed just as grim, as they set to the task of erecting up several large blasters on rotating pivots.

They must have been through a lot themselves, the last few weeks, I thought, and clearly Ohm was pondering the same thing as he held up a hand, slowing our forward rush and letting the armed spacers get a good look at us, as we neared. It also allowed Ohm to take a prominent position, two paces in front.

I didn’t recognize any of these crewmen, though they wore the badge of our proud ship, the Clever Gamble. Dutifully suspicious, they made even me and Captain Ohm submit to biometric scanning… before snapping-to and giving us proper salutes.

At Ohm’s word, the guards also allowed through Katske, Karakal, Ping and the others, though now a burly, greenclad corporal took over guarding our prisoners. Another kept glancing watchfully at the tusked-one, Lorg, and our pair of zombies.

Naturally, the locals were in awe, having never seen anything like an Alliance slurry transporter, slanting almost invisibly from the sky like a ribbon of heaven. Along its length, the conduit pulsed and throbbed, like an esophagus conveying downward chewed-up swallows of a meal, delivering liquid lumps to the receiving chamber – a cylindrical pot at the end of that long, digestive process.

If travel-by-slurry is disconcerting to inexperienced users, I recommend that you never actually watch the process of reconstruction, peering through the compartment’s broad window while nano-assemblers faithfully re-stack a traveler’s body cells in exactly the same order (more-or-less) as when he, she, ae, it, or wut entered the de-liquescing deck at the other end. Rebuilding a living person from the inside out.

Katske turned as green as a demmie security officer’s tunic and hurried for nearby bushes, to retch.

“Ew, gross,” murmured the zombie Sully, while tucking one of her eyelids back in place. Moulder agreed from his sack, slobbering liplessly.

“I’d barf too… if I had any guts.”