With the USS Rubicon as their escort, they don't have to wait in the usual holding pattern to jump out of Denebola system. It starts with the slow but steady rise of positive G's. They enter protective stasis during acceleration and deceleration. It's possibly the most refreshing sleep Gallifax has ever experienced. It's also disorienting to wake up from. She yawns until her eyes water and looks up at the lid above her. Fractal patterns are burned into the polymer. Old Terrans used to call them lightning flowers. Thread's been busy.

Humans spend nearly a third of their life asleep. Many aliens don't and find it astounding that any spacefaring species would use time in such a way. Thread is obviously in this category. She looks down at the scar in her abdomen and catches skeletal wisps of light. They fork upright like streamers that precede a lightning strike. Unlike streamers, it isn't pure plasma. Gossamer blue hairs, visible only at certain angles, constantly flex in the air. Thread reaches up and presses against the bed's lid again and light unfurls into rainbowing fractals. She hears a faint snap, followed by stinging pain. The smell of ozone and burnt plastic is suddenly overpowering. This is how Thread's species got its nickname. Snappers can push through most shielding and kill on contact.

Thread suddenly dims and retreats back into her abdominal cavity. It's like someone's pulling hot spaghetti through her skin. She grits her teeth and waits for the feeling to subside. The burn marks are prominent and if any of Skorda's beetles sees them, they'll know a snapper's onboard. Gallifax loathes being inhabited by a sober alien, but not enough to surrender herself to the Sol military.

Brakes' voice floods her ear. "MO, you there?"

"Fuck. What?"

"We're at the Exclusion Zone. Time for class."

"Ugh." She pushes the lid open and swings her legs over the side. "I'll be right there."

It takes a few moments to get her bearings. The hospital has a private suite just for her, which she uses to wash and dress. The burnt lid presses in the back of her mind as she shimmies into her pants. When she's presentable, she grabs a blanket and tosses it over her bed, then pushes it back into a special hollow in the wall where it sits to preserve space. The path to the galley is short, but takes her past Gun's room. She catches a crack of light and pushes the door open.

"Hey, asshole. We've got...."

Their decorated pilot sits with his dick in his hand and three separate feeds on the screen in front of him. Women doffing their spacesuits with no ventilation garments underneath (of course), a naked man with an ancient Terran dough over his crotch (of course), and a vaguely familiar dessert. Legs sits on top of Gun's head, filaments sliding languidly over his scalp, EVA helmet reflecting the images.

"Huh." She squints at the screen with edible yellow cylinders. "What's that?"

Gun looks up at her. "Twinkies, I think. Legs like them."

"Yes," xe says. "Pleasant and equal."

"Gunther, xis entire species is watching you dock."

"That's what makes it good." Gun looks back at the screen. "I'll be at the meeting. Gimme a minute."

"Whatever." She almost closes the door, then leans back in. "No direct contact."

"No direct contact," they both parrot.

It's not the weirdest thing Gallifax has ever seen. She makes her way to the galley, which is the only room big enough to accommodate the crew and Skorda's marines. Nearly everyone else is present. The beetles sit at their own table, not hostile but not friendly either. Captain Jr sits in his usual seat with his crew gathered around him like goslings. It's not out of loyalty. The coffee dispenser is directly behind him. She makes a beeline for it while Thread squirms in the presence of caffeine.

"Good," Admiral Skorda's voice thunders overhead, "we can begin."

Gallifax startles and looks at the hologram suddenly shining in the room. Some of the marines snicker and she deliberately faces the coffee dispenser to hide her expression. They won't be laughing when their cooked meat is thrown onto her operating table. She pours her coffee and stirs it viciously. The smell is enough to improve her mood. When she takes a sip, the ecstasy of a good cup spreads through her body. It's probably the only thing she and Thread agree on. Coffee: a lot, often, and no substitutes.

Brakes hits her knee and whispers, "Sit down before you mess your pants."

"Too late."

But she sits anyway.

Admiral Skorda gives her the evil eye before starting. "You're the first civilian ship to approach Regulus system since the massacre of Grenadier Station."

People shift at that. The entire Blue Blood brigade had been wiped out. Over 14,000 service personnel and an additional 4,500 civilians killed in the space of a morning. That's the reason for the Exclusion Zone. It's snapper space now. The only place where Sol forces gave ground to another species.

"You're entering unexplored territory today," Skorda continues. "I trust you'll act like it. Not a single person escaped this system 50 years ago. Respect that legacy and our mission here will be a fruitful one."

Gallifax takes a deep gulp of her coffee, but the taste barely registers anymore.