Bud Sparhawk - Alba Krystal

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Alba Krystal

by Bud Sparhawk

There were eight of us assigned to the station when the greenies brought her in half-dead with fear and

cold, turned her over to Alice -- our station -- and left on their lizardy business.

Poor Alice hadn't been trained to be a nursemaid for an abandoned kid so all she did was get her in bed,

heat up the chamber a few degrees, and send out a call on the distress band for us to hurry-hurry home.

Hurry-hurry was just one thing we couldn't do. The seven of us were working deep that day -- down to

about twenty atmospheres -- and decompression back to station levels takes time, even for us

modifieds.

Needless to say we were all roundly cursing the greenies the whole time we guided our 'scaphs back to

the transport and stowed them in the recesses along each side of the monster ship. The stupid lizards,

leaving some poor human child to the mercies of Alice. What a stupid stunt.. "Damn them," we cried as

we sweated the transport up through the heavy atmosphere of the giant planet Grimm.

It was our own fault in a way, leaving the station alone. But what ever happens out here that requires a

human attendant to stay behind? Certainly a space station orbiting an out of the way place such as Grimm

wasn't likely to have many visitors, aside from the regularly-scheduled traders that worked this sector.

Usually Jack, our normal, would have been at the station since he couldn't get down to pressure like the

rest of us. But right now Jack was on his way home with our last load of pyrads for the Federation

markets and orders to fill for the station; food, of course, fuel, repair supplies and, most important to our

sanity, whatever was new in the medical field.

As were most modifieds, we miners were all avowed hypochondriacs. We needed the constant

reassurance of having a large amount of medical machinery right at our fingertips. They tell me it has to do

with the trauma of modification -- when your brain wakes up to find that they've changed things around

since its last check. How would you like to wake up and find your feet right there, three feet from your

nose?

In the last twenty years of operation the biggest injury the station recorded was a sprained ankle. But, as

I said before, statistics don't matter to a modified so we've got everything the medics would sell us.

The major item is a complete rejuvenation rig -- a big glass mother that's capable of rebuilding anything

from a piece of torn skin to a complete torso. Old Sven, "Doc" we call him for he's always studying the

medical equipment and astounding us with his knowledge of their capabilities, says if we have another

sprain it'll be easier to cut off the leg, dump the patient into the unit and wait the twenty-five point six two

days the regrowth would take. Be easier than putting up with the groaning and moaning of the victim.

He's a real joker, that Doc.

We've also got a broad spectrum analyzer for anything from a viral infection to an attack of Martian

screw worms, a comprehensive pharmacopoeia of every drug known to man and the normal complement

of sharp, pointed, and blunt instruments that can be found in any good surgery.

It wasn't until we were in the secondary locks, getting our five atmospheres of ship pressure squeezed out

to one and complaining about the heat when Jock thought of telling Alice what to do for the kid.

I was too sick at the time to hear everything he said, being the slowest one when it comes time to

decompress. The others are different from me: they've still got their throats and mouths through which

they can blow out great gusts of air. Me, I'm stuck with a set of book gills around the throat that are a

great asset as depth but terrible for degassing. I can't even cuss with the rest, my larynx having been

sacrificed to make room for the gills. Nonetheless I manage to sign my feelings pretty well to everyone

within finger sight.

By the time we were down to one-and-a-fraction atmospheres we'd even reconciled ourselves to

accepting what the greenies had done. Shoot, it must have cost them a bundle in reaction mass just to

divert and bring her to the station. I felt sorry for the next humans that had to deal with that crew. "Full

accounting due: balance for delivery of human child to Federation station A-116, lost purchases Cr.20

per hour, fuel expenditures of, _etc . . . etc . . . etc_."

In their cockeyed way they'd be right; every human was responsible for his own kind. I'd be the last to

say that their ledger-book morality was any worse than ours. At least they didn't war among their own

kind.

Jorge was the first one through the lock and into the sleeping chamber where Alice had put the kid. The

rest of us were just a little behind, me being the last, still sick with the cramps and aches of various sorts.

I pushed my way through the strangely silent group surrounding the bunks to get a glimpse of the child the

greenies had left.

You can't blame Alice for calling her a child. After all, the only humans she's seen since she was activated

have been the normal station keepers such as Jack and us modified deep miners. I guess that's why she

took the word of the lizards that this was a child. Since the lizards live about ten centuries each they're a

little biased about things like age.

"Wow," James whistled. "What a set of legs!" A murmur of agreement swept the crew as their eyes

gazed on the slumbering figure.

She was a woman the like of which we'd not seen since our modified service had begun. A normal girl

from the delicately tapering toes up the smooth flesh to the crowning glory of her hair -- with all of the

pleasant diversions along the way that mean the difference between average and normal. After all, even a

real beast would have looked good to our horny crowd, but this beauty . . .

"She looks familiar somehow," Jim said and rubbed his chin. "I think I've seen her somewhere before."

The shuffling of our bodies and whispered admirations must have disturbed the girl for her eyes began to

flutter and then flew open as she gazed dead level into our eyes. She gave a little stifled cry and jumped

up from the bunks, a wild look in her eyes.

If we thought she was lovely laying down our opinions changed when she stood and we could see the

muscle tone of her magnificent body. No sagging flesh or loose folds on her. Aside from a delightful little

jiggle here and there she was as tight as a drum. Premodified memories came flooding back about girls

looking that way. I let out a long sigh for what was past and the gills converted it to a flubbering gurgle.

Oh, to be six feet tall again, I wished.

"Who . . . who are you?" she asked with a trembling voice as her eyes darted from face to face.

Doc reached out and patted her on the behind, which was about even with his chest, in a reassuring way.

"Be calm," he said in a deep voice, as if he were ready to put the make on her. "You're among friends."

Then he introduced each of us, leaving me to the last -- sort of getting her used to the idea of our

differences from normals before springing that mass of wet flesh around my neck on her. To give her

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