NORA: “Slow nights, Dreamers. Nothin’ on the tightbeams but profiteer propaganda and Grineer trading recipes for drahk tick stew. Breathe while you can, know what I’m sayin’?

Screw it. Sometime’s a girl’s gotta shake things up. I’m opening up to calls from a very narrow slice of space. Talk to me. Let me hear what’s on your mind. And don’t get any ideas ‘bout trackin’ me down. I’ll be gone before you finish havin’ the idea. One thing Nora ain’t is static. Alright, lines are open. Don’t make me regret this.

First caller is… oh. That ain’t right.”

Caller: “Hello? Yes… Um, is this thing working?”

NORA: “Could ask you the same thing. You all callin’ from Deimos? Not the prettiest moon in the sky, that’s for damn sure. Didn’t know anybody was fool enough to be shacked up down there. Nobody with a face, anyway.”

Caller: “Ah, good! And yes. Well, no… Truth be told, I'm not exactly from here. In point of fact, I should be ‘shacked up’, as you put it, on a nice, safe Corpus Stanchion and not down here up to my knees in a whistling orifice’s afterb….”

NORA: “Corpus? You Corpus? Damn, I knew this was a mistake. Nora out.”

Caller: “No, wait, wait! I’m… My name is Latrox. Latrox Une.”

NORA: “Okay. You got a minute. You sound scared, Latrox Une. Kind of a mouthful, that name. What do your friends call you?”

Caller: “Friends? No, I don’t really…I supposed I had a lab partner once. Went three consecutive rotations together once. Doesn’t happen often. She, erm, took to calling me ‘Roxy.’ Does that work?”

NORA: “Everybody’s someone to somebody, Roxy. Even profiteers. Though these days even them lines are gettin’ blurry. Got Narmer takin’ people’s names and faces — scrubbin’ them flat like brass. Got Grineer breakin’ bread with Solaris. Corpus hermits talkin’ to strange women like me. The times: a-changin’.”

Caller: “I don’t really know much about that, to be quite honest. I don’t get out much. Can’t get out much. At all, really. I’m on a bit of a long-term contract. It’s… dreadfully dull, to be entirely honest. Except when something is trying to eat me. Or assimilate me. Or both.”

NORA: “Oh, I’m sure you got stories to tell. Like how you’re survivin’ on the wrong side of the angriest anthill in the system.”

Caller: “Ahem! Erm, yes, but no. I mean, I’m afraid I really can’t discuss that. Non-disclosure agreements with current… employers… and all that.”

NORA: “Give a girl somethin’ to work with, Roxy, or she’s likely to think you’re keepin’ her on the line for nefarious purposes. Why’d you call, if it ain’t to get a zero on my whereabouts?”

Caller: “[sighs] Yes, yes of course. An equitable exchange. Your time is valuable, and I must provide something of equal…”

NORA: “Roxy…”

Caller: “Deimos. Normally very dull, yes? I collect samples — samples of the Infested, I mean — for testing. You wouldn’t think of Deimos as having an ecosystem, I’m sure, but it does. The homeostasis of Infested organelegy is quite brutal, of course, but surprisingly fragile. I get in, cut out a few cysts, check that nothing has seriously upset the great and terrible balance, incinerate the remaining tissue before it regains motor function, catch my breath after all the screaming, and get out. Simple.

Are… are you still there?”

NORA: “Keep talkin’.”

Caller: “Usually that’s the worst of it. I’ve learned to live with it. I can process the horrors I can see. The screaming helps one, of course. Most cathartic.

It’s the recordings, you see. Of Deimos. The outgrowths and pustules and hematomas. The hideous, wet, landsong of this place.

It’s changed.”

NORA: “‘Changed’.”

Caller: “I apologize, my dear, you may be talking to an old man who has been alone for far too long, but…

NORA: “We’re here, Roxy. You’re all good. Keep goin’.

… Roxy?”

Caller: “Y-Yes! Sorry… I was just thinking — wondering if I should even be telling you this. What if it’s all some Infested trick? But, if it’s not, someone needs to know. You can get the story out. Just in case.”

NORA: “Roxy… In case of what?”

Caller: “In case whatever — whoever — the Infested seem so very, very afraid of doesn’t stop here.”

NORA: “Hold up a sec. The Infestation is scared? It told you that?”

Caller: “No, no, no. Well, not in words. That would be crazy. No, it’s the exocrine.”

NORA: “Right. The exo…”

Caller: “Exocrine, yes. It has been… furtive. And the capillaries, pumping blood faster and faster. The hypholoma sores should be blooming this time of year, but they’re dull. Discolored. I think… I think they’re trying not to stand out. Trying not to be noticed.”

NORA: “And that’s… bad.”

Caller: “I sound insane.”

NORA: “Or you just know more about an ugly-ass spleen world than I do.”

Caller: “Ha. Well. Yes. That’s undeniable, I suppose. (sighs) I suppose it’s just nice to have someone listen to me for a change. It… it’s probably nothing, isn’t it?”

NORA: “Maybe the planet needs its yearly physical. Get out! Go for a run! Eat less carbs! I dunno.”

Caller: “Hahaha… yes, quite. Well… thank you. For humoring an old man. As you might expect one does get rather in one’s head, down here, alone. With all the peristalsis, eructations and whatnot.”

NORA: “All good, Roxy. You take care.”

Caller: “But it’s the knocking that really gets on my nerves.”

NORA: “The what?”

Caller: “The incessant knocking. It’s ceaseless! Anyway, you’ve no doubt got more interesting callers waiting on your…”

NORA: “What kind of knocking, Roxy?”

Caller: “Well… the kind that prevents a fellow from getting a single night’s proper rest. That might explain why I’m fantasizing on a tightbeam with a woman I’ve never met, now that I think about it...”

NORA: “You’re sayin’ you hear it in your dreams?”

Caller: “I… I suppose I could have dreamt it, but what’s that-”

NORA: “What’s it sound like?”

Caller: “What?”

NORA: “The knocking, Latrox. What does it sound like?”

Caller: “Like… knocking. Old pipes. Rhizal moles bashing about the place. That sort of thing.”

NORA: “What’s the rhythm sound like? Did it have a sorta beat to it?”

Caller: “Erm, rhythm? No, it- Well, I think it sounded sort of like… One-two-three. One-two-three. Like the Orokin waltzes my old quartermaster used to play. Did… did I say something wrong?”

NORA: “Send me that data, Roxy. All of it.”

[Transmission Ends]