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Ham Sulp stuffed a wad of chew into his mouth, biting down on it hard.
The scrubber drones had cleaned every inch of the room hours ago; his tests at over 200 random spots showed no trace of the growth chemicals – and nasty bugs that found it a wonderful place to live – that had been inevitably spilled in here while the cloning tanks had been present.
He’d reluctantly cleared it for human habitation. And so the drones were putting up walls, partitioning the huge empty space into rooms for those thousands of transfers from MS-29 who now had to be housed.
It fell to him, of course. Well, and Zeela Cann. Poor woman was apoplectic over the pace his drones were making. They were a full eight hours behind schedule at this point, but it had been unavoidable.
“This wall is twenty centimeters short,” the woman snapped peevishly to a drone, who let out a series of beeps in response.
“That one doesn’t understand you,” Sulp told her. “You’ll have to talk to the controller.”
Zeela shot him an annoyed look. “Which one is the controller?”
“Dial your HUD into my channel and you’ll find it,” he told her.
She tsked and stalked off to berate the proper drone.
Sulp looked at the room. It was twenty centimeters short, but that was okay, this was going to be a communal kitchen, not a room for one of the transfers.
Ten thousand people, coming on. That was a stretch even for him. He’d tabulated the rations and water and air. Always check the air, he knew. Granted, on a ship like the Craton it was never an issue. Nor did they lack for good air scrubbers to keep the carbon dioxide from poisoning them. The scrubbers on this blessed ship would collect all that and pump it back into the growing system. This ship was as close to a closed system as entropy would allow, and it was a scramming miracle.
He thought about telling Zeela that the room was sized right. But the drone she was still talking to wasn’t about to have its feelings hurt. Machines didn’t feel – well, at least these ones didn’t.
Its mechanical voice was hard to understand, its vocoder primitive. Rarely did it have to talk, but it seemed to be giving Zeela back as good as it got. Eventually she’d get tired of arguing with it and go do something constructive. It was good for someone that uptight to let off some steam sometimes.
A notification told him that someone had entered the room.
“No one is cleared to come in here yet-” he growled, cutting himself off as he saw who it was. “Oh, Dr. Y. Didn’t realize it was you.”
“Greetings, Commander,” the machine who did feel replied. “I have brought representatives of the Emigree Commitee from Medical Station 29 to view your excellent work.”
Sulp looked past Y and saw several other people waiting a polite distance back.
Had they not been here, Sulp would have ripped into the doctor for not warning him. But being what he was, he’d probably realized that, hadn’t he?
“They’re welcome to look,” Sulp growled shortly.
“Excellent. Dr. Henlock, if you would follow me . . .” Y walked past him, and the group of emigrees followed. “Commander Sulp has been converting this storage deck to housing for your people. Over a thousand families will be able to stay comfortably in here for the five days it will take us to reach Gohhi Station . . .”
“Are these generic rooms, or have they been made to accommodate the make-up of actual emigrants?” one of the group asked.
Sulp chimed in. “We’re making a rough proportion of singles versus families versus couples, but for the most part they’re generic. It’s much simpler on supply this way.”
“Will this cause inconvenience for our people?” a woman asked.
“It’s interim housing,” Sulp replied. “It’ll serve ’em for the interim.”
The woman frowned, looking to Dr. Y for clarification.
“Commander Sulp means no disrespect,” the AI told her. “He is simply a being of direct words. I have full confidence that these accommodations will meet your people’s needs.”
“Is this a difficulty for your people?” the third man asked. He sounded genuinely concerned about it.
It was a bit, Sulp thought. But even he wouldn’t just say that. “We’ll manage,” he said. “Not even the highest pop cap we’ve had on here.”
Dr. Henlock chimed in. “If Dr. Y says it, I believe him. In all the years I’ve known him, he has not lied to me.”
Dr. Y let out a soft, human-like laugh. “Why thank you, Doctor. I always appreciated your support back in the day.”
“What do you think of Dr. Urle?” the man asked now, concern creasing his face. “While she’s efficient, I have to admit that-“
“Excuse me,” Dr. Y said, standing up straighter, his head tilting as if something distant had caught his attention. “While I would prefer not to discuss the current head of MS-29 in such a way, I also have news. Commander Sulp – you may want to hear this as well!”
Sulp found his curiosity piqued. “Yeah?”
“The first of the clones has been successfully birthed. She is alive and in relative good health!”
The group of emigrees cheered.
Sulp said nothing, but stared at the Doctor. Y stared back at him, and Sulp wondered just what the AI was thinking as it looked at him.
He turned away first. “That’s good news,” he said.
Other Terrestrial 