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Urle wondered just how Brooks ever found the time to take a stroll through the Equator ring.
It had been hours since the Star Angel had arrived, and though it had been the main task on his docket for the day, he’d barely had a moment to think since then.
The official work of being captain was deceptively easy. Each department head was highly competent and there was little friction between them, aside from Sulp’s frequent outbursts, which were more a cultural habit than anything else.
But it was the unofficial work that he found was eating up his every hour. At any moment he had at least three situations waiting for him to resolve. Minor issues, usually, but ones that could not be kicked into anyone else’s court.
Human error had given two vendors rights to a kiosk for the same hours, and while Zeela Cann had tried to arbitrate, they’d both exercised their right to have him decide.
The secondary clearance shafts for reactor five’s heat exhaust were not yet due for replacement, but were only a week out from that date, and should they be switched out while they were in port? This would incur a cost that only he could decide.
He was due to give two lectures, one after the other, on topics in which Brooks was an expert, yet he was not. He had Brooks’s notes, but he was still not ready, and yet he was the one who had to give them . . .
Inspections and more inspections, even some involving spacewalks, and of course drills . . .
Then there were the official correspondences Brooks had going with other members of the government in various branches – seventeen of them, currently. On topics ranging from aquaculture and Earth geology, to navigation and political theory to commentary on 24th-century Antarctic film culture.
And on top of the constant small issues, he had to create a new cruising schedule for after they left port next week. He’d done that before for ships that were actively patrolling, but the Craton was not on patrol. Being a city-ship, her itinerary was much looser and between missions she frequently cruised on the Captain’s whim – within limits – wherever he wished.
So where did he wish to go? Urle was not sure of that.
He’d managed to eke out fifteen minutes to go on a walk. Brooks had sworn by them, claiming they always helped him keep his thoughts at their best.
But Urle did not think he’d picked the best time. This was prime time for the equator, early evening, and the area was packed. His system told him that a significant portion of the ship’s complement were now currently packing the stalls and restaurants and whatnot of the Equator Strip.
What he’d hoped to be a leisurely walk was much more frantic, with people moving around him very busily if he slowed his pace. He had to more or less keep up with the crowd, which was hardly relaxing.
Taking a turn and slipping through the crowd, he went into one of the food gardens; vertical hydroponic gardens bathed in light, growing fresh produce for the crew. An entire ecosystem of plants existed here, growing in an intertwined way that encouraged maximum output and health.
It was still crowded, but slightly less so, at least.
Something randomly reminded him of one of the events on his itinerary that Brooks himself had postponed before going off-duty; teaching a class on building model mechanical airplanes.
It was an odd thing for the Captain of a vessel to teach, but he’d seen the models around the man’s quarters, and knew he’d always had an interest in mechanical engineering.
The class had only been delayed. Did that mean that Brooks planned on staying on the ship no matter what? If he was removed from his position, he might even be discharged. Or he could even choose to leave himself. He’d worked hard for years for his own command, his record better than many who had made captain earlier . . .
Urle again wondered why he was so concerned here. This charge was not going to stick and Brooks would be back. His worry was just that; worry.
But Brooks had messaged him since leaving, and while he’d not written much, it was not hard to read between the lines.
His ship had been taken by someone else. Communications lines had been clogged. These were conveniently-timed and odd occurrences. Speaking to some friends of his on Plucharon, Urle had even learned that Dr. Genson from MS-29 had passed through – commandeering an express shuttle.
He could not prove it, but it was possible the man had taken the one assigned to Brooks. And if he had been brought here, it was quite possible he was a material witness.
His thoughts still mulling, he nearly missed the short being who walked out in front of him.
“Oh,” he said, startled. “Ambassador N’Keeea, I almost didn’t see you there.”
“Nor I, you. My apologies, Acting-Captain.” The Hev offered a dignified bow, which Urle returned, while replaying the events his sensors had recorded. He saw that N’Keeea had looked right at him, had been watching him. It was certainly no accident.
Well, that didn’t matter. The Hev clearly wanted to talk to him, and Urle decided to take the issue by the horns. “Why don’t you walk with me, Ambassador?”
“Why thank you,” N’Keeea replied, falling into step with him. Urle tried to measure his pace to match the ambassador’s smaller stature, but to his surprise the being seemed to notice and started to walk faster – fast enough that it was not quite natural for Urle.
N’Keeea still managed to make it seem natural; his kind were adaptable and energetic, equally as home running on all fours as two legs, as well as highly proficient swimmers and burrowers.
He took a full passive scan he could of the being to note anything else he could that might prove useful. While his systems took a few moments to take in the being’s pheromones and try to suss the meaning out, he studied his physical features.
N’Keeea’s fur was well-groomed, short, healthy, and his eyes were bright and keen. He was small even for a Hev, despite being slightly overweight. His tail had been docked, which was something of a fashion among those born into a good family, showing they did not even need it as they did not have to perform dangerous tasks.
All those signs reaffirmed his earlier thought that N’Keeea was doing quite well, or at least his part of his clan was.
But his chemical markers showed that he was also feeling extremely stressed. Indeed, twitches in his cheeks that would have been imperceptible to normal human eyes suggested he was on alert for attack.
Urle doubted the being was worried about being attacked by him, or probably at all – though he couldn’t rule it out.
He processed this information in an eyeblink, matching his gait to that of N’Keeea without difficulty.
“I am surprised you have not sought to leave and find one of our ambassadors, now that we’re in the Sol System,” Urle said. “Not that I mind having you as our guest, of course.”
“Ah. You are too kind, Acting-Captain. How is Lt. Pirra, might I ask? She put herself in such danger – it was so little I could do to help her when she had that unfortunate misunderstanding with Captain K’Raaiia. She suffered no lasting effects from her exposure to the corruption?”
Urle noted how carefully the Ambassador skirted around taking any fault. It was certainly politick, but an inkling of an idea was coming to his mind.
“She is doing well. She spoke quite glowingly of you – not so highly of Captain K’Raaiia, who she says was unprovoked in his behaviour.” He gauged the Ambassador a moment before continuing. He got mixes of excited signals from the being, going from elation to despair, in that order.
The extremes were immense, though he hid them as best he could. The Ambassador was clearly no amateur, yet he felt this strongly . . . Something was going on, and for whatever reason he would not open up about it.
Brooks often gambled, he thought. And while he was not a gambler, himself, he decided to take the risk.
“His actions put her life in grave danger, however. If we were to pursue this on legal channels with his clan, may I ask – as a personal favor, off the record – what your stance would be?”
N’Keeea replied at once; “I would be honored to aid my friends in the Sapient Union. Though I fear that K’Raaiia’s clan is not based close to human territory, and have extensive connections with the Corals and Sepht – you might inadvertently alter your own position with them. Instead, I recommend that you arbitrarily put economic sanctions on five unrelated captains from his Clan. When they protest, you will concede those five in return for either punishment of K’Raaiia – or if they refuse, then you extend your sanctions until they agree.”
The flood of information shocked Urle. The Ambassador was giving him an in-depth strategy aimed at exploiting the psychology of his own kind? Or at least a clan of his kind.
He had to remind himself, though, that the Hev were not a united species on almost any scale. Clans could number from the thousand to the billions, but there were still millions of clans, with ever-shifting alliances and wars and conflicts and friendships and mixings. As soon as one absorbed another, two other factions from its back end would break away.
And there were at least three sub-species of their kind – they had left their homeworld in three successive waves, separated by thousands of years . . . They were very different, and there were few alliances between descendants of different waves.
He searched for information on similar tactics used against Hev in the past; there were copious examples, from the Beetle-Slugs most commonly of all. Yet K’Raaiia’s clan was of the second-wave, sometimes called the Blue Hev. This tactic had had less success in the past against Clans of that lineage than it did against the oldest and most numerous, the so-called Yellow Hev. To which N’Keeea belonged.
Could he be making a mistake? Or was there something else he was missing . . . ?
His information on each Clan only went back so far. The rate at which they collapsed, merged, or arose was so rapid that solid information on any faction rarely went back more than a few hundred years. And even that information was mostly second-hand, as the majority of Hev revealed little about any clan, and what they did say was often untrustworthy.
So perhaps N’Keeea was leading him wrong, but Urle was not convinced.
He answered the Ambassador promptly. “That is very generous advice,” he said, feeling so grateful for his enhanced brain that could sift through this data so quickly. How did Brooks do it with a nearly unaltered mind . . . ?
“Ah, it is worth much to you?” N’Keeea replied. “I am pleased to have given it freely.”
His posture changed, his tail nub lifting higher, and nose twitched less, and swayed back and forth, the Hev equivalent to holding it high.
Other Terrestrial 