New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“There you go, Ensign Roren, all done with the exam!” Dr. Y said cheerfully.

The ensign smiled, but it was wan.  He was something of a worrier, though it was not extreme.

Y’s sub-routines compared the man’s relative levels of anxiety and stress markers against Boniface Tred.  They were not close; that man had some of the highest rates of such markers Y had ever seen in someone in a healthy state.  His auto-planning routines, that scanned for patterns in all incoming information for data that he might consciously miss, loved to use Tred as a comparison whenever human stress levels came up.  Perhaps that could be problematic, he would have to tinker with those algorithms later.

“Is everything okay?  Do you know why I’ve been feeling so tired?  And . . . getting the rashes?” he asked.

“All signs point to it simply being stress, Ensign Roren,” Y replied.  “It has been a stressful time, so it is perfectly understandable – and normal.  Even I’ve had to have my joints oiled a bit more often than normal!”

Roren’s head tilted, confused.  He did not know if Y was joking or not.

“And I know you generally are worried by doctors,” Y continued.

“You’re better than most,” the man mumbled.

“Why thank you, Ensign Roren.  I believe if you simply take some time off – I shall order it if you like – and attempt to relax, you will feel better.”

“Okay,” the man said.

“And to help with that, I am going to send a prescription to your system – slightly altering your shampoo mixture, and adding slightly more zinc into your diet.  Those two should help the rashes.  Simply accept the recommendations when you get home, and they shall be implemented!”

“Thank you, doctor,” the man said, looking genuinely relieved.  It was such a perfect representation of the emotion that his auto-planning routine marked the record for later analysis.  Could not hurt to be able to recognize human emotional states better!

Roren left, and he saw that he had only two minutes until his next appointment.  So many routine ones backed up!

His drones cleaned the room, and he cleaned his chassis.

His next appointment came in – Dav Gannin, one of the emigrants from New Vitriol.

Now there was stress, his auto-planning system thought in admiration.

Quiet you, he told it, lowering its relative presence in his thoughts.  Though not quite muting it entirely; that was never wise.

“Greetings, new citizen Dav!  I am pleased to see you today.”

The man nodded and mumbled back his own greeting.

At first, he’d been quite hostile.  Like Apollonia Nor, he did not trust doctors.  But Y was pleased to see that, like with Apollonia, the man was beginning to show signs of trust.

“I apologize for the long wait for your appointment,” Y said.  “As you know, we’ve been so overwhelmed with recent events and had to delay routine appointments.”

“It’s only been a week,” Dav replied.

“I promise you that under normal conditions you should be able to walk in during any clinic hours,” Y replied.  “And receive prompt care.”

The man didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Y moved him on to the actual tests.

They were relatively fast, though he had a number in mind, taking all of ten minutes.  The blood draw was unobtrusive, and the man was still waiting for it to start by the time Y was done.

“Now, let me go over these results.  I will return shortly!”

Leaving the room was largely a formality.  While he was quite capable of analyzing the data in an instant and telling his patients, he’d found that this speed created some discomfort; they thought he was not taking enough time to reach good conclusions.

Rather than fight it, he simply went with it.  Humans would adjust, eventually and then they’d all have a laugh over it.

In the other room, he analyzed the data as Dav dressed.  When he’d first given the man a check-up, back on New Vitriol, he’d marked him as being surprisingly healthy, but needing a follow-up.

Compared to those initial tests, he saw that the balance of lipids and nutrients in his blood were far more balanced.  Better results would come over time, but having sufficient – and quality – food and drink were doing wonders for the man.  Though he was seeing signs of insulin resistance still.  He’d have to make some tweaks.

It was exciting that his numbers needed tweaking!  That was so rare when he generally had medical information from each patient going back their entire lives.  It allowed one to create a very good prediction, to chart their entire life’s needs in vitamins, medications, and nutrients – barring some drastic external force.

But Dav was from New Vitriol, and his ancestors had split from the rest of the human gene pool hundreds of years before.  Natural mutation, radiation damage, and other factors related to this split, along with the total lack of medical history, made this a very exciting case.

Making notes to check back on this data for several papers he was working on, he pressed on through

Ah, a tumor.  It was a mature teratoma, with a high chance of being benign.  Still, they should remove it.

He went back into the room.

Dav seemed nervous, though he was re-dressed.  Y had given him enough time for that.

His auto-planning routine thought maybe it’d be best to lie to the man; any mention of a tumor or cancer might cause undue concern.

He rejected that as unethical, even if it was the path that brought his patient the most comfort.  If the man later found out the truth it would destroy trust and cause much more alarm.

“It seems that you require a minor operation to remove a harmless mass,” he said.  “Do not worry, it is quick and painless, we can schedule you for ten minutes from now if you wish, or do so tomorrow or the day after.”

The man blinked.  “A tumor?” he asked, his face creasing.

“In the technical sense, yes, but I feel very confident that it is benign.”

Tell him it has teeth and hair, one auto-planning routine suggested, that it looks like a clown.

This APR primarily suggested humorous ideas, but this was not a good one.  Not even if he could liken it to a clown.

“Can you get it all?” the man said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Y said.  “After primary removal we will do some clean-up with some medical probes, and will continue to monitor your health afterward.  So!  Would you like to have that done today?”

The man considered, then nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Sure.  I mean, it’s still free, right?”

“Nothing is free, Dav Gannin, but you will not be charged money,” Y said.  “Healthcare is a right of everyone in the Sapient Union.”

The man looked very shocked again, and another APR that focused on past causes of human behaviour suggested documents relating to the history of medical care on New Vitriol.  He did not need to review them to know it had been run for profit, and had therefore been quite inadequate for anyone who wasn’t wealthy.

The man left, and Y considered doing the operation himself.  He’d enjoy doing it, but he knew that one of his other doctors could certainly handle it.  In fact, it was someone else’s turn.

Bringing up the list, he weighed the relative difficulty of the operation – it was very low on the scale.  He wanted to make sure his doctors all got a relatively balanced work-load.

Hm, Doctor Zyzus was due next, this was easily within his skillset.  He sent a message to the man, informing him.

It hardly needed supervision, but the SU preferred to have a surgeon on hand all the same.

Zyzus sent back a confirmation, Dr. Y noted that the drones were finished cleaning the room.

Dav had been his last appointment for the day.  In fact, the last of the backed-up appointments were being attended to by his doctors right now.

Heading out of the room and towards his office a dozen steps down the hall, he went through the remaining paperwork he had, first for his appointments, then for general work.

Time enough to work on his papers!  Scanning through the information he’d noted during the appointments, he made some changes to his latest paper, feeling it was actually quite ready to publish.  He’d sit on it for a day or two more, just to be sure.  It was very conservative of him, but sometimes it paid off.  And he did need to slow his pace of publishing.  He’d published over two hundred already this arbitrary yearly cycle, and there was such a thing as over-saturation.

Scanning over the whole of the document, he noted that it would be the ten thousandth he’d published in his career in the Sapient Union.  While it was only a number to him, humans seemed to like large, even numbers like this.  Perhaps this would be a sort of anniversary they’d be excited for?

Making a note to model that idea later, he then made some notes in his personal log and decided on a whim to adjust the height of his chassis units undergoing maintenance by one centimeter.  A fresh angle could add some zest to life and help him see things he had overlooked.

He took his twelfth step and was at his office.

Inside, he had . . . well, no work left.

Ah, well.  He’d just stand here for a while.  Perhaps he’d go ahead and model that potential celebration idea.  It was always pleasant to think of his friends.

---

< Ep 4 Part 19 | Ep 4 Part 21 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Pirra had awoken awhile ago, but hadn’t opened her eyes yet.  It was a habit of hers, to continue to sit and rest even after she’d awoken.  If nothing demanded her attention, if she still had time, she would simply sit.  And think.

Sometimes thinking too much could be unhealthy, she’d learned.  Delving too deep into your own psyche was a good way to get lost.

Not that she’d ever say that to anyone else.  Especially not Dr. Logus.

She still remembered how he’d maneuvered her so clearly to see her own exhaustion after the events with the Leviathan.  It had been uncanny for a human to know her mind so well.  Alien psychologies were just that.  Or at least she’d always thought so.

He was awake, too.  She wasn’t sure if he’d even slept, and she didn’t wish to open her eyes to get a look; there was no missing a Dessei peeking, not with how big their peepers were.

She didn’t know how far along into their journey they were; she couldn’t check without opening her eyes.  But she wanted to know – and that, combined with her own annoyance with her inner thoughts, compelled her to finally ‘awaken’.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said.

“Ah, hello, Pirra.”

The man looked tired, though he might simply be waking up.  She and Alexander had gone to sleep not long after first boarding, had most of a day, and then slept again.  This time she’d slept eight hours.  That was quite a lot for her, six was more common.  Enope, her homeworld, only had a twenty-hour day.

Just slightly over an hour left of their trip.

“Did you rest?” she asked Logus.  She recalled waking a few times and seeing him shifting.  She wasn’t sure if he’d slept more than a few hours the whole trip.

“Aye,” the man replied.  “But not well.  I’m afraid I never sleep well in a dash.”

“There’s something odd about them,” Pirra agreed.  “In my neo-physics class it was noted that about 30% of beings seem to feel that way.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Logus replied.

“Personal interest, sir?” she asked.

“Ah, just Arn, if you please,” Logus replied.  “No need to be formal when we’re off-duty.  But to answer your question, it’s actually a part of my training – I need to know what things might affect a person’s mental state after all.”

He grew thoughtful.  “What is curious about it to me is how consistent that one-third number is among different species.  It holds as true for Dessei as humans as Jellypods.  Isn’t that odd?”

She nodded.  “I seem to be in the majority, though.  I’m not particularly bothered by dashes.”

“No?  My apologies, but I thought you seemed antsy,” Logus said.

She forced a smile.  “Something else.  I dislike being confined in a small area for long times.”

“Oh, of course,” Logus replied.  “And my apologies if I was prying – I’m sure you understand that it’s hard to turn off the professional side.”

“It’s fine, sir- I mean Arn.”

Alexander suddenly snorted and sat up.  He was in an alarmed stupor, hair matted to one side of his head.

“Are we at Titan?” he asked blearily.

“Still an hour out,” Pirra told him.

“Oh,” he replied, and laid his head back down.  She reached up and stroked his hair.

A moment later he let out a soft snore.

“If I may turn professional for a moment, Pirra – how have you been?  Have the nightmares lessened with the new medication?”

Pirra felt suddenly on the spot.  She wouldn’t normally have minded, but she’d not taken the medication he’d suggested.

“Oh, well the nightmares seem to be going away on their own, so I decided not to take those,” she replied.

“Oh?” Logus asked.

Of course he wouldn’t let it go . . .

“I didn’t like the list of side-effects,” she replied.

“It’s perfectly fine to choose not to take it,” Logus replied.  “But may I ask which side-effects you were bothered by?”

“The fact that it inhibits dreams entirely,” she told him, before elaborating.  “I’m not comfortable with a total lack of them.  It feels wrong.”

Logus seemed to find that curious; at least, that was as best as she could read his expression.

“I understand,” he said.  “I am glad the nightmares are fading.”

It wasn’t entirely true, of course.  And she had a feeling he saw right through her; she was still anxious.  Still relieved that she was waking somewhere other than Monitor-1.

Alexander snorted and sat up again, this time more slowly.  He seemed actually awake this time.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She told him.  “You woke up just a few minutes ago,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, clearly not remembering it.  Blinking, he nodded to Dr. Logus.

“I think I need some coffee.  Do you want some, doctor?”

“No, thank you,” Logus replied.

“Honey, want to come with me?” he asked, getting up.

Pirra nodded.  “Sure,” she said.

She had the feeling he’d been at least somewhat awake for a minute or two; that he was only getting up now in order to get her out of a conversation he knew she didn’t like.

He was a good husband, she thought, as they left the compartment.

---

< Ep 4 Part 18 | Ep 4 Part 20 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“About your time here . . .” Urle said.

That topic change seemed to bother the Ambassador.  Urle had a flash of insight.

“It’s been our pleasure and honor to host you.  I admit, when you asked me for a bill, I was dismayed.  I assumed you understood it was in exchange for your presence.  Our two peoples do not have enough connections.  We could always stand to strengthen them.”

His words were flattery, but with a grain of truth.  Humanity did not have very strong ties to the Hev yet, but they were very mutually beneficial – with caveats at times.  But still, friendship and knowledge were things they always hoped to find in the infinite inhospitability of space.

“You honor me, Acting-Captain,” N’Keeea said.  He aped a human gesture, tapping his chin.  “In the vein of such favors, if you truly feel indebted to me, perhaps there is one I might ask of you?”

Urle’s heart beat faster, but he adjusted it back down to stay calm.  Finally!  They were getting somewhere!

“You may ask me anything,” Urle said, translating and slightly modifying a commonly-used Hev trader expression.  “If it is in my power, I will consider it.”

“My people have an interest in your own.  I have come on a . . . goodwill tour, of sorts.  First through Dessei space, then Sepht, and now yours.  It would be the crowning jewel of my tour if I were able to bring an official of peace and friendship back to my people.”

“Of course,” Urle said.  “To send an ambassador is quite possible.”  That was an extremely simple request, he thought.  Surely that wasn’t all N’Keeea wanted.  The Sapient Union was always happy to send out diplomats.  One reason they were spread so thin.

“Only,” N’Keeea said, as if suddenly remembering.  “There is one issue.  It is a small matter, but I suppose in the interest of friendliness I should inform you; we are currently at war with another Clan.  A Red Clan known that I believe in the SU are known as the P’G’Maig.”

Urle’s systems raced and brought him all relevant information on the P’G’Maig.  He almost reeled as he saw that they were among the most powerful of Red Hev clans.  They were one of the largest as well, with a populace estimated to be at 439.8 billion with a controlling interest in fifty-two systems.

“Ah, I see.  That’s unfortunate, I have heard that they can be . . . quite aggressive,” he said carefully.

So this was it.  N’Keeea wanted the Sapient Union to become involved in this war.  To tip the balance.

His heart plummeted.  He could not put himself or the Sapient Union into this position – and he was upset that the being had even asked him.  There were very few times the Sapient Union would enter a conflict.

Though . . . offering to arbitrate might not be off the table.

“You know, I realize that I know very little about your people,” he said.  “Can you tell me of your clan?”

“Yes, of course,” N’Keeea said.  Nervousness poured off him again.  “We are the T’H’Tul.  Among the oldest of Hev Clans, dating back to the first migration.  We have lived for thousands of years in the Mopu System, and under that ancient star we shall all one day perish.”

The pride and joy in his voice underscored the significance of his words.  Urle’s systems could find very scant references to the clan of which he spoke, though the honorary T’ in front did suggest it was a very old clan.  These markers were some of the few that remained somewhat consistent among them, as they were something that other clans typically added.  Each part had a meaning, beyond the name itself – a code for their status in the eyes of the rest of their kind.  To lie about your clan’s status – or imply you belonged to another – was very dishonorable, something to do only when you were sure you could get away with it.

T’ meant honored and ancient.  But H’ was something he had to struggle for.  Only a split second had passed, longer than most of his earlier searches.  It was not in the typical lexicons on Hev honorifics that he found it; it was in dispatches decoded between warring Hev clans.

H’ had a very specific meaning.  One coined specifically by the Red Clans.  It was rare, because those given the term did not survive for long.

It meant that the clan was marked by another for death.

“Did you say,” he spoke to N’Keeea, “that your people live in a single system?”

“This is correct, yes,” the Ambassador replied.  “We are a small clan, among the settled.  There are . . . oh, only about ten million of us left.”  He quickly and hastily added.  “Though I cannot say how many might be alive now.  A year is a long time when there is a war of extermination launched against you, after all.”

Urle stopped in his tracks.  “A war of extermination?!”

“Yes,” N’Keeea said.  His head, suddenly, fell low.  “My people are not long for this universe.  But!”  He raised his head again, affecting hopefulness while every biophysical sign suggested the opposite, “We are still pleased to make what friends we can.”

Urle was still stopped in place.

“Ambassador – why did you not tell me how desperate your people were sooner?”

N’Keeea flinched visibly.  “Desperate is not quite the word, we are simply coming to you as one equal facing another.  We owe nothing to anyone, and are owed by many.  It is simply that . . . calling in debts can at times be . . . precarious.”

Urle struggled to make sense of that.  “You are more stoic than I would be in the circumstances, Ambassador.  This situation . . .  I wish I had known sooner.”

N’Keeea said nothing.

“Have the Sepht or Dessei promised help?” he asked.

“They were . . . reluctant.  Due to certain provisions of law, they were . . . regretfully unable to take the actions we requested.”

“What?  Why?”

“You would have to ask them, as I am not free to discuss these issues,” N’Keeea replied.

Urle brushed that aside for now.  “What is it you wish for me to do?”

“Do?” N’Keeea asked.  “I was hoping you could send an Ambassador.”

“I’m not sure that we could send one into a warzone,” Urle replied.  “Unless you think the P’G’Maig would be open to meeting with-“

“No,” N’Keeea replied.  “I do not think they would.”

“I cannot make a final call here,” Urle said.  “I don’t have that authority.  But I can tell you that we cannot fight a war for you, Ambassador.”

“I do not ask that,” N’Keeea replied.  “Only for an Ambassador.”

Urle realized they were going in circles.  “I can’t make any promises, either,” he said.  “But I want to help.  I will have to talk to someone.”

N’Keeea was unblinking, staring at him.  “I would be quite pleased if you would, Acting-Captain.”

---

< Ep 4 Part 17 | Ep 4 Part 19 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

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.

---

< Ep 4 Part 16 | Ep 4 Part 18 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Zachariah Urle felt reassured in the knowledge that he’d done everything he could possibly do to prepare.

Yet as the officers of the Craton arrived and took their positions, he felt an unexpected tightness in his stomach.

He went back over his checklist.  For a Star Angel the necessary actions were many and intensive, but they hadn’t forgotten anything.

And he was not nervous about being in command for this.  It was far from the first time he’d had to arrange a formal welcoming for a dignitary, and from all accounts Star Angels seemed incredibly hard to upset or insult.

A message popped up in his HUD, and he saw it was from Hannah and Persis.  They were still ten minutes from the ambassadorial shuttle’s landing, and he brought it up.

An animation of him shaking hands with a giant glowing, angel-like being appeared, followed by cartoony, smiling faces of his girls.

“Good luck, Captain-Dad!” they said together.

He couldn’t help but smile as he tucked the message away and backed it up.

But his stomach felt worse now, all the same.

He’d always wanted to be the captain of a star ship.  It had been one of his many dreams that he was determined to make come true.

And part of him was excited that it was his chance.

He’d been overlooked before – many times.  He occupied a strange position where he had not wanted to leave the Craton – or stop working with Ian Brooks – and it had cost him career advancement.

Perhaps he felt guilt.

Most of all, though, he’d never wanted it to be like this.  To have his advancement come at his closest friend’s cost.

He shook his head.  Why did he even keep thinking this way?  This pervasive sense of doom about Brooks, that he was truly going to be stripped of his command.

He had to shake the idea, and focus on the moment.

Every officer was in position, standing starkly at attention.  His scanners picked up no sign of anyone being ill, but tension still seemed high.

The shuttle carrying the new ambassador was preparing to dock, and the stray thought that the Craton really should have its own ambassadorial staff ran through his mind again.  If the Diplomatic Corps wasn’t so busy elsewhere, perhaps they would . . .

“Attention!  Docking procedures completed.  Coupling is now initiating.  All personnel, wait for the all-clear to open vacuum hatches.”

Then, a moment later; “Pressure established.  Shuttle Hatch Doors opening now.”

Urle snapped to attention, every other officer following suit.

The shuttle doors opened, and two men and a Sepht in diplomatic corp uniforms came out gravely.  Between them, carried by drones, was a casket.

For a moment his system identified it as a coffin, sized for a baby.  His heart rate jumped, but then his system corrected and noted it as being a Faraday cage.

“Greetings, Captain,” the oldest of the diplomats said.  “I am here speaking on behalf of the Ambassador.”

“Greetings, Ambassador,” Urle said, knowing that in such cases he should address the man as if he was the ambassador.

“The Ambassador expresses its pleasure at being on your vessel, and hopes that you and it will get along in peace and equanimity,” the Ambassador replied.

Urle imagined that the man was somehow communicating to the Ambassador within the casket, but he didn’t actually know.

“You have my deepest thanks, Ambassador, and I hope for the same.”

The man nodded.  “With your permission, Captain, the Ambassador would like to move proceedings to Fusion Reactor Seven, so that it can greet you more directly.”

“Of course,” Urle said.  “Follow me.”

Dismissing most of the officers, Urle led them out of the hangar.

They travelled down through halls and lifts, but it did not take long to reach Reactor Seven.

The reactor personnel were prepared, and snapped to attention as they entered.

“The Ambassador would like them to be comfortable,” the man said.  Urle could see now that he had some kind of device in his ear.  Bulkier than any normal communication device, but probably scratch-made just for communicating with the Star Angels.

Urle had the techs connect the casket to the fusion reactor.  They’d already prepared systems that would allow the Star Angel to transfer into it without trouble.  It had been developed and tested before, outside of their ship, but to Urle, this was still the most dangerous step.

“Successful transfer,” the older man said.  “We should give the Ambassador several minutes to become acquainted.  It will inform us when it is ready to speak again.”

Urle nodded, and the other man grinned suddenly.  “I can’t tell you how excited I am, Captain Urle.”

“I am as well,” he said, not feeling it as much as he said.  Yet, he was excited.  The Star Angel was an entirely new form of life, and now it would be partners with them, joining them in their travels of the cosmos.

It was hard not to be moved by that.

The ambassador shook his hand.  “William Prince.  I was lead on the project to decipher and understand the Star Angel language.”

“That must have been extremely challenging.”

The man nodded.  “I admit – it was.  Everything about them defies our theories of life itself.  We’re going to have to re-define a lot of terms!  Star Angels have no concept of food, ecosystem, or matter, for instance.  Yet they are highly intelligent and emotional beings – how this came about in their plasma environment seems to be just an incredible stroke of fortune.”

He shook his head and laughed, at the absurdity of how much stranger reality could be than fiction.

“It helped greatly that they are the most patient and good-natured beings I have ever met.  I have yet to find one be anything close to cross or angry.  Far more patient than I am.”

He looked to the fusion generator.  “Yet it was worth it.”

He stiffened suddenly.  “Ah, the Ambassador is ready to speak to you.  Can you jack into my system?”

Urle did so with a thought, and scanned the special software the man had in his ear piece.  It was a complex translation package, as advanced as any he’d seen.  It did not simply convert words, but very carefully attempted to parse feelings between beings as disparate as flesh and plasma.  To convey at least some sense of the feeling behind it.  Prince had even gone so far as to come up with a way of transposing the specific frequencies of Star Angel speech into something approaching human sounds – to approximate, as much as was possible, the radio waves into a voice.

He heard a very pleasant woman’s voice in his ears.

“Greetings, Captain,” it said.  “Thank you for allowing me aboard your vessel!”

“It was my honor,” Urle replied.  “Are you comfortable?”

“Oh, yes – I know you must have gone through much trouble to prepare this, but it seems to be working quite well.  It is more comfortable than the box, for sure!”

Prince spoke.  “Ambassador, you had mentioned  picking a name for us to call you once you settled in.  Perhaps now might be an auspicious time?”

There was a pause.  “Perhaps soon,” the Star Angel told him.  “For now you may keep calling me Shine.”

“It is a play on sunshine,” Prince said to Urle.  He was surprised that the man said it so plainly in front of the Ambassador, but reminded himself that the Star Angels seemed to be near uninsultable.

“Yes,” the Ambassador agreed.  “But it is not my name.  Soon I will have one!”

“At your leisure, Ambassador,” Urle said, offering a bow, though he was unsure if the being saw outside of the reactor yet.

A laugh that was melodic and beautiful came from the being.  “You are so kind, Captain.  I am really quite glad we are getting to meet.  Let us talk again soon – I hope I am not being rude, but I would like some time to grow acquainted with the insides of your reactor.”

“Of course, Ambassador.  I will be only a call away,” Urle replied, bowing again.

---

< Ep 4 Part 14 | Ep 4 Part 16 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

“Prepare for dash entry,” the pilot called over the comm.  “ETA to Luna is 38 hours.”

“I hate these,” Apollonia said.  “The rattling makes me queasy after awhile.”

“The dashgates in Sol are very well maintained,” Brooks assured her.  “It won’t be bad.”

They entered the gate, and Apollonia found herself holding her breath.  The entry and exit had usually been the worst, that feeling of falling with rattling and shaking . . . when it came to pain she felt she was rather brave.  But she’d rather get poked with a needle in the eye than have that plummeting feeling.

But Brooks was right; the sensation was markedly lesser than any dash she’d ever taken (which, granted, had not been many).

Letting out her breath, she relaxed as they began to cruise.

“Okay, you were right . . . Ian.”  She hesitated using his name, it still seemed odd to her.

He seemed lost in thought, and she glanced over to him.  His eyes were glazed, staring into space tiredly.

“So you’re from Earth, huh?  Antarctica?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“What’s it like?”

“Cold, but the glaciers and permafrost are gone, have been since the 22nd century.  At least where I was.”  He paused.  “It was nice.”

“Was?  Has it changed much since your childhood?”

He smiled sadly.  “You could say that.”  But he did not elaborate.

They both grew silent, lost in thought.

She realized she did not know anything about Brooks; he was an absolute enigma.  Besides the fact that he was captain of the Craton – which he technically even wasn’t, right now.

“How long have you been a Captain?” she asked him.

“Nine years, all told,” Brooks replied.  “Three of them in the Trade Fleet, prior to joining the Voidfleet, and six after joining.”

A lot of that surprised her.  “You’re from Earth, but you didn’t go straight into the Voidfleet?  I thought only people on the fringes joined the Trade Fleet.”

“It’s not a rule,” Brooks replied.  “Though it might generally be true.  But yes, I spent time on the fringes of human-controlled space, worked my way through the merchant fleet, then later joined the Voidfleet Academy.”

“So how long did it take you to go from captain of a Trade Fleet ship to Captain of an SU ship?”

He smiled.  “Do you hope to become a captain, Apollonia?  I could see you attaining that.”

“Maybe,” she replied, smiling a little, feeling somewhat pleased at the compliment.  “Got to keep my career prospects open, right?”

“Indeed,” Brooks replied.  “But to answer your question – I served 18 years in the Voidfleet before becoming Captain of my first ship.”

The surprised showed on her face, and he smiled lightly again and said laconically;  “Sometimes things don’t come to us as quickly as we hope.”

She nodded, and looked away, wondering if she had just been rude.  Eighteen years, though!  She’d always heard it took just ten years to become a captain.  It had been the dream of every child to become the Captain of a starship, when she’d been growing up.  So why had it taken Brooks so long?  It didn’t seem to add up.

“I’m going to take a rest,” Brooks said, reclining his seat back into a full bed.  The lights in the cabin dimmed automatically, and she reclined as well, though not fully prone.

Brooks fell asleep quickly, and while she did wish to rest, she did not mean to fall asleep.  But then she found herself suddenly groping her way back to consciousness.

“Hello?” she murmured, sensing more than seeing the presence above her.

Opening her eyes and blinking against the lights that were still dimmed but seemed horribly bright, her heart jumped as she realized that nothing stood above her.

Yet she felt the presence.  She felt the malevolence.  She felt the will.

Her voice turned hard, almost not her own.

“You don’t belong here,” she said, a quiet power in her voice.  It was like some other force spoke through her.  Part of her but also not.

The presence observed, regarding her in a way she might regard a disgusting parasite.

“Leave,” she ordered.

Her eyes were dragged over to the side, to Brooks.  The man was sleeping, but fitfully, moving as if in a nightmare.

There was a connection there.  Something important, something vast and terrible and great and entirely beyond her understanding, she knew she had to warn him, but then-

She was being shaken awake.

“Apollonia, are you all right?”

It was Brooks.

She blinked, pushing his hand away from her shoulder absently.

The dim lights were not blinding now.  She looked about, but saw no one, felt no presence, besides Brooks next to her.

“Where are we?” she mumbled.

“Still en route to Earth,” he told her.  “Are you all right?  You seemed disturbed in your sleep.  Your heart was racing almost dangerously.”

She looked around, but the dream, the feelings, had faded to the point she was already forgetting them.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, but it was calming rapidly, and with it she began to feel calmer.

“I’m fine,” she said, yawning.  A sense of foreboding filled her, still, but she did not know why.

“I’m sorry to have woken you.  You just seemed very upset.”

“Yeah, just a weird dream,” she said.  A slinking thread of memory found its way into her consciousness.  “What about you?  Any weird dreams?”

“No,” he replied.  “I don’t remember dreaming anything.”

A drone brought them some fruit drinks, a yellowish-orange drink that she’d never had before.

Orange juice, it told her.  So this was the juice of an orange?  She’d had candies that claimed that flavor.  They’d tasted nothing like the actual juice.

“So when we get to Earth, what do we do?” she asked.

“We don’t go directly to Earth,” Brooks told her.  “The hearing will be on Korolev Station, in orbit around Luna.  That is the capital of the Sol System, and most of humanity.”

Her sadness showed, because he smiled reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, it’s literally fifteen minutes to Earth by dashgate.”

“Oh, good.  For a moment I thought I’d miss my chance . . .”  She stretched, and flopped back in her seat.  “I’ve always wanted to see the homeworld.  I honestly never thought I’d get the chance.”

His brow furrowed as he looked at her.  “Do you know anything about Earth’s recent history?” he asked seriously.

“Well . . . no,” she admitted.  “I didn’t watch our crappy local news, it was pretty much constant lies about how great things were.  And I didn’t chat with many people or have a system . . .” She perked up.  “But I did watch a lot of documentaries when I was younger.  Ones about the forests and the oceans and the animals and plants in them.  I always wanted to see one of those giant flowers, the ones that smell like rotting meat?”

She stopped and took a deep breath and grinned.

Brooks was silent, looking at her with concern, and her smile started to fade.

“What is it?  Don’t tell me that those shows were lies,” she asked.

“No, that’s not it.  Those things all exist – rafflesia flowers, forests and oceans full of life.  They’re maybe just not how you think they might be.”

Her heart felt like it was fluttering.

“Why?” she asked.

“Forty-five years ago, the orbital infrastructure around Earth collapsed,” Brooks said.  “In the most literal sense.  The Orbital Ring, the Space Elevators – all of them broke apart and crashed to the surface.”

He could see the alarm on Apollonia’s face, but also the confusion.  Brooks gestured to her tablet, and sent her an image of the Orbital Ring that encircled the Earth.

“This ring was around the Earth’s equator.  Elevators from the surface reached up to it, that were used to ferry people and supplies up or down.  But something happened, we-  We still don’t know what, or how.  But all of it came crashing down.”

He paused, letting her look over the images on-screen.  None showed the carnage, only the extent of infrastructure that had been placed in orbit.  It was extensive; millions of people had moved through the system daily.  To go from one side of the planet to another, there was literally no way easier or faster than to go up an elevator into orbit and then take a hypervelocity train.

But when it had broken up, all of it had become simply . . . debris.

“Billions died,” Brooks said soberly.  “And billions more were trapped.  The debris that didn’t fall remained in orbit or moved outward, creating a runaway kessler syndrome that we called the musk field – a scrapfield so dense in space that ships could not safely move through it.”

He took a deep breath.  “And the ecosystem – in many parts of the world it simply collapsed.  After the shocks of the climate catastrophe from centuries ago, there was one of the largest mass extinctions in the world’s history.

“But this was a second shock, only a few hundred years later.  The dust from all of the debris drowned out the sun.  Forest fires added to it.  The world’s average temperature dropped by nearly ten degrees.”

“So . . .” Apollonia finally said.  “It all died.”

“Most of it, yes,” Brooks said.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied.

She willed herself to hold back the tears.  To keep her face calm.

Brooks looked away, and she did not know if she wished he hadn’t, or if she appreciated him letting her save some face.

Because she was struggling to keep it under control.

All these years, she’d had one wish.  And now she had just learned she’d been a fool to want it.  That it was all . . . dead and gone.

A thought shot through her, and she looked up.

“You said you’re from Earth,” she said.  “Were you . . . there when it happened?”

Brooks looked over at her.  For just a moment she saw the same struggle she was going through playing over his face.  Hiding pain, and refusing to show it.

“Yes,” he replied.  “I lived through it.”

---

< Ep 4 Part 13 | Ep 4 Part 15 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

The shuttle was very small, Kell thought.

It would have been comfortable for a human, with soft things as they enjoyed, and metals smoothed until they reflected the light.

The pilot seemed to have little reaction to him; but then, he had shuttled Shoggoths before.  His presence was altered in that way.

“Welcome aboard, Ambassador.  We will be launching shortly, and once we’re through the dashgate it will be seventeen hours until we arrive.”

Kell gave him a nod, and sat in the seat.

“If you get hungry, there is a drone ready to serve you.  And if you’d like music or entertainment-“

“I would prefer silence,” Kell said, weary of the human game of politeness.

The man did not reply, but merely nodded, and turned to his work.

Kell studied him absently with part of his attention but let the rest drift.  Now was not really a time that was safe, but few were in a period of great change.  Nevertheless, he felt no apprehension.  Anything that might happen to him was entirely beyond his control, and the humans truly seemed to wish for his safety.

An odd but useful trait.

The shuttle launched, and he said nothing.  As far as the pilot could tell, he simply stared forward, never blinking, and never moving.  For the entire trip.

---

As the shuttle turned around and began its counter-burn to arrest its momentum, Pirra felt anxious.

Squirming in her seat, she felt annoyed with herself.  She didn’t feel this antsy even during a mission where there were serious consequences.

Alexander noticed her fidgeting, but said nothing, just putting his hand over hers.

She appreciated the gesture, but it didn’t help.

“Do you think Iago will be released from his quarantine in time to come see my folks?” Alexander asked.

Her commander was a long-time family friend of the Shaws, but him bringing it up – something he was probably doing to distract her from her nervousness – did not help.

Alexander did not know what Iago had gone through.  The mission, everything about it, was top secret.  And liable to remain that way.

She’d taken the time to check with some friends of hers.  She couldn’t actually find out what they had done about the monitoring station, but she knew what class of ships would be best at destroying it, as she had recommended.  As far as she could tell, no ship had been diverted.

It was possible they were being quiet about it, but she had a feeling that they were not going to destroy that place.

She still awoke each day, afraid she’d still be there.  After seeing the people there – or perhaps merely shades of people? – she had thought that maybe she, too, would open her eyes to find she had never escaped . . .

It was the worst thing about some of this shit.  You did not know if you were truly free of it.

“Pirra?” Alexander asked.

She blinked.  “Sorry, honey.  I . . . I wouldn’t bet on it.  I think Iago will be fine, but I don’t think he’s going to be out of isolation for a while.”

Her husband nodded, trying to hide his disappointment.  It would be nice to be able to tell him what had happened to his closest friend.  But she couldn’t say anything.  It was beyond just about keeping security – as Iago had learned, on some things, just the knowing itself could be dangerous.

The docking went smoothly, and she felt more relaxed.  No more sitting and waiting.

As they left the shuttle, she’d already identified their best path to catch their connecting flight.  They had two more stops and connections to make, and so far they were fortunately on time.

“This way,” she said.  Thankfully, Plucharon station was set up to take on the numbers the Craton was bringing.  Ten thousand people was really nothing; she’d counted at least seven hundred ships out there, and that had only been from a cursory scan.  Each of them could easily be unloading ten or twenty thousand people.  Mostly tourists – humans come on a pilgrimage to their homeworld.  Sometimes aliens, though – because humans were, she thought, pretty interesting.

She supposed she was pretty lucky.  She’d been born on the larger moon of her world, but her parents had moved back to the planet when she was young.  She knew the world her species had evolved upon well.  The vast majority of Dessei were not so lucky, and their population was almost triple that of humankind.

They arrived at their shuttle early, but boarding was already being allowed.

The inter-system shuttle was larger, too large to actually land in a shuttle bay, instead using a long umbilical with a carrier car in it.

Going aboard, they floated down the main hall.  Without gravity, any way could be up, and there were doors on walls and floors both.  While she preferred to be in gravity most of the time, at least the zero-g made the bags easier to carry, she thought.

Finding their compartment and floating in, she took her seat.  There were six, though no one else had arrived yet.

“Can you stow these?” she asked, pushing her bag towards Alexander.

“All right.  You okay?”

“Yeah, I just want to find the head,” she said, floating back out of the room.

It was not so much that as her own need to get a feel for the ship.  She was very antsy, and she could not strictly chalk it up to anything in particular beyond the fact that she, nor anyone she knew, was in command of this ship.

But there was almost no chance of an issue occurring in a heavily-populated system, she reminded herself for the thousandth time.

Almost.

Floating back to the compartment, she slid the door open and paused.

“Honey, it looks like we’re sharing the compartment with Dr. Logus,” Alexander said.

He seemed genuinely happy.  She was not so sure how she felt.

“Oh, hello Doctor,” she trilled.

“Lieutenant,” he replied politely.  The man looked rather distracted or bothered, himself.

She moved in to sit down next to Alexander.  “Do you have family in the system, sir?”

“Ah, you don’t need to call me sir.  I do have family in the system, it’s true.  But I’m not going to see them, I’m afraid.  This is . . . well, not work-related.  But it’s certainly no personal trip.”

Pirra wondered what that meant.

“What about you two?” Logus asked.

“We’re going to visit my family,” Alexander said.  “They’re Phobosans.”

“Ah, interesting.  I thought that moon had been abandoned,” Logus replied.

“It was, but my family and a few others decided to move into the place to form a kind of science commune,” Alexander replied.  “Fixed up the facilities with a grant from the Research Council and – well, that’s where I was born.”

“That’s quite interesting,” Logus said.  “I do recall reading about it, now that you mention it.  It would be interesting to meet your family some time.  You said the Research Council?  What is it that they’re researching?”

Alexander had seemed proud until that moment.  But now, he looked away, his face flushing ever so slightly.  “My father is interested in . . . applied plasma weaponry.”

“Weapons?  Oh, I see,” Logus said, hiding his surprise.  He noticed that Pirra was staring at him unblinking.  She was trying to keep her crest down, but it was bristling all the same.

If Logus had been so ill-mannered as to make a rude comment about such odd work, he could tell she’d launch into his defense.

She was a bit touchy, he decided.  Interesting.

“I can see why they would want to do such work on Phobos.  I had no idea, though, that plasma had real weaponizing potential.  Wasn’t most such research abandoned a century ago?”

“Yeah,” Alexander said.  He elaborated no further.

Logus let the topic drop.

“Well, if you two don’t mind, I think I’ll take a rest,” Logus said, smiling politely to them both.

He slid his privacy screen down around him, and closed his eyes.

Pirra and Alexander were silent.  The privacy screen would block most noises, but neither felt much like talking.

She knew Alexander hated talking about his father’s work.  However important it was to remain on the advanced edge of weapons technology in case of conflict, it was work that made most uncomfortable.  War and conflict were, after all, rarely good for anyone.

No one else joined their compartment.  An hour later, a voice came over their systems;

“Please prepare for dash entry.  ETA at Titan Station is 30 hours.”

Thirty hours to Titan Station in Saturn orbit, a two hour layover, six hours from there to Ceres with another hour layover, then just two more to Mars.

Then just getting their rental shuttle and seven more hours flying at sublight to reach Phobos.

Not short, but not bad for getting to a place as out-of-the-way as that moon.

She shifted in her seat.  She’d be happy once they were on that last leg of their journey.  Then, if anything went wrong, it’d at least be a proper emergency, instead of something as inane as a bureaucratic error . . .

---

< Ep 4 Part 12 | Ep 4 Part 14 >

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

With her tray piled high with food (and her tablet warning her about the caloric content being in far excess of what she should eat in a day), Apollonia finally made her way over to sit down at a nearby table.

There had been so many choices!

Each stall had information on the food, noting where on Earth it came from, what cultures ate it, when it had been invented.

She hadn’t imagined that people in different parts of Earth still ate different foods.  Wouldn’t all these centuries of limitless food, cheap travel, and no privation have led to everyone being pretty much the same in tastes?

She didn’t know what the truth was, but at least she could try their foods.

Looking over her prizes, she looked at her tablet for the names of them all; she had an orange spongy thing on a stick called a corn dog, apparently it had some kind of meat inside.  Fried potato sticks covered in brown gravy and white chunks called poutine, fried balls of chickpeas called falafel, a fish-shaped cake with sweet bean paste inside called taiyaki, a triangular slice of thin bread with cheese and tomato sauce on top (pizza), and pieces of fried plantain called kelewele.

And cabbage pudding.

The latter was apparently a newer invention, a creamy sweet dessert flavored with cabbage.  She had no idea what cabbage tasted like, but the color of it reminded her of the sweetened algae paste she’d once viewed as a treat.  It gave her a power trip to be able to just buy it like it was nothing.

She’d had to stop herself from continuing on, because she’d hit only about half the stalls, and the only one she had resisted had been ‘cotton candy’, which looked interesting but was apparently just pure sugar.

She could not possibly eat all of this, but she was at least going to taste it all.

Taking the corn dog, she bit off the end, surprised pleasantly to find that there was a sausage of some kind inside.

She decided to try the more savory items first – the poutine, then falafel, pizza, and fried plantains, which she was surprised to find were spicy.

“Dark!” she spat, taking a drink.  She’d heard of food that burned in your mouth, but she’d never had any.

“What troubles you?” she heard.

Her skin crawled.  The voice was toneless, lifeless, and the presence was suddenly there.

How Kell had snuck up on her she didn’t know, but she turned in her seat to look at the being, her face pulled in taut lines.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Ambassador,” she said shortly.  “Don’t you have your own flight to catch?”

“In a sense,” Kell replied.  “It will not leave without me.”

“So why not keep them waiting if you want?” she asked sarcastically.

Kell’s eyes had been on her food, but he glanced to her now, as if to communicate that yes, he knew she was being sarcastic.

“They will possess themselves with patience,” he replied, and moved to sit.

She almost snapped out that she hadn’t asked him to sit, but bit her tongue.  The damn thing was an Ambassador.

Even if she also felt he was a murderer.

It wasn’t just that it had killed Michal Denso, when she still thought there had been at least the possibility of a peaceful outcome, and not even that she had a very strong feeling that what he had done could have harmed her and Verena . . .

But he had killed something beyond them, a lifeform that she could not truly understand . . . something that had not even had a chance to live.

Was it accurate to call it infanticide if what you killed had been closer to a god than a person?

She heard footsteps behind them, and glanced back to see Brooks approaching.

“Ambassador,” he said politely.  “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I had a moment,” Kell replied, once more looking to the food.

Apollonia did not offer him any.  She picked up several fries in the poutine and ate them.

“I didn’t know you were so hungry, Ms. Nor,” Brooks said lightheartedly.

“Well, Dr. Y does want me to put on some weight,” she said after she swallowed.  “But really, I just wanted to try some things from Earth.  Please tell me these are real Earth foods.”

“Yes, they are,” he replied.  “I know most of them.”

He picked up one of the fish-shaped treats.  “We would eat taiyaki every sundown, for luck,” he said, tearing it in half and taking a bite.

It was sweeter than he remembered, probably made so on behalf of tourists.  But it wasn’t bad.

“Every night?” she asked.  “Just some kind of universal desert?”

“I grew up in Antarctica,” he clarified. “Sunset comes once a year – we made a festival of it.  I don’t know how taiyaki became so popular, but they became very symbolic of it for us.”

He ate another bite, and gestured to Kell.  “Ambassador, if you’d like some, please help yourself.”

Apollonia stiffened, and Brooks glanced to her and spoke again.  “We can’t eat all this ourselves.”

Kell said nothing, but reached over and picked up a falafel, putting it in his mouth.  He swallowed it immediately.

“How do you like it?” Brooks asked.

“It is food,” Kell simply said.

He rose.  “I am going.  Captain.  Apollonia Nor.”  Nodding to each of them, he turned and walked away.

“Good riddance,” Apollonia muttered.

Brooks caught that, but said nothing.

“We’ll have a shuttle here within the hour,” he told her.  “Let’s finish this up and then head over to our terminal.”

---

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