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The door closed behind Elliot, and Zeela looked back to Iago. “Okay, what’s troubling you this much, Iago?”
He was still on the floor, and with difficulty started to get up. She came over to help, but he waved her away.
“I’ve been having a problem with my cleaning drones,” he said shortly, the effort of standing seeming to make him winded.
“Is that all?” she asked, injecting just enough doubt to hopefully prod him to say more.
He didn’t take the bait. “Yeah. They’re acting weird.”
Looking around at the stuff that had been hastily shoved into piles, she summoned a special set of cleaning drones. They took a minute to arrive, but were more capable than standard ones, for more serious situations.
While they waited, Iago got up – he seemed to be trying to exaggerate how easy it was – and moved to sit in his chair.
“What kind of problems have the drones been having?” she asked him, once he was seated. The new drones arrived and began to eagerly clean up the piles of junk, sorting and trashing expertly.
She watched Iago for a reaction to them, but he only gave them an idle glance and then seemed to tune them out, as most did.
“They just weren’t cleaning properly,” he said, but it sounded evasive.
“I’ll send them off to get maintenance and get you a new set,” she said. “In the meantime I’ll have these ones assigned to you – just to make sure everything stays clean! This is unacceptable, how messy they’ve let this room get! I’m so sorry about that.”
The man nodded. “Thank you, Zeela.”
She waited a moment before asking her next question. “When was the last time you spoke to Dr. Y?” she asked.
“The doctor?” he replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“To make sure you’re okay,” she said gently. “It’s very normal, Iago . . .”
He waved a hand. “No, I’m fine,” he insisted.
She saw some confusion go over his face. Perhaps he wasn’t even sure why he was saying what he was.
Because he was clearly lying to her face.
“Thanks for coming to deal with it. I guess I didn’t really need to bother you after all-“
“Is your chair damaged?” she cut in. “You’re bleeding!”
Iago lifted his arm sharply. There was a smear of red, but the cut was not deep.
“Fisc,” he spat, a dirty spacer’s curse.
“I forgot,” he admitted. “The arm got damaged. Maybe the drones caused it, I don’t know.”
That seemed highly unlikely, but she accepted it for now.
A small first-aid drone buzzed over, and administered a skin spray and sealant that stopped the bleeding. He scratched at it idly, the skin now healed as if the cut had never been there.
“Well, I’ll get a new chair sent down right away – and for goodness’s sake, stop sitting in it, you’ll cut yourself again! Blood is supposed to stay on the inside, Iago!” she chided.
He smiled at her, and though it faded quickly to something serious and he looked away, she took it as a good sign.
The man hated to show weakness, she thought.
“I’ve sent you a permission to message me directly,” she told him, patting his shoulder. “At any hour! If you have any more problems with the drones.”
“All right,” he replied.
“Just promise you’ll reach out if you need more help.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks. And I know you’re swamped with work, so . . . thank you for making the time.”
“Of course,” she said. “This election is a bite, though! But soon enough it’ll be over and things will be back to normal.”
He glanced up at her. “You think Brooks will be re-elected?”
“I don’t think it’d be appropriate for me to give my opinion,” she admitted. “But I certainly think things will calm down.” Which was, without saying, her opinion on the larger question of the tribunal.
People could imagine Brooks no longer being their mayor; but not their captain? That seemed to be something most were not even considering.
She went to the door, glancing back. “How about I send you something nice for dinner?” she volunteered. He could have ordered whatever he wanted, naturally, but few had as much intimate knowledge of the culinary works of the various chefs aboard the Craton than her. Her monthly reviews of new dishes from the ship’s restaurants was famous on the ship’s blog.
“That’d be nice,” he replied limply.
She stepped out, and just caught a glimpse of his head hang as the door whisked closed.
He needed help, she thought. But right now, the most she could do for him was send some food that might bring comfort.
Other Terrestrial 
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