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Ham Sulp grinned back at Zeela. “That’s a fair deal,” he said.
Zeela gave few pleasantries as she left. He always appreciated that she didn’t stand on ceremony very much with him – his time was also precious, and he hated to have it wasted.
Five spacehounds! A heck of a thing.
A lot of dogs had been taken to space by various colonists before faster-than-light had been a thing. Each ship had groomed those dogs into entire new breeds to fit their conditions and, most importantly, space itself. Sturdier genes and repair mechanisms to keep rad-damaged DNA to a minimum, changed bodies and hair colors . . . most tended to be white and short-haired (as shed hairs drifting about were quite the problem in zero-g), or not to shed at all.
And back in the home system, they’d been changed even more. Someone, a few hundred years ago, had decided it would be a good idea to uplift some dogs; to make them smarter with technology and gene editing
They weren’t as smart as a person. But they could understand basic sentences better than any normal dog, they lived longer, and could – with the help of a vocoder – give simple replies to questions.
Kind of bordering on unnatural, in his opinion, but they were very popular. And due to the very careful conditions under which they were bred and raised, very hard to get. No one wanted to let something as controversial as uplifting a species to sapience be uncontrolled . . .
And Zeela had procured five!
Going over to his desk, he brought up a holo-screen and dialed in a specific link code he knew by heart.
The recipient was twelve light-seconds distant – not far, by astronomical standards. It would make the call a bit tedious still, but damn him he wasn’t going to waste the resources on an FTL call when it was just twelve seconds!
“Pick up, ya dud,” he growled.
The other end finally answered, and a very dry voice spoke.
“Damn it, Sulp, this better not mean you’re in-system with the Craton.”
Sulp threw his arms open. “I am! We’re in a great dance with Plucharon, sending gravity ripples through the whole damn system!”
The man on the other end finally appeared, his voice movements out of sync with the speaking, and Sulp adjusted it so they matched.
He waited the twenty-four seconds for the reply.
“Ah, damn my eyes, man! You could have given me a warning!”
“Could have,” Sulp said. “Didn’t.”
Eabor Zaron’s job was an unenviable one, by Sulp’s view. There were millions of objects in a given solar system, and then intelligent species added millions more, often with some very fiddly orbits. Given the scale of the colonization of Sol at this point, it was no longer just a nicety to keep track of most of those bigger things and their effects on gravity.
And when a ship like the Craton came in, using its fancy ability to rip open holes in space, thus allowing the pseudo-gravity pull of zerospace to move it along, well . . . the already-intricate suddenly got a hell of a lot more complicated.
“Well aren’t you just a miserable son of a bitch,” Zaron said. But then he smiled. “But all the same, good to see you so close. Lunch?”
“Sounds good. You pick – least I can do.”
“It’s gonna take two weeks of overtime to sort out the mess that thing makes whenever she comes in-system,” Eabor noted. Overtime meant a whole six hours a day!
“Yeah, cry me a river,” Sulp said amiably. Fact was, Zaron’s office would have been notified prior to Sulp even knowing he was coming back to Sol. Gravity Control had to know; it actually made them one of the greatest sources of intelligence on fleet movements in the entirety of the Sapient Union. For that reason, and the sheer difficulty of his job, Zaron held the rank of System Commodore.
“Hey, I got a ticket from Zeela Cann for five spacehounds. Mind if I have them sent to you, and I can pick them up at the same time?”
The man’s face lit up. “Hell, I’d have asked if you hadn’t told me. I had the best spacehound growing up – not as smart as the modern ones, but damn if he wasn’t the best dog ever!”
“Everyone’s dog is the best dog,” Sulp said. “According to their owners. I’d just say all dogs are great.”
“Well, get me the info and I’ll get them in. I’m sure everyone here will feel good having them around, even if for just a day or two.”
“Great. I’ll be headed your way later today – expect me tomorrow.”
They disconnected, and Sulp considered a moment.
Now what was he gonna name those five spacehounds?
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