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“It’s not something I can ignore.  But no, it’s not the reason.”  His eyes went down, the shadows crawling down his face, hiding his eyes and humanity, and for a moment he was less of a man, no one special.  Just regular, with all the faults and failures and doubts that everyone had.

“Not everyone gets a chance,” he said.  “No matter how much they deserve it.  But I thought that if I could just give a chance to someone who had none, then maybe . . .”

He trailed off, and looked away, turning his shoulder.  “It was selfish, in the end.  And I showed that with what I did, making decisions for your future without you.  Not even telling you what was going on.”

There was a silence between them, so complete that it felt like one could hear the roar of their own blood, feel the beat of their own heart.

Apollonia reached out, slowly.  Her hand stopped for a moment, and she felt terrified to so much as touch his shoulder.  She’d never been someone who reached out.  At a young age she’d learned that it got you hurt, that others were too afraid to accept another’s hand.  That they’d lash out.

But she was living on borrowed time anyway, wasn’t she?  She should have died on New Vitriol.  She had died, her old self.  Everything about Apollonia Nor of Vitriol, a parentless fringe-dweller who considered the best of life to be getting a hot dinner and a soft bed without anyone trying to stab her for it.

And those fears, those instincts still were in her, not to reach out.  To take no risks, because if they didn’t pay off the cost was too high.

Then, she bit her lip and did it anyway.

Brooks started as her hand rested on his shoulder.

“You did give me a chance,” she said quietly.  “That’s . . . from where I’m standing, that wasn’t selfish.”

He could not find words to say to that.  His shoulders relaxed slightly, but he could not come up with words.

From the moment he’d seen Apollonia in that cell, something more than human, yet living a life that was less than any deserved, he’d wanted to make some difference for her.

And he still did.  Even if she wanted to leave.  No, especially if she wanted to.  It wasn’t about him, even though, through cosmic injustice and vicissitude, he was the one who had this chance to give her.  Something that should have been her birthright, been everyone’s birthright, the most basic thing of all; just a life.

The simplest thing to imagine, yet what humanity had struggled with for eons, first from nature itself, and then from each other.  Even as technology should have leveled them all equal, they had struggled.  Even when they could reach for the stars with one hand and dim them, they stumbled.

Apollonia hugged him, suddenly, her arms wrapping around him and the only thing he could think to do was embrace her in turn, as a stinging grew in his eyes.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that.  It was another proverb about Antarcticans that they only cried when the peak winds blew in their faces.

But it wasn’t the cold winds doing it.  They howled far away.

“I think I do want to stay on the Craton,” Apollonia said quietly.

“I’m glad,” he replied, his voice just as soft.  “The ship would feel a lot more boring without you.”

She chuckled.  “You mean without a feral woman prowling the decks?”

“Exactly.”

They were quiet a moment longer before he spoke again.  “I make model airplanes,” he finally said.

“What?” she asked, pulling away and looking at him in confusion.

“Model airplanes, with engines in them so they fly.  It’s my hobby, when I’m off-duty and not busy.  Which isn’t that often, to be honest.”

“Model planes?” she scoffed.

“I like the engineering,” he said.  “I actually run the club for it.”

“Oh, of course you do,” she said with a laugh.

“It’s just me in it.  We meet every ‘whenever I have one spare moment’ day.”

She chuckled some more, and stepped away, rubbing the back of her head.

“I don’t think I want to build model airplanes,” she admitted.

“Good,” he replied.  “I’d hate to have to schedule regular meetings.  Find your own hobby.”

She laughed again, and the awkwardness of their naked emotions was gone, leaving behind, once more just Apollonia Nor and Ian Brooks.

< Ep 5 Part 39 | Ep 5 Part 41 >

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

The crowd thinned as people began to wander away, many still looking back with smiles, and that was when Apollonia realized that Brooks was standing only ten meters away, watching.

He was smiling just a little, but still looked overall as serious as ever.

And she felt her own feelings of failure return.

“I can take her now, I think she needs some rest from this excitement,” the assistant said.

“Sure,” Apollonia said lifelessly.  “Will . . . Can I see her again?”

“Of course,” the woman told her.  “She’s one of the ship’s dogs now.”

The woman left, and Apollonia just stood there, watching Brooks.

He finally came over.

“I’m glad we finally got the ship dogs,” he said evenly.  “It’s taken almost a year.”

“I hear you’re a free man,” she said flatly, ignoring that.

“Free was not in question.  But I am still captain, yes.”

He began walking, and she found herself walking with him.  That annoyed her, that she’d just start following him.  Like a damn puppy, herself.

“I guess I didn’t manage to fuck it up all the way, huh?”

He looked surprised.  “You did nothing wrong, Apple.”

She scowled, not wanting to look at him right now.  Partly out of anger, partly out of shame.

“Then why the hell did you sneak me out of there like I was a shameful secret?” she asked.

Brooks took a deep breath.  “Director Freeman was trying to pull off things to have you transferred into his control.  To be quite honest, I do not trust the man’s motives.  I wanted you back here – it was safer that way.”

Brooks had led them out of the Gardens, to one of the banks of inter-ship shuttles.  The pod could move any orientation, taking a person to almost any section of the ship, or at least close.

They got on in silence; Apollonia said nothing until the doors closed.  Brooks pressed a button, and it began to slowly move.

“So . . . you just sent me away, didn’t tell me why.  To protect me?” she burst out.

“Yes,” Brooks replied.

“Would it have really been too hard to say?” she asked, anger surging through her.  “Just a few words!”

“I knew you’d have questions, Apollonia, and we didn’t have the time-“

“And did you really think I’d be so naive as to follow the bad man offering me candy?  I mean, that’s all he could do to really entice me, isn’t it?  Offer me some fancy stuff, a bigger room, all that, and I’d just go along like a dumb kid?”

She stepped away, towards the wall of the pod, throwing out her hands in frustration.

Brooks saw her stop, try to become still.  Taking several deep breaths, she seemed to succeed in containing her temper.

“I’m sorry,” she said deliberately.  “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.  But I’m not crazy, being angry here, am I?  I feel like I was treated like a child.  And honestly – who’s to say I wouldn’t maybe want the opportunity to move elsewhere?  Freeman maybe wouldn’t even have to trick me – did you ever consider maybe I’d be happy going elsewhere?”

Brooks hesitated.  It would be easy for him to say that if it had been someone – literally almost anyone – else in the human government he wouldn’t have tried so hard to block it, and given her the choice.

But he wasn’t actually sure that it was the truth.

“Freeman wasn’t wanting to give you any choice in the matter.  His transfer was to be non-negotiable – to strong arm you into his control.  The way he was going about it was not right – not for you, and I think you’d have agreed.”  He sighed.  “If I had told you.  So no,” he continued.  “You’re not out of line.  You are right to be angry.”

She threw up her arms in anger.  “Why can’t you be pissed back, Captain?  Dark, I’m trying to have an argument here and you . . . you just . . . you’re being reasonable!”

He was not sure how to reply to that.  Perhaps in this one case, being defensive would be appropriate?

But he didn’t want to give into the temptation, and just stood silently.

“And me, I’m like a fucking feral animal out here.  I told Admiral whats-his-face that I had rabies!”

“That was pretty funny,” he admitted.  “But you are not ‘feral’, Apollonia.”

“In comparison to you people I am!” she said.  “Look at me, you had to look me in the eyes and tell me a few days ago that no one was going to shiv me on Earth!  I really couldn’t fucking believe it and I just realize more and more how much I’m not like you people!”

“You come from a different place with different conditions,” he said.  “Conditions that formed you into who you are now.  You can’t undo that – I fully understand that.  But that’s not a fault or a failure of yourself.  You’re still a person who deserves a future.”

“And you want to give that to me?” she asked dryly.

His answer was without guile.  “If I can.  Yes.”

“God, you’re so fucking selfless,” she said, rolling her eyes, though the true anger seemed to have drained out of her.  “And I’m being such a bitch.  But you just . . .  you don’t even seem like the rest of us, Ian.  You’re like one step down from Kell’s lifelessness.  Do you ever feel envy?  Selfish?  Eat all the ice cream from the tub you were supposed to share?”

He snorted in amusement, but paused before answering.  “I’m as human as anyone else . . .  Though I’m not fond of cold food.”

He laughed, then, but it was suddenly dry and bitter.

“I say it as a joke, but it’s true.  I absolutely hate food that’s cold.  It reminds me too much of my past.”

He paused for a moment, thoughts racing behind his eyes.  “It’s one of those things that triggers the bad memories.  Not just memories – the feelings themselves dredged up from the worst times.  You remember those moments, those fucking moments forever.  When you were suffering from something.  Freezing to death, needing to eat.  But the food was as cold as the world outside.”

He stepped aside now, facing one of the walls of the pod, that was a screen showing what floor they were passing.  He seemed no longer able to keep his eyes on her.

The pod had come to a stop at some point, she realized.

Years seemed to gather on his face, in every crevice as he turned back to her.  “Sometimes people say that Antarcticans have ice water in their veins.  I’m a pre-eminent example, I suppose.  But it’s important for the captain to be stoic and look infallible.”

“You might take it too far,” she said.  “You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.  Then, softer, he spoke again.  “And sometimes I am selfish, yes.”  His eyes flickered every so briefly over to her.

She felt a plummeting feeling in her stomach as she realized what he meant.

“Why do I deserve it?” she asked.  “It’s not because I’m a CR.  You don’t even care about that, do you?”

< Ep 5 Part 38 | Ep 5 Part 40 >

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

The gardens on the Craton were a poor comparison to Earth, Apollonia thought.

It was hardly fair to compare.  The Craton couldn’t house towering redwoods, at least not without taking out a lot of floors.

They were still designed skillfully, with plants her system told her were all modified to live in space, in situations just like this.  Some were not even descended from plants on Earth.  They had been designed from scratch by geneticists and AIs to live in space, on ships, in systems like these.

The vine in front of her had beautiful, dark green leaves with pale purple V-shapes on them, and from parts of its stem grew apples.  They looked like apples; they tasted like apples; her system told her they were called Neo-Apples, or even ‘napples’ by some.  It was only in appearance, taste, and texture that they could even be said to be apples . . . an emulation.

Would she ever see the redwoods again?

Reaching up, she plucked the apple.  She was not going to call it a goddamn napple.

Her system had told her it was okay, and she felt almost annoyed at being given permission.

Taking a bite, it crunched pleasantly, the sweet juices tasting better than any of the stunted, bruised apple she’d had in the past.

Maybe she shouldn’t be wondering if she would see the Redwoods.  Maybe Brooks would decide he didn’t want her trouble much longer.

She’d heard the news; the whole thing had been called off.  It just made her feel stupider, because she’d sat there like a jackass, breaking into tears, and it had all

Been

For

Nothing.

She didn’t think she really wanted the rest of this apple now, but she didn’t want to waste it.

Somehow, her system seemed to have read her mind, and on the screen she saw a nearby recycling receptacle highlighted.

Making her way over irritably, she heard a jangling sound, and a woman talking.  The sound was odd, like someone was running with metal rings bouncing around.

She peered around a large-leafed plant with long dark leaves.

And saw a woman leading a pack of dogs.

Real, actual dogs.

Her jaw dropped.

“Holy shit!” she said loudly.

A few eyes looked to her, some annoyed, and she put a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” she said.  “Excited.  But holy shit, are those actual dogs?!”  She moved to intercept the woman leading them.

Zeema Cam? she thought, trying to remember her name.

The woman was giving her a slightly stern look.

“This is their orientation,” she said.  “And please, in public we ask that you refrain from yelling things like that-“

“Ohmygodohmygod,” Apollonia said, ignoring her and dropping to her knees.

The nearest spacehound, a mostly white one with tall ears, was regarding her very seriously.

“Working,” she heard a mechanical voice say.

“What?” Apollonia asked, looking around.  It seemed to come from the dog.

“Working,” the voice said again.  It was from the dog.

“He’s telling you that he is working,” Zeela Cann said, a little testily.  “He’s not supposed to socialize while he’s working.”

“Oh,” Apollonia said, trying to move back from her kneel.  Her move was awkward and she fell backwards, catching herself.

Oh, good, she thought.  Just make a further fool of yourself.

Something small, dark, and furry shot between the legs of the others towards her.

It had a leash on it, and it tangled in the legs of the other dogs, who got very confused, trying to step over it.

“No, Angel – no, Angel!” Zeela said, scolding the black furball.

But it came to Apollonia anyway, and she let out a sound that could only be described as a SQUEE.

“Ohmygod it’s so cute!” she cried.

“And that is Angel,” Zeela said with a sigh.  “She is not a working dog, just . . .  I guess a companion dog.”

Apollonia looked up at her.  “Can I hold her, then?”  The little dog was jumping around her excitedly, panting.  Its short tail was waggling wildly again.

Zeela let go of the leash.  “Take it.  In fact . . . she should be walked separately anyway.  Why don’t you take her?”

“Yes!  Absolutely!”  Apollonia said.  “Oh, you’re just a cute little bean, aren’t you?” she cooed to the dog, not even caring at this point if people thought she was weird.

The little dog, for her part, seemed to quite enjoy the attention.  She was actually hopping on her back legs, holding her front two up.

“She’s dancing!” Apollonia said.

She heard someone else exclaim ‘awww’.  Looking around, she realized that a crowd had formed.

She scooped the little wiggly dog up and got up.

“Okay, let’s be orderly about this,” she said.  “We don’t want to scare her.”

She had no idea if the little dog would be scared of this many people, but she would have been, so this seemed prudent.

“That is wise,” one official-looking woman said.  She must be one of Zeema’s assistants, Apollonia thought.  Glancing at her system pad, hanging on her belt, it seemed to be saying that.

Still getting to hold the dog, so small she assumed it had to be a puppy, others came up and petted her.

She beamed like a proud parent, and the dog seemed to adore the attention, licking each person’s hand excessively in the process.

< Ep 5 Part 37 | Ep 5 Part 39 >

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

“Damn, Ian.  Am I glad to see you.”

Brooks looked younger than he had been when he left, Urle thought.  There were still tired lines on his face, and his eyes were a bit bloodshot, but he had more energy in his walk all the same.

Or, Urle mused, maybe it was just that he felt so run-down.

“I’m glad to be back,” Brooks replied, taking Urle’s hand and shaking it.

There was an awkward pause.  “So . . . do I salute you now, or . . . ?”

Brooks smiled.  “Ian Brooks, reporting for duty.  I once more take command of the SUS Craton.”

Urle snapped to attention.  “Captain on deck,” he said.  It was only the two of them.

At least until Logus stepped out a moment later, who also gave Brooks a salute.

“Acting-Captain Urle, you are relieved.  You may resume your position as Executive Officer.”

“Yes sir.  Thank you, sir!”

“So how has it been?” Ian asked.

“A hell of a pain in the ass.  I . . . have a list of things that you probably need to take a look at.”

Logus was still standing there, watching them, and Urle noticed that much of the hostility between the two men had dissipated.

“Actually, Dr. Logus there is some work for you as well.  Doctor, you were helping Iago Caraval, weren’t you?”

“Aye,” the man said.  “One reason I hated being recalled as I was.  How is he doing?”

Urle considered how best to put it. “Down and up,” he decided finally.  “I think you should make contact with him as soon as you can.  His son Elliot has also been acting up a bit.  Biting the heads off a lot of cookies.”

Logus frowned, not sure how to take the last part, but Urle’s tone seemed to suggest it was serious.

“I think I had better get on duty, then,” he said.  “Before more confections are victimized.”

Brooks nodded to the man.  “As you will, Doctor.  Good skill.”

The man saluted him again, and left.

Urle waited until he was gone.  “You and Logus seem to have found some common ground.”

Brooks shrugged it off.  “What else is there?”

“Lots of little things.  I think I have most of them under control, but . . .”  He sighed.  “Ambassador N’Keeea finally opened up while you were gone.  It’s pretty serious, Ian.”

Brooks frowned.  “Tell me everything.”

They began the walk back to the office that was now Brooks’s again.  By the time they got there, Urle had finished recounting, leaving Brooks in thought.

“So you can’t get through the Diplomatic Corps?”  He shook his head.  “I know a few people there.”

Getting back behind his desk, Brooks brought up a screen and began typing.  Urle couldn’t see his whole keyboard, but he could see enough to decipher some words.

You know we can’t ignore this . . .  Get this through, he surmised, filling in the blanks.  But the name of his contact was not something Urle caught.

Brooks’s eyes went to him, who snapped his attention away from the Captain’s keyboard.  His pupils were not visible, but he had a feeling the Captain knew he’d been looking.  That he’d wanted him to see.  “Forward me your message.”

Urle felt a weight off his shoulders, as he finally took in the reality of Brooks being back and in command.

He saluted again.  “Yes, sir.”

< Ep 5 Part 36 | Ep 5 Part 38 >

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

As the ship slipped through the dashgate, Brooks felt some of his tension ease away – only to be replaced by the old sadness.

It hurt to say goodbye to Earth.  He’d watched her until the moment the shutters had closed.

She was his first home.  The world where he’d been born, that had shaped him – for better and worse.

But he could not stay there.  At some point every one of his ancestors lay in her hallowed Earth, becoming again a part of it, a part of the cycle that had been going for billions of years and would continue for billions more.

He’d been born to wander the stars.

The viewing gallery was also the coffee room of the ship, and while no one had been in here upon leaving, he was not surprised when someone did enter.

He just hadn’t expected it to be Arn Logus.

“Doctor,” he said.

The man’s face hid his surprise, but a hint of it had been there for a moment.  “Captain Brooks,” he said.  “I’m sure it feels nice to hear that again without any caveat, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” Brooks agreed.  “And I think I owe you some thanks for that.”

Logus waved it away.  “You owe me nothing.  I said only the truth, but I think ultimately the fickleness of Director Freeman that is what you owe your thanks to.”

Logus had not been present to see the rest of the trial.  Brooks knew he did not know all that had happened . . . or how it had all been a game.

“Nevertheless, Doctor . . . I have wronged and misjudged you.  For that, I owe you an apology.”

Logus had floated over and heated a spherical bag of coffee.  He had been about to sip when Brooks spoke.

“Thank you, Captain.  I was always sorry that we got off on a bad foot.”

“I was just hostile to you from the beginning,” Brooks said.

“I don’t suppose you could elucidate me as to why?” Logus asked, but then smiled.  “I kid, of course.  I do know quite well why people don’t like psychiatrists.  Or psychologists.  And I’m both.”

Brooks shrugged and answered anyway.  “I knew you were here at least partially to see if I was unfit to continue to command.”

“I was,” Logus agreed.  “I was legitimately worried about you as a person, as well.  And . . . you’re unique, Captain.  The scale of our civilization makes uniqueness rare.  But few have had the life you’ve had.  And none of those people have encountered Leviathans four times.”

Brooks mulled on that.  “So you want to know the psyche of a man who has.”

“Well said.  It’s a rare thing to find something new,” the man replied, tipping his drink to him.  Really just rotating the sphere slightly.

“What do you think of Director Freeman?” Brooks asked him.

“Is this a trick question?” Logus asked with a laugh.

“No, no tricks, Doctor.”

Logus mulled on it a moment.  “He’s ambitious, emotional, prone to outbursts of said emotions – not unusual from the colony he’s from, they’re very passionate – but also highly dedicated to his field and to the Sapient Union.  I can see why it rubs many the wrong way, and I understand your personal dislike of him – quite well, I might add – but I don’t think he’s the Machiavelian monster some seem to think he is.”

“He doesn’t concern you?”

“Not overly so.  I have confidence in our society to deal with one overly-ambitious man.  We’ve survived far worse as a species, haven’t we?  Disasters, dark ages . . . capitalism.”

And it was true.  Solitary people did not make history; they were, had always been, carried by the masses, and only had guided.  No lever existed that was long enough for one man to move the world.

Brooks thought of saying more on the topic, but . . .

He was tired.

“You know,” he said.  “I’m not a Captain again until I reach the Craton.”

“True,” Logus said.  “And I’m off-duty, myself.”  He smiled wanly.  “This was my vacation time.”

“Why don’t we get some dinner, then, Arn, and just talk as two people?”

Arn hefted his coffee pod in salute.  “Sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all week.”

< Ep 5 Part 34 | Ep 5 Part 36 >

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

“Twenty minutes,” an aide told her.

Zeela took a deep breath.  Outside the doors, a crowd of over a thousand people were mingling, eating, celebrating.

The live entertainment was just wrapping up; there were several music bands on the Craton, amateur and a professional one sanctioned by the ship, as well as people who enjoyed stand-up comedy or plays, and she had tapped almost everyone she knew for the seven different voting sites around the ship.  Where she couldn’t have live entertainment, she’d picked appropriate pre-recorded entertainment, historical films about the history of the Sapient Union and democratic elections themselves, going back to the ancient Greeks, the early Western republics, the socialist states, and everything since.

Most of the voting stations were along the Equatorial Ring, but two were located closer to the poles.  Each would have nearly five thousand voters through them, starting shortly.

There was no anxiety among the people outside, as far as she could tell.  But despite her best efforts, there was a solemnity beyond the norm for the whole thing.  People were still unhappy about the shake-up with Brooks.

There had been growing grumbling about his balance of Mayor and Captain, she had noted before, but not enough for people to truly want him out.

She still thought he’d win.  But then – what if Brooks won and was found guilty?  That could take weeks to decide, theoretically . . .  And if Darhan won, and Brooks lost his captaincy . . . would he want to stay?

She could practically feel all of her work she’d done to get this city running smoothly slipping away.  Darhan’s speech earlier had done nothing to make her feel better; he’d spoken well, been eloquent about his time in the administratorial service, both here and on another city-ship, the Skylar’s Rest.  All of it verified as he had spoken by the ship’s AIs, as per normal.

But he’d offered up a lot of ideas that – while she could see some value in them from the civilian side, would certainly upset the balance of the ship.  More civilian oversight into command processes, especially in matters regarding Leviathans, and even their course, when the ship was not under orders from Sol.

He wanted to bring the position of Mayor into direct competition with the Captaincy!  It was a terrible idea that would have to be shot down, but her head spun imagining the arguments, the bridges burnt, and the grudges made by the whole thing.

She mulled on that, watching the time tick down.  Fifteen more minutes.  People outside were beginning to form a queue.

Letting her mind wander, she absently ticked off every box again for everything in here.  Once people started voting, it was an open democratic process, aided by AIs that she could not interfere with.  So her job was, in a way, almost done.

Eleven minutes left.

There was a commotion at the door.  Frowning, she saw a lot of movement, as if someone was hurrying to the fore.

It was Urle.  He knocked on the door, and she opened it, letting him in.  The voters around him watched curiously, but were not alarmed.

“Zeela,” he breathed, sounding out of breath.  “We need to talk.”

“What is it?  Why couldn’t you message me?” she asked.

“It’s sensitive,” he said, looking at the door pointedly.  The door closed.

He looked back to her.  “The tribunal is over.  The charges were dropped.”

“You mean he beat them?” she asked.

“No,” Urle said.  “They were just . . . dropped.  By Director Freeman himself.  He’s . . . well, there are no charges now.”

Her mind raced with the possibilities.  “That is significant,” she said.  “With them being dropped, it’s legally as if they had not been raised at all, which means . . .”

“Which means we can stop this election,” Urle said.  Then he sighed.  “But can we really?”

“We have to talk to Darhan,” she said.  “He is the challenger . . . if he wishes to continue . . .  I’m not sure we can just stop this.  But if he is willing to step down, then we can cancel it.  But we don’t have a lot of time.  Once a ballot is cast, the vote must be completed and the result will be accepted.”

“I’m glad I told him to meet me here, then,” Urle said.  “And according to his system readout, he’s nearly here.”

There were still six minutes left when he arrived.  Urle had the feeling the man had dawdled, though he had shown up in time.

Urle explained the situation to him briefly.

“I don’t see how this should interrupt democracy,” he said.

Which, Zeela had expected.  The man had a lean and hungry look about him, which she didn’t like.

Despite most of his face being hidden, Zeela could tell Urle’s frustration.  Understandable, but it didn’t help.

Zeela just nodded thoughtfully.  “All right, then.  Though I’m surprised . . .  Ah, well, nevermind.  If that is how you feel, Aoks, I don’t think we have time to do anything else to change it.”

The man caught her unfinished sentence.  “What were you going to say?” he asked.

“Well, you’re quite right about democracy.  Though the voting hasn’t started yet, and this is not a regular election like we’d have two years from now, so nothing is being skipped, of course.  But I’ve kept a pulse on it all, and I didn’t think you’d be so eager, given the recent pollings.”

The man blinked, caught off-guard, and she saw his eyes glaze over as he brought up in his system the information.  It was all informal, all done by curious members of the ship.  And it didn’t look good for him.

Which was not a surprise.  Brooks was still viewed well.

“In addition, I’d think that the news of the dropping of charges could sweep through the ship in the middle of the election itself, and . . . well, that could easily swing public sentiment,” Urle added.

Zeela didn’t even think he was saying it to try and manipulate the man.  He just thought that.  And it was an acute observation.

Darhan wavered a moment.  Finally; “Perhaps we should cancel,” he said.  “I could just . . . address the status of the Captain, offer my sincere congratulations, and then . . . drop out of the running.”

Zeela knew it’d be too easy to pounce with happiness on the idea, and so she measured her reaction – just perfectly, she thought.  “All right, then.  I will send word, we don’t have much time.  Why don’t you use the stage just outside?  Give yourself about sixty seconds to get ready, but we don’t have much longer than that.”

The man looked a little deflated, and Zeela hoped that perhaps he’d learn and grow a bit in the next two years.

The next time he ran, she hoped she didn’t have to hope for him to lose.

< Ep 5 Part 33 | Ep 5 Part 35 >

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

“Oh, hello,” Dr. Y said, coming onto the shuttle.

“Greetings,” Plep said.

Y hesitated, turning his head.  “I do not eat breakfast, though I understand it is quite good.”

The Qlerning nodded slowly, as if mulling this over.  “I quite understand.”

Apollonia watched the exchange with a frown.  She, He That Squats on Yellow Sand, and the Qlerning were not the only ones on the shuttle re-boarding the Craton, but they were the only two she knew.  Most of them simply filed back aboard, talking and laughing with each other.

Among her group, Plep had insisted they go last.  Why, she did not know.  He had only answered with another of his riddles, something about he who went last was most memorable.

She didn’t particularly like being memorable, but she also was still glad to be in Squats on Sand’s company.  He was so honestly alien, the kind she’d always seen on shows as something exotic.  Also usually bad, but she’d never really taken to that; different didn’t inherently mean good or bad, in her view.  She just found herself fascinated.

And he had felt the same way.  He’d told her how this was his first Detachment Training, how Abmon did not often mix with other species for a lot of reasons.

“We’re full members of the Sapient Union.  Not as numerous, as our higher gravity needs makes it harder to build stations for ourselves, and there are less worlds that meet our needs – not to mention the bill for leaving said worlds!  But . . . well, our strength can be an issue.  We’re very physical with each other.”

“As the dew caresses a leaf as it falls, so too do I say there is truth in his words,” Plep had said.  Apollonia had found the allegory strained, but got his point; the Qlerning’s arm looked bruised when he’d rolled up his sleeve.

“Yes, broken arms are common among humans who transfer to our ships!  It’s all very unintentional.  And then there’s the fact that our skin flakes are sharp.  And, well, our breath is somewhat toxic to Sepht.”

“. . . But not humans at all, right?” Apollonia ventured.

“Not at all!  But . . . better not touch too much.  You’re practically sterile compared to how many bacterial colonies we carry!  They’re quite vital to our biology.  Usually safe, just . . . don’t get careless.”

She made a mental note not to touch him, and had resisted the urge to slide a little further away.

Now, though, as they all made their way back onto the ship, she was surprised to see Dr. Y waiting.

He made his greetings to Plep, who then left without a word to her and Squats on Sand, which she took to be a rudeness.

Dr. Y made a rumbling sound to the rock pillar, who rumbled back his own pleased greeting.

“Your accent is quite pleasant!” the being said to the machine.

“Why thank you,” Y replied.  “I worked quite hard to make it so.  It took me minutes.”

Squats on Sand bounced his rumbling laugh again and started to trundle away.  “It was a pleasure, Ms. Nor!  I hope we speak again soon!”

“Yeah!” she called after him.  “Me too!”

Dr. Y watched the being leave, then turned to her.

“You seem to have a knack for making non-human friends,” he said lightly.

She smiled a little.  “Good to see you too, Y.”

“Ah, quite the same.  I beamed back in not long after you left.  I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“In a way.  Squats on Sand is cool, but Plep . . .”

Y nodded knowingly.  “A notable minority of humans have difficulty in social relations with Qlerning.  Plep is . . . a particularly rigid example of his people.  He knows quite well that his people’s manner of casual conversation does not translate well and is quite odd.  But he persists.”

“Why?” she asked, feeling frustrated.  “It was like talking to an amateur poet.”

“Their culture is ancient, deep, and rich,” Y replied, seeming surprised by her question.  “And drenched in blood.  Complex rituals of speech long ago replaced open violence.”

“. . . and the banjo?”

“Ah, so he brought it out!  There are many varieties, but Plep’s is a geshin, a type known from a region of the third-largest continent-“

“But what was that about?” Apollonia interrupted, not caring to hear all the details.

“In social situations it is passed around.  One’s skill in playing it in a musical way is unimportant, it is used for conveying mood and context in a more aesthetically pleasing way than verbal structures.”

“Oh,” she replied.  She could sort of see a logic there.

“Qlerning social interactions are extremely ritualized and fascinating,” Y continued.  “For example, questions about such universal things as a first meal of one’s day are a way of denoting a likeness, and to therefore build a connection.”

“So when I said I skip breakfast . . .” she said.

Y laughed.  “It was an unintentional insult.  Do not worry, however.  He knew you meant nothing by it.”

She shook her head and started further in, saying nothing.  Part of her just wanted to go back to her room and sleep.  Another part wanted to ask about Brooks.  She hoped that she hadn’t ruined it for him.

Guilt settled over her like a blanket.

“Nor,” Y said gently.  “You did nothing wrong.”

She twitched.  How the hell did he even know how she felt . . . ?

“Okay,” she said.  She didn’t know what else to say.

Y was quiet a moment longer, walking alongside her.

“Perhaps we-“

“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting him again, even though she knew it was rude.  “I’m kind of tired.  I’m just gonna go nap.  Perhaps we can . . . talk later.”

If Y could have looked surprised, she thought he was showing it.

“Ah, of course Nor.  Have a good rest!  Feel free to contact me at a time of your choosing.”

As she walked away, she felt a new guilt added to the old.

< Ep 5 Part 32 | Ep 5 Part 34 >

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

As Aoks Darhan’s words wound down, Zeela considered the file that was Brooks’s speech.  He’d created it before he’d left, but no one – not even her – had viewed it yet.  She could have, but it was completed, requiring no input.

She’d wanted to see it with fresh eyes like everyone else.

She could imagine just what Sulp would say if she told him that; that he hoped Brooks put in a tirade against everyone on the ship he hated, told them to shove their heads up an exhaust port, and that fuck it, he was out.

It probably was what Sulp would have said in that position, she thought, smiling.

Most screens on the ship were showing the speeches, taking place just an hour before the voting itself started.

The screen lit up, and Captain Brooks was before the crowd.

It was not a professional scene – at least, Zeela had not set it up for him.  But Brooks apparently knew at least a little about composition, for he was framed well, the angle and lighting heightening his natural features in a positive way.

He sat casually, at his desk, ordered and neat, and seemed perfectly at ease.

“My fellow citizens of the Sapient Union; my family of the Craton.  I am Ian Brooks.  At this time, I am not able to call myself Captain; you all know of this.  Yet I will return, one way or another.

“Two years ago, when I became captain of the Craton, it was a daunting task.  I was not only commanding a starship unique among humanity’s fleets, but one that was a city in space.  Yet I was made welcome by all of you.

“It was immensely helpful.  And then, when I had only been here three months, and you chose to name me your mayor, I was as honored as I was humbled.  I have never sought to be a public servant, but as a wise person told me – we should be led by those who will step up even if they don’t want to.”

Zeela smiled a little.  Those were some of the words she had used to sway him into accepting the nomination.

“I have tried to the best of my ability to be the man you put your faith in.  I know that I have, as Captain, made decisions that have risked lives.  But these were decisions that I had to make as Captain.  Decisions that were the right move for grander scales than our ship.”

He leaned forward.  “Should you think someone else will do better – then I will have been honored to be your Mayor, and will hold nothing but gratitude for that trust you showed in me.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips.  “I have every confidence that I will return soon, still as your Captain.  Until then.”

The message ended, and Zeela found herself smiling.  It was a short address, much shorter than Aoks Darhan’s had been.

She scanned the public feeds for people’s comments and interactions.  There were many voices in support of Brooks, she found.  Many people did not view their Mayor as being someone who handled details, but a figurehead for the community.  And to them, the Captain also being mayor felt only obvious.

Others felt Brooks’ confidence and calmness brought a serenity and harmony to their lives.  Well, not always worded such, but she saw that sentiment.

Still, others did feel Darhan had some strong points.  There was something to be said for separation of power.  Some people felt Brooks took too many risks with the ship, despite it being a city as well.  It was a growing sentiment, though still not that strong, she thought.

And while understandable, everyone who lived on a city-ship chose to, knowing that it inherently faced greater danger than any city-cylinder of Sol or the other heavily-colonized systems.  Yet despite that, the Craton was considered a highly desirable place to live.  People would have almost no difficulty leaving, if they applied for it, and a million others would eagerly take their place.

When the election came, Brooks would win, she thought.  It would be a landslide for him once again.

< Ep 5 Part 31 | Ep 5 Part 33 >