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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.”
Other Terrestrial 