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

---

The bar was darker, smokier, and far bigger than Apollonia expected.  Hundreds of people thronged in and out, up stairs and lifts and into smaller partitioned areas, separated from the main area with elegant curved walls.

Mostly it was humans, but she also saw a number of Dessei on the right side, their feathered cloaks closed about them, staring almost aggressively at everyone who came near, along with gaggles of Sepht off to the left, packed in tightly around their tables and laughing loudly.  A handful of heavily-armed Greggans lounged in a corner, their toothy maws and large bulbous eyes watching in different directions at once while they grunted loudly, and at many tables she saw numerous Hev, hissing and barking to each other in high-pitched voices.

She counted seven floors, going up into increasing darkness – and privacy.  With Gohhi being the hub of neutral commerce, she had a feeling that the discussions happening up on the top floors were probably pretty damn private.

“Are you sure this is where we should get a drink?” she said loudly to Jaya.  The throngs of voices would make it impossible for them to otherwise hear each other.

“Yes,” Jaya said, smiling.  “I’ve been here before.”

That really surprised Apollonia, who looked at Jaya with new eyes.  This place was not at all up to military code, and she had always taken Jaya as the type to want everything neat and by the rules.

“Over this way,” Jaya said.

The woman took her arm and led her into one of the smaller side areas – which was still not small, as it was about the size of the bars Apollonia had seen on New Vitriol.

As they stepped through the door, the sounds from outside seemed to diminish significantly, enough that she could hear Jaya speaking easily.

“This area is for starmen,” the woman said.

“Spacers,” Apollonia corrected automatically.

“That’s what engineers use for separating things,” Jaya said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, I’m a spacer and it’s what I prefer to be called!” Apollonia replied, though Jaya seemed to ignore her.  Really, Apollonia didn’t feel like it was a hill worth dying on.

Most of the clientele in the sub-bar had the uniforms of shipping companies – little more than space suits with names and logos stuck on.

Years of just below too much radiation had left most balding, their skin like scraps of old leather, and their eyes glinting with augments to fix their cataracts.

Others had more official uniforms on, though recognizing them in the gloom was difficult.  She stared a moment, and realized with a start that some were from the Craton.

The smells of all kinds of smoke from burning sticks made her lungs tickle, but she suppressed a cough.  Smoking had never been popular in New Vitriol – some kind of religious cultural hangover.  But she’d heard how certain plants on various alien worlds had become as popular if not more so than tobacco or marijuana, and she found herself staring at the strange methods people were using to take in their drug of choice.

Jaya led her to the bar, and Apollonia sat down on a stool, feeling like an awkward, out-of-place kid.

The bar itself was composed of some sort of clear metal that could be pressure-hosed down.  Despite that, the surface had scratches and marks gouged in it that made her wonder just what kind of trouble took place here.

Above the bar were screens, showing various games like freeball or chase, or news shows from various places in Gohhi or beyond.

There was a human bartender, a man who looked grizzled himself, his face set in a lazy sort of sneer, and he gave her a look before pointedly holding up a scanner.

“Approve the age check,” he grumbled.

Fumbling with her tablet, she tapped to approve his request, seeing about a dozen other pings from people she didn’t know.  She hadn’t gone to a bar in a long time, she was too widely known and disliked on New Vitriol, but she remebered that.  All of the requests were men who had set up their systems to automatically query any woman who entered.  She ignored them all, plus the ad from the service offering to automatically screen her pings for a monthly fee.

Jaya’s scan went smoother, and she ordered tharra for both of them.

Apollonia hadn’t had that before, but was surprised at not just how sweet it was – but how strong.

“Gah, this stuff could clean a sewer pipe,” she said.

Jaya smiled.  “I don’t drink often, but when I do it is something strong.”

“If you don’t drink much, how can you handle it?”

“Synthetic liver lobe,” Jaya said.  “And kidneys.  As you lack that, I suppose this means you should be careful.”

Which Apollonia had already decided she’d do.  She’d never been much of a drinker, only having hard seltzers when she managed to get anything.

Jaya was on her left, and she looked up and down the bar, seeing two spacers to her right a stool down, who were deep in a loud conversation.

“. . . fucked the place right to hell . . .” she heard one man said, then tuned him out.

“So what do people do when they go drinking besides drink?” Apollonia asked Jaya.  “I’ve never done this with anybody.”

“I typically drink alone as well.  But we can simply talk.”

Apollonia blinked and stared.  She could think of nothing to say – which was extra annoying as she often had thoughts on things that seemed trivial that she would love to ask someone.  It was the perfect moment, and yet . . .

Jaya seemed to feel none of her awkwardness, instead draining her glass and signalling for another.  The surly bartender filled it, then wandered away.

He was slower than any drone, Apollonia thought, and markedly less pleasant.

“I’m surprised there’s actually a human bartender,” she muttered.

“Starmen utilize drones in fewer interpersonal tasks than we do, generally,” Jaya said.

“Because of the sparkling personalities?”

Surprise, then amusement went over Jaya’s face, and she flashed a bright smile.  “I can only presume so.”

A silence fell, and only one thought came to Apollonia.

“So . . . you know Brooks pretty well, right?”

“As well as anyone aside from Urle,” Jaya said.  “Which is to say barely at all.  He is a very private individual.”

“So you and he . . . you’ve never . . . ?”

“. . . Ours is purely a professional relationship,” Jaya replied dryly.

“Oh.  Well, okay.  What about you and Urle?”

Jaya rolled her eyes.  “Do you truly think that the command staff are living some kind of . . . soap opera story?”

“Well, hey,” Apollonia said defensively, “Most of my view of the universe comes from watching really bad entertainment.  And you’re all highly effective people under high stress.  I thought maybe you’d be going at it like – I mean . . .  Um . . .”

“Sex drive is the first thing to decrease under stress,” Jaya noted.

“I mean, yeah, I know that,” Apollonia said.  “Is it really that stressful for the officers all the time, though?”

“It probably isn’t comparable to your life,” Jaya said.  “But I am not really interested in discussing my love life,” she added, arching an eyebrow, though not seeming truly annoyed or offended, merely exasperated.

“So you do have a love life.  In some form.”

Jaya made an annoyed sound.  “I think I am done with this portion of the conversation, Apollonia.”

Apollonia laughed and realized she’d finished half of her drink.  Perhaps she should slow down.

“But what hobbies do you have?” Jaya asked, steering the conversation in a new direction.

“Well, the crappy entertainment was a big one,” Apollonia said.  “I liked stories about disasters and monsters . . . but the big military ones were probably the most popular overall.  I saw a lot of those just because they were everywhere all the time.  Like Military Inspection Service – that was hella popular.  That main boss guy was pretty bad ass, not gonna lie.”

“MIS?  Oh, that show is drivel,” Jaya said, shaking her head.  “And every episode is the same!  Some alien terrorist plot to disrupt the peaceful operation of the Glorian Republic.”

“Sometimes they were human terrorists,” Apollonia said.

“It was just crude propaganda.  Every show they make is about security forces or military forces or ex-military forces who are now in the security forces.  And at the end of every episode you are shown just why they need to maintain a brutal police state.”

Jaya’s eyes flickered over Apollonia’s shoulder, and the sound of someone shifting was barely audible, along with a break in the conversation she’d been tuning out.

“Did he hear you?” Apollonia asked quietly.

“Yes,” Jaya said.

“Was he annoyed?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t care,” Jaya replied, knocking back the rest of her current glass and signalling to the bartender for another refill.

Apollonia continued.  “There was also . . . uh . . . Fighting Force Seven, about some space fleet always battling pirates or whatever.  Some endless fictional war – that one was probably the most popular.  Probably saw the whole series about three times, and I didn’t even like it that much.”

“Actually, I’ve seen some of those,” Jaya said.  “Absolutely atrocious – not even just from a story point of view, but how they depict space combat.  Their secret weapon in season three, the giant laser?  That wouldn’t even scratch the paint on the Craton at missile distances!”

“Preaching to the converted, even I didn’t like it.  But Gerard was a pretty cool character.”

“Wait, wasn’t he the one who had a relationship with like every other character on the command crew?”

“. . . yeah.”

Jaya sighed.  “Naturally.  Now, have you seen The Guard Fleet or The Geese Have Not Returned?” Jaya asked her.

“Uhh . . .”  Apollonia wracked her memory, the latter being somewhat familiar.  She had maybe seen it once, but it had been really boring.

“I think I know the Geese one.”

“Those are films that show what military action is like.  It’s not a fun time, and people don’t come home.”

“I know,” Apollonia agreed.

Jaya nodded soberly, taking her new glass from the bartender and staring down into it.  “But let’s not dwell on that,” she said, and took another drink.

---

< Ep 7 Part 17 | Ep 7 Part 19 >

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

---

Brooks knew that going out onto Gohhi Station undetected would be tricky.

Nearly every ship that came in or out likely had eyes on them – friends, enemies, information brokers, even just people who made it their hobby to watch ships.  And with the Craton being such a unique and well-known vessel, she would be watched more than most.

A quick visit to the medical wing had gained him a face cover – composed of cellulite and embedded with nano-machines that would mimic genuine skin, down to hairs and shedding skin cells, allowing one to hide their face in the most believable fashion possible.  It wouldn’t hold up against dedicated scans, but such equipment would be too bulky for anyone but Gohhi officials to have on-hand.

Which meant he still had to get past those.

Because despite how much Gohhi claimed to value the privacy of individuals, in practice it was just another commodity for sale to the information brokers.  But that also meant that money could grease the wheels to preserve your privacy.

The most obvious and worst method was to bribe the customs official as you went out.  While they would likely take the bribe, it’d tip their hand that you must be someone important, and they’d make ten times as much selling you out a little later.

The best way, as he had learned years ago, was to contact the port administrator through back-channels and bribe him.  There was an automated system for it, and after Brooks made the transfer – from his own pocket – he knew that the port official who checked him would receive completely false data that would draw no attention.

The largest problem left, then, was on the Craton itself.

On the ship, people knew each other, and the information systems that enabled them to interface with the ship shared such data with everyone around them as needed.  Thus, he needed to even appear like an outsider who had simply come on the ship for business or to view the public areas.

Dressing in clothes more reminiscent of a Gohhi native, and taking back doors to bring himself into the Equator without being seen was slightly tricky, but once there he had no trouble walking out.  Any who spared him a glance would get a believable false narrative on who he was, and just what he was doing on the ship.

As he passed into customs, no one gave him even a second glance, and Brooks smiled.

He blended in with a group of engineers having a spirited debate about micro-crack sensors, considering for a moment on joining their conversation as even more cover . . . but decided he didn’t know nearly enough about such things to pass, and to spare himself the embarrassment he kept his silence.

Walking onto the station proper, he noted the watchers trying to seem casual but who were actually noting who entered and left the Craton.

He recognized a few from various Gohhi guilds, businessmen, and public figures, as well as some he believed belonged to unaligned systems or even the Sapient Union itself, spying on the spies.

Most conspicuous of all, by clear intent, were the Glorians.  They wore the stripped-down green uniforms, sans insignia, but did nothing to hide who they were.  They felt no need, and on Gohhi they had every right to loiter wherever they wished, so long as they did not bother anyone and paid any appropriate fees.

But none gave him more than a cursory glance, and he knew his disguise had worked.

Which was only step one complete.

Mingling into the crowd, he passed swiftly through unobtrusive doors and sloped halls down into deeper parts of the station.

It was a dangerous place – open carry was allowed, as nothing was allowed to interfere with commerce.  Especially not something as lucrative as weaponry.

He’d brought a small sidearm from the armory, and something that he hoped would keep him alive; a small and unobtrusive sensor pack on his shoulder.  It functioned the same way as a Guardian drone’s sensors, watching all around him at all times, looking for a weapon – especially one pointed his way.  It had no capacity to defend him, that wouldn’t be legal or wise, even on Gohhi.  But seeing an attack coming could be the difference between life and death.

Gohhi in general was darker than the Craton.  A perpetual gloom soaked many of her stations, as no one bothered to pay for lighting the open areas.  It didn’t make profit, so why bother?  Deep in, it was more true than ever, and everything seemed to be rising from darkness, islands of light and neon growing from the shadows.

It was more humid than he remembered, with drips coming down walls and lichens growing in spots.  Others were clearly cleaned regularly, owned by someone who cared about appearances.

Making his way deeper, he found he still knew the routes well enough.  Like any old spacer, he’d spent a lot of time in this hub . . . nearly a capital for all of those who called space home, Gohhi had a special place in his heart, despite its many, many faults.

The stink of so many bodies in so small an area grew, the scrubbers just not quite enough to make the air pure.  The glitter of styles from a thousand or more worlds filled each area, people showing off their individuality until there was no similarity at all between them besides their ancestors having come, at some point, from Earth.

The entertainment district was as vile as he remembered.  It was similar to the Equator ring on the Craton, but nearly ten stories tall, the gravity at the outer most layer noticeably lower than Earth norm, making him bounce upwards with each step.

Neon lights glowed in the humid darkness, and people plied trade in food, drugs, alcohol, and bodies equally here.  The press of people grew tighter, and he kept his eye out for the data thieves who he knew would try to connect to his system to steal anything he had of value.  He saw a few eyeing him, but after they saw he was vigilant they averted their eyes to try and find easier marks.

Scantily-clad beings, mostly women, danced in window bubbles in the brothels, trying to entice people in.  This part of Gohhi was almost entirely human, and so most of the prostitutes on show were likewise, though he did see a few aliens for those who had such fetishes.

The fact that such exploitation was still allowed anywhere disgusted him, but in a place stuck in an ancient mode of development as Gohhi was, it was inevitable.

Passing by a medical clinic that specialized in sexually-transmitted diseases, he finally reached the bar he’d been aiming for – The Black Hole.

While many bars on Gohhi were giant, this one was small and secluded, with lighting set so low that if one wasn’t careful they might walk into something.  But that was just how the clientele wanted it, and he surreptitiously took a seat in an empty booth.

A kiosk activated for him to request a drink, and he put in a custom order.

‘I need a face,’ he keyed in.

Then he waited.

In time, a drone came hovering over, carrying a cup of a pale, weak beer.  Inside it, when he looked, was a folded slip of paper, and on that a name.  It was already dissolving in the drink, and in moments would be completely gone, leaving no trace.

The name was of another bar, one he didn’t know, called the Crooked Door.

His system informed him of the fastest route there, and he saw that it was deeper in towards the core of the station, where the gravity lowered, the light grew yet dimmer, and the poorest and most destitute lived.

Leaving a tip to pay for the information, he got up and headed for the door.

His search had only begun.

---

< Ep 7 Part 16 | Ep 7 Part 18 >

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

---

A looming shadow approached, and Urle saw that the figure was over a full head taller than he was, and even more augmented.  Urle had to crane his neck to look the man in the face.

“What name ya?” the man asked.

Unlike many augs, Urle had never taken on a new name.  “I’m Zach.”

The man clearly judged him for that, but Urle found it childish.  “Madspark,” he said as his own introduction.  “What you search here for?”  His voice came from not just organic vocal chords, but two synthetic voice boxes, one tinny and metallic, the other so deep that it seemed to vibrate the floor.

An odd choice, Urle thought, but effective.  With his size and the strange voice, Urle doubted that anyone messed with him or his business.

“Looking for the bleeding edge,” he said.  “You carry that?”

“Aye,” the man grumbled.  “Take a look.”  His one real eye looked beyond Urle, at Kell.  “Your friend a baby?”

Among augs, anyone without upgrades was little more than the flesh they’d been born into – a baby.

Urle took a moment to decide how to respond.  He couldn’t pass Kell off as a realskin, hiding his augments.  Madspark surely had scanners that would see through that.

“No,” he decided to say, reckoning the man could not tell if Kell was entirely bare of augments.  “But he’s pretty bare.  I trust him, though, yeah?”

Madspark considered that, glowering, but then nodded.  “Trust like.  Don’t let me go find out you been tellin tales.  Just have sure no touching, yeh?”

Urle nodded, and turned to Kell.

“Man doesn’t trust unmodded people,” he told the Shoggoth.  “Try not to touch anything.”

Kell was looking over at Madspark, but at least his face was calm.  “I have no interest in touching them.”

Urle took that as compliance enough, and started to browse.

He’d been right to pick this place, just from what he was seeing on the shelves.  Many of the pieces were one of a kind, at the absolute forefront of cybernetic tech.

Most of it was for humans, some able to multi-species, and some for the other major species – Dessei, Sepht or Qlerning.  Somewhere on another station, he knew, there would be communities of augs of those species, who would surely have stores catering mostly to their own kind’s specific cybernetics, but here they were really just a curiosity.

“What is a Glef?” Kell asked, peering at a sign for a piece.

“Ah, to be honest – I’m not sure,” Urle said.  “That may be an alternate name for Latarren, a species outside the Sapient Union.  We don’t have a lot of contact with them.”

“Then why is a piece of one here?”

“It’s just tech,” Urle said.  “I guess occasionally one might come through.  We had conflict with them decades ago, but we really didn’t see them much.  They cover themselves completely for cultural reasons.”

Kell did not reply, which Urle was frankly used to.  He browsed on.

He considered an eye piece that could give him an even broader range of vision, but without the appropriate brain implants to help, it was not nearly as good.  And he wasn’t even sure it would interface with his current ports.

Getting those redone would be a much bigger deal, but not out of the question.

He moved on, looking at external scanners more sensitive than his current set – though only barely – but also more compact.

The Sapient Union did not lag in this tech but they did insist on thorough testing before approving pieces for common usage.  It was wise, really, as people would expect things on the market to be trustworthy, while experimental tech could be finicky.

He felt confident that he could check these parts himself.  But for many of them he was really going to need that new socket . . .

He moved towards the proprietor.  “I want piece 472,” he said.

The man glanced at him.  “Not with that port.”

“You do hands-on, yeah?  Not afraid of the wet?”

“Not afraid,” Madspark said.  “Get wet often.  Got suite that chop real clean, no one feel thing.”

“Good.  I’ll get a port upgrade, too,” Urle said.

Madspark considered.  Then; “40k.”

The price was high, even for top-end work like this.

“30k,” Urle countered.

He hated haggling – he’d rather things just be priced reasonably, but he knew he had to play the game at least a little.

“37,” the proprietor replied.

“All right,” Urle said.  He’d given up too easily, but it wasn’t the worst price.

“I prep the suite,” Madspark said, his voice still with that odd combination of rumbling and tinny.  “You wait.”

He left, and Urle continued to glance through the shelves.  He’d already looked at every item on them, but he derived some pleasure just looking at the pieces.

“You replace your flesh with machine willingly,” Kell stated.

“Had you not noticed before?” Urle asked seriously.

“Of course I had.  And while I had seen others like yourself, I assumed they were replacement for defective or damaged anatomy rather than a conscious choice.”

“Some of us want to be more,” Urle said.  “Our biology can only take us so far.”

“I see,” Kell said, looking at a device intently.  Urle realized that, while it was not a particularly cutting-edge piece, the connective mesh to attach it to a body was uniquely fluid, able to move even with a body as it flexed and contorted.

Kell, he surmised, had grasped the significance of it in relation to his own biology.  Urle felt a tingle go down his spine for some reason.

“Are you considering an upgrade?” he asked Kell, feigning simple curiosity when he was burning with deeper questions.

“No,” Kell said.  “But they are a curiosity.”  He looked up to Urle.  “In what way did you feel inadequate?”

Urle was caught off-guard.  “Ah, well . . . I wasn’t, really.  Not by the normal standards.  I got interested in weight lifting when I was young, but I also wanted to be a runner.  I tried to strike a balance, and became good at both.  Other sports as well, but those were my main ones.”

He paused.  “But I never liked that people who focused on one or the other exclusively could be better.  I tried, for a long time, to overcome it by just working that much harder, but . . .”  He shrugged.  “Like I said, biology has limits.”

“Yours, at least,” Kell replied.  “But I believe I understand.”

“Are you suggesting your biology doesn’t have limitations?” Urle asked, his curiosity burning harder.

“Have you not wondered why we never developed technology?” Kell asked in return.  “We never needed it.”

“But you can’t go to space,” Urle said.  “You needed us for that.”

Kell said nothing, only looking into the case again.  Urle realized what he said might be construed as insulting, and continued.

“Not that your people aren’t incredible.  I feel honored that I’m getting to know a Shoggoth better.”

Kell looked up sharply, surprise on his face for a moment before disappearing.  “You feel you are getting to know a Shoggoth?”

“Yes, of course.  Am I wrong in that?”

“You are getting to know me,” Kell replied.

Urle noted the particular way he said it, but wasn’t sure what to make of it.  “Well, as I said, I’m honored – but I do sometimes wonder why you seem to like me.”

“You are more human than some,” Kell replied.

Urle laughed.  “Sorry, that’s . . . well, it’s in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, but most people wouldn’t say that about an augson like myself.”

The door at the back swished open, and he heard Madspark call.

“Zach, ready for chop and replace.”

He turned and moved towards him.  “Kell, you can wait here if you like – or go out, this might be awhile.”

But Kell was already following him.  “I will stay,” he said.

---

< Ep 7 Part 15 | Ep 7 Part 17 >

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

---

No one around them looked the same, and Urle revelled in that.

This part of Gohhi was only marginally less busy than the main area, the clientele mostly but not all human, and every single one of them was an augson.

Mechanical parts replacing eyes or limbs or adorning the tops of heads in fantastical configurations made the outline a riot of shapes and even hues – many were embellished with lighted strips in neon colors.

A being passed them – whether man or woman a mystery, as so much of their body had been replaced that they simply moved on mechanical tendrils, nearly hidden under a long cloak.

Urle watched the being pass, considering for a moment the pros and cons of such a form of movement.

Not today, at least.

He looked at Kell.  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

Kell looked to him.  “Do you believe that you have a soul?” he asked.

Urle sputtered.  “Wait, what?  That came out of nowhere.”

Kell did not reply to that, and Urle had to beat down his disappointment.  He’d actually expected Kell to be full of questions about the beings around him, and he had looked forward to discussing the matter in depth.  But after a moment Urle made himself consider the actual question Kell had asked.  When he took it seriously it was not a hard thing for him to answer.

“No,” he said.  “I don’t really believe anything happens within us except the physics and chemistry that makes up our bodies.  Why, do you think people will lose their soul if they become augs?”  It had been a common resistance to this lifestyle in past periods, though rarely brought up now except by the most fringe of organic fundamentalists.

“No,” Kell replied with finality.

“Good, I’ve always found that a silly thought.  But what about your people?  Do Shoggoths have a concept of a spiritual essence?”

Kell’s laugh was deep and honest.  “No,” he said.

Urle puzzled on that a moment.  “Just curious – why ask me, then?”  He rarely got the sense that Kell wanted to know much about humanity.  It seemed more a tolerance at best, with the occasional superficial curiosity or amusement.

“I wished to know your stance.  Many humans have believed in such a concept, in older times,” Kell replied.

“Depends on the times, really,” Urle said.  “Nowadays, less than one percent of humans in the Sapient Union identify as strongly religious.  The whole concept has lost a lot of traction over the centuries, starting in the Enlightenment era.”

He turned to look at Kell.  “And the concept has varied quite a lot.  In the Germanic cultures of pre-Christian Northern Europe, they believed that humans consisted of four parts; the physical form, the mind, the fate or luck, and a familiar that existed externally.”

Kell looked at him in silence, but Urle sensed a curiosity in him.  “The ‘familiar’ existed outside of their body?” he asked.

“Well, in their beliefs, yes.  It represented something about their personality.  Like someone who was excessively violent might have a wolf that preceded them, and people who would meet them might first meet their familiar in a dream or something like that.”

Urle cleared his throat.  “My point is really that the whole conception of a single ‘soul’ within a physical body is hardly the sum of human spiritual belief.”

“I see,” Kell said.  “You say that most humans in the Sapient Union are not spiritual, but what of those outside it?  Like here?”

“There are still faiths.  It is much less than it used to be – most don’t survive unless they have a lot of psychophants or are profitable schemes, but most historical faith has been simply the gasp of the oppressed.  A hope that one day things will be better, when it never seems like it will be.”

Kell was quiet again, and Urle continued.  “One thing I’ve seen among Augs is a belief of something like a . . . ‘spirit in the code’ or similar.  Some of them feel that machines have a will beyond just what’s coded into them, especially once melded with the body.”

“And you do not believe that?” Kell asked.

“It’s utter nonsense,” Urle replied.

His scanners had been checking each store as they passed, small data signs outlining each store’s products and services.  It alerted him that it had found something that met his search criteria.

The sign above the storefront was small and unobtrusive.  Not even a fancy name was writ on it, though the letters of the name were glowing dimly in the darkness of the station’s long halls.

‘Upgrades Available’.

Urle scanned the code beneath the sign in more depth, getting a series of simple, informative ads on what exactly they stocked.

“Let’s go here,” he said to Kell.

The Shoggoth said nothing as they entered the store.  It was dim, lit only by neon blue and red lights that dominated different sides of the store.

Cases made of translucent titanium formed the shelves, and within them each item lay in a box of darkened glass.

“They are machine parts,” Kell noted.

Urle glanced at him.  “You can see them?”

With the lighting, only an aug could even have seen in and to the product beneath – which was no accident, he surmised.

“Yes.”

“Your eyes are better than they scan as,” Urle replied.  “Most people wouldn’t see any details.”

“These eyes are inadequate,” Kell replied, but said nothing more.

---

< Ep 7 Part 14 | Ep 7 Part 16 >

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

---

Apollonia’s mind was not on her macaroni and cheese as she sat down at the dining table.

Poking at a noodle and watching it slide away from her spork, she frowned.  This had been one of the staple non-algae based foods she’d eaten on Hellrock, and the stuff on the Craton was better than any she’d ever tasted.

But right now she was still just confused as hell, her mind trying to figure out some words.  Time felt like it was slipping away, and sending a message off to Squats on Sand’s family a month after his death felt horrible, like she’d be ripping open a wound that was just closing.

She didn’t even notice as Jaya approached, until she sat down across from her.

“Oh!” she said, jumping, her motion jerking the noodle she’d been poking until it flew off her plate onto the table.

Jaya looked at the macaroni with an arched eyebrow.

“I shall take that as a sign that you are having difficulty with your letter.”

“Yeah,” Apollonia agreed, wiping up her spilled food.

“I imagine you know that ranking officers typically write such letters to family after someone has died.  While there are many things that are the same in all of them, they remain the hardest part of the job,” Jaya told her.

“Have you . . . ?”

“I’ve written them before, yes,” Jaya replied, but did not elaborate.

Apollonia couldn’t think of what to say; it was a difficult topic, and there was no easy method, no way out.  Yet she wanted to do it.  It was important, right?

If she had had family, she knew she’d hold them close, and if they had died, well . . .  She’d want a letter, no matter how much it hurt to read.

“After a battle I have a tradition that I hold to, and being on Gohhi makes it even easier,” Jaya said.

Caught in her own thoughts, Apollonia took a few moments to register Jaya’s words.  “What’s that?”

“I am going for a drink,” Jaya replied.

“You drink?” Apollonia asked.

“Of course, at times.  And sometimes I even get drunk.  Do you?”

“I . . . not really,” Apollonia admitted.  “I mean, I have had alcohol, just not often.”

“That surprises me,” Jaya replied.

“And that’s my line about you!  I thought you’d be the responsible type who never touched the stuff.  I can’t even imagine you letting your hair down – literally, do you always keep it in a bun?”

Jaya chuckled.  “Yes, well even I’m human,” she replied, sounding like it was only somewhat a joke.  “And it is not healthy or wise.  But sometimes we need something to break the monotony, to help us release the tension.”

Apollonia considered.  “I guess it can’t hurt, can it?”

“Only a little,” Jaya replied.  “We won’t be the only ones, several other officers will be going, though they’ll be drinking apart from us.  Response have their own traditions, after all.”

Apollonia nodded, feeling both cautiously excited and nervous.  “Thanks for inviting me.  When are we going?”

“Right now,” Jaya said.  “Or did you wish to continue playing with your macaroni?”

---

< Ep 7 Part 12 | Ep 7 Part 14 >

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

---

The ship began its automated docking procedure, and Dr. Y performed a cursory check of all the algorithms, sensors, and math involved in the process.

Normally, he took a delight in running the numbers himself; agonizing over the tiniest of fractions, wondering if he could perhaps squeeze a slight time save here or there, or increase safety margins without impacting anything else.  Usually, even on the incredibly advanced systems of Sapient Union ships, he could.  Human code made lots of little neat shortcuts that worked, but often made rounding errors or minor truncations that were not as precise as possible.

But today he did not have the desire to seek those out to solve.  His mind was focused on many things always, but right now there was a much more important concern.

Keeping a constant eye on all of the diagnostics of Logus’s medical system, he communicated to the medical station, sorting out docking clearances in microseconds.

There were other injured of the Craton that had come over before Logus.  Seriously injured, triage dictated that they be given priority due to the likelihood of Arn Logus dying in transit.

It was not a high possibility, not under his care.  Already he’d caught seventeen minor bleeds and fixed them with micro-drones without a thought.  As well as two potential clots, and several times sent out chemical signals to prevent his body from going into shock from each movement.

A human in his condition should be dead a dozen times over, he thought.  It was only through the most advanced of technology that he clung to life.

It was better if he was here.  The Gohhi Medical Station was not the best the Sapient Union had to offer, but its Extreme Care Unit was very good.  His own checks on the staff had reassured him.

They docked, the ship moving gently, and Y preventing Logus from bleeding twice more.  It was constant work, and he would be well-pleased when the man was in the stabilized ECU.

The airlock opened, and they floated over.  Y counted the cosmic rays that passed through them in the less-shielded tunnel, finding that they were a trifle high for his liking.  He made a note in Logus’s file to his future doctors.  Only more damage to repair, this at the molecular level.  It was doable.

Three doctors and a team of drones met them, taking charge of Logus.  It was safer moving him through the air, to prevent vibrations and bumps, and a series of thrusters on the bed floated him gently down the hall.

“Captain Brooks, you should wait here,” one of the doctors said.  The Captain had come across with them in silence, and remained that way, only nodding to them.

His eyes tracked Logus, though.

Y went through with the others, and watched as Logus was put into their care in the ECU room.  Machines were connected, drones monitoring him, along with dozens of sensors.

“His condition is quite serious,” Dr. Ghaelj told him, the Qlerning blinking slowly and out of synch.  “Our system estimates a one-in-three chance of him not surviving.”

“His odds are better here than anywhere else we can reasonably reach,” Y noted.  “If he does not live, I know that you will have done your best.”

“Of course,” Ghaelj said.  “You may stay however long you like, to observe, Dr. Y.”

Y thanked him, and Ghaelj left to go confer with the rest of the medical team.

Building a human was easy.  Parts could be cloned or replaced with cybernetics or the body modified to survive without.

But saving one already alive?  It was so much harder than even the organics had ever thought.

Y knew that he was free to leave any time.  Logus would not know that he was on the other side of the glass, and he could not go in.  But he did not wish to leave yet.

He calculated that three hours passed, his systems working at overtime so it felt more akin to weeks.  He continued to parse his data as best he could, but where emotions came in, even he could be . . .

Lost.

There was an eternal war to accept that a being he interacted with often, who he found unique and interesting, who lived a full and complex mental life of their own could – in a heartbeat – simply cease to exist.  Their uniqueness gone forever.

It made it all almost feel futile.

He could back up his memories, his states.  If his current form was destroyed, it would experience something akin to death, but his last backup could carry on.  For the totality of him, only a gap of time would be lost.

“Goodbye, Doctor Logus,” he said softly.  “I will hope that I encounter your uniqueness again.”

And if he did not – he would at least remember him.

---

< Ep 7 Part 11 | Ep 7 Part 13 >

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

---

Dr. Arn Logus was breathing softly, his eyes closed.  At least, from what Brooks could see of his face, that was how it appeared.

The lower half of the man’s face was covered completely by a soft membrane that was slowly regrowing his lower jaw.

The semi-organic cocoon covered his upper torso as well, a thick, slightly yellowish clear substance forming the shape of the arm that would, over the next few months, hopefully regrow and allow him to become whole.

Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy, Brooks knew.  For as much as medical science had progressed, the events that led to the moment of disaster for Logus would not be so easily forgotten.

They had ways of altering the mind, of healing damage – but it was not the sort of thing that was as simple as it seemed.

No matter how well they could understand the pathways of a human mind, how they could map out every neuron and model them on advanced computers, there were ethical questions that no machine could answer for them.

If a person is even just partially the sum of their experiences, then what did messing with those experiences mean for them?  Sometimes people opted to have the worst memories of their lives excised, to truly forget them – at least consciously.  Yet the body did not forget.  In other spaces, something akin to memory could be triggered, causing even more trauma as the individual could be sent into a flashback episode without even knowing why or what the connection was.

They could try to hunt down those memories in the brain, too.  But as soon as you found some you might find others, and soon more might need to be excised than many people – even those severely traumatized – might be comfortable with.

There was no easy fix.  And the cost for any fix at all was high.

After Terris had come a heavy spate of research into the field, Brooks recalled.  At the time, some experts had even spoken to him, as if he was some sort of expert in the subject of trauma.

They argued that his own apparent success in life after surviving the Ring Collapse for ten years made him suited.

He didn’t have answers for them, though.  He did not know how to put into words what he’d done after Terris.  It hadn’t been, in hindsight, the wisest or most responsible life choices.  He’d fled the Sapient Union entirely, going to the fringe frontier of human space.  Even today, sixty years after first contact with the Bicet and other aliens, in some places they were all still struggling to exist alongside each other.  Harmless misunderstandings could lead to violence if that was the real desire of one side.  Different customs, different outlooks, and different goals, with not enough infrastructure or resources to go around exacerbated it all still further.

But he’d thrived out there.  The same skills that had let him survive in Antarctica during the ten-year winter gave him the self-reliance – and sometimes ruthlessness – to prosper.

But it had never been easy.  Literally and mentally.

Dr. Y shifted in his strap-seat, sitting on the other side of Logus.  The doctor had been unusually quiet, his attention on his friend.

Brooks was unsure if Y would have appreciated dialogue.  As Captain, Brooks should try to work for his crew’s morale, and with other people he had always had a knack for it.  But Y was a super-intelligent AI, far beyond him, and anything he might say felt like it would be cheap.

Dr. Y unhooked from his seat and moved over to a control panel, setting minute adjustments to Logus’s regrowth chamber.

Brooks decided that it was better to let the doctor busy himself for right now, rather than talk.  He would speak to him – he would have to – but he would do it later.

For now, he simply looked back down on Logus, wondering just how aware the man was.  Sometimes he seemed like he might have been slightly awake, his eyes cracked open and moving.  But even if he was aware, most likely he would not remember such incidents.  For him, it would be like they never happened at all.

Brooks wondered on Iago Caraval.  The man was having his own battle, all of it in his head, and Brooks did not know which way it would go.

He knew there was a chance that Iago might simply leave the ship.  There were clues that it might happen . . .

And if he did, Brooks wondered if he should let him.

It was what he had done, after all, wasn’t it?

Lt. Commander Pirra’s concern for him came to mind, and he felt uncertain again, wondering if he should have intervened sooner.

But he still felt, in his gut, that to confront the man would have made it all worse.  For all the size of the Craton, its population was around the size of a small town.  To feel confronted in such a small space could lead people to feeling trapped, not loved.

And if that happened with Iago . . . it would make it all so much worse.

At least he did feel confident that the man was not a danger to himself or others around him.  Every psych exam of the man had showed that he had too strong a moral compass and concept of duty to enact violence against himself or others.  Despite that, Brooks had made sure that all of Iago’s armory codes had been taken away.  They’d been brought back only after he’d joined his Volunteer unit, but he hadn’t gone to any meetings of it since the battle.

Of course, someone of Iago’s training could weaponize a lot of ordinary things, if he wanted.  Brooks just didn’t think that he ever would.

Please, he thought, let his intuition be right on that.

---

< Ep 7 Part 10 | Ep 7 Part 12 >

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

---

“Dad, where are we going?” Elliot asked.

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question, and Iago couldn’t force another reassuring smile as he replied.

“Somewhere else.”

Their bags were packed, only the essentials.  Most things they’d have to get again, but that was fine.

Going out of the ship, he felt all the eyes on him and his son.  They knew.

At any moment he’d been waiting for the Response team to come out.

For Pirra to betray him, to arrest him, take his son away and lock him up, to rot where they’d . . .

The thought faded.

No Response Team had appeared, but he didn’t let his guard down.  So they wouldn’t be open about it, he thought, as they merged onto Gohhi proper.  Thousands of beings from just as many systems, of all species imaginable were hurrying on their way.  None cared about a lone human male and his son.

They’d get lodgings and then . . .

He didn’t know what.  He hadn’t planned that far ahead.

Looking around, he felt that somehow he’d drawn attention to them.  A group of Sepht were watching him, signalling to each other with shifting colors on their skin.  He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew they had to be watching him.  They were Sepht, of course they were in the Sapient Union, they were spies.

Bad spies, just standing in the open, but they were watching him.

So it’d be a precise strike, he thought.  A team would come for him, break down the door, perhaps just shoot him down and make it look like a robbery.

He fingered the grip of the sidearm he’d smuggled off.  They’d find the evidence in the system soon, but he’d felt confident that he’d hidden his tracks well enough that it’d be when the system ran its shift-change security checks that it was discovered.  He still had three hours.

He planned out the fake rooms he’d rent, the accommodations he’d already made, the people on Gohhi he’d paid off to smudge his trail.  It would just buy time, that was all he needed.

And money, he realized.  His ex was all digital, as were all SU credits.  But he’d need something accepted on Gohhi.

They were still near enough to the ship.  Stopping at a money console, he accessed his account and transferred all of his ex to External Trade Credits.

How had he not thought of this sooner?  This was sloppy.  They’d note this for sure.  They’d know what he was doing.

Well, he thought, they had no doubt anyway.

“Dad,” Elliot said insistently, and he realized the boy had been tugging his shirt.  “Why are we leaving, Dad?”

Something suddenly hurt inside.  Iago was shocked at the feeling, realizing just how numb he’d become.  This pain felt real, fresh, and it burned.

He looked at his son, feeling his jaw and eye twitch, seeing the hurt on the face of his boy.

“We’ve just got to leave the ship, Elliot,” he said, kneeling down.  “I’m sorry.  I know it’s . . .  difficult.  Something changed, and . . . we just have to go.”

“It’s because of Terris, isn’t it?” Elliot asked.

Iago’s blood ran cold.

“How do you know about that?”

Everyone had changed around him when he’d seen the things there.  His superiors, Kai and Brooks.  Even his closest friends, like Pirra and Alexander.

He’d known that.  But . . .

Had Elliot changed, too?

“You talk about it in your sleep.  Every night, Dad.  Sometimes you’re even awake and you just say stuff,” Elliot said.

He saw the fear on his son’s face.

No.  No, no, no nonono.  His son was still his son.  He hadn’t changed.  Because if he had, what was any of this for?

He held desperately to that thought.  “Yes, it was at Terris.  I saw something . . . and I learned something that I shouldn’t have learned.  I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry it has hurt you.  But this is our only choice.”

“Why?” Elliot insisted.  “Why can’t we just talk to the Captain about it?  I’m sure he-“

“NO!” Iago roared.

Elliot cringed back.  Several beings nearby stopped, looking at him with surprise.  But their interest faded, and he saw that Elliot was not cowed.  If anything, he looked more determined.

God he was proud of him.  He felt so weak and useless.  If not for Elliot, then he’d be nothing now.  He’d let them take him, because he’d be worth nothing, not even to himself.

But at least his son would be better than him.

“What did you learn, Dad?” Elliot asked.

The words had some power of compulsion.  Iago knew he couldn’t tell the boy – both that it was a terrible idea, and that words simply could not convey it all.

But he found words pouring from his mouth all the same.

“All of it is a lie,” he said, his mouth moving, making sound of its own accord.  He could not stop it.  “The reality we know is just a dream . . . a dream of a dream, a . . .  hallucination . . .  The truth has so many facets, so many angles I can’t believe I ever even believed all of it.  It’s just hollow.  This station, the ships, every item, even us.  We are just dots on a flat sheet in a universe with more dimensions than we ever thought possible.  Don’t you see?  There’s no point to it unless we unlock the reality!  We have to get higher, become more, or there’s no point to any of this!”

He was screaming.  Ranting, but-

No he wasn’t.  He realized that he had not said a word.

His mouth had never even opened.

Elliot was still looking at him, determined, scared, and wanting to do right.

“Dad!  Are you all right?”

He was on the floor now.  Shaking.

Elliot had his hand, and Iago was watching it shake wildly.

“I’m fine!” he said forcefully.

He didn’t remember standing up, but he was.

The kiosk nearby beeped.

His transfer was complete.

Stumbling over, his body still feeling weak, as if he might have another seizure, he leaned heavily against the kiosk and looked at the figure on the screen.  It was correct – all his substantial savings had been converted to external trade credits he could use anywhere in the known galaxy.

But there was a note as well.  It was added by the system of the Craton.

Cautiously, hoping that it was from the mysterious person who had contacted him before, he read it.

“Iago,

I know you need to go.  Contact me once you feel safe.  I will do anything I can to help you.”

It was signed Ian Brooks.

Stepping away, he realized he felt so numb that he could barely tell his feet were touching the station’s deck.

“Let’s go,” he said hoarsely to Elliot.

---

< Ep 7 Part 9 | Ep 7 Part 11 >