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Urle entered into Brooks’s office, out of breath.

Two minutes ago, Kiseleva had fired a shot down on the boarding ramp.

Brooks had been informed of the commotion as soon as Kiseleva had reported an escalation, and he had seen the shooting.

But he didn’t have all the information yet.  There would be dozens of views through which to view the event.

Which made Urle by far the best to parse that data.

“Kiseleva is outside,” he said.  “I brought her up immediately.”

“How is the situation at the ramp?” Brooks asked.

“Cleaning up.  Zeela’s down there, talking to port officials.  She’s giving me a live-feed . . .  I guess it’s under control.  They seem more annoyed than anything.”

“And what happened?  As best as you can tell,” Brooks asked.

“He crossed the demarcation line and she shot him down,” Urle said.

Brooks frowned.

“She had to have a stronger reason than that,” he replied.

“Well, yes,” Urle said.  “She says that he threatened her, that he was armed – but he wasn’t looking at her at the time she shot him.  He was looking past her.”

Thinking for a moment, he gestured.  “Bring her in.  You stay.”

Urle nodded, summoning Kiseleva in.

She came to attention, looking calm.  Her heart rate was nearly normal, Brooks noted.

“What just happened?” he asked her.

“I defended myself and the ship,” she replied simply.

“You were in danger?”

“He threatened to get the ‘bitches’.  Earlier he had also called me a bitch, therefore I took his words as a threat against my person.  Given that he was armed, I gave it credence.”  She paused.  “Along with threatening the women who had asked for asylum as well as violating Sapient Union territory.”

Brooks did not change his expression for a long moment, watching her.  She met his gaze back.

He looked down.  “You are relieved from combat duties until a full investigation can be made.  Turn in your sidearm.  Dismissed.”

She saluted, turning to leave.

“Unofficially,” Brooks said.  “You did well.”

Kiseleva looked back over her shoulder at him, and smiled slightly.

After she was gone, Urle rounded on him.

“Ian . . . you’re congratulating her?  She just killed a man!”

Brooks did not seem surprised or upset by his outburst.  “He was a pimp and a drug dealer.”

“That doesn’t mean she can just shoot him!”

Brooks raised his head now, looking at him.  “Nothing of value was lost.”

“I’m not defending the piece of shit,” Urle said.  But we can’t just kill anyone we hate!”

“He made a mistake,” Brooks replied.  “And threatened the wrong people.  Now, others like him might hesitate a little bit more before they hurt people.  I doubt anyone will shed a tear.”

“Some will, in the Union.  And so will the independent news sources.  They’re going to spin this like crazy – they already are.”

Brooks shrugged.  “We will deal with the repercussions, whatever they are.”

A light on his desk flashed.  An external call – rated important.

Now Brooks grimaced.  “Sooner rather than later.  Get on the report, but send it to me before you file it,” he ordered.

Urle took a deep breath and saluted before leaving.

Brooks took a moment to compose himself before taking the call.

Music greeted him, not a person.

“Greetings,” a pleasant voice said.  He could not tell if it was a highly-trained person or an AI.  “Please hold – Mr. Waites-Kosson will be with you momentarily.”

After a moment of more music, it spoke again; “You are now given the honor of speaking to Mr. Waites-Kosson.”

“Hello, Captain-Mayor Ian Brooks,” a voice said.  It was definitely a human, but only a voice came through, no video.

“Greetings,” Brooks said.  “To what do I owe this call, Mr. Waites-Kosson?”

He thought he knew the name, but he’d had his system bring up everything relevant on the man.

Trevod Waites-Kosson was one of the wealthiest humans ever to exist if the numbers were to be believed.  Like most of great wealth, he had been born into it, his ancestors the founders of a dozen of the largest companies in Gohhi – with tendrils reaching into many other areas of wild space.

Like a capitalist Hapbsburg, he was simply the culmination of many of those wealthy houses intermarrying, sharing and combining property.  And now, without ever having done a day’s honest work in his life, the man had more wealth than god.

“Call me Trevod,” the man said affably.  “I admit, I had expected a deeper voice from a man of your reputation, Captain-Mayor.”

“Legends dwarf all men,” Brooks replied.

“Well-said.  But I’m not calling for social reasons, as interesting as that would be.  I’d like you over for an in-person discussion.”

Brooks thought about telling the man to come to the Craton.

But in the scheme of things, Trevod Waites-Kosson was one of the most powerful individuals in the universe.  He was a part of the Gohhi ruling class, one of the most influential in it.

He made and lost more wealth every day than some planets.  He’d flouted the laws of every government he’d ever dealt with, the Sapient Union especially.

He would be far too cowardly to put himself in the hands of communists, no matter the promises of safety.

“Very well,” Brooks replied.

“Excellent, Captain-Mayor Brooks.  I have dispatched a shuttle, it will reach you in about an hour.  It will bring you here.”

The call ended.

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