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Tred almost knocked on the door to Ham Sulp’s office.

He hated knocking; the act of physically striking a door seemed alarmingly violent to him, but occasionally people still did it, especially when a request for entry was going unanswered.

Which, Ham Sulp had kept him waiting over two minutes now.

Making up his mind to actually reach his hand up and rap his knuckles on the door, he froze in mid-motion as it opened.

He hesitated, and then Sulp’s bellow came out to spur him into action.  “Come in!”

Scurrying in, Tred looked around the cramped office.  It should have been spacious, but there were containers stacked everywhere.

Maneuvering around them carefully, he approached the squat man at his desk, who did not even look up.

“I’m here on behalf of-oh!”  He cried out as something touched his leg.  Looking down, he saw that it was the small ship terrier that they’d taken on a while back.

It had its front paws on his shin, looking up at him expectantly.

“She wants you to pet her,” Sulp grumbled.

“Pet her?  Does she bite, though?”

Ham Sulp put down his stylus to turn and give Tred a long glare, before pointedly turning back to his work.  “No dog I train ever bites.  Not unless I train them to bite.”

That did not reassure Tred much, but he obediently knelt, reaching down a hand for the dog to inspect.

She gave him a cursory sniff, then began to pant, her short tail waggling expectantly.

“Just watch out if she starts to lick you, she’ll never stop,” Sulp added.  “Now, who sent you down here?”

“Er . . .”

Tred had carefully arranged his thoughts, just what he’d say.  But he was distracted now, and all of his words escaped him.

He looked down at the dog.  Her name was Angel, his system told him.

She was making a disturbing amount of eye contact with him.  Keeping her eyes locked on his, she turned her head just slightly, and her tongue came out.

The appendage seemed to move in slow motion as it took a long, slow lick on his hand.  She continued to stare at him.

“I haven’t got all day,” Sulp said.

“Jophiel!” Tred said.  “Ambassador Jophiel, I’m helping her with . . . well, she wants to go see the Ussa and Usser play and . . .”  The dog was now licking him more, making his hand moist.  He pulled it away and she jumped onto his leg again, crying sadly.

Hastily, he put his hand back down, and she continued to lick him.

“And what does she need?” Sulp prodded.

“Oh, well . . . I’m making her a special drone.  So I have a list of parts I need to make it work . . .”  He threw the information to Sulp with a swipe of his hand, his system interpreting the motion and sending it to the quartermaster’s system.

“Drone?  You’re not a drone tech,” Sulp noted.

“I got my certification last night,” Tred said quickly.  “All my credentials are in order, and-“

“That’s rather impressive,” Sulp grunted.  “That’s a six-day course.”

“I worked all day on it,” Tred said.  And it was true; he’d gotten up at dawn and taken his test just before the chime of day’s end.

“Well, things do look in order.”  Sulp seemed almost disappointed, Tred thought.  “I’ll have these brought to your work station in fifteen minutes.  That work?”

“Oh, yes,” Tred said, relief flooding him to the point that he almost felt giddy.  But his face went back to bothered in a moment as he still felt Angel licking his hand.  She’d gotten his entire palm at this point, and worked her way around to the back of his hand.

When he did not move, though, Sulp frowned.  “Do you need something else?”

“Just . . . how do I get the dog to stop licking me?” Tred asked.

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