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Two hours into the night, and Brooks realized there were not enough Sunsets on Venus to make it tolerable.

He’d stopped after two; even with an enhanced liver and kidneys the alcohol could only get filtered so quickly, and the last thing he needed was to get drunk and tell the Glorians or Gohhians his full thoughts on them.  Wars had probably been started over less.

He’d seen Klezul Hoshe, the writer of Ussa and Usser several times, but the being was always surrounded by such a crowd of people waiting to speak that he’d drifted away.

The crowd did not seem to be growing thinner, however, and with growing irritation at the people who did not even know how to queue properly, he filtered into the group, moving towards the being.

But the wealthy seemed to have no grasp of letting others in, which he felt was probably a metaphor for reality.  Deciding he’d wait a little longer, he moved out of the group again.

Few people here wanted to speak with him, it seemed; upon seeing his uniform, face, or probably both, most people turned their backs on him.

Still, he was certainly making the point by being here, and keeping a calm smile on his face the whole time he knew would annoy those who were watching him.

“Captain Brooks,” he heard a deep voice say.

Turning slightly, he saw Romon Xatier standing near him.  He was wearing a well-tailored black suit, his undershirt the same shade and his tie a dark red that barely stood out against it.

“Mr. Xatier,” he said.  “I did not think you were present – I had not noticed you.”

“I arrived late,” Xatier replied.  “Only fools wish to be at these events a moment longer than necessary.”  His lips went into a slight smile.  “But who could pass up the opportunity to speak to as famous an artist as Klezul Hoshe?”

Brooks could agree with that.  “He’s had quite the crowd around him all evening.  But in his culture the later he speaks to someone the more honor they do him.  It implies they’ve been waiting.”

“Even if they simply show up late,” Xatier continued.  “You should see events on Ngoash.  They never even start until three hours after their designated time.”

“Ah, have you been there?” Brooks asked, finding that unexpected.

“Unlike many of my contemporaries, I have been all over the known galaxy,” Xatier told him.  “I saw enough of it to last me two lifetimes.”

“And yet you came back here – I am surprised.  Gohhi may be a hub of known space, but it’s hardly a garden spot.”

“Unless you have money,” Xatier said, smiling slightly again.  “And then it is true freedom – an eden in hell.”

“Wealth is just a prison of its own,” Brooks commented.  “You’re as trapped as anyone else in such a system – you just get more creature comforts.”

“Spoken like someone who knows nothing of wealth,” Xatier replied.  “But you are certainly consistent in your views, Captain.  I hear that you spoke quite frankly to Trevod Waites-Kosson, and I admit a certain admiration has grown in me as a result.”

Brooks wondered how word of that had spread – certainly Trevod would not have spoken too frankly about their conversation.

“My thanks,” Brooks said, feeling the polite words were necessary.  “I am afraid I know too little about you to offer a sincere compliment.”

“Oh?  Dr. Y has said nothing?” Romon asked.

“He is legally bound not to,” Brooks replied.  “And he is an honorable being.”

“Honor or programming?  I am as yet undecided which,” Romon replied.

“If you think Y is just a complex calculator, you’re just denying the evidence,” Brooks said.  “He’s more alive than most people I meet.”

“He certainly is a complex being.  But whether he truly experiences reality as we do is something I am difficult to convince of.  Does he feel?  Does he have faults?  Or is it simply all very quirky, intelligent stimulus response?”

Brooks shifted, facing the man fully.  “I’m not sure what you’d like as evidence, really.  A receipt saying he felt angry or sad, printed out from his torso?  The Sapient Union accepts his species as being truly alive in a meaningful sense.  Even if you are not in agreement with all of our principles, that has to carry some weight.”

“If only it did,” Romon replied.  His eyes travelled past Brooks then.  “But perhaps we can get another opinion.  Tell me, Captian, have you met Doctor Nadian Farland?”

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