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“Connection completed,” the engineer said, looking up from his console.

“Everything is reading as green,” another said, studying her tablet.  “Ambassador Jophiel should have full uplink to the drone unit.”

Tred’s eyes widened.

It was hard to believe that something he had made was working so well.

He worked with fusion reactors all day, it was true, but he only maintained their functioning in real-time, he didn’t make them from a box of parts.  His work was easy, but building – that was hard.

He leaned closer to the drone, peering into its eye-like sensors.

“Ambassador, can you hear me?” he asked.

“Oh, hello Tred!” the drone said.

He cringed slightly; her voice was almost but not quite right, and he quickly made an adjustment.

“Ambassador, try talking again,” he said.

“Oh, hello Tred!” she repeated.

“Perfect!” he crowed.  Her voice was just like the other times.

It wasn’t just his preferences, he thought.  It was her voice, and so she should sound like herself.

“This is very strange!” she said, rolling forward smoothly.  “I feel as if I am not in the fusion reactor at all, but actually in this room!  But it doesn’t feel cold.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t put in any kind of sensors to impart what the ambient temperature is like, but this unit should give you a lot more data than most remote drones.”

“I’ve tried controlling other ones,” she admitted.  “But they made me feel small.  Like I could see very little.”

“Oh, yes, those Diplomatic Corps drones have other priorities than giving wide-band sensor suites,” Tred said.  He’d looked into them, and while they were safe and functional, they were little more than tools.  Not something to live vicariously through.

Jophiel rolled to some steps, her robotic eyes snapping downwards as the treads began to climb up them.

Tred followed anxiously, hoping she wouldn’t freak out and back up too quickly – and tip over.  He’d built it as stable as he could, but it was always possible.

However, after pausing a moment and apparently gaining a grasp of the steps, Jophiel continued up and forward, bringing the drone up onto a higher landing.

“The last drone I controlled did not move on a surface,” she commented.

“Yes – I’m sorry,” Tred said.  “The sensor suite was a little too heavy to fit into a drone that could fly around easily.”  At least not without distractingly loud thrusters.”

Jophiel turned the drone to look at Tred.  He had just gone up the steps himself, and he found it slightly odd to speak to her now, what with her sort of having a face in the sensors.  She seemed to be having no trouble following him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Tred!” she said.  “I just have to get used to it, but I’m happy to do that.  In a way it’s like . . . walking in your shoes, yes?”

Tred smiled.  “I hadn’t considered that, but I can see what you mean, Ambassador.”

“Just call me Jophiel.  Even if this play is ‘formal’, I don’t want to be called by that silly title.”

The drone turned to look out towards the hall.  “Shall we go?”

---

“We’re going to be late!”

A muffled shout of “I know, I know!” came from the other room, and Pirra whistled out a filthy Dessei curse as she realized she still had her work boots on.

The boot loosened on a command and she kicked it off, trying to find her appropriate elegant slippers.

As she pulled those on, Alexander came running out of the bedroom, still pulling on his jacket.

“Pirra,” he said, stopping.  “You still have your emergency pack on.”

“I know,” she said defensively.  “Oh, but you look nice!  I really like that jacket, it brings out your eyes-“

“Don’t change the topic,” he said, smiling.  “You know you can’t wear that.  Last time you did that Sepht ambassador got insulted . . .”

“Well I wasn’t wearing it as an insult to their security, even though it was terrible,” she replied, annoyed.  “But I do not like to be without something in case of trouble!”

Alexander crossed his arms.  She had learned that meant he was being serious.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh.  “But we’re on the outside of the ship.  You know that means the likelihood of an undetected piece of debris venting the room is statistically much higher-“

“Has that ever happened on the Craton?” Alexander asked seriously.  “Space trash causing a venting.”

She let her crest droop.  “No,” she admitted.

“So we’re fine.”

“That just means that statistically the odds are getting higher that it will!” she whistled back shrilly.

“That’s not how reality works and you know it.”

Still feeling annoyed, she dropped her pack and went to the door.  They could still make it before admission started . . . it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they were late, but it was not good manners.  And she knew the other members of her team would notice and give her grief over it later . . .

She was never late for drills or actual emergencies.  She was punctual to a fault.

But when off-duty, that was another story.

Alexander was very similar.  Sometimes he joked that their forces combined made sure they would never arrive on time, and she had to admit there was a little truth to it.

As they rushed out the door and down the hall, she checked her system and saw that they’d started seating early.  They would still get in, and they had assigned seats.

But damn it!

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