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

---

The cafeteria was, unsurprisingly, crowded as hell.

Apollonia tried to hide Angel under one of her fronds, not expecting that they’d let the dog in, but a server drone came up to her immediately.

“We have few seats, but we can accommodate you and Angel the Terrier, Ms. Nor.”

Amused at how easily the drone had seen through her attempts at subterfuge, Apollonia let it lead her to a table that was mostly empty.  Most other tables were packed, with people in costumes or uniform, but this area appeared to have just been opened to meet new demand.

“Will this do?” the drone asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she said.  “Just a corn dog for me and . . . well I guess some dog food for little Angel.  Even though she’s a bee.”

The drone paused, taking that in for a moment.  “I fully understand,” it said.

Apollonia was wondering if it really did as she sat down.

Y had gotten sidetracked along the way, but came loping in now, sitting down across from her.

“I didn’t think they’d let a dog in here,” she said, putting Angel on the table, who began to sniff it curiously, before licking a random spot with intensity.

“An animal of such breeding as Angel will have a much more human-friendly microbiome than most companion animals,” Y noted.  He looked to the dog as she continued to lick the table.  “Not that I would recommend letting her lick your food.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that crazy,” Apollonia replied.

A drone brought out a plate with her corn dog and Angel’s small pile of . . . some sort of brown mushy lumps.  It looked horrible, but the dog began to eat ravenously, practically horking it down.

“She’s easy to please,” Apollonia noted.

Y looked at the dog, pausing.  For a moment she thought that he was about to launch into a long discussion of dogs and space dogs and their preferences in food, but instead he simply nodded mechanically.  “It does appear so.”

She took a bite of her corn dog, wondering suddenly how the more intelligent space hounds would feel about a food being named for their kind.  Was that insulting?

Though, she considered, if she had a food named after her, she’d probably be thrilled.  Hot Nors, she thought.  Or maybe Fried Nors – crunchy on the outside with a gooey center.

Looking again at her corn dog, she reconsidered.  It might depend on the food.

“Do you mind if I read while we sit?” Y asked, taking a rather heavy book out of a panel on his side.

“I suppose not,” Apollonia replied, chewing.  “Am I that boring, though?”

“I just often multi-task – I could generously be called ‘manic’ at times, in my desire to do multiple things,” Y replied.  “In this case, I am attempting to mimic the human experience by using an actual physical book rather than merely a digital copy.”

“Ah,” Apollonia replied.  “By all means, then.”

She had seen books before, but rarely.  They were something of a status item for snobs in her home system, though being book-smart wasn’t often considered a desirable trait there.  Occasionally she’d seen them in shops, though.  Usually the kind with prints of naked women in them.

Seeing movement behind Y, Apollonia leaned to the side and saw a group of people headed towards them.  Two she recognized immediately; Kiseleva and Suon, from the Response team that had been with her on the pirate ship.  The third was a shorter, nebbishy-looking man who was slouching along behind them.

Among them, only Suon had a costume on; it was a dark cloak, either black or blue.  There was heavy fur trim around the hood that partially covered his head, and he had a kind of holographic mask that seemed ethereal and darkened his face beneath, rendering it difficult to see.  The holographic effect projected outward like the beak of a raven, punctuated with glowing red eyes.  From his back were large feathered wings, also black, that seemed to move like the real thing, shifting and at times even stretching.

They were directed by a drone, talking animatedly to each other.  Kiseleva didn’t seem to have her normal stern demeanor; she was laughing at something Suon was saying, and smiling, which was almost startling for Apollonia to see; the woman was usually so serious.  Or maybe just serious when she was working?  Jaya had been the same way, Apollonia thought.

Then Kiseleva’s eyes settled on Apollonia, and her face turned back to that stoic seriousness again.  She felt her anxiety rise.

She hadn’t seen the woman since that mission; some sort of hiatus from training, which she had viewed gratefully.  Though maybe that was about to end.

“Do you mind if we sit here?” Suon asked.

“Please, the more the merrier,” Y said, gesturing expansively.

Kiseleva and Suon sat, Kiseleva next to Y, and Suon crossing to Apollonia’s side and sitting next to her.  He seemed to automatically sit close, but then moved a little away, his wings shifting.

“Sorry,” he said, seeming for a moment like he wanted to say something else, but decided better of it.

Apollonia nodded awkwardly, wondering why the two had sat just down with them when there were other spots available.  She barely knew Suon, and Kiseleva was not exactly her buddy.

The nebbishy man hesitated before taking a seat, but came around to sit on Apollonia’s side, though a further distance away.

“So anyway,” Suon said to Kiseleva.  “I still think Maxwell was far more significant than Kotikov.  He invented a whole new genre, for star’s sake!”

“No,” Kiseleva disagreed simply.  “Kotikov was greater.”

Suon sighed dramatically.  “I’m not going to say who was greater – I’m definitely not qualified for that, I’m just saying that Maxwell had more influence!”

“Are you guys talking about music?” Apollonia asked, leaning forward.  She still felt awkwardly out of place, but they had sat next to her, so she had an odd sense of euphoria – like she was part of a group.

---

< Ep 11 part 5 | Ep 11 Part 7 >

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

---

Tred nervously kneaded his hands as the lift doors opened.

Security ushered him through the doors into Reactor 7.  He had full clearance to be here, after all, but it seemed like it had been weeks since he had been.

Had it been that long?  He started to count the days, but quickly swatted that thought away.

Forcing himself to stop kneading his hands, he walked into the reactor monitoring chamber.

The reactor itself was a massive elongated ovoid, twenty-seven meters wide.  Within it flowed plasma like a miniature star – though far hotter than most stars.

He automatically checked the readouts on the reactor, innately feeling alarm when he saw that some of the numbers deviated from the norm.

But that was actually okay; those changes were to make the plasma flux more suitable to a Star Angel.

They were, really, miraculous beings.  Intelligent by sheer chance, able to live in a wide range of plasma environments.  He’d read that some lived under the ‘surface’ of their star, others in the fringes, and these circumstances produced slight variations of being and culture.

For the most part he did not really understand their culture; hardly anyone did.  A few thousand diplomats and researchers who lived in the fringes of their home system of Yia were still trying to decipher those very things.

Beings who were non-corporeal, who lived so very differently, could be incredibly difficult to understand.  He could get that.

But it hurt him to think, because he truly thought that he and Jophiel had an understanding.

The Star Angel ambassador had even appointed him her assistant!  He had built her a custom drone, replete with specialized sensors so that she could move about the ship and feel as if she was actually there, rather than receiving just a limited band of information.

Yet since they had gone to see the play Ussa and Usser, she had . . .

She had been ignoring him.

He had spoken to her only twice; both messages were brief, the bare minimum, and only for diplomatic purposes.  Which, after she had asked him to send some dispatches, he realized he was thoroughly untrained for and absolutely awful at.

Perhaps that was why, he mused.  She saw his dispatches sent back to Yia and been disgusted.  Perhaps after he’d made that drone she’d assumed he was at least passably skillful at all things, not just engineering.

That was probably it, he reasoned.

He had done research into how to improve, even run his documents through the diplomatic AI, which had marginally approved them.  But still – he was clearly a rank amateur.

And she was an ambassador!  She was probably an expert in communication in ways he didn’t even know existed.

He approached the terminal that communicated into the plasma chamber.  Star Angels did not sleep, but at times went into low states of activity, so he was not sure if talking to her would be okay or not.

He had come down here just to speak to her.  He wasn’t even on-duty.

Now he was hesitating, his nerves so bad that he was about ready to walk back out.

He could always come back, but what if she was watching?  She was always so understanding of his . . . oddities, but maybe she’d grown tired of them?  Maybe she found him annoying after their greater contact.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the terminal.

“Madam Ambassador,” he messaged.  “My apologies for disturbing you.”

He paused; he’d already written out what he was going to say, though now it all seemed horribly inadequate.

“Today is a special date in the Sapient Union, a holiday we call Darkeve.  People enjoy dressing up in fanciful costumes and there is even a parade of costumes with awards given out to those who make particularly good ones!”

He changed the exclamation point to a period.  It seemed too excitable.

“I was hoping that I could take you to see the parade.  It is an ancient holiday, and one I think you may find quite interesting.”

That was all he had written, but on a whim he quickly added and sent; “That is, if you are not busy today, of course, Madam Ambassador!”

Damn it, he’d put in an exclamation point again!  And he had opened the message calling her by her title.

Feeling like an utter fool, he could only stand there and wait.  If he hadn’t been so frozen with nervousness, he might have wanted to bolt.

A message beeped, his heart jumped.

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” it said.  “However, I must decline.  Please enjoy your holiday.”

Tred felt like all the energy had been drained from him.  Automatically, driven by habit of politeness, he replied.

“Thank you, Madam Ambassador.  Good day to you.”

Turning, feeling numb, he left.

---

< Ep 11 part 4 | Ep 11 Part 6 >

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

---

“Who is this and how did you get this contact line?” Brooks demanded.

He could feel his heart beating harder in his chest as the voice on the other end spoke.

“Hullo, Captain Ian Brooks,” the caller finally said.

The voice sounded male, though such a thing could always be faked.

“Who are you?” Brooks asked again.

“I am calling on behalf of a mutual friend,” the voice continued.  “She sends her regards and wishes you continued good health.”

“Who is this mutual friend?” Brooks asked.

He knew.  This was his most private of contact lines, one he had given to only a handful of beings in the universe – most of whom were on this ship.  None of whom would ever use it outside of an emergency.

The only one he could think of who might do this was Dawn.

“Our friend is quite shy, you know,” the voice told him.  “She expects you’d understand how embarrassed she’d be if we spoke too openly, even in private.”

“Is she there with you?” Brooks now asked carefully.  “Where are you?”

“Ah, Captain, you are as forward as she said.  But I expected you to be more clever.  Do we really need to do this dance?”

“We do,” Brooks said.  “Because you still haven’t given me a reason to trust you.”

“To be quite frank, Captain Brooks, the trust has already flowed your way.  You are the one who owes a debt after all, aren’t you?”

Damn it, Brooks thought.  So that’s what this was about.

“You didn’t answer me.  I’d like to speak with her if she’s there.”

“She is nowhere near here, Captain.  She is far-off ensconced – even I don’t know where she is, and I am one of the few she has some trust in.”

Brooks doubted that was true.  Vermillion Dawn trusted almost no one.

“What sort of favor is she asking?”

“Ah ah – not a favor, Captain.  Payment.”

“Money?  I did not expect her to be so crude,” Brooks replied.

“Payment comes in many forms.  Sometimes it is as simple as a meeting.”

He wracked his brain; she wanted to meet him?  It had not been long since he’d contacted her through the virtual headset in that drug den on Gohhi.  It had been years since they had spoken before that.

So why did she want to speak to him now?

“I can meet her,” he said.  “I can leave tomorrow.”

“You are making a false assumption, Captain – you are not the one she wishes to meet.”

He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, let alone disappointed, yet he was, and it threw him into a spin.  “Who then?” he said quickly, almost aggressively.

There was a slight pause before the other voice answered.  The man on the other end had caught the tone shift and noted it.

Brooks cursed himself for giving away too much.

“Your intrepid doctor is a most fascinating individual,” the voice said.  “And she would be delighted to make his acquaintance.”

Brooks felt his anger get the better of him.  “I cannot order Y to go off and meet whomever I want.  He is his own being, and an officer-“

He was angry on Y’s behalf, yes.  But he was also angry because of the wording – which he knew was quite intentional.

Dawn had called him, with a dry sarcasm, the ‘intrepid captain’ quite often.  To call Y by the same term was the proof that he needed to finally know this was indeed sent by her.

And it angered him deeply that she was only using him for an introduction.

“A chance to speak to the Doctor in person is all that is requested.  You have every guarantee of his safety – and his status as an individual is not in question, Captain.”  The voice was almost chiding at the end.

He had to clamp down on his emotions.  Taking a slow, quiet breath, he put his voice back onto a professional keel.

“What I mean is that I will have to broach the topic with him.  While I acknowledge the debt I owe . . . I cannot say for certain that he will agree, or when he will choose to make such a trip if he does agree.”

“I will call again in two hours, Captain.  By that time the good Doctor will have agreed and we will arrange the meeting place,” the voice said.

He did not give Brooks a chance to reply, but ended the call immediately.

---

< Ep 11 part 3 | Ep 11 Part 5 >

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

---

There was still time to kill before the official Darkeve festivities began.

Apollonia had tried slipping into that part of the Equator Ring earlier, but had been politely sent back out.

“The work is not yet complete,” the drone had informed her.

Angel had, of course, already wandered in.

“My dog went in, I have to get her!” Apollonia had said to the drone, trying to dart in to get a look.

But the dog had, upon hearing her name, run back excitedly.

“Well,” Apollonia said to the little happy fluffball.  “I guess that won’t work.”

The idea of getting some lunch before the event had just occurred to her when she saw a walking tree.

Doing a double-take, she wondered for a moment if this was some new alien lifeform she had never even heard of when the tree turned – and she saw Urle’s face poking out of it.

He waved a branch-like arm at her, turning back to the man next to him.  Apollonia realized that it was Brooks, having been so surprised by Urle that she’d scarcely noticed him or Dr. Y next to him.

She hurried over, Angel getting even more wiggly as she recognized the people, straining against the leash to reach them.

“Don’t choke yourself!” Apollonia chided the dog.  But she pressed on anyway, making a ‘gack’ sound.

“Zach, I didn’t even recognize you at first,” she told Urle as she came up.

He laughed, waving his branches.  They were not just clever attachments to his arms; his arms themselves were twisted and branching like actual tree limbs, with each branch apparently able to move jointlessly.

“I designed it myself,” he said proudly.  “If I put the face shield on you can’t even tell I’m a person!”

“It is quite impressive,” Dr. Y said.

Apollonia looked over to the doctor, trying to figure his costume out.

“Vampire?” she guessed.

“That is correct in essence, but missing in the particulars,” Y replied happily.  “However, I am content to let people guess at my costumes.”

“You’re not telling?”

“That would be far too boring,” Y replied.

“He’s Bella Lugosi,” Brooks said absently, speaking for the first time, quite distracted by whatever he was viewing on his tablet.

“Who is that?” Apollonia asked.

“Ah, Captain, how droll,” Y said with an exaggerated sigh.  “Though I suppose it is a bit much to expect most people to remember an actor from 900 years ago.”

“And yet I guessed it,” Brooks said, a smile tugging his lips.

Apollonia looked over the Captain’s costume now.  It was not quite what she had been expecting of an arctic explorer.

“Are you Roald Amundsen?” she asked.

“No,” Brooks replied, glancing up.  “I decided to branch out this year.  I’m not anyone in particular; merely an old naval Captain of the 19th century Western powers.”

“To be quite accurate,” Y chipped in.  “His outfit mixes elements from several different navies, and even some from earlier centuries.  It is-“

“. . . it is impressionistic,” Brooks interrupted dryly.

“It’s quite good.  I mean, everyone would recognize it immediately, and best not to attach your name to a specific figure,” Urle said.  “Especially not from old imperial powers.  Too much baggage.”

Y turned to look at him.  “You know, on the topic of accuracy, Executive Commander, I must say I am somewhat uncertain what specific species of tree you were aiming for.  Like the Captain, you have combined elements of different genera . . .”

“Oh here we go,” Urle muttered.  “I’m going with the Captain on this – it’s impressionistic.”

“I see,” Y replied stiffly.  “Well my first impression is that you did not consider which tree you wanted to be very much.”

“Not everyone is trying to exactly recreate specific things,” Urle replied.

Apollonia was grinning ear to ear.  “Well . . . costumes aside, are you all going to come to my showing of Shark Hole 7 later?”

“How scary is it?” Urle asked.  “I was thinking of bringing my girls.”

Apollonia hadn’t considered that possibility.

Really, it was not the scares that concerned her, but the gratuitous nudity . . .

But she could get the computer to edit that out.

“It’ll be fine!” she said, grinning.

“Okay, we’ll be there!” Urle said.

Y offered a stiff bow, swinging his cape in front of himself.  “I will of course be present.  And may I compliment you on your most wonderful sunflower.”

Apollonia laughed now.  “My costume is terrible!  Everyone else’s are perfect.”

“It is perfectly impressionistic,” Y told her.

Grinning, she turned to look at Brooks, who still seemed distracted.  “Will you be coming, Ian?”

The sound of his first name caught his attention.  “Ah, Shark Hole 7?  I haven’t seen the first six, will I be able to follow the story?”

Apollonia wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.  “I think you can catch the gist,” she told him.

“In that case-”  His words cut off, his eyes focusing into the distance.  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.  Then, in a normal voice; “Commander Cann, how can I help you?”

Apollonia had not even heard the woman approaching, which seemed a miracle when she saw her costume.

Next to Urle’s tree, Zeela’s outfit was the most impressive she’d seen.

She was a witch, but her costume was incredibly elegant; there were silk sashes and puffy shoulders, elbow-length gloves and a high collar.  It was all tailored so perfectly that Apollonia almost missed the corset entirely, which gave her an hourglass-like figure that even a digital actress would be jealous of.

Dominating it all was her broad-brim hat, which was absurdly huge; it reached high into the air, with lit candles set in it.

Around her, pixies seemed to dance in the air, which Apollonia could only guess were cleverly-disguised drones.

“Dayum,” she said.

“Captain,” Cann said.  “You’ve made a critical error and I’ve finally found you.”

Urle gave her a confused look.  “You couldn’t find the Captain?”

Zeela gave Brooks a glare, which he pretended not to notice.  “He turned off his tracking.”

“What?” Apollonia asked.

Urle laughed.  “Did you really turn off your tracking?  You can’t search for anyone that way, how’d you find me?”

“Old naval captains just had to find their way with a compass,” Brooks muttered.  “But for you I just asked people if they’d seen a walking tree.”

“We need to discuss your speech and the leading of the parade,” Cann said, her voice almost sing-song.  “You promised me last year you’d definitely do it this time!”

Brooks looked acutely uncomfortable; Apollonia could practically see his mind working, trying to find an excuse.

And he came up blank.  “All right,” he said, mostly managing to hide the dejection in his voice.

“Excellent.  Well, you must be at the fore, and you will need to be carrying the baton.  I trust you can twirl it without dropping?”

“Is the twirling necessary?” Brooks asked quickly.

“Of course it is, it’s part of the procession ritual!  You know, scaring off demons or something.  I don’t know, but you should have seen old Lambert with it!  He could flip it in the air and catch it.”

“I’m not doing that,” Brooks said.

“That’s okay, but you do need to smile at least!” Cann insisted.

She was like a shark, Apollonia thought.  She had tasted blood in the water and was going in for the kill.

Brooks continued to listen as she described his role; it was merely ceremonial, but there was a lot of ceremony, it seemed.

His face seemed to be growing more bleak as he listened, but then a beep came from his tablet.  It was an insistent sound and his expression changed immediately.

“Zeela,” he said, cutting her off.  “I have to take this.”

He did not wait for a response; instead, he turned and walked away swiftly.

Zeela seemed surprised and unsure for a moment, then looked to Urle.

“Was this arranged?” she asked him, semi-seriously.

Urle laughed.  “I have no idea, but I’m sure he’ll be there for the parade.”

“Well, unless something serious happens, right?” Apollonia asked.  “Like with the ship.”

Zeela gave her an annoyed look, as if she had just jinxed the whole thing.  “Yes, if something serious happened he would of course have to resume his normal duties.  But that’s not going to happen.”

“It’ll be fine,” Urle said, still amused.  “But I have things I need to do as well.  I’ll see you all later.”

Apollonia hesitated a moment before asking Zeela, but decided to anyway.  “Do you wanna come watch Shark Hole 7 later with us?”

“Oh no, my dear,” Cann replied, seeming perfectly pleasant again.  “By that time I’ll be quite unconscious.  These events are exhausting to arrange.  But thank you all the same.”

Turning, she swished away, and Apollonia turned to look at Y.

“I was gonna get some lunch,” she said.

“I have very little to do,” Y replied happily.  “I would be happy to join you for social reasons!”

---

< Ep 11 Part 2 | Ep 11 Part 4 >

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

---

“Are flowers allowed in the command center?” Apollonia asked the security officer.

The man smiled slightly.  “Normally I’d say no, but allowances could be made today.  What’s your business?”

“I’m here to bother Commander Yaepanaya about something,” Apollonia said.  “Important flower stuff.”

The man laughed this time.  “Go on in, Specialist Nor.”

Ooh, specialist.  She’d known she had that sort of title, but hearing it was nice.

Walking in, Angel wiggled even more excitedly as Apollonia put her down.

She had gotten an extendable leash and set her tablet to track the little dog so she wouldn’t lose her.  Angel seemed to resent the leash and collar, side-eying Apollonia as she’d put them on her, and she had an amazing ability to find out of the way spots and get tangled around anything and everything, including herself.

She did not seem familiar with the command center, and as soon as her feet hit the deck she ran over to investigate the Captain’s chair.

From behind, Apollonia could only see boots, which looked like Jaya’s, and they jumped slightly as Angel crashed into her, tangling the leash again.

“Why is there an animal in my command center?” the woman’s voice barked imperiously.

“Ah, sorry, it’s me!” Apollonia said, hurrying over.

Jaya’s annoyance quickly melted away as she saw Apollonia, and something dangerously close to a smile appeared on her face.  “Ah, I see.  It’s just a bee attracted to the flower.”

“Yes!” Apollonia said, excitedly.

“An idea brought about by your time on Earth?” Jaya asked.

“Yeah,” Apollonia said.  “I was originally going to be Oleandra from The Last Throne.  She’s a witch everyone hated and was afraid of . . .”

“I believe I have heard of this show,” Jaya said.  “There is quite a bit of gratuitous violence and sex in it, as I recall.”

“Oh, yeah, tons,” Apollonia agreed.  “And really, Oleandra is way hotter than me, but at least her outfit isn’t slutty.  We kind of look alike, too.  I mean, I’m thin and pale with dark hair, that’s kind of similar.”

She could have passed, she thought.  But ultimately it had felt inappropriate.  The Last Throne seemed tailored towards people with a little too much interest in blood and torture and cruelty.  She’d watched it at times, but had lost her taste for it since leaving New Vitriol.  It didn’t seem to fit into the same universe she found herself in now.

“I’m rather glad you went with your flower,” Jaya said.  “I believe it suits you better.”

“Aww, thanks.  I’m glad it matches with Angel.  Angel, no, don’t pee there!”

The dog was squatting in a corner next to a computer.

Jaya let out an exasperated sigh.  “This is why we do not let animals in the Command Center.”  She raised her voice.  “Get some drone cleaners in here,” she ordered.  “And please get the bee out of here.”

Apollonia carefully picked up the dog, trying to avoid any wet spots on her underside.

“I will,” Apollonia said, studying Jaya.  “But what is your costume?”

Jaya seemed to have made the most bare minimum of effort; she had some bright blueish-green metallic makeup around her eyes, and from her hair bun a handful of similar feathers stuck out, each with a strange dark spot on them.

“I am a peacock,” Jaya said, her seriousness undermining the lightheartedness.

“Oh,” Apollonia said.

Jaya sighed.  “I would prefer not to wear a costume at all, but I owed the Captain a favor and he insisted I make some gesture towards it.”

Apollonia tilted her head.  “You’re not a fan of the best holiday ever?”

“I do not enjoy silly costumes,” Jaya replied shortly.  “Which is why I volunteered to be on command duty.”

“So the Captain is dressing up?” Apollonia asked excitedly.  “Oh I can’t wait to see that!”

“Don’t get too excited,” Jaya cautioned.  “He usually just dresses up as Roald Amundsen.”

Apollonia’s blank face required no question to be asked.

“He was the first to reach the South Pole in Antarctica on Earth,” Jaya clarified.

“Ohhh,” Apollonia replied, stroking Angel.

“You go on,” Jaya said.  “Enjoy the parade and revelry.  I will be be fine.”

“Okay,” Apollonia said.  “But don’t forget that I’m showing Shark Hole 7 later!”

“I will be there,” Jaya replied gravely.

Much pleased, the sunflower and bee flitted from the command center.

---

< Ep 11 Part 1 | Ep 11 Part 3 >