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

---

“Abmon!  Is that what his people are called?”

The Qlerning did not reply, but the Rock Pillar itself gave a very large, exaggerated nod by tilting its whole pillar forward.

“Ah!  I’m right?”

It nodded again.

“Great!  But anyway, when you say that stuff about scents . . . you mean people – human people – think they smell bad?”  She looked at the Rock Pillar.  “I don’t think you smell bad.  I was just on Earth and it kind of reminds me of that.  Honestly, it makes me kind of happy – it’s why I came into the room.”

The Rock Pillar began to rattle, slightly differently from before.

“He is pleased,” Plep said.  “He That Squats is going to be serving on the Craton for Detachment Training.  I am sure he will experience many events.”

That last part seemed . . . cryptic and slightly ominous to her, but she smiled to . . .

“He That Squats?” she asked.

The Rock Pillar made some rumbling noises to the Qlerning, who ignored it until one of the goose barnacles on its head stretched and slapped Plep on the arm.  It made a loud noise, and the Qlerning actually jumped slightly, dropping its instrument.

“Pain is an acquaintance I do not enjoy meeting,” Plep said, watching the Rock Pillar.  Its tone was just as calm as ever, but it was rubbing its arm to take the sting from the blow.

“What did he say?  Just please tell me exactly.”

“He said that is not his full name and I should tell you his full name,” Plep said.  Then he said nothing else.

“Okay . . . so what is it?”

Plep was quiet, and more of the Rock Pillar’s weird arm-barnacle things raised up, almost threateningly.

“You hit far too hard,” Plep said.  “To be struck by a train puts none in a good mood.”

Plep looked at her.  “His full name is ‘He That Squats on Yellow Sand’.  Abmon use such descriptive names.”

“Oh, all right,” Apollonia said.  “You know, I knew a guy who had a name like that.  He wanted everyone to call him The Breath of Angels Upon God’s Face, but we all called him Stinky Breath because, well, his breath was terrible.”

The pillar rotated so the eyes were on her, and then it began to shake again, loudly clanking its sections together.

Apollonia was starting to think that was something like laughter, and she started laughing, too.  Plep still seemed annoyed, though.

“I do not know what to make of that,” he said.

Apollonia began to laugh harder.

“Okay, so can you please give me a simple and straight answer, Plep?  I’m . . . well, I’m a noob at a lot of this stuff.”

“A what?” Plep asked.

“A noob.  Newbie?  I’m fresh to the Sapient Union?  I know you’re . . . just being you, I guess, but I need you to throw me a bone here.”

The being seemed a little huffy.  “Doing is learning,” he insisted.

She took that to mean she was supposed to figure out what he was saying.  “I need the 101,” she insisted.  “And right now I can’t even understand Mr. Squats over there.”

The rocky being looked to Plep and rumbled something.

Plep leaned back and seemed thoughtful.  “Brevity,” he said.  “Is the soul of wit.”

“That’s a human quote, isn’t it?” Apollonia said.  “I think I’ve heard that before!”

“To know your own history is to know yourself, in many ways,” Plep said, seeming pleased.

Apollonia smiled.  This might be progress.

“Okay, so can you tell me why my system won’t translate him?”  She held up her tablet.

“You just need to download the language pack,” the Qlerning said, for once being blessedly clear.

“Oh, great!  Er – how do I do that?”

Plep reached up.  “May this one be so honored?”

“If you mean can you do it, be my guest,” she said.

The being took her tablet and tapped a few buttons, then offered it back.  She was on a download page, and a large, shiny green button said ‘download and install Abmon Language Pack’.  She hit it, and saw that it was 23 exabytes of data.

It installed in a few moments.

“Try saying something,” she said to the Rock Pillar.

“I’ve decided I’m not offended by being called Mr. Squats,” the being said.  Or at least, it made the rumbling rock sounds, but she heard the words in her ear buds.  The voice the system created for it seemed wholly appropriate for a walking crab pillar thing, deep and rumbling.

“Oh, I heard that!” she said.  “Wait, I offended you?”

“Can you just call me Squats on Sands if you must abbreviate?” he asked.

“All right, I can do that.”

“Ah, great!” he replied.  “To be honest I expected it to be harder to get a human to use my name right.  It’s hell on forms especially.  You know, you’re all right for a Squishling.”

“And I’m squishier than most,” she said with a nod.

The being did its rattling again, which her system turned into a hearty guffaw.  “I think I like her,” He That Squats on Yellow Sand said to Plep.

The being just plucked on its ukulele again, but said nothing.  Apollonia was unsure if he was hurt or what, but she hardly cared.

At least she’d have some interesting company for the rest of the trip.

---

< Ep 5 Part 26 | Ep 5 Part 28 >

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

---

“Acting-Captain Urle,” he heard.  He’d stepped not three meters from Iago’s door.

“Ah,” he said.  “Ambassador N’Keeea, it’s good to see you,” he said, trying to force his brain into the diplomacy mindset needed for talking to the alien.  Hev minds were not like human minds, and they tended to be much less direct-

“When will we hear from your diplomatic corp?” N’Keeea asked bluntly.

After how the Ambassador had beaten around the bush so much, only implying his question to Urle, hinting at it, dancing around and trying to find an angle that didn’t seem to be asking for a favor . . . the directness was shocking.

“I spoke to them the other day,” he said, trying to sound as calm and in-control as he could.  “But I have not received an answer from them.  I’m sorry.”

“Do they want us to all die?!” N’Keeea snapped, his teeth clacking loudly.

Urle was startled, recoiling slightly.  “Ambassador – I understand the consequences, but I am doing everything I can.”

His stomach squirmed.  Perhaps he needed to be more demanding?  It was one thing doing that within Engineering or Quartermasters or the fleet as a whole.  But the Diplomatic Corps?  That had never been his area of expertise, and he did not know how they worked.

Nor should he, he knew.  But there were always better ways to impart the dire need of something, to make sure the other party knew.  In a society that spanned the stars, it was true more than ever.

N’Keeea stepped back, lowering his snout and turning slightly away.  “I . . . I apologize, Acting-Captain.  That was . . . not appropriate.”

It wasn’t, but Urle could understand why the being would lash out.

“We are having our own issues right now, I’m sorry to say.  It is taxing our diplomatic corps deeply.  I don’t know if you have heard, but-“

“Yes, yes . . . the Corvus system and UGR nonsense,” N’Keeea said, his tail lashing back and forth.  A sign of dismissal.  “I do not understand why you put up with them.  You outnumber them by an uncountable margin.  And yet you let them persist.”

Urle knew he could not explain this to a Hev.  Many stronger clans of his kind tolerated weaker clans if they were useful, peaceful, or agreed to be vassals.  But if the weaker attacked the stronger there would be no mercy, a grinding war of attrition that might last generations until one side was destroyed to its last member.

“It’s not our way,” Urle told him.  “We do not seek to annihilate our enemies.  In a case like this, we hope that one day they might realize they would be better off being our friends.”

The Hev’s nose crunched up, but he said nothing.  His own people were going to be exterminated by a stronger clan who knew only war; perhaps it made him reassess that kind of thinking.

“My people will die because of this,” he admitted.

“I am truly sorry, Ambassador.  But I have done what I can, and I will not shoulder the blame.  I know you wished to save face, but if you had told me sooner . . .”

The Hev twisted away, as if disgusted.  With himself or Urle, the man wasn’t sure.

“It is not mere face.  I have been turned away by both Sepht and Dessei already.  Over a matter that is as insulting as it is stupid.”

Urle paused.  Despite the Union, the various species within it maintained many rights, their own cultures, and their own views on many things.  But as far as he knew, neither the Dessei nor the Sepht had any major issues with the Hev.

That their regions of control bordered the majority of Hev space made them the obvious candidates; humanity wasn’t directly abutting their territory, but there was unclaimed space one could cross to reach them.  But there was another major power in the Sapient Union that shared a border with the Hev.

“What about the Bicet?” he asked.  “Have you tried-“

N’Keeea laughed, the sound bitter even without Urle’s system telling him.

“I had hoped you would know more of my people,” N’Keeea said sadly.  “But I suppose humans have not had much contact with us – and the Bicet carry their secrets close, don’t they?”

“What secrets?” Urle asked, truly surprised.

“Some Hev . . . in the past had wars with the Bicet.  Not over resources or territory, but . . .”  Disgust went over N’Keeea’s face.  “But because the Bicet were considered a delicacy.  These beings of my species were barbarous beyond description, and did not represent the views of us all.  But the Bicet do not forget a slight – for to hurt one is to hurt all, in their eyes.”

Urle couldn’t say he disagreed, but if it was true that most Hev clans would never stoop that low, then perhaps . . .

“Could you convince the Bicet of that?  I do not mean to say that there is no hope of us helping you – I sincerely hope and think it will come.  But you could try.”

“There exist no diplomatic connections between our people, and to even try is to court death.  The Bicet took the actions of the barbarian Hev as . . .  well, there are few actions worse.  They eat their own dead, you see.  There is ritual significance in it, and for an enemy to consume them – it is the worst insult imaginable.  A part of their people are considered to be lost, forever.”

Urle had not known this; Bicet culture was easily the most obscured of any group in the Sapient Union, owing to how different their outlooks were in all things.  Only Shoggoths could be said to be more secretive . . .

“Do you think these lack of relations could have had to do with the Sepht and Dessei rejecting you?” he asked.

The Hev studied him a moment, as if seeing him in a new light.  “That is . . . exactly it, Acting-Captain.  They wished us to sign a formal agreement to never again threaten the Bicet people.  It is . . .  something that is offensive beyond understanding.”  He stood up taller.  “No member of T’H’Tuul has ever consumed the flesh of an intelligent being!  We will die before we sign such a document, for it implies that we once did!”

“Perhaps the wording can be amended-” Urle began.

“We would rather die than accept this imperialistic offense, Acting-Captain!”  N’Keeea hissed.  “You understand me?  If every last Hev of my clan must be as dust to show our integrity, then so shall it be!”

Urle recoiled again, unsure what to say.  He had never seen any Hev, let alone N’Keeea, so angry before.

N’Keeea whirled halfway around, away from him.  It was a gesture of insult to Urle, he knew, but he did not feel that he could truly be offended.  He only felt a hurt, but he could not direct it at any being in particular.

“These great pauses – sometimes for months – preceded our rejection by the Dessei and Sepht as well,” he spat.  “I can see it coming from your people, as well.  And I cannot say I am surprised.  It only means I must wait, and see what other powers may be that could help my people.”

Urle wished he could have made some promise to the being to help allay his fear, soothe his inconsolable anger.

But he had nothing he could say.  There was nothing more he could do.

---

< Ep 5 Part 24 | Ep 5 Part 26 >

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

---

Urle knew he had to go see Iago.

Besides Hannah confiding in him, the word had come from Zeela Cann; she’d written a concise but thorough overview of his situation, past and present.

He’d been informed on the mission and its aftermath.  And somewhere in his mind he’d known that he should keep an eye on Iago.  Though, he had also thought he could count on his officers to keep him informed on it – as Zeela had done.  It confirmed the trust she’d already built since he’d become the Executive Officer alongside Brooks becoming Captain.

Having reviewed it all, even as he headed towards the man’s quarters, he felt a measure of guilt.  He should have checked in on the man his first day.  He was their lead Response Officer, after all.  What was more, he was also a single parent.

They had that in common.

He approached the door and sent an entrance request.  His system saw that Iago received the message, and that he was home.

Then the door opened, and Iago was standing there watching him.

“Come on in, Acting-Captain.”

He looked pale still, with dark and deep rings under his eyes.

But there was more energy in him than Zeela had described.  He seemed better.

“Thank you.  I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”  Urle entered the apartment, keeping his attention on Iago, while his scanners checked the room and the man.

The room was clean; there was none of the mess that Zeela had described.  The lights were dim, but on.  His damaged chair was gone, though his new one had not been unwrapped yet.  Well, that didn’t seem so odd, he might have wanted to have the room thoroughly cleaned before uncovering it.

“Not at all,” the man said.  He seemed stiff, a little uncomfortable.  Urle’s scans of him saw his elevated stress levels.  It seemed that his presence had caused a spike, from how the chemical alerts were still shifting upward.

Still, that didn’t seem out of line for a man in his situation.  He still seemed under control.

“I’m sorry I did not come by to see you sooner,” Urle said, deciding to be honest.  “As Acting-Captain, it was my duty to check on one of my officers who was recovering from a traumatic incident.”

“It’s fine,” Iago said.  “I know things had to be hectic for you . . . Acting-Captain.  I didn’t need any special treatment, except from the doctors.  But I’m okay now.”

His biometrics and body language said otherwise, but Urle could tell he was trying.

“What have you been up to?” he asked.

“Cleaning up,” Iago replied.

In the split second where the man paused before continuing, Urle checked the cleaning records; it seemed that after the initial brief cleaning by Zeela Cann’s drones, Iago had set them all to standby.

But the room was clean!  It still had a way to go, so perhaps the man was just trying to put himself into an activity to improve his condition?

“Elliot and I have also been taking some walks,” Iago continued.

“Ah, that’s good.  Being cooped up too much for too long can make a lot of things harder,” Urle commented.  He checked the records and saw that it was true, though his data on body language bespoke still some deeper issues the man was suffering.

Things that he could hopefully work out with time . . . no recovery was instant.

The door to Elliot’s room opened and the boy walked in.  He looked surprised to see Urle, but then his face went a little more neutral.

“Hello, Acting-Captain,” he said.

“Just . . . so you all know, you can just say Captain,” Urle noted.

“Just still used to thinking of Brooks as Captain,” Iago said, with a wan smile.  “I think we all want him back badly.  It just feels wrong having him gone.”

Brave words from him, given that Brooks had ordered him into the mouth of madness.  It carried extra weight for it.

“I understand,” he said.  “I do, too.  But Elliot – if you’re okay talking to me, can you tell me how you’ve been?”

The boy seemed to hesitate, then nodded.  “I’m doing fine,” he said.

Urle had not expected much more than that, but watched for signs the boy didn’t want to say something in front of his father.  Which he did see . . .

“Do you think I could get some tea?” Urle asked.

It was clear that it was a request for privacy, he could see it in the man’s eyes.  But Iago offered no resistance, just a nod and stepped off to the kitchen.

Urle spoke quietly.  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked, trying to ride the fine line of firm kindness without being pushy.  “Just about your feelings or things that have been happening.”

“It’s been a little hard because dad was upset,” Elliot said flatly.  “But he’s better now.”

His tone – hell most of his signs – seemed to suggest it was a lie.  But the words were correct, and without hard evidence, Urle had to guess that it was awkwardness.  He compared the data of the boy against other times he’d been caught lying – to Urle himself or another officer.

It did seem to match, but not enough for Urle to feel confident in thinking he was lying.  He was either trying harder or . . . it was true.  Other difficult emotions could easily make his signs seem like lies.

“I’m sorry it was hard, but I’m glad it’s better now, Elliot.  If you do feel bad about it, you know you can always talk to someone safely and privately, right?”

“I know,” Elliot replied immediately.  “I just don’t want or need to talk to anyone.  I’m fine.”

Urle nodded.  “That’s good to hear.”

Iago returned with the tea, and Urle took a sip, glad that he’d not covered his mouth today and so could savor the tea without having to use a drinking tube.

He continued to talk with Iago and Elliot for a few minutes.  Nothing important, but he gathered more data and tried to figure things out.

But despite the remaining stress on them, he found himself not seeing enough of a pattern, or high enough signs to justify deep concern.

After a few minutes, he bid them goodbye.  Thanking Iago, he left, feeling relieved.

It was good to see something turning out all right for once.

---

< Ep 5 Part 23 | Ep 5 Part 25 >

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

---

“Boss!” one woman said.  “Can we get our own dogs?”

Eabor grumbled.  “Maybe,” he grunted.  “I’ll think about getting us on the list.”

Sulp knew Eabor had always loved animals.  It was amusing that he was so charmed by the spacehounds.

But that did raise a question; “That small one isn’t yours?” Sulp asked.

“No . . .  It’s kind of a long story.  But we don’t have any staff qualified to care for a dog.”

“I will!” one woman said cheerily.  “I’ll take care of her!”

“. . . as in a veterinarian,” Eabor finished dryly.  The woman pursed her lips and looked down, disappointed.

“You don’t just accidentally get an extra dog!” Sulp growled.

“Apparently this is how you get some dogs,” the other man shrugged.  “Since we can’t take her, I figured you could.”

Sulp grumbled.  He wasn’t thrilled to be bringing back more lifeforms than he’d planned, but . . .  This wasn’t a spacer fleet where rationing was common.  This was the Craton, who could easily take the burden.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

He stepped forward, in front of the spacehounds.  All of them put their eyes on him, ears going up in alert.

“I’ve been thinking about names,” he said.  Damned if he was gonna let Zeela name them, not if he was picking them up!

“You’re now Clab,” he said pointing at the one on the end.  “And you’re Porb.  Norb.  Geel.  And Corb.”

He didn’t have a name for the sixth dog, who he’d barely even gotten a look at yet, as it kept darting around among the legs of the station workers.  Not a pup, but a Station Terrier.  They just were small.

The spacehounds stared at him, with an almost alarming amount of intelligence in their eyes.

“Beaux,” one said.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Name is Beaux,” the voice said.  The dog did not make any indication of talking, but the voice came from its collar, the system attached there.

“Don’t tell me you all have names already,” Sulp said.

They seemed to take that literally, and none said anything.  Though smarter than your average dog, they weren’t at a human level of intelligence.

“Ah, yeah, they all have names,” Eabor said.  “That’s Beaux, as it said.  She’s Cross.  That one is Sasha, then Zeus and Apollo at the end.  The Station Terrier is Angel.”

“Who gives those kind of names to dogs?” Sulp said, sighing.  He got out his bag of chew and put some in his mouth.

Enough to give a man conniptions!  He’d wanted to give them the names of his favorite comedians, from back in his spacer days.  A good laugh was the stuff of life for a man out in the dark!

But spacehounds really took to their names, he knew.  Changing them was a very difficult process, as they took their names to be a part of their core concept of being.  It was no use trying to change them.

Despite being all roughly similar, they all had some distinctive features.  Beaux had slightly thicker fur around its neck, and was pure white.  Sasha was a pale gold, for much of her head and body, with white on her underside.  Cross was mostly white with only a darker splotch on both sides, while Apollo and Zeus were both pure white, and nearly identical save for a darker spot over one eye that was mirrored between them.

Beautiful dogs, he thought.

The small Station Terrier darted out, looking up at him expectantly.  She had something in her mouth.

“What you got, girl?” he asked, kneeling.  She seemed reluctant to let him take it, but he managed.

It was just a label from a package, and he frowned, looking to Eabor for some context.

He shrugged.  “She just seems to enjoy fetching things like that.”

“Why, though?” he asked the dog.

She didn’t reply.

“She’s not a smart dog,” Eabor said.  “Normal and unaltered, as far as I can tell.”

“Oh.”  Sulp considered on that.  “Have you told the breeders yet?”

“Yeah.  They said the cost to ship her back would be too much.  She wasn’t qualified to be uplifted, so . . . she’s always just going to be a normal dog.”

Sulp found himself feeling a little sympathy for her.  And, well, she was very cute, looking up at the label he was holding as if it was a dear prize.

“I’ll take her,” Sulp said.  He offered back the label, and she grabbed it and darted away excitedly.

“Can they stay here a little while longer at least?” one man asked.  “Like through break?”

“Well, we’re going to get some lunch and catch up,” Eabor told him.  “So I think that’s fine.  Sulp?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he said.

There was practically a cheer as the people on their breaks went back to showering the dogs with affection.  They acted stoic, but Sulp could tell they were loving it, too.

“We can take a long lunch,” Sulp said quietly to Eabor as they walked out.

---

< Ep 5 Part 22 | Ep 5 Part 24 >

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

---

Gravity Control station was a heck of a place, Sulp thought.

The station was surrounded by a cloud of drones at all times, meticulously sweeping space around the station for micrometeoroids or long-lost debris that might impact it.  Few other places were quite as meticulous in cleaning space around themselves, and their stranger catches had become legend.

One story went that the station had caught a glove believed to be from an astronaut of the 21st century, and some went so far as to claim that it was still holding a pouch of tang.

He didn’t believe that, of course, but Gravity Control definitely needed as much protection as it could get from even errant gloves.  Unlike most stations, which were coated in thick armor or excess rock chunks to prevent collision damage, almost every square meter of Gravity Control’s surface was made up of special sensors, whose whole purpose was to help it monitor fluctuations in gravity within the system.  Something the size of a pebble, traveling fast enough, could cause trillions of EX in damage.

He looked again at the hard-print that Zeela had given him for the spacehounds.  The Sapient Union didn’t use money, in the sense of some of the less civilized systems, but there was still a need to note the cost of things, and they used Exchange Units, or EX, to represent that.  Most things, such as clean water, food, education, and housing were guaranteed; while they ultimately cost resources from somewhere, they were simply budgeted for in the resources the State-Owned Enterprises made as profit.

But for things that were non-essential to life, the EX each person earned could be traded for.  Including spacehounds.

It was his job to track the expenditures of resources of the Craton, all incoming and outgoing when at ports.  And this certainly fell under his purview.

He knew that Zeela Cann had long-ago requisitioned the funds for the spacehounds.  Yet the number was so ludicrously high that he still felt his stomach cramp a bit just looking at it.

His shuttle was in its docking procedure, and while this was a newer model, the docking port itself was unchanged.  As he heard and felt each movement and clunk, he could picture exactly what the shuttle was doing, each part as it aligned.  Years ago, he’d been in the production of such craft, which were ever-needed.

People always thought the limits of a space fleet was how fast they could build big ships, how fast they could train crew.  But no, he knew the real limitation was transportation.  At some point you just needed so many shuttles bringing people and supplies that it became untenable.  Because, sure, space was big, but there could only be so many docking ports and only so much hull space.

As the shuttle matched the rotation of Gravity Control, he stood up and unhooked his micrograv harness just as a semblance of gravity returned.  Some people looked at him in surprise for his exact timing, but he paid them no mind.

He was standing at the gate when the airlocks opened, and was first off.

Eabor was not waiting for him, which probably meant he was busy.

Making his way through the station, his credentials scanned by remote systems a dozen times along the way, he eventually reached a point where even he could enter no further.  Security here was tight.

He waited only a few minutes before Eabor appeared, the man taller than him by a head, but grinning like a madman before hugging him.

“How you doing you old curmudgeon?” he asked.

“Still kicking,” Sulp grumbled, pleased but unwilling to show it.  Nevertheless, Eabor knew.

“Good, good.  I can take a few minutes to grab lunch, but first I thought you might want to meet those spacehounds!”

Eabor led him through some more doors, towards a relaxation area.  As soon as they entered, Sulp could see the crowd.

“Who’s a good boy?” he heard someone ask.

“I am,” he heard another voice say.  It had the stiffness of an artificial voice, and he pushed through the crowd to find it.

He found himself looking at a group of dogs.  They had short fur, beautifully shiny, and were all sitting very patiently as staff members petted them.

At least five were.  There was a sixth dog, a small mop of black and tan fur that was darting between people.  It wasn’t one of his, so he didn’t pay it much attention.

---

< Ep 5 Part 21 | Ep 5 Part 23 >

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

---

Brooks went into the waiting room to find Apollonia sitting alone.

There had been a number of people outside, court officials and orderlies, including a court psychiatrist.  One official had looked as if she had wanted to intercept him, but then thought better of it.

“Apple,” he said.  “How are you?”

She looked up, vulnerability on her face for a moment – apparently not having expected to see him.

“I kinda screwed up,” she said.  Her voice was a little hoarse, miserable.

“That’s fine,” he said.  “I’m just sorry it was difficult for you.”

“People are saying that . . . it’s kind of a big deal,” she said, not meeting his eyes.  “I unleashed a shit storm.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.  “But it’s not important right now.  Has anyone been in here to talk to you?”

“Some orderlies asked if I needed anything,” she said.

“Do you?” he asked.

“I told them I wanted an exanorb.”

Brooks paused.  “A what?”

“I don’t know, I made it up.  I think they’re still trying to figure out what it is, too.”  She looked amused for a moment, but then it faded into something like guilt or nervousness.  “I guess that was a dumb move, but I just wanted them to leave me alone.  The shrink was harder to get rid of.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I didn’t like his face,” she said, suddenly angry.  “And to go fuck himself.”

Lashing out when she felt cornered, he recognized.  He took a deep breath and pulled up a seat.  “I’m sure he went off to do that,” he said to her.

Surprise, then a smile went across her face, and she laughed.

“I didn’t actually say that.  They can put you away for that kind of thing,” she said.

“Not in the Sapient Union they can’t,” Brooks told her gently.  “You don’t have to worry about that here.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she said sharply.  “You’re not like me, Ian.  You, you’re just going to stand there and tell them whatever and they’ll take it because you’re . . .  I don’t know, greater than they are?  I’m just me.”

“I can’t tell anyone whatever I want,” he said.  “I wish I could.  You’re bolder with your words than I’ve ever been.  And you are special, it’s true.  But that doesn’t mean that’s the only part of you that has value here.”

She shrugged, not apparently believing it.

“Has anyone else spoken to you?” he asked carefully.

“No,” she said.

“Good,” he replied.  “Now, I need you to listen to me – I’ve got you booked on a shuttle to the Sol Brilliant-“

“The what?” she asked sharply.

“It’s the flagship of the 17th Guards Fleet – Admiral Vandoss commands it, it’s his ship.  From there, you’ll get another ship that will bring you to the outer system and the Craton.”

“You’re shipping me back to the Craton?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

“It’s for the best,” he told her.  At any moment, he knew, Director Freeman could come through the door and order him out.  He would be powerless if that happened.

He did not know if the man would outright lie to her.  But Apollonia did not know rules and regulations, and he might be able to trick or persuade her to go with him.

And if that happened he could whisk her off to another system, to a facility of his choosing . . . until the non recusatio transfer was made, and then getting her out again would have to involve numerous bodies of government . . .

“We need to go now,” he said sternly.

“Fine,” she said.  She was looking at the floor, and he wasn’t sure why she was upset, but right now was not the time to find out.

He went quickly down the hall – Apollonia seemed to dawdle, though.

“Hurry,” he said.

They got in a lift, and the doors were closing when he saw Freeman down the hall.

“Hold that!” he cried.

Brooks pretended not to hear him.

“Authorization Aleph-Gamma-Winston Niner-Niner Vandoss,” he said.

“What’s that?” Apollonia asked.

“Command code from the Admiral,” he told her.  “No one will be able to stop or recall the lift easily – or track where it goes.”

He scrambled the floors the lift would go to, and programmed it to continue on a wild goose chase, going to five other potential hangar locations after they got off.  They went to one false option before heading to a minor one.

Apollonia looked concerned as they came to the shuttle bay that was mostly used for cargo, rather than passengers.

“You want me to get on that?” she asked nebulously.

“Yes,” he said.  “Vandoss’s ExCom will meet you on the Sol Brilliant and you’ll be among crew of the Craton on the way back.  I’m sorry for an inglorious end to your time in the inner system, but-“

“It’s fine,” she said, cutting him off.  Her shoulders were hunched, and she was still looking down.  “I guess I’ll see you back there.”

Brooks felt a dryness in his throat as she got onto the shuttle, wondering just what fresh damage he had done to the young woman’s psyche.

---

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