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

---

“I hope that you will not be so busy you can’t join in the ritual tomorrow,” Cathal said to Alexander.

“Of course I can be there, Father.  I’ll make time,” Alexander told him.

They had gone to visit several other of the Faithful since they’d started the walk.  Alexander had waited outside while Father Sair had gone to speak to them for a few moments.  Everyone they’d seen had said they’d be present.

Alexander found himself feeling incredibly honored.  This was a form of ritual, the Invitation Walk, and for him to be the Second was a great thing.  He took it seriously, adopting the manner and stance appropriate to the position, that he’d read about in the fourth-level teachings.

It was as far as he’d gotten.  For laymen, there were twenty levels, so he had a long way to go.  But the Father had told him he had advanced quickly.

“And after you reach twenty, we can discuss if you wish to go further – even becoming a priest yourself.”

Those words still rung in his ears as they continued their walk.

“I’m surprised you did not ask Apollonia,” Alex admitted.  “I thought that you two were close friends, Father.”

For a moment he feared he had overstepped his bounds, but Father Sair looked as calm as ever, smiling slightly as he often did.

“Apollonia Nor is a good person, and I believe that one day she will be a great member of our faith and do great services in the name of the Holy Void.  But right now she has not fully found herself.  Do not get me wrong, I believe that she is struggling and working hard to do just that.  She has made great strides in moving closer to the person she wants to be.”

Cathal reached up to put a hand on his shoulder.  Alexander suddenly felt acutely aware that he was taller than the priest; a detail he’d never noticed before.

“You have found your path, Alexander.”

Alexander smiled, moved by the words.

When he thought he had lost Iago, his closest friend, he had been destroyed.  Nothing he could do or say to Iago could solve the problems in his mind.

But then he’d been returned; recovered, even made more whole.  And Iago said so much of it was due to this man, this priest.  Even the return of Cassandra, his wife long thought dead.

That had been enough for Alexander to see that this man was the real thing.  One who could bring meaning to the disorder of his life . . . a man who cared.

His HUD interrupted him with an alert.

“Father,” he said reluctantly.  “My break is nearly over.  I need to get back to my work.”

Part of him wanted to brush it off, but he hesitated to do that.  It was important, even Father Sair had agreed earlier.  And if he just pushed it back he would have less time with Pirra at home.

Father Sair seemed fine, though.  “I quite understand.  You’ve given your time up for me, and I am grateful.  Go on back to your good work.”

“Thank you, Father.”  Alexander gave a little bow, and turned to head back towards his office.

He heard Sair get into the elevator as he walked away, and he called out his destination for the Resources main office.

Off to see Ham Sulp?  Alexander hoped the man wouldn’t be too rude to the Father.

---

The door to Sulp’s office opened.  For a moment, no one came through, and Sulp was just about to call out to them.

Then Boniface Tred shuffled slowly in.

His gaze was directed at the floor, his face matching it.

Moping like a child, Sulp thought.

This was perhaps his most detested of human behaviors, in himself or in others.  Why the hell couldn’t people just feel their sorrow, talk it out while drunk, and then move on?

He was no better, he knew.  But it didn’t irk him less to see Tred doing it.

“What do you need?” he growled.

Tred’s head and eyes rose fractionally, startled.

Damn, he must have sounded too gruff.  The poor man was like a puppy, sensitive to everything.

Sulp took a deep breath to calm himself.  He was an officer, and even if Tred was not in his division, he should do what he could for him.

“I have a request for auxiliary parts for a spacewalk mission tomorrow,” Tred said.  His voice was hollow.

Damn my eyes, Sulp thought.  That could have just been sent into the system.  Tred had walked it down here just . . . why?  The man was terrified of him.  It was obvious that Tred thought he hated him.

Sulp did not, but both his personality and practical nature tended him towards being very blunt and in a hurry, which Tred was a little too sensitive for.

But Tred had come down anyway.

Bless his tiny little heart, Sulp thought.  He’s trying.

“All right,” Sulp said.  “Lemme see it.”

Tred shuffled over, transferring the request ticket with a swipe of his hand.  Sulp looked at it, saw that it was in order.  Tred’s requests were over-thorough, true, but they were always proper.

He sent it off for the drones to fill.  “I’ll have that in a minute.  Want to wait?”  He gestured towards a chair.

Tred looked mildly surprised at the offer, but moved to sit.

Zeus, who had been curled in the corner sleeping, raised his head.  As soon as Tred sat down, the spacehound rose and came over, putting his chin on the man’s leg.

“Try petting him.  It’ll help,” Sulp said.

Tred was hesitant, but did put his hand on Zeus’s head and started to stroke lightly.

“Want a drink?” Sulp asked, pouring two cups.

“I don’t drink,” Tred replied.

“It’s green tea.”

“Made with water?”

“Well, yes,” Sulp said.

“Fish go to the bathroom in water,” Tred said miserably.

“. . . the aquaponics water is very thoroughly cleaned before it can end up in the drinking supply,” Sulp replied, trying to keep annoyance out of his voice.

“It’s the point,” Tred said.

“So what do you drink?”

“I keep my own water tanks in my room,” Tred said.  “And I have my own filters.”

Oh Dark, this man was impossible, Sulp thought.  “Fine.  Have some of this.”  He pulled from a cubby a dusty bottle of cognac.  Taking two glasses out of a plastic pouch, he poured a shot for each of them.

Tred took the glass but didn’t drink.

“It’s not going to kill you to have a drink,” Sulp said.

“Why are you being nice?” Tred asked him, looking down into his glass.  He swirled it a little.

Sulp found himself surprised again, as he had been starting to think he was leaving the ‘nice’ stage.  He felt ready to slap some sense into the man, though he would not give in to that urge.

“I see an officer having a hard time, I’m trying to help,” Sulp replied.  “It’s not my strong suit, Boniface.”

Tred recoiled at his first name.  “Just Tred, if you please.”

“All right, just Tred.  What’s bothering you?”

“I . . . it’s not worth talking about.”

“Clearly,” Sulp said, his patience straining, “it is.  There’s no realm of human behavior that isn’t important, even if it was unusual.  We’re all just a buncha fucking weirdos floating around in space.  Trust me, I’ve known every type in the Dark.”

Tred swirled his drink again, and finally took a sip.  He cringed away, looking disgusted, but then threw it back and almost gagged.  He forced down the drink.

“I thought I felt . . . emotions for someone.  But now they’re leaving.  I feel . . . unrequited.”

An incredibly clinical way of putting it, Sulp thought.  But it was probably the only way Tred could think about it right now.

“Ah, yeah, the Star Angel?  She’s a sweet thing.”

Tred’s eyes flashed.  “Don’t talk about her like that!  And . . . and you know about me and . . . and her?”

“It was kind of obvious, Tred,” Sulp said.  “And I meant nothing bad.  She is sweet.  Yes, I’ve talked to her, and no, I’m not sweet on her.  Plasma girls aren’t my type.”

He thought his stab at humor might help, but it only rolled off Tred like water off a duck.

“Tred, everyone has a hard time in this sort of situation.  But you’re trying to keep going, and that’s good.  It’s what you need to do.  It’s okay to feel sad, even terrible.  Just remember that if it happens once, it can happen again.”

“But it won’t be Jophiel,” Tred said.

“No, it won’t,” Sulp agreed.  “And you can’t hope the next person will be the same as the last.  Everyone has their own kind of grace and wonder in them.  So whoever next you find will be great in their own way.”

Tred looked up at him, his eyes narrowed.  Not in anger, it seemed, but . . . something.  He said nothing, though.

“Thanks for the drink,” Tred said, putting the glass down.

“Tred, have you ever gotten professional help for your anxiety and issues?” Sulp asked.  It was not polite to ask, but someone had to ask it.

It should have been Y, he thought.

“Yes,” Tred replied, a little snappishly.  “They tell me I’m borderline.  I can function, and it’s my choice whether I get brain corrections or not.”

“And you chose not to?” Sulp asked.  The man seemed miserable.

“I chose not to,” Tred replied.  When he stood up, he stood a little straighter, Sulp thought.

Well, this was a tact.  Sulp found himself . . . glad to see this spark of anger in Tred.

He raised his hand, saluting the man casually.  “Then godspeed to ye, Engineer.  It’s your fight.”

Tred blinked at him in surprise.  He did not seem able to come up with any words to that, and so just returned the salute, then turned and headed out the door.

---

< Ep 13 part 11 | Ep 13 part 13 >

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

---

“Raven’s Ghost, this is the Craton, do you read?”

“We hear you loud and clear, Craton,” the reply came.  Even with just a voice, it was clearly Nadian himself.  “Welcome to the middle of nowhere, home to the universe’s largest gazebo.”

A bridge officer snorted out a laugh, and Brooks was glad to let the humor lighten the mood.

“Glad to hear it, Raven’s Ghost.  We are prepared to receive you and your party at your convenience.”

There was a slight pause, and Brooks took a moment to look at an enlarged image of the Raven’s Ghost.

The ship was a pleasure yacht originally, built for the richest of the rich.  It was a very rare thing; a small ship capable of making its own zerospace jumps.

Such power generation was not something that it was capable of, but the ship had massive capacitors onboard.  With those, it had enough charge to carry itself to a location and back.

Nadian’s companies had scraped and borrowed quite a lot of credits to buy it, and it showed in how it had been creatively modified after purchase.

“That’s not even aftermarket,” he heard Ham Sulp saying to Cutter.  “That’s just some homebrew antenna.  Yeah, I know it’s jank as hell, but they are getting our signal.”

“Ah, Craton, there’s a small problem with that,” Nadian came back.  “In our deal with the Union, the Raven’s Ghost is to be the base of operations for this mission.  If you want to be involved in our mission, you need to come over here.”

Brooks felt a slight confusion, and glanced at the details of his assignment again, muting the channel.

It was in there – buried and easy to miss among other, more important clauses involving first publication and data rights.

“Oh, for . . .”  Brooks turned the channel back on.  “Our mistake, Raven’s Ghost.  My party and I will be launching shortly.”

The Raven’s Ghost was not a large vessel, and so their shuttle had to be correspondingly small.

But certain introductions had to be made to ensure an effective cooperation, and he needed to bring along those he intended to bring with him into the temple, All of which meant that besides himself, crowded in the shuttle were Apollonia, Urle, Kell, Cenz, Eboh, and Zhu.  Y was present, but his body was currently stowed and he simply existed in the shuttle’s computer system.

They also had a Response escort of Pirra, Kiseleva, Kessissiin, and Guoming, along with a technical support team of five.

It was a crowded shuttle.

If Farland had agreed to come to the Craton, it would have been far easier.

Looking back on it, though, letting the operation be run from his end had been a reasonably easy concession to make.  Farland had every reason to cooperate with them, and no reason to do anything foolish.  It was a positive show of goodwill as well, to let him take the lead.

No matter how crowded it meant the shuttle had to be.

Kell seemed to be in a poor mood, as well.  He had not made eye contact with any of them, his gaze distant and set in serious, almost angry lines.  He had spoken very little, and even ignored some lesser questions and comments.

The trip felt far longer than its mere forty minutes, and once they docked, Brooks still found himself having to stoop in the airlock as they waited for a good seal.

It was worse for the tallest among them, Pirra and Urle.

He glanced back over them all.  “Let’s all try to put on a pleasant face,” he told them.

Some slight smiles came back as the airlock light turned green.

It opened, and Brooks stepped inside.

Beyond the airlock stood Nadian Farland and his team.  Farland had a famed look that he’d clearly cultivated; like all space-faring people, he wore a full-body outfit that could serve as a spacesuit in the event of an unexpected decompression, but over that he had a webbed harness where normally his gear hung, the baggy pants that were a cultural norm on his homeworld, and the half-cloak that covered the one arm that the stories told was largely mechanical, even if it looked natural.

“Captain Brooks,” he said with a nod.  His eyes darted over the others behind him.  “And company.  Welcome aboard the Raven’s Ghost.  I hope most of you don’t get too comfortable.”

“Thank you for that warm welcome,” Brooks replied neutrally, stepping aboard.  Nadian and his people stepped back, giving room for the rest of Brooks’s party to board.

“Ach, why so bloody many?” one man asked.  He was a thicker man with a pronounced moustache that blended into muttonchops.  Brooks vaguely recognized him, and his system supplied a name, though he could not place it – Fergus Mac Domhnall.

“You’ll need to be working with the Craton,” Brooks said.  “I’ve brought several of my staff officers aboard to meet their equivalents and work out the best way to cooperate.”

“More like take over,” a tall woman said.  Brooks’s system could not ID her.  “Captain, just send them back.”

All eyes went to Nadian, and Brooks felt a flicker of annoyance at this petty power play.

But Nadian seemed to think the same thing.  “Most of them will be leaving after introductions,” he said.

Brooks nodded, and to his surprise, Nadian stuck out his hand.

“After our rocky start on Gohhi, I wanted to make a peace offering to you, Captain.  What you did on Ko was admirable.”

Brooks found himself so surprised that he hesitated before taking the hand and shaking it.  “Thank you,” he said.

“He has a history with Nadian Farland?” Apollonia whispered to Y.

“It appears so,” Y replied.  “I am unaware of the details.”

“This is Rachel Zhu, Flight Commander.  Shomari Eboh, Communications.  And Cenz, head of Science.  They’ll be the main coordinating team for the mission.  Next is my team I’d like to take with me into the temple; my Executive Commander Zachariah Urle, Dr. Y, Specialist Apollonia Nor, and Ambassador Kell.”

Apple found herself surprised to be referenced so seriously, but she was their resident “specialist” Cerebral Reader, as the Union called people with her abilities.

“That’s your team, huh?” Nadian said.  “And the rest?”

“Lt. Commander Pirra and a part of Response Team One as escorts, and our technical support team to make sure our equipment works with yours,” Brooks explained.

Nadian’s eyes went over them all.  “The techs can stay,” he said.

Brooks arched an eyebrow.  “And the rest you want off?  Our aid is contingent on us having a presence in the temple, Mr. Farland.”

“You’re fine,” Nadian said, his eyes going over the group Brooks had named as his party.  “I just want your espatiers staying on the shuttle, and your ‘liaison officers’ off as soon as their job is done.  As for your party – sorry, I’m not bringing your AI, cyborg, or pet CR on my expedition.  You and the Ambassador can come.”

“Pet CR?” Apollonia blurted out.  “Don’t be a douche.”

Someone on Farland’s team laughed.  The man himself actually smiled, a disarmingly handsome look that quickly turned more harsh.  “Either way, you’re not coming on my mission, sweetheart.”

Apollonia bristled, but then felt . . . something.  It was like a pressure bearing down on her suddenly, but entirely mental.

“Oh,” she realized out loud.  “You have your own Seer, don’t you?”

Her eyes flickered over the team behind him, settling on a man who she could instantly tell was the one in question.

He was somewhat tall, but had a thin and hollowed look to him.  His hair was unkempt, and he was staring right at her.

“That’s right,” Nadian replied.  “Captain, this is Tobias Fromm.  He’s a Seer.”  Nadian paused, and smiled.  “Sorry, a ‘Cerebral Reader’, as you’d call him.”

Brooks ignored the rudeness.

“This is Fergus Mac Domhnall – mythologist and fellow researcher.”

He finally gestured to the tall woman; her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and she seemed the type to rarely be amused by anything.  “And Katherine Michell, my foreman.  We’ll have Porter drones and that’s it.  Three of my team and two from yours.  Small teams are how I get things done.”

Brooks kept his expression neutral.  “Very well,” he said.

He knew that Urle and Y would object.  Well, everyone would object to this change of plans.  But there was no good to be had from arguing this.  It was less important who was going and that they were going at all.

In fact, he’d been expecting this.

Far better to bring too many and have some sent back, than bring just as many as he’d wanted and have to go with even fewer.

He hadn’t expected that it would be Kell, of all people, that Nadian would allow along – he’d expected Apollonia or Urle.  Both would likely be less intimidating than Y, and both would be useful in their own ways.

He turned back to look at his escorts.  “Lt. Pirra, take your team back on the shuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.  She and the other members of Response Team One marched back on.  Among them, only Kessissiin showed any outward signs of annoyance.

“Cenz, Eboh, Zhu – get your work done then return to the Craton with Response Team One.”

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

He looked now to his team.  “Doctor, I’d like you to wait on the ship with RT1, unless I call you.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Apollonia stepped forward.  A lot of angry thoughts were running through her head, but she did not give voice to them.  Now was not the time, at the very least, and she knew there must be a reason Brooks was giving in to this asshole.

She had always been a fan of Nadian Farland.

Who couldn’t admire a guy who really went into the most obscure and dangerous places and came out with treasure and new knowledge?

But she was just Brooks’s ‘pet CR’ in his eyes.  The words stung, and she did not even know how to start going about rebutting them, only that she should not even try right now.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Nor,” Brooks said to her, and she knew he was apologizing sincerely.  “I’ll have to ask you to wait on the shuttle as well.”

“All right,” she said.  She glanced past him again, but at least the other Seer wasn’t making a smug face.  He was just staring at her exactly the same way.

She turned and left.

“Urle, you’ll stay with me until the shuttle is ready to leave,” Brooks said.  His words were a little louder, daring Farland to argue.  But the man seemed to accept that.

The techs and his command officers moved down one direction of the hall, being led by some of the Raven’s Ghost‘s crew, while Nadian waved for the others to follow him.

Fromm and Michell stayed close to him, but Mac Domhnall slipped back, towards Kell. 

“Ah, a Shoggoth!  I’ve long desired to meet one of your kind,” he said, pressing closer.  He put his hands out for Kell’s as they walked, but the Shoggoth did not respond in kind, merely staring back at the man with a vague air of annoyance.

When the being did not reply, Mac Domhnall pressed on.  “I have a lot of questions for you, as you can well imagine.”

Urle felt a vague amusement.  He looked to Kell, curious how he’d respond.  Kell rarely tolerated questions.

“Is that so,” Kell replied, his voice flat and unreceptive.

Mac Domhnall’s face fell slightly, catching the hint.

“Well surely you can tell me one of your legends.  I imagine a people as ancient as yours would have many!”

Kell turned to Brooks.  “As a condition of my being here you will keep me from being accosted by idiots.”

“Ach, don’t be like that!” Mac Domhnall proclaimed immediately.  “I’m top in my field, not some common fool!  Captain, please, tell the Shoggoth to play along.”

Brooks shrugged.  “I can do no such thing, and the Ambassador has made his position clear.”

“He dinnae have to insult me in the process!”

“No,” Brooks agreed.  “He did not.  But I can’t order him to be nice.”

Nadian looked amused.  “You annoy an alien mind, Fergus, you may get an answer you don’t like or expect.”

Mac Domhnall scowled, first at Nadian, then at Brooks and finally Kell.  After a moment, with a huff, the man quickened his pace, walking towards the head of the group.

Urle leaned closer to Kell.  “You really didn’t have to insult the man.  We’re working with him.”

“He annoyed me,” Kell replied.  “I am not a social being.”

“Yes, but we are.  You kind of accepted working with humans when you joined the Union.”

“I gave him signals that he should have understood,” Kell replied.  “That informed him of my lack of desire to speak with him.”

Urle sighed.  “Well at least don’t insult him.  As a personal favor to me.”

Kell seemed to consider.  “If I recall, it is you who have said that you owe me.  I would like to call in that favor now.”

Urle felt his apprehension rise.  “What do you want?” he asked carefully.

Kell pointed to Mac Domhnall, raising his voice slightly.  “Go and tell him he’s an idiot.”

The man heard them, turning back to glare.  His cheeks were reddening with anger.

“Kell,” Brooks said.  “Stop being antagonistic.  I’m making that an order.”

A message came up in Brooks’s HUD: And he’s the ambassador.

It was from Urle, and Brooks smiled slightly.

This was unusually intense, even for Kell.  He rarely stooped to insults.

“Is something bothering you about this?” he heard Urle ask softly.  “If you didn’t want to be here-“

“I must be here,” Kell said.  “But that does not mean I wish to be.”

Nadian stopped and turned.  “And why is that?”

The entire group came to a halt around the man, and Brooks felt the tension.

Kell seemed indifferent to it all.

Nadian continued.  “I do want to hear your point of view.  I won’t pester you for it on every little thing, but I think you’re closer to all of this than any of us.”

Brooks thought Kell would not reply or would deflect it.  He did neither.

“This is a placetime of transformation,” he said.  “As well as a curse.  You do not understand how or why yet.  But you will.”

---

< Ep 13 part 9 | Ep 13 part 11 >

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

---

Captain’s Log:

We have surfaced in realspace, at the far edge of humanity’s claimed systems.

The nearest star to our position is 109 Piscium, and we have located the relic temple.  It is, even at half a million kilometers distance, visible to the naked eye.

We are collecting all the data we can from this distance and have thoroughly mapped the exterior of the station – though what lies within remains a complete mystery.

Upon seeing the station, I could not help but to feel a very powerful sense of foreboding.  I believe I am not the only one.

There are many questions raised by this temple, not least of which being why no one found it before.  While it is at the edge of settled space, an object this large should have been seen prior to now.

I hope we can answer this and other questions soon.

Contact with Nadian Farland’s vessel, the Raven’s Ghost, will be made shortly.

*******

“Holy shit, I’m going?”

Brooks, his face on her tablet screen, looked slightly amused at her response.  “Yes, but try to watch the language.”

Apollonia immediately had the urge to spew out as many curses as she could while grinning, but resisted.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said.

“This may be dangerous, Apollonia,” Brooks told her.  “You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Hey, it wasn’t that long back when you sent me onto a pirate ship.”

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say to him, as his face darkened with guilt.

It hadn’t been a fun experience that time, but this time she wasn’t going to feel as alone.  Brooks was there – and he always had a handle on things.

Plus, Nadian Farland.

She felt like she was floating on air; not only was she getting to meet a childhood hero – because everyone knew Nadian Farland! – but even more importantly:

Her test was being postponed.

She had mixed feelings about her own excitement.  This test was what she had wanted, had worked and studied for.

She was terrified that she’d fail.

She was even scared that she would pass.

It wasn’t like she’d just be given a badge of rank right away.  There was a continuing educational process, and she was fairly certain that at some point it meant she would have to go to the Voidfleet Academy.

There were many branches, but none of them were on the Craton.  They were located in planetary systems, and . . .

She didn’t know if she wanted to leave the Craton.  Not yet.

At least, she thought, trying to remain mindful of the moment, she did not have to worry about it right now.

Brooks had terminated the call, and she received a notification to report to one of the docking bays where they’d be boarding a shuttle.

Nadian Farland!

Every kid growing up had seen his films, played his games, had the toys, or some combination thereof.  The man found alien treasures and fought space pirates.  Sure, there was huge embellishment, but there was a kernel of truth in his stories.  He really had done exciting things.

She had been studying, but little was sticking, and she’d been lingering on the same page for the last ten minutes.

She closed her study programs and stowed her tablet, before gathering up everything she might need.

Which didn’t amount to much; but she did bring a small medical bag that Zey had given her after Ko.  It had some neatly-bagged equipment that might let her help someone.

Leaving her cabin, she stopped in the doorway.

Across the hall, watching her door, was Kell.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, unnerved.

She only now felt his intrusive presence, and she wondered just how the bastard managed to control it so precisely.

Kell watched her unblinking for a long moment, and just as she was about to ask again, he spoke.

“You did not take my advice,” he said.

Anger, driven by fear, sparked up in her.  “You mean your stupid fortune-cookie wisdom about awakening myself?  I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to treat that as actionable intelligence.”

Kell said nothing, not even blinking.

“Really, what does that mean?  Was I supposed to look up on my tablet how to awaken my true self and stop dreaming of being a normal person?” she asked.

“You did not even try,” he said.  “Your answers lie within.”

“And you know what?” she said.  “Maybe I don’t want answers to whatever cryptic questions you want to pose to me.  I don’t care why I’m different or weird or creepy.  I don’t want to be a Seer, and I just want to do something . . .” she flailed for a word.  “Something useful!”

Kell looked just slightly disappointed.  “It is an unfairly short period of time for you.  You are not yet ready.  I am sorry.  What will come will be a shock to you.”

She felt her insides crawl.  Kell had never been this talkative to her.  Typically he was just . . . silent and staring.

He was still doing the latter, and she hated it.  She was tired of it.

“You know I hate you, don’t you?” she said quietly.

Kell nodded.  “I expect so.”

“You murdered a . . . a baby.”

Kell’s head tilted, an eyebrow going up.  “You are so close to understanding.  Yet you do not search.”

“Fuck you!” she spat, turning and walking away as fast as she could.

Kell did not follow her.

---

< Ep 13 part 8 | Ep 13 part 10 >

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

---

“I would like to see the doctor, please.”

Zey looked up from her screen at the young priest standing in the doorway.  Father Cathal Sair, her system identified him.

Zey puzzled over his request.  “Come in,” she said.  “I don’t see you have an appointment.  Is this an emergency?”

The man smiled slightly.  “No, I just developed a problem and thought I’d come in.”

“Oh, I see.  What is the nature of your issue?”

“I have a headache,” Cathal said.  “I know that’s a rather silly issue, but it is quite distracting.”

“Pain is pain,” Zey said with a shrug.  “Next time you can just send us a message on your way, and we can get you seen quicker.  Just for future reference.”

He nodded.  “Thank you.”

A drone appeared.  It hovered, waiting, next to him.

“Since you’re not a Union citizen, we require you give verbal permission for it to treat you.”

Cathal frowned.  “I am sorry, but I have a religious tenet that means I need an actual doctor,” he said.  “‘The machine’s hands are not man’s’ and ‘the true hands must tend to the care of the body’.”

Zey was surprised again.  “I see, I didn’t know about that.  Dr. Y is-“

“I am, in fact, here,” Y said, stepping from the back into the reception room.  “Ah, hello Father Sair.”

“Hello, Doctor,” Sair said.  “I must . . .  well, Doctor, I mean no offense, but your hands are those of a machine, are they not?  I think what I need is a doctor of flesh and blood.”

Zey frowned, concern and confusion on her face as she looked to Y.

“That is quite understandable,” Y replied.  “Do not worry, I feel no offense.  I shall fetch Dr. Zyzus for you, Father.”

“I am in your debt,” Cathal said, bowing.  He glanced to Zey.  “And yours, Nurse.”

“Uh, sure?” Zey replied.  She hadn’t even done anything.

“Doctor Zyzus is on his way,” Y said.  “In the meantime, Father, I trust there is nothing wrong with me asking you some questions?”

“That would be fine,” Cathal replied.

“How do you feel about the effect of the transdisestablishation doctrine on the relations of your religion with various governments?”

Surprise showed on Cathal’s face.  “I did not expect you to be aware of the transdisestablishation doctrine, doctor.”

“I have read your holy books,” Y replied.  “As well as the Nine Commentaries of Atticus, the Reverence of the Holy Void by Lance, and the next fifty-seven classic suctres on your religion, and all relevant supplementary material.  Your beliefs are very interesting.”

Cathal smiled.  “And here is where I must wonder if the mind of metal is equal to the mind of man in the ways that truly matter?”

“A paraphrasing of Occiduseus in the NeoLatin Annals.  It is an interesting question, I agree.  What level do supplicites read it, tenth or twelfth?  There were conflicting sources.”

“Tenth originally, but the Seventh Council of Quanna changed it to the twelfth.”  Cathal then bowed.  “I feel myself truly humbled at your mastery, Doctor.  Might we continue this discussion another day?  Time is not on my side today, and my mind does not work as fast as yours.”

“Of course,” Y said amiably.  “I shall leave you in Nurse Boziak’s skilled care.”  The machine-body of Y turned on its heel, walking into the back.

A silence descended, and while Cathal looked completely calm, Zey found herself feeling awkward.

“I hear you guys use a lot of incense,” she said.

“Sometimes,” Cathal replied.  “The smoke is calming.”

“It’s also bad for your lungs.  You ever think breathing in all that could be the cause of your headache?”

“No,” Cathal replied, his tone nearing sharp, and his face certainly turning so.

Zey leaned back, surprise on her face.  She hadn’t meant to insult the man.

She looked at her system; Zyzus was still five minutes out.  He’d been in another part of the ship, but was on his way.

“Have you and Apple been spending much time together?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation to a more pleasant direction.

“Ah, you know her yourself, yes?  I understand you two became friends on Ko,” Sair replied.

“That’s right,” Zey said, noticing how he’d flipped the question around to her.  “Has she told you about it?”

Sair’s eyes went distant, and he frowned.  “I apologize, but thinking of Ko – it’s saddening, isn’t it?  I wish I had been allowed to go down to the world.  I might have brought life and salvation both to more people there.”

“I know that it was a very hard selection process,” Zey said carefully.  “It wasn’t just a matter of caring or I think most of the ship would have been out there.”

Sair smiled sadly.  “And yet I could have tried.  Now the souls of the !Xomyi people are confined to the endless void for all time.”

Zey frowned a little, stepping back and moving to look at her computer screen.  It was only to seem like plausible work.

“Have you ever thought of your soul and its fate, Nurse Boziak?” Cathal continued.  “I know you are from Gohhi, not the Union, and so spirituality may not be an alien concept to you-“

“How did you know I was from Gohhi?” Zey asked, her face going stark.  “I don’t tell people that.  It’s not even public information.  Did Apple tell you that?”

“Apollonia is a trustworthy person,” Cathal replied.  “One beetle simply recognizes another.”

Zey felt her panic fade, and the man’s easy, calm smile made her sudden alarm seem silly.  He was also from Gohhi – she could have guessed that about him, from his accent.  A different station from hers, one of the less pleasant ones.

The door from the hall opened, and Dr. Zyzus came in.  He sighed.  “Father Sair, I understand you requested my presence?”

Sair turned, bowing slightly.  “I apologize for the annoyance, doctor.  My religion simply makes my options for medical care somewhat narrow.”

“I understand,” Zyzus said.  “Well – come now, Father.  I will get you a cure for your headache.”

Zyzus went into an examination room, Cathal following him.

Zyzus’s weary mask disappeared in an instant.

“I was concerned when you asked to see me so suddenly.  Is all on schedule?” the doctor asked.

“The preparations are proceeding well.  The ritual will coincide.”

“It must,” Zyzus said.  “This is our only chance to make it so.  Is the takwin prepared?”

Cathal’s face dropped slightly.  “I have . . . prepared it, as you wished.”  A flicker of emotion went across his face.  “But must we take this course?”

“What other is there to take?  We need just one more,” Zyzus said.  “You know this.”

“I only think that there may be other options, of greater value.  With your permission, I will make preparations for other eventualities as well, and come the time-“

Zyzus let out a frustrated sigh.  “Prepare,” he said, waving.  “But the final decision will be made later.”

“Thank you,” Cathal said.  “I . . . I wish for there to be another choice but for Apollonia to die.”

---

< Ep 13 part 7 | Ep 13 part 9 >

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

---

Tred was panting by the time he got to Reactor Seven.

He had not started out running, only walking quickly.  He didn’t recall the excuses he’d made to the ground crew and officers about why he’d come in early.

“You’ll have to make it up tomorrow,” was the only part he recalled.  A whole new spacewalk . . .

But that was a minor problem in comparison to Jophiel leaving.

When he came into the Reactor, there was a flurry of activity.  Engineers and other personnel were all over the room, doing . . . something.

“Is the Ambassador still leaving?” he asked one of them.

The man paused, frowning slightly.  He took a moment to recognize Tred, who he was in relation to the Ambassador.

“Yes, the Ambassador is going to be departing soon.  Her actual departure date has been delayed until after our current assignment is complete, however.”

Tred felt his shoulders slump.  So it was true . . . the horrible thought had occurred to him that this was a prank by someone . . . well, no one on the Craton would be that cruel!  Maybe Kell?  No, the Shoggoth seemed to have no sense of humor.

But he had hoped it might have been a mistake.

“A-are my services . . . no longer required?” he asked.

The officer frowned again.  “If that’s what you’ve been told, then yes.  Ambassador Jophiel has released most of her staff.  But if you want to assist in the deconstruction, I can-“

“Can I talk to her?” Tred blurted out.

The officer looked surprised.  His eyes unfocused, as he looked at a message in his HUD.

“The Ambassador has said it’s fine,” the man told him.

Tred got on the computer terminal, connecting to the system.

“A-Ambassador?” he called.

There was a pause – just a tiny one, but it felt so long to him.

“Hello, Tred,” Jophiel said.

“Madam Ambassador . . . I . . .  I don’t know what quite to say,” he stuttered out.

“I am sorry, Tred,” Jophiel told him.  “I had wanted to talk to you personally, not just send a message . . . but you were busy, so I just left it.”  She fell silent a few seconds.  “I am glad you came.”

He struggled for words.  “Why?” he finally managed to ask.

He didn’t mean why she was glad, and he hoped that she did not think that, but she seemed to understand his point.

“Tred . . . I came here for a purpose.  I know I was not a typical ambassador.  I did not look at treaties or sign documents or . . . well, meet that many people.  My people do not even have many of the concepts that yours have.  I came here as a test, to see how my kind and yours could co-exist.  Beyond just the most literal.”

“I . . . I know that,” he said.

“My time was always finite . . . Oh, Tred, I’m sorry.  You are a very good person.  The time I have spent with you has been . . .”

She trailed off.  Tred hung on the silence, his mouth dry.

“I have learned enough,” she said.  “I need to go back to my people and tell them about what I’ve seen, experienced.  There are important things – things that they must know.”

“Like about us,” he said, his voice a squeak.  “War.  Our violence.”

“Yes,” she admitted.  “They are concepts that I have a hard time understanding.  You are . . . your worlds are so different from what we know.  Your conditions are different, and there are so many kinds of you.  Your misunderstandings and different goals interact in complex ways.  How will that affect us?  I can’t figure these things out by myself.  I have to go home, and tell them.”

Tred was quiet, his mind going empty under a dull blanket of sadness.

“Tred?” she said.  “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he told her.

“Are you okay?”

He did not know what to say to that.

“I love you,” he said.

He could not spare the thought to be horrified at what he said.  He just knew that he had to say it, even if it was stupid.  It might ruin his career and his life, he thought.

Jophiel said nothing, for a very long time.

“I do not know if what I feel for you, Tred, is the same as what you feel for me.  I do not know that our concepts of love are anything like each other.  We are too different.  And that is another reason why I need to go.”

Tred spoke, and he did not need to think about his words.  “Thank you, Madam Ambassador.  It has been an honor serving you.”

There was a long silence, and he disconnected from the line, slumping back into his seat.

---

There was no hour so late on the Craton that her establishments were ever empty.

It was like that on every ship, every fleet, Ham Sulp had ever seen.  Sure, there was an official day/night cycle.  But with multiple shifts, people kept all sorts of hours.

The Crooked Barstool was the closest thing to a dive bar that existed on the Craton.  It was not the kind of place where one could find a fight, but it did as good a job as he could hope of emulating one.  The lighting was low, and the booths had high backs, so you could feel like you had privacy.  The drinks had the burn of the cheap and strong stuff you could get in a proper dive, and no one would bother you.

It was still a big place, though, like every establishment on the Craton.  Lots of people liked the atmosphere, and it had a brisk patronage.

Sulp sighed, and shook the ice in his glass around, wishing he could get more drunk.  Lots of reasons prevented it, including the ship’s systems knowing exactly his alcohol tolerance and not letting him go too far.

He had toyed with the idea of trying to pull rank on it, but it was not a wise idea.

He did not notice Zeela Cann approaching until she sat down across from him.

Sulp had just lifted his glass to take a sip of his drink, and paused with it on his lips.

“I’m not wanting company,” he said.

“Yes, well you need it anyway,” Zeela Cann replied, adjusting in her seat.  A drone came by almost immediately with a drink for her.  “I saw that Zeus was in your office today.”

Sulp frowned.  Was he that predictable that she could read him from that?

Well, probably.  The woman’s mind was like an algorithm, finding patterns where others missed them.

He couldn’t say he actually minded her presence, either.  Out of anyone, she was the most acceptable.

They only needed Cutter, and the three of them – he, resources, she in administration, and the Bicet in engineering – were the three who really kept the ship running.  More than just a good working relationship, they all had a realistic view of how things worked.

That, and she was another vet of Terris.

“Fine,” he said.  “How are you doing?”

She smiled lightly.  “I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you that.”

He shrugged.  “You can see.  I’m up too late drinking, wishing I had more.”

She nodded in understanding, her eyes glazing over.  “I hate these memories.”

“How bad was it on your end?” he asked.  Zeela hadn’t been in admin at that time, but serving as Executive Commander on a heavy carrier.  The name escaped him.

“I was in Battlefleet C,” she said, swirling her drink slightly before sipping it.  “At the rear, of course.  Outside of . . . well, the shadow.”

The Reality Break Shadow; the area around Leviathans where physics no longer worked as it should.  Materials would warp and move, entire ships could twist into strange and unnatural shapes.  So could the people in them.  Seemingly at random.

“So your ship wasn’t hurt?”

“No.  I just got to see what happened to people on the ones that were hurt.  The Shading Arrow had a lot of space, so we took on a lot of people.  And they had the most grotesque injuries I’ve ever seen.”  She glanced up at him.  “I’ve seen combat casualties before.  This wasn’t like that.  There was nothing to be done for people whose entire bodies had turned into . . . something else.  Sometimes a person wouldn’t even seem so bad, and you’d come back to check on them and they . . .”

She trailed off.

Sulp knew what she was going to say.  Sudden Reality Failure – not the technical jargon, people had just started calling it that.  In the days after Terris, thousands had succumbed.  They might literally dissolve or become a mass of meaningless, non-functional flesh covered in random eyes or . . .

He slammed his drink down, not wanting to head down that way any more.

“We’ve seen weird shit since then,” he said.  “I always thought it’d help.  Get me used to it.  I mean, we don’t have pretensions, do we?  Like you said, we’ve seen combat.  It’s never pretty.  Even if you can understand the injuries.”

“But it doesn’t help,” she said, nodding.  “It just keeps making it worse.”

“Funny how they don’t test us more after all the recent stuff,” Sulp muttered.

“That wasn’t the same,” Zeela said.  “We weren’t exposed to as many tenkions.  Or krahteons, I don’t know, whatever.”

“Tenkions are the particles, krahteons the force-carriers.  You know the difference, you’re just feigning ignorance to change the topic.”

“Touche,” she replied, knocking back most of her remaining drink.

“Brooks never seems troubled like we are,” Sulp noted.

“He just doesn’t show his cards,” Zeela replied.  “He’s made out of Antarctic ice.  It doesn’t melt.”

“Yeah, that’s what they thought a thousand years ago, too.”  Sulp shrugged.  There was nothing but ice left in his glass, even the meltwater didn’t have the taste of alcohol left to it.

“And how did your test go?” he finally got around to asking.  The real question to ask – all Terris vets were tested once a year.  Just in case.

“I didn’t have any sign of mutation,” she said.  “And you?”

“They tell me I’m fine.”

She smiled a little.  “Well, here’s to being fine.”

She toasted, and he clinked his glass to hers, but neither of them drank.

---

< Ep 13 part 6 | Ep 13 part 8 >

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

---

The only sounds Tred could hear were Soothing Acoustics Volume 27 and his own breathing.

The acoustics were soft, pleasing sounds that were actually shown by studies to decrease heart rate.  They were more than just pleasing, they interacted with the brain in such a way as to calm it even in moderately-stressful situations.

Of course, by moderately-stressful, they probably meant a hard day at work, Tred thought.  Not a spacewalk on your city-ship that was floating in the void between stars.

His heart rate was alarming him, and each time he noticed it, it kicked up a little higher.  His HUD had started automatically hiding it to help, and then when he overrode that, his system suggested he turn it off.

But he wanted to know how fast his heart was beating!

“O-okay,” he said, swallowing and then repeating the word with a little more energy.  “Okay, this section is good.  Let’s . . . let’s head onto the next section.”

The drones beeped affirmatively.  They had thrusters but mostly just clung to the ship with tiny magnetic claws and hooks.
Meanwhile, he floated free.

Well, not entirely free.  He was in a spacesuit inside a bottleship – a small metal can with multiple manipulator arms and thrusters.  It was better protection from stray cosmic rays, and thankfully he had gotten permission to use it.  It still counted as a space walk.

Every engineer and officer had to do at least one spacewalk every four months.  It was just a core skill that could come into play in any emergency scenario.

Tred was not a fan.

They were cleaning the hull; which really meant filling in tiny scratches with titanium paste and scrubbing off the bits of micrometeors that regularly bumped into the ship.  If they were travelling fast enough it wouldn’t even take much to leave a mark.

They had the whipple shield, a kind of stand-off, multi-layered, honeycomb armor, to break up and absorb a lot of those.  But that outer layer got damaged as it worked, and those plates would have to be removed and recycled.

A small warning chirp told him that a screw had split and the two pieces were floating away from the ship.

“Catch them!” he called.  Some of the drones thrust after them, but soon hit their tether distance and came back.

He couldn’t let those two pieces just float off.  You did not leave scrap in space!  Even if you were in the middle of nowhere, for all you knew twelve billion years from now it would hit some space family on their way to vacation, and you’ve just become a murderer!

It had nothing at all to do with being obsessive-compulsive, he told himself.

Grabbing the controls, he maneuvered his bottleship after them.  It only took a few puffs to move close, and two claw-like arms automatically collected the screw pieces.

He looked back through the bubble canopy and realized that he was drifting further and further from the Craton.

Not a dangerous amount of distance, but it gave him a thrill of fear all the same.  He jetted back.

The bottleship itself was tethered, and he hadn’t reached the end, but he felt a great deal of relief when he was back closer to the ship.

He glanced up at his heart rate, seeing that it was elevated.

“On to the next area.  And be careful of brittle screws!”

The drones beeped back an affirmative.  He thought it sounded sarcastic.

The bottleship started to move automatically to the next section of the ship for them to check, and Tred found that he was literally twiddling his thumbs.  On the controls.

Well, that was not a good idea.

He glanced into his HUD, checking messages.  It was more a nervous reflex than anything that mattered right now.

He had unread messages; he usually had updates from the ship’s blog and other people’s blogs that he followed.  He did not read them, but he did subscribe, and then he felt guilt over not reading them . . .

But one was marked as urgent.  Why hadn’t it . . . oh, right.  Nothing except an emergency message from command itself would come through while you were on a space walk.

He glanced at it.  “To Diplomatic Staff”.

What?  He was an engineer, not a diplomat!  Diplomats were good with people, not-

Then he saw it was from Ambassador Jophiel.

His heart pounded.  They had . . . spoken a handful of times in the last few months.  But things were not the same since he had taken her to see that play, Ussa and Usser: A Tragedy of Ancient Earth.

It had never occurred to him that the bloody story would leave a negative impression on her.  She was composed of plasma, a Star Angel whose natural environment was in the corona of an unusual star, an environment they simulated inside Reactor Seven.

Star Angels could not, as far as he could tell, even hurt each other.  So seeing the horribly violent depiction that the Qlerning playwright had created had disturbed her.

Jophiel did not open up to him about as many things, he felt.  He wanted things to go back to how they were, but he did not know how to do that without saying things that seemed like too much.

Cursing at the timing, he opened the message to read it.

To: All Diplomatic Staff for ‘Jophiel’ of the Star Angels.

As this diplomatic mission has reached its conclusion, all personnel assigned to the Ambassador are hereby released from their duties.  All information, data, correspondences and other forms of communication continue to be Guarded Secrets between Earth-Humanity, the Yia-Star Angels, and the greater Sapient Union.  Congratulations and our greatest appreciation are due to all who were involved . . .

Tred stared at the letter in shock, reading and re-reading it.

His console beeped at him.  The bottleship had reached its next spot.

“Abort!” he told the ship.  “Take me back inside!”

“Query: Is all well?”

“No!  I mean, I’m not in danger.  I-  I’m having a personal crisis!”

He pounded his fists onto the controls.  “Take me back inside right now!”

---

< Ep 13 part 4 | Ep 13 part 6 >

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

---

“Greetings, Captain Brooks, I hope all is well.  It took awhile for you to come.”

Admiral Heskall had been waiting an unusually long time to get Brooks on the line, and he displayed the patience that had made him famous.

That it was Heskall talking to him meant this had to be something important.  The man was famed as one of the leading thinkers of Union military command.  Not simply for the parts that involved humanity alone.  Heskall was on the Joint Command Council, which cooperated with the military leaderships of every species in the Sapient Union.

“Greetings, Admiral,” Brooks replied.  “All is fine, I was off-duty and attending personal business.  I apologize for the wait.”

The Admiral nodded, accepting that without further question.  “I can tell you we are glad you are back in command of the Craton.  System-Admiral Vandoss speaks well of your abilities.”

Brooks accepted the compliment with a simple nod.

“We have an interesting development out past the edges of Union space,” Heskall began.  “An independent archaeology team has discovered a structure in interstellar space that they believe is a relic temple.”

“This claim is being taken seriously?” Brooks asked, feeling a clenching in his stomach – of fear but also excitement.

“Yes.  The team has submitted a great deal of imagery in support of their claim, which our science teams have verified as undoctored.  Needless to say, we are hoping to get a closer look.”

Images appeared for Brooks to view.

They showed a structure, which appeared to be a massive ziggurat of a greyish-blue stone.  The scans showed that it was massive, planetary in size.  There were pyramidal structures on the outside, and a single entrance, massively scaled up with the rest of the gargantuan structure.

It was an amazing image, but they were less detailed than he liked.

They were not doctored, no, but they could not tell the composition of the materials.  They did not show anything inside the temple, or even nearer its massive entrance that was so big it must have been for the landing of starships.

And the images were only of the temple; no ships or shuttles or even drones were near it, and the infrared images seemed to suggest no occupants.  All of which lent to the idea that it was an ancient and abandoned structure.

But it still left a lot unanswered.

“These are from over 500,000 kilometers away,” he noted.  “The archaeologists didn’t get closer?”

“They moved as close as was possible for these images, but the relic temple is within an extremely powerful magnetic field,” Admiral Heskall said.  “Comparable to Jupiter’s in strength.”

“It has a magnetosphere?”

“It is not the source – we do not know what is, but there is a dangerous amount of radiation trapped around the station, as if it is in a larger system’s Van Allen Belt.  We believe the temple itself is unaffected; but all the charged particles made it impossible for their ship to get closer.  This is why the team contacted the Sapient Union – they need our help.  We have just concluded our negotiations.”

“What’s the source of these charged particles, though?  You said it’s in interstellar space, so there’s no nearby source of solar wind, right?”

“We don’t know,” the Admiral admitted.

Another mystery to unravel, then, Brooks thought.  “Who is this team that found it?”

“You’ve met the lead researcher already – Nadian Farland.”

Brooks’s frown came unbidden.  “Farland?  He is not a fan of mine.”

The man had punched him the last time they’d met – their first meeting.  Farland was a well-known adventurer and archaeologist.  Famed for taking risks, making big discoveries, and he’d leveraged his success into a media enterprise.  Films, games, merchandise, all sorts of things that kept a steady inflow of money – letting him pay for most of his own expeditions.

If there was one thing the man hated, though, it was tomb raiders – though many might unkindly call him that – and in his youth, scratching a living out on the fringes, Brooks had once led a search for lost relics from the dead civilization of Xiphos.  It had been a move born of desperation, and a lack of other opportunities that were less unsavory.  He was not proud of it.

“I am aware of what transpired when you met the man on Gohhi,” Admiral Heskall said.  “But I hope that will not be an issue.  Farland actually suggested that you be the one to come help.  It seems your work helping the !Xomyi has earned his respect.”

Brooks nodded, but still did not like it.  “I see.  He’s not generally a fan of the Sapient Union, either.  I’m surprised he asked us at all.”

“Most ships can’t easily muster enough protection from as much radiation as is present.  Even a brief exposure to it would be deadly.  Only a heavy ship – or a Cratonic ship.  Since the Glorians are not about to lend out a heavy warship for science, and the Gohhians would charge him more than his entire media empire is worth, we’re the only other option.”

The Union would jump at the chance to study a Relic Temple, Brooks knew.  Even he, despite his misgivings, wanted this opportunity.

Was it really the right call, though?

Curiosity could be a dangerous thing, especially with regards to relic technology.

He thought, for a moment, about Iago Caraval, and the strange, aberrant images he’d seen that had driven the man almost to madness.  It had led him to almost flee with his son for parts unknown, believing that the Craton‘s crew, including his closest friends, were secretly conspiring against him.

That the man had eventually managed to return from that brink spoke a great deal to the strength of his character.  But there were many lessons of caution to be taken from his story.

“Admiral, may I speak frankly?” he asked.

Heskall considered, his eyes flickering over the image of Brooks he would see projected on his end.  It was common in civilian circles to project your image however you liked; you could appear to be skiing along with a friend while you were in fact sitting down at home.

In the Voidfleet, though, images were always projected accurately unless it was deemed a security risk.

Heskall was sizing him up; he was likely wondering the same question Brooks had asked of himself after Ko; was he ready to return to duty?

Hell, it was a question he asked himself regularly, even if he felt confident.  To know yourself was a skill that anyone with this much power had to ask themselves.

“Yes, Captain,” Admiral Heskall said with a nod.  “I would like to hear your thoughts.”

“This last year has been an eventful one for the Craton,” Brooks began.  “We brought Ambassador Kell aboard, we encountered Leviathans, or at least things related to them frequently.  We also brought on board the Cerebral Reader, Apollonia Nor, who grew up as a street urchin.”

Heskall nodded.  “You must be wondering why we constantly send you on these missions.”

“Yes.  I know that we are fast, that our ship resonates in a way with zerospace that makes us able to make jumps easier and quicker.  And that, theoretically, a CR’s presence provides some protection against the reality disrupting effects of exotic matter.  But we aren’t the only ones with these qualities.  So . . .  yes, Admiral, why us?”

“Those qualities are often a consideration,” the Admiral admitted.  “But they are not the only ones that are relevant.  You are, to be frank, perhaps some of the most experienced personnel we have when it comes to these ‘exotic’ matters.  No other Captain has encountered a Leviathan as often as you have.  No other crew has faced them and lived as yours have.  It is . . . perhaps unfortunate that you are a city ship, with civilians aboard.  Believe me that many discussions have been held on this topic, and we have considered sending other cratonic vessels on these missions.  Honestly, Captain, and this admits more than I perhaps should admit, these strange occurrences you encounter are not isolated incidents, and you are not the only one involved in them.”

“I see,” Brooks said.  “I have one other question.”

“Go ahead,” Heskall told him.

“I know this is not something that has been overlooked, yet I feel I have to ask it.  Is this worth it?  Are these . . . for a lack of a better word, Admiral, eldritch things something we genuinely should be probing into like this?  Are we perhaps broaching things we should be leaving alone?”

The Admiral was quiet for a few moments.  “It’s a question I think all of us have asked ourselves many times, Captain.  I must admit that I do not know.  We do not even know enough to even know if we are going too far.  That is . . . unfortunately, why we must keep trying.  Perhaps some day we will know that we were all fools.  I hope not.”

Admiral Heskall seemed like he maybe wanted to say more, but thought better of it.  He swallowed and adjusted himself, his uncertainty disappearing beneath confidence.

It was Brooks’s turn to be silent for a moment, as he considered the Admiral’s words.  Slowly, the same confidence that the Admiral held grew in him.

He did not know if this was wise.  Whether it led to disaster or victory, he at least knew he was approaching this for the right reasons, and that he was making the best decision he could with what he knew right now.

“Thank you, Admiral,” he said.  “I’ll begin preparing the Craton for departure.”

---

< Ep 13 part 3 | Ep 13 part 5 >

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

---

A long strip of the Equator ring was marked off with flashing drones, as the Aeronautics Club of the Craton prepared to launch.

Brooks was the only member, though Apollonia had appointed herself as an honorary member of the club for today.

She had gotten an aviator’s cap and goggles, with a matching bomber jacket.  Brooks had laughed upon seeing them, admitting that he’d never gone that far.

“That’s fine,” she told him.  “I got them in your size, too!”

Brooks had donned the outfit with good cheer, even though it did not suit his typical Antarctican demeanor.

But Apple beamed at him.  “We need more people in the club so I can get everyone to dress up like this.”

“Don’t you dare,” Brooks replied with amusement.  “I don’t want to have to seriously run a club.”

From a protective case he brought out his plane.  It had four wings, and was a mottled tan and green, with large red stars on it.

It was the model he’d been working on before the mission to Ko, months ago.  Even after his return, he’d taken months to return to his duties, refusing to leave the !Xomyi band he had saved.   Until they felt secure in their new situation aboard the vast carrier that was slowly preparing them for life away from their doomed homeworld.

After he’d returned, she had made the suggestion; “Why don’t we fly your plane?”

Now, they were minutes away from its first flight.

He’d said it was a Po-2.  The name had no meaning to her, but she had nodded along as he had told her of its history from nearly a thousand years ago.

“It was a great plane,” he finished.

“Great,” she said.  “Let’s see it fly!”

Brooks urged her to wait a few more minutes while he did last-minute checks.  Opening up a hatch, he tinkered with the engine.  Apollonia thought he was just stalling, but waited anyway.

“So I hear tomorrow is your test,” he said to her.

Oh.  So that’s why he was taking this time.

Nervousness wriggled into her stomach at the thought of her Officer Candidacy Test.  She had taken practice tests, but Jaya had helpfully told her they were not much like the actual thing.  “To let you practice it will be a hindrance,” she had said.  “It’s best if you go in fairly blind.”

“Yeah,” she replied to Brooks.

“Do you feel confident?”

“No,” she admitted, looking away.

“It’s probably good.  Thinking on your feet is better, and the more confident you feel the more shock you’ll have when you find you aren’t ready.”

“That’s a great pep talk,” she said.  “Really.  Truly.”

Her sarcasm got him to side-eye her.  “The plane is good to go,” he said.

Apollonia’s excitement returned.  “Yeeeeeee!”

He lifted it with both hands over his head, while she hopped aside.

“Ready?”

She nodded.  “Let ‘er rip!”

Brooks started the engine.  It chugged to life with an adorably tiny putt, and its propeller began to spin.  She’d seen him test it, but now it really started up.

He threw it forward, trying not to nosedive it, and the plane cruised ahead – at first jerkily, wanting to fall, but the pilot inside – a tiny robot controlled a simple flight AI – corrected and gunned the engine, and it began to gain altitude.

Around the blocked-off area, a crowd of dozens of curious onlookers had gathered.  Their eyes followed the plane on its maiden voyage, a soft chorus of ‘ooohs’ accompanying its success.

It was to be short-lived, as a regular drone blundered into the airspace.  The pilot AI swerved, tipping the wings, but he lost precious lift and began to spin out of control.

Until Urle reached up and caught the plane easily in one hand.

“It was a nice flight,” he called.

The crowd applauded.  Apollonia thought it was more for Urle’s catch than the plane itself.

He came over slowly, the AI pilot in the plane frantically working the flaps and gunning the engine to escape his grip.  The crowd began to disperse.

“That was my drone, sorry,” Urle said as he came closer.

“It’s all right,” Brooks said.  “The plane flew straight long enough to show that she could.  I’m pleased with the result.”

Urle handed the plane over to Brooks.  “There’s a high priority message coming in for you.  You had your system notifications off so I sent the drone to your room.  By the time it found you here, well . . . I was already here.”

There was a little rebuke in his words; the Captain should not be out of communication.

Brooks reluctantly turned his system back on.  “It was only for the flight,” he said.

“Bad timing,” Urle replied, sounding like he felt bad.  “And I wouldn’t have bothered you if the message wasn’t important.”

Brooks looked to Apollonia.  “Thank you, honorary club member, for your assistance.”

She saluted properly.  “Anytime, cap’n.”

He returned the salute gravely before turning back to Urle.  “I’ll take the call in my office.”

---

As Brooks took his leave, Apollonia looked across the crowd of dispersing onlookers.  Most of the people were unknown to her, though Ann gave her a wave before going back into Watchito’s.  Several other people filtered in after her.

No one could resist good pizza, Apollonia thought.

One person was not moving away, though, just watching her with a serene smile.

“Hey, Cathal!” she called, waving her arm over her head.

His smile grew a little bigger, and she jogged over.  “Or should I say Father Sair?” she said as she got close.

“You may call me however you like,” he told her.

“Just not late for dinner?”

He snorted out a small laugh.  “That was an impressive flight.”

“Next time we’ll be launching a whole air fleet,” she promised him.

“Typical Union extravagance,” he said.  “Why launch one when you could launch a million?”

His tone was light, but his words seemed sharp, and she was caught off-guard.  “Well, why not?” she asked, her tone openly challenging.

She knew that religion was no longer really a thing in the Sapient Union, and in many ways Father Sair was an outsider on the ship.  But no one ever gave him a hard time or even seemed to think less of him for his beliefs or role as a clergy; they just did not share in his beliefs.

But he did seem to have a chip on his shoulder about that, at times.

He seemed fine, though, to just accept her words.  “Perhaps you are right,” he said.

His smile turned thoughtful.  “I was wondering if you might be interested in spending some time in prayer with me tonight?  I know you do not share my faith, but the practice is still good for the mind.”

That was true, but Apollonia didn’t know if she wanted to.  She had been planning to study more.  But maybe praying would help settle her mind for the test?

Her hesitation prompted Cathal to continue.  “Or, perhaps tomorrow night?  We are holding a ceremony – I think you will find it more interesting, we will be telling myths and legends.  They are quite interesting, even to the layman.”

That was more doable, she thought.  It would be after her test, and she’d . . . well, maybe she’d want the zen, or the consolation.  “Yeah, tonight I’m kinda busy, but tomorrow night?  That’d be great!”  She felt a little excitement about the idea, washing away Cathal’s remark about the Union.

His smile was pleasant and genuine, revealing under his normally serious demeanor the handsomeness of youth.  “I am very glad you will be able to come.”

---

< Ep 13 part 2 | Ep 13 part 4 >