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Episode 9 – Mayday, part 11

Captain Mayor Brooks

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

“Brace!”

The call came and Pirra gripped onto her handhold as hard as she could.

The shuttle shuddered, rattling her to her bones as it grappled onto the escape pod.

The Response shuttle was not the smaller kind that could be launched from the ship’s coilguns, but had launched from a docking bay.

It dwarfed the pod below them, as well it should be; ultimately it would be carrying the passengers of three pods in addition to her team and their equipment.

Switching her HUD view to show the ventral cameras, she saw the flexible connector tube crossing the gap.  It pressed to the port on the pod, and the lights turned green with a good seal.

“Pod 29, this is Commander Pirra.  We have a firm seal, prepare for boarding.  All personnel are to seal suits.”

“We read you, Commander,” came the reply.  “But two of us are too badly injured to suit up.”

“Copy, Pod 29,” Pirra said.

She pointed to Kiseleva, her second-in-command and an experienced combat engineer.  “Make sure that seal is fully secure.  We don’t want a breach.  Team two, with me.  Team Three, prepare medical equipment this side.”

Already moving towards the egress hatch, she gestured to Najafi and Suon, the last two members of Fire Team One.  “Prepare for getting out of here and double-check our route to the next pod.”

“Aye!”

Her team rushed into action, and Pirra pushed herself down into the hatch to their air tunnel.

The pressure read as sufficient, and she opened the seal and entered.

The tunnel was wide enough to give some space around the hatch at the bottom.

Hitting the pod’s surface, her scanners registered the chill of the outside of the pod, though she could not feel it through her suit.

As the rest of the team landed around her, Pirra was already interfacing with the pod hatch.  Dr. Y’s remote drone came closer, scanning it.

“It has suffered damage,” he told her.

The hatch clunked loudly, the sound proof once more of the positive pressure in the tunnel.

But it did not move.

“We have hatch failure,” Pirra called.  “Attempting manual override.”

Shit.  If the hatch couldn’t be opened, they’d have to cut it and waste precious time.

The hatch was supposed to slide into the hull as opposed to opening outward, and her team scrambled for the manual levers, prying open the covers.

“Grip and pull on two!” Pirra called.  “One – and two!”

They all pulled on the lever.  It did not budge.

“I believe it is possible you can open it,” Y said.

Pirra felt her boots slipping.  “Maximum power to magnet boots and try again.  Give it everything!”

Her boots sealed themselves to the outer hull of the pod like they were a part of it, and she braced, gripping the handles with all her strength, her enhancements straining, her shoulder popping as she pulled.

It shifted.  Then, which the screech of metal on metal it slid open halfway.

Hands came from down inside, pushing, and they managed to get the hatch open most of the way.

“That’s enough!” Pirra called, panting.  She pushed herself over to the hatch.

“Oh thank the stars you’re here,” the man in the pod said, his eyes wide under his oxygen mask.

Y’s drone scanned the man, and Pirra saw the relevant data come up in her HUD.  He had contusions and some cracked bones, minor radiation poisoning.  Nothing that would make it hard to move him.

“We’re expecting four,” she said.  “Is that right?”

“Yes!” the man said, reaching up to her.

Pirra took his hands, pulling him up.  The lack of gravity sent him floating upwards, and she went in as soon as his boots cleared the hatch.

She passed a young woman who looked shell-shocked, Y scanning her next.

“It is mostly shock; she is largely unhurt,” he told her.

“Up the tunnel, they’ll help you!” Pirra said to the woman.

She went up and Pirra scanned the inside of the shuttle.  She found two more people, one unconscious and the other trying to get up from the medical cradle he’d been put into.

“It’s okay, don’t move,” Pirra said, coming close.  “Mwanajuma, get in here!” she called over the comm.

“How bad is he?” Pirra asked Y.

“Bad,” Y replied.  “Scanning for more data.”

Mwanajuma, the medic, floated in and over as well, reaching up to open the man’s eye and look into it.  “I’m reading severe radiation poisoning,” he said.  “Probably five or six grays.  He’s going to be puking all over the place soon.”

“I believe we can tolerate that,” Y replied.  “I will attach an emesis bag.  His prognosis is good if we get him back to the Craton within our time frame.”

“Will moving him make it worse?” Pirra asked.

“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Mwanajuma said.  “Even if they may die in transport, if they stay here they’re dead for sure.”

Y floated closer and gave the man a shot.  He was still moving feebly, apparently very confused about what was happening.

“That will calm him and hopefully stabilize him for the move,” Y said.  “Don’t try to remove him out of the cradle – just take it.”

“Wait,” Pirra said.  “He needs a mask.”

She grabbed one from the rack, but paused.  Normally there was an air cannister on the thing, but the end of the tube on this one was empty.

Their time was very tight.  She could look, but the tunnel was holding for now.  The odds of something puncturing it only got worse the longer they waited.

She put the mask on the man without the air cannister.  It would just take outside air, and then seal automatically if a breach occurred.  What was in the mask would last him long enough, or she could always share oxygen with him.

“Move him,” she ordered Mwanajuma.

Looking over, she saw that Suarez and Lal were in the pod now.

“Lal, help with that one, Suarez, help me with him,” Pirra said, gesturing to the unmoving man.

He was still alive, just unconscious, her system told her.  He was breathing.

She put the mask on him, and they hefted the medical cradle easily in the zero-g.

His heart rate was thready, her system told her as it connected to the cradle’s system, and he had been irradiated like the other man.

He would live, she told herself, not feeling confident in it – instead just demanding it of herself.

She looked at her timer.  They were already behind schedule. 

< Ep 9 Part 10 | Ep 9 Part 12 >

Episode 9 – Mayday, part 6

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

“Of the ninety pods that are within our scope of operations, we have already determined recovery order,” Pirra said, her voice amplified to reach every Response Officer gathered.

Four full teams sat in the room, an amphitheater-like area with rising seating to let everyone have a clear view of her.

On the screen behind her, all ninety pods were highlighted in either yellow or blue.  The majority were blue, which meant that rescue drones would be going for them.  But some were in yellow; these were the special cases that would require unique operations to recover.

They couldn’t be sure of all the details just yet, but if there was a question, it was best to go in with a mixed team of people and drones than either alone.

“Sending assignments to each team now.  We have ten pods we’re focusing on, which we’re splitting – Team One and Team Two will each take three, Teams Three and Four will take two each.”

The assignments went out, the officers of each team looking to each other, speaking quietly.  She let them go a moment before speaking again.

“Due to the fact that the Maria’s Cog did not actually explode, the majority of her debris is moving relatively slowly,” Pirra said.  She put a line on the large map.

“This represents the outer border of the largest debris.  These objects are big enough that if they hit one of our shuttles or a pod, we can expect a total loss.”

That got some nervous chatter.

“The pods have been burning continuously since launch so that we can have as long a window as possible to get them out,” she said.  “But our window is still tight – we will have just under one hour – fifty-eight minutes total to clear every pod.”

“Are we aiming to reorient and burn them towards the Craton?” Lorissa Kiseleva asked.

“No,” Pirra said.  “We’re doing a connect and pop – put on a seal, open the pods, get the crew out.  Our paths are optimized and the pods are relatively close to each other, but we’ll have just over two minutes to get any given pod emptied before we have to move on.  If you have to go over that due to the injuries of the personnel within – you have to make it up on the next pod.”

Dr. Y stepped forward.  “I will be remotely operating a drone on each shuttle to assist you in making medical decisions,” he said.  “We are expecting contusions, lacerations, broken bones, and burns, both from typical fires and from radiation.  All appropriate medical equipment will be on your shuttles.”

Pirra nodded to him.  “Thank you, Doctor.”  Her eyes went back to her teams.  “At fifty-seven minutes I want every team to be done extracting and burning back.  The debris threat is too serious for heroics.  Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voices all said as one.

“Good.”  She glanced at the timer on her HUD; their shuttles were almost, but not quite ready for them to board.  “We have one minute for questions,” she said.

An officer stood.  He was from Team Three, Pirra knew.  “I know Teams One and Two are the more experienced, but you’ve got all the hardest cases for yourselves.  If we finish ours first, do you want us to head for another on your list?”

“I cannot rule it out,” Pirra replied.  “But most likely – no.  I think you’re going to have your hands full enough.  I know most of your team has never done a vacuum recovery like this before.”

Team Four’s leader cleared his throat.  “How concerned are we about debris prior to the main field hitting?”

“It’s a possible threat,” Pirra said.  “But not significant.  Just orient your shuttles to minimize cross-section relative to the direction of incoming debris.”

No one else spoke.

“All teams, to your shuttles,” she ordered.  “May the wind be at your backs.”

< Ep 9 Part 5 | Ep 9 Part 7 >

Episode 9 – Mayday, part 1

Captain Mayor Brooks 5 Comments

New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here!

“Good morning, Davyyd,” Lily said pleasantly, stirring her coffee.

The tiredness came through her voice and she sipped at her drink.  Most people prefered a wake-up shot in the morning, but her family was old-fashioned and liked a good hot cup.

The Response Officer at the security desk smiled, giving her a mock salute.  “Oh, hey Lily.  I didn’t expect to see you around this early.  Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” she muttered, looking down into her coffee.

He raised an eyebrow.

She caught the look as her eyes lifted up from her drink.  “Oh, fine,” she admitted, both annoyed to be sharing and relieved that she could.  “I just think I finally realized what was wrong with that drone’s engine.  Fuel feed line thirteen is clogged – it has to be!  I’ve checked everything else, and I wrote that off because of the initial scans said it was clear, but sometimes those can be wrong, you know?  And since I’ve eliminated every other possibility, that has to be it.”

Davyyd held up his hands.  “You’ve convinced me, Lily.  It’s the thirteenth feed tube.”  He laughed.  “I won’t argue drones with you.”

“Sorry,” she replied, laughing at herself now.  “It was just bothering me so much that I couldn’t figure out the problem.  Then it just came to me while I was showering.”

“So you got up early to come fix it,” Davyyd said.

“Yes,” she agreed, then yawned.  “Though damn me, it is too early to be awake . . .”

Davyyd pointed his thumb over his shoulder through the wide doorway.  “Well, I took the liberty of logging you in.  Have a good one, Lily.”

She walked on, grateful that the drone bays were in a spin-gravity area.  She had hated working in the zero-g parts of past ships, the charm of floating wore off very quickly.

Continuing on towards the drone bay, Lily walked by one of the huge transparent titanium windows along the Maria’s Cog‘s flank.

Out there she could see stars, stars, and more stars.  The arm of the Milky Way was out of view from this side, the ship was angled so that this window was looking ‘up’ relative to the galactic disk.  When she stepped close enough to get a bit of an angle down, she could get a glimpse of the glowing, dusty arms.

The view never failed to please her, even if she’d served in space for most of her life.

Her eyes went back up to the stars, wondering just how many were actually colonized, and what they would look like when, one day, they all were.  Because she knew that it would happen, Humans and Dessei and Sepht and all the other known species would just keep spreading until they had planted the seed of life around every star that shone.

Right now, every star near them was just a distant point; the ship had come out of zerospace six hours ago, and glancing down at the main hull she could see the large ring of their zerodrive.  It had been retrofitted to the Maria’s Cog ten years ago, and she had proudly served as a workhorse of the Union, transporting supplies to far-flung colonies.

Not every ship got their own zerodrive!  Most had to just tag along with a Ringship, or be launched by a gate and caught by another at their destination.  She was grateful that the Maria’s Cog didn’t have to rely on anyone else; her worst nightmare was getting trapped in zerospace.

Because any ship that stayed in there longer than a week never came out.  It was something of an urban myth, she knew, but no one ever denied it, either.  There were stories of people staying in much longer, some lone researcher had claimed to have been under for a month, once.  But none of them had any evidence, and even the best theories of neo-physicists entirely broke down after five days.

She sipped her coffee.  Maybe you carcinized into a crab, she thought, trying to turn her dark thoughts into something amusing.  Who could bring a ship out with claws, after all?

“Lily, I didn’t know you were on this shift,” she heard.

Turning, she smiled.  “Oh, hi Reggie, I didn’t even notice you!”

“You seemed like you were lost in space,” he said, amused.

“A little.  But yeah – I’m clocking in.  I’m not scheduled, but I think I know what’s keeping drone 237’s engine from functioning.  I just had to come down and see if I was right.”

“Oh, right on,” he said, starting on deeper into the drone maintenance bay.  She followed him.

Entering the bay, she waved to some others, who smiled and waved back.  They’d all been working together for some time, and she felt grateful to have such a good batch of co-workers.  All competent and they just hit it off well.

“. . . we’ll be drawing in the net in ten hours, anyway,” she heard Lt. Kajetán say.  “And we’re out in the middle of void.  The watcher-net is a formality, don’t fret it too much.”

She could see the frustration on Amédée’s face.  “But the procedure is a full net whenever we’re in realspace, sir.  What if-“

“I know.  And we are following it.  I’m just saying that we don’t need to go crazy with it,” the lieutenant reassured her.

Lily leaned onto the console, sipping her coffee.  “Is something wrong?”

The Lieutenant looked up at her, but did not rebuke her for butting in.  “Amédée’s just trying to tweak the watcher net again,” he said.

“I think I’ve got an improved pattern for them, given we’re short on drones,” Amédée said emphatically.  “I was working it out last night, and I’m just worried that something could slip through given our current pattern.”

“Technically,” Lt. Kajetán noted, “something could slip through while we reorder the net.  Just saying.”

Amédée let out an annoyed sound.  “I’ll try to create a reorg pattern real quick that will account for that . . .”

“Tell you what,” Lily said.  “I think I know what has 237 not working.  Half an hour, I can have it out there, then I can take a crack at the other non-functionals.  Hopefully we can have a full proper net in an hour, sound good?”

“Yes!” Amédée said.

The Lieutenant smiled.  “Sounds good.  But I didn’t even think you were scheduled today, were you?”

“It’s some extra work,” Lily said.  “But I’m happy to see if my thought was right!”

She stepped away from the two, heading towards the drone racks.

Even a supply ship like the Maria’s Cog had dozens of kinds of drones just for space work; repair drones for the ship, repair drones for other drones, scanner drones, net drones to watch for debris, defender drones for destroying said debris, probe drones and so many other specialized kinds . . .

They varied from the size of a suitcase for the smallest to five meters long.  The net drones were among the largest, packed with all sorts of sensors that favored reliability and low power consumption over small size.

Going to 237, met by a number of small ship-board drones to help, she accessed its system and began to open up the engine compartment to check the fuel injectors.

She could still hear Amédée and Kajetán talking.

“. . . okay, so re-deployment should only give us a tiny window of vulnerability.  The odds are insignificant that there will be trouble,” she heard Amédée say.

“It does look like a good net,” Kajetán agreed.  “Redeployment in progress . . .”  A few moments later; “Done.  I hope you won’t be insulted if I run a check to make sure there’s no gaps.”

“Of course not, we have-”  Amédée cut off.

“What is it?” Lily called out.

Amédée yelled back.  “Drone 399 just winked out.”

“It’s probably just a stray cosmic ray causing a shutdown,” Kajetán said.  “Lily, could you go to its rack and hit the reset?  It’s quicker than doing it from here.”

“Sure,” she said.  399 was stored in the secondary storage room, but she was near there anyway.

Approaching the rack it normally rested in, she hit the reset switch.

“How’s that?” she called out.

“Great!” Kajetán called back.

Amédée spoke again, her voice so quiet with distance that Lily could barely hear it.  “Kaj, do you see-“

Then there was a noise and everything went dark.

< Ep 8 Epilogue | Ep 9 Part 2 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 51

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

Apollonia felt numb as she looked down at the body of Romon Xatier.

His body seemed wrong.  Horizontal as it was, he seemed smaller, the outward calm and total self-confidence gone, leaving a neutral form that seemed . . .

Lifeless, she thought.

A bit on the nose, but it was just the right word.

Y stepped over.  “Do not move any closer.  The body must remain inviolate,” he told her.

From this point on, she thought.

“Of course,” she said, shuffling back a little.  But still looking down at him.

Y had brought her back to the medical wing along with Jan Holdur and Xatier’s body.  Drones had brought the latter and guards the former.

But Y had carried her back.

After he’d checked her over thoroughly, he’d allowed her to shuffle about the room a little.

Some kind of device still gently hummed on her temple, doing a constant check, but she didn’t know what for.

She felt fine now.

A scream of anger came through the open door and they both looked up.  Jan Holdur, from another room, venting his spleen as Dr. Zyzus operated on him.

“So the crazy guy gets to be okay?” she asked.

“I only paralyzed Jan Holdur,” Y said.  “He is being surgically stabilized right now – given that I am the one that paralyzed him, it is best if I am not involved in the actual surgery.  Some believe it could be a conflict of interest.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Apollonia asked with a smirk.

“No.  If I had wanted the man dead, I would have struck slightly higher,” Y replied.

It was his normal matter-of-fact voice, but it was also chilling, she realized.

His gaze had gone back down to Xatier and she followed suit.

“Weird how calm he looks when he’s dead,” she said, finally putting words to her thoughts of earlier.  “Like a normal person.”

“He was a killer,” Y said.

“I know,” Apollonia replied.

She looked up at Y.  “But you ever think, if some shithead like this was just . . . not raised in such a horrible place, they might not have turned out this way?  I mean, was he born like that, or was he made?”

“That is a question that is still argued by many,” Y said.  “In my opinion?  He was made a monster.  Statistically, if a society is healthy, oriented with humanity as its goal rather than merely a resource, then they do not have people like him.”

He leaned in, pulling a cloth over the coffin.

“But I cannot say with certainty.”

He turned away, moving towards a console.

Apollonia watched him, wondering just how far ahead of them all he really was.

Far more than she even thought, she figured.

So he had to know.

“He had to die,” Apollonia said to Y.

He stopped working, but did not turn to look at her.  “Yes, I know.”

“I don’t have any regrets,” Apollonia said.

He turned now.  “My only regret is that I did not tell you my own plan.”

Apollonia blinked.  “What?”

Y gestured, checking a hundred times that the room was bug-free, that no sensors were recording them.

“Since I met Romon Xatier, I was aware that he would not face justice.  He was wealthy, he had the support of his fellow elite.  The only thing that would make them turn would be if he threatened them.  I could not change that.

“But I knew that I could stop him.  I have been . . .” he hesitated, then plunged in.  “I have been manipulating the man since we first spoke.  I knew it would have consequences.”

“You were driving him to kill again?”

Y hesitated.  “I was.  I calculated that if I made him angry enough, he would become impatient.  The murders fed a cruel, damaged part of his psyche.  Whether he performed them himself or if he merely directed them.”

“Why?” Apollonia asked softly.

“I had to make him act with his own hands.  You see, only by making him angry could I make him sloppy enough to put his own life in danger.  And then I would make sure he was caught.”

“How?” Apollonia insisted, stepping closer.

“The Union has numerous messenger and courier drones in Gohhi.  I knew that his targets would be poor prostitutes, and I knew his methods.  Most importantly, I knew the man himself.  I had a very good idea of his potential spots to strike, and I would be there, to sound the alarm just as he went to strike, but before he did – just as we caught Jan Holdur.  It would only take an anonymous tip, and he would be caught red-handed.”

Apollonia looked down at the dead man’s coffin.  “They would have let him go.”

“Only,” Y said, “If he survived the arrest.  The right tip, a simple lie, and the security sent to arrest him would have fired first and checked identity later.  After all, who would have expected one of Gohhi’s wealthiest men to be out in the poorest areas?

“His move of releasing Holdur surprised me, I admit.  I calculated a chance he would try something during this transfer – but I put the chance as low.  It was a more foolish move than I expected.  He must have believed that Jan Holdur would not hurt him, yet – I believe if the two had been left alone for two minutes, Holdur would have taken his life.”

His words had a logic to them, but Apollonia was not convinced.  For the first time, she felt conflicted towards Y.

“You were putting lives at risk . . .  Innocent lives,” she said.

“Which was very bad,” Y admitted.  “But the man would have killed again.  In an environment entirely uncontrolled.  I only manipulated the timing.  I did not single out an individual to be a victim, consign them to death.  I made certain in my planning that they would not be harmed.  Even if it might result in his escape, I would not play a life so callously.  Still . . .”

He turned back to his console.  “No plan survives reality.  I controlled all that I could, but it might not have worked.  I can admit that.”  He raised his head, his hands no longer operating the console.

“I violated the most important oath I took, to do no harm.  Yet I always knew that it was a lie, Nor.  I feel that a doctor’s true goal is to mitigate harm.  And in this case, this was the only way I felt I could do that.”

Apollonia did not know if Y was speaking from hubris or the truth.  Maybe there had been another way.  Maybe . . .

But it didn’t matter now, she thought, looking back at the casket that held Romon Xatier.  Since she had killed him.

Y tilted his head.  “You know far more than you should be able to, Nor.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“You did make contact with his mind, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And through that contact was how you caused the dissolution of his neurons to such a startling degree.”

“He’s dead,” she said flatly.  “That’s all that matters.”

“I notice,” Y said carefully, “That his cause of death was the same as that of the former Chief of Police of New Vitriol.”

Apollonia did not respond.  Y wondered what she must be feeling.  It was probably not happy.

“I will not tell anyone,” he promised.

Even without turning, he could see her, see the dark shadows on her face.

He wondered if Nor might turn against him if she was pushed hard enough.

He did not want that.

“I know you won’t,” Apollonia said.  Her words were soft.  With trust in them.

He was quiet for a long moment, his many calculations and simulations that he ran – that all sapient beings ran in some way in their minds – a jumble of conflict and confusing outcomes.

“Will you go rest now, Nor?” he asked.

She nodded.  “Yeah.  Doc, um . . . thanks.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, Apollonia Nor.”

< Ep 8 Part 50 | Ep 8 Epilogue >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 46

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

“That was actually really good!” Pirra chirped, swishing her feather drapes back and forth as she walked.

Alexander made a face.  She thought it was unhappy, but it was hard to tell.  “What did you like about it?”

“Well, the drama, the carnage, the sheer vitriol between the antagonists!  It’s all very much like a Dessei drama!”  She whistled a laugh.  “You know better than most how much we can hate each other!”

It was, she thought, legendary.  In many Dessei myths, enemies didn’t even want each other dead – they wanted the other to keep living so they could continue to torment each other.

“It was very fictionalized,” Alexander replied flatly.  “As in – nothing about it was true.”

“Sure, but it was entertaining fiction,” she commented.

“It feels weird, though,” he replied.  “An artist from another species makes what is supposed to be a historical epic and changes everything?  It’s not even a human story anymore, just loosely inspired by historic states that were at loggerheads over differing economic systems.”

“But the blood was so very crimson when it splattered,” Pirra said wistfully.  At Alexander’s look of surprise, she hastily added; “I mean, it’s fake, so it’s okay to enjoy it!”  She laughed again.  “Seeing blood fly like that in real life really isn’t something to enjoy, trust me.”

But in fiction she loved it!

“I just think maybe Klezul Hoshe should have talked to some human historians before writing it,” Alexander muttered.  “I mean – imagine if I wrote something like that with Dessei history!”

Pirra thought about it.  “Would there be a lot of blood?” she asked.

Alexander sighed.

“Ooh, who would you cast me as?” she teased, leaning in.  “A fictional princess named Lumii, perhaps?”

Alexander burst out laughing, taking her arm.

Even if he had not enjoyed the play, they had gotten a nice evening together.  He could not complain about that.

Tred followed Jophiel through the hordes of people leaving the theater.

He felt crushed by their sheer numbers, but he’d long since learned how to keep his discomfort down.

It was fortunate that people gave Jophiel’s drone a wide berth.  Perhaps it was because of her diplomatic credentials, or perhaps because they did not want it to roll over their feet.  She had not mastered it yet, and had run over his a couple of times.

It hurt, but didn’t cause any damage, it just wasn’t heavy enough for that, so he’d not said anything.

Jophiel seemed to be leading them out of the crowd swiftly, taking the shortest path out.  Once she had pulled off to the side and he had ducked over with her, he stopped to catch his breath.

“That was . . . one dramatic play,” he said, looking down at his dress uniform.  Was that a red spot on it?  Had the actors actually splashed him with fake blood?

“It was very exciting!” Jophiel said, her voice raising in joy.  “Honestly, I did not even follow a lot of it, but so much happened!  The red fluid was ‘blood’, right?  It’s inside you normally?”

“Er, yeah,” Tred said, rubbing at the spot.  Maybe he’d stained it earlier and not even realized, it was a lighter shade of red than the fake blood . . .

“So when Ussa let it out of people, they did not like that?” Jophiel said.

Realization dawned on Tred as her words made him understand how much the play had been alien to her.

Her people did not have land; they lived in the plasma corona of a flare star.  They had no paucity of resources, as they lived on the energies of the star.  They did not age, had no sexes, no children . . . no families, really.  At least . . . as far as he knew.

He’d tried to read about them, how they made communities based on properties of plasma that seemed very arbitrary.  Their society was extremely complex, but also fluid.  It worked for them, but . . .  It made them so very, very alien.

“Yes, that was an act of hostility,” he said.  “In ancient Earth times, we did not always have enough for everyone.  Some people who were . . . selfish would take more than they needed and that meant others didn’t have enough.  She wanted everything, and while she was very powerful, it made everyone hate her.  Once she was gone, no one was sad.”

“So the others did not have enough but she had too much . . . and she would let their blood out – why?”

“To kill them,” he said.  “Without blood we die.”

She was silent a long time.  When she spoke, her words were softer.  “I understand.”

He did not know what to say after that.  Her sensor unit was still looking at him, but he did not know what she was thinking – what she could even be thinking.

“So did Ussa really exist?” she finally asked.

He stumbled out.  “I mean, that’s the gist of the story, but it’s also a metaphor for human history . . . or a part of it, at least.”

“So it’s not really what happened?”

“It’s . . . a creative way to talking about it without saying it directly.”

“Ah, yes!  I understand.  We do that, too, in our stories!  I can’t imagine a species not having some form of subtle storytelling, how else can we impart knowledge?”

“Yes, I agree!  Every species we’ve ever met has stories, and they always have some kind of teaching stories.”

“Do you think anyone will be upset at how Ussa was portrayed?  Does she still have family left?”

Tred hesitated.  Had she not understood that Ussa had not exactly existed . . . ?  He thought they’d just established that.

But the translation had hitched.  There seemed to be some sort of difficulty in imparting exactly what she had meant – perhaps in her own kind’s form of family there was a sense in it.

“If they were upset, they would have to talk to Klezul Hoshe about that,” he finally said.  “But I think he often has controversial opinions that upset people.  I think he’s said that’s just how art is.”

Jophiel’s sensors turned away, which he took as her being lost in thought.

“Thank you for this evening, Tred,” she said.

He felt warmth growing in his chest.  “You’re very welcome, Ambassador.”

“There you go being formal again!”  She laughed, and he laughed as well.

“I know it’s past the time when you normally sleep,” Jophiel said.  “So you go on and do that.”

“Are you sure?  What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to take your wonderful little drone and look around the ship more!” she said.  “But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  You sleep!”

Tred hesitated, but felt like she was not just being kind, but dismissing him in a way.

“Have a nice night,” he told her.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about the dismissal, but . . .

It had been a really nice night.

< Ep 8 Part 45 | Ep 8 Part 47 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 44

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

Years pass.  Ussa’s hostility against Usser grows until her hate is a simmering fire burning within a tree that might burst out with roaring flames at any moment.

Tensions cause strife between their peoples.  Smaller kingdoms are caught in the middle, laid to waste, in the indirect struggle between them.  A direct war might destroy both kingdoms, so the tensions simply grow without end . . .

Ussa:

“Usser’s blood has grown thin.

His strength fails him, my little birds sing to me.”

Advisor 1:

“He has grown weary of the threat of war we bring to his borders!

His once-strong muscles have weakened, his vaunted warriors are tired

and his people love him but also have lost faith in him!”

Advisor 2:

“He has matched us sword for sword, but in so doing his smiths have worked themselves into stupor, while ours still hammer with all of their strength!”

Advisor 3:

“His advisors have grown unwise and he himself cannot see a path to victory!

The poison you planted in your people’s hearts against him has seeped into the very land until it spread like plague even into his own.”

Herald arrives, out of breath:

“Word has come!  Usser is no more, his life is ended.

It was not his age that took him but his own advisors who thought to bring themselves greater fortune.”

Ussa:

“Woe to Usser!

Woe to Usser’s people.

Now is our time, and we will lay low all that Usser ever dared to build.

He created and hoped to rise higher than I, but I will tear down his buildings, and take from his people that which they have created.

Like wolves we will carve the carcass of his lands!”

As the curtains lowered for the intermission Brooks stretched, leaning back and putting his hands back to brace.

“Who picked these chairs?” he asked Urle.  “I’m going to fire them.”

“An AI,” Urle replied dryly.  “And you knew that.  You even approved them.”

“I should have sat in them before I did that,” Brooks said with a laugh.

Most of the audience had stood, milling about, many moving out of the exits to grab a few minutes of air or attend to personal needs, before the show restarted.

“So,” Urle asked.  “What did you think of the first half?”

“I will reserve my judgment until the end,” Brooks said, more seriously.

“I’m not sure how I feel now,” Urle said, shaking his head.

“So you’ve gone neutral?” Brooks ask.

“Something like that.  It’s better than I was expecting, really – the performances are great, even if half of them are Qlerning acting as humans – they have our mannerisms down, and the masks really help,” Urle said.  “But I have to see how it goes at the end before I can pass judgment.”

“Hold the thought, then,” Brooks said.  “I’m stepping out.”

“You’ll have to talk to people if you do . . .” Urle noted.

“I can handle that,” Brooks said, flashing his sincerest-looking smile.

He moved towards the exit, a handful of beings noticing him and throwing a few words or a smile.  He answered them all, weaving through slower clumps of families.

“. . . staying right here,” he heard Commander Pirra say to her husband.  “That way we can’t be late for the second half.”

Nearly bumping into Tred, who was hovering around a rolling drone – wasn’t that the Star Angel Ambassador? – and went out into the reception area beyond.

He was prepared to duck into a private bathroom to grab a moment alone when he saw a head with dark green hair.

Fisc, had Kell actually come down to the showing?  He pushed through a group of Qlerning critics from Gohhi, and approached the being.

He could tell before he even got close that it was indeed Kell.  The crowd was giving the being a healthy distance – there was no mistaking that feeling that one got as they approached the Shoggoth.

“Ambassador,” he said formally.

“Captain,” Kell replied, turning to look at him.  Then he turned away.

“I need to speak with you, Ambassador,” Brooks persisted.

“Do you,” Kell commented.

Brooks stepped around in front of him.  The Ambassador seemed far more touchy than usual.

“I am surprised you came to the play,” Brooks admitted.

“This is what was so important?” Kell asked him, contempt in his voice.

Brooks felt anger rise, but pushed it down.  “You are acting out of line, Ambassador.  You owe me answers and have been avoiding me.”

“You feel this is the time and place for this?” Kell asked.

Brooks pressed forward.  “Why did the people you met on the station with Urle call you a ‘Lesser Lord’?  What does that mean?  Who are the Esoteric Order, what do you know about them?”

Kell watched him, unblinking, but said nothing.  Brooks opened his mouth to speak again, but Kell spoke first.

“I will prepare to elucidate some of these matters soon,” Kell said.  “But for now I am not ready to speak on them.”

Brooks frowned, but honestly felt a shocked elation.  Kell had never promised any answers before.

He leaned in closer.  “Including what you did to the Hev boarders?”

Kell’s eyes narrowed slightly.  “Are you upset at what I did?  Knowing what you know?”

“No,” Brooks admitted.  “But the fact that you . . .” he lowered his voice, “consumed a dozen beings of that size raises a whole lot of questions, Ambassador.  Like how, for example.”

“I will elucidate these matters to some degree soon,” Kell repeated.

“To some degree?  Should I expect the usual lack of information, then?” Brooks demanded, still keeping his voice down.

“I will be more forthcoming than you would like,” Kell said.

“When?”

“Soon,” Kell admitted.

“How soon is soon?”

“It will not be long,” Kell replied.  “I will not delay it.”

“I suppose that will do,” Brooks said.

A beep appeared in his HUD, saying that intermission would soon be over.

“Will you stay for the second half?” he asked.

“If I was not going to I would be gone already,” Kell replied.

“Very well.  Please enjoy the rest of your evening, Ambassador.”

< Ep 8 Part 43 | Ep 8 Part 45 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 41

Captain Mayor Brooks 2 Comments

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

“Captain Brooks, what a pleasant surprise.”

Trevod Waites-Kosson did not sound surprised at all, his voice smug.

“What brings this call, is it social or perhaps something more important, hm?”

“You will drop all charges against Sem Kassa, Ozgu Uzun, and Lizicy Mae immediately and clear their records completely,” Brooks said.  “You will end the smear campaign against them, have your propagandists change the topic of the hour to the blight of crimes against prostitutes.”

“Captain,” Trevod said with a laugh.  “Have you begun taking drugs?  What in the galaxy do you think will make me-“

“Shut up.  After you have done these things, then in two days I will agree that Jan Holdur should be transferred back to your custody to stand trial for the attempted murder of Peony Vale.  We will provide you all data we have for his trial.

“You will find Holdur guilty of being criminally insane.  He will receive psychiatric help, with his doctors jointly appointed by the Sapient Union and his family, due to the location of his crime.  He will serve his entire time and be released only upon the doctor’s belief that he has actually changed.”

“I see you are trying to direct justice just like you direct the life of humanity itself,” Trevod said.  His voice was notably less friendly.  “The Holdurs will never accept this, it is a gross violation-“

“I am not done,” Brooks said.  “All of his augments will be permanently inactivated and he will be legally banned from ever having another dangerous enhancement.  I want to make sure this man can never realistically try to kill anyone ever again.”

“I still object to this blatant disregard for our criminal justice system,” Trevod sniffed.

“Stop it.  Drop your mask for one minute, Trevod, and act like you understand how the universe works.  We both know you own the courts and whatever judgment is found will be what you want.  You will want what I am telling you.”

“Why, though?” Trevod demanded.  “Why should I want any of this?  I happen to care about the three women-“

“Then you’ll want them with us.  You’ll want this forgotten.  You’ll make the move to protect other prostitutes and pretend it is a victory for your way of life.  Spin it – you spin everything.  It’s the only thing you people are truly good at.”

“You still have not given me a reason why I should want this.”

It was time to gamble.  “Because I have learned things,” Brooks said.

A long, long silence met his words.

He could only hope that they’d guessed right, that Holdur knew something, or many somethings that were so terrible that even the Lord Executives feared them finding the light of day.  That they believed he had spilled some of them to him.

And that their fear was their strongest emotion.

“I understand,” Trevod finally said.  His words were ice cold.

Brooks’s heart felt like it began to beat again.

“I will keep everything I have learned a secret, Trevod,” he said.  “I am willing to sacrifice it – and the evidence in Jan Holdur’s head – for this.”

“Why are you offering all this for three worthless women?” Trevod asked.

Danger reared again.  Brooks had expected this, though.

“Right now I have the word of an attempted murderer, dangling a double-edged sword.  Do you really think it is good for anyone for that blade to come down?”

“Are there records?” Trevod asked.

“No,” Brooks told him.

“I need proof of that.”

“You can’t get proof that something doesn’t exist.  But I am giving you the primary source evidence in the form of the witness.  That is enough.”

He heard a sigh.  “I see.  Well, you wish for a lot, Captain.  For all you’re asking, I’m not sure what you’re offering is enough.  The Holdur family wants a win they can flaunt.  What do they get out of this?”

“Jan Holdur’s life,” Brooks said bluntly.

“I’m not sure that’s enough to convince them to accept all of these conditions.  They will balk at some of your demands for him.”

“You can tell them that if he stays here, he could face the death penalty-“

“You wouldn’t dare!” Trevod spat.

“-unless he gives up something more valuable.  Once he gets turned over to our legal system, a deal like what I’m offering is out of the question.  What do you think he will do in that situation, Trevod?”

A long silence came again.  Brooks checked if the line was still open and saw that it was.

Trevod finally spoke.  “You will release Holdur tomorrow.”

“I will send you the paperwork that shows he will be released to your custody tomorrow, but it will be private.  He will be kept incommunicado with all personnel except his current doctors who are sworn to secrecy.  We want to wait a few days to keep this from looking too much like an exchange.  That would draw too much attention to it all.”

“I am not concerned about that,” Trevod said quickly.

Brooks wondered if that meant that there was external pressure upon him from his class.

He could concede this.

“All right.  We’ll transfer him in four hours.”

“Very well, Captain.  I will send a representative then.”  There was another pause, then a bitter laugh.  “You know, you are surprisingly good at this, Captain.  I suspect that if you had the right spirit you could have done well here.”

Brooks ended the call.

< Ep 8 Part 40 | Ep 8 Part 42 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 36

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

“Hello, Tred.  May I come in?” Zachariah Urle asked.

Tred stared, dumbfounded, into the mostly-mechanical face of the Executive Commander.

“Of course you’realwayswelcomeExecutiveCommanderUrle!” he finally said in a rush, stepping back and opening the door fully.

Urle glanced at the door – most people never really made use of the fact that they could open just partially, but Tred was in the habit of never fully opening his door until he had to.

Continuing to stare at Urle, Tred wasn’t sure what to say.

The Executive Commander was a friendly man, and Tred felt more comfortable around him than any of the other command staff.  But only in comparison; the man still intimidated him.

“I imagine you’re here to see what I’ve been working on for the Ambassador,” Tred stammered out.

“Yes, that’s right,” Urle said, but he said it in a way that put Tred at ease.  “I hear you worked pretty hard to learn drone modding to make it.”

“Yes,” Tred admitted.  “I didn’t want to mess anything up and hurt her . . .  I mean, in theory it should all be perfectly safe, it’s just feeding in data to existing ports, but . . . you know.”

Urle didn’t seem to find anything wrong with Tred’s stammering sentence, just nodding.  “Is this it?”

“Uh, yes, that’s my prototype.  If you think it’s good enough, then-“

“It’s very good,” Urle said, approaching the device and kneeling.

It was not a traditional floating drone, but had four sets of treads on independent struts, allowing it to move smoothly along even rugged surfaces and steps.

The body was really just a long, verticle tube, though with some embellishments he’d added that seemed right.

Urle looked at him quizzically gesturing to the small wings he’d carefully cut and ground from a sheet of pearlescent steel.

“Er,” Tred muttered, flushing red in the face.  “She’s – Ambassador Jophiel, that is – species are called Star Angels, so I thought . . . an angel should have wings.”

Urle nodded, accepting the answer without question, and then looked at the head.  It consisted of two sets of eye-like sensors on a spherical head that was mostly unadorned, save for some careful gold patterning he’d put on.

He’d lacked the real skill for it, but he’d picked out the pattern and let a drone apply it.  He liked how it had come out.

“This looks very nice,” Urle said.  “I can see a few micro-cracks in the casing, but they shouldn’t cause any problem.  I’ll run further scans, but I can’t see that this could in any way harm the Ambassador.”

“Oh, thank you sir!  Send me your notes on the cracks, though, I’ll repair them all!”

Urle glanced at him again, and Tred automatically prepared a defense – to say that the Ambassador should have the best, since she was the first Ambassador of her kind!

But Urle only nodded pleasantly again.  “I’m sure the Ambassador will be very pleased with your work, Tred.  If all goes well, I’d like to recommend you for a Medal of Ingenuity in engineering – I don’t think anyone has actually done something of this caliber for a Star Angel yet, and it deserves recognition.”

Tred found himself flushing again, a rush to his head almost making him dizzy.  “Thank you, sir!”

“No need to thank me.  If I may ask, though . . .  and this is just a personal question, you don’t have to answer.  What is the relationship between you and the Ambassador?”

Tred’s mind blanked.  “Sir?” he mumbled, jaw dropping slightly.

“That’s okay, don’t worry,” Urle replied pleasantly.  “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”  He looked to the drone again.  “Honestly I was going to offer my expertise if you needed it, but you’ve gone above and beyond with this.  Be sure to show this to Cutter and Sulp, I’m sure they’d both be just as impressed.”

Cutter was Tred’s actual superior, but he’d always found the Beetle-Slug inscrutable and demanding.  The being never seemed to offer praise, though to be fair he also was never rude.  Only pragmatically critical.  Tred wasn’t sure he could even imagine the being gushing like Urle was.

“Thank you, sir.  I will, sir.”

Urle moved to the door.  “If you do think of anything I can do to help, just let me know, all right?”

“I will, Executive Commander.  Absolutely!”

“Oh, one last thing.  I know this has all been sort of an unofficial commission you’ve taken on, but Ambassador Jophiel has put in the paperwork to ask for you to be her official aide and engineering liaison.  It’s not really an administrative role, since she doesn’t do much in that regards . . . mostly honorary.  I wanted to bring it up with you, though.  You’re free to refuse, of course, she already said she’d understand if you felt it was too much of a burden.”

“No, not at all!  I mean, it’s not a burden I’d . . . I’m more than happy to continue to help the Ambassador, or rather to help her now as an aide and engineering liaison . . .”  He trailed off.

“Great!  You’ll get an official letter soon, before the play.  Which,” Urle consulted his clock.  “Is just over twenty-four hours from now.  Do you know what you’re wearing?”

“Just my normal uniform,” Tred mumbled.

“That’ll be fine, really.  All right – carry on, Engineer.”

Urle had made it only a few steps from Tred’s work room when the call from Brooks came in.

“Ah, Ian, how was the party?” he asked.

“Nevermind that.  We have something more pressing.”

There was no image, but Brooks’s tone made it immediately apparent that this was no social call.

Urle stopped, stepping to the side in the hall.  “What is it?” he asked, spooked by the tone.  He added some extra layers of encryption to his end of the call and made sure none of his audio was anything but digital.

“I just had a call from Trevod Waites-Kosson.  He is demanding that we transfer the women who are requesting amnesty back.  I need to you to look into the laws and treaties we have with Gohhi – is there a case here?”

“What’s his reason?” Urle asked.  “I mean, the whole point of amnesty is that they’re given refuge from persecution.”

“Murder.  The two thugs that they fought to escape from are dead, and now they’re charged with the crime.  I know that we can’t let this happen, but I need to know that our case for protecting them is air-tight.  He says he’s willing to push this, and he claims to have the backing of the rest of the bourgeois leadership.  If they push with their resources, I’m thinking they might be able to cause a lot of trouble.”

“Why would they want to go after these women this hard?”

“It’s not about them.  It’s about Jan Holdur.”

It clicked for Urle and he took a deep breath.  “So they’ll go all out.”

“That’s right.  In a few hours we’ll be getting the demands from the Gohhian lawyers and we’ll have to go over them carefully.  We’re going to need to talk to the women again about their story.  The parts that didn’t fit, we have to know the truth.  Even with their resources, the Lord Executives will have a hard fight, but there might be some detail we don’t know that tips this in their favor.”

“And we can’t let them win,” Urle said.

“Agreed.  Get the women separated and talk to them again – I’ll brief Kiseleva and send her down to aid you.  I don’t want them to think they’re in trouble or danger, but we do have to impress the importance of knowing the truth.”

“I don’t believe they did anything to deserve being sent back,” Urle said flatly.

Brooks had said nothing to the contrary, but he had to say it.

The Captain replied immediately, his words firm.  “I don’t either.  But we have to be prepared to fight for them.”

< Ep 8 Part 35 | Ep 8 Part 37 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 31

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

“Come on in!” Iago said cheerfully.

Pirra entered the cabin, dipping her crest as she crossed the threshold.  An ancient tradition, but always polite!

“Aunt Pirra!” Elliot called, crashing into her.

“Elliot, you’re getting taller every time I see you!” she whistled cheerfully, picking him up.  “You’ll be taller than me before long!”

“Maybe when I’m . . . TWENTY-FIVE,” the boy said with a laugh.

She flicked her crest up and down quite blatantly.  “Though I measure to my top feather,” she noted.

“No fair,” Elliot said.  “You can make yourself taller that way.”

Laughing, she put him down and he dashed to Alexander.

“Hey bud!” he said.  “Wait, serious greeting.”  He extended his hand, and both began to act with mock gravity.

“Good to see you again sir,” Elliot said in his mock esteemed gentleman impression.

“Mm, yes, quite so,” Alexander agreed, sniffing and miming holding a pipe.

Pirra looked up and saw Iago grinning brightly and it gladdened her.

Since the invitation, she’d been feeling nervous about this whole event.

But after all Iago had lost, how difficult a time he’d been having, she could only feel glad to see him so happy.

“Pirra,” Cassandra said quietly.  “Would you help me bring out the food?”

“Of course,” she replied, pleased to let the three men talk and laugh.  They were going to get progressively more absurd, anyway, and already Elliot was asking Alexander about hypothetical human-cabbage hybrids to conquer the universe with.

“I’d recommend mixing with bok choy,” Alexander answered seriously.

Snorting, Pirra went into the kitchen.

The cabin was a bit smaller than it should be for three, Pirra thought.  They had probably already looked into getting larger accommodations, but now the place felt slightly crowded.

The living room had become a dining room, a large table taking up much of the available space.  They’d had a nice and large table printed for the occasion – it was a bit of a waste to keep such a thing around all the time, and after they were done they could just have it recycled again.

In the kitchen, Pirra saw six plates, wondering who the extra was for, but did not comment.

“Here, if you would,” Cass asked, handing her two plates.  One was clearly for her; it was a kind of fishy casserole – her antenna rose, taking in the scent.  It smelled very good, and she appreciated that it was something that could be eaten in smaller amounts.  It was unusual for Dessei to not just swallow food whole, but they could eat smaller portions, and doing it that way was more comfortable for everyone in a mixed group.

Her people had a lot of hangups about eating, she mused.

Taking the plates out, she saw in her HUD that Iago had assigned them seats, and he’d put her next to Cassandra.

For a moment she was annoyed, but it was hard to hold onto – she did actually appreciate that she’d get a chance to know the woman more.

Cassandra appeared a moment later with more plates.

“Do you cook much?” she asked pleasantly.

“Not when I can help it,” Pirra admitted.  “I can, though, but often Alexander cooks or we just get something from the canteen.”

“Oh, I love to cook,” Cassandra said.  “But Iago actually made most of this, he wanted to make sure you had something you liked, so I hope you will.  I don’t know much about Dessei food, I’m sorry to say.”

“It smells very nice,” Pirra replied, moving to sit in her chair.

Cassandra disappeared to bring in more plates and the boys wandered in, still talking, though now about drone racing.

“The Red Crest’s are streaking, but I tell you – Grand Pass will still win the season.  They’re underrated!” Iago said.

“You always think Grand Pass will win, and every year you get so upset when they barely come in third,” Alexander replied.

“Just trust me – this year is their year.”

“Really, drone racing?” Cassandra said, taking her seat gently.  “Isn’t that very wasteful?”

“It’s exciting, mom!” Elliot chimed in, hopping into his seat.

“But they crash so many drones.  Just think about what those could be doing . . .”

“Eh, better than if it was human pilots in them,” Iago said with a shrug.

“I can’t imagine how shocking it would be to be one of the remote pilots and crash,” Cassandra continued thoughtfully.  “Probably terrifying.”

“You get used to it,” Pirra said.

“You’re a drone jockey?” Cass asked, surprised.

“Did it for a season or two when I was young – minor league on Enope only, I’m not that good!  But yes – the first few times you crash at high speeds it seems so real it can give you the shakes.  Some people just quit after their first.”

“But you didn’t,” Alexander said, his eyes twinkling.

“Of course not!  But eventually I found something even stupider, Response work,” she replied with a laugh.

Iago laughed as well, firing off finger guns at her.

“Ahh . . . it was great,” he admitted.  “I mean, not all of it, of course . . . but sometimes those crazy dangerous moments, you look back on them and it’s a cherished memory.  I’m going to miss it.”

Pirra had begun to poke at her food, considering where to start, when he said that, and she looked up sharply, her crest moving.

Iago looked away, and an awkward silence fell.

“Well,” Cass said smoothly.  “If you don’t mind, Pirra and Alexander, could we give thanks?  I was hoping to wait for-“

A chime came to the door.

< Ep 8 Part 30 | Ep 8 Part 32 >

Episode 8 – Showing the Flag, part 26

Captain Mayor Brooks 1 Comment

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

“So your concussion is minor?” Kiseleva asked.

“Yeah, it was just a little bonk,” Apollonia replied distractedly.

“I’m surprised they let you in,” the other woman replied.  “Y was in the brig at the time, from what I understand.”

“Well, I told the guards it was really important and they pinged him before I went in, so I guess it was fine.  But don’t worry, I’ve hit my head a lot harder than that before!”

Kiseleva frowned.  “You had a concussion.  Prior blows to your head would have been a health emergency.  Were they untreated?”

Apollonia shifted uncomfortably.  “I was just joking,” she said.

The other woman regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded and looked away.

It was not the first time that one of Apollonia’s dumb jokes had fallen flat.  It wasn’t like they were going over her head, she seemed to get them, but did not see any amusement in them.

Apollonia looked away as well, sipping her drink.  It was some kind of semi-medicinal smoothie that tasted mildly fruity.  Y had recommended it, saying it would help her gain more muscle mass and get the calories she needed.

They were seated outside of a rest area on the Equator Ring.  Around them, crowds of people were walking by, flooding into the shops and restaurants.

She’d stopped into shops before and found that most were artisan craftsmen making things by hand using ancient techniques.

She wondered how one even got to be an artisan.  Did you sign up for some classes then decide you wanted to open a storefront?  Or were many ten-billionth generation whittlers or whatever?

“You seemed to get distracted before you hit your head,” Kiseleva commented.  “What happened?”

Apollonia was kind of unhappy to be dragged back to that topic.  Kiseleva had an uncomfortable way of sticking to a subject no matter how much Apollonia wanted to deflect it with a joke.

“I was just a little worn out, I guess,” Apollonia said.  “And sore from the last training session.”

“Did you take your post-exercise medication?” Kiseleva said.

“Yeah . . . but that stuff isn’t as effective for me-“

“Dr. Y believes its effectiveness would not be altered for you,” Kiseleva said brusquely.

“I don’t know, then,” Apollonia replied, feeling a little testy.  “I just got light-headed.”

Which was true, and she could not account for it.  For one moment she’d been fine, if panting for breath and trying not to freak out in the full space helmet counted as fine.

But then she’d suddenly whited out.  It hadn’t been panic, she had felt no moment of a loss of control, that spiral into fear run amok.

Maybe she had and she just didn’t want to admit it, though?

Kiseleva was being quiet, and Apollonia saw her eyes following a group of people coming onto the ship from the boarding ramp.

“They’re letting people from Gohhi back onto the ship?” Apollonia asked, recognizing the natives by their outfits.

“Yes,” Kiseleva answered sourly.

“I hope they’re at least checking them more for crazy implants or being murder-happy lunatics,” Apollonia muttered.

Kiseleva only looked more annoyed.

Several of the Gohhians noticed them.  There were many other people sitting nearby, but the visitors clearly were focused on them specifically.

Apollonia felt her hackles raise.

“Why are they staring?  And pointing now . . .” she asked Kiseleva.

“We’ve both been in the news cycles,” the woman replied.

It made sense to Apollonia that Kiseleva had been, but why her?  She felt very uncomfortable about that.

“Can you show me?” she asked.

Kiseleva sent her a link, and Apollonia brought it up.

< Ep 8 Part 25 | Ep 8 Part 27 >