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---

“Dr. Logus, please state your credentials for the tribunal,” Chairman Chung said.

Dr. Arn Logus did not look good, Brooks thought.  He was not sickly, as Genson had been, but still looked pale, dark bags under his eyes, as if he had not been sleeping well.

“I have forty-four years of experience in my field,” he began.  “Graduated with High Honors from Luyten University, and have received numerous citations for my work with those affected by high-stress careers here in the Sol System.”

As Logus stopped talking, Admiral Vandoss signaled.  “Doctor, have you had extensive work with fleet officers who work in deep space?”

“No, Admiral, I do not,” Logus replied.  “I typically work with intra-system patients.”

“I fail to see what value this man’s testimony will have,” Vandoss said to the tribunal.  “From the records, the doctor was not involved in any of the moments that are relevant.”

“Nevertheless,” Freeman said testily.  “He can testify to Captain Brooks’s relative state of mind.”

“We would like to hear this,” Kernos said.  “Though I, too, am curious as to the relevancy.”

Freeman walked up.  “Dr. Logus, you were involved in Captain Brooks’s decision to send a mission to violate the Exclusion Zone around the Terris System, correct?”

Logus hesitated – just a slight pause, before answering.  “I was informed,” he said.

“You opposed the mission, didn’t you?”

“I object!” Vandoss said, standing again, his face turning pink.  “That decision is not being questioned.  We’ve been over this.”

“I agree, Admiral,” Freeman replied, doing a better job of keeping calm than Vandoss.  “Nevertheless – I beg some indulgence, as it is relevant.  Doctor, the specific details of the mission are unimportant.  What would you say Brooks’s mental state was like when he made this decision?”

Brooks felt himself lean forward.  The tension between him and the psychologist had been . . . intense, especially at that time.

“Captain Brooks was calm, but very concerned for the lives of both his crew and the people on MS-29,” Logus said.

Brooks could tell that Freeman was as surprised as he was.  “Doctor . . . from my understanding of your earlier reports, you believed Captain Brooks was acting irrationally.”

“I did not use that word,” Logus said.  “But whatever my earlier report, further study and reflection on the situation have caused me to reconsider my earlier observations.  Captain Brooks was adamant, yes, but I believe he felt that the mission was entirely worth the risk – a decision that I must reluctantly say I now agree with.”

Brooks felt floored.  Of all the people to defend him, he had not expected Arn Logus.

Though . . . Jaya had spoken on his behalf, hadn’t she?

Grudgingly, Brooks decided he had to take a new look at the doctor – run over their prior interactions in his head, try to see them in a more objective light.

“So you believe there was a severe danger to the station from Michal Denso?”

Logus looked uncomfortable.  “I . . .  That I cannot say.  It is certainly within the realm of possibility, inasmuch as we know so little about these sorts of matters.  I . . . do not know if I would have made the same decisions as Brooks in the situation.  But I am not a star captain, and I believe he acted within the bounds of fleet regulation in his actions.”

“Including in his failure to follow my orders?” Freeman asked.

Logus sighed.  “Orders must be interpreted by the officer in command in the field.  At times they do not have the whole picture, but at times neither do those not present have a true grasp of the situation.  Thus, I must say that his actions seem to fall within fleet rules and regulations.”

Freeman digested that a moment.  “But ultimately, you feel that we do not know the extent of danger – or lack thereof – that Denso posed, correct?”

“That is true,” Logus replied.  “None of us can.”

“I am not so certain of that,” Freeman replied softly.  “Those are my questions.”

Vandoss stood and cleared his throat.

For a moment, Brooks thought he was just about to chew out the man, who had an even more intense dislike of psychologists than Brooks did.

To his relief, though, Vandoss was calm.  “Doctor, in your estimation, beyond rules and regulations, do you believe that what Captain Brooks did was correct?”

Logus did not hesitate.  “Yes, Admiral.  I do.”

“That is all.”

Brooks did not know what to say, if he even could have spoken to the doctor, as he rose and began for the exit.  He could only watch him, as Logus avoided his eyes.

Just before he left the room, however, he did glance over.  Brooks could not tell the expression in his eyes, but through his own he tried to convey his thanks.

---

< Ep 5 Part 14 | Ep 5 Part 16 >

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

---

“When did you first believe that something suspicious was going on that violated orders, Dr. Genson?”

The man looked like he had aged in the time since Brooks had last seen him.  It had only been what, ten days?  Yet the man seemed thinner, his hair grayer.

“I . . .  After we received the dream trace images from Michal Denso’s sleep, around the time he began to emit krahteons, Dr. Urle went to confer with Captain Brooks,” he said.  His voice rattled, and Brooks wondered just how bad his health had become.

As far as he knew, no one had received such a dose of krahteons that they should be causing major health problems.

But the treatments for an exposure could be quite harsh in themselves.  The immune system of the body had to be driven into overdrive, to hunt any cancerous cells.  Likewise, nanoprobes had to be sent in to ferret out even more.

It was possible this was only from those treatments . . .

But to Brooks, it seemed like something else entirely.

“And why did you find that odd?” Advisor Nuuan asked.

“Because we had just made a significant discovery about a patient that threatened lives.  And she left, specifically to talk to Brooks.  I recall it, because it seemed inappropriate.”

“Was there anything else she should have done, beyond what the record shows she did?” Davij Kernos asked him.

“There is no procedure for such a situation, sir.  I don’t know what else she should have done, I only remember it struck me as odd.”

“And then later, Doctor Urle attempted to terminate Michal Denso’s life,” Nuuan noted.

“Yes,” Genson said.

The Chairman raised a hand.  “I must note that Dr. Urle’s actions are not under scrutiny today.  There have been no charges, and the Medical Bureau has backed her options as following protocol.  Captain Brooks supported her decision to attempt to terminate Denso, following protocol.”

“No one is accusing Dr. Urle,” Director Freeman said.  “But Captain Brooks had also been given orders by myself to prevent exactly this from happening.  And as we have since learned, Dr. Urle was present in the room when I spoke to him.”

“Is this true, Captain?” Kernos asked Brooks.

“Yes,” Brooks said.

“When did you give your consent to Dr. Urle’s plan?” Kernos asked him.

“Prior to Dr. Freeman’s order,” Brooks said.  “But I still held the same view afterward.”

The Tribunal took in his words silently, sparing only a few glances between each other.

Vandoss stood.  “I would like to point out something that is obvious but I believe is escaping notice here; Captain Brooks is not in the Research Division, but is a Voidfleet Officer.  Dr. Freeman did not have the authority to override the acting duties of a Voidfleet Captain – not without permission from above.”

“This is a point of contention,” Kernos said.  “It is not common that a ranking officer from another division gives such a controversial command to a command-level officer of another branch without formal backing.”

“Time was of the essence,” Freeman said.  “I have defended this under the Emergency Expediency Ruling, and it has been provisionally upheld by the Justice Bureau.”

“Provisionally!” Admiral Vandoss said sourly.  “In other words, it’s horseshit.”

Even Brooks was surprised to hear the man talk so crudely, even if he felt similarly.

The Tribunal members did not seem to like it either; at least Kernos and Cressin looked displeased.  Nuuan was as unreadable as any Dessei, whose crest had not moved a centimeter.

“Do you have any other questions for Dr. Genson?” the Chairman asked.

“I have one more,” Cressin said.  “Doctor, do you believe that Dr. Urle’s decision was correct?”

Genson hesitated, glancing down and away.  Brooks saw him squirming, and suddenly hated the man.  He’d not felt it before, but now he had an undeniable feeling that the man was just Freeman’s puppet.  Perhaps some people could have been there and not agreed with Verena’s decision, but he could tell Genson did.  There were too many lives to risk anything else.

“I beg the tribunal’s permission,” he said, “not to have to answer that.”

Cressin looked to Nuuan, whose crest did rise; the Dessei was surprised.  But they looked to Kernos and nodded.

“Very well,” Kernos said.  “We will excuse you from the question.”

Freeman cleared his throat.  “On Dr. Genson’s behalf, I would like to add that he is currently suffering ill-health as a result of the events on MS-29.  I would like to extend my thanks to him for his bravery in still agreeing to come forward.”

Genson was excused, standing and quickly moving towards the door, his every movement sickly and rushed, as if he was near panic.

“We call as a witness Dr. Arn Logus,” Kernos said.

Brooks took a sharp intake of breath.

This, he felt, would not go well.

---

< Ep 5 Part 13 | Ep 5 Part 15 >

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

---

Ham Sulp grinned back at Zeela.  “That’s a fair deal,” he said.

Zeela gave few pleasantries as she left.  He always appreciated that she didn’t stand on ceremony very much with him – his time was also precious, and he hated to have it wasted.

Five spacehounds!  A heck of a thing.

A lot of dogs had been taken to space by various colonists before faster-than-light had been a thing.  Each ship had groomed those dogs into entire new breeds to fit their conditions and, most importantly, space itself.  Sturdier genes and repair mechanisms to keep rad-damaged DNA to a minimum, changed bodies and hair colors . . .  most tended to be white and short-haired (as shed hairs drifting about were quite the problem in zero-g), or not to shed at all.

And back in the home system, they’d been changed even more.  Someone, a few hundred years ago, had decided it would be a good idea to uplift some dogs; to make them smarter with technology and gene editing

They weren’t as smart as a person.  But they could understand basic sentences better than any normal dog, they lived longer, and could – with the help of a vocoder – give simple replies to questions.

Kind of bordering on unnatural, in his opinion, but they were very popular.  And due to the very careful conditions under which they were bred and raised, very hard to get.  No one wanted to let something as controversial as uplifting a species to sapience be uncontrolled . . .

And Zeela had procured five!

Going over to his desk, he brought up a holo-screen and dialed in a specific link code he knew by heart.

The recipient was twelve light-seconds distant – not far, by astronomical standards.  It would make the call a bit tedious still, but damn him he wasn’t going to waste the resources on an FTL call when it was just twelve seconds!

“Pick up, ya dud,” he growled.

The other end finally answered, and a very dry voice spoke.

“Damn it, Sulp, this better not mean you’re in-system with the Craton.”

Sulp threw his arms open.  “I am!  We’re in a great dance with Plucharon, sending gravity ripples through the whole damn system!”

The man on the other end finally appeared, his voice movements out of sync with the speaking, and Sulp adjusted it so they matched.

He waited the twenty-four seconds for the reply.

“Ah, damn my eyes, man!  You could have given me a warning!”

“Could have,” Sulp said.  “Didn’t.”

Eabor Zaron’s job was an unenviable one, by Sulp’s view.  There were millions of objects in a given solar system, and then intelligent species added millions more, often with some very fiddly orbits.  Given the scale of the colonization of Sol at this point, it was no longer just a nicety to keep track of most of those bigger things and their effects on gravity.

And when a ship like the Craton came in, using its fancy ability to rip open holes in space, thus allowing the pseudo-gravity pull of zerospace to move it along, well . . . the already-intricate suddenly got a hell of a lot more complicated.

“Well aren’t you just a miserable son of a bitch,” Zaron said.  But then he smiled.  “But all the same, good to see you so close.  Lunch?”

“Sounds good.  You pick – least I can do.”

“It’s gonna take two weeks of overtime to sort out the mess that thing makes whenever she comes in-system,” Eabor noted.  Overtime meant a whole six hours a day!

“Yeah, cry me a river,” Sulp said amiably.  Fact was, Zaron’s office would have been notified prior to Sulp even knowing he was coming back to Sol.  Gravity Control had to know; it actually made them one of the greatest sources of intelligence on fleet movements in the entirety of the Sapient Union.  For that reason, and the sheer difficulty of his job, Zaron held the rank of System Commodore.

“Hey, I got a ticket from Zeela Cann for five spacehounds.  Mind if I have them sent to you, and I can pick them up at the same time?”

The man’s face lit up.  “Hell, I’d have asked if you hadn’t told me.  I had the best spacehound growing up – not as smart as the modern ones, but damn if he wasn’t the best dog ever!”

“Everyone’s dog is the best dog,” Sulp said.  “According to their owners.  I’d just say all dogs are great.”

“Well, get me the info and I’ll get them in.  I’m sure everyone here will feel good having them around, even if for just a day or two.”

“Great.  I’ll be headed your way later today – expect me tomorrow.”

They disconnected, and Sulp considered a moment.

Now what was he gonna name those five spacehounds?

---

< Ep 5 Part 12 | Ep 5 Part 14 >

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

---

I really have other things I need to be doing, Zeela thought, as she made her way to the Bilge.

She had heard once that the term had something to do with the old boats that humans had used to travel about on oceans in Earth’s history.  But nowadays, it was just a nickname for the Resource Deck.

It was not a whole deck, but it occupied most of one, containing most of the bulk supplies the ship needed.  And in the heart of it, was Ham Sulp’s office.

The man lurked in the Bilge most of the time, like a spider in its web.  Or maybe a dragon with its gold hoard – though for Sulp his hoard was bulk goods and many, many tons of nurdles that could be melted and molded into any shape needed by the ship’s many 3D printers.

Making her way through the maze of crates of nurdles, dodging the drones that were endlessly sweeping up dropped ones – seriously, how did so many get loose? – she managed to find the door to the office area.

Hidden behind a stack of crates, Zeela hit the chime, though surely Sulp already knew she was here.

He liked to make mazes of his crates, and especially to hide his door, coming up with new innovative designs when too many people learned how to find it easily.  “Never make it too easy for people to find you,” he had told her once.  “Or they’ll drop in all the time.”

Of course, she was an exception.

The door opened for her and she went in.

“Zeela,” he said warmly, spitting out some of his green tea chew and rising to greet her.

It was vital that she had good relations with the man for the ship to run smoothly, and so she had done everything she could to cultivate a good relationship.  Sulp had realized the importance as well, and after several years on the ship they had become true friends.  Probably Sulp’s only close friend on board, she thought.

“What brings you down to the Bilge?” he asked.

“Oh, just wanted to personally check on what you found on the drones that came from Iago Caraval’s quarters.  Have you found out what was causing their problem?”

Sulp grunted, brow furrowing.  It was odd for her to come check on something prosaic, but that meant there had to be something important about it.

“We ran the basic diagnosts,” he said, cutting off the word as he popped fresh chew in his mouth.  “But no issues, ‘sides the fact that his boy apparently liked to glue eyeballs on them.”

“Eyeballs?”

“The googly kind.  Honestly I had wondered who had made an order for 3,000 googly eyes – guess it was him.  Sure would like to know what else he’s be-dewed with eyeballs at this point.”

She had to hold back her laugh.  She had gotten some reports of statues in the gardens getting eyes . . .  But telling him that gem would have to wait.

“They really hadn’t been doing their job,” she said.  “The room was a mess.”

“Would it have killed him to report this himself?  Or stars forbid, just clean his own room?”

“The man went through a trauma, Ham.”

Sulp just shrugged.  “I’ll keep diving deeper and see if there’s a real problem.  But . . . from searching the log, it seems more like he was just telling them not to clean.”

“What?” she asked.

“I see at least forty-two commands to stop cleaning and go into hibernation from the man over the past few days.  Or at least that’s how the drones were interpreting things he said.  We can always look to see if there’s an issue with their speech recognition.”

“I see.  Well . . . hopefully he’ll have better luck with the current set.”

Sulp grunted again and turned away.  “We also bumped his new chair up the queue as you requested.  Should be done in a few minutes and we’ll get it up to him.”

“Thank you.  There is one more thing, though.  I know you were going to leave in a few hours to see a friend-“

Sulp glanced up at her.  “It’s a supply run.”

“Oh, you could send anyone on that.  You just want to see Eabor, and that’s fine, but I thought maybe you could do something else for me?”

The man frowned.  “If I’m on-duty, and it’s not too much trouble, and if I’m in the mood-“

“Here,” she said, handing over a hard copy of the orders.

His jaw fell open.  “You’re shitting me.”

“No, if I was, it’d be something even more absurd, like a trained ostrich.”

“I’d rather that than a spacehound.  You know they shed, right?  At least an ostrich has some good meat, but spacehounds taste-“

“Tat tat!” she said, holding up a hand.  “I don’t want to know what kinds of living creatures you’ve eaten.  I don’t even like to think about what kind of lifeforms people used to eat.”

“Fair ’nuff.  All right, though.  Five of the spacehounds?”  He shook his head.  “People are gonna pet their fur off.”

“It’s a trial run,” she said.  “They’re already trained, and if they’re being pet too much they’ll go to their rest area.  You know the Captain always liked the idea, but the waitlist for Sol System spacehounds is so long-“

“Shouldn’t be so picky,” Sulp said, still eying the paper.  “Some good dogs from a good spacer colony will be a lot better.”

Zeela did not agree with that.  True spacer breeds were often as temperamental as Sulp.  Not biters, but they still were not the friendly, helpful companions most people thought of.

“Well, it’s the perfect time all around.  We could use a morale boost.”

“True enough.  How’s the preparations for the election going, by the way?”

“Just fine,” she lied.  She was going to be very behind, but she’d make it up.

He did not pick up on that, instead turning away, still looking at the paperwork and shaking his head.  He brought out a tablet and scanned the documents before tucking them away.

“That is on my way,” he admitted.  “I’ll do it.  But you owe me one.”

“I’ll get you a great dinner when you return,” she promised with a smile.

---

< Ep 5 Part 11 | Ep 5 Part 13 >

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

---

The door did not open automatically for Zeela Cann, even after her third request for entry.

“Iago, are you in there?” she messaged again.  “I’m here about your request!”

There was still no answer after several long heartbeats.

Iago Caraval had never asked for her help before, only for some others in the Response Teams who were having a hard time.  And calling her over some malfunctioning drones made little sense.

It only made sense if he was having difficulties himself.  Which made sense; while she was not privy to all that he’d gone through on his last mission – even if she had been, she did not want to deal with this weird stuff any more than she had to, honestly – she knew both officially and unofficially that he had been having a hard time.

After some initial recovery, seeming to be getting better rapidly, a lot of people crashed.  They mistook basic recovery for total convalescence, while their body was still trying to process the shock of what they had experienced.

And it was affecting his son Elliot, too . . . Professor Browning had messaged her with his concerns after talking to the boy several times.  He would not open up, not even to his teacher, but his behavior still indicated the boy was having a very difficult time.

Zeela really did not want to have to override the door.  It was a terrible invasion of privacy, and thus far in her career she had never had to do it outside of a medical emergency, which Caraval’s system did not indicate.

Perhaps she should message Elliot . . .

Even as she thought that, though, the door opened, and the boy was standing there.  His eyes were sullen and wary, watching her with the suspicion of a child who thought he was in trouble.

“Hello Elliot,” she said cheerfully, which did nothing to dispel his suspicions.  “Is your father here?”

“Yeah,” he said, even his voice dour.  “Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all, dear,” she said, trying to give a sympathetic smile.  “Your father just called, and so I’m here!”

Stars, she could still recall in her own life standing in his spot, looking up at an administrator who’d been too nice to be believed.  The most memorable had been after the accidental melting of a large portion of a science room in a chemistry demonstration . . .  Though, even in that case it had been ruled an accident and she got an award for her quick and effective clean-up procedures.

Ending her path towards being a chemist, but starting her down administration . . .

Somehow, she did not see that path for Elliot, despite knowing he was exceptionally bright.  As the boy moved from the door to let her in, she saw the mess.

Perhaps there was a severe problem with the cleaning drones.  It should never have gotten like this.

“Iago?” she called.

The room was dark, and before her eyes fully adjusted she saw a form move.  It had been on the floor, near the bedroom door.

“Zeela,” the man said, his voice surprised.  “You’re here.”

“You called me, dear,” she said, smiling.

“I . . . Oh, yeah.  I . . . uh . . .”

“Elliot, dear, would you give me some time to talk to your father?” she asked the boy.

“Sure,” he said, heading for his room.

“You don’t have to go back to your room.  Why not down to the gardens, hm?  I have a drone that will meet you there, and bring you some dinner.  Extra ice cream would be good, I think, how about you?”

The boy’s face perked up.  She knew that the gardens were his favorite place – even if just because they were a good place for mischief.  She felt confident that any trouble he could stir up would be easily dealt with.

“Can I have a mint sippy?” he asked, excitement building.

“That sounds fine to me!” she said.  “Iago, are you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” the man said, forcing his enthusiasm.  “Have fun, bud!  I’ll see you in a bit!”

Elliot went excitedly to the door, but stopped to look back.  His eyes went to his father, and she saw hesitation there, a worry that hurt her heart.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get things sorted here,” she vowed.

“Okay,” he said, and disappeared.

---

< Ep 5 Part 9 | Ep 5 Part 11 >

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

---

Elliot scuffed his shoe on the floor as he walked.  There was nothing to kick; there was never anything to kick on the Craton‘s spotless decks.  Drones came through and picked up what few objects got dropped on the floor – people never just threw garbage down! – and swept or scrubbed or soaped every spot that ever needed it.  If necessary, even some mild radiation to scour a spot clean of dangerous microbes.

He knew all about how it worked because of how many times he’d tested the limits.

Who cared if he threw worms and mud on a wall?  Drones just cleaned it.  Sure, he’d get a scolding, but he hardly cared.  He was mostly curious how fast and upset the drones would get.

He wished he had something to kick.  But he’d lost permission to kick balls down the halls from how many people they had hit.  Sometimes they were accidents.

Passing some of Beetle-Slugs, he whistled out a kind of pidgin hello.  At least, Gracken from the Response Shuttle repair team had told him that’s what it meant.  He couldn’t be sure, but the Beetle-Slugs he met always seemed to appreciate it, and this one replied in a similar sound.

Coming up to the door, he was almost disappointed to be home.  The door detected him and opened automatically.

It was dark inside.  It always was anymore.

Walking in, he had to give his eyes a moment to adjust.

“Dad?” he called.

He heard a sound, and a door opened to his father’s bedroom.

“Elliot,” he said.  “You’re home already?”

“It’s 1430,” Elliot replied.  “I’m supposed to be home now.”

“Oh,” his father replied.  His voice was slightly wan.

Elliot stepped over a book that was laying on the floor.  In a sharp contrast to the ship at large, the apartment floor was cluttered.  Elliot saw a plate with part of a ration roll on it.  His dad had only taken a couple of bites out of it.

“Dad, let me call in the cleaning drones,” he said.

“No,” his father said sharply.  “Something’s broken with the drones in here.  They don’t . . . they don’t clean like they’re supposed to.  They just follow me.”

Maybe because he had ketchup on his shirt, Elliot thought in annoyance.

“I’ll be in my room,” Elliot said, walking off.

“Wait,” his father said.  “I’ll get dressed and we’ll go down to a place we can get dinner together.  How about that?”

Elliot looked at his dad.  “That’s okay,” he replied, and walked on.

---

Iago sat down heavily on his chair, thinking that with how many times he’d let his son down lately, it made sense that he didn’t want to put his hopes in going out for dinner.

Honestly, Iago didn’t know if he could.  He might be able to power through it for the sake of his son, but how many day’s worth of energy would it cost him?

His eyes went over the cabin, at the books, plates, trays, tablets and clothes scattered about.  It was neater than it had been last night.  Oh god, had he gotten up to see Elliot off?  He couldn’t remember.

But the fact that it was tidier suggested that Elliot had cleaned a little before he’d left.

Looking to the partly-eaten ration roll, he felt a stab of guilt that seemed to drain him of even more strength.  His son was having to fend for himself, and he could do nothing to help.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying.  It was all he could do to present himself as being marginally recovering when his superiors checked up on him.  And that was surely achieving little, as they could see all the rest of his biometrics.

If only he could at least keep the place clean.  In a sudden fit, he dropped to the floor, on his knees, and began to gather up things, shoveling them into his arms.

But once he had, he did not know what to do with them.  There was a book . . . he pulled it out, dropping other things, and closed it.  His eyes unfocused as he tried to read the title.

He couldn’t focus.

He didn’t even remember dropping it or sitting down, but he found himself in his chair again.  The mess of the room was now mostly in a pile, and he couldn’t even spare the thought to figure out if that was better or worse.

He had no energy.

“System, get me an energy pill,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” it replied cheerfully.  “You have reached the maximum daily dosage of energy-enhancing caplets.”

He’d never reached his cap before.  One stim was enough to make a man run long past the point of exhaustion, and the limit was . . . was it three or four?

Damn it, this was basic stuff!

He slammed a fist into the arm of his chair, and to his surprise it broke.

The sound of shattering startled him, and he peeled back the cover to look at the frame.  Part of the plastic had cracked, sharp pieces falling to the floor.

That was impossible.  This stuff wasn’t brittle, it was tough and he wasn’t so strong that he could break it.

A panel opened, and a drone slipped into the room.  It was a cleaning model, and he hated them.  Always underfoot.

It swept up the pieces and he got an alert in his HUD that a new generic chair could be delivered in only four minutes or a custom replica of this one in an hour.

He hit the delay option.  He didn’t feel like even taking in a box.

Something hit his foot, and he looked down.

The drone was there.  It wasn’t even alone.  There were four of the little drones around him.  Just . .  sitting in a semi-cirlce.

Staring.

“Leave,” he ordered.

One moved an inch, but then stopped.  The rest did not budge.

“Get out!” he yelled.

They zoomed back slightly, and he found himself on his feet in a rage, ready to stomp one of the machines.

They scattered and were gone, faster than he even believed possible.

Oh god, he’d almost just stomped a drone.  It wasn’t the kind of thing that would get him in serious trouble, but it was never considered good.

And his snapping temper . . . what if he lost it on Elliot?

Arms wrapping around himself, feeling suddenly cold, he decided he had no choice.

“Contact Zeela Cann,” he said.  “Tell her . . . tell her I need to talk to her about the . . . the drones in here.  There’s something wrong with them.”

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk to Zeela.  She was busy; very busy with the recall election of the Captain, on top of every other brush fire she put out.

But he didn’t think Jaya Yaepanaya could understand his mental state.  Cann was . . . well, she was friendly.  She solved problems in the normal parts of life.

And she’d always looked out for the Response people.  He’d never needed her help, but she’d done a lot for others on his team who suffered burnout.  Who broke down.

Like he was experiencing now.

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< Ep 5 Part 8 | Ep 5 Part 10 >

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

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Urle stared at the broken motivator on his desk, but he could not focus on it.  The device was supposed to power the heavy doors down in restricted sections, but Cutter’s report suggested there was a flaw in their design, and under specific scenarios – specific very serious scenarios – the doors might be able to be forced with pressure on the wrong spot.

It required his serious attention; he needed to make sure that the ship was properly secure, but giving Cutter permission to tear out every door – which the Bicet wanted to do – just to fix this one ‘what if’ issue was a bit much.

Still, they were in port . . .

On top of that, and distracting him from the first problem, was the issue of the election that Zeela Cann was arranging.  Urle had not expected anyone to seriously campaign against Brooks, but now a man on the ship by the name of Aoks Darhan was mounting a campaign.

He had put out a series of points suggesting why he should be the mayor rather than the Captain.  First and foremost was that the Mayor was largely meant to help ameliorate issues between the crew and civilian population, which Brooks, he claimed, had a biased view of.  He brought up their recent action against the Leviathan, and the decision to aid the Hev ship even when they had civilians on board.

Urle could see the man’s points, but it rankled him; Brooks had taken the ethical route, and even been willing to sacrifice himself to make sure the civilian population were safe.  And beyond the Hev ship, it became a matter of trillions of lives who were threatened if the Leviathan had gone to Sol . . .

Still, Urle was currently Acting-Captain, and he could not get involved.  The man had every right to propose himself as an alternative, and if the populace of the ship wanted him, well . . .

At least he wouldn’t have to listen to the man much right now.  There were speeches to be given – Brooks had pre-recorded his – on the day of the vote, and then people would make their choices.  Until then, there were only the ship sites to look at for the details, and reminders for everyone to cast their votes when the time came.

Zeela said that the preparations for the voting were nearly complete.  Each time such an election was held, it was something of a ship holiday if the situation allowed; people were relieved of all but the most vital duties, with food and entertainment.  It had been customary since the days of early socialism.

That made it resource-intense, and however much they might value their democracy, that fact remained.  Ham Sulp had sent him the preliminary list of costs, suggesting numerous cuts in the name of efficiency.  The man was miserly in the use of resources, Urle knew, but because on the Spacer fleet he’d come from, the rationing of supplies was a matter of life and death.

Urle ran the numbers on what supplies the Craton would need to request from the Sol government, the costs and availabilities of those resources of doing so, and found that they were all acceptable.  Sulp had noted that, but still thought it was unwise to be quite so ‘extravagant’, as he put it.  He and Cann got along well most of the time, but he often thought she went too far on these sorts of events . . . even if no one else agreed.

Urle made some notes, thanking Sulp for his thorough work, but then rejected his cuts.  Every resource in food, time, and equipment was easily made up by utilizing their exchange units that the Sol Fleet made available for them.

The Craton was not directly involved in any major economic activity, though she did produce goods for her own use from her gardens; nevertheless, a ship was expensive to run, and technically she belonged to the Sol Fleet as much as her crew and civilian populace, and served as a Ship of Good Will, traveling about and representing the best Earth had to offer to the galaxy.

Being the first ship of her kind, named for the type of asteroid she was made from, she was something of a prize of Earth.  Only a few others like her existed, and with the peculiar properties of the cratonic asteroid she was far more mobile than most ships.

Hell, most ships without less than twenty reactors couldn’t even hope to power their own zerodrive.  That the Craton could was only because of the strange attraction between cratonic matter and zerospace, something that they could not yet explain . . .

Ah, but these stupid doors.  He made a note to Cutter that he’d consider the matter and get back to him by morning.

His system told him that Hannah and Persis were returning from their lessons.  He’d tracked them all their way back by their systems, and turned as they came in.

“Kiddos!” he said happily, opening his arms.

“Daaaad!” Persis said, dramatically flopping into his arms before looking up at him.  “Dad.  Have you heard of a giraffe?  We were talking about how they evolved today, and they had looooong necks, longer even than a door!”

“Wow, did they really?” he asked with a laugh.

He noticed that Hannah seemed quiet.  “How was your day?” he asked her.  “Did you learn anything neat?”

She looked up, a frown on her face.  “Oh, it was fine.  I learned a lot about evolution, too.  The way that genes mutate from transcription errors and external damage . . .”

“You liked the astronomy a lot more,” Persis said to her older sister.  “You seemed way into that.”

“Yeah!” Hannah agreed.  “But the giraffes were cool, too.  Giant necks, dad.  It’s crazy!”

“It certainly is amazing how animals can specialize and speciate,” he agreed.  Hannah looked troubled again, though.

“Persis, why don’t you go get changed, I’d like to talk to Hannah a minute, if you don’t mind.  Then we’ll go get some dinner.  I think I feel like going to Watchito’s for pizza.”

“Yay!” the girl cried, flopping off her father to the floor, and only half-rising, running off with her arms swinging wildly.

Hannah looked nervous.

“It’s fine, you’re not in trouble,” Urle assured her.  “But what’s wrong?”

She was quiet for a moment, then it all burst out.  “Dad, is Iago okay?  Because Elliot is acting weird, and I know his dad was hurt or sick after that last thing he went on, and I’m just really worried . . .”

The flood of words surprised him, and he sat back.  He brought up all the information he had available on Caraval’s situation since the mission to Terris.

The man had had a tough time, but seemed to have much improved.  His markers still noted elevated stress hormones, though, higher than expected, and his home situation seemed like it was going rougher, though not so much that it seemed necessary to intervene yet . . .

He looked over Elliot’s data as well, seeing that the boy had been late to class three times since his father had returned, though not seriously.  He’d also had 12% more demerits and incidents since then, but that made sense, and his teacher was attempting to help him as much as possible.  The AI Teaching system that handled most educational work noted a drop in his attention and correct answers.  The boy was bright, but distracted and stressed as well.

Still . . . all of this was relatively minor.

Dr. Logus’s records were locked, and the man hadn’t had a session with Iago for a few days, since he’d been called into the inner system.  Short of using a zerolink, the light lag was too much for a real-time conversation – over five hours.

It brought to mind Brooks’s trial.  It had started by now.

But he could do nothing about that.

“I’ll check in on him, to be safe,” he told Hannah.  “But let’s go get some dinner first, okay?”

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< Ep 5 Part 7 | Ep 5 Part 9 >

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

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“And before we go on, I would like to give a short list of Captain Brooks’s accomplishments,” Vandoss said.  “Though I am sure all present are well aware of what Ian Brooks has done that has brought pride to the Voidfleet, humanity, and the Sapient Union, I believe that for the record they should still be stated.”

Kernos nodded.  “Very well, Admiral.”

The older admiral cleared his throat; “As a junior lieutenant in the Trade Fleet Ian Brooks was able to prevent the armed freighter the Calliope Muse from falling into the hand of violent extremists near Tarragon, and became captain of his own tradeship not long after – all before the age of thirty.”

Vandoss gave that a moment to sink in, then continued.  “After joining the Voidfleet and being among the top-scoring students of all time in several areas, he graduated with honors.  After earning a promotion to the cruiser Kilimanjaro, he became ExCom after only six months.  During the Battle of Terris, when the captain of the Kilimanjaro was killed, Brooks took control and saved the ship and most of her crew from a fate worse than death, while leading elements of Battlefleet C on their withdrawal.  After this, Brooks has had two further encounters with Leviathan-class entities, the only man ever to have done so and lived to tell the tale.”

He swept his eyes over the tribunal, to the assessors, the Chairman, and then finally let them linger on Freeman.

“I spit on the idea that Captain Ian Brooks could have shirked or failed in his duties.  It is an insult to every being who wears this uniform that he is being accused of this.”

Brooks struggled to keep his unhappiness from showing, as Vandoss said the last part.  It was bad enough having to hear your praises sung – it never sat right with him – but the admiral’s ending was not going to win them any sympathy.

The Tribunal members, however, did not show any outward sign of reaction.

“If that is all, then we shall continue,” Kernos said brusquely.  “This panel has already reviewed much of the evidence on this case.  But before any judgment can be imparted, we have some questions to ask.”

The man gestured to the Dessei, Nuuan, who stood.

Advisor Nuuan put his eyes on Brooks.  “I would like to know more about your Emergency Action Command that sent a team to the Terris system.”

Before Brooks could say anything, Admiral Vandoss leaned forward and spoke.  “Director Nuuan, that order is not under any official scrutiny.”

“I understand this, System Admiral.  Nevertheless, I wish to know.”

Vandoss frowned heavily and looked to Brooks, leaving the decision to him.

Brooks leaned forward.  “Go ahead, Advisor.”

“You stated for the record that you believed your EAC was justified by the possibility of threat to MS-29.  According to statements from Director Freeman and Ambassador Kell, the being was connected to the system as you feared.  Do you stand by your decision?”

“I do,” Brooks replied.

“Very well,” the Dessei said with a nod, then turned to look at Freeman.  “Director, I understand that you have raised no objection to Captain Brooks ordering this mission.”

“I do not,” the man replied.  “I believe it was entirely warranted.  Though I believe that after establishing this fact, Captain Brooks panicked and violated my commands.”

Vandoss bristled.  “This entire line of questioning is immaterial to the matter at hand.”

“I agree that the Emergency Action Command is not up for discussion at this time,” Kernos said, tapping a rounded sphere on his desk.  A sound echoed through the room, putting all to silence.  “This line of inquiry has gone far enough.  If there are no more questions, then this Tribunal wishes to begin to call witnesses.”

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< Ep 5 Part 6 | Ep 5 Part 8 >