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

---

Pirra pulled the trigger, and the massive weapon in her hands kicked surprisingly lightly against her shoulder.

The cartridge it held, larger than a man’s fist, flew out, not moving quickly, but soaring due to the low gravity.  The firing range could not be in the rotation area, not simply for safety but because the spin would impart odd behaviours in a launched shell.

It didn’t come back down in the tunnel, easily achieving escape velocity; and soaring free until it hit the target coming from the ceiling.  It then exploded.

The burst was as colorful as a rainbow, a small fireball in slow-motion, as the plasma cloud expanded, quickly losing its energy.  It sounded even more fearsome, the whoomph of the gas and roaring of the super-heated air making it sound like a mighty predator.

And the target, once a smiling stick-figure, was gone.  Only a stump of it remained, still smoldering.

“Crash the sky!” she burst.  “That was incredible!”

“Right?” Davo said excitedly.  “I have to tune it down for the micro-grav, of course, but the launcher works even up to 2g, getting a decent distance.  The shells are heavy, but – you saw the effect!”

“I did,” she said.  “Can I shoot it again?”

“Hell yeah!”

Davo helped her load up another canister.  They were big and clunky, but she saw that he’d painted on each of them some witty comment; the current one said “take that” on it.

“Okay – fire in the hole!” she yelled, and clicked the trigger again.

Another smiling target disintegrated with a fiery roar.

She whooped, and Davo laughed.  “I call it the Phobos Panther,” he told her.  “Ah, I can’t wait to try it out in some real gravity!  But the permits to transport something like this are, well . . . let’s just say they’re pretty long.”

“I bet,” Pirra replied.  “I can’t imagine anyone could even claim a need for self-defense in this system.  And, you know, it’s a bit overkill.”

“What do you think of the ergononomics?  I tried to focus on that in this iteration.”

Pirra held the weapon out, giving him some thoughts on what she liked and where it might be improved.

She didn’t want to add, and Davo did not ask, if anyone would actually find some use for it.  The weapon was . . . not practical, not by any stretch.

The plasma shells were too large, and plasma itself had minimal military value.  The heat potential was good, but it spread out too fast – not to mention how easily it could be deflected with simple magnetic fields.

She was glad he didn’t ask; she did not want to have to let him down.

His research field of plasma weaponry had been considered a dead-end for centuries, even among humans.  Among her own kind, she didn’t even know the last time someone had seriously entertained the idea.

The fact, though, that he was building weapons had never sat well with Alexander.

She thought his view was naive.  War had not occurred within the SU since its founding.  And conflict with outsiders was extremely rare in their history.

But it had happened.  And she was Dessei.  Violence was not wholly unknown to them.  It was just never directed outward.

“You take a shot,” she said.

Davo refused, but she insisted, and he took it, trying to hide his eagerness.  He’d said he only had a dozen shells he’d painstakingly fabricated over the last three months.  She knew that meant he likely hadn’t shot it much.

He was like a kid with a new toy as he took aim.  The gun kicked, and the shell exploded.  This one disintegrated two targets.

“What a beauty!” she remarked.  “Reminds me of the aurora I used to see on Enope.”

“Oh?  I thought it was less angled than Earth.  Didn’t know you guys got aurora!”

“I saw them from space!” she said, trilling a laugh.  “I was from a moon, too.  And I could see the poles glowing when we were on the dark side through a telescope.  It was beautiful!”

Davo clicked his tongue.  “Amazing – getting such a view.  I hear it’s a lovely world, I’d love to go see it someday.”

“I’ll be glad to help you see all the best sights,” she said.  “I hope you like beaches.”

“I’ll survive,” he replied with mock gravity.  “Mostly archipelagos, right?”

She nodded, as he loaded up another shell.  “This should really be the last one.  The rest I should save for some more studies.  Here, you shoot it!”

Pirra let herself be convinced, and then took aim.  This shell flew out, but did not explode on contact, instead one end opened and it began to spin, spraying hot plasma and charring the walls.

Their eyes went wide, they waited for any sound of fire alarms, alerts, the hiss of gas escaping – anything.

Nothing terrible came, and they laughed.

“Okay,” Davo said.  “That one doesn’t count, one more!”

---

< Ep 4 Part 24 | Ep 4 Parts 26 & 27 >

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

---

“Alex!  Pirra!  We’re so glad you could make it!” Eileen Shaw said, embracing first her son, then her daughter-in-law.

Davo Shaw stepped up to hug his son next, pounding him on the back hard.  Alexander laughed and returned the favor.  They almost started tumbling in the low-g from the force.

Pirra was happy to see Alexander so pleased.  Sometimes he had issues with his father, but he was still glad to arrive and see them, ultimately.

It was so odd to her.  She’d gotten used to it, the human connection to their parents.  But it was a strange concept.

Dessei had tight communities, strong bonds within them, but they did not really hold their specific genetic birth parents very closely.  There was a certain respect, and one tended to have more interaction with their birth parents more than others.  But it was not like human families.  They had simply performed a service in their birth, but they were then children of their community, their culture, their island.

The sheer joy humans seemed to take in family had grown from an oddity to something she relished.  It was just so pure and . . . well, cute in a way.

“And Pirra,” Davo continued, once he’d broken away from Alexander.  “How’d you like that new landing system?  Dr. Joy set it up himself!”

Pirra smiled.  “It was very impressive,” she said.

To be honest, she didn’t trust homebrew systems.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the scientists and engineers of the odd little commune of Phobos.  But, well, she wasn’t about to trust her life to someone’s pet auto-docker.  She’d seen too many custom projects that had turned out to be deadly.

Without letting Alexander see (as he had been immensely proud of it as well), Pirra had queried Joy’s system, checked its algorithms and projected flight plan for their rental zoomer, the specs of the equipment, confirmed the inspection tickets, let her system back-trace the supply chains to confirm their credentials, and then had run a few numbers herself.

It had passed muster, and she reluctantly let it take control of their craft.  It was all very odd, and she didn’t like that.  But it seemed safe enough.

“Oh, Alex, don’t make Pirra carry all that,” Eileen chided her son.  “Pirra, give him some of your bags.”

Pirra shifted, a little uncomfortable.  Humans had some sexual dimorphism, more than her kind – males had taller crests but that was about it.

Besides that, Eileen had never quite understood that she was stronger than Alexander, but all the same it was kind of sweet.

But most of all, they were in microgravity, barely a thousandth of Earth’s.  The bags weighed practically nothing.

“It’s fine,” she said.  “I’ve got enhanced muscles.”

“Still, you should have better manners with your beautiful wife,” Eileen said, patting Alexander’s arm in a way that approached but was still not a slap.

“Mom, Pirra’s fine,” Alexander replied, laughing.

“Well, let’s not dawdle here,” Davo said, waving for them all to follow.  “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do!”  He caught Pirra’s eye, grinning, and she felt jubilation glee grow inside her.

She had heard that sometimes human parents did not take well to the spouse of their child.  It could even be quite unpleasant for them.  But Davo and Eileen seemed to adore her.

Phobos station was a very old design, built hundreds of years ago and later abandoned.

The moon was merely a captured asteroid, and like many such bodies was just a rubble pile held together rather loosely by gravity.  The original builders had used an experimental titanium foam to fill in the gaps in the asteroid.  It had held, though it was far from stable.

After that, the colonists had built a shallow rotating cylinder, apparently the first attempted on this scale in the Sol system.  While it had sort of worked, it had also threatened to shake Phobos apart – and so the whole asteroid had been abandoned.

But about fifty years ago, a group of oddball scientists and artists had imagined bringing new life to the moon.  Using modern technologies, they had melted key parts of it together, cooling it afterwards in just two years with modern heat-transfer technologies.

And then they’d moved in, building new labs, new studios, and even revamping the rotation cylinder, adding the housing units in it so they could have nearly Earth-like gravity.

The floors, she thought, were mostly original.  The steel plates had faded to a dull gray, trodden by feet over many decades until they had indents.

The walls, though, were murals of color.  What she could only call graffiti but knew they locals called art, covered most of the public surfaces.

“How is Phobos Station doing?” Alexander asked.

“Oh, we’ve got supply problems out the wazoo – nothing vital,” Davo replied, snorting.  “Don’t worry, we get plenty to eat and all that.  But Mars supply ships hate trying to catch this place, so trying to get specialist parts or rare elements can be difficult.  And we don’t have a particle collider, so we have to import all those things.”

“Gold is so hard to get,” Eileen added.  “Can you believe it?  It’s like back in the pre-space days when they used it as money!”

Alexander chuckled.  “Yeah, I heard they were batty for it back then.”

“Gold, really?” Pirra asked.

“Oh, yes,” Davo replied.  “And not even for practical reasons – they just thought it was pretty.”

They boarded a boxy container that sped them up to match the rotation cylinder.  Slowly, they went from floating to standing.  When the doors opened, they didn’t have far left to go – only a few hundred people lived on Phobos.

The front door of the Shaw residence was large enough to admit a small vehicle.  Their room had once been a supply area for the original station, simply refit into living quarters.  Davo loved it, as he could get big equipment in and out.

A drone met them and took their bags as they went in, and Pirra delighted in the squashy chairs that seemed to have no equivalent on the Craton.

Plopping into one, sinking in so deeply that it nearly swallowed her, she leaned back and sighed.

“I love this chair,” she said aloud.

Davo sat down across from her, while Eileen and Alexander headed to the kitchen.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Davo said, grinning.  “I got the launcher working.”

Pirra escaped the grasping chair, sitting up.  “You lie!”

“It’s true!  It’s not pretty.  But it works!  It’s more of a grenade launcher than a true plasma lobber, but the shells explode on impact!  Oh, it’s beautiful.”  He grinned.  “You have to come see it.”

“Alexander!  I’m going to go look at some of the projects your father has been working on,” Pirra called out.

“Have fun blowing stuff up,” he called back.

Davo grinned, and the two scampered back out the door.

---

< Ep 4 Part 23 | Ep 4 Part 25 >

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

---

As the trip progressed, the drone explained to her how to use her tablet to view the outside cameras.  By pointing it anywhere, she could essentially see through the floor, and gaze at the Earth below.

As soon as she looked down, she saw the storm.

“Uh . . . is that a problem?” she asked.

“There is no cause for alarm.  While a rare storm is moving through the area, it is not any danger to Lundgren Tower’s cable or this car.”

It looked serious to her.  The clouds were dark and angry, occasionally lighting up with a flash from the inside.

They were less than a hundred kilometers from the surface, within the atmosphere, and nothing blocked her view of the storm from above.

She’d never seen anything quite like it.  She knew of storms, they were a proverbial sign of trouble even among spacers, but there were none on an asteroid colony.  Supposedly Hope’s Dawn had some monster storms, but she’d never seen them . . .

Her nervousness increased as they closed with the storm, and as they dipped inside the cloud she jumped in her seat.

A woman strapped in nearby looked over at her, concern on her face, and Apollonia awkwardly looked away, pretending not to notice.

There was a lot of tension among the people in the lowering car, it had been rising noticeably in the last few hours.  She saw sweat beading on their foreheads, eyes flickering around nervously at every shake and bump.

“Unusually strong Storm out there,” one man said to another.

But it wasn’t the storm, she thought.  It was because of her presence.

Whatever it was that caused her to see and know things that no one else could know also made people innately and acutely uncomfortable in her presence.

The storm, at least, gave them an external locus for their discomfort.  People couldn’t always pin it on her specifically if the situation itself was a little stressful.

She was always acutely aware of the fact that people were bothered by her presence, but at least right now there was something of an out.  They – hopefully – wouldn’t just blame her and think there was something wrong with her.

The camera view was just grayed-out, and she could see no more until they broke through.

The rain looked like it was falling in sheets, and she gasped aloud, drawing more eyes.

“I’ve never seen rain before,” she said, tired of pretending she wasn’t amazed.

“Me neither,” one young man said.  “I grew up in the asteroid belt.  Where are you from?”

She hesitated; would these people even know where the Begonia system was?  Or even worse, had they heard of the terrible conditions there and would pity her?

“I’m from a distant colony,” she finally said.  “I just happened to be this way so I thought I’d see Earth.”

“You’re lucky,” the woman said kindly.  “I’ve waited five years for a pass to the surface!”

“Five years!” Apollonia echoed, surprised.  “That’s a long time.”

“It’ll be worth it,” she replied, looking satisfied.  “For just to one time touch the world where we came from?”  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

Apollonia felt a tingle down her spine.  “Yeah,” she said.  “I kind of feel the same way.”

---

She hardly noticed when gravity had returned on the elevator, but now that she had reached the surface she felt almost wobbly.  The gravity seemed a little higher than on the Craton, though maybe it was her imagination.

Walking slowly off the elevator, she felt her heart pounding in her chest.

She had arrived.

The base of Lundgren Tower had massive windows, the likes of which she’d never seen before.  They were actual windows, not just screens.  It was hard to tell any difference from a good screen, but just knowing that she actually looked out upon reality made a difference.

The storm still thundered above, the rain splattering the glass, but it didn’t seem to be coming down that heavily.  It limited visibility, but it did not hide the thing she was most impressed by – the ocean itself.

“How do I go out there?” she asked.

“There is an observation platform that way-” the drone began.  She was already jogging over, and it had to catch up.

The doors opened, and a heavy scent rolled in with the air, along with a spray of rain.  She had wondered if falling rain would hurt when it hit you, but these drops felt just pleasant.

She gasped then laughed and ran out, letting the salty smell and raindrops surround her.

Practically dancing, she found herself near the edge of the balcony, and looked out, seeing, for the first time, the ocean up close.

A few of the waves were whitecapped, but mostly it simply heaved, roiling and rising and falling under the winds of the storm.

“It’s all water?” she asked the drone that still hovered with her even as she braved the rain.

“The depth is approximately 3,000 meters,” the drone told her.

She leaned to look off the edge, and suddenly a new drone was in her face.

“Please step back from the railing,” it said politely but firmly.  “It is dangerous to risk falling into the water.”

“I just want to see it,” she said.

“Miss?” a person’s voice spoke.

She turned and saw it was a uniformed young man, watching her with some concern.

“I’m Glyndwyr, Station Steward.  I can help you get settled in for the night.”  He looked up at the sky.  “It’s not a good day for sight-seeing.  Not a lot to see, with these clouds so low.”

“I’m happy just seeing the water,” she said.

“I understand, but the drones aren’t going to stop bothering you if you look off the side like that – it’s because of the storm and rain, more chance you’ll slip off.  I suggest getting some rest and then coming back to look around tomorrow.”

He seemed nervous, and growing moreso.  She knew it was a reaction to her, and she suddenly felt weary.

“All right,” she agreed.  “I’ll come back in the morning.”

“Just follow me, miss.”

---

< Ep 4 Part 22 | Ep 4 Part 24 >

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

---

Ten minutes later, Brooks found himself waiting.  He’d missed his shuttle, but that was all right.  He could take another.

Right now, he decided to take a moment just to appreciate the view.

The Earth was small from here.  Still over 300,000 kilometers away, Gagarin station orbited at Lagrange 1, the point of rough gravitational balance between the planet and its moon.

From here he could see the blue oceans, the wisps of clouds.  A thin line seemed to intersect the planet, which he knew was the new planetary ring, constructed in the decades since the catastrophe.

For nearly ten years the Earth had been cut off from the outside.  Now, it was almost like it hadn’t happened.

Once he was closer he’d be able to see the scars on the surface from the big impacts.  Mostly centered around the equator, many had been smoothed over, reclaimed.  But the badlands, areas of environmental collapse, wrecked by the savage swings of climate in the last thousand years, had not been erased.

Not all of them were dust bowls, either, he knew.

“Now boarding Flight 1016, bound to Southern Polar Regions,” the call came, and his system helpfully reminded him that this was his new flight.

He dawdled a moment, appreciating how beautiful Earth looked from here.  It was nice not seeing the scars.

Tearing himself away, he moved to board his flight.

“Call ahead and arrange all the gear,” he told his system.  “And rent a piloted crawler.  I know the way.”

“Destination?” his system queried.

“Perry, Antarctica.”

---

Apollonia boarded the shuttle when bidden.  She’d wanted to ask someone questions, clarify just where she was going, but she couldn’t think of how to phrase it – or get the attention of any staff.

She was going to Lundgren Tower, apparently, whatever it was.

It occurred to her that her tablet should, as Brooks told her, have her answers.

“What is Lundgren Tower?” she asked it.

It immediately answered back that the likely answer based on context was one of the Space Elevators that connected to the new – and still under construction – orbital ring around Earth.

“Where will the drone take me when I get there?”

The answer came back; “Wherever on Earth you want.”

Her heart thudded in her chest.  Brooks was giving her a ticket to anywhere?

She wondered, though, if there was still anything left to see.

“Are there are any forests?” she asked.

A list of forests whose names she did not even recognize came up.  “Are these natural forests that have been around a long time?” she asked.

The system seemed to ponder that question.

“Nearly all forests were planted since the Orbital Ring Collapse,” it finally said.

She asked for pictures, scrolling through the images of trees.  They were small, not having had time to grow into the giants she’d always heard of and dreamed about.

She didn’t even notice when they took the dashgate, nor when they exited.  She was just looking through all the images of trees.

“Please prepare for docking,” she heard, looking up.  She had lost track of the time in her interest.

None of the forests were quite what she’d hoped for, and she didn’t know if she could get her tablet to really understand what she actually wanted.  But if she had to she could just pick one of them.

The ship docked, and she tucked her tablet into her pocket, confirming that the card Brooks gave her was still with her.

With the others – none of whom seemed to pay her much mind – she exited the ship and got onto the station.

She found some amusement with the fact that she was more adept in the zero-g than most of the others, and flipped herself onto the ceiling easily to pass some of the slow-movers.

“Tourists,” she muttered, amused.

Outside of the docking area, she saw a drone waiting.  It obligingly flipped over to be on her plane.

“Greetings, Ms. Nor,” it said in a pleasant voice.  “If you would follow me, I will guide you to the elevator.”

“Thanks,” she said, then felt stupid for thanking a drone.

It floated away, and she pulled herself along the ceiling after it, moving more fluidly than most.

They moved past a window and she stopped.

Down, below, she could see part of the Earth.

It was blue, just ocean, with wisps of streaky clouds hiding some of the darker water.

It was the closest view she’d ever had of a planet.  And it was the homeworld.

She lingered, the drone stopping and waiting patiently.

“What am I looking at?” she asked.

“You are viewing the Pacific Ocean,” the drone told her.  “Lundgren Tower is anchored to the Earth at the equator, approximately 100 degrees West of South America.  At its base end is a floating platform.  It is not technically a tower, but rather a tether-“

“Why is it all so dark?” she asked.

“It is night time,” the drone replied.

She craned her neck to see if she could see the tower – or tether, apparently – itself.  But she could not.

“Your elevator will be departing soon.  If you wish to catch it, we should be moving.”

“All right,” she said, stepping away.  “It’s just the first time I’ve seen it.  I . . . I guess it means something to me.”

“Please follow me,” the drone said, oblivious to her words.

The space elevator was large, but not as impressive as she’d expected.  The trip, her tablet told her, would take around seven hours.

She didn’t like that.  It should take two-three minutes for re-entry, tops, in her mind.  She’d heard of space elevators, of course, but in most thing she saw the people going down to a planet opted for an ablative re-entry, with all the dramatic plasma and glow that entailed.

Though, she reasoned, considering how often those went wrong in the shows, she was glad to take something that was perhaps safer.

A message appeared, from Brooks.  Surprised, she brought it up.  It was only a few lines of text.

“There’s no Rafflesia flowers, but there’s a forest I think you’ll like.  Show the Guide Drone and it will get you there.”

An image came up, and she saw the forest.  There was no name – only an image.

Oh yes, she thought.  She liked that.

“Hey, drone?” she said.

“How can I help you?” it asked.

“What is this forest called?”

“It is the Sequoia Cloud Forest,” the drone told her.

She felt a tingle go down her spine.  “Take me there.”

---

< Ep 4 Part 21 | Ep 4 Part 23 >

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

---

“There you go, Ensign Roren, all done with the exam!” Dr. Y said cheerfully.

The ensign smiled, but it was wan.  He was something of a worrier, though it was not extreme.

Y’s sub-routines compared the man’s relative levels of anxiety and stress markers against Boniface Tred.  They were not close; that man had some of the highest rates of such markers Y had ever seen in someone in a healthy state.  His auto-planning routines, that scanned for patterns in all incoming information for data that he might consciously miss, loved to use Tred as a comparison whenever human stress levels came up.  Perhaps that could be problematic, he would have to tinker with those algorithms later.

“Is everything okay?  Do you know why I’ve been feeling so tired?  And . . . getting the rashes?” he asked.

“All signs point to it simply being stress, Ensign Roren,” Y replied.  “It has been a stressful time, so it is perfectly understandable – and normal.  Even I’ve had to have my joints oiled a bit more often than normal!”

Roren’s head tilted, confused.  He did not know if Y was joking or not.

“And I know you generally are worried by doctors,” Y continued.

“You’re better than most,” the man mumbled.

“Why thank you, Ensign Roren.  I believe if you simply take some time off – I shall order it if you like – and attempt to relax, you will feel better.”

“Okay,” the man said.

“And to help with that, I am going to send a prescription to your system – slightly altering your shampoo mixture, and adding slightly more zinc into your diet.  Those two should help the rashes.  Simply accept the recommendations when you get home, and they shall be implemented!”

“Thank you, doctor,” the man said, looking genuinely relieved.  It was such a perfect representation of the emotion that his auto-planning routine marked the record for later analysis.  Could not hurt to be able to recognize human emotional states better!

Roren left, and he saw that he had only two minutes until his next appointment.  So many routine ones backed up!

His drones cleaned the room, and he cleaned his chassis.

His next appointment came in – Dav Gannin, one of the emigrants from New Vitriol.

Now there was stress, his auto-planning system thought in admiration.

Quiet you, he told it, lowering its relative presence in his thoughts.  Though not quite muting it entirely; that was never wise.

“Greetings, new citizen Dav!  I am pleased to see you today.”

The man nodded and mumbled back his own greeting.

At first, he’d been quite hostile.  Like Apollonia Nor, he did not trust doctors.  But Y was pleased to see that, like with Apollonia, the man was beginning to show signs of trust.

“I apologize for the long wait for your appointment,” Y said.  “As you know, we’ve been so overwhelmed with recent events and had to delay routine appointments.”

“It’s only been a week,” Dav replied.

“I promise you that under normal conditions you should be able to walk in during any clinic hours,” Y replied.  “And receive prompt care.”

The man didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and Y moved him on to the actual tests.

They were relatively fast, though he had a number in mind, taking all of ten minutes.  The blood draw was unobtrusive, and the man was still waiting for it to start by the time Y was done.

“Now, let me go over these results.  I will return shortly!”

Leaving the room was largely a formality.  While he was quite capable of analyzing the data in an instant and telling his patients, he’d found that this speed created some discomfort; they thought he was not taking enough time to reach good conclusions.

Rather than fight it, he simply went with it.  Humans would adjust, eventually and then they’d all have a laugh over it.

In the other room, he analyzed the data as Dav dressed.  When he’d first given the man a check-up, back on New Vitriol, he’d marked him as being surprisingly healthy, but needing a follow-up.

Compared to those initial tests, he saw that the balance of lipids and nutrients in his blood were far more balanced.  Better results would come over time, but having sufficient – and quality – food and drink were doing wonders for the man.  Though he was seeing signs of insulin resistance still.  He’d have to make some tweaks.

It was exciting that his numbers needed tweaking!  That was so rare when he generally had medical information from each patient going back their entire lives.  It allowed one to create a very good prediction, to chart their entire life’s needs in vitamins, medications, and nutrients – barring some drastic external force.

But Dav was from New Vitriol, and his ancestors had split from the rest of the human gene pool hundreds of years before.  Natural mutation, radiation damage, and other factors related to this split, along with the total lack of medical history, made this a very exciting case.

Making notes to check back on this data for several papers he was working on, he pressed on through

Ah, a tumor.  It was a mature teratoma, with a high chance of being benign.  Still, they should remove it.

He went back into the room.

Dav seemed nervous, though he was re-dressed.  Y had given him enough time for that.

His auto-planning routine thought maybe it’d be best to lie to the man; any mention of a tumor or cancer might cause undue concern.

He rejected that as unethical, even if it was the path that brought his patient the most comfort.  If the man later found out the truth it would destroy trust and cause much more alarm.

“It seems that you require a minor operation to remove a harmless mass,” he said.  “Do not worry, it is quick and painless, we can schedule you for ten minutes from now if you wish, or do so tomorrow or the day after.”

The man blinked.  “A tumor?” he asked, his face creasing.

“In the technical sense, yes, but I feel very confident that it is benign.”

Tell him it has teeth and hair, one auto-planning routine suggested, that it looks like a clown.

This APR primarily suggested humorous ideas, but this was not a good one.  Not even if he could liken it to a clown.

“Can you get it all?” the man said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Y said.  “After primary removal we will do some clean-up with some medical probes, and will continue to monitor your health afterward.  So!  Would you like to have that done today?”

The man considered, then nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Sure.  I mean, it’s still free, right?”

“Nothing is free, Dav Gannin, but you will not be charged money,” Y said.  “Healthcare is a right of everyone in the Sapient Union.”

The man looked very shocked again, and another APR that focused on past causes of human behaviour suggested documents relating to the history of medical care on New Vitriol.  He did not need to review them to know it had been run for profit, and had therefore been quite inadequate for anyone who wasn’t wealthy.

The man left, and Y considered doing the operation himself.  He’d enjoy doing it, but he knew that one of his other doctors could certainly handle it.  In fact, it was someone else’s turn.

Bringing up the list, he weighed the relative difficulty of the operation – it was very low on the scale.  He wanted to make sure his doctors all got a relatively balanced work-load.

Hm, Doctor Zyzus was due next, this was easily within his skillset.  He sent a message to the man, informing him.

It hardly needed supervision, but the SU preferred to have a surgeon on hand all the same.

Zyzus sent back a confirmation, Dr. Y noted that the drones were finished cleaning the room.

Dav had been his last appointment for the day.  In fact, the last of the backed-up appointments were being attended to by his doctors right now.

Heading out of the room and towards his office a dozen steps down the hall, he went through the remaining paperwork he had, first for his appointments, then for general work.

Time enough to work on his papers!  Scanning through the information he’d noted during the appointments, he made some changes to his latest paper, feeling it was actually quite ready to publish.  He’d sit on it for a day or two more, just to be sure.  It was very conservative of him, but sometimes it paid off.  And he did need to slow his pace of publishing.  He’d published over two hundred already this arbitrary yearly cycle, and there was such a thing as over-saturation.

Scanning over the whole of the document, he noted that it would be the ten thousandth he’d published in his career in the Sapient Union.  While it was only a number to him, humans seemed to like large, even numbers like this.  Perhaps this would be a sort of anniversary they’d be excited for?

Making a note to model that idea later, he then made some notes in his personal log and decided on a whim to adjust the height of his chassis units undergoing maintenance by one centimeter.  A fresh angle could add some zest to life and help him see things he had overlooked.

He took his twelfth step and was at his office.

Inside, he had . . . well, no work left.

Ah, well.  He’d just stand here for a while.  Perhaps he’d go ahead and model that potential celebration idea.  It was always pleasant to think of his friends.

---

< Ep 4 Part 19 | Ep 4 Part 21 >

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

---

Pirra had awoken awhile ago, but hadn’t opened her eyes yet.  It was a habit of hers, to continue to sit and rest even after she’d awoken.  If nothing demanded her attention, if she still had time, she would simply sit.  And think.

Sometimes thinking too much could be unhealthy, she’d learned.  Delving too deep into your own psyche was a good way to get lost.

Not that she’d ever say that to anyone else.  Especially not Dr. Logus.

She still remembered how he’d maneuvered her so clearly to see her own exhaustion after the events with the Leviathan.  It had been uncanny for a human to know her mind so well.  Alien psychologies were just that.  Or at least she’d always thought so.

He was awake, too.  She wasn’t sure if he’d even slept, and she didn’t wish to open her eyes to get a look; there was no missing a Dessei peeking, not with how big their peepers were.

She didn’t know how far along into their journey they were; she couldn’t check without opening her eyes.  But she wanted to know – and that, combined with her own annoyance with her inner thoughts, compelled her to finally ‘awaken’.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said.

“Ah, hello, Pirra.”

The man looked tired, though he might simply be waking up.  She and Alexander had gone to sleep not long after first boarding, had most of a day, and then slept again.  This time she’d slept eight hours.  That was quite a lot for her, six was more common.  Enope, her homeworld, only had a twenty-hour day.

Just slightly over an hour left of their trip.

“Did you rest?” she asked Logus.  She recalled waking a few times and seeing him shifting.  She wasn’t sure if he’d slept more than a few hours the whole trip.

“Aye,” the man replied.  “But not well.  I’m afraid I never sleep well in a dash.”

“There’s something odd about them,” Pirra agreed.  “In my neo-physics class it was noted that about 30% of beings seem to feel that way.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Logus replied.

“Personal interest, sir?” she asked.

“Ah, just Arn, if you please,” Logus replied.  “No need to be formal when we’re off-duty.  But to answer your question, it’s actually a part of my training – I need to know what things might affect a person’s mental state after all.”

He grew thoughtful.  “What is curious about it to me is how consistent that one-third number is among different species.  It holds as true for Dessei as humans as Jellypods.  Isn’t that odd?”

She nodded.  “I seem to be in the majority, though.  I’m not particularly bothered by dashes.”

“No?  My apologies, but I thought you seemed antsy,” Logus said.

She forced a smile.  “Something else.  I dislike being confined in a small area for long times.”

“Oh, of course,” Logus replied.  “And my apologies if I was prying – I’m sure you understand that it’s hard to turn off the professional side.”

“It’s fine, sir- I mean Arn.”

Alexander suddenly snorted and sat up.  He was in an alarmed stupor, hair matted to one side of his head.

“Are we at Titan?” he asked blearily.

“Still an hour out,” Pirra told him.

“Oh,” he replied, and laid his head back down.  She reached up and stroked his hair.

A moment later he let out a soft snore.

“If I may turn professional for a moment, Pirra – how have you been?  Have the nightmares lessened with the new medication?”

Pirra felt suddenly on the spot.  She wouldn’t normally have minded, but she’d not taken the medication he’d suggested.

“Oh, well the nightmares seem to be going away on their own, so I decided not to take those,” she replied.

“Oh?” Logus asked.

Of course he wouldn’t let it go . . .

“I didn’t like the list of side-effects,” she replied.

“It’s perfectly fine to choose not to take it,” Logus replied.  “But may I ask which side-effects you were bothered by?”

“The fact that it inhibits dreams entirely,” she told him, before elaborating.  “I’m not comfortable with a total lack of them.  It feels wrong.”

Logus seemed to find that curious; at least, that was as best as she could read his expression.

“I understand,” he said.  “I am glad the nightmares are fading.”

It wasn’t entirely true, of course.  And she had a feeling he saw right through her; she was still anxious.  Still relieved that she was waking somewhere other than Monitor-1.

Alexander snorted and sat up again, this time more slowly.  He seemed actually awake this time.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She told him.  “You woke up just a few minutes ago,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, clearly not remembering it.  Blinking, he nodded to Dr. Logus.

“I think I need some coffee.  Do you want some, doctor?”

“No, thank you,” Logus replied.

“Honey, want to come with me?” he asked, getting up.

Pirra nodded.  “Sure,” she said.

She had the feeling he’d been at least somewhat awake for a minute or two; that he was only getting up now in order to get her out of a conversation he knew she didn’t like.

He was a good husband, she thought, as they left the compartment.

---

< Ep 4 Part 18 | Ep 4 Part 20 >

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

---

“About your time here . . .” Urle said.

That topic change seemed to bother the Ambassador.  Urle had a flash of insight.

“It’s been our pleasure and honor to host you.  I admit, when you asked me for a bill, I was dismayed.  I assumed you understood it was in exchange for your presence.  Our two peoples do not have enough connections.  We could always stand to strengthen them.”

His words were flattery, but with a grain of truth.  Humanity did not have very strong ties to the Hev yet, but they were very mutually beneficial – with caveats at times.  But still, friendship and knowledge were things they always hoped to find in the infinite inhospitability of space.

“You honor me, Acting-Captain,” N’Keeea said.  He aped a human gesture, tapping his chin.  “In the vein of such favors, if you truly feel indebted to me, perhaps there is one I might ask of you?”

Urle’s heart beat faster, but he adjusted it back down to stay calm.  Finally!  They were getting somewhere!

“You may ask me anything,” Urle said, translating and slightly modifying a commonly-used Hev trader expression.  “If it is in my power, I will consider it.”

“My people have an interest in your own.  I have come on a . . . goodwill tour, of sorts.  First through Dessei space, then Sepht, and now yours.  It would be the crowning jewel of my tour if I were able to bring an official of peace and friendship back to my people.”

“Of course,” Urle said.  “To send an ambassador is quite possible.”  That was an extremely simple request, he thought.  Surely that wasn’t all N’Keeea wanted.  The Sapient Union was always happy to send out diplomats.  One reason they were spread so thin.

“Only,” N’Keeea said, as if suddenly remembering.  “There is one issue.  It is a small matter, but I suppose in the interest of friendliness I should inform you; we are currently at war with another Clan.  A Red Clan known that I believe in the SU are known as the P’G’Maig.”

Urle’s systems raced and brought him all relevant information on the P’G’Maig.  He almost reeled as he saw that they were among the most powerful of Red Hev clans.  They were one of the largest as well, with a populace estimated to be at 439.8 billion with a controlling interest in fifty-two systems.

“Ah, I see.  That’s unfortunate, I have heard that they can be . . . quite aggressive,” he said carefully.

So this was it.  N’Keeea wanted the Sapient Union to become involved in this war.  To tip the balance.

His heart plummeted.  He could not put himself or the Sapient Union into this position – and he was upset that the being had even asked him.  There were very few times the Sapient Union would enter a conflict.

Though . . . offering to arbitrate might not be off the table.

“You know, I realize that I know very little about your people,” he said.  “Can you tell me of your clan?”

“Yes, of course,” N’Keeea said.  Nervousness poured off him again.  “We are the T’H’Tul.  Among the oldest of Hev Clans, dating back to the first migration.  We have lived for thousands of years in the Mopu System, and under that ancient star we shall all one day perish.”

The pride and joy in his voice underscored the significance of his words.  Urle’s systems could find very scant references to the clan of which he spoke, though the honorary T’ in front did suggest it was a very old clan.  These markers were some of the few that remained somewhat consistent among them, as they were something that other clans typically added.  Each part had a meaning, beyond the name itself – a code for their status in the eyes of the rest of their kind.  To lie about your clan’s status – or imply you belonged to another – was very dishonorable, something to do only when you were sure you could get away with it.

T’ meant honored and ancient.  But H’ was something he had to struggle for.  Only a split second had passed, longer than most of his earlier searches.  It was not in the typical lexicons on Hev honorifics that he found it; it was in dispatches decoded between warring Hev clans.

H’ had a very specific meaning.  One coined specifically by the Red Clans.  It was rare, because those given the term did not survive for long.

It meant that the clan was marked by another for death.

“Did you say,” he spoke to N’Keeea, “that your people live in a single system?”

“This is correct, yes,” the Ambassador replied.  “We are a small clan, among the settled.  There are . . . oh, only about ten million of us left.”  He quickly and hastily added.  “Though I cannot say how many might be alive now.  A year is a long time when there is a war of extermination launched against you, after all.”

Urle stopped in his tracks.  “A war of extermination?!”

“Yes,” N’Keeea said.  His head, suddenly, fell low.  “My people are not long for this universe.  But!”  He raised his head again, affecting hopefulness while every biophysical sign suggested the opposite, “We are still pleased to make what friends we can.”

Urle was still stopped in place.

“Ambassador – why did you not tell me how desperate your people were sooner?”

N’Keeea flinched visibly.  “Desperate is not quite the word, we are simply coming to you as one equal facing another.  We owe nothing to anyone, and are owed by many.  It is simply that . . . calling in debts can at times be . . . precarious.”

Urle struggled to make sense of that.  “You are more stoic than I would be in the circumstances, Ambassador.  This situation . . .  I wish I had known sooner.”

N’Keeea said nothing.

“Have the Sepht or Dessei promised help?” he asked.

“They were . . . reluctant.  Due to certain provisions of law, they were . . . regretfully unable to take the actions we requested.”

“What?  Why?”

“You would have to ask them, as I am not free to discuss these issues,” N’Keeea replied.

Urle brushed that aside for now.  “What is it you wish for me to do?”

“Do?” N’Keeea asked.  “I was hoping you could send an Ambassador.”

“I’m not sure that we could send one into a warzone,” Urle replied.  “Unless you think the P’G’Maig would be open to meeting with-“

“No,” N’Keeea replied.  “I do not think they would.”

“I cannot make a final call here,” Urle said.  “I don’t have that authority.  But I can tell you that we cannot fight a war for you, Ambassador.”

“I do not ask that,” N’Keeea replied.  “Only for an Ambassador.”

Urle realized they were going in circles.  “I can’t make any promises, either,” he said.  “But I want to help.  I will have to talk to someone.”

N’Keeea was unblinking, staring at him.  “I would be quite pleased if you would, Acting-Captain.”

---

< Ep 4 Part 17 | Ep 4 Part 19 >

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

---

Urle wondered just how Brooks ever found the time to take a stroll through the Equator ring.

It had been hours since the Star Angel had arrived, and though it had been the main task on his docket for the day, he’d barely had a moment to think since then.

The official work of being captain was deceptively easy.  Each department head was highly competent and there was little friction between them, aside from Sulp’s frequent outbursts, which were more a cultural habit than anything else.

But it was the unofficial work that he found was eating up his every hour.  At any moment he had at least three situations waiting for him to resolve.  Minor issues, usually, but ones that could not be kicked into anyone else’s court.

Human error had given two vendors rights to a kiosk for the same hours, and while Zeela Cann had tried to arbitrate, they’d both exercised their right to have him decide.

The secondary clearance shafts for reactor five’s heat exhaust were not yet due for replacement, but were only a week out from that date, and should they be switched out while they were in port?  This would incur a cost that only he could decide.

He was due to give two lectures, one after the other, on topics in which Brooks was an expert, yet he was not.  He had Brooks’s notes, but he was still not ready, and yet he was the one who had to give them . . .

Inspections and more inspections, even some involving spacewalks, and of course drills . . .

Then there were the official correspondences Brooks had going with other members of the government in various branches – seventeen of them, currently.  On topics ranging from aquaculture and Earth geology, to navigation and political theory to commentary on 24th-century Antarctic film culture.

And on top of the constant small issues, he had to create a new cruising schedule for after they left port next week.  He’d done that before for ships that were actively patrolling, but the Craton was not on patrol.  Being a city-ship, her itinerary was much looser and between missions she frequently cruised on the Captain’s whim – within limits – wherever he wished.

So where did he wish to go?  Urle was not sure of that.

He’d managed to eke out fifteen minutes to go on a walk.  Brooks had sworn by them, claiming they always helped him keep his thoughts at their best.

But Urle did not think he’d picked the best time.  This was prime time for the equator, early evening, and the area was packed.  His system told him that a significant portion of the ship’s complement were now currently packing the stalls and restaurants and whatnot of the Equator Strip.

What he’d hoped to be a leisurely walk was much more frantic, with people moving around him very busily if he slowed his pace.  He had to more or less keep up with the crowd, which was hardly relaxing.

Taking a turn and slipping through the crowd, he went into one of the food gardens; vertical hydroponic gardens bathed in light, growing fresh produce for the crew.  An entire ecosystem of plants existed here, growing in an intertwined way that encouraged maximum output and health.

It was still crowded, but slightly less so, at least.

Something randomly reminded him of one of the events on his itinerary that Brooks himself had postponed before going off-duty; teaching a class on building model mechanical airplanes.

It was an odd thing for the Captain of a vessel to teach, but he’d seen the models around the man’s quarters, and knew he’d always had an interest in mechanical engineering.

The class had only been delayed.  Did that mean that Brooks planned on staying on the ship no matter what?  If he was removed from his position, he might even be discharged.  Or he could even choose to leave himself.  He’d worked hard for years for his own command, his record better than many who had made captain earlier . . .

Urle again wondered why he was so concerned here.  This charge was not going to stick and Brooks would be back.  His worry was just that; worry.

But Brooks had messaged him since leaving, and while he’d not written much, it was not hard to read between the lines.

His ship had been taken by someone else.  Communications lines had been clogged.  These were conveniently-timed and odd occurrences.  Speaking to some friends of his on Plucharon, Urle had even learned that Dr. Genson from MS-29 had passed through – commandeering an express shuttle.

He could not prove it, but it was possible the man had taken the one assigned to Brooks.  And if he had been brought here, it was quite possible he was a material witness.

His thoughts still mulling, he nearly missed the short being who walked out in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, startled.  “Ambassador N’Keeea, I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Nor I, you.  My apologies, Acting-Captain.”  The Hev offered a dignified bow, which Urle returned, while replaying the events his sensors had recorded.  He saw that N’Keeea had looked right at him, had been watching him.  It was certainly no accident.

Well, that didn’t matter.  The Hev clearly wanted to talk to him, and Urle decided to take the issue by the horns.  “Why don’t you walk with me, Ambassador?”

“Why thank you,” N’Keeea replied, falling into step with him.  Urle tried to measure his pace to match the ambassador’s smaller stature, but to his surprise the being seemed to notice and started to walk faster – fast enough that it was not quite natural for Urle.

N’Keeea still managed to make it seem natural; his kind were adaptable and energetic, equally as home running on all fours as two legs, as well as highly proficient swimmers and burrowers.

He took a full passive scan he could of the being to note anything else he could that might prove useful.  While his systems took a few moments to take in the being’s pheromones and try to suss the meaning out, he studied his physical features.

N’Keeea’s fur was well-groomed, short, healthy, and his eyes were bright and keen.  He was small even for a Hev, despite being slightly overweight.  His tail had been docked, which was something of a fashion among those born into a good family, showing they did not even need it as they did not have to perform dangerous tasks.

All those signs reaffirmed his earlier thought that N’Keeea was doing quite well, or at least his part of his clan was.

But his chemical markers showed that he was also feeling extremely stressed.  Indeed, twitches in his cheeks that would have been imperceptible to normal human eyes suggested he was on alert for attack.

Urle doubted the being was worried about being attacked by him, or probably at all – though he couldn’t rule it out.

He processed this information in an eyeblink, matching his gait to that of N’Keeea without difficulty.

“I am surprised you have not sought to leave and find one of our ambassadors, now that we’re in the Sol System,” Urle said.  “Not that I mind having you as our guest, of course.”

“Ah.  You are too kind, Acting-Captain.  How is Lt. Pirra, might I ask?  She put herself in such danger – it was so little I could do to help her when she had that unfortunate misunderstanding with Captain K’Raaiia.  She suffered no lasting effects from her exposure to the corruption?”

Urle noted how carefully the Ambassador skirted around taking any fault.  It was certainly politick, but an inkling of an idea was coming to his mind.

“She is doing well.  She spoke quite glowingly of you – not so highly of Captain K’Raaiia, who she says was unprovoked in his behaviour.”  He gauged the Ambassador a moment before continuing.  He got mixes of excited signals from the being, going from elation to despair, in that order.

The extremes were immense, though he hid them as best he could.  The Ambassador was clearly no amateur, yet he felt this strongly . . .  Something was going on, and for whatever reason he would not open up about it.

Brooks often gambled, he thought.  And while he was not a gambler, himself, he decided to take the risk.

“His actions put her life in grave danger, however.  If we were to pursue this on legal channels with his clan, may I ask – as a personal favor, off the record – what your stance would be?”

N’Keeea replied at once; “I would be honored to aid my friends in the Sapient Union.  Though I fear that K’Raaiia’s clan is not based close to human territory, and have extensive connections with the Corals and Sepht – you might inadvertently alter your own position with them.  Instead, I recommend that you arbitrarily put economic sanctions on five unrelated captains from his Clan.  When they protest, you will concede those five in return for either punishment of K’Raaiia – or if they refuse, then you extend your sanctions until they agree.”

The flood of information shocked Urle.  The Ambassador was giving him an in-depth strategy aimed at exploiting the psychology of his own kind?  Or at least a clan of his kind.

He had to remind himself, though, that the Hev were not a united species on almost any scale.  Clans could number from the thousand to the billions, but there were still millions of clans, with ever-shifting alliances and wars and conflicts and friendships and mixings.  As soon as one absorbed another, two other factions from its back end would break away.

And there were at least three sub-species of their kind – they had left their homeworld in three successive waves, separated by thousands of years . . .  They were very different, and there were few alliances between descendants of different waves.

He searched for information on similar tactics used against Hev in the past; there were copious examples, from the Beetle-Slugs most commonly of all.  Yet K’Raaiia’s clan was of the second-wave, sometimes called the Blue Hev.  This tactic had had less success in the past against Clans of that lineage than it did against the oldest and most numerous, the so-called Yellow Hev.  To which N’Keeea belonged.

Could he be making a mistake?  Or was there something else he was missing . . . ?

His information on each Clan only went back so far.  The rate at which they collapsed, merged, or arose was so rapid that solid information on any faction rarely went back more than a few hundred years.  And even that information was mostly second-hand, as the majority of Hev revealed little about any clan, and what they did say was often untrustworthy.

So perhaps N’Keeea was leading him wrong, but Urle was not convinced.

He answered the Ambassador promptly.  “That is very generous advice,” he said, feeling so grateful for his enhanced brain that could sift through this data so quickly.  How did Brooks do it with a nearly unaltered mind . . . ?

“Ah, it is worth much to you?” N’Keeea replied.  “I am pleased to have given it freely.”

His posture changed, his tail nub lifting higher, and nose twitched less, and swayed back and forth, the Hev equivalent to holding it high.

---

< Ep 4 Part 16 | Ep 4 Part 18 >