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Dr. Arn Logus was breathing softly, his eyes closed.  At least, from what Brooks could see of his face, that was how it appeared.

The lower half of the man’s face was covered completely by a soft membrane that was slowly regrowing his lower jaw.

The semi-organic cocoon covered his upper torso as well, a thick, slightly yellowish clear substance forming the shape of the arm that would, over the next few months, hopefully regrow and allow him to become whole.

Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy, Brooks knew.  For as much as medical science had progressed, the events that led to the moment of disaster for Logus would not be so easily forgotten.

They had ways of altering the mind, of healing damage – but it was not the sort of thing that was as simple as it seemed.

No matter how well they could understand the pathways of a human mind, how they could map out every neuron and model them on advanced computers, there were ethical questions that no machine could answer for them.

If a person is even just partially the sum of their experiences, then what did messing with those experiences mean for them?  Sometimes people opted to have the worst memories of their lives excised, to truly forget them – at least consciously.  Yet the body did not forget.  In other spaces, something akin to memory could be triggered, causing even more trauma as the individual could be sent into a flashback episode without even knowing why or what the connection was.

They could try to hunt down those memories in the brain, too.  But as soon as you found some you might find others, and soon more might need to be excised than many people – even those severely traumatized – might be comfortable with.

There was no easy fix.  And the cost for any fix at all was high.

After Terris had come a heavy spate of research into the field, Brooks recalled.  At the time, some experts had even spoken to him, as if he was some sort of expert in the subject of trauma.

They argued that his own apparent success in life after surviving the Ring Collapse for ten years made him suited.

He didn’t have answers for them, though.  He did not know how to put into words what he’d done after Terris.  It hadn’t been, in hindsight, the wisest or most responsible life choices.  He’d fled the Sapient Union entirely, going to the fringe frontier of human space.  Even today, sixty years after first contact with the Bicet and other aliens, in some places they were all still struggling to exist alongside each other.  Harmless misunderstandings could lead to violence if that was the real desire of one side.  Different customs, different outlooks, and different goals, with not enough infrastructure or resources to go around exacerbated it all still further.

But he’d thrived out there.  The same skills that had let him survive in Antarctica during the ten-year winter gave him the self-reliance – and sometimes ruthlessness – to prosper.

But it had never been easy.  Literally and mentally.

Dr. Y shifted in his strap-seat, sitting on the other side of Logus.  The doctor had been unusually quiet, his attention on his friend.

Brooks was unsure if Y would have appreciated dialogue.  As Captain, Brooks should try to work for his crew’s morale, and with other people he had always had a knack for it.  But Y was a super-intelligent AI, far beyond him, and anything he might say felt like it would be cheap.

Dr. Y unhooked from his seat and moved over to a control panel, setting minute adjustments to Logus’s regrowth chamber.

Brooks decided that it was better to let the doctor busy himself for right now, rather than talk.  He would speak to him – he would have to – but he would do it later.

For now, he simply looked back down on Logus, wondering just how aware the man was.  Sometimes he seemed like he might have been slightly awake, his eyes cracked open and moving.  But even if he was aware, most likely he would not remember such incidents.  For him, it would be like they never happened at all.

Brooks wondered on Iago Caraval.  The man was having his own battle, all of it in his head, and Brooks did not know which way it would go.

He knew there was a chance that Iago might simply leave the ship.  There were clues that it might happen . . .

And if he did, Brooks wondered if he should let him.

It was what he had done, after all, wasn’t it?

Lt. Commander Pirra’s concern for him came to mind, and he felt uncertain again, wondering if he should have intervened sooner.

But he still felt, in his gut, that to confront the man would have made it all worse.  For all the size of the Craton, its population was around the size of a small town.  To feel confronted in such a small space could lead people to feeling trapped, not loved.

And if that happened with Iago . . . it would make it all so much worse.

At least he did feel confident that the man was not a danger to himself or others around him.  Every psych exam of the man had showed that he had too strong a moral compass and concept of duty to enact violence against himself or others.  Despite that, Brooks had made sure that all of Iago’s armory codes had been taken away.  They’d been brought back only after he’d joined his Volunteer unit, but he hadn’t gone to any meetings of it since the battle.

Of course, someone of Iago’s training could weaponize a lot of ordinary things, if he wanted.  Brooks just didn’t think that he ever would.

Please, he thought, let his intuition be right on that.

< Ep 7 Part 10 | Ep 7 Part 12 >

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

“Dad, where are we going?” Elliot asked.

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question, and Iago couldn’t force another reassuring smile as he replied.

“Somewhere else.”

Their bags were packed, only the essentials.  Most things they’d have to get again, but that was fine.

Going out of the ship, he felt all the eyes on him and his son.  They knew.

At any moment he’d been waiting for the Response team to come out.

For Pirra to betray him, to arrest him, take his son away and lock him up, to rot where they’d . . .

The thought faded.

No Response Team had appeared, but he didn’t let his guard down.  So they wouldn’t be open about it, he thought, as they merged onto Gohhi proper.  Thousands of beings from just as many systems, of all species imaginable were hurrying on their way.  None cared about a lone human male and his son.

They’d get lodgings and then . . .

He didn’t know what.  He hadn’t planned that far ahead.

Looking around, he felt that somehow he’d drawn attention to them.  A group of Sepht were watching him, signalling to each other with shifting colors on their skin.  He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew they had to be watching him.  They were Sepht, of course they were in the Sapient Union, they were spies.

Bad spies, just standing in the open, but they were watching him.

So it’d be a precise strike, he thought.  A team would come for him, break down the door, perhaps just shoot him down and make it look like a robbery.

He fingered the grip of the sidearm he’d smuggled off.  They’d find the evidence in the system soon, but he’d felt confident that he’d hidden his tracks well enough that it’d be when the system ran its shift-change security checks that it was discovered.  He still had three hours.

He planned out the fake rooms he’d rent, the accommodations he’d already made, the people on Gohhi he’d paid off to smudge his trail.  It would just buy time, that was all he needed.

And money, he realized.  His ex was all digital, as were all SU credits.  But he’d need something accepted on Gohhi.

They were still near enough to the ship.  Stopping at a money console, he accessed his account and transferred all of his ex to External Trade Credits.

How had he not thought of this sooner?  This was sloppy.  They’d note this for sure.  They’d know what he was doing.

Well, he thought, they had no doubt anyway.

“Dad,” Elliot said insistently, and he realized the boy had been tugging his shirt.  “Why are we leaving, Dad?”

Something suddenly hurt inside.  Iago was shocked at the feeling, realizing just how numb he’d become.  This pain felt real, fresh, and it burned.

He looked at his son, feeling his jaw and eye twitch, seeing the hurt on the face of his boy.

“We’ve just got to leave the ship, Elliot,” he said, kneeling down.  “I’m sorry.  I know it’s . . .  difficult.  Something changed, and . . . we just have to go.”

“It’s because of Terris, isn’t it?” Elliot asked.

Iago’s blood ran cold.

“How do you know about that?”

Everyone had changed around him when he’d seen the things there.  His superiors, Kai and Brooks.  Even his closest friends, like Pirra and Alexander.

He’d known that.  But . . .

Had Elliot changed, too?

“You talk about it in your sleep.  Every night, Dad.  Sometimes you’re even awake and you just say stuff,” Elliot said.

He saw the fear on his son’s face.

No.  No, no, no nonono.  His son was still his son.  He hadn’t changed.  Because if he had, what was any of this for?

He held desperately to that thought.  “Yes, it was at Terris.  I saw something . . . and I learned something that I shouldn’t have learned.  I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry it has hurt you.  But this is our only choice.”

“Why?” Elliot insisted.  “Why can’t we just talk to the Captain about it?  I’m sure he-“

“NO!” Iago roared.

Elliot cringed back.  Several beings nearby stopped, looking at him with surprise.  But their interest faded, and he saw that Elliot was not cowed.  If anything, he looked more determined.

God he was proud of him.  He felt so weak and useless.  If not for Elliot, then he’d be nothing now.  He’d let them take him, because he’d be worth nothing, not even to himself.

But at least his son would be better than him.

“What did you learn, Dad?” Elliot asked.

The words had some power of compulsion.  Iago knew he couldn’t tell the boy – both that it was a terrible idea, and that words simply could not convey it all.

But he found words pouring from his mouth all the same.

“All of it is a lie,” he said, his mouth moving, making sound of its own accord.  He could not stop it.  “The reality we know is just a dream . . . a dream of a dream, a . . .  hallucination . . .  The truth has so many facets, so many angles I can’t believe I ever even believed all of it.  It’s just hollow.  This station, the ships, every item, even us.  We are just dots on a flat sheet in a universe with more dimensions than we ever thought possible.  Don’t you see?  There’s no point to it unless we unlock the reality!  We have to get higher, become more, or there’s no point to any of this!”

He was screaming.  Ranting, but-

No he wasn’t.  He realized that he had not said a word.

His mouth had never even opened.

Elliot was still looking at him, determined, scared, and wanting to do right.

“Dad!  Are you all right?”

He was on the floor now.  Shaking.

Elliot had his hand, and Iago was watching it shake wildly.

“I’m fine!” he said forcefully.

He didn’t remember standing up, but he was.

The kiosk nearby beeped.

His transfer was complete.

Stumbling over, his body still feeling weak, as if he might have another seizure, he leaned heavily against the kiosk and looked at the figure on the screen.  It was correct – all his substantial savings had been converted to external trade credits he could use anywhere in the known galaxy.

But there was a note as well.  It was added by the system of the Craton.

Cautiously, hoping that it was from the mysterious person who had contacted him before, he read it.

“Iago,

I know you need to go.  Contact me once you feel safe.  I will do anything I can to help you.”

It was signed Ian Brooks.

Stepping away, he realized he felt so numb that he could barely tell his feet were touching the station’s deck.

“Let’s go,” he said hoarsely to Elliot.

< Ep 7 Part 9 | Ep 7 Part 11 >

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

“Greetings, Captain,” the pre-recorded voice said.  “I am Vice Director Silva, and I have important information for you.”

Brooks felt his heart nearly skip a beat.  He knew who Silva was – one of the leading members of Sapient Union intelligence.

Brooks had never seen the man before; his height could not be told from the screen, but his face was broad and average, creased with deep lines, his hair a distinguished silver.  He did not seem like he’d stand out in any situation – certainly a plus in his line of work.

“We have concluded our study of the data and hardware you recovered from the colony of New Vitriol.  From it, we were able to determine several key details.

“The mercenary going by the name Hoc Rem is now under the alias of Joh Dak – and we have strong evidence that he is currently in Gohhi.”

The man’s face clenched, his next words delivered in the same calm, precise manner, but a sense of displeasure entered into them, even if vaguely.  “While we have assets in the system, none are in a position to pursue Rem at this time.  In addition, we have evidence that the man’s life is in danger.  He is connected to several deeply-embedded criminal enterprises on the behalf of his masters, and he has made many enemies among the locals.  We are unsure of the precise nature of the threat against him, but have a high confidence that an attack against his person will be launched soon.  Even if Rem survives, he will flee, and we will lose a golden opportunity.”

Silva paused, nodding towards Brooks.  “You are given clearance to send in a Response Team to locate Rem.  If possible, you are to bring him in – alive.  We will not permit him to go unpunished, but you may tell him that we are willing to commute his sentence – and protect him from his enemies.  With any luck, this will be enough to get him to come willingly.”

Brooks felt a roil of emotions.  Hoc Rem had bloodily killed in front of Brooks’s eyes, and tried to kill him and members of his crew in several different ways during their time on New Vitriol.

Only luck had prevented that.  The man was dangerous.

Silva had a few final words.

“Under no conditions are your personnel to engage in open conflict.  The repercussions would be more damaging than they are worth for Rem’s information.  We have a team inbound who will assist in this, with cooperation from some elements of Gohhi’s true power structure – including an information broker who goes under the name of Vermillion Dawn.  As time is critical, we will need to know his location if we are to stand a chance of taking him alive.”

The man leaned back in his chair.  “I have heard that you are capable, Captain Brooks.  I hope it to be true.”

The message ended, and Brooks leaned back to consider his plan of action.

There was much that Silva had not said – such as who it was that Hoc Rem was working for, or even what form of criminal enterprises he might be involved with.  There were thousands of factions in Gohhi, ranging across the political spectrum, and across every known religion and philosophical system.  Among many were extremists who might be willing to kill a man like Rem if he crossed them.

And some of whom would want to kill him, as well, Brooks knew.  His history with the place had been from many different angles, and sometimes it had been messy.

But he felt a genuine sense of excitement, as well.  Gohhi was a place that was ever in flux with time, and many things would be different from what he had known.  But he still knew how her heart worked; the way power shifted and flowed, the ways the money moved, and the ways a life might be taken.  Most importantly, he knew what sort of people would know all the names of the current players.

He was going to be busy.

< Ep 7 Part 6 | Ep 7 Part 8 >

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

The drop out of zerospace did not feel that exciting to Apollonia at this point.

But Brooks had made a point of inviting her to the bridge for their arrival, and she did not want to be rude.

Every one of the officers were tense, and though she was distracted thinking on other things, it felt impolite not to be paying attention.

“Surfacing in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1!”

She felt the strange pull as they came back into realspace, and then the spherical screen that surrounded the command center came on.

Ahead of them she could see a distant space station.  It was large, apparently – not as big as the Chain, but it was big.  Other dots in the distance, slightly too large and dim to be stars, glittered – other space stations.

She’d heard of Gohhi Station, of course.  Though there had once been a single station here, it long pre-dated humanity even arriving in the system.  And like how her own home system had split and split again, when people in Gohhi got tired of the leadership or felt too crowded, many simply left.  Thus the occupied area of this empty patch of space had grown and grown until it was teeming with stations great and small.

“Gohhi Main,” Ji-min Bin announced.  “We are in the queue for docking, with three ships ahead of us.  Docking wait is approximately four hours.”

“About how long it’ll take us to even get close enough,” Urle noted.

“Well, the Gohhi have to play their games,” Jaya commented.  “If we say anything they can rightly point to our velocity and make us appear unreasonable.”

“Really?” Apollonia said.  She froze, wondering if she should have spoken.

But the officers merely looked to her curiously, waiting to see if she’d elaborate.

“I mean, uh – do they not like you here or something?  Because it sounds like they’re trying to just find a way to be rude without actually causing you an incovenience.  It’s . . . you know.  Rude.”

“That is exactly what they’re doing,” Brooks said.  “Making a point in the most cowardly way possible.”

“And they’re our allies?” Apollonia asked, looking at him.

“I wouldn’t say allies,” Brooks said.  “But they are merchants and we have much to trade.  They are, however, threatened by the fact that our economy is not based on private ownership – and so they attempt to keep us at arms-length.  One way they show that is with these petty games.”

“Why so cowardly, though?”

“Because,” Jaya supplied.  “The Sapient Union represents, by far, the majority of humanity, along with Dessei, Sepht, and . . . well, all Bicet, as far as I know.”

Cutter looked over at her as she spoke, and clicked his mandibles, apparently in agreement.

“No factionalizing,” he said.  “Healthy for species.”

Apollonia was unsure what to say to that, thinking of how little she knew of Beetle-Slugs.  People had always described them as being uniform, lacking individuality and personality.  In a way, a metaphor for how the Sapient Union was viewed.

She could see it wasn’t true of the SU as a whole.  But she still hadn’t known any Beetle-Slugs long enough to know if there was any truth to the claims about them.

Cenz spoke.  “Gohhi has the largest non-solar population in the known galaxy!  And given the mix of species, both from within and without the Sapient Union, it has one of the most varied as well.”

Apollonia squinted at the distant stations, then brought up her tablet to get a zoomed view.  They were big, sure, but not as large or fancy as the Chain or Korolev Station.

“I kind of expected to see more planets,” she admitted.  “Rather than just more space stations.”

“Really?” Cenz asked.  “While most intelligent species do hail from planets, it is true, the majority of advanced beings in the galaxy live in constructed stations.  Typically around a star, but also extra-stellar like this.  They certainly outnumber terrestrial beings by a substantial margin!”

Apollonia could see how it made sense.  A world could only support what, ten or fifteen billion comfortably?  At least if you didn’t want to wreck everything.  But some systems had tens of trillions of beings . . .  Even if you colonized other worlds, the majority would have to be in space . . .

Urle pointed to the screen, and a circle appeared, zooming in.

“Glorian task force,” he noted.  “Appears to be fifteen warships, from battleships to light cruisers.”

“What are they doing here in such force?” Cenz asked.  “Though that is not enough to threaten Gohhi, it is . . .”

“Threatening all the same,” Jaya said.  “Such intimidation tactics were once common in human history, often called ‘showing the flag’.”

Brooks was watching them intently, Apollonia noted, and his face was full of distaste.

She knew about the tensions with the off-shoot of humanity . . . and of course she had heard of the Glorians.  A substantial amount of the entertainment she’d known back on Hellrock had come from their space – always violent, always jingoistic, usually centered around some team of soldiers or investigators who were former soldiers, and usually foiling some kind of alien terrorist plot in the name of defending their civilization.

“They’re nothing to worry about,” Brooks declared.  “If they were to start violence, it won’t be here – they’d get nothing except Gohhi turned against them.”

“All the same,” Urle noted.  “I think we should keep a few sensors trained their way.”

“Absolutely,” Brooks agreed.  “They’ll try to drone-dive us by ‘mistake’ a few times to see what they can learn.  Deploy our own drones in a normal formation, but ready to move into blocking positions.  I’d like to cause them some frustration.”

“Aye, sir.”

Apollonia was looking at their trajectory, noting that they were headed towards the Gohhi main station – even though there was another station not far away that was marked as belonging to the Sapient Union.

“Don’t we need repairs on the ship?” she asked, looking up at the Captain.

“Yes,” Brooks replied.

“Then why are we going to the Gohhi hub, and not an SU repair station?”  She looked out at the glinting hub for Gohhi.  She knew of the place by reputation, and from that she knew it was far more like New Vitriol than the Sapient Union.  The graft and price gouging alone would probably dwarf the cost of actual repairs.

“It’s Gohhian law,” Urle answered.  “There are guilds for things like ship repair, and if we wanted to maintain our own station, we’d have to register as a corporation.  Which, well, technically we do, but that requires very strict information sharing on our services and technicians, which we do not desire to share.  So while we maintain a repair station for certain things, we don’t actually cater to our own ships.  Instead, we cater to independent ships who don’t have a home port, which helps popularize the Union and means we can keep key proprietary technologies to ourselves.”

“So . . . we’re just going to let strangers on the Craton instead?” Apollonia asked, frowning.

“We vet all workers that come through the guilds, but we also don’t let them into sensitive areas.  By hiring a contractor we can stipulate where they can go, what they can do, and what information they can share.”

“It’s hardly ideal,” Brooks added, dryly.  “But that’s the cost of maintaining a presence in Gohhi.  They will try to cheat us, and to a certain extent we will pay higher fees to get our windows replaced, but we’ll also take our own actions to keep the graft down and force them into something roughly analogous to honesty.”

“Windows . . . irony is that everything we buy will probably have been created in an SU system anyway,” Urle grumbled.

“What do we do to make them be honest?” Apollonia asked.

“They rib us, we rib them,” Urle said.

“We push for improved worker’s rights by demanding very strict safety protocols and paying them fair wages – which is far more than they typically make,” Brooks explained.  “This means paying the contractor company more, too, but also wins us friends among the people who matter most.”

“I imagine a lot of them would want to leave with the ship . . .”

“It does happen,” Urle said.  “Which, frankly, is something the Gohhians hate.  But like anyone else, if they want to come to the SU, they have to go through the right channels.  We can’t take on refugees unless they’re being politically persecuted.”

Brooks shifted in his seat.  “Which reminds me – Cutter, would you take the lead on the negotiations over prices?”

The Beetle-Slug engineer turned in his seat to look at Brooks, then nodded sharply.  “With pleasure.”

Brooks smiled, looking to Apollonia now.  “They hate dealing with Cutter.  And he loves it.”

“Captain,” Shomari Eboh said, turning in his seat.  “You are receiving a priority message from Sol.”

Brooks nodded and looked at his HUD.  His face turned more serious, Apollonia thought – contemplative.

He rose.  “I will be in my study.”

< Ep 7 Part 5 | Ep 7 Part 7 >

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

They were watching him now.

Iago knew that he couldn’t fool them forever.  The ship itself would note altered schedules, unusual behavior, and especially in his case as a disgraced officer, they’d be watching.

Eyes, everywhere.  They watched and watched and watched and looked for a mistake, a fault.  Just one moment of weakness, looking at the strange shapes of reality around that accursed ship in the Terris system . . .

How many times had they been drilled?  The things related to zerospace, tenkionic matter, Leviathans, it was poison.  Toxic.

Cursed.

Any sort of contact one could think of, hell maybe even considering on it could lead to someone falling into a well of madness that they would never rise back out from.

And he had looked.

He coughed, spitting up something.  It might have been phlegm, but somehow he felt it was worse, different.

Elliot was in his room.  His son kept to himself a lot.  He had no friends on the ship until the other children returned, but – hard as it was – it was for the best right now.  All it would take would be Elliot saying a little too much and they’d swoop in and take away his son, his only reason for still going.

For Elliot’s protection, they’d say.  But who would protect him from them, when they decided his son was infected or tainted by his father’s failure?

His mysterious contact hadn’t said anything else to him since that one note, and he kept checking it, wanting to be sure it was real and not just some figment of his imagination.  Everything felt that way anymore – not real.  Food felt tasteless and weak.  Like chewing air.

Yesterday he’d been shocked when he’d put his hand into water that he knew was cold, but felt nothing.  Up to the wrist, and the basin might as well have been empty.

Nothing.  Nothing!

How much longer would he feel anything at all, he wondered.

Elliot was all that mattered.

All that was left was to wait.  There wasn’t long now, they’d arrive at Gohhi soon.  Then he’d leave, take Elliot, and . . .

And what?

The thought faded, and he could not recall thinking it.  They’d leave the ship on Gohhi, then they’d be safe and free.  That was all that mattered.

He coughed again, spit up something, but when he looked at his hand it was empty.

As soon as Apollonia began reading about Abmon, she realized that this was going to be harder than she had expected.

Despite the fact that he was a five-legged pillar of rock with tentacles, he had been . . . so personable that in her mind his people were just like humans, only different looking.

Part of her had thought about going to visit their homeworld, which she had only just read was called Golgutt, to tell his family to their face that she owed her life to Squats on Sand holding the door even after being shot through by armor-piercing cannons.

But apparently that wasn’t an option.

She had known most of them lived on planets rather than space stations, which had created an image in her mind – but they didn’t have happy little families of mother and father and two children and a space crab dog in a little house.

Abmon had complex life cycles where they started as near-microscopic spawn, only a handful of which actually matured into adults.  The majority of their kind remained tiny, barnacle-like, sticking to rocks for a few years and then dying off without even reproducing.  The eggs all came from sessile adults who had entered into a prolonged state of mindlessness, being little more than immobile, giant armored egg sacs.  They might stay that way for decades before one day waking up and returning to their mobile, intelligent form.

Which meant that He That Squats on Yellow Sand had never known his parent.  Or parents – Apollonia was not actually sure if there were two parents or one or possibly . . . seven.  The writings were a little vague, but there were odd unique stages involved that did something or other in the process, but the Abmon were rather private on the topic.

Squats on Sand had been the first fully-developed spawn of his family, so he’d never known his siblings as anything other than wild larvae.  He’d left his world not long after attaining adulthood to go serve in the Abmon navy, which was very normal for them, but even though siblings of his had grown up since then, he’d only ever written to them.

Her head was practically swimming, which was fitting since Golgutt was also a high-G world, with an atmosphere so thick near the surface that it was functionally more like an ocean.  Not only was the pressure enough to kill a human, but it was toxic and there were huge, dangerous creatures ‘swimming’ through the air that would happily devour anything they met, alien or not.

The Abmon had evolved from bottom-dwelling things like barnacles, creating civilization largely to survive against those super-predators.

It was believed that it took them a million years to develop to the point where they could leave their world, only to find that the universe was far more hostile to their kind than it was even to humans.

While the pressure suits existed for humans to go down to the surface, they were incredibly hard to make, so only a few hundred people did it per year, and only for very good reasons, not . . . just to talk to someone’s family.

And all of this meant that she had no idea what it was like to live on their world, no frame of reference at all for their life.

Jaya had sent her the contact information, and she had a message open, ready to put in the words and hit send.  If only she could come up with something.

What the hell was she going to say to beings so alien?

Anytime she thought of something, she began to second-guess herself – she wasn’t sure how they might even react to her words.  Most Abmon cultures emphasized sacrifice, bravery, but often joked about the dead in disparaging ways – which they meant as the greatest compliment, apparently.

She realized that she was getting an alert that someone was at the door.

As the buzz went off for the third time, Apollonia hurried over, nearly tripping over a pair of coveralls on her way.

“Sorry!” she called.  “I was . . . busy.”

She reached the door and opened it, surprised to see that it was Zeela Cann.

The name popped to mind without too much thought, which she took as a good sign.

“Oh, uh, hi,” she said.

“Hello,” Zeela replied, smiling professionally and seeming not at all disturbed by how disheveled Apollonia looked.  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you had seen my messages?”

“Uhh . . .”  Apollonia wracked her memory, and brought out her tablet.  She saw there was a message icon, and it had a 60 with a plus sign next to it.

“I guess I don’t really check my messages,” she said.  “Never really had much use for a message account.  I guess it just comes with . . . being on the ship?”

Zeela frowned, visibly confused.  “Well . . . some of them may be important.  I’ve been trying to contact you about your credits.”

Apollonia’s eyes widened.  Zeela was here to collect on a debt?

Fear seemed to paralyze her, as the illusion of the wonders of the Sapient Union began to crumble.

Would they now demand payment for months of her being allowed to stay here?  And if she couldn’t pay, what would they do?

“You have an outstanding surplus of over 20,000 credits,” Zeela said, throwing a digital image to her tablet.

Numbly, Apollonia looked down at it.  It was like she was having an out of body experience as she saw the number.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t been spending them, and I feel like perhaps you were not aware of your account?”

“I owe twenty thousand . . . credits . . . ?” she asked dumbly.

“Owe?  No, that’s a positive amount, dear.  These are your labor credits for the last two months you’ve been aboard.”

“I get labor credits?” she asked.  Her brain could still not comprehend.

“You get a stipend because you just became a citizen, but you also count as working full labor-hours due to your . . . well, the special status you have as a Cerebral Reader.  Technically, you are always working.”

Realization was starting to dawn on Apollonia.  “I have twenty thousand credits?!” she yelled.

Zeela looked concerned.  “Yes . . . and you’re not using them.  I thought . . . perhaps you’d want some things?  I know you’ve been eating and such, but beyond the basic necessities you can use your credits for goods or other services.”

Zeela’s eyes went across the room behind her and Apollonia looked back.

Aside from the basic furniture the place had come with – and a plastic crate she’d asked for from Dr. Y, who had given it to her without an issue – she had very little.

“Perhaps some decorations, even.  Or nicer furniture,” Zeela suggested.  “The default furniture is only meant as a placeholder.”

Apollonia stared dumbly down at her tablet some more.  “I had no idea,” she said.

“I thought maybe not.  There are quite a lot of things on the ship that you may want to learn about.  I’m afraid you missed our orientation talks with the others from New Vitriol-“

“Hellrock,” Apollonia insisted.  “That’s what I call it.”

“Hellrock,” Zeela said, simply accepting the new name.  “But there are recordings of them, and a manual to help you adjust.”

“I . . . I guess I’ll look at them,” Apollonia muttered.

Zeela clearly wasn’t going to let her off so easily.  “I highly suggest you do, dear.  You’ll be helping yourself by understanding your rights and responsibilities in the Sapient Union.”

The woman hesitated.  “I could spare some time to give you a basic overview, if you want . . .”

Apollonia had a feeling that she’d already taken a lot of the woman’s valuable time, and shook her head.  “No . . . No, that’s okay.  I’ll just . . . look at the videos.”

Zeela nodded.  “All right, well happy shopping!  And if there are things you don’t find in our catalogues that you’d like, we are coming to Gohhi Station soon.  You can turn some of your Ex in for External Trade Credits and buy goods from one of the shopping stations.  Though . . . sometimes their prices are quite high.”

“Okay,” Apollonia mumbled.  “And, um . . .  thank you.”

Zeela smiled again, but this time it was bright and honest and beaming.  “You’re quite welcome, Ms. Nor.”

< Ep 7 Part 4 | Ep 7 Part 6 >

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

The reports were generally all positive.

Repairs to the ship’s most vital systems had been completed, the hull patches were holding well, and the internal damage to the Equator Ring had almost been entirely repaired.  Even Watchito’s, heavily damaged by the detonation of the Hev boarding pod, was about to re-open.

There was a great amount of heavy work remaining to be done – replacing the outer seal with proper hull plates and very precise technical work on computer systems – but for being outside of a shipyard, it was very good.

Shifting away from the internal matters, Brooks looked at incoming messages.  It was an incredible thing to receive semi-regular mail so far out in space.  That they’d managed to build the millions of relay stations across their territories, to beam out compact streams of data through micro-portals in zerospace, and then detect and decipher the information was nothing short of miraculous.

There were messages for him from command, but none vital.  He’d already received a message from Admiral Vandoss, congratulating him for the successful mission, and promising further support for the T’H’Tul to leave their old system.  His old friend, Siilon, who was currently in charge of SU assistance to their migration would be glad about that, perhaps she’d be able to escape the place sooner than she had hoped.

Another message was noted as confidential; curious, he brought it up, but it would not open for him.

‘For Ambassador Kell’s Eyes Only’ it said.

It shouldn’t have even come to him, but then he saw attached instructions, for him to pass it on to Kell . . .

That the Ambassador never checked his messages was well-known.  Brooks himself could attest to this from how rarely the Shoggoth answered him.

And since the battle, Brooks had been unable to speak to him at all.

The Ambassador was, at least, alive.  He continued to send out requests for several hundred kilograms of food daily, but even the delivery drones had not seen him, only sent the carts into the room and then left.

He sent an override to Kell’s room; it would give him an audio alert that he’d received an important message.  It was all Brooks could do, as Kell had not answered him any other time he’d gone in person.

So far, Brooks had been able to accept that.  Eventually, though, he would need to talk to the Ambassador, and would not be able to be put off.

Several minutes later, he noted that the sensors in the hall detected movement inside.

Brooks could not confirm if Kell had looked at the message.  But he’d at least moved.

Perhaps that was progress.

Apollonia’s finger danced over the call button for a moment before she sighed and pulled it away.  For twenty damn minutes now she’d been trying to make this call.

Her system had even noticed her reluctance and asked if she wanted to just give a verbal command.  But she’d told it to shut up, which wasn’t a very nice thing to do, though the computer in their systems did not seem capable of being offended.

Jeez, she hated talking to people.

And some people were easier to talk to than others.  Dr. Y was very easy, but she wasn’t sure if she could deal with his light-heartedness on a matter like this, and Dark forbid he start making jokes.  It would just make her feel far more awkward.

The only person she really . . . spoke to that would approach her question with the seriousness it deserved was, well . . .

Jaya.

If she didn’t do it, she knew she’d regret it.  She should have brought it up earlier, when they were running, but panting and out of breath, she hadn’t felt quite able to muster the words.

She didn’t have any excuses left.

“Fuckitalldarkdamnit,” she muttered, and hit the dial button.

The connection was almost instantaneous to Jaya’s system, and she hit the message option immediately.

“Hey, Jaya, it’s Apollonia . . .  I know you’re busy, so just get back to me whenever, but-“

The message cut off – and Jaya came on the line.

It was an image call, just as Apollonia had feared it would be.

“Apollonia,” Jaya said, looking surprised.  “Why were you leaving me a message when I’m available?”

Apollonia froze for a moment.  She had seen that Jaya was there.  But she’d rather hoped that she’d sneak this message in without having to say it face-to-face to the woman.

“Ah . . .  I guess I mis-read your status,” she said.  “And I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.”

“It is no bother.  I can make time to talk to you.”

“It’s just not that important.”

Jaya frowned.  “Just say what ‘it‘ is, please.”

Apollonia hesitated, then ploughed in.  “Okay, I guess it is kind of important.  At least to me – I wanted to find out if I could write to Squats on Sand’s family.  I mean, I’m sure they got informed of . . . how he died.  That he was a hero.  But I wanted to tell them myself.  Tell them that . . . that he was a hero to me, too.  That he saved my life.”

Jaya was silent a moment, then nodded slowly.  “I understand.  That is not at all an unimportant request, and something you most certainly can do.  Though . . . perhaps you should learn a little more about Abmon families before you write to them.  It would help if you understood a little more of their culture and biology.  But I will send you all you need to know in regards to contacting them.”

“Thank you,” Apollonia said, her mouth feeling dry.  “Maybe it won’t mean much from me – if I say it to them.  But I feel like I have to try.  Someone . . . just needs to know, right?”

“Yes,” Jaya replied, and then studied her for a moment.  “But why didn’t you ask me about this earlier?”

“I was too nervous,” Apollonia admitted.

“And so that’s why you wanted to leave a message.”

“Yeah . . .”

Jaya seemed a little amused.  “If you wish to leave me a message in the future – do so.  You could even just put it in writing if you like.”

“I should . . . you know, try to be braver about person-to-person contact,” Apollonia said.

“You are right to say that – but let’s agree that you can take things one step at a time, all right?”

Apollonia felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.  “Okay.  Yeah . . . thanks.”

“One last thing,” Jaya said, studying her.

“Yeah?”

“I just want to say; your heart is truly in the right place, Apollonia.”

< Ep 7 Part 2 | Ep 7 Part 4 >

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

Pirra’s head was pounding, an ache in the center of her forehead that was the result of too much work.

She checked her system for how long she’d been at it; she’d come in early, far more so than normal, hoping to knock out this bureaucratic work before her proper day started.

How naive she’d been, thinking she could power through bureaucracy.

She understood its existence, of course.  Even with a thousand layers of minor AIs trying to cut the clutter and reduce such work to a minimum, you could not run an interstellar society with quadrillions of members without a bureaucracy to match.  Organization on this scale was probably their greatest invention, even moreso than breaking the laws of physics.

It was near the hour she should clock out, she noted.  So much for getting to her normal work.

She didn’t feel as if she had really achieved much.  Only homeostasis within the system, which could be considered a feat so soon after a major combat event, but it felt like treading water.  Not forward movement.

And she’d just taken over command; there was a lot to do to continue to bring the position fully into her own before she could feel things were really back to normal.

Iago had had his own system, and . . .

The thought faded as she considered the man.  He’d had such a hard time after that mission to Terris.  Elliot, too – like a nephew to her.  They were from the same island, after all, weren’t they?

A world of archipelagos like her homeworld of Enope meant people became attached to those of their island in a way that she didn’t think most humans understood; perhaps those from islands did, but to her people it was far more than that.  To be from the same island as another meant a kinship that was as deep as blood.

And what was the Craton, if not their island?

The paperwork could wait, she thought, standing, and folding her wing drapes around herself.  Iago had been strange even during the combat, and she’d barely seen him since.  Part of her had been angry with him, with how he’d run into the action instead of away, as she had ordered.

But she would have to learn not what people should do, but what they would do.  She put him in the situation where he’d been presented with combat, and expected him to go against all his training and desire to help.

If she was going to have him out there, she should have put him in a team that could keep up.

Thankfully, Kessissiin had been with him, to give him someone equally brave, equally talented-

She felt annoyed thinking of the young Dessei officer.  He was capable, well-trained, disciplined, and bold.  It was a fantastic and terrible combination, as it meant he knew he could be more and would reach for it, even before he was ready.

And she did not know whose side he was really on.

Not that there should be sides; the fact that her opponent here was her brother – which really meant their mother – who were both from her island, too.

But her mother had always had ideas of just what Pirra should do with her life.

Realizing her crest had gone up in indignation, she soothed it down with a hand, then left her office.

She couldn’t do a thing about Kessissiin right now.  Hopefully, once his Detachment Training was complete, he could just go back to the Dessei Republic Fleet and not bother her anymore.

She began towards Iago’s cabin, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Pirra’s hand had barely pulled away from the entry request button when the door opened.

“Iago!” she chirped, pleased.  “It’s good to see you!”

The man’s face had looked excited, even eager, as the door opened, but in just a moment it changed – closing to her, his eyes darkening.

In fact, everything about his body language, as far as she could tell of another species, had just turned borderline hostile.

“Oh, Pirra,” he said.  “I didn’t realize it was you.”

The room behind him was dark, she noticed.  All the lights were out.

“Expecting someone?” she asked.  “Maybe Watchito’s?  I heard they just started up again.”

“Something like that,” Iago replied passively.  “What can I do for you, Commander?”

Pirra blinked, surprised and uncomfortable.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” she said, now feigning her cheer.  “It’s been some time since we just talked.  I miss you.”

The last words were not very . . . her.  At least not something she’d care to share with anyone outside of perhaps Alexander.  But they came anyway, and a part of her felt hopeful it would have some effect on the man.

But nothing changed on his face.  “It has been awhile, yeah,” he said.

“May I come in?” she asked.  “I thought we could catch up, and-“

“No, sorry,” Iago said curtly, cutting her off.  “I’m afraid that Elliot and I are kind of busy.  Just waiting for a drone courier.”

“I could . . . just wait with you until it arrives, then?” she asked hopefully.

“Best if not,” he said.  “We’re growing Lily of the Valley in here.  Pretty sure that Dessei have an allergy to them, don’t they?”

Something prickled in the back of her mind.

‘Lily of the Valley’ was a very specific plant for Iago to have, one that she was particularly allergic to.  He knew that.

It was serious enough that she was automatically informed by the ship’s system if anyone grew them.  The risk of her having a severe reaction to the pollen was too high.

She hadn’t gotten any such notification.

“Oh, of course,” she said.  “Sorry for bothering you.  But . . . perhaps we could get a drink on Gohhi when we get there?”

Iago nodded sharply.  “Yeah.  That’d be great.  See you then.”

The door shut.

Pirra stayed a moment longer, wondering what else she should do.

Turning, she began to walk away.

Then, on a spur of the moment, she checked her system, looking for Elliot.

He was on the garden level, it seemed.  She checked back to look at his room.  Nothing looked wrong, but she connected to the Response system and checked the room again.

It said that there were two occupants; Iago and Elliot Caraval.

She paused trying to figure out why there would be an anomalous reading such as that.  Checking the power usage logs, she saw that the room had been using a normal day/night cycle, like every other room.  In fact, right now it should be brightly lit, and at no point since last night had the lights been off.

But she had seen that they were off.

There was only one explanation she could think of; Iago was spoofing the data with a Blank Box.

Whatever he was doing in there, he didn’t want anyone to know.

She started walking again, quickly.

“Pirra to Dr. Y.  May I see you?” she asked.

“Of course!” the doctor replied.  “I am in engineering, but I can-“

“No.  I’ll meet you there.”

< Ep 7 Part 1 | Ep 7 Part 3 >