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

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

There was still no answer after several long heartbeats.

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps she should message Elliot . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Iago?” she called.

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

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

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

“I . . . Oh, yeah.  I . . . uh . . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he said, and disappeared.

< Ep 5 Part 9 | Ep 5 Part 11 >

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was dark inside.  It always was anymore.

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

“Dad?” he called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t focus.

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

He had no energy.

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

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

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

Damn it, this was basic stuff!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something hit his foot, and he looked down.

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

Staring.

“Leave,” he ordered.

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

“Get out!” he yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like he was experiencing now.

< Ep 5 Part 8 | Ep 5 Part 10 >

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

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

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

Still, they were in port . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hannah looked nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

Still . . . all of this was relatively minor.

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

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

But he could do nothing about that.

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

< Ep 5 Part 7 | Ep 5 Part 9 >

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

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

Kernos nodded.  “Very well, Admiral.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brooks leaned forward.  “Go ahead, Advisor.”

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

“I do,” Brooks replied.

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

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

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

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

< Ep 5 Part 6 | Ep 5 Part 8 >

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

“Why do they put faces on cookies?” Hannah said, frowning seriously at her bear-shaped cookie.  It was so very happy.

“Because faces are delicious,” Elliot replied.  He bit the face off his cookie, which was shaped like a fish.

“Help me, help me, I have no face even though it was delicious!” he mimed the fish as now saying, crumbs tumbling from the corners of his mouth.

“Ew, that’s gross!” Hannaha shot back, perturbed.  “I don’t want to eat faces.”

“Even though they’re delicious?” Elliot replied, chewing with his mouth open.  “Look how much I’m enjoying his!”

“Faces are not delicious!  Cookies are delicious, and these are just cookies.”

“They could be some weird kind of alien,” Elliot ventured.  “That just live a super-slow life and so we don’t even know.  We just think they’re cookies, and then we eat their faces!”

He had dropped his decapitated fish cookie and taken out another one, in the shape of a cat.  “Your face is miiiiine,” he said, biting it off.

But it was the last of his cookies.  He looked at her bear.

“You can’t have my cookie,” Hannah said defensively.

“I just want his FACE,” Elliot replied, reaching greedily for it.

“No!”

“Just a nibble?”

“You can’t eat his face because I’m going to eat his face!” Hannah yelled, jumping back, out of her seat.

The room fell silent, and Hannah realized everyone was looking at her.

She sat back down.  “Why do you have two cookies, anyway?  We always get one.”

“I guess I just deserve more cookies,” Elliot replied, smiling lazily and letting his head loll to the side.

“You usually have one,” Hannah noted.

“What, do you keep track of my cookies?” he shot back, mockingly.

“I have a memory,” she said with an annoyed sound.  “So why do you have two?”

“Guess my dad just wanted me to have two,” Elliot replied, suddenly seeming uncomfortable.

Hannah glared at him for a moment before taking a bite out of her cookie.  But not the face.

Elliot still faked a little shriek of pain.

“Why are you being so messed up?” she asked him, after she had chewed it up and swallowed it.

“I’m just joking,” Elliot said.

“Yeah, you joke a lot,” she said.  “But this is meaner.”

“They’re just cookies,” he snapped with a bitterness that surprised her.

“Fine,” she said, turning away and letting it drop.

Elliot did not eat the rest of his headless cookies, just fiddled with them until lunch time was over.

The call came for them to clean up, and she put hers away, but Elliot dawdled.

“Elliot, it’s time to put that away,” she told him.  He ignored her, instead making his headless cat dance.

Frowning, Hannah walked away from the table.

“Professor Browning,” she said.  The man smiled and turned to her.

“Yes, Hannah?”

“I think Elliot is upset,” she said.

The teacher looked past her, to the boy, who was now making his cookies smash into each other, sending crumbs flying.

“He looks fine to me, but I’ll go to talk to him, okay?”

Hannah nodded, looking back to Elliot again, before leaving the lunch room.

< Ep 5 Part 4 | Ep 5 Part 6 >

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

At least the fish were nice, Apollonia thought.  She was sitting as close as she could, Y next to her, and the fish seemed very, very happy.

She could recall dozens of cheap, fake fish she’d seen in her life.  They swam around, acted in cute ways, some even would come to the surface so you could pet them.  But they also would often break and keep swimming in circles, or have bits of their pseudo-skin peel off to show the tech beneath.  The creepiest were the ones that sang to you.  She had vague memories of an event with the singing kind, and one kid had been so freaked out that he’d started crying.

These were definitely alive; she thought so, but had asked Y as well, and he had concurred.

“They are indeed biological!  And that water is swimming with tiny organisms besides them that are also true organic beings!  I believe that some of them might match my sample from earlier.  I wonder if people actually touch that water?”

He seemed to give something like a shudder at the thought.

“What kind of fish are they?” she asked.

“Starting alphabetically, there are two Clownfish, a Bicolor Blenny, a Yellowtail Damselfish-“

She listened to his words but began to tune out, as something itched at her mind.  It took her a moment to even realize that something was wrong, but then the awareness was upon her, and she sat back, grabbing Dr. Y’s metal hand.

“Nor, are you- Oh, Ambassador.  Hello.”

Kell had walked into the room, and he was not alone.  Three other beings were with him, human in appearance, but their faces unnaturally calm and blank.  Two flanked him on either side with the last behind.

“Doctor.  Ms. Apollonia,” Kell said as a greeting.  He did not look happy.

Though Apollonia felt like she could hardly see his face.  The effect was so much worse, it had to be because of the others.  They, too, were Shoggoths.  And there was something about them, a resounding hostility that made her almost want to vomit.

Clenching her abs, she fought that feeling down.

“Here for the inquiry?” she asked.

Kell gave her a slight nod, then moved away.

“It’s your fault we’re here,” she said after him, the words just slipping out of her mouth.

Kell did not answer her, and she felt both stupid and ashamed after speaking.

Y was watching her, but she couldn’t make herself look at him as she whispered;

“He killed it.  Brooks is getting blamed, but Kell murdered Michal Denso.”

“I am not sure that what still existed in that body can truly still have been said to be Michal Denso,” Y replied, also quietly.  “And I do not say that easily.  Truly, Nor, did you know a better solution to what you believe Kell did?”

“I don’t believe he did it – I was there.  I saw it.”

“I was not,” Y said.  “Therefore I cannot accept with absolute certainty.  I will give credence to your understanding, as it is beyond me.  But the events are so alien and bizarre that it is hard to give them my full weight of belief.”

Apollonia fell silent for a time, watching Kell, who stood with his entourage on the other side of the room.  They, too, were watching the fish tank, but were not sitting.  Just standing . . . unblinking.

The Shoggoths around him, their hostility wasn’t directed at the humans in the room, she realized.  Just Kell.

They knew, she thought.  They knew, and . . .

Maybe they agreed with her.

“He did something that was terrible,” she said to Y, feeling unable to really lay out more.  “Something unforgivable.”

Over the next few minutes, more people arrived.  They were all grave individuals, and Apollonia only felt more and more out of place.  They were mostly human, save for two short Sepht who slithered, tentacles entwined, straight through to another room, and a Dessei who was taller than most of the humans.  He had a notably large crest that was a vivid shade of blue, as opposed to Lieutenant Pirra’s green.  Her tablet told her that the size of the crest meant that it was a male.

One very old man came in.  She realized she had not seen many people who looked as old as he, his skin having that slightly crinkled shine and age spots.  His eyes, though, were brown and clear, and he moved without difficulty.

A drone came and beckoned her, and as she rose, she noticed that Dr. Y was not moving.

“I cannot go with you,” he told her, his voice more somber than normal, though still lighter than it seemed the situation warranted.  “But do not worry, it will all be fine.  You are not in trouble.”

That was what they always said, she thought.  ‘We just want to ask you a few questions . . .’

But what choice did she have?  She followed the drone.

Glancing at her tablet again, she saw that it was almost 1830.

< Ep 5 Part 3 | Ep 5 Part 5 >

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

“I’m surprised to see you,” Brooks said to Vandoss.  “I’m not supposed to be meeting with a member of the Tribunal.”

He already knew what that meant, of course, which Vandoss confirmed grimly.

“I am no longer on the Tribunal,” he said.

Which begged a new question in Brooks’s mind.  “But the fleet always gets to have one of its own in a case like this, and who is higher than you?”  That much still didn’t make sense to him.  The Voidfleet had no singular head, but as commander of the Sol System Fleet, Vandoss was first among equals.

“The Dessei have exercised their right to place a member on the council, and they chose Fleet Advisor Nuuan to represent the Voidfleet.  He is stationed on Gagarin, so he was a reasonable pick.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Brooks said, frowning heavily.

“I don’t know him well,” Vandoss conceded.  “Only met a few times – he’s technically got the rank of admiral himself, though he’s only an aid to the Dessei Earth Council Detachment.”

Not one of the actual commanding admirals that Vandoss would normally interact with.  “This reeks of interference.  Is there any connection between him and Freeman?”

“Not that I’ve been able to find,” Vandoss admitted grudgingly.  “Though he was once on the Dessei Research Council – so it would be a safe bet.”

“I’ve got good relations with Admiral Luoyyani, I served under him for a year in Detachment Training to the Dessei Republic Fleet.  I’ll send a message to him before we start.  See what he can dig up.”

Vandoss nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.  “All right, good.  I’ll meet you back here, I have more things to check on before it starts.”

“You’re still going to be there?” Brooks asked.

“Yes.  I have appointed myself your fleet advocate.  I’ll fly into the sun before I’ll let them take one of my officers on such absurd charges as these.”

Brooks smiled, genuinely.  “Thank you, Admiral.  I’ll see you soon.”

Urle tapped impatiently on his desk, wondering where his time had gone.  He hadn’t eaten lunch today, and his stomach growled – because he’d also skipped breakfast.  Hannah and Persis had taken longer than normal getting ready for school, and while that wasn’t unusual, it had cost him enough time that he’d thought he’d just make it up with lunch.

Maybe he’d just take a meal infusion.  The nutrients and lipids, simply injected into his system.  Before he’d become a father he’d done that often, but since having kids he’d found himself eating meals with them most of the time.  And usually he had time to eat a breakfast!

To think, at one point he’d considered the act of eating to be superfluous . . .

Just as he had decided he would take the infusion, the line he’d been waiting on picked up.

“Hello, Acting-Captain,” the man said.  He had a calm face and a high forehead.  Urle saw his rank, though, and his stomach lurched.

“Ah, Deputy Assistant,” he replied.  “Thank you for getting back to me.  But I’m afraid I was holding for the Director-Ambassador of the External Non-Union Branch . . .”  The man who could actually come through for helping N’Keeea and his people . . .

“I’m very sorry, Acting-Captain, but the Director is extremely busy right now.  It’s all this business with the Glorians and Corvus.”

Urle’s frown wasn’t visible through his full-coverage face plate, but the mechanical sound of agitation certainly was audible.  “What’s going on with the UGR now?”

The United Glorian Republic – one of the other human governments out there, formed by a fleet of generation ships that had left in the 23rd century.

The group was hardly united – more like subjugated by one particular colony, who called themselves Glorians for the world they’d colonized.  While consisting of a mere one hundred and fifty systems, they were supremely militant, and resisted the call to join the Sapient Union as a united humanity.

While the Sapient Union had accepted that, the aggression of the UGR had not put the two governments on good terms.

There had been conflict, that had resulted in a lot of civilian deaths in the Sapient Union from their surprise attack on Mir.  Their operation, however, had been ill-advised.  The resulting war had lasted only thirty days with a bloody defeat of the UGR.  Yet other conflicts had threatened to break out repeatedly since . . .  and diplomatic relations had remained chilled, to say the least.

“I can only tell you public information, Acting-Captain, but it appears that there has been a popular uprising against the government of the Corvus system.  There are a lot of reasons to believe it is, in fact, a coup, however.”

Urle didn’t know the place; his system brought up the relevant information though.  It was another system that hadn’t joined the Sapient Union, but also wasn’t a part of the Glorian Republic.

“What does this coup have to do with the Glorians?” he asked.

“Corvus borders their space, and the Glorians have been encircling the system with several fleets.  They claim it is help with a peaceful transition of power.”

That was an obvious lie, Urle thought.  It was an aggressive move.  And what was worse, Corvus was astride a major zerospace path that led to Earth.

“Glorian fleets have also ventured beyond the system, claiming to be hunting down pro-government rebels,” the Deputy Assistant added.

“They couldn’t possibly be planning an attack on Sol,” Urle said.  “That would be suicide.”

“Regardless,” the other man said pointedly.  “It has us quite busy.   The coup in Corvus has rather . . . suspicious timing, as their government was in open negotiations to join the Sapient Union.”

Damn, that would have been a nice gain, Urle thought.  The majority of systems interested in unification had joined quickly; those that hesitated rarely seemed to change their minds.

“As for the threat to Earth, the Glorian High Dynast’s speeches have spoken repeatedly lately about their ‘ancestral and legal rights to Holy Sol’,” the other man continued.  “As well as their need to ‘cleanse the stars of competing civilizations’.  Needless to say, this has caused a number of diplomatic issues both within and without the Sapient Union.”

Yes . . . last time the Glorians had attacked an allied species vessel, there had been ramifications on Earth.  No species – well except maybe the Bicet – were fully united, but it was unheard of for a faction of Dessei or Sepht or any of the others to attack another species in a coordinated military effort.  So when the Glorians had done so in the past, it had reflected very badly on the rest of humanity . . .

Which explained not just the difficulties the diplomatic corp was having, but also the increased Voidfleet presence Urle had been noticing the last few days.  Fleets not normally stationed in Sol were all over the place.

“It’s been in the news quite a bit,” the man said now, frowning.

“Oh, I’ve . . . just been busy,” Urle told him.  He hadn’t bothered to check the news for a few days.  “But can you tell me anything about the request of the Hev Ambassador of the T’H’Tul?  He is quite anxious . . .”

“I’m sorry, Acting-Captain.  His request is not forgotten, but right now our staff are stretched very thin.”

“I understand . . .” Urle said, with a sigh.  “But I hope you can give me something, soon.  Ambassador N’Keeea is concerned for the continued existence of his people.”

The man looked grave.  “I understand.  I promise you I will pass word personally to the Director-Ambassador.”

“Thank you,” Urle said, feeling a little relief.  “I hope all goes well on your end – for all of this.”

“Me too,” the man said, a hint of worry in his words.

< Ep 5 Part 2 | Ep 5 Part 4 >

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

The elevator wall was as clear as air – only a few thin lines in it let her know it was there at all.

And she could see out over the entire area, all the statues, and the masses of people that snaked through various places.

“Half of this station is just sorting areas for the streams of people that move through it,” Brooks said.

“Over ten million per day,” Dr. Y noted.  “We are seeing only a fraction of that here.”  He looked at Brooks.  “Though having a ‘foyer’ of this sort, even if not all come through here, is surprisingly inefficient, Captain.  I imagine that this is for a symbolic reason?”

“Yes,” Brooks replied.

Apollonia had her nose against the glass, but then thought of how many people probably touched it on a daily basis.  She moved back.

“Y,” she asked.  “How squirming with life is that glass?”

He looked at it.  “Compared to Earth?  Pristine.  Compared to my office?  It is a veritable zoo.”  He stepped over.  “Now that you have brought up its make-up, I believe I will take a sample.”

While he did that, Apollonia gave a wry grin to Brooks.  “So where is this hearing?”

“The Military Justice section is located three cylinders over.  We have to get on a drone ship that will take us there.”

“How long will that take?”

“About ten minutes.  I’ve signalled a pod and we’ll be picked up shortly after we get to the transit bay.”

The elevator dinged and opened.  Dr. Y took a moment longer to finish his collection, talking about his excitement in meeting such an odd assortment of micro-fauna.

They found themselves at a berthing station, where pod-craft could dock.  There were hundreds of others waiting, with three rows of nine docks.

They went up stairs and Apollonia saw that the dock next to theirs had been cleverly closed off, exposed to the vacuum that existed between the habitat cylinders.  A work-crew in vacuum suits were replacing the lock.

Their pod was already pulling up, and Brooks threw the workmen a salute, which was returned by one.

“Do you know him?” Apollonia asked as they boarded the pod.

“No.  But officers salute workmen,” he replied.

The pod closed behind them and took off.  It just used small hydrogen thrusters, and she felt the acceleration as it moved down the length of the area.

They were still inside the superstructure of Korolev Station, there were only slight glimpses of space beyond through a few small slits – or, she wondered if they were actually kilometers away, but looked tiny at this distance.

There were thousands of other pods, she saw, all pilot-less but controlled in neat lines.  Around the streams of them were hundreds of smaller but still quite large drones with flashing lights that she guessed were for emergencies.

Their trip took them down the length of three habitation cylinders before docking at another terminal.  As they got off, Apollonia noticed that it began to decontaminate itself.

She heard some odd sounds, and Dr. Y was looking back at it even as he walked perfectly alongside them.  “That is not very polite,” he said.  “They are only samples.”  Some rude noise came from the shuttle.

“Captain, that shuttle has the worst personality I’ve ever seen in a drone,” the Doctor said.

“It gives them character,” Brooks said.  “I think it might be the Lunar influence.”

Dr. Y seemed oddly confused by that, but said nothing as they went into the station.

The look here was notably more utilitarian and sober, she thought.  Aside from the SU logo and plaques dedicated to important historical events or figures, there was no decoration.

The Justice Bureau Reception Area, her tablet told her.

There was a receptionist, but they had no need to go to them, and filed down more hallways.

They took a tram and Apollonia was starting to feel strangely uncomfortable and at home all at once.  This was much more like the stations she was used to, but the higher quality and seriousness of it reminded her of times she’d been in trouble with the law.

“Never trust a cop,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Brooks asked.  She was surprised he had heard.

“Nothing,” she said.

Y looked at her, but did not share what he had also probably heard.

They got off, and the area only looked more serious to her.  There were several officials in the waiting area.  Both the walls and furniture were a very dark blue, giving everything a more grim countenance.

Oh, but there was a fish tank.  Her eyes were immediately drawn to it.

Brooks went over to talk to the men, though only briefly.

“Everyone will be here soon, it starts as scheduled, at 1830,” he said.

“Captain, with your permission, Apollonia and I will observe what we can from the Viewing Gallery.”

“Yes,” Apollonia agreed quickly.  “I want to watch this.”  She felt as if she would be helping in some way if she did, though she could not say how.

“There’s some you can’t watch,” he said.  “You especially, Apollonia, as you’ll be called as a witness.”

“I what?” she asked.  She had entirely forgotten that she, too, had a role in the actual tribunal.  “What are they going to ask me, I mean?”

“What happened, what you did – mostly relating to what I did.  Volunteer nothing about yourself or your actions unless directly questioned, and don’t try to defend me – only tell them what happened.”

“Surely there’s more I can do,” she said, feeling panic rise up inside.  “Or, could I just write it out or something . . .”

“You’ll be questioned,” Brooks said.  “But don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

“Go over what you said again?” she mumbled.

“They’ll give you more instructions before you go on,” he said.  “But I need to go- oh, Admiral.”

Someone came up from behind Apollonia, and she nearly jumped, as if the person was right there.

But he was only approaching, and she realized she was having a panic attack.

Dr. Y placed a hand on her shoulder, and she forced herself to take a breath.

“Good, you’re here,” the Admiral said.

Brooks saluted the man, who returned it.  Their eyes went to her.  “Admiral Vandoss, this is Apollonia Nor from Begonia, and Dr. Y, my Chief Medical Officer.”

“Ms. Nor,” Vandoss said, soberly offering her a hand.  She took it, hating how weak her grip was as he shook it.  “I am pleased to meet you,” he said.

She found herself feeling weird under his stare.  She didn’t know if she was supposed to know who he was beyond his title.

As if reading her mind, Brooks spoke; “Admiral Vandoss is the one who sent me to find you,” he said to Apollonia.

“It’s the first time I’ve actually seen you,” the Admiral said to her.  “Afraid I haven’t had time to review your data.”

She suddenly remembered where she had heard his name.  “You command the Sol Fleet, right?”

“I am overall in charge,” the man said, smiling slightly.  “Ah, well, look at you, though!  I am pleased you could be found, and in good health.”

“Relatively speaking,” she said automatically.  “I do have rabies.”

Confusion went over the Admiral’s face, and Apollonia instantly felt heat rise in hers.  Deep dark, had she really just said that to an Admiral?!

Brooks let out a surprisingly loud laugh, and Dr. Y spoke.  “She is making a jest, Admiral.  It is a cultural norm for her colony, when in a tense situation.”

The Admiral let out a guffaw as well.  “Well, I can understand humor in grim times,” he said, his belly still bouncing slightly.  “I understand if you’re nervous, but I assure you that everything will be fine.  If you don’t mind, however, I should speak to Brooks before this begins.”

“Of course,” Apollonia mumbled, stepping away with Dr. Y.

“It’s a wonder I’ve made it this far,” she said even more quietly to him.

“It rather is!” Dr. Y replied enthusiastically.

< Ep 5 Part 1 | Ep 5 Part 3 >