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“Ambassador, thank you for agreeing to come,” Brooks told the being as they shifted from the gravity of the Craton to the zero-g of the medical station.

Despite how disconcerting it was to even a seasoned spacer like Brooks, Kell seemed unbothered.

Taking a railing and pulling himself along, he glanced at Kell.  The being seemed to have no need for handholds or anything to move itself as it liked in the lack of gravity.  Not even a foot touching the floor.

The inhumanity, the . . . wrongness of the being struck him again, and he felt a shiver go down his spine, a twisting in his stomach.

It was just nerves, he chided himself.  The Ambassador was as odd being, one that was inhuman, but in a way that was wholly appropriate; he was another species, after all.  And he had, largely, played fair with them in the last few weeks.  Just because the Battle of Terris had been brought up, that he was about to meet one of its many victims, was no reason to alter his views on the Ambassador.

Kell had still said nothing in response to him, as they met an orderly drone that led them deeper into the structure.

As they entered the chamber that would bring them up to speed with the rotating station – and back into a semblance of gravity – Kell spoke, as if there had been no pause in their conversation.

“I must come,” he said.

Or it.  Brooks mentally found himself humanizing the being, and chided himself.  Projecting human concepts and norms onto non-human beings was a long-time source of problems in inter-species relations.  It was good, vital, to view them as equal beings, but it did not help to simply think of them as humans who looked a little different.

Though, honestly, Kell seemed to not care at all how they referred to it.

“I hope you understood that it was not an order,” Brooks said.  “It was only a request, though an important one.”

Kell looked at him, and despite there being no change in his expression, Brooks could still feel the judgment.

“There are times when I will have to give you orders,” Brooks told him.  “I’ve been very spare with this out of respect, Ambassador.  But you must understand that there are requests – and there are orders.”

“I will keep my own counsel on that,” Kell replied.  “But this case – it is bigger than us.  Bigger than this station, I feel.  If you had not asked me, I would have requested to come see.”

The chamber had been slowly picking up speed, and Brooks feet were just starting to touch the floor.

This part of the station kept at 90% of Earth gravity; enough to feel some weight was taken off of him, but still quite solid.

Verena was waiting.  She spared Kell at glance, and the Ambassador stared back at her, his face equally expressionless, but his interest still apparent.

“Follow me,” she ordered.

They began down the corridor, and she led them into another elevator.

“The area we are going into is reserved for the most extreme cases of alterations caused by exposure to a Reality Break event,” she explained.  “These cases are nearly all terminal, and typically all we can do is give them palliative care.  However, in most cases, their injuries are severe enough that they are not mentally functional.  Such was the case with this patient we are soon to meet – his code is AB49672-E.”

She looked at her pad.  “Until recently, the patient was in a catatonic state.  His condition was severe, but physical alterations were – as far as we could tell – relatively minor.”

She looked back up and her eyes moved from Brooks to Kell.  “Until recently.  The patient has regained consciousness and has started to communicate.”

“Is he improving, then?” Brooks asked.

“I do not believe so,” Verena said.  “His communicative periods are brief, but other oddities have begun to arise.  While it is common for altered patients to develop benign tumors and growths, Denso has begun growing functional new organs.”

“That’s impossible,” Brooks said.  “Alteration is the corruption of matter as we know it-“

“It is not impossible,” Kell commented.

Brooks looked at him, but the Ambassador did not meet his gaze.  He was only staring at Verena.

The doctor nodded.  “Evidently, the Ambassador is correct.  Denso has begun to grow eyes – functional eyes.  This has not been seen in another altered patient, it is entirely novel.  I believe it is possible that you will be able to understand this more, Ambassador, on account of your equally-novel biology.  And you, Captain – you have encountered Leviathans more than any other living person and come out without alteration.  It makes you both uniquely qualified.”

“I will be happy to lend whatever assistance I can,” Brooks replied.  But he didn’t feel very confident; after all he had seen, he still knew almost nothing about Leviathans, beings like them, or those that had been altered by their presence.

He had the feeling, though, that there was more to this than she said, that her reasons extended beyond his mere experiences.  The sinking feeling in his stomach grew worse.

“Do you have any questions, Ambassador?” Verena asked, looking at Kell.  Brooks realized that she had not had any visible reaction to the Shoggoth.  Not upon first meeting him, and not now.

“I will have to see him,” Kell replied.

Verena nodded.  “I thought as much.  Captain, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Brooks said.  Though his stomach churned, and dread crept up his spine, he knew that this was a part of his duty.  It was the worst part, but it was still the service required of him.

The elevator door opened, and Brooks realized it had stopped some time ago, but Verena had kept the doors closed.

The first thing that hit him was the smell; the stench of chemicals designed to render a surface more sterile than a radiation-baked rock.  There was no pleasant scent added to diminish the noxious sting, and he found his eyes wanting to water.

The area itself was white, antiseptic.  The walls were different from any he had seen elsewhere on the station or even a starship; a slight off-white color, made of single pieces that formed wall, floor, and ceiling.  It seemed that the entire corridor had been made in a single custom piece, with all halls extending off it appearing the same.  The entire area, perhaps even floor, must have been 3D printed in one single piece.

The air seemed oddly humid.  From the sheer quantity of cleaning chemicals, or for a different reason entirely, he could not tell.

Kell seemed just as fascinated.  “Interesting,” he said, looking over.  There was some distaste in his voice, and when they stepped out, Kell seemed almost uncomfortable.

“Is something troubling you, Ambassador?” Verena asked, studying him carefully.  As if watching for a reaction.

“No,” Kell replied.

Other doctors were in the hall, but were faceless under full-body protective suits, bulkier even than space suits.

“Should we be wearing more protection?” Brooks asked.

“Only if you plan on staying for hours,” she replied.  “For the purposes of our visit, we will be safe enough.”

Reassuring, Brooks thought.

“Before we go further, I must impress upon you both that what we are about to see is a Class-15 secret.”  She looked to Brooks, then Kell, pitting the latter with a more intense stare.

“You will not speak of nor share anything you learn or witness here with another being outside of this facility.  Am I understood?”

Brooks nodded, but he had to struggle to fight a dizziness that swept him.

The Sapient Union was a very open body, and yet they still had secrets.  Class-15 was the pinnacle of secrets, a type even he had never been privy to before.

The bulkhead walls ahead looked somewhat different; more milky, further from true white.  As they neared, the color drained out of them, turning as clear as glass.  Beyond, was another room.

It was a very large space; at least ten meters tall and twice that on each side.

The space was largely empty – save for at the center, where there was a glass-walled chamber.  Or, at least it was clear like glass; Brooks’s data feed informed him that it was a heavily-reinforced plastic.

The airlock doors were still opaque, cutting them off from all sight as they entered.  A decontamination procedure commenced.  Kell scowled through it.

“Unpleasant,” he commented.

Verena was watching him carefully again.  But she said nothing.

The other door opened, and they went into the room beyond.

< Ep 3 Part 11 | Ep 3 Part 13 >

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

Dr. Verena Urle’s office was a paradigm of efficiency, Brooks thought.  There was her primary desk, there were bookshelves filled with physical copies of the most important documents, displayed perfectly, everything lit, everything neat.  There was very little else, save for a chair for him.  No photos, no knick-knacks, not even an errant paper.  No sign of life.

It was a spacious room, but with the scale of Medical Station 29, it could afford to be.  Yet the sparse nature of the furnishings made it feel almost too large.  Uncomfortably so.

“I am quite busy, as you may guess, Captain,” she said.  Her voice was inflectionless, merely information with none of the warmth.  Not at all the woman Brooks had once known.  “Perhaps you can appreciate my hard copies of The Complete Medical History of Humanity another time.”

“Of course,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the shelves.  It was easier than looking the woman in the eyes.

“We have begun offloading the clones and their equipment to your people,” he began.

“I am aware,” she replied.  “I have already received reports that it is behind schedule.  I was under the impression you ran a tight ship, Captain.  Was I wrong?”

The hardest part, he knew, was that it was not meant to be a snipe; if she said it, it was just likely to be true.

“I run my ship well,” he replied.  “But with something of this nature, slow-downs can occur.  I’d rather make sure it was done right than quickly.”

“We manage both, here,” she commented.

“With all due respect, Admiral,” he said, using her rank instead of title.  “We are not a medical facility.  We are a city-ship, and this is something we will handle as best we can.  I have full faith in my people; they are doing their best.  Once they are in your hands, we will all be happier.”

The woman nodded sharply, and looked down.  “There is another matter which requires your attention.”

“The transfer of people from your station?” Brooks asked.  He’d been informed ahead of time; it was not often that a ship such as his came here.

And Medical Station 29 was a hard place to work – or live.  There was a long list of people asking for transport off, and the wait could be years.

“That is correct.  My people estimate that your vessel can take 10,000 emigrants.”

“Ten thousand!” Brooks replied.  “That’s a substantial increase in population, Admiral.”

“That is the second time you have called me by my rank,” she replied.  “It is better if you call me Doctor if not Verena.”

“Very well, Doctor.  But you understand my shock; our population cap is set at 40,000, and we’re already at nearly 35,000.”

“Yes, but these people will not be living on your ship for long.  You need only take them to the next port – I believe your itinerary has you heading to Gohhi Station after here?  They can certainly take on many of the transfers, who will then be free to move wherever they wish.”

Brooks was unsure how he would manage that many people.  “Is this an order?”

“Yes, Captain, it is.  But consider it in a humanitarian interest.  Many of these transfers have been on the waiting list for five or more years, and they are only seven percent of current requested transfers.  I expect that after taking your clones aboard, we will have many more.”

Brooks could not reply.  In a way, they had an easy task, merely being the courier of these beings.  Those who were in too poor a condition to have been moved from New Vitriol were now in the care of specialists of the Sapient Union, whose job was simply to make them as comfortable as they could in their passing.

And here at Medical Station 29, they would have to help those they could, watch many die anyway, and then help give the best lives possible to thousands of others who would likely never know a full life.

“I would order you to take more than ten thousand if I could,” Verena added.  “But I estimate that this is the most you can comfortably transport.”

“We also have a number of people from New Vitriol,” Brooks noted.

“I took them into account,” she replied.  She was looking down at her tablet and not even making eye contact.

In a way he was glad.

She said nothing for several moments, and Brooks cleared his throat.  She looked up.

“It is good to see you, Verena,” he said.  “How are you doing?”

“I am fine,” she replied evenly.

“Will you see Zach later?” he asked.  It seemed an obvious question, but with how she was anymore, he couldn’t really know.

“I will see my ex-husband later,” she replied.  “But it must wait.  There are many important matters – these clones, and something else.”

“I know it will mean a lot to him and to the girls,” Brooks added.

“I understand that it will have an emotional impact,” she replied.  “There is a more pressing issue, however.  I have a special patient.  I had hoped for you to bring your Cerebral Reader to meet him, but her initial reaction to the station does not give me hope.”

“What is the issue with this patient?” Brooks asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

He had met her since her accident.  But it was always hard.

“He is one of the altered from the Battle of Terris,” she replied.

He sat forward in alarm.  The battle.

“What is the nature of his . . . condition?”

“It is severe,” she replied.  “And currently there is much I do not know.  But most important is that this case must remain a secret, Captain.  You must tell no one in the crew about it, besides whomever you choose to bring with you.”

“Who do I need?  You mentioned Apollonia, but I don’t think she will be up to it – not yet.  We only just took her in, and days ago she was awaiting execution.  She’s going to need some time to adjust, to learn-“

“Understandable reasons,” Verena replied.  “Instead of her, I suggest Ambassador Kell.”

Brooks frowned.  “What is going on, doctor?”

“I will inform you more at 2030 hours,” she replied.  “Dismissed.”

The sudden dismissal caught him off-guard.

Verena was already looking back down at her tablet, and Brooks awkwardly stood, moving for the door.

As he reached it, he could not help but look back.

“I am glad you are well, Verena,” he said.

She glanced up to him, and gave the barest of nods in acknowledgement.  Then she returned to her work.

< Ep 3 Part 9 | Ep 3 Part 11 >

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

“We’re already behind schedule, and we just started,” Ham Sulp growled to Pirra.  His eyes were fixed on the loaders as they very carefully hoisted each cloning tank onto a crawler.

The tanks and equipment combined weighed over two tons each, and yet neither the loaders nor crawlers had any trouble with their burdens.

“Chew?” Sulp asked her, offering an open bag.

“Dessei don’t chew,” she replied, trying to keep from being short with the man.  “Sir.”

“Your loss,” the Commander said, popping another piece into his mouth.

The bag proclaimed it as smoked dovoq flavored with green tea.  She knew none of those flavors, though Alexander had told her that green tea was unlikely to bother her.  Dried foods, chews, flavored water.  They were all bizarre things to her; but then, Dessei had much different palates than humans.

Another cloning tube went out of the room.  The being within was shifting, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Can we be more gentle with them?” she asked Sulp.

He looked to her.  “I’ve got these movers on the gentlest mode.  We can’t get more careful unless we want to slow our moving rate even more.”

“I just think they’re getting disturbed by the movement,” Pirra replied.

“Probably,” Sulp agreed.

“Can’t we just go slower?” Pirra asked.  “Is getting the job done quickly more important than doing it in a way that keeps them safe?”

“Lieutenant, some of these clones are about ready to pop out of their tanks.  In some cases it might be as early as tomorrow.  We want to make sure they are within reach of doctors when they do that.  Because otherwise, half of ’em are gonna crawl out and just die on the deck.”

The man frowned severely.  “Why are you even in here?” he asked.  “This is a joint operation by Quartermaster, Sci, and Med.  And you’re a Lieutenant in Response.”

“Yes sir,” she replied, biting back a retort.  “Commander Cenz has given me permission to be involved in the operation as an advisor due to the fact that they’re living beings.  If an emergency situation should arise, I have authority to be involved.”

Sulp pointedly looked around the room.  Over a dozen cloning tubes were in motion now, each slowly rolling across the floor towards the hangar, where they’d soon be going into the medical station.

“I don’t see an emergency situation,” he growled.

“The clones seem disturbed, sir,” she said, struggling to keep her cool.  Sulp could test anyone’s patience, but today he was being particularly onerous.  “It’s not an emergency situation, but-“

“Then keep an eye out for one, Lieutenant,” the man growled.  He stepped away, throwing up both arms.  “Hey, what are you doing you idiot?”

His final words were spoken to a drone that had begun to veer out of line.  A series of strange coded beeps came from the machine, and Sulp shook his head.

“I don’t care if there’s a mote on the floor!  Unless it’s an important mote, just roll over it!”

“Wait, let me look, sir,” Pirra said.  The crawler had come to a stop – the whole line had done so – and she darted between them to look at the spot.

It wasn’t her singing stone, as she had hoped, just a folded sheet of paper.  Picking it up, she stepped back out of the line, while Sulp cursed the drones back into movement.

It bothered her that he was cursing up a storm by the sleeping ones.  They were likely aware of things around them, on some level, Cenz had told her.  They could therefore hear the whole slew of filthy words and slander that the head of the Quartermaster department was heaping on his machines.

She knew that the man was an expert at his job, kept his tongue in line when it mattered, and was from a bizarre human spacer culture for whom strings of expletives were not just acceptable, but downright polite.

Still.

The scrap of paper was not one of those old weird human pieces made from bits of tree, but rather made from a kind of plastic that mimicked those properties.

Carefully, she unfolded it.

It had just two words on it; Ema and Dav.

The antenna on her head twitched, rising up from her feathers, as some scent caught her attention.  It was the dovaq, she realized, and the smell reminded her of burning tires.

“What is it?” Sulp said over her shoulder.  He resumed chewing, and the sound grated on her ears.  Even Alexander’s quiet chewing could be off-putting to some of her kind, and the quartermaster was being far louder than that.

“Names,” she said.  “The paper isn’t like what we use on the ship, so I think it must be from New Vitriol.”

“Probably fell off one of the cloning tubes,” the man said.  He reached around and took the piece of paper from her hand.  “We can put it with the others.”

“Others?” she asked, startled enough not to comment on him taking the slip.

“Some other notes like this have been found on the tubes since we got here.  Probably the cloners, naming the clones they took a shine to.  Heard of it happening with amateurs in the people-making business.  Emotional connection.”

His words were like a stab into her heart.  “They’re people in those vats, sir,” she said.  “I can understand an emotional attachment.”

“Sure, you can,” the man replied.  If not for the sadness in his voice, it would have seemed mocking.  “But we’re talking about people who were trying to mass grow human beings.  Who were willing to let the majority die or come out sick.  For ’em to then be forming an attachment . . . well, in my view the caring shoulda come a lot sooner and in the form of not cloning at all.”

Pirra couldn’t come up with any response to that.  Sulp walked away, and after a moment she went after him.

The man had gone into a small office, and was pulling a box out of a cubby as she came in.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.  “You said there were others.”

“We don’t know which tubes they fell off,” the man said.  “So I’ve been collecting the loose ones in a box.”

He picked up a small box and shook it.  There were several dozen slips of paper in it.

Pirra carefully picked up one and saw that it had the name Dum on it.  Another she could see had Tos, and another Heg.

“Are these all names?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sulp grunted.  “That colony took up a common spacer trend – short names.  Short means bigger letters on your jacket, less sounds to call each other.  Lots of little reasons lead to that.  That Apollonia girl, I bet you diamonds to dross that she picked that name herself, bein’ an outcast.  Nor sounds a lot more proper by the standards of a place like that.”

“I see,” Pirra said.  “But why name them?  Putting some kind of claim on them?  They didn’t even know that these clones would survive . . .”

Sulp didn’t answer for a long moment, but snatched the paper from her hand and put it back into the box.

“Rads make having kids hard in space,” he said.  “I bet that the named clones were people’s kids.  They were just . . . excited.  Hopeful.”

He shoved the box of names back into its spot.

“They didn’t think it would go so bad.”

< Ep 3 Part 8 | Ep 3 Part 10 >

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

As Apollonia screamed again, Brooks stepped over.  She had passed out before he even reached her.

“What’s happening to her?” he demanded.  “Is she all right?”

“I do not know, precisely, but she has gone unconscious,” Y replied quickly.

Brooks leaned in to help him hold the woman, but the mechanical arms of the Doctor were stronger than he could ever be, and he realized it was pointless.

Dr. Y placed his hand on her head, his fingers spreading out.  He had innumerable medical diagnostic tools built into his body specifically for emergency situations like this, Brooks knew.

“How is she?” he asked.

“I can detect no serious medical conditions,” Y noted.  “I was quite thorough in my prior tests.  I believe that something about entering the station has simply given her a great shock.”

Brooks was not sure he bought that – though he had to admit that Apollonia had had a very secluded life.  She had barely known gravity for much of her life.

“I have an emergency team on their way,” Verena said calmly.

“I believe the best course of action would be to return her to the Craton,” Y said.

Brooks nodded.  “I agree.  Take her back, if you would, Doctor.”

Verena frowned.  “Are you certain, Captain?  This is a medical station.”

“I am,” he replied.  “She is comfortable with Dr. Y.”

“Immediately, Captain,” the AI said, picking her up in his arms.

“I had hoped to learn more about this CR,” Verena commented.

“You still will get a chance, but she wants off here, and I’m not going to force her to stay,” the Captain replied.

The doors opened and they stepped off, while Y waited.  As soon as they were off, the capsule began to slow – no longer matching the rotation of the habitat cylinder and returning to zero-g.

Brooks watched it, part of him wondering if he should go back with her.

But he still had a job to do here.

Verena’s face was neutral as he turned back to her, and it bothered him even though he knew why.

“Apologies are unnecessary,” Verena said.  “Let us continue on.  The rest of your staff should speak with the organization department head regarding the cloned individuals you have brought.  We will head to my office.”

Brooks had not been going to apologize; Apollonia had done nothing wrong, in his mind.

She felt cold.  A blanket was over her shoulders, but it didn’t help.

Dr. Y had brought her back to the ship – practically carrying her.  Not the most dignified way to move, but she didn’t feel any remorse over it.  She’d been only barely awake for most of it, remembering others talking, but their words had been vague, mere sounds without meaning to her mind at the time.

Staying in that place was worse than some embarrassment, and she had no hesitation admitting that.

And that woman – ‘Verena’.

She’d never been very religious, the whole gospel of the Dawn had fallen on deaf ears.  Hard to believe in it when the same people pushing it thought you were some sort of hellspawn, but she knew the stories, the legends.  The opposite of the Dawn was the Dark, the stuff of deep space, of night time, of caverns into the Earth where horrible things lived.

She still felt afraid thinking of those things.

That woman was as close as she had ever seen in a human.  She was a human, she knew that.  But that woman was a black hole inside – a void.

Y had brought her to a small medbay near the hangar, and she now sat with her legs dangling from the side of a patient chair that could lay back to be a bed.  She considered laying down and taking a nap, she felt tired enough to go right to sleep.  But she didn’t think she could calm down enough for that right now.

The doctor had left – he’d offered to stay, but she’d told him she wanted to be alone.  He’d accepted that, and she’d gotten a hot drink, tea, and was sipping it.

Why did anyone like this stuff?  It tasted awful.

She’d always seen it on shows, distinguished, smart people drank it, and she’d always wanted to try it.  Ever since she’d come on the ship and tasted it, she’d disliked it.

But it was warm.

The door opened, sliding into the wall with a soft hiss.  She looked up, expecting Dr. Y-

It was Dr. Logus instead.

“Hello, Apollonia,” he said warmly.

“Leave,” she said to him.

A look that was probably hurt went over his face, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m here to see how you are.  I heard you had an incident on the Medical Station.”

“I’m fine now,” she said, watching him over her tea.

“But you did wish to leave very quickly, yes?  Something was bothering you.”

She took an exaggeratedly long drink of her tea, just to give an excuse not to answer the man.

But he went and sat down.

“I can’t talk to you,” she said.

It only seemed to encourage him.  “I noticed you’ve been avoiding me.  Would you tell me why?”

“No,” she said.  “Just leave.”

The man took a deep breath.  She thought he was about to stay, but he rose to his feet.

“I can’t – and won’t – force you to talk to me,” he said.  “But I am only here to try and help, Ms. Nor.  Before I go, is there anything you will let me do for you?”

She said nothing, glaring still.  But she couldn’t keep up her rancor; the man was being so clearly earnest, and she felt guilty at treating him this way.

But she still couldn’t talk to him.

“Just go,” she said, softly.

The man turned and walked out the door.

< Ep 3 Part 7 | Ep 3 Part 9 >

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

The airlock doors opened, and Apollonia was amazed.

This wasn’t one of the rickety tubes that swayed and seemed like it might fall apart at any moment as she’d always known from her home system.  This tunnel was a literal tunnel, six meters wide and solid.  Off to the side was even a gravity-generated pathway for them to walk down.  She headed towards it automatically, enjoying greatly the sensation of freely walking she’d had since coming aboard the Craton.  But the Captain instead floated down the middle, with Urle and Dr. Y at his side.  Kell was also with them, along with a few other attaches she’d been introduced to, but whose names she had already forgotten.

She should stick with the group, she thought, and adjusted her path to match theirs.  It was weird going from the gravity to non-gravity again, a step out and you just began to float.

Using the railing in the middle, she followed the Captain’s group.  The tunnel was probably twenty meters long, and at the end another door had opened.

A woman was there with two attendants, waiting.  Even from here, Apollonia could tell her stern expression, and felt a nervousness rise in her gut.

Or was it the woman?  As they moved down the tunnel, it seemed like the lights were getting dimmer.

No, she thought.  They weren’t dimmer, but things felt different.  The shadows seemed more stark, more cruel.

Her feeling from her first sighting of the station came back.  They were deep in the Dark out here, and this was a cursed place.  Ambassador Kell had said it, and when it had, she’d felt it.

Yes, she thought.  This place was cursed.

“Admiral-Doctor Urle,” the Captain said, as they closed with the severe-looking woman.

Wait, Urle?  That was the first mate’s name, Apollonia realized.

The woman’s face did not change.  She nodded just slightly and spoke.  “Captain-Mayor Brooks, welcome to Medical Station 29.  You may call me Verena.”

“Very well, Verena, if you insist,” Brooks replied.  “I need not introduce you, save perhaps to one – I would like you to meet Apollonia Nor, formerly of the colony New Vitriol in the Begonia system.”

Something was wrong, Apollonia thought.  The Captain was gesturing to her, the doctor was staring, and she knew she was supposed to talk.

But she felt dizzy.  And the woman, the doctor – she was not right.

Their eyes met, and Apollonia felt herself shudder.

Those eyes.  They were hollow.  Empty of soul.

She was of the Dark.

“Ms. Nor?” Brooks said.  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to breathe.  She did not want to mess this up, she did not want to fuck up the very first thing she was supposed to do with these people, she did not want to go back to New Vitriol . . .

“Ms. Nor,” the doctor said, moving closer.  “I have heard about you already.”

Her proximity made Apollonia feel worse.  “Oh.  That’s good.”

The doctor swept her eyes over the rest of the group.

Dr. Y moved forward.  “A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Urle – Verena, if you prefer.  It has been too long.”

Verena accepted that, and her eyes moved to Executive Commander Urle.  They hung there, and no one said a word for a long moment.

“It’s good to see you,” the first mate said, his voice soft.

“I am glad you are here,” she said.  But that was all.

What was going on? Apollonia thought.  Could no one else see what she was seeing?

Oh.  Of course not, she realized.  Her head was swimming so much she could barely think.

Something came next to her, and she nearly screamed until she realized it was Ambassador Kell.  He – it – whatever it was – was looking at her intensely.

She realized that the Ambassador saw whatever it was that she was seeing.  And it didn’t know what to make of it anymore than she.

Verena was talking, and Brooks had started to follow her.  Apollonia forced herself to move.  No one but Kell seemed to have noticed her discomfort.

When she crossed onto the station, she felt pain shoot down her spine.  It went down her legs, through her arms, leaving her feeling weak.

“Oh god,” she said.

She didn’t remember moving more, but was drifting towards a door that the others had entered.  Kell was still watching her, but saying nothing.

They were in it now, and something was happening.  A pleasant voice chimed over a speaker.

“Prepare for return to Earth Grav Normal.  Please hold onto the railings and stand with feet pointed towards the red floor.”

It felt like they moved, and then suddenly their feet were on the floor.

And she fell.  She could not stand up any longer.

“Nor?” Dr. Y said, his voice alarmed.  But to her, it sounded distant, fuzzy.

She was looking up at his metal face.  She had blacked out, but only for a moment, she thought.  They were still on the elevator.

“Are you feeling ill?” the doctor asked.

“Take me back to the ship,” she said.  Her voice was weak, her muscles not wanting to work.

“It may be gravity orientation sickness,” Verena said.  “We have treatments for that-“

“Take me back to the ship!” Apollonia screamed.  Red clouded her vision, and she could not have told them why she wanted out of here so badly.  But she knew that she did not want to spend even one more minute in this cursed place, near that woman without a soul.

< Ep 3 Part 6 | Ep 3 Part 8 >

“We have surfaced in realspace,” Ji-Min Bin said.

It was unnecessary to state, but many felt it was bad luck not to comment on it; zerospace was, after all, a terrifying place.

The panoramic view of space around them allowed them to see Medical Station 29.  The station was colossal, more comparable to a continent than a city, stretching scores of kilometers from her centerpoint.

Much of it was actually a framework that held little, but served instead to connect the numerous rotating habitation cylinders where the vast majority of personnel and patients could be found.

Over eighty such cylinders made up the station, Brooks knew.  The population, all told, numbered over three hundred million.

The vast majority were patients.  The actual medical staff were a tiny minority, but still numerous by any reasonable standard, aided in their work by endless numbers of drones and minor AIs.

“It is very large,” Kell said.

Urle looked at him, surprised.  “It’s a technical marvel.  The amount of recycling they do is insane.  You can’t beat entropy, but they give it a damn good run for its money.”

“It is a cursed place,” Kell said.  His face turned into a scowl.

“It is a place of healing,” Dr. Y said.  “For beings with the most dangerous – or challenging – of health issues.  In many superstitions, Ambassador, such diseases are often considered to be curses.  I assure you, though, that this is not the case.”

Kell looked to the doctor.  “You understand medicine.  But you do not understand what I mean.  This station is cursed.”

“You do not have to leave the ship, if you are bothered,” Brooks said evenly.

“I am unafraid.  I can simply feel the nature of this place.”  He looked to Brooks.  “There are illnesses – and then there are curses.  This place has much of the latter in addition to the former.”

Brooks said nothing, but looked forward.

“Have we received permission to enter docking space?” he asked.

“Thirty minutes, sir,” Ji-Min Bin told him.  “We have passed through all contact screens and are cleared for approach.”

Urle shifted.  “Slower than I expected.  But I think they’re being resupplied.  I’m detecting a fleet of ships out on the edge.”

“This place is full of sick people and they’ve got fleets resupplying it?” Apollonia asked, frowning.  “If something contagious escapes, couldn’t it spread through those to a million other ports?”

“It can’t be fully self-sufficient being outside a star system,” Urle said.  His voice sounded more strained than normal.  “So it’s a choice.  Technically, yes, you are right.  That’s why the fleets are unmanned, however, and deliver to outer orbital stations and the supplies transferred from there.”

She listened, but looked more bothered.  “Did you say we’re not in a star system?  Where are we?”

“Interstellar space.  Actually, bordering close to the upper edge of the galactic disk – so it’s very nearly in intergalactic space.”

Apollonia shivered visibly.  “In the Dark.”

“That term is associated with superstition in this context,” Dr. Y noted.  “Am I correct?”

“Yeah,” she replied.  “I guess that’s true.  But it doesn’t make it less real.”

Kell looked at her, and she visibly jumped under his gaze.

“She understands,” he said with finality.

< Ep 3 Part 4 | Ep 3 Part 6 >

The room was uncomfortably warm and humid.

The human personnel in the room had a sweaty sheen to their skin, but Dessei did not sweat, and so Pirra only felt hot.

Which was fine with her; her kind tolerated heat better than cold.

No one bothered her as she walked among the cloning tubes.  Thousands of them, filling any room on the Craton that could hold them; storage rooms, science labs, medical bays.  Any space they could spare.

Pirra had gone to every room and visited the beings in them.

They were not aware of her, she’d been told, at least not consciously.  They were just . . . asleep.

She didn’t know if they would ever wake up.  They might just pass into mortal dream without ever having a chance to breathe the open air.

The man in the tube before her was moving, his feet twitching.  He was fully formed, it seemed, but the sensor display showed that he had numerous problems; his heart, his brain, even his bones had not formed correctly.

“It will be okay,” she said softly.  There was no way he could understand; her language would be incomprehensible to them.  But maybe her tone would impart something.

A clomp of boots she recognized approached.

“Commander Cenz,” she said, turning to him and offering a salute.  “My apologies if I’m not to be in here.”

“We are mostly limiting access to medical and science personnel,” the being said.  “But I have put you on the exemption list.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You do not need to thank me, Lieutenant.  Just remember to call me Cenz if no one else is around.”

She smiled slightly to him.  “I know we’ll be reaching MS-29 soon, and I just wanted to say . . . goodbye, in a way.”  Her large eyes went over the cloning tubes, and the beings sleeping within.  “I feel some kind of connection to them.”

Cenz said nothing, but he turned in place to look around the room.  “Yes, I understand.  We found them, and so I feel some sense of responsibility for them.”  He reached out his mechanical hand to touch one of the tubes.

“I feel . . . trepidation, knowing that their future is uncertain.  They deserve to have a chance at life, but I do not know what kind of quality it will be.  I sometimes even wonder if they will . . .”

He trailed off, his face screen turning to a troubled expression.

“Will they curse us for having brought them into the world in their state?  I cannot imagine how they might feel, years from now.  Who will they consider their parents?  Their people?  I could not imagine they’d have any love for New Vitriol or its deceased leader.”

“They won’t curse us,” Pirra replied.  “I feel certain of that.  Even if they suffer from great problems in life, at least they will get to know joy – happiness.  Even loneliness.  Without us, they never wouldn have known anything.  Just . . . a nightmare.”

Cenz nodded slowly.  “I hope so, Pirra.”

She turned and continued to walk down the row.  Some of the clones were so visibly unhealthy that she had low hopes that they would survive.  But some looked so close to normal, their readouts within at least acceptable parameters, that perhaps they’d be able to live long, full lives.

Cenz came up along with her.  “MS-29 has some of the best medical staff in the known galaxy,” he said.  “If anyone can help them, they can.”

“Have you been there before, Cenz?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted.  “I’ve always had a morbid curiosity to see it, but it’s not a place you can reach easily, nor simply tour.  But Dr. Y has spent some time there, I believe.”

Pirra was not close with the doctor, though sky knew she’d seen him often enough after getting bashed around in some mission or other.  Perhaps she’d ask the AI about it sometime.

Something had been bothering her, though.  She had told herself she would not distract Cenz with her question; it was something she almost did not want to know.

But she turned to look to Cenz, who was busy on his tablet, and spoke.  “Some of the tanks got shot when we were facing the guards on New Vitriol.  Do you . . . think those beings would have survived if not for that?”

Cenz stopped working with his pad, but did not look up.

“This question occurred to me as well,” he admitted, his voice softer and more subdued than normal.  “I cannot be sure, Pirra.  It is always possible.  But it was not likely.  Those beings were in very poor health.  I suspect we would not even have been able to bring them with us.”

Pirra said nothing, finding her throat dry.

She looked back up at the clones again.  So many had not even been healthy enough to move.  Cutter and his engineering crews had worked to better shield the colony from radiation, but there were so many odds stacked against those they had left behind.  She did not know what their fate would be, but if they did not survive she hoped that they at least did not suffer.

“I should be off-duty when we arrive at the station,” she finally said.  “Would you mind if I observed them being unloaded?”

“That’s fine,” Cenz said.  “But there’s so many that it may take several days.”

She nodded.  “I’ll just stay for all I can, then.”

< Ep 3 Part 3 | Ep 3 Part 5 >

“Zach, why weren’t you at the ceremony?”

The man was hardly visible, half of his body underneath the small craft that had been his hobby for months now.

The man stopped his work as Brooks spoke, but did not come out.  There was a long stretch of silence, and Ian knew his friend was having a harder time than he let on.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Urle replied finally, sliding out from under the craft.  “I thought it was only a request, not an order.”

“It was just a request, I was just surprised,” Brooks said.  “And we can drop rank.”

“I’d prefer to keep my head professional right now, if it’s all the same to you, sir.”

Brooks couldn’t say he liked that, but he nodded anyway.  It was hard to be the direct superior to someone you considered a close friend.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” Brooks noted.

Oil was on Urle’s uniform, he saw.  He did a double-take as he realized the man wasn’t even wearing work clothes; he was actually in his dress uniform.

Brooks pulled over a stool and sat down.

“I’m fine, Captain,” his first mate replied.  “I’m just taking care of some minor upgrades here, and then I’m going to do a full self-diagnostic on my personal upgrades before we reach MS-29-“

“That’s not really what I meant.  Urle, why are you in your dress suit?”

The man froze a moment, then looked down at himself.  “Ah, well, I guess I got side-tracked a bit and put this on before I decided to get some work done instead of going to the ceremony.”

Urle could be forgetful of details, but this was extreme.

And he had an idea what might be bothering his friend so much.

“How did it go telling Hannah and Persis where we were going?” Brooks asked.

“Well,” Urle said.  “It was a surprise to them.  I mean, to me too, but that’s okay.”

“Were their reactions negative?”

“Persis is kind of excited, I think.  But Hannah . . . was mostly quiet.  And then today in class she threw a shoe at someone.”

“Threw her shoe?”

“A shoe.  It wasn’t actually hers.  Or she brought an extra shoe with her, I’m not sure,” Urle grunted.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, she . . . missed the other kid, thankfully.  But I had a long talk with her.”

Urle got up, a frustrated energy in him lending his movements a jerky stiffness.  He moved to look at the engine part – Brooks honestly did not know what it was – peering down into a pipe.

“She’s never thrown a shoe before!  She’s never thrown anything at anyone before.”

“It sounds like she’s having a hard time,” Brooks said carefully.

“Yeah, she told me that she feels angry but she’s not sure why or even at who,” Urle said, his voice distracted as he still analyzed the part before him.

Brooks knew that technical obsession was a part of how his friend avoided his own feelings.

“I think it might be good for them if you took some time off,” Brooks said.

Urle nodded softly.  “Yeah.  Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

“I think it’d be good for you, too,” Brooks added gently.

His friend didn’t reply this time, just staring down into the pipe.  Then, without a word, he pulled it off.

It wasn’t something that anyone should have been able to just pull off.  It was attached securely, and yet Zach ripped it off with the ease of a man ripping paper.

It was easy to forget just how much of him was enhanced, and to what degree.

For a moment, even Urle seemed shocked by his action.  “I . . . that needs to be replaced,” he muttered.

“Zach,” Brooks said firmly, standing.  “Take the time, all right?”

“I’d prefer to keep doing my duty,” the man said.  “I can take care of the girls and still do my job.”

“I believe you, but I think it’d be a good idea to take the time to be with them.  They’ll appreciate it.”

Zach said nothing, his eyes downcast towards the empty hole he’d just ripped in the engine.

“Don’t make me have to make it an order,” Brooks said, regret creasing his face.

“All right, Captain.  I’ll take . . . a few days off.  But I want to stay on-duty until we arrive.  I want to be in the greeting party when we go over to the station.”

Zach looked over at him, and Brooks could see the need in his friend’s eyes.  It wasn’t a request Brooks wanted to turn down.

“That’s fine,” Brooks told him.  “After that you’ll go off active duty.”

Zach’s eyes went back down, not even to the engine, just . . . down.  “All right.  Thank you, Ian.”

< Ep 3 Part 2 | Ep 3 Part 4 >