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

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

Five spacehounds! A heck of a thing.

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

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

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

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

And Zeela had procured five!

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

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

“Pick up, ya dud,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

He waited the twenty-four seconds for the reply.

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

“Could have,” Sulp said. “Didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

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

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

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

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

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

They disconnected, and Sulp considered a moment.

Now what was he gonna name those five spacehounds?

----------------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

But to Brooks, it seemed like something else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Genson said.

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

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

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

“Yes,” Brooks said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brooks took a sharp intake of breath.

This, he felt, would not go well.