“Captain,” Doctor Y said stiffly. “Has Apollonia gone?”
“Yes,” he said.
He was still in the hangar where he’d seen her off. There was another forty minutes until the hearing resumed, and this was as good a place as any to get some silence and time alone.
The doctor seemed disinclined to let him have more solitude, however.
“Why?” he asked. His voice was more clipped, less friendly, than Brooks was used to.
He regarded the AI machine with an arched eyebrow. “Because it was better this way.”
“I see,” Y replied. A pregnant silence went by, and he spoke again. “I believe that she was very upset, Captain.”
“I think so,” he agreed.
“Are you sure sending her off was the best idea?”
“Yes,” he replied shortly. “Optimal? No. But trust me when I say it was right.”
He was not sure how much he should reveal to Dr. Y – not simply because of the subterfuge needed in getting her away from Freeman. But Y was a wild card, his mind operating in ways that Brooks knew he’d never understand. And yet, despite that, he cared mostly for his own purview, not the overall picture.
“I believe you have made a mistake, Captain.”
Brooks felt a little annoyance. “So noted, Doctor. Now, if you would, I’d like-“
The doors opened, and Director Freeman came in, followed by two orderlies and two MPs.
“Is she still here?” he demanded of Brooks, stomping up to him.
“Who, Director?” he asked.
“You know! Apollonia Nor!” the man spat.
“I’m afraid you missed her,” Brooks said.
The man turned to the MPs. “Recall that shuttle immediately.”
The man went to do so, but then looked up. “I can’t, sir. It’s going under Admiral Vandoss’s authority and I can’t override that.”
The director glared at Brooks. “I had a meeting with her on my itinerary.”
“I was unaware,” Brooks said. “However, something more pressing called her away.”
“This is true,” Dr. Y chimed in. “I recommended she return to the Craton for medical reasons. She is most comfortable there, and these recent events have taxed her system greatly. She has been exposed to many novel pathogens, and I will need to give her a full antibiotic course treatment for her own safety.”
“Oh, Dr. Y,” Freeman said, as if just noticing the AI. “I did not realize you were there.”
“How curious,” Y replied. “I saw your eyes settle upon me for some milliseconds, and surely your synapses registered my presence in those moments.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Freeman ignored that. “That antibiotic treatment could be done sooner at one of my labs,” he said acidly.
“Ah, how unfortunate,” Y replied. “But unnecessary, she will arrive soon enough back at the Craton. I will have to beam back soon, myself.”
Freeman glared at Y, then turned to give Brooks the same treatment. Without another word, he left.
“I believe I have made an enemy,” Dr. Y said, sounding oddly pleased.
“I believe so,” Brooks agreed. “I think he’s making a lot of enemies today.”
----------------------------------------
Gravity Control station was a heck of a place, Sulp thought.
The station was surrounded by a cloud of drones at all times, meticulously sweeping space around the station for micrometeoroids or long-lost debris that might impact it. Few other places were quite as meticulous in cleaning space around themselves, and their stranger catches had become legend.
One story went that the station had caught a glove believed to be from an astronaut of the 21st century, and some went so far as to claim that it was still holding a pouch of tang.
He didn’t believe that, of course, but Gravity Control definitely needed as much protection as it could get from even errant gloves. Unlike most stations, which were coated in thick armor or excess rock chunks to prevent collision damage, almost every square meter of Gravity Control’s surface was made up of special sensors, whose whole purpose was to help it monitor fluctuations in gravity within the system. Something the size of a pebble, traveling fast enough, could cause trillions of EX in damage.
He looked again at the hard-print that Zeela had given him for the spacehounds. The Sapient Union didn’t use money, in the sense of some of the less civilized systems, but there was still a need to note the cost of things, and they used Exchange Units, or EX, to represent that. Most things, such as clean water, food, education, and housing were guaranteed; while they ultimately cost resources from somewhere, they were simply budgeted for in the resources the State-Owned Enterprises made as profit.
But for things that were non-essential to life, the EX each person earned could be traded for. Including spacehounds.
It was his job to track the expenditures of resources of the Craton, all incoming and outgoing when at ports. And this certainly fell under his purview.
He knew that Zeela Cann had long-ago requisitioned the funds for the spacehounds. Yet the number was so ludicrously high that he still felt his stomach cramp a bit just looking at it.
His shuttle was in its docking procedure, and while this was a newer model, the docking port itself was unchanged. As he heard and felt each movement and clunk, he could picture exactly what the shuttle was doing, each part as it aligned. Years ago, he’d been in the production of such craft, which were ever-needed.
People always thought the limits of a space fleet was how fast they could build big ships, how fast they could train crew. But no, he knew the real limitation was transportation. At some point you just needed so many shuttles bringing people and supplies that it became untenable. Because, sure, space was big, but there could only be so many docking ports and only so much hull space.
As the shuttle matched the rotation of Gravity Control, he stood up and unhooked his micrograv harness just as a semblance of gravity returned. Some people looked at him in surprise for his exact timing, but he paid them no mind.
He was standing at the gate when the airlocks opened, and was first off.
Eabor was not waiting for him, which probably meant he was busy.
Making his way through the station, his credentials scanned by remote systems a dozen times along the way, he eventually reached a point where even he could enter no further. Security here was tight.
He waited only a few minutes before Eabor appeared, the man taller than him by a head, but grinning like a madman before hugging him.
“How you doing you old curmudgeon?” he asked.
“Still kicking,” Sulp grumbled, pleased but unwilling to show it. Nevertheless, Eabor knew.
“Good, good. I can take a few minutes to grab lunch, but first I thought you might want to meet those spacehounds!”
Eabor led him through some more doors, towards a relaxation area. As soon as they entered, Sulp could see the crowd.
“Who’s a good boy?” he heard someone ask.
“I am,” he heard another voice say. It had the stiffness of an artificial voice, and he pushed through the crowd to find it.
He found himself looking at a group of dogs. They had short fur, beautifully shiny, and were all sitting very patiently as staff members petted them.
At least five were. There was a sixth dog, a small mop of black and tan fur that was darting between people. It wasn’t one of his, so he didn’t pay it much attention.