“Boss!” one woman said. “Can we get our own dogs?”

Eabor grumbled. “Maybe,” he grunted. “I’ll think about getting us on the list.”

Sulp knew Eabor had always loved animals. It was amusing that he was so charmed by the spacehounds.

But that did raise a question; “That small one isn’t yours?” Sulp asked.

“No . . . It’s kind of a long story. But we don’t have any staff qualified to care for a dog.”

“I will!” one woman said cheerily. “I’ll take care of her!”

“. . . as in a veterinarian,” Eabor finished dryly. The woman pursed her lips and looked down, disappointed.

“You don’t just accidentally get an extra dog!” Sulp growled.

“Apparently this is how you get some dogs,” the other man shrugged. “Since we can’t take her, I figured you could.”

Sulp grumbled. He wasn’t thrilled to be bringing back more lifeforms than he’d planned, but . . . This wasn’t a spacer fleet where rationing was common. This was the Craton, who could easily take the burden.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

He stepped forward, in front of the spacehounds. All of them put their eyes on him, ears going up in alert.

“I’ve been thinking about names,” he said. Damned if he was gonna let Zeela name them, not if he was picking them up!

“You’re now Clab,” he said pointing at the one on the end. “And you’re Porb. Norb. Geel. And Corb.”

He didn’t have a name for the sixth dog, who he’d barely even gotten a look at yet, as it kept darting around among the legs of the station workers. Not a pup, but a Station Terrier. They just were small.

The spacehounds stared at him, with an almost alarming amount of intelligence in their eyes.

“Beaux,” one said.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Name is Beaux,” the voice said. The dog did not make any indication of talking, but the voice came from its collar, the system attached there.

“Don’t tell me you all have names already,” Sulp said.

They seemed to take that literally, and none said anything. Though smarter than your average dog, they weren’t at a human level of intelligence.

“Ah, yeah, they all have names,” Eabor said. “That’s Beaux, as it said. She’s Cross. That one is Sasha, then Zeus and Apollo at the end. The Station Terrier is Angel.”

“Who gives those kind of names to dogs?” Sulp said, sighing. He got out his bag of chew and put some in his mouth.

Enough to give a man conniptions! He’d wanted to give them the names of his favorite comedians, from back in his spacer days. A good laugh was the stuff of life for a man out in the dark!

But spacehounds really took to their names, he knew. Changing them was a very difficult process, as they took their names to be a part of their core concept of being. It was no use trying to change them.

Despite being all roughly similar, they all had some distinctive features. Beaux had slightly thicker fur around its neck, and was pure white. Sasha was a pale gold, for much of her head and body, with white on her underside. Cross was mostly white with only a darker splotch on both sides, while Apollo and Zeus were both pure white, and nearly identical save for a darker spot over one eye that was mirrored between them.

Beautiful dogs, he thought.

The small Station Terrier darted out, looking up at him expectantly. She had something in her mouth.

“What you got, girl?” he asked, kneeling. She seemed reluctant to let him take it, but he managed.

It was just a label from a package, and he frowned, looking to Eabor for some context.

He shrugged. “She just seems to enjoy fetching things like that.”

“Why, though?” he asked the dog.

She didn’t reply.

“She’s not a smart dog,” Eabor said. “Normal and unaltered, as far as I can tell.”

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“Oh.” Sulp considered on that. “Have you told the breeders yet?”

“Yeah. They said the cost to ship her back would be too much. She wasn’t qualified to be uplifted, so . . . she’s always just going to be a normal dog.”

Sulp found himself feeling a little sympathy for her. And, well, she was very cute, looking up at the label he was holding as if it was a dear prize.

“I’ll take her,” Sulp said. He offered back the label, and she grabbed it and darted away excitedly.

“Can they stay here a little while longer at least?” one man asked. “Like through break?”

“Well, we’re going to get some lunch and catch up,” Eabor told him. “So I think that’s fine. Sulp?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he said.

There was practically a cheer as the people on their breaks went back to showering the dogs with affection. They acted stoic, but Sulp could tell they were loving it, too.

“We can take a long lunch,” Sulp said quietly to Eabor as they walked out.

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

Urle knew he had to go see Iago.

Besides Hannah confiding in him, the word had come from Zeela Cann; she’d written a concise but thorough overview of his situation, past and present.

He’d been informed on the mission and its aftermath. And somewhere in his mind he’d known that he should keep an eye on Iago. Though, he had also thought he could count on his officers to keep him informed on it – as Zeela had done. It confirmed the trust she’d already built since he’d become the Executive Officer alongside Brooks becoming Captain.

Having reviewed it all, even as he headed towards the man’s quarters, he felt a measure of guilt. He should have checked in on the man his first day. He was their lead Response Officer, after all. What was more, he was also a single parent.

They had that in common.

He approached the door and sent an entrance request. His system saw that Iago received the message, and that he was home.

Then the door opened, and Iago was standing there watching him.

“Come on in, Acting-Captain.”

He looked pale still, with dark and deep rings under his eyes.

But there was more energy in him than Zeela had described. He seemed better.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.” Urle entered the apartment, keeping his attention on Iago, while his scanners checked the room and the man.

The room was clean; there was none of the mess that Zeela had described. The lights were dim, but on. His damaged chair was gone, though his new one had not been unwrapped yet. Well, that didn’t seem so odd, he might have wanted to have the room thoroughly cleaned before uncovering it.

“Not at all,” the man said. He seemed stiff, a little uncomfortable. Urle’s scans of him saw his elevated stress levels. It seemed that his presence had caused a spike, from how the chemical alerts were still shifting upward.

Still, that didn’t seem out of line for a man in his situation. He still seemed under control.

“I’m sorry I did not come by to see you sooner,” Urle said, deciding to be honest. “As Acting-Captain, it was my duty to check on one of my officers who was recovering from a traumatic incident.”

“It’s fine,” Iago said. “I know things had to be hectic for you . . . Acting-Captain. I didn’t need any special treatment, except from the doctors. But I’m okay now.”

His biometrics and body language said otherwise, but Urle could tell he was trying.

“What have you been up to?” he asked.

“Cleaning up,” Iago replied.

In the split second where the man paused before continuing, Urle checked the cleaning records; it seemed that after the initial brief cleaning by Zeela Cann’s drones, Iago had set them all to standby.

But the room was clean! It still had a way to go, so perhaps the man was just trying to put himself into an activity to improve his condition?

“Elliot and I have also been taking some walks,” Iago continued.

“Ah, that’s good. Being cooped up too much for too long can make a lot of things harder,” Urle commented. He checked the records and saw that it was true, though his data on body language bespoke still some deeper issues the man was suffering.

Things that he could hopefully work out with time . . . no recovery was instant.

The door to Elliot’s room opened and the boy walked in. He looked surprised to see Urle, but then his face went a little more neutral.

“Hello, Acting-Captain,” he said.

“Just . . . so you all know, you can just say Captain,” Urle noted.

“Just still used to thinking of Brooks as Captain,” Iago said, with a wan smile. “I think we all want him back badly. It just feels wrong having him gone.”

Brave words from him, given that Brooks had ordered him into the mouth of madness. It carried extra weight for it.

“I understand,” he said. “I do, too. But Elliot – if you’re okay talking to me, can you tell me how you’ve been?”

The boy seemed to hesitate, then nodded. “I’m doing fine,” he said.

Urle had not expected much more than that, but watched for signs the boy didn’t want to say something in front of his father. Which he did see . . .

“Do you think I could get some tea?” Urle asked.

It was clear that it was a request for privacy, he could see it in the man’s eyes. But Iago offered no resistance, just a nod and stepped off to the kitchen.

Urle spoke quietly. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” he asked, trying to ride the fine line of firm kindness without being pushy. “Just about your feelings or things that have been happening.”

“It’s been a little hard because dad was upset,” Elliot said flatly. “But he’s better now.”

His tone – hell most of his signs – seemed to suggest it was a lie. But the words were correct, and without hard evidence, Urle had to guess that it was awkwardness. He compared the data of the boy against other times he’d been caught lying – to Urle himself or another officer.

It did seem to match, but not enough for Urle to feel confident in thinking he was lying. He was either trying harder or . . . it was true. Other difficult emotions could easily make his signs seem like lies.

“I’m sorry it was hard, but I’m glad it’s better now, Elliot. If you do feel bad about it, you know you can always talk to someone safely and privately, right?”

“I know,” Elliot replied immediately. “I just don’t want or need to talk to anyone. I’m fine.”

Urle nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

Iago returned with the tea, and Urle took a sip, glad that he’d not covered his mouth today and so could savor the tea without having to use a drinking tube.

He continued to talk with Iago and Elliot for a few minutes. Nothing important, but he gathered more data and tried to figure things out.

But despite the remaining stress on them, he found himself not seeing enough of a pattern, or high enough signs to justify deep concern.

After a few minutes, he bid them goodbye. Thanking Iago, he left, feeling relieved.

It was good to see something turning out all right for once.