As the ship slipped through the dashgate, Brooks felt some of his tension ease away – only to be replaced by the old sadness.

It hurt to say goodbye to Earth. He’d watched her until the moment the shutters had closed.

She was his first home. The world where he’d been born, that had shaped him – for better and worse.

But he could not stay there. At some point every one of his ancestors lay in her hallowed Earth, becoming again a part of it, a part of the cycle that had been going for billions of years and would continue for billions more.

He’d been born to wander the stars.

The viewing gallery was also the coffee room of the ship, and while no one had been in here upon leaving, he was not surprised when someone did enter.

He just hadn’t expected it to be Arn Logus.

“Doctor,” he said.

The man’s face hid his surprise, but a hint of it had been there for a moment. “Captain Brooks,” he said. “I’m sure it feels nice to hear that again without any caveat, doesn’t it?”

“Aye,” Brooks agreed. “And I think I owe you some thanks for that.”

Logus waved it away. “You owe me nothing. I said only the truth, but I think ultimately the fickleness of Director Freeman that is what you owe your thanks to.”

Logus had not been present to see the rest of the trial. Brooks knew he did not know all that had happened . . . or how it had all been a game.

“Nevertheless, Doctor . . . I have wronged and misjudged you. For that, I owe you an apology.”

Logus had floated over and heated a spherical bag of coffee. He had been about to sip when Brooks spoke.

“Thank you, Captain. I was always sorry that we got off on a bad foot.”

“I was just hostile to you from the beginning,” Brooks said.

“I don’t suppose you could elucidate me as to why?” Logus asked, but then smiled. “I kid, of course. I do know quite well why people don’t like psychiatrists. Or psychologists. And I’m both.”

Brooks shrugged and answered anyway. “I knew you were here at least partially to see if I was unfit to continue to command.”

“I was,” Logus agreed. “I was legitimately worried about you as a person, as well. And . . . you’re unique, Captain. The scale of our civilization makes uniqueness rare. But few have had the life you’ve had. And none of those people have encountered Leviathans four times.”

Brooks mulled on that. “So you want to know the psyche of a man who has.”

“Well said. It’s a rare thing to find something new,” the man replied, tipping his drink to him. Really just rotating the sphere slightly.

“What do you think of Director Freeman?” Brooks asked him.

“Is this a trick question?” Logus asked with a laugh.

“No, no tricks, Doctor.”

Logus mulled on it a moment. “He’s ambitious, emotional, prone to outbursts of said emotions – not unusual from the colony he’s from, they’re very passionate – but also highly dedicated to his field and to the Sapient Union. I can see why it rubs many the wrong way, and I understand your personal dislike of him – quite well, I might add – but I don’t think he’s the Machiavelian monster some seem to think he is.”

“He doesn’t concern you?”

“Not overly so. I have confidence in our society to deal with one overly-ambitious man. We’ve survived far worse as a species, haven’t we? Disasters, dark ages . . . capitalism.”

And it was true. Solitary people did not make history; they were, had always been, carried by the masses, and only had guided. No lever existed that was long enough for one man to move the world.

Brooks thought of saying more on the topic, but . . .

He was tired.

“You know,” he said. “I’m not a Captain again until I reach the Craton.”

“True,” Logus said. “And I’m off-duty, myself.” He smiled wanly. “This was my vacation time.”

“Why don’t we get some dinner, then, Arn, and just talk as two people?”

Arn hefted his coffee pod in salute. “Sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all week.”

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

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Zeela Cann said as the spacehounds filed around her. They were remarkably well-trained, she thought immediately. They literally knew how to queue!

But one darker spot seemed to dart between them, almost a blur.

It wasn’t a spacehound, and so much smaller that it was zipping between their legs. And it was an extra; there were five spacehounds, and this . . . furball.

It came up to her leg, jumping up, and not even reaching her knee. It was a dog all right, some kind of small one, but she was far from an expert on dog breeds. Perhaps a terrier . . . ?

“Say hello to Beaux, Cross, Sasha, Zeus, Apollo . . . and then the furball, whose name is Angel.”

Zeela looked down at the small dog, who was hopping up at her excitedly and panting.

“We didn’t order this dog,” she said.

“Yeah, you’re telling me. She’s not a spacehound-“

“Yes, I noticed that,” Zeela said, reaching down. The dog immediately ran away, apparently not wanting to be picked up even though it had just been seemingly begging for it. “What is it?”

“Apparently, she wandered onto the transport from the breeder, and owing to the cost of sending her back, the breeder council has determined that we are free to keep her if we want.”

“That tells me how we got it,” Zeela said. “Not what it is.”

“It’s a Station Terrier,” he said.

“I’ve never even heard of that.” She was watching Angel, as she ran around, sniffing everything. Quite unlike the spacehounds, who were still sitting at attention, watching her keenly.

“Back in the early days of habitat stations in Sol, sometimes they’d get infestations of rats or mice . . . Station Terriers were bred from Earth dogs to hunt them.”

“That’s barbaric!” she said, watching the little dog goofily dive into a trash can. “Oh, get her out of there!”

“They like searching small places,” Sulp said. “Look, I was as surprised as you, and she’s not trained beyond the basics, not augmented in the slightest, but we’ve got her. And, well, she is cute, isn’t she?”

He fished the dog out of the trash, who had a stylus in her mouth.

“Good girl,” he cooed, as she dropped it into his hand. He sat her down on the floor, her short tail waggling wildly. She seemed immensely proud of herself.

Clearly, the man was already in love with the dog, she thought. “As long as she doesn’t make a mess, she can stay,” Zeela decided.

“Oh, don’t worry, she won’t,” Sulp said amiably. “And anyway, they don’t hunt things anymore. Not since we developed drones that do it better. Isn’t that right? I bet you wouldn’t hurt a mouse!” He put his face closer to Angel, who licked at his nose.

“Okay, well, the rest of them seem all in order. How are you feeling?” she asked the dogs.

“Good,” one said.

“Fine.”

They all repeated one of the two words. Their vocabularies were small, but sufficient. Their health metrics were all in the optimal range, accounting for the stress of their travel.

“Let’s get you all to Dr. Y, I’m sure he’ll be quite thrilled to see you,” she said.

The dogs began to follow her, Sulp bringing up the rear – carrying the small dog.

They were thrown off-schedule when he put Angel down and she zoomed off down another hallway, ignoring his calls. After finally corralling her again, they made it – five minutes late.

“Oh, how delightful,” Dr. Y said. “And I see there is an unexpected lifeform! Perhaps this accounts for your tardiness?”

“Yes,” she sighed. She felt exhausted, and from Y’s slightly-longer-than-normal glance she realized he knew. “And don’t worry, tonight I can get a good long sleep and some relaxation.”

“This will allay my worry,” he said. “And you are fortunate I am always prepared, Administrator Cann. I can accept even the new canine companion in my schedule.”

“She was unplanned,” Zeela said.

“That is very common with organic beings!” Y said amiably. “All right, let us start with Zeus. Please come forward.”

As the spacehound went off with Dr. Y, Zeela sat down next to Sulp in the waiting room. The rest of the spacehounds lay down, but still remained alert.

“You do look like shit,” he said. Angel was on his lap, accepting every pat he would give her.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“That’s concern,” he said. “I wouldn’t know fashion from fresh fruit.”

“I know.” She sighed and leaned her head back. A moment later she felt something wet on her arm. Looking down sharply, she saw Angel there, looking at her expectantly.

It was a cute little creature, she thought. She patted its head, and the dog seemed to just eat it up.

Idly petting her, she sighed.

“You’ve heard about the election?” she said.

“Yep. Cancelled – thank fuck. I’d hate to see that little shit Darhan messing everything up.” He grunted irritably. “You know he wants to split Supply into two branches, a civilian and naval? Void take me, I can’t imagine what a clusterfuck that would be! Two Quartermasters! I can barely reign in Cenz’s excessive studies as-is!”

Zeela couldn’t help but be amused at Sulp’s one-sided feud with the Science Officer, whose requests for materials for new experiments were constantly being rejected by Sulp’s office for their attempted scale. Cenz never seemed upset over it, however . . .

“You know,” she said slowly, realizing that Angel had moved onto her lap. “I think this election would have been closer. Darhan isn’t an idiot, after all. He may have some bad ideas, but others . . . well, they have some popularity.”

“Eh?” Sulp grunted, frowning and narrowing his eyes.

“I’ve been scanning the feeds since the election was canceled. People do understand why, of course. And by far the majority seem to accept it just fine. But I’m seeing others who are frustrated . . .”

“Just because it was canceled, or . . .” Sulp asked. He noticed that Angel had now laid down in Zeela’s lap, and the woman seemed to be stroking her without thought. In fact, he thought, the dog seemed to be asleep.

“Partially. But also, some people are not that happy with Captain Brooks. I think the election just brought it to the fore . . .”

“As it’s kind of supposed to,” Sulp said. “I mean, we all get to speak, we’re all supposed to re-evaluate our thinking.”

“And we all have to have the time and stability to be able to,” Zeela finished. That was practically the motto of the democratic systems of the Sapient Union; not simply that one could vote, but that one had a duty to re-consider their own ideas, and the state should guarantee that everyone could take such luxuries, as much as it could.

Without all three things, how could democracy actually work?

“I can . . . actually see some of their points,” Sulp admitted. “Brooks is a rock-solid captain. And I’ve seen a lot of good spacer captains who are better than any syster cap, but I trust Brooks.”

He shook his head. “But I dunno that he’s a good Mayor. We always think to keep the two roles apart in Spacer fleets, and for good reason . . . I know it’s different here, though.”

Zeela was looking down at the sleeping dog, curled up like a bean. She could even see some of its toe pads, its paws twitching in its sleep. Chasing a rat as its ancestors had, perhaps?

“So when the next scheduled election comes around,” she said, “we’ll see what the electorate think. And if they do pick Darhan . . .”

“As you say, Aoks isn’t an idiot. He’s just . . . I don’t like him, and he’s got some bad ideas. Not like he can doom the ship.”

Zeela nodded.

Angel snored softly in her lap. She was actually starting to like the little dog now. Stars, it really was adorable.