“Damn, Ian. Am I glad to see you.”

Brooks looked younger than he had been when he left, Urle thought. There were still tired lines on his face, and his eyes were a bit bloodshot, but he had more energy in his walk all the same.

Or, Urle mused, maybe it was just that he felt so run-down.

“I’m glad to be back,” Brooks replied, taking Urle’s hand and shaking it.

There was an awkward pause. “So . . . do I salute you now, or . . . ?”

Brooks smiled. “Ian Brooks, reporting for duty. I once more take command of the SUS Craton.”

Urle snapped to attention. “Captain on deck,” he said. It was only the two of them.

At least until Logus stepped out a moment later, who also gave Brooks a salute.

“Acting-Captain Urle, you are relieved. You may resume your position as Executive Officer.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir!”

“So how has it been?” Ian asked.

“A hell of a pain in the ass. I . . . have a list of things that you probably need to take a look at.”

Logus was still standing there, watching them, and Urle noticed that much of the hostility between the two men had dissipated.

“Actually, Dr. Logus there is some work for you as well. Doctor, you were helping Iago Caraval, weren’t you?”

“Aye,” the man said. “One reason I hated being recalled as I was. How is he doing?”

Urle considered how best to put it. “Down and up,” he decided finally. “I think you should make contact with him as soon as you can. His son Elliot has also been acting up a bit. Biting the heads off a lot of cookies.”

Logus frowned, not sure how to take the last part, but Urle’s tone seemed to suggest it was serious.

“I think I had better get on duty, then,” he said. “Before more confections are victimized.”

Brooks nodded to the man. “As you will, Doctor. Good skill.”

The man saluted him again, and left.

Urle waited until he was gone. “You and Logus seem to have found some common ground.”

Brooks shrugged it off. “What else is there?”

“Lots of little things. I think I have most of them under control, but . . .” He sighed. “Ambassador N’Keeea finally opened up while you were gone. It’s pretty serious, Ian.”

Brooks frowned. “Tell me everything.”

They began the walk back to the office that was now Brooks’s again. By the time they got there, Urle had finished recounting, leaving Brooks in thought.

“So you can’t get through the Diplomatic Corps?” He shook his head. “I know a few people there.”

Getting back behind his desk, Brooks brought up a screen and began typing. Urle couldn’t see his whole keyboard, but he could see enough to decipher some words.

You know we can’t ignore this . . . Get this through, he surmised, filling in the blanks. But the name of his contact was not something Urle caught.

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

Brooks’s eyes went to him, who snapped his attention away from the Captain’s keyboard. His pupils were not visible, but he had a feeling the Captain knew he’d been looking. That he’d wanted him to see. “Forward me your message.”

Urle felt a weight off his shoulders, as he finally took in the reality of Brooks being back and in command.

He saluted again. “Yes, sir.”

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

The gardens on the Craton were a poor comparison to Earth, Apollonia thought.

It was hardly fair to compare. The Craton couldn’t house towering redwoods, at least not without taking out a lot of floors.

They were still designed skillfully, with plants her system told her were all modified to live in space, in situations just like this. Some were not even descended from plants on Earth. They had been designed from scratch by geneticists and AIs to live in space, on ships, in systems like these.

The vine in front of her had beautiful, dark green leaves with pale purple V-shapes on them, and from parts of its stem grew apples. They looked like apples; they tasted like apples; her system told her they were called Neo-Apples, or even ‘napples’ by some. It was only in appearance, taste, and texture that they could even be said to be apples . . . an emulation.

Would she ever see the redwoods again?

Reaching up, she plucked the apple. She was not going to call it a goddamn napple.

Her system had told her it was okay, and she felt almost annoyed at being given permission.

Taking a bite, it crunched pleasantly, the sweet juices tasting better than any of the stunted, bruised apple she’d had in the past.

Maybe she shouldn’t be wondering if she would see the Redwoods. Maybe Brooks would decide he didn’t want her trouble much longer.

She’d heard the news; the whole thing had been called off. It just made her feel stupider, because she’d sat there like a jackass, breaking into tears, and it had all

Been

For

Nothing.

She didn’t think she really wanted the rest of this apple now, but she didn’t want to waste it.

Somehow, her system seemed to have read her mind, and on the screen she saw a nearby recycling receptacle highlighted.

Making her way over irritably, she heard a jangling sound, and a woman talking. The sound was odd, like someone was running with metal rings bouncing around.

She peered around a large-leafed plant with long dark leaves.

And saw a woman leading a pack of dogs.

Real, actual dogs.

Her jaw dropped.

“Holy shit!” she said loudly.

A few eyes looked to her, some annoyed, and she put a hand over her mouth.

“Sorry,” she said. “Excited. But holy shit, are those actual dogs?!” She moved to intercept the woman leading them.

Zeema Cam? she thought, trying to remember her name.

The woman was giving her a slightly stern look.

“This is their orientation,” she said. “And please, in public we ask that you refrain from yelling things like that-“

“Ohmygodohmygod,” Apollonia said, ignoring her and dropping to her knees.

The nearest spacehound, a mostly white one with tall ears, was regarding her very seriously.

“Working,” she heard a mechanical voice say.

“What?” Apollonia asked, looking around. It seemed to come from the dog.

“Working,” the voice said again. It was from the dog.

“He’s telling you that he is working,” Zeela Cann said, a little testily. “He’s not supposed to socialize while he’s working.”

“Oh,” Apollonia said, trying to move back from her kneel. Her move was awkward and she fell backwards, catching herself.

Oh, good, she thought. Just make a further fool of yourself.

Something small, dark, and furry shot between the legs of the others towards her.

It had a leash on it, and it tangled in the legs of the other dogs, who got very confused, trying to step over it.

“No, Angel – no, Angel!” Zeela said, scolding the black furball.

But it came to Apollonia anyway, and she let out a sound that could only be described as a SQUEE.

“Ohmygod it’s so cute!” she cried.

“And that is Angel,” Zeela said with a sigh. “She is not a working dog, just . . . I guess a companion dog.”

Apollonia looked up at her. “Can I hold her, then?” The little dog was jumping around her excitedly, panting. Its short tail was waggling wildly again.

Zeela let go of the leash. “Take it. In fact . . . she should be walked separately anyway. Why don’t you take her?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Apollonia said. “Oh, you’re just a cute little bean, aren’t you?” she cooed to the dog, not even caring at this point if people thought she was weird.

The little dog, for her part, seemed to quite enjoy the attention. She was actually hopping on her back legs, holding her front two up.

“She’s dancing!” Apollonia said.

She heard someone else exclaim ‘awww’. Looking around, she realized that a crowd had formed.

She scooped the little wiggly dog up and got up.

“Okay, let’s be orderly about this,” she said. “We don’t want to scare her.”

She had no idea if the little dog would be scared of this many people, but she would have been, so this seemed prudent.

“That is wise,” one official-looking woman said. She must be one of Zeema’s assistants, Apollonia thought. Glancing at her system pad, hanging on her belt, it seemed to be saying that.

Still getting to hold the dog, so small she assumed it had to be a puppy, others came up and petted her.

She beamed like a proud parent, and the dog seemed to adore the attention, licking each person’s hand excessively in the process.