Brooks went into the brig only a couple minutes after Romon Xatier had left. But Y was no longer there; instead, a nurse was monitoring Jan Holdur.

He spoke to the man, but aside from streaks of tears down his face, Holdur was unresponsive.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Captain – the Doctor said he had some other work and assigned me to watch the prisoner. I believe he is in his office.”

Brooks headed there, finding out that Y was in fact in his office.

He knocked and entered, surprised to find that he was not alone; Dr. Zyzus was standing with his back to the door as Brooks entered.

“My apologies if I’m interrupting,” Brooks said, starting to back out.

“It is quite all right, Captain,” Zyzus said. He was an older man, old enough that his hair had finally turned a natural gray. He had been a doctor for nearly a hundred years.

“Congratulations again on the publication of your article, Doctor,” Y said to the man. “It was a novel approach you took studying the transmission patterns on a city-ship like this.”

“Thank you, Doctor Y,” Zyzus said, turning and moving past Brooks.

“My congratulations as well,” Brooks said to him. “I heard about that – the Union Medical Journal is the most prestigious body, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Captain,” Zyzus replied, seeming appropriately proud.

He left, and Brooks came over.

“Well, Doctor, how was it?”

Y took a moment before answering. “There is little I can say in regard to what I observed, Captain, as you well know.”

Brooks was thrown off by the defensive response. “I’m not asking for you to violate your oath, Doctor. I really just want to know how you are.”

“I am fine,” Y replied shortly.

Brooks waited, but the AI did not add on a joke or anything of that nature.

“Doctor, if you’d like to take some personal time, there’s no shame in that,” Brooks commented.

“Why would I need to, Captain, when I just stated that I am fine?” Y replied.

It was not snappish, at least, but Brooks knew he could not achieve any more than that.

“I am afraid Romon Xatier did not talk with me before he left,” Brooks continued. “Did he say anything on the record for me? Any message?”

“No, Captain, he seemed quite in a hurry when he left,” Y replied. “Perhaps to consult with a lawyer.”

Brooks’s interest was piqued by that, but he could not probe further. “Jan Holdur is back to his silence, it seems. I suppose we’re at a dead-end in that regard, then.”

“I do not think so, Captain. Romon Xatier will return.”

“Did he say he would?”

“No,” Y replied. “But I am certain that he will.”

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

“Commander, we’ve got another set of enemy drones veering onto an observation course,” a sensor officer called out.

The alert had already come up on the screen, and Jaya zoomed in on the trio of Glorian drones.

They were not on a collision course, though – by starship standards – they would be coming very close. Only a couple dozen kilometers off the bow.

Glorian tech was not as good as theirs; deadly enough in a slugging fight, but even from this distance the Craton‘s scanners could make out the bulges of sensor equipment on the drones.

“Send pickets 271-281 to intercept,” she ordered. The computer system had marked them as being in the best positions to move into their paths, forming a net that would risk either a destructive collision or the Glorian drones to veer off.

They’d had three close-calls already today, where the Glorian drones had held their courses until the last possible moment before changing direction. And a dozen other attempts had taken place besides that with less dramatic outcomes.

Which was good; if two drones did collide, that was one of the few things that would seriously anger the Gohhian Lord Executives. Adding lots of tiny, dangerous debris to their flight paths would be a costly thing for them to clean up.

But these close-calls were getting routine at this point. The bulk of Gohhi station itself hid the Craton from a lot of sensors, and of course anyone near a window could point a camera out and see them.

But there was only so much a surface scan could tell. Much stronger sensors would be able to make out details inside the ship that could elucidate a lot of things for their enemies.

The problem was getting close enough to do it. Sensors that big and powerful were easy to see coming.

There was a lot to learn about a ship so formidable and powerful. The details of many of her systems were known to very few, and Sapient Union intelligence was a potent shield. Thus far, the Glorians had never obtained the full plans to any major Union vessel.

They certainly wouldn’t get any detailed scans on her watch.

Two new dots, highlighted in yellow to show neutrality, entered the picture. Bigger, but with higher impulse, she recognized them as tugs belonging to Gohhi itself.

“Two Gohhian tender drones are moving between us and the Glorians,” the sensor officer called. “Glorians are veering away.”

“Recall ours as well. Make them fly into . . . star pattern seven and flash their signal lasers. Give them all a show.”

A round of laughter swept across the bridge, and Jaya allowed herself a slight smile, watching the drones as they formed the complicated shape, illuminating each other with lasers in sequence to create a moving pattern. The Gohhian tugs flashed their lasers in the space equivalent of applause. Oddly, the Glorians did not respond in kind.

“Commander!” the sensor officer cried. “We’ve got seven more pairs of Glorian drones collapsing in from various directions – they’re making a serious run for us!”

“We are prepared for this. Activate nearby drones to the incursions to intercept – prepare strafing runs with live weapons, but do not fire. We will show them that this is not something we will tolerate. Then deploy reserve drone squads H and J. Activate further reserves in case they decide to test us further.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Aye!”

The drones at the edges moved to intercept, the reserve moving up to cover their previous positions. The reserve squads were activated and deployed, keeping in a stable orbit near the ship. The Glorians would be able to see these, at least. However much they thought they could push this, without committing a full drone carrier, they were not going to overwhelm the Craton, who carried far more drones than most ships her size.

It was one of the advantages of being a spherical vessel; far more internal storage area than a longship.

As their drones began to make dry strafing runs on the Glorian drones, the latter began to pull back.

“All hostile drones off intercept course,” the young sensor officer said.

“Ensign,” Jaya said to him. He looked up at her from his lower platform and she met his gaze. “What is your name, Ensign?”

“Uh, Aka, ma’am,” he said, snapping to attention.

“Aka, is this your first time as a bridge sensor officer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded and smiled serenely.

“You do not need to panic, even if those had been enemy missiles incoming. Panic is fear given control and we do not allow that. Because if we let our fear control us, we cannot think and react properly. Do you understand?”

He still looked nervous; being put on the spot did that to people.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Good. You performed well, Ensign. Do not feel shame. But remember that by being calm we solved the problem. Now, I’d like you to take a break and simulate the same scenario again as if they had been live missiles – with an eye first towards the ship’s safety and secondly towards limiting the potential debris. Bring me five options, picking the one you believe the best – there is no wrong answer here, this is only practice.”

He nodded again, saluting her. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

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

Everything was red.

A fist, clenched around a stiletto, stabbed down into him. It penetrated his skull and he felt, with perfect clarity, the blade as it began to enter his brain.

Urle sat up suddenly, gasping for air. Sweat clung to his body and his eyes darted around frantically.

This was his office, not the dirty backroom where Bror Jackson had met his death.

His skull hurt, but his scans did not detect any stabbing injury above his eye. The phantom pain remained, however.

He ran another scan on the part he’d gotten installed. The previous owner, before dying, had the foresight to record his own death, and rig it to hide and then play for whoever this part was next installed in. It was only a port – probably why it got overlooked by cleaners, he thought.

He had copied the code, as much as was left, to preserve something of Bror Jackson. Otherwise he was only remembered by his digital self, going by JaxIn, who existed in his own private world generated on pirated servers on the Gohhi main hub . . .

Who knew he’d even last before someone discovered him and just deleted him? The thought made Urle wonder if he should offer to take the man out, but he could only copy him at best. Nevermind the fact that getting back into that server hub without a benefactor’s help would be nearly impossible and highly illegal.

But despite removing all trace of the man’s code from his parts, the memory still haunted Urle.

It was hard to forget dying. And he couldn’t just wipe it from his wetware.

He held up his hand, but it wasn’t shaking at least.

That didn’t mean he felt okay. Damn it.

A light flashed in his HUD as a message came in. It was from Zeela.

“Sending an immigrant interviewee up to you. Wasn’t sure how to handle him.”

Urle looked over the attached data, and saw the man’s name was Cathal Sair, and he was a priest . . .

Of the Esoteric Order.

There was a whole history for the man, from childhood up until yesterday. He absorbed it in a mere moment, his processors sifting the data.

There was nothing amiss; the man was as straightforward as they came, had no legal judgments against him and didn’t own much. His church had apparently begun this process three years ago.

There was a note at the end of his file, left by Jaya Yaepanaya.

“Individual appears to have aided Apollonia Nor in returning to the ship after she became lost. Motivations unknown – be on alert.”

Well, that certainly coincided with his own feelings here.

Despite Kell saying that they were involved in recent violence on the abandoned station where Hoc Rem had been holed up, those people had identified themselves as the Silent Hand, not Esoteric Order.

The Order was noted as being ‘of minor concern’ by Sapient Union Intelligence, the lowest rating for a religious order, and was not considered a cult of concern by the Cultural Bureau.

While Kell did not lie, he may not know the whole truth, either.

No matter how he and Jaya felt, or what they suspected, they had no evidence that the man was anything but a strong adherent of a space-age faith. The computer immigration system gave him close to the maximum reliability rating and recommended him as an optimal choice.

A tone came, telling him that Cathal Sair was approaching.

He opened the door, sending a signal to guide the man in, and closed his file. It was time to just use his judgment. That was a part of his job, after all.

The man entered. He was handsome, with blonde hair and piercing green eyes. He was wearing a simple brown robe with a short shoulder cloak of the same color. It was ornamented only with a pin over his right breast.

“Please sit, Mr. Sair,” he said.

“If you don’t mind, I prefer ‘Father’,” he replied. “So long as you are comfortable with it.”

Urle felt no strong feelings either way. “That’s fine, Father.”

The man sat, watching him serenely. His biometrics were all very calm.

“Okay, so I suppose I’d like to ask first – why do you wish to live on the Craton?” Urle started.

“I have been ordered here by my superiors, to be honest,” Father Sair replied. “But I cannot say that I mind. This ship is famous, and would be a fascinating place to live.”

“I can confirm that much,” Urle replied pleasantly. “But this is not your choice?”

“No – I was only informed this morning, as a matter of fact. But I was not anyone special when the application was first made – they only reserved the slot and then decided that I was the appropriate choice a few months ago.”

“Are you certain you are willing to take up life on the ship?” Urle asked. “We may not be back to Gohhi for years. If you wanted to leave, it could prove difficult to get back here, Father Sair.”

“Gohhi is not my home,” the man replied. “Well – let me be honest, I have lived here most of my life. But while I feel I do good here, and would be willing to stay, if I am called elsewhere, then I will go without hesitation.” A smile tugged on his lips. “Even better if it’s someplace nice.”

“I see,” Urle said, leaning back. “What exactly would you do on the ship?”

“I shall preach to the faithful, in accordance with Sapient Union regulations,” Sair replied. “I will only have a flock of two, it seems, but if others became curious enough to come to me, perhaps it could grow.”

Which was a prudent answer. The Sapient Union tolerated religions, but did not let them proselytize publicly. People had to seek them out if they were interested.

Urle did not expect the man would get much of a following on the ship, but it was always possible. He did not like that thought, personally. A lot of headaches could spring from it.

But it was not a reason to deny the man acceptance onto the ship.

“Are you bothered by the Union’s atheism?” he asked.

“No, I am not bothered. Some people can find their own way to the Infinite – which is our way of saying God, I suppose – but others may need some guidance. We are here for the latter, and have no quarrel with those who feel they can guide themselves.”

“Would you have issue with any other religious figures, if you were to encounter them on the ship?”

“No. We are friendly with all sects and beliefs that exist around us on Gohhi, after all. Public records will make clear – we have never had a hostile interaction with any other belief.”

“And what about criminals? Ever have trouble with them? Have you ever had to . . . do anything to defend yourselves?”

Urle did not want to give away too much or mention the Silent Hand . . . but perhaps the man would let something slip.

Instead, Sair just looked puzzled. “We are rarely accosted, but when we have been we prefer to give the attackers our money if they need it. A few times we’ve had to contact station security, but I would say most of the time we are simply able to talk people down. Theft is so often a result of poverty, I think we can both agree? And while we cannot cure that for people, we can at least work to soothe the damage that unrestrained capitalism does to the soul.”

Urle found himself somewhat impressed by the answer, not expecting the man to be this eloquent.

“Just one last thread, Father – do you know Apollonia Nor?” he asked.

Sair actually looked surprised. “The young woman from a few days ago? Yes, I helped her back to this ship.”

“Why did you help her?” Urle asked him, leaning forward.

He did not expect any crazy admission, but he did want to get a baseline on the man when he was caught off-guard.

“She was lost and asked for help,” Sair replied. “That was all.”

Urle nodded. “Well, we’re grateful to you for bringing her back to us.”

He considered now, as Sair went back to his typical tranquility.

He actually felt better after meeting the man. He may be a priest, who had been considered strange and untrustworthy for hundreds of years in most human systems, but this man seemed about as open and honest as could be.

“All right, Father Sair. Welcome to the Craton,” Urle said.

The young priest’s face grew into a larger smile, and he leaned forward to take Urle’s hand when a red light suddenly flashed on the desk.

Sair froze, as did Urle.

An emergency message came through his system;

“There’s trouble at the boarding ramp.”

“Excuse me,” Urle said, rising quickly. “I need to go.”

“Of course,” Sair said. “Thank you, Commander.”