Romon began to pace, his eyes sparkling. Y had his interest, and if the man had ever had any desire to speak to Jan Holdur, he had forgotten it now.

“I have spent nearly fifty years watching my fellow man,” he continued. “From the lowest dregs, dwelling in abandoned stations and stabbing each other for a used needle, to my own sires, squabbling with others like themselves for imagined ‘rights’ to imagined money that we all pretend has meaning. We are all the same. Mere beasts, acting on instinct. We only delude ourselves that there’s more meaning to it because ours is a tangled web that intersects and drives us to greater folly than the rest of the animals.”

He shook his head. “There’s no greater meaning to it than that. We are pawns with no master, and so we run amok. I am no greater, no lesser in this. But at least I can see that.”

“I see,” Y said. “I am afraid, then, that I overestimated you.”

“Ah, you hold yourself up as better? More aware? More deserving of holding that spurious, hollow, and fictional title of sapient? How adorable, doctor. Though,” Romon added, “I had expected better of you, of all beings. That is, if you were more than a programmable yes-man.”

“You misunderstand. I overestimated your intelligence in particular – I am disappointed to hear you hold such a cynical view, no better than that of an angry child lashing out.

“You think you are elucidating the ‘true nature’ of sapient beings, holding yourself above, for you alone realize this truth. But the reality, Mr. Xatier, is that you are following in the footsteps of many failed cynical philosophers who all thought that they had stumbled upon the ‘truth’ of mankind. Or Desseikind or Sephtkind or even rarely Bicetkind. Yours is not an original idea. Yet their ideas hold on only at the fringes, among the most listless and broken – if even there. You see, such ideas are self-fulfilling. They achieve nothing, and so – following a Darwinian concept of success and spread – they disappear. They do not propagate. They are a failed experiment, only one that their believer holds onto desperately because they can use it to justify any sort of action or inaction that they wish. And this cuts to the truth of the matter; with your mighty fifty years of observation you believe you have seen the truth. It would not matter if it was even 5,000 or 50,000 years, to be honest – both numbers are not even a drop in the ocean of time.

“You are not elucidating reality so much as revealing yourself. Your belief in the faults of reality doom your own to be nothing more than that – your own small cunning has trapped you into a corner you cannot escape, except by losing your ego, which is truly all that matters to you.

“Little more than an animal, having robbed yourself of your own initiative, while even those ‘dregs’ at the bottom could potentially seize an opportunity and uplift themselves and alter their destiny if given a chance. But you, with the capacity to do anything, you simply hide your selfish and petty desires behind a weak philosophical camouflage.”

Y shook his head. “Narcissism and childishness, standing solely on an inherited fortune and a large vocabulary. These are not things to be proud of, Mr. Xatier. Any fool can do what you’ve done.”

Romon Xatier’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and he was not smiling anymore.

The door opened, making him snap his head over, but it was only a drone, bringing the pate.

It set it down, with a pleasant cry of “Geh’jool!” and then left.

Romon did not touch it, merely watching Y.

Y could see the simmering beneath the man’s surface, wondering what he would do or say next.

A ping came into his data, asking for entry. He saw who it was.

“We are about to have a guest,” he told Romon.

The door opened.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Y!” Apollonia said, stepping in. “The guards said I could just bother you a moment- Oh,” she said, realizing just where she was as she saw the cell that Jan Holdur was in.

“I didn’t know we even had a brig,” she commented, looking at the man in the cell. “Oh, shit, is this the guy who tried to kill that one gal?”

“Apollonia,” Y said. “What do you need? I am surprised the guards let you in.”

“Yeah, well I said it was important . . .” Her eyes caught Romon Xatier, who had been standing back from the door, nearly hidden from sight. “I didn’t know you weren’t alone.”

“It is quite fine,” Y said. “Did you have a medical emergency?”

“Uh, well I hit my head pretty hard in zero-g, and you’re my doctor so . . .”

“Your concussion is mild, fortunately! Head to my office in the medical wing and I will be waiting for you. Don’t worry, we can treat it with no issue.”

Romon was watching Apollonia now, and she was staring back openly, clearly finding his stare bothersome.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on the ship,” she said to Romon. “I’m Apollonia Nor.” She offered her hand.

“I know who you are,” Romon replied quietly. He did not take her hand, and continued to stare.

She withdrew it, clearly taking his action as the insult it had been intended as. “You must be from Gohhi,” she said dryly.

“And why would you think that?” he asked, still quietly, his smile returning. But there was something dangerous in it.

It was not lost on Apollonia. Y could tell the change in her endocrine system as she became angrier.

“You just have the look of someone who thinks they’re important. The clothes, the cologne, the greasy hair.” She turned back to Y. “I’ll see you shortly.”

She left the room, and Y watched Romon. He continued to stare after her.

“I think I must excuse myself,” Romon then said. “I feel the inspiration for a poem has come to me, machine. I must not keep it waiting.”

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

“So your concussion is minor?” Kiseleva asked.

“Yeah, it was just a little bonk,” Apollonia replied distractedly.

“I’m surprised they let you in,” the other woman replied. “Y was in the brig at the time, from what I understand.”

“Well, I told the guards it was really important and they pinged him before I went in, so I guess it was fine. But don’t worry, I’ve hit my head a lot harder than that before!”

Kiseleva frowned. “You had a concussion. Prior blows to your head would have been a health emergency. Were they untreated?”

Apollonia shifted uncomfortably. “I was just joking,” she said.

The other woman regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded and looked away.

It was not the first time that one of Apollonia’s dumb jokes had fallen flat. It wasn’t like they were going over her head, she seemed to get them, but did not see any amusement in them.

Apollonia looked away as well, sipping her drink. It was some kind of semi-medicinal smoothie that tasted mildly fruity. Y had recommended it, saying it would help her gain more muscle mass and get the calories she needed.

They were seated outside of a rest area on the Equator Ring. Around them, crowds of people were walking by, flooding into the shops and restaurants.

She’d stopped into shops before and found that most were artisan craftsmen making things by hand using ancient techniques.

She wondered how one even got to be an artisan. Did you sign up for some classes then decide you wanted to open a storefront? Or were many ten-billionth generation whittlers or whatever?

“You seemed to get distracted before you hit your head,” Kiseleva commented. “What happened?”

Apollonia was kind of unhappy to be dragged back to that topic. Kiseleva had an uncomfortable way of sticking to a subject no matter how much Apollonia wanted to deflect it with a joke.

“I was just a little worn out, I guess,” Apollonia said. “And sore from the last training session.”

“Did you take your post-exercise medication?” Kiseleva said.

“Yeah . . . but that stuff isn’t as effective for me-“

“Dr. Y believes its effectiveness would not be altered for you,” Kiseleva said brusquely.

“I don’t know, then,” Apollonia replied, feeling a little testy. “I just got light-headed.”

Which was true, and she could not account for it. For one moment she’d been fine, if panting for breath and trying not to freak out in the full space helmet counted as fine.

But then she’d suddenly whited out. It hadn’t been panic, she had felt no moment of a loss of control, that spiral into fear run amok.

Maybe she had and she just didn’t want to admit it, though?

Kiseleva was being quiet, and Apollonia saw her eyes following a group of people coming onto the ship from the boarding ramp.

“They’re letting people from Gohhi back onto the ship?” Apollonia asked, recognizing the natives by their outfits.

“Yes,” Kiseleva answered sourly.

“I hope they’re at least checking them more for crazy implants or being murder-happy lunatics,” Apollonia muttered.

Kiseleva only looked more annoyed.

Several of the Gohhians noticed them. There were many other people sitting nearby, but the visitors clearly were focused on them specifically.

Apollonia felt her hackles raise.

“Why are they staring? And pointing now . . .” she asked Kiseleva.

“We’ve both been in the news cycles,” the woman replied.

It made sense to Apollonia that Kiseleva had been, but why her? She felt very uncomfortable about that.

“Can you show me?” she asked.

Kiseleva sent her a link, and Apollonia brought it up.