“Yes, madam- Joph- Ambassador, it’s me!” Tred said.

“Oh how wonderful! I hadn’t made a call like this before. I’m told that you’re not even anywhere near me on the ship, is that true?”

His heart was still racing as she spoke.

Jophiel was simply the name he’d suggested for the being, a plasma entity who they had taken on board the ship to live in one of the fusion reactors.

Her voice was synthetic, created by an AI that translated the electromagnetic impulses her kind used to communicate into sound, using masterfully crafted algorithms to try and intone the correct feeling of a being utterly alien to him. He honestly couldn’t know how good a job it did.

And Jophiel was not actually a she. That was a projection of his kind, humanizing an alien being who had no concept of sexes as humans knew it.

Yet she still sounded beautiful.

“You know you can just call me Jophiel,” she replied, amusement in her voice. “But you are so sweet calling me all that. You know I’m not really that special – I was only chosen by random . . .” the rest of her words blanked out into a garble of unclear sounds.

Some kind of idiom, perhaps? If her people had idioms. Who knew if they did? They had nothing solid about them – just ionized gases bound in electromagnetic fields. Then again, maybe he was being solidcentric in thinking idioms were bound in some way to that sort of quality . . .

“You are special to me!” he blurted out.

His cheeks burned in humiliation.

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” Jophiel said. Tred could barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “I was not sure why you hadn’t been around for almost a week. We had been talking a lot and then you seemed to get distracted.”

“Oh, uh . . .” Tred realized that she had not taken his words in the worst possible way. If anything, she didn’t seem to take them as that significant at all . . . “Well, we had a battle, you see. It was kind of a big deal.”

There was a long silence on her end. He almost spoke, hesitated, then she finally replied.

“A battle? I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“We were attacked by these aliens called Hev. They were one faction called uh . . . P’G’Maig.”

“But what is a battle?”

Tred did not know how to reply to that.

“Uh . . . a fight? Combat? The P’G’Maig were trying to . . . destroy us.”

She fell silent again.

Oh Dark, had she even known?

“I had been told about this,” she said carefully and slowly. “My people have never had these ‘battles’. I was told there was a danger to me as well if one could happen. I did not think it actually would.”

“We won! So you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“I’m not worried,” she replied, almost sounding distracted. “I had wondered about those little things coming at us. Was that part of the battle?”

“You mean the missiles?”

“Things flew out of the ship, small and large. And lots of little things flew at us but many did not make it. I thought maybe it was some form of communication, but I couldn’t understand it . . .”

“You could see all that was happening?” Tred asked despite himself.

“Yes, of course. The shielding on this little house reactor blocks some of what I can see, but not every wavelength. So I can see the whole ship and outside it for quite some distance.”

“Can you . . . see me?” he asked. “Like specifically, where I am now.”

“Well . . . no. I mean, I can see the beings on the ship – there’s so many! – but they are just electromagnetic points. I’m sorry, I can’t yet tell you all apart very well.”

“Oh, I’m not offended,” he said. He actually felt glad – he did not like being tracked all the time. It was a part of everyday life for AIs to do it, but for a being to monitor him gave him the willies. “I was just curious, really,” he continued. “But you know, if you can see out, I guess that helps not to feel claustrophobic in there.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that means.”

“No, I’m sorry! It means feeling . . . trapped or cooped up.”

“I see. No, I never have that problem! It feels pleasantly cozy, but you’re right that seeing out makes it not a bother. I rather like it – I’ve never felt this sort of sensation.”

That was not what he would have felt in her shoes- or plasma, rather. But she interacted with the world far differently than he did.

“Have you heard about the play that’s going to be shown?” Jophiel asked out of the blue.

He fumbled to get his brain onto a whole new topic. “Oh, the . . . one about Ussa and Usser?”

“That’s it. Can anyone go see it?”

“Well, sure. They’re doing a few showings, so I think a lot of people will be going. And there will be live feeds.”

“Oh, interesting. I wish I could see it, too. I can sense new people on the ship all over, and many in groups – I thought that was them.”

“Can you . . . see in the visible light spectrum? Er, the ones we can see. The wavelengths of 380 to 750 nanometers.”

“Yes, I can see every wavelength I know of!” she replied.

It was somewhat of an unhelpful answer, given he did not know for sure if she was aware of wavelengths she couldn’t see.

But she was not dumb, he chided himself. Even if her people did not have technology, they were not fools.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Well,” he said, the thought occurring to him. “What if I took you to see it? I mean, I know you can’t go personally.”

He found himself imagining what she might look like in that scenario; some being of light, like the angel she was named for? Or maybe just a glowing sphere?

Either way, it would probably prove fatal for both or either of them.

“How could I go and see?”

“I could modify a drone for you!” he said. “I know you already have some basic ones you’ve used, but I could make it better than those, and we could feed the data into the fusion reaction chamber easily!”

Yes, the emitters they’d put in that provided gentle EM emissions to translate their words into signals she could understand could just as easily convert images and sounds! It’d be child’s-play, really. He’d literally done it for fun as a child! Every kid did an experiment of turning starlight into sound as a learning project, and he had quite enjoyed it.

The only issue was the drone . . . The stock models were hardy but lacked much visual range, they wouldn’t do at all . . .

“That sounds wonderful!” Jophiel said, her voice rising to almost a squeal. Normally a voice that high-pitched bothered him, but from her he found he did not mind. “Can you really do that?”

“I can try,” he said, trying to be honest. Yet he already knew he would do anything he could to not let her down. “I mean – I’ll get it done!”

“This is so exciting! Please, let me know how it’s going, all right? And if you need any help, well . . . my diplomatic codes should help you open some . . . doors.” She seemed to hesitate on the last word, as if not really sure.

Which probably meant she was actually using a human expression! That pleased him for some reason.

She began to send codes, and he gasped. “Jophiel, you can’t just give me these codes! I’m not authorized-“

“I am an ambassador,” she said over him, matter-of-factly. “And I have chosen to take you into my confidence. Just don’t tell anyone else!”

“A-all right,” he replied nervously. What he had was actually serious intel . . . at least in theory. He did not know if anyone would actually care, or if it was just him.

“I need to go . . . I’ll have to figure out how to get started,” he said, feeling very nervous now.

“Okay! Goodbye for now, Tred!”

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

“All right,” Brooks said to the mostly-empty meeting room. “We’ve got a few issues to sort out.”

The only officers present were Urle, Jaya, and Zeela.

Every other officer was already up to their eyes in duties, checking over their respective sections with a fine-tooth comb to check for post-battle damage.

Operations had been first to go, using the lion share of resources; after a battle you had to be sure you were ready for the next fight. You rarely had a choice about when an engagement started.

Which meant Jaya was currently one of the few officers caught up on her post-battle work.

And Zeela, well . . . he could always count on her. She had her own hands full, but he knew she had a large cabal of effective support staff who she expertly delegated appropriate duties to. Administration was practically a separate government within the command structure.

“Jaya, in an hour you will meet with Lt. Commander Ebbe and hand over what’s left of Hoc Rem along with the originals of the data drives.”

She nodded and looked to Urle. “You have completed the copy of those drives?”

“Yep,” Urle replied. “We have duplicated those and also captured atomic-snaps of the drives so we can potentially reconstruct any data that might get corrupted.”

Brooks watched his friend and Executive Commander carefully as he spoke.

The man seemed mostly back to normal, but Brooks knew he was somewhat off. Ever since he’d gotten that memory fragment from a murdered man, experienced the man’s death . . . He had been bothered on some level.

Which seemed entirely appropriate. But Brooks wanted to make sure to keep an eye on him.

“After you have passed that off to Ebbe, you’re to report to the bridge and monitor things there, Jaya,” Brooks continued.

“Is a detachment of the Glorian Task Force still moving our way?” she asked.

“Yes. They are still outside of effective combat range, but unless they change course we expect them to enter the outer fringes of that in about six hours.”

Jaya leaned forward. “Do we have any reason to expect them to initiate hostilities?”

“Frankly, no. And lots of reasons for them not to. The situation they were causing last week is beginning to defuse, reports say. It amounted to nothing, but also no loss of face for them, at least in their eyes. So, while we can never rule out a warmongering force commander, they are likely just posturing and perhaps hoping for some sensor scans.”

“Very well. I will keep our drone defenses on max and dissuade their attempts at spying.”

“Good. All right, Zeela, I know you’re busy, but I’d like you to focus on immigrant selection. Given our recent issue with an attempted killer on one of our shuttles, I’d like to be extra thorough. If you do find anyone you find questionable, then pass them on to Urle for another point of view.”

“Yes, Captain,” Zeela said. “What is going on with the killer’s case?”

“Well,” Urle said. “We’re building a case against him for attempted murder, but such things take time. The Gohhians themselves have also begun some moves to object and interfere, but I think what will matter most is what the Gohhi ruling class want. They’re the only ones with the clout to actually cause us issues.” He paused. “Though the phrase ‘RepatriateJan’ is trending among the bot puppet accounts and pretty soon we expect it will spread to living users of social media.”

“We’ll get more of a feel for it once Romon Xatier arrives, I think,” Brooks said. “But I believe that is all for your specific tasks. Let’s get on with it.”

“And you, Captain?” Zeela asked. “Not to pry, but you’re not one to sit idle while others work, so I know you’re up to something.”

Brooks smiled thinly. “I’ve got a lot of fallout to clean up . . . and unfortunately a party to go to tomorrow.”

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

“Zeela, wait up,” Urle said, jogging up to the woman.

Brooks had kept him a few moments longer, but now he did need to speak with her, and in-person was best.

“Do you have a docket of your interviewees? Anyone pre-flagged?”

Zeela smiled at him, but arched an eyebrow. “Eager, Commander?”

“Well . . . the Captain hasn’t exactly assigned me a lot of tasks here,” he admitted. He’d brought it up, but Ian had brushed it off.

And he wasn’t sure why. Or rather, he did not want to think that Ian was treating him carefully.

“Hm, well our preliminary checks don’t make anyone stand out,” Zeela said.

“Share your feed, maybe there’s something else I can help with.”

Zeela clicked her tongue. “Volunteering? You keep this up you may end up under my command.”

“I’d rather do that than be bored,” he laughed.

“Be careful what you wish for . . .”

Her docket came up and Urle paused.

“Dark!” he spit out. “You have 27 messages unread, Zeela?”

“Oh, those are just from during the meeting,” she said. “When you’re administrator, you get it all hours of the day. Don’t worry, my secretary team are already going through them.”

“All right . . .”

Urle’s eyes scanned down the list. Most of the items were administration – but there were still quite a few that weren’t.

He saw one from Cenz, asking about some equipment she’d said she’d get for him.

‘As I know you have a pleasant working relationship with Commander Sulp and I do not . . .’

The next one was from Commander Eboh, asking for a few extra hands for the comms checks. Even as he looked, Zeela zipped that one away.

“I’ve got some spare hands headed his way,” she said. “Civvies who are interested in that sort of thing. They love it.”

Urle continued to scan down. There were also messages from Cutter, Kai, Sulp, and Zhu . . . along with another from Brooks.

“You really have your hands full,” he said.

“It’s a pretty normal load,” she said. “But here’s a few requests that you can help me with. At least, if you think Cutter would appreciate your help.”

“I think he would. But a lot of this isn’t even in your brief,” he noted.

He’d always known that being Chief of Administration was a busy position, but technically all it was was being the head of civilian affairs.

“I know I don’t talk about it much, Zach,” she said. “But this is the reality of the job – I look at the Craton holistically and see where I can help. Because if any part is slacking the whole will suffer.”

Urle let out an appreciative whistle. “You’re basically doing my job alongside me.”

“Yep.”

“You could probably be Executive Commander,” he noted wryly.

She smiled. “I’m happy where I am. As it is, I’m never gonna have to command the ship in combat – and I definitely prefer it that way.”

Urle accessed the list of who was ahead of her on that chain of command, and she was indeed last – civilian administration was frequently chaired by a civilian, so it made sense.

“Well, I guess things would have to go pretty damn wrong for that to happen,” he said. Taking the tasks she had sent him, he stopped.

“Thanks, Zeela.”

“Anytime, ExCom,” she called back, walking on. “Anytime I can pass work on to someone else I’m a happy gal.”