She paused to make eye contact with both executives. “It will also assist in engaging the public and prevent the program from being perceived as an elitist corporate program controlled by powerful factions.”

  To her annoyance, the powerful elite corporate executives praised her for recommendation and seemed oblivious to the dig. Instead of being insulted, they increased the scope of her planning. She was to look past the next phase to launch and examine final mobilization with an intent to save as much of Arth as possible.

  The new information began to arrive in hours. Old Town was supposed to be abandoned, but the smell and sound was a constant reminder the old life support system was very much alive. Benu had no idea of whether or not she was going into the recycler system, to be nutrients and mulch. No one would miss her, as Minister Szphaotxi indirectly pointed out apologetically. The minister was one of the people whose family were the invisible foundation for the deception. He personally supervised the delivery of actual bound books for her to read.

  “Books are magical. Never in the databanks, only needs eyes to read,” he would say. “Very secure, please keep that in mind. Secrets must be kept. If there is no one to mourn, there is no one to question.” In her imagination, she could be put back into the hospital and simply “die from complications from her injuries.” That was probably just her fatalism in overdrive, as clearly she was not compost.

  She normally loved puzzles, the more complex the better. Her inner librarian, what she called the voice when she wasn’t an annoying kid’s voice, would constantly feed her clues, like a separate processer in her head. It was part of the skill-set that got her selected as a xeno-scientist – her ability to identify pieces of a puzzle based on function and correlation with other items, then build a mental picture of how a system functioned over space and time. A new planetary ecosystem or a reconstructing a multi-generational research program, for her it was the same skill set.

  Her audience of two stayed engaged the full four hours. As she gave her summation, she was hoping all she would happen would be retiring into the adjacent room she had been living in, grinding out more research and putting more pieces together for the final mobilization to follow the second wave.

  Willwater stared at her for an uncomfortably long minute, then nodded to Phexipotex.

  “Doctor Llano, you have mastered an amazing amount of information in a short time. We are grateful to you for your skill and your objectivity, something we find, alas, in short supply. We agree with your endstate for Arth’s mobilization. If we can build out our system infrastructure as you describe to match the push for identified colonies, we will be able to disperse the majority of our planet’s population and resources in the event we cannot stop the flares.

  “The question remains – can we reach the target endstate in time?”

  Benu was holding her tablet in front of her like a chest plate, arms crossed with fingers clenched on the edges. She didn’t need to look at the screen. In a small voice, she replied, “I don’t know.” She felt like she just killed the planet with her words.

  The two executives exchanged another glance. After a half hour of fielding questions, Benu was exhausted and flopped into a high-backed chair. While she downed the odd-tasting Old City recycler water, she got up to go to her bedroom, adjacent to the briefing room. Phexipotex clicked at her and gestured towards the other door.

  “You are free to return to your home, Doctor Llano. Thank you for your patience. All of your books will remain here, of course, but your home is otherwise a secure work site now. There is much to do. Tomorrow afternoon you are expected at New Oxford to evaluate the candidates and update the briefing materials. And please, Doctor, keep up with your therapy regimen.”

  Even after a month, her home was just as she left it, if not a bit cleaner, and with fresh food in her kitchen. Interstel had kept her small apartment maintained. The floral scent of her cleaning products were fresh in the air. Despite that, she still woke up the next day thinking she smelled ozone and burnt chitin. It wasn’t better than the days she woke up smelling burnt flesh of some sort, or the complex smells of viscera. It was just a lottery of which memories were playing as she woke up.

  She went to her physical therapy, as promised. She enjoyed the physical part, but not the rest. The Elowan tradition meant it included counseling since “the mind is part of the body; you cannot heal the body without the mind”. She was uncooperative with the provided therapist, as usual. She’d start over when they found a new therapist. One with the right clearances.

  On her desk was a small stack of books she’d had since she was a child. They had been gift from her parents, one a biology primer and another on astronomy. She grew up not only loving science, but wanting to go to the stars. There had been so many dreams. She had not known there were only nightmares waiting for her.

  Her parents had died in two unrelated accidents, her mother when she was 10 and her father shortly after starting the Interstel training at 23. The object of her interest was next to the books – a half-empty bottle of whiskey. She poured herself a finger’s worth in a tumbler “for medicinal purposes” and went into the bathroom to clean up.

  Benu looked into the mirror and stared into the moss-green flecks in her remaining brown eye, reminding herself she was not on mission. The left eye was brown and still gave her binocular vision, but it was a bit too perfectly brown. She carefully shaved her head. The white stubble coming in through the scar tissue disappeared down the drain. It was something she started during training as a break from her former life, eliminating a potential cause for suit failures or maintenance issues. It became a calming ritual, forcing her to set aside the day’s worries as she used an unpowered razor to take her curly, mostly black hair off at the scalp without nicking the two moles on the back of her head.

  She also found letting it grow in just felt weird. She forgot to shave several times while working in Old City, but the almost-itching of growing hair and the stubble turning soft would distract her until she razed it back to skin. After, she luxuriated in being able to shower more than one minute. She felt long showers would never stop feeling somehow “wrong”. She used extra moisturizers after deep cleaning her skin to counter her lack of self-care while in the Old City. It’s not like anyone there was commenting on her looks, and it’s hard to worry about ashy elbows when you’re not sure if you’ll be allowed to leave.

  Ready for the day, she took the underground train from the capital to Pelinoriat, then a quick ride to New Oxford and the Interstel training academy. In reading through the unredacted histories, she saw how many names and traditions led back to the home world of each race. This was going to be one of those ceremonies that were calculated to resonate with every species.

  The candidates were in a military formation, despite Arth having no current military. Everyone had some form of Interstel blue jacket or sash. Their Interstel insignia were distant sparkles in the bright sunlight. A heady mix of flowers and grain wafted in the westward breeze from the adjacent agricultural section. New Oxford’s original priority was keeping their ecosystem functioning as populations grew during the Arth Industrial Revolution.

  From a distance, the Humans were generally some form of brown just as the Velox were generally some form of muted red. Dark greens marked the Thrynn. The Elowan light browns and bright, leafy greens reminded her of garden items with uniforms on them. They reminded me of a children’s fairy tale where trees are sentient and wear clothes. Androids were purposely made mechanical in nature. Excessively life-like artificial beings stirred trouble, particularly with the Humans.

  Off to one side appeared to be milling family members. Anger rose up inside. Her team had worked in secrecy, but this group is getting the accolades her dead friends should have been able to hear. Intellectually, she understood the dynamics. Her friends were the proof of concept. The new group going public is part of engaging the public in the sub-rosa growing mobilization.

  Silowrr was down there, somewhere, just as Sohhh-Mitth was not. Benu smiled, thinking of her missing friend. She used to joke Sohhh-Mitth was the “over-Communications Officer.” She used to unconsciously switch pronouns between “he”, “she”, and “they” with Sohhh-Mitth, but for some reason Benu saw Lohhrhn, their Med-O, solidly as a “she”. The Elowan always seemed amused at the issue of gender and would never correct its usage because “no matter which you choose, you’re not wrong.” It didn’t stop their Comms-O from finding ways to make ribald jokes.

  Silowrr was Sohhh-Mitth’s scion, but because of secrecy she could not tell Silowrr how she owed her life four separate times to Sohhh-Mitth, the last one costing the Elowan’s life. She wanted to be down there, just like she had talked about a thousand times with Sohhh-Mitth.

  She forced herself back to her tablet. It was not the same one she left in Old City, of course. She had an hour before her appointment with Professor Kerwin Dahglesh to discuss his evaluations. The top of the class is Max Zarfleen, slated to take out the first of the Intrepid class of spacecraft. That’s going to have to be adjusted. She made some annotations to sabotage Arth’s premiere exploration space craft so he won’t depart until he is supposed to.

  She heard a cheer and saw the formation had broken, the blue-clad people mixing with the more loudly dressed throng. Families of all races were sharing the “Four as One,” a palm-down fist held in an open upwards palm, held close to the torso. Benu murmured the response, “Rock of Truth,” without realizing it until she heard it leave her lips. Her parents had been more old-fashioned than most. She kept her hand down and open instead of raising it as a fist in the “Sign of the Four”, where the fist is both “four as one” and “the rock of truth.” It’s hard to believe in the symbol when you know it was social engineering to give the our races a uniting symbol.

  Still, it was a happy image from up there, families of all four races in common cause. There was a sudden pang of terror as a rapid series of images flashed in front of her, recounting the ways the first wave had died, each more real than her own body. The images shattered as a cheer rose up from below while a blue-clad Thrynn waved a banner of some sort.

  She felt another twist of emotion, both resentment for their public accolades as well as wishing she was down there as part of the sea of family for Silowrr. When she heard the chitin-on-chitin rushing sound of an approaching Velox, she closed her tablet, then realized it was Minister Szphaotxi. She didn’t need the green crossed ministerial sashes or the pin indicating his rank.

  “I did not mean to interrupt you, Doctor,” he said. “I am here on behalf of my hive section.” He waved an arm towards the blue-spotted throng. “One of ours is being designated for command.”

  “I didn’t know that, Minister.” They both knew she did, but they were in public. “I’m sure you are quite proud.”

  “Oh, we are, Doctor, we are. This is very important to us. Pophaottzi is in one of the first launches.”

  Szphaotxi was as skilled in public speaking as Phexipotex, which is anomalous for the semi-hive minded Velox. Benu was nodding, thinking the “us” was Arth as a whole the way Willwater and Phexipotex do. The minister then shattered that connection to her.

  “After all, he will be known as the first Velox explorer. It is the commanders that everyone remembers.”

  The barely contained anger boiled over in her guts, driving acrid bile to the back of her throat. Captain Xiaxttse, her captain, was the first Velox captain! And a damn fine one! The minister quickly reacted, indicating informal apology with the top segment. The supporting legs canted in amusement. You didn’t go through the training she did to be ready for exobiology fieldwork without learning the nuances of Arth’s partner races. Velox body language was as eloquent as Thrynn nuanced sibilants or Elowan singing. Her unusual aptitude for understanding those outside her species almost had her wearing Communications insignia. Apparently, her body language was understood as well as Szphaotxi transitioned to full formal superior-to-honored-subordinate apology.

  “No disrespect meant to your friend, Doctor Llano. Forgive me, I am rejoicing for my hive section and the honor it will bring to our queen. There are several of my hive section here and we are in open connection, holding the moment to bring it back to the hive and to hold after Pophaottzi has launched. I regret our emotion is ill suited to this conversation. I am sure you are just as proud of Silowrr.”

  She nodded, not trusting her words. The minister was a powerful person in his own right, even without knowing his position behind the scenes. They switched to a polite banter and ended with a request for Benu’s time in a few days. She politely scheduled the meeting. The youthful ochre undertones to the red chitin belied his age, as did the muted laughter of his back left leg that would have been at home in a Human teen’s smirk after thinking they pulled off a cruel prank.

  Benu forced the anger down. Her mourning turned into anger when she was first brought into the program, which was while she was still in the hospital. She has reviewed the footage from every ship, over and over. They all still live and then die, right there behind her eyelids. Before it was the anger of loss and grieving. That had faded. This was the cutting-torch flame of anger at being used, and the minister was feeding it pure oxygen.

  Benu realized she was imagining Szphaotxi having his exoskeleton cracked while current arced through him, the same way the science officer died on the ISS Acaolaci. The camera feed had caught the moment in artistic detail that made frequent appearances in her nightmares. She pushed all that aside and focused on the meeting with the professor, taking comfort that the minister apparently assumed she had the typical human understanding of Velox’s primary language.

  Minister Szphaotxi had been appearing at the oddest coincidences, and Benu was past believing they were such. Her duties gave her considerable latitude and almost the full range of Interstel’s resources to potentially abuse. She knew where she could go to get away for the ingratiating Velox.

  “Another round, McConnell, another round. Both of us. Damn, it feels good to be back up here.”

  Evan McConnell, the owner of the Black Box Lounge, like many bar owners maintained a mystery about himself. Some say he helped build the Starport, which is why he seems so knowledgeable about not just the station, but working in vacuum. Some argue he is a government plant, but those same people find conspiracies everywhere. What was a given is he sold some of the most expensive beers and Arthian booze, due to “gravity tax”, side-by-side with cheap orbit-made hootch.

  People going out with nothing to lose would pay the gravity tax for “the good stuff.” People coming back flush with riches would pay the gravity tax for it, too. Benu was drinking “Grade A Tank Cleaner,” which was laboratory grade alcohol cut with distilled water and a touch of citric acid. “100% orbit made”. She knew this because it was on the label, but her own university experiences and the economics of gravity gave her no reason to doubt it.

  McConnell had pale skin and fine red hair, both being recessive traits that popped up in the Human populations. His eyes were mottled, like her remaining one, but leaning more towards green. She had seen him go shot-for-shot with more than one crewman and never seem to be phased. This was her fifth shot in less than as many minutes. Her phase was going to be a step function, and she was not caring about the amplitude.

  “Are you going to slow down, Llano?”

  She shook her head, the first bit of unsteadiness slipping in. “Nope. Are you going to keep pouring, McConnell?”

  He looked into her face, searching. She tapped the table expectantly. He pulled her glass back across the bar, pouring slower than before.

  “So…. How many didn’t come back?”

  Her jaw dropped, then clicked shut. He set down her glass next to him and poured his own glass, this one even more slowly.

  “I’m not asking where you were. There were twelve, thirteen crews’ worth of you loudmouths, all trying to be hushhush about what you were doing up here. I even got identical explanations – Interstel found an incredibly rich find, further out in the system. I even had people paying me to share the gossip, trying to figure out where Little Boy WIllwater’s big find was and how it would out do what his father had done so they could claim it first.”

  He looked into her eyes as he slid her glass back to her.

  “And then … nothing. Disappeared. Not in sets like different shifts of boats out there, ferrying the ore or whatever back in groups or towing it back. All at once. And nothing in the news feeds.

  He raised his glass. She followed suit, splashing a little out as it left the bar’s surface before vectoring into her mouth. She swallowed, still looking into the bartender’s eyes. He dropped his gaze and went about pulling in both glasses and putting them into the sink tray, talking as he did so.

  “Anyway, I’m not asking questions. Just saying, normally if a workboat goes missing, there is notice. Gone missing long enough, there is a declared loss. So there was a big find out there, yeah? But …. Not everyone came back. You’re maybe the third person I’ve seen besides Thyrrthynnn and one of his crew, both busy being important. So… just asking, how many of your crew made it back because it’s pretty clear you’re not riding alone there.

  He looked up and back into her eyes. She dropped her gaze to the bar, her hands clasped in front of her on the wet surface. The pause stretched on for at least a lifetime.

  “Five,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I lost five. I’m the only one left.”

  The redheaded bartender nodded and turned to the bar, then turned back with a bottle of Arthian whiskey and poured two more glasses.