“Interstel has potential, but Willwater and Phexipotex lack … vision. No, that’s not the right word but it’s the best I can find that fits your mouth. They only look at Arth as a whole. All the peoples. Logically, all people are not equal. In worrying about all, they do not look at how one could rightfully achieve their potential. Even the exploration arm of Interstel, despite looking for exceptional individuals, limits those rewards to the crew. Potential successes are squandered by refusing to allow exceptional groups to use their advantages,” the Velox said.

  “Such as those of your hive,” Benu said.

  The Velox responded by extending his body upwards and extending both pairs of arms outwards, a pose that the Velox associate with leadership and victory.

  “Of course. That is why we are setting up the endurium station on our inner planet for soon-to-be Captain Pophaottzi. He will be able to touch down there and pick up at least 10 endurium at a time, yes? And then at the designated coordinates on his first interplanetary –

  “He will be able to take a hold full of minerals, set a ridiculous price, and make over a million credits. It’s your money, Minister. Why are you forcing me to create this deception?”

  The Velox again used the arm-rubbing laughter, then made a dismissive insult involving her non-existent hive and strength of her middle arms. Benu realized he did not expect her to understand Velox body language.

  “Because Willwater and his lackey here rigged their system to eliminate most forms of advantage. Success has to be ‘earned’ to motivate the masses. We are not the masses. So when our Captain Pophaottzi returns from his first run with that many credits, he can then retrain and refit their vessel more appropriately.

  “You were picked for your impartiality, Doctor.” He made “doctor” sound a slur compared to “captain”. “Our very real threat to Silowrr is to help you see the wisdom in supporting us. While it is true once he is underway he will be beyond my reach, until he is very much within my grasp.” Mandibles and manipulators clacked together at the same time, underscoring the grasp is one of a predator. His launch will be after Captain Pophaottzi, so he will be in our collective grasp until then. Your affection for the scion of your shipmate is your weak point, so of course we offer to add him to your nightmares to motivate you do the right thing.”

  “The right thing?” Benu questioned.

  “Of course. Help our hive ascend in power. Our superiority is self-evident. All we need is a resounding success of heroism on the heels of gaining riches to gain the public support needed to shift the balance to us. Shifting our resources for marine exploitation by magnanimously diverting them at a loss for the greater good, plus our very own captain becoming our public face, we can shift the entire structure in our favor. I’m explaining it to you, in very small monkey words, so you can do your job and properly assist.”

  The interspecies taunt, normally a shocking insult in polite company, barely registered as Benu clenched and unclenched her fists. Szphaotxi knew of the threat long before she did, and had used that knowledge to tie up resources at the risk of the lives of everyone on Arth. He would throw away all of the sacrifices of her shipmates and the rest of the first wave, not to mention the rest of Arth, for some sort of power play. His apparent amusement towards her was more fuel for her anger, knowing she was alone and helpless.

  “What more do you need of me,” she asked through clenched teeth.

  The minister turned and focused on her. Phexipotex stood behind him, tablet in hand, ready to issue orders.

  “Why, Doctor, it’s simple. I need an inspiring heroic mission, something to put my very own Captain in a planetary leadership role, at least in terms of public opinion. He will be piloting an all-Velox crew. I had suggested every race put out at least one ‘pure’ crew in the name of science in order to set up Pophaottzi to captain the Velox one. I’m sure you have something from having reviewed the previous missions, over and over.”

  Benu’s first impulse was to suggest where the Velox should go and in what manner that had nothing to do with being heroic. A motion caught her eye. Phexipotex’ front half was still the attentive servant, poised to act on the minister’s whim. The back half, out of Szphaotxi’s field of vision, was signaling, “Seven up, seven out.”

  She checked the map and looked up. Now the executive was signaling “armed”. Her librarian piped up, filling in the gaps. Szphaotxi silently signaled, “hurry up, idiot,” as a Velox form of muttering to himself. She tapped on the tablet, sending the star map to the room’s screen.

  “There,” she said, “go to 118 by 107. It’s a flux point. It will take your crew to a rich planet. The previous ship met a new species, but they had run out of fuel before getting home. If confronted by ships on the far side, it is important to not only keep shields up but to fire your primary weapon as a military honor. They only respect strength. If they sense any weakness they will strike. Show the proper display of power and these aliens will retreat, leaving the system wide open.”

  Szphaotxi applauded, human style. The sound of chitin hitting chitin sounded unnerving. It sounded more like death than acclaim.

  “Excellent. I knew my faith in keeping you alive was well placed. Obviously, now I will give orders to sacrifice profit in the name of helping all of Arth by repurposing our marine mining consortium. Once it’s out of the gravity well it will be under Interstel’s control. You and Willwater’s lackey will have convinced me to see the error of my ways.”

  The Velox stabbed an arm at Benu, clacking the manipulator. “Make no mistake, it does not matter if you decide to run to Willwater. I want you to. We will still have the public posture by moving the decisive equipment for space expansion. All Willwater and the rest can do is watch. The seeding of endurium and credits is out of our non-public resources, there will be no trace. I’ll know if any of the ships route to the flux point, particularly since it’s not on any maps.”

  The manipulators struck Benu in the sternum. “This will happen no matter what you do now. Everything was primed to move before you were out of the hospital. All I needed was a few details and to wait until the decisive point. I let you find me to give you and Willwater the cover of being in charge.”

  The Velox had struck Benu several more times as he spoke, the last time knocking her down.

  “You Humans have a phrase, I believe. ‘Stay down.’ Be useful and you live. If you do anything to interfere with these events, I’ll know. You will die, lackey will die, and Silowrr will die.”

  Without turning, he said, “Lackey, make the arrangements. Let Willwater know he has been beat. Interstel may have the solar system, but we’ll have Arth and everywhere the people are.”

  Benu and Phexipotex watched the minister swagger out, clearly confident in the outcome. As Benu got to her feet, the Interstel director put a manipulator to his mandibles, incongruously miming the Human shushing sign.

  “Doctor Llano, on behalf of Interstel, may I sincerely apologize for this event. It was entirely unforeseen.”

  Benu didn’t have to see the contradiction gesture to read between the lines. Even a few days ago she would have raged at the Velox or stalked off to take on the Executive Director, but she had been studying Arth’s complex “people terrain”. More than that, she knew what was at stake. She found herself understanding the doublespeak of Arth’s power circles. The Velox’s posture changed to one of intense weariness and sadness.

  “I have already sent the orders on behalf of Interstel with the Minister’s approval. It should take a ten day cycle to start moving the new assets up the gravity well, but the press release will come before then. After that, it will be in motion. The Minister will get what he wants, and there is nothing anyone will be able to do to stop it. It’s a sacrifice we all have to make.”

  She understood he meant Captain Pophaottzi and his crew. As he cocked his red-brown head, she realized he also meant how she would have to carry that along with all the weight of her own shipmates and the rest of the first wave.

  Phexipotex swung his right manipulator into her left shoulder in a perfect mimicry of a Human chucking a co-worker in the arm. “So, do you know anywhere to get a drink? I think you may need a change of scenery.”

  Benu leaned into the bar at the Black Box Lounge. Her skin was a rich, warm glow of coffee and chocolate. Her hair was several centimeters long. An offset white streak accentuated the scar’s discoloration. Her left eye was now a startling unnatural yellow instead of the carefully matched artificial eye she had before. McConnel’s eyebrows rose.

  “New look. I like it. What will it be?”

  “What is the most expensive, stupidest hootch you have that actually tastes good?”

  McConnell turned and opened the door to a caged shelf. He made a show of brushing off non-existent dust and showed her the label. She nodded.

  “Two, one for you. But I’m paying for four, remember that.”

  His eyebrows arched again, slightly higher.

  “For when you come back from asteroid mining?”

  Benu laughed. “Haven’t you heard? We have transphotonic drive now. For when I come back from,” waving her hand above her head, “well, from where ever. They are letting us rock hoppers jump in with the proper New Oxford types. I’m going to be going out as brand new Science officer on the Cilireel, so new she doesn’t even have a nickname yet.”

  “Rockhopper,” he said, pouring the two shots. “Well, I’m sure that’s what the records say. Yep, they will be lucky to get you.”

  “Damn right.” They raised their glasses, giving each other a small nod, then knocking back the overpriced Arthian brandy. Benu stuck out her hand, which McConnell gave a firm grasp and shake.

  “Right,” she said, “remember you owe me those drinks. See you on the flipside.” She put her fist, palm down, in her open hand. McConnell replied in kind.

  She turned and strode out, the duffle bag with all of her belongings tossed over her shoulder. Some of the first ships have already come back from the closer systems, so her captain was looking at pushing out further.

  Her nightmares started to lose intensity after her last time in Old City. Director Phexipotex had pointed out she was medically cleared for duty. He got her to look up again, that night. Instead of carrying the weight of her friends’ deaths, she remembered their excitement with each new planet, new rock, new life form. Feeling like a little girl again, full of wonder, she shouldered her duffle bag and trooped down to the docking berth to meet her new family.

  XXX

  Obligations

  By Marisa Wolf

  Dinah technically didn’t belong in the Starport Lounge. For years she’d proudly brought her dad in whenever her tours and his runs landed them in this same spot of space, which happened frequently enough she knew he’d been tweaking his routes. He’d toast her career, they’d catch up, and then they’d return to their respective ships and careers.

  They should have had decades left of their silly tradition, toasting at Starport, but instead she sat at the bar alone, staring into her whiskey. While she wasn’t a proper crewman of Interstel anymore, she knew enough people to still get in. No one she wanted to drink with on this particular day, though.

  “Happy birthday, Dad,” she murmured into her glass before emptying it again.

  She allowed company a few times over the course of the evening, but after some Interstel fancyface got overly friendly, she stalked off to a corner to get proper drunk.

  It didn’t work.

  The evening refused to blur around her, and her thoughts circled the same topics, much as they had for the last six months: Being a captain really isn’t all it’s made out to be. I miss my dad. I miss my old job. New colony worlds are zero fun to visit. Pushing into new space and finding new planets – that was work worth doing. I don’t think Dad’s crew likes me. Being a captain really isn’t all –

  She dropped her head into her hands and tried to shove the endless refrain back in its box.

  “Cute little thing like you shouldn’t be –”

  “Finish that sentence,” she interrupted the unidentified voice without lifting her head, and made her own tone sweet enough for the poison to show, “and I will take your knife out of your boot and cut until you’re a cute little thing.”

  “I didn’t bring my –”

  “My mistake.” She tilted her head until one of her bright blue eyes glared at him, and smiled so hard he took a step back. “Should I show you mine?”

  He wasn’t as pretty as the captain whose kidney she’d threatened earlier in the night, but good-looking enough that he’d clearly thought approaching a woman hanging her face over a half-drunk glass of whiskey late at night would work in his favor.

  He opened his mouth to say something, then his survival instincts must have kicked in and he snapped it shut before wandering off without looking at her again. She turned her head back down to study the ring of condensation under her glass.

  “Here I was, minding my business, thinking ‘no, surely that can’t be Dinah Kenneson, hunched like a goblin in the dark corner of the Starport Lounge.’”

  She stiffened, then identified the new voice and sat up as it continued.

  “‘No,’ says I to myself, ‘she left Interstel behind to hop through the great frontier, getting her own ship and command and providing a lifeline to all the newly rooting colonies’ and so I continue minding my business and ignore the corner-goblin – and do you know what happened then?”

  “Porter,” she said, his name a mix of greeting and warning, then ruined it with a laugh even as her old crewmate carried on as though she hadn’t said anything.

  “Then, this goblin in the corner threatened to maul a perfectly decent midshipman for the great crime of speaking to her –”

  “He called me a ‘tiny little’ –”

  “You are tiny, my darling gelatinous glob, and maiming a man because he spoke the truth –”

  “You know very well –”

  “Anyway, that’s when I knew it was you. Keep your knife in your boot, I brought reinforcements.” Porter took his hand from behind his back and brandished a shining bottle.

  She studied him for a long moment, but couldn’t keep her expression blank. She sat up and waggled her fingers in a clear ‘gimme’ gesture, then inclined her head. “Your bribe is accepted.”

  “Thought so.” He slid into the booth across from her and immediately dropped a generous pour into her glass.

  “I thought you were far upspin for another month?” Dinah cradled her glass before sipping. Porter had brought some lower-level liquor – all she deserved given how much she’d had already – and a little body heat wouldn’t make it any better or worse.

  “We just got in and cleared through the docks.” He lifted his shoulders in an overdone shrug, and she knew better than to pry. She wasn’t entitled to Interstel’s secrets any longer.

  “I didn’t think I’d catch anyone this pass-through – we’re in-and-out, most times.” She sipped and half-smiled. “Your face isn’t the worst one I’ve seen tonight.”

  “Thank you?” Porter raised his eyebrows and took a healthy swig of his own. “Heard there was a bit of a scene earlier. Was that you?”

  “I didn’t stab anyone.” She performed her own exaggerated shrug and drank again before putting her glass down. “And whoever said whatever, it probably wasn’t me. I’m a captain now. Got a reputation to…”

  “No, no, please go on.” He laughed at her expression and slumped against the back of the booth. “How is captaining? Still a few years and yards of tests away for me.” Porter Tenneville, excellent science officer and otherwise layabout, had never expressed an aspiration for command. Unsure if he were serious or not – perhaps the whiskey was having an effect, after all – Dinah swallowed back her first response and refilled both their glasses.

  “As glamorous as you’re imagining,” she replied in her driest tone. “Coming here, getting cargo, going there, delivering cargo, coming on back. Just a metric frakton of variety and excitement.”

  “Better than I’d hoped, then.” He eyed her, and she wished she knew what he saw. She and Porter had served together on three different ships over the years, and he’d spent more than enough time with her to see beyond the basics that tipsy, over-confident men in bars tended to note. Those basics were straightforward enough – she barely cleared five feet, kept her dark brown hair shoulder-length for ease of tying back, had big eyes, medium-toned skin, and a small nose. Fit as most spacers. Cute, no matter how the years passed. A certain type of interested suitor always wanted to put her in their pockets.

  But could Porter see how exhausted she was? That the last thing she’d wanted was to leave a promising career and take over her father’s contract? That…she shoved everything back in its box and drank more in an effort to buy time and choose a change of subject. Porter got there first – maybe he had picked up some of what she felt.

  “You spend time landside? Any of those scrappy new colonies have good beaches?”

  “Mostly we dock at their orbitals. Early terraforming can get messy, and who wants to be the one to bring in new bacteria and ruin the whole thing?” She said it lightly, as though it couldn’t possibly bother her.

  “I imagine that would cut into profits,” he acknowledged with a snort. “But still, I’ll keep imagining you living the easy civilian life, drink in hand seaside on an endless number of shining new planets.”

  “Who do you think has that life?” Dinah laughed and ran her hands through her hair. “You think they’re hiring? I could do transport duty for them.” Her voice soured on the word transport, and she hurried to continue. “You heard from Gillings lately? Last I heard, she was testing for nav.”

  They talked about old friends, lovers, and rivals (and the intersections between) until they’d put a significant dent in the bottle.