DGC 71 HFS Bread Basket, Conference room a few minutes before Sara’s interrogation
Canine started waking up to another recital of Maria reading aloud the draft she had been working on. Not that it mattered, Canine couldn't see some popsicle wanting to be brought to speed by a scripted speech. Still, working on it kept Maria busy, so Canine never shared his opinion on that matter. He didn't realize she had stopped reading out loud. He shook his head to clear the nightmare from his head and yawned.
“We are nearing the Flotilla. I was going to wake you soon anyway. My reading didn't bother you, did it?”
“No ma'am, you’re fine. I still feel tired though, maybe I should have slept in my bunk instead of up here in the chair,” Canine said.
“It's probably your nightmares, your signs of distress are getting worse when you're sleeping. Do you want to talk about it?” Maria commented casually as if she were his therapist.
“No. It's fine, to be expected. Don't go adding my sleeping to any files or anything. You're not my psych.”
“Hmm, true. But if you want to talk to anyone, I’m going to be your only option for a while,” said Maria.
“Have we received updates from the local fleet command? Any orders or response to our query?” Canine tried to change the subject.
“No.” She replied. A purposeful silence lingered from Maria's short response. Canine blinked at her, and she stared back unblinking with her brightly colored eyes with abnormal hourglass-shaped pupils.
“Have we received docking instructions?” Canine asked.
“Yes. The pilot is taking care of it. He estimated about thirty minutes before we could disembark. Oh, and all your things are already queued to be transferred to a room. I clarified that all parasite ships are to remain docked to our HFS Bread Basket. So you don’t need to fly your Prontroma anywhere. Oh, what a coincidence, there’s your luggage.” Maria nodded to the Marine Marnier walking into the conference room they had occupied for the last few hours of the trip.
“I was told to bring these to Flight Defender Canine.” The Marine handed the duffel bag to him and saluted. Canine took the bag and returned the salute. The Marine was already halfway out of the room as soon as he was released by the return salute.
“It’s almost like he’s in a hurry. Like bringing someone's bags was keeping him from doing something important.” Canine said with unveiled criticism towards Maria. He sighed and put the bags on the table. Self-consciously aware of his flight defender shoulder patch, the missing bottom half, torn off marking him as something entirely different from a flight officer. A headache he was not looking forward to finalizing. The torn flight defender patch had been sown up to look whole. Even if it resembled a fictional meaningless patch now. The few grams of missing fabric gave him a sensation of more weight rather than lighter. It was a reminder of his fleet service being in limbo, his ability to help all the others pending until his status was finalized by the rest of the fleet's admiralty boards, including 1st home and 2nd home fleet so far away.
“Well since you have nothing you need to do I suppose we should talk to pass the time,” Maria said smugly.
His scorn for her manipulation of the crew was ignored. The conference room dimmed its lights, and the telltale low buzz sound and static feeling on his skin indicated she had activated the privacy field. The chance that anything said around the table being eavesdropped or spied on from possible, to near impossible. Especially with the high-end dedicated privacy field for the conference room. The smaller ones wouldn’t make his skin tingle like this.
Nick knew Maria meant well. She was probably directed to do this before they left Runic. Still, if he had a choice, he knew who he would want to talk to about this. Even if he couldn't this time. Too much information, too many secrets. At least not yet. He was left with a lot of things to rattle around in his head. It wouldn't be for too long. Some of the gag orders were only temporary. The figure sitting cross-legged on the table was the only comrade He could talk to for now.
Maria smiled. “Only about a year ago did the Free Bird event happen. That’s the most popular name for it on the net now.”
“That still feels like it happened last week. I don’t want to talk about this.” He trailed off, looking blankly into a corner of the room.
“I think Pyre would want you to…” Maria began.
“You don’t think anything about what we think! He shouldn’t have been diverted to help me! None of that should have happened. I wasn't worth it. I wasn’t worth Pyre!” Canine snapped. Maria didn't react. Her features were still soft and attentive to him, her long black hair framing her face in a picture of calm. He couldn’t bring himself to believe her expressions were genuine, even though he knew she was. The silence was uncomfortable. His mind, clouded with wide awake dreams, specters of combat, and memories of real nightmares long past. A mash of dozens of events with no distinction of when and where.
The sound of fingers snapping repeatedly drew Canine out of his flashback. He felt suddenly exhausted, and his muscles still coiled in tension. Even though nothing was threatening about Maria sitting on the table or the conference room, he recognized the misplaced fight or flight response. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, trying to calm himself.
“Do you feel ok? I sensed you starting to space out. It's just you and me and the privacy field. Nothing to worry about. Just us passing time until we dock with the Grimoire,” Maria said, trying to soothe him.
“Yes, yes, I’m grounding myself, I know. But I'm not going to work through any of it by thinking about it. Some things feel like I can't even recall them right anymore. It keeps getting jumbled with all the other details from year's worth of crap!” Canine said.
“Your flashback wasn't obvious, you're doing better than ok. Have you written it down in your journal about your last mission?” Maria asked.
“I'm not supposed to be writing about that stuff.” Canine said.
“I think you should, even if it's a risk, just don’t lose or let anyone near it. Again, have you tried writing about that latest memory regarding your new repeating nightmare?” Maria skillfully asked while still avoiding words that upset or annoyed him, like trauma events, anxiety attacks, or anything he kept wrongfully internalizing as impairing his ability to function like he continued to. If anything, he was better than when she first met Canine.
“No,” Canine replied absent-mindedly, touching his thigh pocket where the small notebook was. He had written very little in it, but what was recorded in its pages detailed things that were classified and the things that would be classified if he had shared them with a command like he was expected to. Even if it was intended as private only for him to work through his dreams and memories of traumatic moments, the risk it posed was minor but real. If Maria hadn't been supportive of his keeping it, he would have been reprimanded and the notebook destroyed. Maria tilted her head and smiled knowingly at the young man. So much experience on such young shoulders. So much had been going wrong that no one had time to recognize his 21st birthday. No, he was closer to his 22nd birthday. She smiled, finding the digital document she was looking for.
“Life can be wonderful. It can be horrible. Either way, life will have struggles. Now, what people do with those struggles defines them. The weight of a civilization can be lifted by anyone if they have help. Never fly alone.” Maria recited.
“What was that from?” Canine asked.
“A part of a writing by your friend Brian. He took up posting on a blog for the last few years.”
“Pyre wrote that?” Canine looked stunned.
“Yes, and as much as you had misgivings about what happened on the mission–”
“I don't want to talk about Pyre again. If you must do your nosey prying or want me to talk, then you have lots you can bring back up. Not that.” Canine said. Maria smiled, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.
“I will respect that request. We are about to dock with HFS Grimoire, so we are out of time anyway.” The privacy field turned off, and as Canine grabbed his bags, he heard a ship announcing that its final maneuvers to meet up with Grimoire were about to start. The obligatory warning was skipped, the Bread Basket crew rightly assuming its few passengers knew that meant the passenger section would stop spinning and be drawn in. Canine welcomed the feeling of weightlessness as he tucked his foot into a strap near the floor. He pulled his bags to his chest and effortlessly moved himself into a seat. His practiced hands had him strapped in along with his bags quicker than most. He glanced at the table and saw that Maria had already disappeared. He frowned, wishing he had asked his last question. But as if in answer, his comm pinged a message. It was a link from Maria to a blog post by Brian Kernzke, the name Pyre was born with before he adopted the Space defense callsign. Just like Canine and all the other flight defenders traditionally did. Canine smiled, silently thanking Maria.
DGC 71 On board Grimoire, same time as Sara was being interrogated
Flight Defender Canine drifted down, relative to the HFS Bread Basket he was leaving, through a docking sleeve toward HFS Grimoire. Up close, the huge ship gleamed from its white hull, contrasted by the darker grey plated exterior of the port and starboard habitat modules. His meager bag was enough to suffice him until his Prontroma was moved into the small hangar along with his supplies and other belongings. The HFS Bread Basket he rode in on was too big to dock anywhere except directly to Grimoire's main hull, even if it meant stopping Grimoire's spin habitats to facilitate the docking. Canine observed some of the suited crewmen in the vacuum of space moving back and forth between the Bread Basket and the Grimoire, unloading cargo and equipment, and hooking up fuel hoses and wires.
The precautionary decontamination process more than doubled the time to cycle through the airlock. A surprise welcoming party waited to greet him on Grimoire.
“Hey, Canine, you made it.” A boisterous flight defender yelled, zooming through the hall toward Canine before he was halfway out of the last airlock door.
“Oh hell, Dribble, no one said I'd have to bunk with you again!” Canine hugged his old academy buddy without resisting Dribble’s embrace. At least until Canine felt an overly forceful grip, covering his disfigured shoulder patch. Canine's brain dumped adrenaline into his veins, triggered by the sudden touch. The urge to strike Dribble surprised him as did the fight or flight response, but he stuffed the overreaction away as quickly as it appeared. Angry at himself for feeling threatened by an old friend, even for a second.
“You won't believe it, you are getting your own room to yourself, just like me and this young blood Creaky do. Grimoire is a luxury ship compared to the Sardonyx’s flight academy. Speaking of the academy, and you might not believe this, Obelisk himself sent orders a few days before you arrived. He said for us to make sure you're guided to your quarters and dressed in a fresh uniform. Not going to let you besmirch the flight country's reputation with a tattered and probably torn uniform.” Dribble squeezed Canine's shoulder, meaningfully. Hearing those words, Canine relaxed his muscles and grinned.
“Is that all he said, or are you paraphrasing?” Canine asked.
“A little, but other than the concern about you getting lost, it sounded like you’re still his damn favorite,” Dribble said.
“Favorite? Never, I was always burning through more of his time than the rest of you, cause I kept volunteering.” Canine added air quotes with his hands when he said volunteering.
“Volunteering? Yeah, sure, Obelisk voluntold you more often than you willingly did any extra-curricular activities.” Dribble replied.
“God bless, at least I won't be waking up to more drool dripping or floating near my face,” Canine laughed, seeing Dribble's reaction.
“Hush, we're not in flight country to be bringing that shit up,” Dribbles growled. As in it wasn't just the 3 flight defenders in the hall. It was a mild taboo to reference anyone's trainee call signs or the inside meaning of any call sign. “Unless you want me to call you puppy in front of one of Sara's friends.” Dribble all but whispered in his ear.
At the end of the hallway, the woman in uniform, who must be Creaky, was helping a plane-clothed crewman with his tangled bag straps. Canine and Dribble started momentum toward Creaky, who just slapped the civilian crewman on the back, sending him on his way to the airlock.
“Canine, I know that name, don't I? Yeah, you know Sara, don't you? I'm positive she mentioned your call sign before. You didn't use to go by Nick, did you? Sorry, that's rude of me, I’m Tim,” Tim said excitedly.
“If nothing's changed, I'm probably still Nick to Sara.” Canine felt the warmth of nostalgia spreading across his face. “If you are Sara’s friend, you can call me Nick this one time. I haven't heard back from her for a bit. Is she in transit?” Canine asked.
“No, actually, she's the only one from our net driver group that's staying. I guess she's got other hobbies, but I don't know how she's going to put up with such low net access where Grimoire is going.” Tim said.
No one noticed Canine’s brief look of dismay flash across his face. At least Canine was sure Dribble didn't notice, judging by his old academy mate busy imitating whining puppy noises like they used to tease.
“Oh, please, you probably pulled some strings just like she probably did when her parents up and moved to follow you to the Sardonyx,” Dribble said.
“Shove it! It was pure happenstance that the Michelson's moved to the same ship. I had assumed Sara would go to her parents on Sardonyx, not stay on the Grimoire.” Canine said as he elbowed Dribble easily, with the way Dribble was holding him so tightly, he might as well have been conjoined twins. The realization dawned on Canine that he was covering up his torn flight defender patch. His frustration ebbed a little, leaving confusion in its wake. Was he trying to protect him? Why would his patch even be a problem shouldn't be. Tim was almost through the airlock when he spun around, hearing Canine's last words.
“Do not tell her you thought that!” Tim said, already starting to spin from his sudden movement. Canine waved an acknowledgement and farewell before the airlock sealed. Tim’s last-minute warning only made thoughts about Sara staying with Grimoire feel like it was echoing louder in his head. He needed to try not to worry about her yet. Too much to think about already.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“What the hell is that?” Creaky said, pointing past Canine and Dribbles, the two men might as well be joined at the hips so long as Dribbles wouldn't let go of Canine's shoulder. Canine couldn’t shift well enough to see what Creaky was pointing at, but he was sure he knew.
Panic didn’t set in until after Canine touched the bag by his hip, where it should have been. The bag's zipper wasn’t only open just enough for it to stick its head out, but was wide open. The panic started, not because of the awkward tumble as Canine tried to turn around while stuck to Dribbles in zero gravity, or the panic yelps as Dribbles spun out of control with Canine. That only made the initial panic from Canine's embarrassing confirmation worse at the sight of a robotic goat walking defiantly on the wall. It bleated a high-pitched ‘baaaaaaa still looking down on them over its tiny little nose. Before anyone could say anything, it started clip-clopping down the hall, what would have been the ceiling if Grimoire were under thrust gravity. Its magnetic hooves added a metallic thrum to its organically sounding footsteps. Dumb struck, the three flight defenders stared at the last place they saw the mechanical creature, where it rounded the corner. The metallic clip of its hooves was still audible as Dribbles finally spoke.
“What the hell was that?” He said, echoing Creaky's question
“I don't know anymore. It's supposed to be a Service automaton, like a service animal, but without the animal,” Canine said, a grimace on his face.
“Is it supposed to be like some kind of animal?” Dribbles asked. Slowly pulling Canine towards the intersection where the service automaton had gone.
“It's supposed to look and act like a goat. Don't ask why a goat, I didn't even want the thing.” Canine said.
“Were goats common emotional support animals?” Creaky said, peering around the corner. The goat was lying in wait with its legs tucked under its belly halfway down the hall, staring back at her.
“Probably, but it's supposed to be more than an ESA. The animals were certified by doctors and passed tests, and trained extensively to be the equivalent of a licensed service animal from far-gone Earth. The automaton is more complex than an emotional support animal that people used to bring into stores and places they weren't allowed just cause some doctor or therapist wrote a note.” Canine said.
“All that to say is you didn't go out of your way to have a pet goat,” Creaky said, picking up on his defensive reaction even after only just meeting him.
“Imagine having an animal like a dog on a ship. Any animal would wreak havoc with Grimoire's ecosystem.” Dribbles floated down the hallway toward Canine's new room and fresh uniform. Dribbles mused if it was a coincidence the goat ran ahead the right way, or if its robot brain knew where Canine's quarters were assigned.
“I wouldn't mind having a dog or monkey or some other option other than a cat,” Creaky said, referring to the five-hundred-year evolution of cats in space. Compared to cats of the 21st century, space cats had much longer tails, a lighter bone structure that was more brittle, unfavorable to living anywhere but space. They still had problems as pets, like shedding, and were susceptible to health problems when subjected to 1 gravity too often. Outside of stations and the rare ship, not even a space cat was common. To Creaky, looking into the life-like eyes with oblong irises of the goat was an exotic experience. Canine unzipped the bag it was supposed to be in, slapping the inside meaningfully.
“It gets back in the bag again, or else it gets maintenance mode again!” Canine growled at the service automaton that so far wasn't acting very therapeutic for him. The goat stood up and bleated at Canine, stomping its front hooves angrily, but relented and jumped toward Canine and the bag. A wire shot out of its mouth and latched onto Canine's arm, stopping itself from drifting past them. In only a few seconds, it nestled into its spot between clothes and smaller satchels, then immediately bent its neck unnaturally around and zipped the bag closed over itself. One more muffled bleat was heard from the bag before Canine continued to his new quarters and a change of clothes, as Dribble demanded with a firm hand still covering his patch.
“Leave your bags here, next stop, you were requested to meet Captain Abrams over an hour ago,” Dribbles said, nodding approvingly at Canine's new outfit. It was the same as his last one, all the way down to ribbons. Except for one thing, a complete flight defender patch, whole and untorn. Nothing to show that he was a maverick.
10 minutes later Grimoire Captains Office
Canine adjusted his overly starched collar. A growing sense of unease only intensified as Canine moved farther through the Grimoire to the captain's office.
Captain Abrams was already in a meeting when they arrived, and not only was Canine waiting with Dribbles, but a familiar face as well. Jacket Gree-Klem smiled bemusedly at Canine's arrival. The Chirps, the human word for their alien species, were middle-aged for their species. He had traveled all the way here with Canine and was one of the only comrades from the last year to still be with him. Shared goals, shared history, shared understandings. Seeing Gree-Klem so soon felt like a lifeline to Canine, and he felt his confidence start to return.
“Good to see you,” Canine cupped his hands and imitated a whistle. The Chirp laughed merrily.
“I told you to call me Klem. You're butchering every word you try to speak in my tongue still.”
“Does it sound like I was practicing on the last leg of the trip?” Canine asked.
“Hard to tell. Unless you get a vocal implant like me, or some kind of aid, your human biology will never be able to grasp the grace of my tongue.” Klem clucked his mouth in a sort of laugh. It sounded like a rapid peck or click of a bird. Every Chirp had a beak-like mouth, varied sizes and shapes depending on their subspecies or the planet they grew up on. But other than their beaks and their galactic standard species name “Chirps,” or their sing-song-like natural language, the avian bird similarities stopped. They stood tall even when they were bent at the knees and hunched in their comfortable posture. Klem was easily taller due to his elderly age, over a head taller than the rest of the humans in the hallway. His hairless, leathery skin, thin, sinewy arms, and leg muscles belied their natural agility. The Chirp’s narrow frame was augmented by the bulky jacket, which gave Klem’s unassuming physique a noticeable bulk and presence. Even if it didn't have the blue accents that signified Klem as a Jacket peacemaker.
“So are you here for me or did the captain want to speak to you, too?” Canine asked
“Neither. I'm here to keep the peace and maybe do a little bit of housekeeping.” Klem said, looking frustrated for a Chirp mannerism. Even so, Canine couldn't help but smile a little, enjoying Klems' idiom. One of the similarities between species that humans and Chirps share so easily, even with language divides. Even other species that naturally grew up with galactic standards sometimes had trouble following euphemisms and idioms.
Almost as if on cue, the door opened, immediately filling the hallway with loud yelling that must have been suppressed by the office door and thick walls. Klem's eyes widened, and his facial features shifted into what could have been happiness or anger. Hard to tell with Chirps, even with Canines' extended experience and study. With the context clues, Canine was positive Klem was emoting something close to anger. Canine held back and looked to the sheriff as Klem stepped into the office. The ship's sheriff with the name Tomson on his suit shook his head and looked unworried.
Canine missed the initial exchange of words inside the captain's office, fighting the urge to look around the open door frame to see what was going on. No sooner had Canine noticed the second tone of a Chirps voice box than a shrill noise began replacing the second Chirps galactic standard with native tones. It was hard to understand for Canine, and he wondered if he hadn't learned Chirps tonal language or if this was an accent he hadn't learned. Then Klem intoned a long utterance that Canine roughly translated as, “Speak less like an infant, or not at all,” or maybe translated more like “stop screaming.” Silence followed the rebuke. Then Klem began to speak with his voice implant in galactic standard again.
“Conducting investigations without a partner, infringing on a ship's captain, and unnecessarily impeding a ship's crew. And most disgracefully, just as I was arriving for more important duties. I'm told a fellow Jacket has been harassing a witness without even notifying her that she was being interrogated! You set up a Doctor to question a witness under the guise of Human Defense Fleet evaluations! I don't even know how to start listing how many protocols or worse, how many inter-species treaties your interrogation by proxy alone breaks!” Klem had started speaking softly and calmly, only increasing volume and the sharpness in his words when he began listing infractions.
“You were dead senior jacket. No one has heard from you or found missing persons aboard your ship for a year and 4.35557 months.” The other Jacket, Kulu-Gara-Kuru said, his implant tripping over time, conversations. “ You were last seen with an HDF officer, and he is my key suspect,” Kulu-Gara-Kuru said.
“Oh, you are in luck, maybe after I let you out of a cell, you can question the HDF flight defender I’ve traveled alongside since my ship left port. Wasn't my ship, by the way, and the owners and my partner are alive just as much as I am here in front of you. Officer Canine, would you mind a moment of your time?” Klem said. Canine looked at Sheriff Tomson, who just shrugged and gestured at the door. Canine stepped inside the office. Captain Abrams sat behind his desk, his hands clasped together, hiding his mouth. The captain arched an eyebrow at Canine. In front of the captain's desk stood a shorter but still imposing Chirp. Kulu-Gara-Kuru glared at Canine, a look of shocked recognition in his eyes. He wore a jacket a little different from Klem's, but with the unmistakable blue Jacket accents.
“Yes, Jacket Gree-Klem?” Canine spoke, rendering a salute to Captain Abrams, whose eyes were locked on Canine, but the Captain made no move to return a salute or release Canine from his.
“I don't want to impose any further on your Captain, how should I respectfully ask for Grimoire to accommodate this disgraceful Jacket with a cell?” Klem turned away from the other Chirp as he asked. Canine blinked at the question, his eyes roving from Captain Abrams, Kulu-Gara-Kuru, and then Klem again.
“Captain Abrams, sir, please advise flight defender Canine on how Jacket Gree-Klem might respectfully requisition a holding area for… Kulu-Gara-Kuru.” Canine asked clearly and loudly with military bearing. He felt his palms starting to sweat as his arm still held a salute. Captain Abrams rubbed his face as he looked back and forth between the two Jackets.
“Jacket Gree-klem, you are welcome to enlist my ship's sheriff in showing you to an empty room that can be used however you like. Before you do anything else on my ship, you and I will need to have a longer meeting to fill me in on…everything.” Captain Abrams glared at Canine as he spoke. It didn’t matter if he had anything to do with it. Canine was the unwitting totem pole that was thrust into a diplomatic shit storm.
At that, Sheriff Tomas took that moment to enter. An awkward exchange of indignant stares and questioning looks almost stalled the Jackets' exit, but was spurred on by a short exclamation in a Chirp tone from Klem. Klem moved his back to Kulu-Gara-Kuru even as he passed around Klem to follow the Sheriff out of the office.
Then, it was just flight defender Canine and Captain Abrams. The door closed behind Canine, his arm beginning to ache, still holding salute. No sign for him to stop.
The smell of real premium coffee filled the room. Canine couldn't help but salivate, only adding to his struggle to maintain his posture. He swallowed as the captain fixed a cup of real coffee, not caff, not imitation. The captain had real beans he had to have purchased at a steep cost. No human ship was able to grow them, so only entrepreneurs grew the bean, and not just to sell to humans. Was the captain testing him, or punishing him? It felt like minutes that Captain Abrams just stared at Canine after everyone left. Then he got up, walking with his magnetic shoes with a kind of natural ease to the side of the room, ground up coffee beans, and brewed coffee. He was now holding a small bulb cup safe for zero gravity which he sipped coffee with a straw.
“Did you expect Grimoire to be a military run fleet ship?” Captain Abrams finally caught Canine by surprise.
“Human Defense Fleet is not a military entity. I was ordered to rendezvous with the HFS Grimoire. I had no other details.”
“The Jacket isn't here, no need tip tiptoe around political terms. My question stands. Did you expect a Fleet captain or a Civilian?” Captain Abrams asked with a hint of venom in his voice.
“Sir, I wouldn’t,” Canine began, still holding his arm in salute, even in zero gravity, it was beginning to hurt from the prolonged exertion.
“Put your damn arm down! Grimoire is not a Human Defense Fleet vessel, and I’ll be damned if any more military-grade fuck ups roll in and treat her as one. You tell me right now why Defense Fleet would overreach and send an upstart like Major Grier to try and swing a vote last minute for Captain!” Captain Abrams yelled, the venom replaced by justified outrage in every word.
“Sir, I mean Captain, Mr. Abrams, uh.” Canine stumbled over his words, too shocked to even put his arm down immediately.
“Over sixty percent of Grimoire’s crew had already left, fifteen percent of whom were those who voted in favor of Grimoire moving to a new area under Fleet tasking. Nearly half of the remaining flipped their opinions around in anger over all the changes to Grimoire as a result of the vote to take the Fleet tasking. I was originally opposed to the idea, but unlike a fleet ship, I don't have a final say. I nonetheless ended up supporting the group that wanted this. Grier walks in and challenges my seat as captain, and nearly won the vote. What kind of shit is HDF trying to pull?” Captain Abrams spat the last question, ceding the room to silence for Canine to respond.
“HDF isn't allowed to do something like that. It's unconstitutional, even. I wouldn't be surprised if any of the fleet personnel who transferred to Grimoire abstained or voted against him out of principle.” Canine slowly lowered his arm, struggling to relax his shoulders from the current tension in the room.
“Yet it happened. And then right before you get here, a Chirp, Jacket shows up and starts making everyone on board even more on edge. Then another Jacket pays me a visit. Sorry, not a Jacket, just some human with a jacket absurdly reminiscent of a Keeper Jacket. Then you and Jacket Klem saw the rest. It has been putting everyone on board in a bit of a head spin, and it's my job to explain and answer to the crew.” Captain Abrams said with more frustration than venom now.
“Sir, if,” Canine began.
“Call me Captain or just Abrams, cut the sir crap.” Abrams cut Canine off.
“Yes, Captain. The uh, not Jacket jacket. Was the man wearing it oddly pale, with a brown and blue jacket?” Canine asked even though he was sure he knew the answer. He had the impression A.J. was going to stay on the Bread Basket, not stick his boots into Grimoire to trip Canine and Klem up.
“You do know him then?” Abrams asked.
“I rode in on the same boat as him,” Canine replied, trying to avoid the minefield of questions he feared he was being led into.
“Take a seat, get some coffee if you like.” Abrams offered, taking Canine by surprise. His eyes drifted over the coffee and extra bulbs. He looked back at Abrams, who nodded before canine weirdly accepted.
“A.J., as you call him, broke it down to me, Barney style, as he put it. He's asked for my discretion, but had the foresight to recognize that need to know shouldn't exclude a captain with hundreds of souls going into danger. A danger that, from what he's told me, sounds much more downplayed by Fleet. Almost like the offer they made to us and other ships was sugar-coated. Cream and sugar in the drawer right beneath the machine, by the way.” Abrams said.
“Thank you. What all did he tell you?” Canine reached into the drawer and looked for cream packets, if only to keep his hands busy. Internally, all he could think was fuck fuck fuck oh fuck oh fuck. He tries to hide his trembling hand by focusing on his coffee. With his back hiding his unsteady hands, Canine snapped two cream packets and shook to rehydrate them while listening to Abrams' reply.
“I'm going to assume not everything, but he did tell me about the Den, at least the part we're looking for.” The way Abrams spoke felt like an attack. Canine was going to ring A.J.'s neck if you ever saw him again.
“I'll hazard I guess that you know by now, at least because you're going to the Rift to help us look, that the Den didn't blow up. They initiated a 4th-dimensional jump even though it was too far into the star system's gravity well. There was no other way to get away.” Canine said, taking a seat across from Abrams.
“You don't have to trust me. And although your friend didn't tell me everything, he told me enough to convince me that I can trust you. That is a flimsy trust, but one we need to work on. If there are civilians still in 4D space on the Den, Grimoire will do everything we can to help them. Even any 404s.” Abrams said. Canine tried to hide his surprise by taking a sip of coffee. His eyes widened at the taste. Smooth texture. He realized with dismay that the rehydrated cream powder ruined the natural feel of the coffee. Abrams laughed at his reaction. “Try it without cream next time. One of the few upfront rewards we receive is credits. HFS Bread Basket should be unloading all the last-minute orders the crew has been making.”
“Sir, I mean Captain. Are you sure you can make promises like that? Even the 404s.” Canine asked, making serious eye contact with Captain Abrams. 404s couldn't use money, couldn't get a job, couldn't receive any normal services. They were the impoverished of the Galaxy, far worse than any homeless epidemics of far-gone Earth. Weather from birth or mix-ups, and the glacially slow system of the galactic governments. The system worked, but when it didn’t, it didn't work at all. It could be as simple as not having the right home ship as a result of surviving its destruction. The human term for 404s was coined from the old internet error page message from old Earth. Error page not found. That's all it took. If the Architects, or as most called them, federales were missing information or a page or something, you couldn't use money, you couldn't buy property, your job prospects would go through the floor. Canine had met and grown fond of many individuals who were 404s the last year. And even if everything he was doing worked out, he wasn't sure their situations wouldn't change.
“What we can, that's all anybody can do. Even if it's not always enough, listen, again, you don't have to trust me, but please come by anytime for another coffee. I will most certainly see you for formalities, but we certainly should continue this conversation sometime.” Captain Abrams smiled, raising his bulb in a toast. The moments between Canine getting up and leaving felt surreal. Just before he left the Captain's office, Captain Abrams called out.
“In case you see him again before I do, give my regards to Wojtek's Captain, if indeed it's the same man after all these years.” Captain Abrams called out. He couldn't see the smile of recognition spread across Canine's lips before quietly leaving.
