“Listen, before you say anything, I-”

  Silence follows a loud slap as my cheek meets Alcea’s hand.

  “I deserved that.”

  Slap.

  “I might have deserved that.”

  Slap.

  “You’ve reached the limit.”

  I have to catch Alcea’s hand as she comes in for another round.

  “This is your fault! If you had gone on the APC he’d be here right now!”

  “Woah, it’s not like he’s dead. Deed will be up and running in no time.”

  Slap.

  “I will put you in solitary.”

  She raises her hand, weighing the options in her head, before giving up.

  “I blame you.”

  “You don’t say?”

  Alcea goes to clutch Deed’s hand. His broken metallic frame upon a hard table. Even more lifeless than usual. His structure got out mostly intact. It’s the internals that got blown. He may be more advanced than anything else on this ship, but Deed still runs on delicate hardware. Wires still snap. Chips still crack.

  “Affirmation: There is no need to display such intense emotions over my current condition. All damage is minor.”

  “Deed, buddy, I know you are trying to help but you are a head on a podium. This objectively looks bad.”

  For Diegiton, decapitation is not lethal. Good to know. His systems are so complex that there isn’t anything we have that would actually help with the repairs. So instead we dumped some raw metals next to Deed and let the internal repair systems handle the rest. Thousands of nanites are converting those materials in all the necessary bits and bobs to get him up and running again. It’s slow, but steady.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t leave your side.”

  “Affirmation: Such action is unnecessary. You have full permission to perform your regularly scheduled tasks.”

  “Not until you are better. Do you need anything? My Mother taught me a nutritious herbal stew recipe.”

  “Negative: I have no need to consume organic matter.”

  “T-then a bath? Maybe by hand…”

  “Negative: My current state is no longer water tight. Excess liquid could cause serious damage.”

  “I, uhhh… stiff drink?”

  Second hand embarrassment thy sting be swift and vicious. Still jealous, though.

  “Well I’m sure you two can figure things out yourselves. I’ll just leave you two love birds alone.”

  “Oh no you don’t, I’m not done with you!”

  “Negative: Neither myself nor Engineer Alcea are of avian biology. The assumption of mutual affection is unfounded as well.”

  Had I recorded this, I’m sure I could pin-point the exact moment Alcea’s… I was going to say heart but she might not have one. The moment her feelings were crushed.

  “W-w-what do-o you mean unfounded? Do- do you not see u-us as a couple?”

  “Negative: Neither Digiton nor Veo’teya possess the social structure of a monogamous cross species romantic relationship. The Veo’teya are polymious and mono-gendered biologically. The Diegiton has no such equivalent in any form."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “B-b-but all those things we did together.”

  “Counter: All activities which we partook in were decided upon by you.”

  “And all those sweet, beautiful things you said to me?”

  “Counter: All phrases that could be construed as romantic were given under your direct instruction."

  “And all the times we… we…”

  “Counter: All sexual intercourse was initiated by you. I am still confused by many of these actions. For instance, what was the purpose of vibrant blue clothing inspired by education uniforms? All clothing falls to the floor during intercourse.”

  “I happen to think it looks sexy. Which I thought you did too!”

  Taking a moment to imagine Alcea in a school girl uniform…. Nice. Ok, I’m done.

  “Well you two clearly have a lot to discuss between yourselves. I’ll just leave you to it. Good luck with all that cultural crap. Bye.”

  I press the close door button before Alcea gets the chance to put me on blast again. Interspecies relationships; the Union requires they be legal and tolerated to obtain even low level membership. Seems like too much of a hassle if you ask me. Humanity has had wars over less. Granted those wars are why now most humans could care less. I had a few pals back at the academy who wouldn’t shut up about their Geckiotan partners. You’d think it would be mostly guys, and you’d be wrong. I went out with one once. She was adorable and all. Just too clingy. Human body heat is like Stardust for a Geckiotan. It’s not even a sex thing, they just love it.

  Enough reminiscing about my dating failures with two different species. I have a more important visit to make. I take the fast route to Medical. Arguably the most advanced part of the ship. Centuries of refits have meant Moby can keep up to a degree. Unfortunately, there are some things built in too deep to replace. At that point it’s genuinely cheaper and easier to just make a new ship from scratch. She may still be a force to reckon with, just not to the same degree she once was. Fortunately some sectors are easier to upgrade than others. All you need to do with medical equipment is swap out the surgical lasers with a slightly more advanced surgical laser and boom, cutting edge once more. Which is good, because we need it.

  We have five hundred intensive care beds. More a pod than a bed, really. Each equipped with automatic monitoring and emergency crash systems to keep someone alive even under the most extreme duress. I once saw a guy still alive in one after losing a full third of his body. They do everything possible to make sure someone is up and ready for the advanced surgery rooms. There they can regrow limbs, add cybernetics, rip out and replace your entire skeleton if need be. Even dedicated medical vessels will have fewer than a hundred such rooms, and we are not one of those. Unfortunately, sometimes no amount of surgery can save someone. And in that case, those pods at least give them time to say goodbye.

  Right now all our intensive care beds are empty. Save one. My driver. He’s alive, thank Space God. Just hurt, badly. I am not one to get too close to my lower crew. There are far too many to get beyond a far acquaintance with even half of them. Favoring a small number is asking for resentment. You’re basically putting a target on their back. Not conducive of a healthy work environment. As far as all those fine young people should be concerned, I’m an asshole who orders them to do the hard work. Someone to complain about out of my earshot and bond over how much of a tool I am. Nonetheless, the only reason this one is in critical condition is because he took a job that put him between me and a hail of fire. The least I can do is say my thanks.

  Seems he is a Til. Of course he is a Til. Inanna knew the risks better than anyone. Would have asked for volunteers. Til are both some of the most fragile in the galaxy and some of the most persistent. They have no centralised organs. So they can survive things that most organisms never could. As seen by all the holes in my driver's chest. The down side is their body is easily broken. They bruise from an overzealous handshake. Many seem to see those many knicks and blotches as a point of pride.

  He’s asleep in the care bed. Probably for the best. I’m not really good at saying thanks. I should at least learn his name. Someone to keep a far eye on. Private First Class, name: Til? Did someone fill this out wrong? Race says Til. So it’s a Til named Til?

  “Paaaying respectsss?”

  Sagaci comes in. Haven’t seen them since they fixed my tooth. Well, not fixed. More ripped out and replaced with a flashed cloned tooth. Apparently it’s something they are still working on. Given my right incisor is now twice as thick as it used to be, it needs work.

  “Why is their name listed as just Til? Do Til not use names?”

  “Thhhey do. We dooo not knnnow it. Til see naaames as saaacrrred. Only to be sharrred with theiiir closssest friends.”

  “Guess I don’t count. Not that I blame him. After this he’s going to be just another anonymous stick slug in the crowd.”

  “That is whaaat he wouuuld want. Til seek no glllory. To be onnne of maaany is a commmplimmment.”

  We all have something to offer this galaxy. A story to tell. A lesson to teach. For the Til, that is in humility. Something many out there could use a crash course or two in.

  “Make sure they get the best.”

  “Abbbsoluuulty.”

  Tendrils pull me in close. Feigning a light hug.

  “Therrre is someeethinnng you mussst read. Privvvately. We knnnow not how it caaame here. Just that it is for youuu.”

  Sagaci lets go and gently pushes me out as nonchalantly as they can. I can feel the data rod in my pocket. Trying to rush to my quarters while acting as if nothing is wrong feels like fast eternity. I make sure the door is tightly shut. That nobody, not even Joan is here. Plugging it into the mainframe is far too great a risk. I have a tablet with the wireless connectivity disabled for just such occasions. Insert the rod, boot up the info, and wait.

  It’s plans for an assassination, my assassination. Tomorrow is another round of negotiations which I need to attend. I missed the last one thanks to the attack. Had to leave Conqtor on his own. I heard it didn’t go that well. With this, we can counter any attempt; maybe even get a prisoner.

  The message has no identification for who delivered it or who our informant is. It is merely signed:

  “Your Best Friend; R.”