Shipboard 13&14

Ryan sat in his quarters, looking at his transfer papers and the dossier business-suit lady had left. The Wexiks had given Humanity an introduction to one of their other interstellar friends.
The Embuos were a species of eusocial four-armed snake people, and according to the information the Wexiks provided, he wasn’t expecting much male companionship.
Apparently, the Embuos were ninety percent male, but non-breeding specimens were little more than biological machines roughly analogous to Humanity’s semi-autonomous drones.
Breeding males were intelligent and apparently huge but jealously guarded and didn’t leave the Embuos core worlds. Which left the females, the matriarch class.
They were in charge of all the brain work, science, logistics, industry, and, of course, the military. These would be Ryan’s primary companions.
He sighed; as much as he struggled with the ship, he would miss his Wexiks friends. It was out of his hands, though. He had his orders.
A knock on his door drew him from his thoughts, and he looked up. “Come in,” he said.
The door slid open, admitting Sykil, hat in hand, his ears pressed back to his skull.
“Hey, buddy,” Ryan said, smiling at his friend.
The little guy stepped into the room, nodding to him. “Hello, RyanMateo. You’re leaving soon.”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, my shuttle’s in an hour.”
Sykil let out a whine. “You have to go?”
“’fraid so,” Ryan said. “Those are my orders.”
Sykil nodded sadly. “Of course,” he said, “I’ll miss you, RyanMateo.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” Ryan said. “But we’ll keep in touch.”
“Yes! We’ll have to,” Sykil agreed.
Ryan grinned at his friend, and a thought occurred to him. He reached into his bag, dug out his bible, and offered it to the little alien. “Think you can take care of the congregation?”
Hesitantly, Sykil reached out and took the book. “I-" he sniffed, “I’ll try.”
Ryan patted his friend’s head and gave his shoulder a shake. “You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you,” Sykil said, nodding, “I’ll see you off.”
“Thanks,” Ryan stood, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder. He was back on his feet, mostly thanks to Sykil. He smiled at his little friend, stretching to show how much better he was doing, which seemed to please the Wexiks.
Sykil’s ears pricked up, and he bounced out the door. It’d be hard to leave, but at least they didn’t have to part on sad terms.
Ryan followed him, trailing two steps behind. It was strange; he didn’t mind the halls so much anymore; at some point, and in short order, the ship had become home. He’d miss it.
Or maybe he just knew he’d soon be leaving, so his anxiety wasn’t as bad.
They walked to the shuttle bay, and Sykil took a seat on a bench, Ryan sitting next to him.
They didn’t really talk, just waiting together until he got his boarding call.
Sykil leaned against him, eyes closed, and Ryan threw an arm over his shoulder. His shuttle was late, they stayed that way for the two hours before it was ready to depart, and as the boarding call sounded, he stood, Sykil joining him.
He offered a hand, and his friend took it, shaking. “Thank you for everything, RyanMateo,” the little man said.
“You too, Sykil,” Ryan said. “I’m glad I met you.”
He stepped back, grabbing his bag and waving to his friend as he turned to begin boarding.
He waited as the other outgoing crewmembers filed onto the ship, stowing his bag as he stepped onto the shuttle and took his seat.
The rest were going on leave; they’d be coming back, and suddenly Ryan was feeling lonely. Even more than when he’d been the local movie monster.
He was being silly; he hadn’t gotten like this when he was leaving Earth to come here. Yet, there it was; he didn’t want to go, even though he had to.
He’d get over it, he knew, but it didn’t feel like it at the moment.
The shuttle finished loading, and the doors slid silently shut, leaving the occupants under the dim auxiliary lights, and now he had to deal with that on top of everything.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. It would be over soon; it would be okay.
 

                                                                  ------
 

Jeremiah Hotchkiss sat behind his desk, brow knit together. Nazarene had returned from her stay in Wexiks space with a suggestion and a gift.
She had proposed they re-station the Liberty’s Voice to Wexiks space in exchange for allowing their fleet into Earth’s space.
It would have been an impossible task, except that she had also returned with plans for Wexiks FTL technology. It was suspicious; she’d just happened upon exactly the technology they needed to make her suggestion workable?
She claimed that she’d scraped the designs from a public datastream, which seemed possible, he supposed, and perhaps that had inspired her idea. But still, something wasn’t adding up.
But what he thought was irrelevant. The orders had come from Earth, make the counter offer.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, and his secretary’s voice issued from the receiver. “The Ambassador is here to see you.”
Perfect timing, he sighed, almost as though it was planned. Like the Admiral was conspiring with the Wexiks ambassador. He punched the button. “Send him in.”
A moment later, Tarrki walked through his door, ears pricked in the Wexiks version of a smile. “JeremiahHotchkiss! Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, ambassador Tarrki,” Jeremiah said.
The alien bobbed his head. “May I sit?”
Jeremiah nodded, waving his hand at the seat in front of his desk. “Of course, please, take a seat.”
Tarrki did, ducking his head in thanks, and settled into the seat. “You must be busy, so I won’t squander your time. Have you considered my proposal?”
Jeremiah glanced between his screen, his counteroffer half-typed, and the alien, pursing his lips. Fuck diplomacy.
“What did you offer the Admiral?”
“The same thing I offered you,” Tarrki said, shrugging, “an opportunity to collaborate with the Wexiks Federation.”
“She seems to think there’s quite a bit of room for- collaboration.”
“That’s good to hear!” Tarrki cried, wiggling in his seat.
“I’m sure it is,” Jeremiah said, meshing his fingers and leaning over his desk.
“You provided those schematics, didn’t you?”
“Schematics?”
Jeremiah sighed, shaking his head. “What did you tell her to get her on board with this.”
“Enough,” Tarrki hedged.
“And your people, what did you tell them?”
“Too little.”
Jeremiah narrowed his eyes. “How much do you know? How much did she tell you?”
The little alien shrugged.
“What are you scheming?” Jeremiah demanded. “What’s your endgame?”
He shrugged again.
“But you’ll talk to her?”
“She’ll keep quiet; you’re a talker,” Tarrki said.
Jeremiah blinked, shaking his head. “Excuse me?”
“In short,” Tarrki said. “You can’t be trusted, but you can be relied upon not to make a move until you have iron-clad proof, and now, it’s too late.”
Jeremiah clenched his teeth; he’d underestimated his counterpart and been played. It didn’t help that Tarrki was right; the politicians back on Earth knew he opposed this idea. If he tried to reopen the issue now, it would look like sour grapes, not least because he’d be accusing both the ambassador and an Admiral.
He sighed, shaking his head. “Can you at least give me some assurance you’re not selling us up the river?”
“I don’t know what assurances I could offer that would mollify you,” Tarrki said.
Jeremiah scratched his nose. The fox-man had a point; still, he needed something.
“Just- promise me,” he said at last.
“JeremiahHotchkiss,” Tarrki said solemnly. “I would never do anything to harm my friends, nor my people’s allies.”
It would have to be good enough. He sighed, shook his head. “I don’t know if I believe you, but I suppose at this point I’ll just have to trust Admiral Hu.”
“I hope I, too, can earn your trust,” Tarrki said, standing. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Jeremiah nodded, standing himself, and led his guest to the door. Tarrki hesitated at the door and turned to Jeremiah. Then, he reached into a pocket, pulled out his datapad, and fiddled with it.
A moment later, a notification sounded from Jeremiah’s workstation.
“Thank you for your time, ambassador,” Tarrki said, slipping out of the room.
Curious.
Jeremiah closed the door and returned to his desk; checking his computer; he found a message waiting for him. A set of coordinates and a note.
“Why don’t you suggest your scientists point their telescopes in that direction? Quietly, if you can."
He frowned. That was ominous; he’d have to look into it. First, though, he turned his attention back to the proposal document he’d left half-finished. He had his orders.

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