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Stonerager Chronicles - Book 2, Ch. 1 (Beta)
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 10:00:12 +0000 UTC9Stonerager Chronicles
By 2Charlie
This is a science fiction series that happens to include occasional erotic scenes. If you have not yet read previous chapters of this series, I highly recommend going back to do so before you read this chapter.
This is a Beta version and may undergo changes prior to final release.
All characters in this story are of the age of majority.
Book 2, Chapter 1 (Beta)
**** 0600 Ships Time, Day 71****
Dutch rose quietly from the shifting mound of female flesh that encapsulated him and made his way to the adjoining facilities to perform his morning ablution. He’d slept well enough, though he’d had several odd dreams that involved him umpiring a pickup game of some sort involving a few dozen children of various ages, many of whom possessed the most familiar copper skin tones or ginger hair…
Grinning to himself, he tried to force away the distraction of Pheebs’ announcement from the previous evening, as well as D’narius’ prediction, and grabbed a set of exercise clothing to go put in some time in the ship’s fitness center. He could use a good workout to get him to recenter his focus on coming events he anticipated later this day.
He crept from his quarters as quietly as he could, wanting to allow his wives the luxury of a little extra sleep, and moved quickly to the gym. Upon entering, he was surprised to see Jontalla and Justine already there, engaged in post-workout stretching. Waving to them, he immediately moved to an open area and began his pre-workout stretch. The two women glanced his way several times, but opted to leave him with his thoughts. As he progressed through his stretch, Justine nodded in his direction as she left the gym. Jontalla held back for a moment, looking hesitant.
Seeing her indecision, he waved her over. “What’s on your mind, Jon?” he asked her casually.
She grinned slightly at his use of her diminutive name, then frowned. “Well, I just wanted to know whether things have changed, now that D’narius is back? Now that Pheebs is pregnant? You know, are we all still welcome to be part of your… family?”
He was surprised by the question, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been. He’d been pretty busy over the past few days and hadn’t had a chance to increase his bond with all of his new crew. He jolted slightly as he had an epiphany. “Do you have any plans for breakfast?”
She scrunched her nose as she peered at him in confusion at the apparent change of subject. “Um, no. I’m usually not a big breakfast person. Why?”
“Well, I usually like to eat after my morning workout, and was thinking maybe you could come by and join me for breakfast, and… conversation.” He gave her a slight grin, arching one eyebrow as he watched her consider his invitation.
“Won’t your wives be there?” she asked, her body language conveying uncertainty.
“Quite possibly,” he nodded sagely. “There’s usually one of them around, maybe more. Still, the suite is plenty large, so room for more.” He watched her expression and body language with interest as she considered his offer. He could see the wheels turning, but gradually, the set of her jawline firmed, and the confidence returned to her eyes.
“How long do you plan to be in here, old man?” she poked him in the ribs.
“Only as long as I have to be,” he grunted, standing from his stretch to swipe at her.
Giggling, she dodged from his playful swipe and headed for the door. “Well, I’m gonna go shower, then head to your quarters,” she told him slyly. “Don’t take too long, or there’s no telling what might happen!”
The image of her ass lingered in his mind long after the doors had closed behind her. He shook his head to clear it, then set about completing his cardio warm-up. After a quick fifteen-minute cardio routine, he moved on to functional strength training. He’d just about finished his workout when the gym door whooshed open and Engela Torres and Kaitin Shune walked in.
“Morning, Dutch!” Engela called out, with Kaitin giving a shy wave. He pushed through the last of his workout while they began their stretching exercises, and it occurred to him that these two had not yet joined him and his wives in their bed. He made a mental note to broach the topic with his wives later today and see if they had any suggestions as to how to better manage things. He grinned quietly as he imagined knocking down a few more bulkheads to expand their living quarters even more and promptly dismissed the thought.
Quickly finishing his cool-down stretches, Dutch excused himself as he departed the gym and headed back to his quarters. Moments later, he was hardly surprised when he entered the living space to be greeted by the wafting odors of bacon coupled with the sounds of women’s laughter. Dutch smiled to himself, reflecting once more on his good fortune, and entered the quarters.
“Honeys, I’m home!” he called out, turning the corner to see Jjan’tira, wearing only a sports bra and thong, working to get Janice to prepare more food, while Pheebs, D’narius, and Alisia were all sitting together at the table, laughing with Jontalla about something. He noted that Alisia was already in uniform, while Pheebs and D’narius were dressed similarly to Jjan’tira. For her part, Jontalla was in relaxed attire, consisting of a crop top, shorts, and trainers.
Turning, Pheebs waved him over. “Come join us, sweaty man! You’re just in time for breakfast!” The others laughed at her ‘sweaty man’ comment and shifted around to make room for him at the table. He couldn’t help but notice that they’d arranged themselves so that he would sit next to Jontalla.
“Okay, just as soon as I wash my face and hands,” he rejoined, then headed into the washroom to do just that. Returning a moment later, he slid into the seat they’d reserved for him, leaning forward to inhale deeply of the fresh, crispy bacon.
“Mmmm, that never gets old!” he said, smacking his lips.
Smiling indulgingly at him, Jjan’tira passed him a plate already containing cheese-covered scrambled eggs and English muffins so brown she’d have considered them burnt, but that was how Dutch liked them.
As Dutch quickly smeared butter onto the muffin, Alisia leaned forward to catch his attention. “Dutch, I am heading up to the bridge in a few moments to take the watch. I’ll jump us to the Sol system and put us on a heading toward Mars. Do you want us in Stealth mode?”
He thought about it for a moment as he chewed a mouthful of eggs. Swallowing, he shook his head. “No, best to let them see us as we approach. Just don’t jump us right into their midst – I’d prefer not to startle our new allies. Do make sure you transmit to them copies of the treaty.” He paused for a moment in thought, then continued, “I’ll want to meet with their commanders as soon as we make Mars orbit, so maybe have the droids prepare the briefing room for a large gathering. I’ll join you on the bridge in an hour.”
Alisia raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly at Jontalla, then back at Dutch. “You should… take your time,” she suggested pointedly.
He was confused for a moment, then caught her drift and glanced at Jontalla, who quickly looked away, blushing furiously.
“Understood,” he replied. “Next topic. Any idea how the other clones are likely to respond to this new situation?” He looked around the table, hoping for insights from one of his clones.
Alisia shrugged. “I’ve been away from the fleet for too long to be a good gauge on their morale.”
D’narius poked at her food. Looking up, she offered a shrug. “We were all trained for war. What you’re offering them is something different. We may be clones, but we have different personalities, as you’ve come to know. Some will embrace the opportunity, while others might be… reluctant.”
“I don’t know,” Jjan’tira mused, crunching on a strip of bacon. “I think if some of them prove difficult, we just lock them in a room with Dutch and let him… persuade them.” She had a wicked twinkle in her eyes as she cast him a loving smile.
“Wow,” he chuckled, giving her the side-eye. “I never pictured my sweet Jjan’tira as a pimp!”
The others all laughed at that. Rising from her seat, D’narius leaned over to kiss Dutch on the forehead, saying, “I’m going to go get into uniform and join Alisia.” Turning, she headed off beyond the frosted glass doors into the sleeping quarters.
Dabbing at her chin with a napkin, Pheebs rose to follow. “I’m going to head up to the bridge as well,” she told him. “I’ve been reviewing some research that Professor Dantirri shared with me about radiation cleanup options that I think I’d like to evaluate for trial on Mars.” Leaning over, she kissed him, then whispered into his ear, “Take your time, dear. She’s been very patient with you.”
Dutch glanced at Pheebs, momentarily reminded of how wonderful she is. Grinning slightly to himself, he returned his attention to his breakfast. At the same time, he listened to Jontalla and Jjan’tira discussing potential ways in which the remaining clones could be matriculated into the Alliance Fleet, or possibly retired from service and guided into other vocations.
He was internally debating whether or not to ask Jjan’tira to go do something, so that he could have alone time with Jontalla, when his thoughts were interrupted by Prime. “Dutch,” the ship’s AI came across the speaker in the overhead, “Fleet Admiral Bearing is requesting your presence on a secure comm channel for a mission debrief.”
Sighing, he rolled his shoulders for a moment, then gave the two women a guilty look. “Sorry, ladies,” he apologized, as he rose from his seat at the table. “I need to take this call, and before long, I’ll need to get on another call with the senior captains from the iShan’tal fleet. I’m gonna have to ask for a rain check for now.” Turning, he headed into the water closet to grab a quick shower, calling out as he did so, “Prime, tell the Admiral I’ll call her in ten minutes.”
“Rain check?” Jontalla asked Jjan’tira, looking bewildered and disappointed at the same time.
Frowning slightly, the ginger clone shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t understand half of what he says,” she confessed, then brightened slightly before adding, “Which is why Prime is my good friend!” Tapping on her comm badge, Jjan’tira asked in a hushed tone, “Prime, what is a ‘rain check’?”
*****
“So the Battle Masters are just… gone?” The older woman’s image was crystal clear on the channel, and Dutch could clearly see the confusion on her features giving way to other emotions as she processed this information.
“Yes, they’ve either moved on to whatever is next for them, or they’ve passed beyond our realm,” he explained, avoiding the details of his in-person experience with at least one of the Battle Master’s final moments. “Either way, the last of them was gracious enough to agree in principle to the terms of the treaty and gave me command of the Alliance Fleet. Or at least the remaining iShan’tal forces.” He noticed a slight frown cross her features as he related this last bit of information, wondering if this news somehow threatened their friendship.
“We’re gonna have to come up with a better title for you, it would seem,” the Fleet Admiral opined, rubbing a knuckle against her chin. “Just don’t go pulling rank on me, Dutch,” she added with a rueful grin. Taking a deep breath, she let it out with a whoosh and shook her head before asking, “What are you planning to do with your new fleet?”
“I sent them to Mars,” he said bluntly. “I wanted them somewhere I could meet with the commanders and discern for myself where their interests lie, without the added pressure of former Terrans potentially influencing their choices,” he explained. “I don’t want to treat them as ‘my forces’. Instead, I need to know what they want to do, and I have a few options I’d like to discuss with them.”
Bearing stared at him silently for a long moment. “You’re oddly insightful for a man of your age.”
“I don’t have a good response for that,” he quipped sardonically. He was uncomfortable with how distant he sometimes felt from the rest of humanity, given that he was born more than a millennium before the current generation. Shifting slightly in his chair, Dutch changed the subject rather than see where Cathrice intended to go after that age jibe. “Can you run this news past the Chancellor, maybe see if you can get a read on her reaction and thoughts? I expect I’ll be a bit busy over the coming days, and I need to wrap this all up in time to follow up with the Noraxian Syndicate so we can hopefully iron out something both parties can live with.”
The Admiral grunted at this last bit. “I’d almost forgotten about the Noraxians,” she admitted. “Okay, I’ll visit the Chancellor tomorrow, see if I can get her up to date with the news, and see what she might have to suggest. In the meantime, try not to lose yourself in all of those clones.” With a smirk, she closed the channel.
Dutch had barely started to gather his thoughts before his comm badge chirped. Sighing, he tapped the badge, responding crisply, “Dutch here.”
“Captain, we are approaching Mars,” Pheebs informed him casually, though he thought he caught something odd in her tone.
“I’m on my way,” he responded, putting aside his conversation with the Admiral to bring his thoughts into sharper focus on the next few hours, which would no doubt shape the future more than he dared to hope. Rising from the desk, he straightened his uniform and rubbed at his beard, briefly considering whether to shave it off, before deciding to keep it, and departed for the bridge.
**** 1230 Ships Time, Day 71 ****
Dutch strode onto the bridge and immediately slowed to a stop, his attention immediately captured by the vast armada stretching across the width of the panoramic forward viewport on the bridge. Even without the aid of the data being displayed on the main holoscreen, Dutch could see that the ships were grouped in formations, and yet must have numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands.
Finally overcoming his initial reaction of awe, he turned to Pheebs. “What are we looking at here?”
“The iShan’tal armada is essentially divided into four groupings of ships,” his executive officer informed him in an efficient tone. “There are just over one hundred fifty of what I would classify as their capital class ships, which appear to be a hybrid carrier–dreadnought class…”
“Those are the newer Lam’Tyyr class dreadnoughts – they’re a lighter version of the Lam’Daal ships from the end of the war with the Terrans,” D’narius interrupted from the auxiliary station she was manning in the back of the bridge.
“More prevalent are the K’vetch class cruisers, which number at one thousand two hundred and forty-four,” Pheebs continued. “There are two hundred ninety-three of what appear to be support vessels…”
“Grau’phal class resupply ships,” D’narius supplied helpfully.
“And numerous snub fighters running picket patrols,” Pheebs finished, looking expectantly at D’narius, one slender eyebrow raised.
“Those would be Sheen-Jai fighters,” D’narius supplied, “not to be confused with the Sheen-Tor bombers.”
“Of course,” Dutch nodded sagely, looking around the bridge to see the Rigellians smirking openly at the exchange. “Have they hailed us yet?”
“Not yet. They must be aware of our presence, as we are not in Stealth mode,” Danielli replied from her auxiliary station, “but they have made no overt moves to raise shields or power up their weapons.”
Again, Dutch nodded, trying to convey an assurance he didn’t fully feel. “Any indication that the survivors on Mars are aware of the iShan’tal presence?”
“Negative,” Alisia replied from her station at OPS. “I have detected no emissions of the type we observed previously. The location of the iShan’tal fleet is fifty thousand kilometers beyond the orbit of Deimos. They must be beyond the range of the Martian sensors.”
Dutch rubbed absentmindedly at his beard as he took his seat between Pheebs and D’narius. “Anything else to note?”
Pheebs and D’narius exchanged a brief glance, during which Pheebs nodded slightly to D’narius.
D’narius tapped at her pad, bringing a section of the iShan’tal fleet into sharp focus. “We have also been monitoring various ship-to-ship shuttle craft, originating from a number of the other ships, all of whom seem to be making runs to a single Lam’Tyyr vessel.”
“So, you think they’re gathering their leaders on that ship?” Dutch speculated.
“It is possible,” D’narius affirmed, “although it is simple conjecture at this point.”
“Understood. COMMS, are you monitoring any ship-to-ship chatter?”
Engela Torres spoke up from her station, “Just what you would expect, sir. Lots of encrypted comm traffic. Nothing directed at us, yet.”
“Let’s change that,” he rumbled absently. “Torres, please initiate a hail to the iShan’tal fleet. Unencrypted, of course. Request that their lead ship establish communications with us.”
“Message sent,” Torres responded after a brief flurry of activity. “Response coming in.”
“On the main holoscreen, please,” Dutch waved absently at the forward holoscreen.
After a moment, an image resolved of a woman who could have passed as the mother of one of his wives. She appeared to be wearing the typical iShan’tal armor, save for the helmet. Her head was clearly visible. Ginger-hair streaked with silver, thin lips forming a slight frown, and bright green eyes shining forth from a face lined with decades of care, looked at Dutch and his crew. “Greetings,” the woman said plainly. “I am Grand Admiral Xyphara, commanding the ISS Dominion’s Wrath.” The older woman paused for a moment, her gaze passing quickly across the crew of the Odyssey, pausing ever-so-briefly upon seeing a few of her sister-clones among them, before her eyes returned their focus on the singular male present. “You are the one called Stonerager?”
“I am,” Dutch confirmed calmly. “Captain Stoenager, of the Alliance Starship Odyssey. I am pleased to meet you, Admiral.”
Xyphara looked slightly annoyed, appearing to have something she wanted to say, but she visibly changed her mind. Instead, her expression returned once again to something more neutral, and she offered, “Captain, I would be pleased if you and a few members of your crew would join me aboard my ship, so that we may discuss…”
“The future,” Dutch interjected boldly, not wanting to behave in any way that could be construed as anything other than her equal. “I could, of course, extend the same offer to you and members of your command, but I will accept your hospitality. We shall shuttle over to your ship shortly.”
Tapping his comm badge, Dutch cut the channel. Turning to look at Pheebs, then D’narius, he posited, “Okay, so I figure I should take Alisia with me, as she can fill in the details of her treaty mission. I’m not sure if I should bring anyone else with me. Thoughts?”
D’narius shifted slightly in her seat, her body language pensive, before she offered, “I was not known to the Grand Admiral, but it is possible that others in her command might know me. I would not wish to be a distraction.”
“You’re concerned that they will judge you poorly, based on how you came to be part of my crew,” he surmised, recalling having deduced as much early on after he’d recovered D’narius and Jjan’tira from their demolished ship. A ship he had demolished, he thought grimly to himself.
“It is unimportant,” she insisted. “I do not wish to be a possible point of contention during the coming discussions,” D’narius clarified.
Deciding that this was not the time to be a champion, Dutch accepted her wisdom in the matter. Turning to Pheebs, he looked uneasy. “I’m torn about whether or not to have you accompany me,” he admitted. “On the one hand, you’re my XO and would be a welcome addition at the coming negotiations…”
“But you might need me here on Odyssey in case we need to convince the good Admiral to play nice,” she finished for him.
“Exactly,” he nodded, not wanting to add that he didn’t want to place their unborn son any more in harm’s way than absolutely necessary.
“I’d like to accompany you, sir,” Justine Doherty volunteered from HELM. “You need someone to pilot your shuttle, and my presence should not be a distraction.”
Dutch considered her words, then nodded firmly. “Good. You and Alisia will accompany me. The rest of you, look sharp. I’m not expecting trouble, but I don’t want to be overconfident.”
As Dutch stood from his command chair, Pheebs reached out and brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips. On his other side, D’narius ran her hand softly along his forearm. Winking at them, he grinned confidently. “This is what we’ve been working for, ladies. Just hold down the fort while I go make nice with grandma Xyphara.”
Jjan’tira scoffed loudly as she walked past to relieve Doherty at HELM. The other women on the bridge snickered softly but otherwise remained silent. Only Pheebs responded, replying gamely, “Go do what you do best, dear.”
Gathering Alisia and Justine, Dutch led the team off the bridge, heading aft to the hangar bay. Pausing at the armory, Dutch considered his options, then decided that the three of them would not take weapons, figuring that they would be asked to surrender them before meeting with the Admiral and her command staff. Instead, they would make do with only their personal shield generators.
Grabbing PSG units for each of them, he resumed his trip to the hangar. Upon entering, he stepped to the port side, boarding one of the Odyssey’s two shuttle craft. Settling into the right-hand seat, he chuckled silently as Justine Doherty slid smoothly into the pilot’s chair on the left, and Alisia took one of the vacant seats against the bulkhead behind Dutch.
Glancing at Dutch as she ran through a quick pre-flight, she caught a glimpse of his expression and suddenly recalled the first time she’d piloted a shuttle for him, the memory of which caused her to chuckle. “Buckle up,” she advised her passengers. “This ride could get bumpy.”
Seeing a green board as the hatch sealed, Justine’s fingertips flew across the command surface of the panel before her, and the shuttle came to life. Small strokes of her fingers across the thruster controls moved the shuttle quickly away from the flank of the Odyssey, and moments later, the stars wheeled across the viewscreen, and Deimos hove into view as she spun the craft through three axes to quickly put them on a heading to the Admiral’s vessel.
The trip to the iShan’tal vessel took less than ten minutes in total, but the moments stretched on like an eternity for Dutch, as he mentally rehearsed the conversation he wanted to have with Xyphara and her officers. Questions filled his mind. Would she agree to abide by the terms of the treaty? Would she accept his authority? Would her officers follow her lead? On and on, doubts tugged at him, but finally, as the huge hangar bay bulkheads of the Dominion’s Wrath embraced their shuttle, Dutch dismissed all of his concerns. He would present the options to this Grand Admiral and her senior officers, and they would make their choices. He had to allow them that freedom. He just hoped that they would not choose poorly.
*****
A flickering telltale on her console, barely noticeable in the corner of her eye, caught Kaitin Shune’s attention. Gotcha! She thought to herself. Shifting her focus from monitoring tactical scanners, she picked up her data pad that had been sitting silently nearby and set it to playback mode as she watched the display, puzzled over what the data meant. Pulling up the logs, she reviewed their indications carefully. When finished, she began a comprehensive series of data mining exercises, looking for any other instances of this event. Finding others, she then set about broadening her queries, searching for a pattern to the events. Finally, having discerned the various timings of the events, duration, and their probable nature, she sat silently for exactly two minutes as she contemplated her options.
Having reached a decision, Kaitin rose from her seat on the bridge and stepped over to the command seat, catching Pheebs’ attention.
“What is it, Kaitin?” Pheebs asked her, a slight frown of concern on her face.
“Commander,” she began formally, her body language screaming caution, “I need to review a maintenance item with you. It’s in the decon chamber.”
Pheebs narrowed her eyes for a moment, then calmly uttered, “D’narius, you have the bridge,” as she rose from the command chair and began to follow Kaitin aft, toward the decontamination chamber.
D’narius followed the two of them with her eyes for a moment, shrugged, then shifted into the command seat, wishing she could know what was transpiring on the mammoth iShan’tal warship where Dutch and the others were meeting with the remaining iShan’tal military leadership.
Aft, in the decon chamber, Pheebs waited until the hatch had sealed before confronting the woman. “What’s going on, Kaitin? Why did you want to meet me here?”
Gathering her courage, the junior officer squared her shoulders and faced her executive officer. “B-because,” she stammered slightly, fighting a rush of nerves, “this chamber did not appear to be monitored.”
“Monitored?” Pheebs said slowly, her eyes darting around the surrounding surfaces for a moment before settling back onto the young Rigellian woman’s face. “Explain, please.”
Forcing herself to speak calmly, Kaitin related the tale as best she could, leaving out no details. “I noticed something recently on my console – ever since the refit, actually - a brief flicker of some activity, always on the periphery of my vision. But each time it caught my attention, it always stopped. I’d begun to suspect I was imagining it when it happened again, just a few minutes ago, when the Captain and the others departed. However, I was ready for it this time. I’d set my pad to record continuously when I took the watch, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. What I found was this.” Kaitin held up her data pad, handing it over to Pheebs for her to inspect.
Pheebs took the pad carefully, still suspecting treachery, then began to absorb the information Shune was sharing with her. She reviewed the data twice before looking back up at the younger officer.
“You understand what this means?” Pheebs asked, looking steadily into Kaitin’s eyes as if judging her.
Kaitin mustered her courage fully. In for a penny, she thought, as she stood tall in the face of this imposing woman. “As far as I can tell, a tiny subroutine has been monitoring an unknown portion of the ship’s activities, for indeterminate purposes, and periodically, a data burst has been transmitted to unidentified recipients, without the knowledge or approval of anyone on the ship. Worst of all, Prime seems unaware of this, if not complicit.”
“That sums it up nicely,” Pheebs nodded grimly, her face darkening with concern. “The timing for this is bad, and the remedy will be extreme, but we cannot allow this to go on. Come with me.”
With that, Pheebs turned and exited the decon chamber, heading further aft to the hangar bay. Kaitin followed closely behind, wondering what the hell they were going to do, now that they knew that their ship’s AI had been compromised. Kaitin’s head spun at the thought of the unknown amount of damage the breach may have done.
Tapping her comm badge, Pheebs requested Jjan’tira to please meet them in the hangar bay. As soon as the clone acknowledged the order, Pheebs strode to a panel in the portside rear of the chamber and asked Kaitin to pay close attention to the order of operations as she quickly popped the cover to review multiple rows of illuminated crystalline circuit breakers. Turning to ensure Kaitin was watching closely, she set the cover plate clear and began removing crystals in a particular order.
After deactivating several of the crystalline breakers, she again tapped her comm badge. “Prime, please commence a full systems diagnostic. Look for any anomalous code that may have been added within the past ten days.”
“Warning,” Prime’s voice responded, sounding oddly sluggish. “A full system’s diagnostic will dramatically impair my other ship’s functions. Please confirm you wish me to continue.”
“Confirmed. Commence full systems diagnostic,” Pheebs responded, a look of grim resolve on her features.
As the hatchway on the forward bulkhead of the hangar bay opened to admit Jjan’tira, the lighting in the chamber dimmed to half-power, with alternating banks of light panels deactivating.
Jjan’tira hurried over to the others. “What’s going on?” she questioned as soon as she reached Pheebs and Kaitin.
“I am performing a manual recovery of Prime,” Pheebs informed the young clone, “and need you to inform D’narius that the ship’s AI will be offline for the next several minutes. The restart should not take longer than ten, maybe twelve minutes to complete, but we’ll be sitting ducks in the meantime.”
“Understood,” Jjan’tira affirmed in a terse reply before she turned and hurried back toward the bridge.
“Kaitin,” Pheebs said in a clipped tone, “pay close attention, in case you ever need to perform this yourself.”
“I’ve got it so far,” Kaitin assured Pheebs. “Keep going. I’m paying close attention.”
Satisfied that the Rigellian woman was indeed paying close attention, Pheebs continued with her process, disabling several more of the breakers before she paused once again to tap at her comm badge. “Prime, can you please give me a status update on the neutrino discharge patterns for Sol, and determine where the star is in its lifecycle?”
“Working,” the AI responded in a slow, flat, mechanical-sounding voice. Pheebs continued to work at the breakers, following a sequence of actions, as the nearly unrecognizable voice of the ship’s computer attempted to complete its response, but instead slowed until it stopped altogether.
“Prime, what is the square root of pi?” she asked, wanting to ensure she got no response. None was offered. Grunting in satisfaction, she accessed a nearby control surface, only to receive a rudimentary menu of options, far short of what it would display under normal circumstances.
“I don’t understand,” Kaitin muttered next to Pheebs. “Why did you just go through all of these steps?”
“Prime has obviously been infected in some way to have compromised her integrity,” Pheebs responded as she interacted with the limited options presented by the interface. “It was necessary to take her completely offline if we hope to purge the infection. I needed her fully preoccupied to minimize the risk of some countermeasure being activated.”
Kaitin frowned slightly at this. She’d considered the possibility that negative outcomes might occur if the AI became aware of their corrective activities, but she hadn’t taken this line of thinking very far. Clearly, Pheebs had done so and was eager to avoid those potential outcomes.
Peering closely at the options, she selected the menu titled PRIMARY HEURISTICS ONBOARD ENGINEERING BINARY INTERFACE and tapped on it, bringing up another set of options. Tracing her finger down the display, she stopped at the option labelled SHUNT ALL DATA STORES and tapped on that one as well, watching a progress bar as it filled slowly from left to right, tracking the progress of the removal of all active data stores from their online warehouses and relocating them to an isolated backup repository for later forensics analysis.
The minutes ticked past slowly, and more than once, it appeared as if the progress bar had stopped, only for it to lurch forward once more, tracking the removal of the yottabytes of data from the primary systems’ active repository. Kaitin nervously checked the chronometer on her data pad as they waited, aware of how vulnerable the ship was at this very moment. What if a crisis arose? What if the Captain needed them? She imagined a Lyserion fleet popping out of a jump portal while they were vulnerable. So many what-ifs started to pile up in the corners of her mind, yet she watched in amazement as Pheebs stood stoically next to her, silently awaiting the purge to complete. If the woman was nervous, she sure didn’t show it.
As soon as the readout confirmed that all existing data structures were removed from the active processing array, Pheebs again brought up the menu and slid the bar down until she reached an option entitled RESTORE PRIMARY FUNCTIONS FROM RECOVERY VOLUME. Glancing back at Kaitin to ensure she was following, Pheebs selected this option, then made a secondary selection, choosing the backup repository she’d made prior to the bridge refit. Once again, a progress bar began slowly tracking across the screen, only this time, it was indicating data refilling the active arrays.
As with the prior step in the evolution, time seemed to creep slowly by. Kaitin was once again impressed by Pheebs’ apparent nerves of steel. ‘This woman has a pair of brass ones, no doubt about it!’ she thought to herself.
“This restore is from a backup copy I made of Prime ten days ago, before the Cestus yards did their upgrades,” Pheebs lamented under her breath. “There have been so many important events that have transpired since then. It’s going to take quite a lot of work to selectively clean out the corrupted data and restore what can be salvaged.”
“Actually, I might be able to speed that up a bit for you,” Kaitin suggested, suddenly realizing she possessed skills that might just be better than what others in the crew possessed, even this superwoman in front of her. “I majored in Data Science and Heuristic Logic back at Uni, and I can create a worm that can crawl the isolated repository where you stored the corrupted data and tag the infected hex code elements. Once I am sure all the infected segments have been tagged, they can be parsed from the rest. After that’s done, I can perform an amended restore to thread in the missing pieces, bringing Prime’s memories current once again.”
“What do you need to get this done?” Pheebs asked, a touch of urgency in her tone. “And how long will it take?”
“I can get the worm written in a few minutes,” Kaitin assured Pheebs. “After that, it will take time to crawl the repository. That’s gonna be the kicker.”
Nodding, Pheebs checked the progress bar. It was almost full. “Sounds like a plan,” she confirmed, to Kaitin’s delight. “As soon as we have completed this system rebuild, I’ll want you to get started on that worm. Just one amendment. I want you to save the corrupted data strands. They may be useful later in determining their origin, as well as any possible mitigating actions we can undertake.”
“Got it,” Kaitin affirmed, already formulating her approach mentally as she watched Pheebs continue to restore the ship’s AI to full functionality. Backtracking her steps, Pheebs closed the optical circuit breakers she’d opened earlier, in reverse order. This time, however, she did not pause midway through to task Prime, as there was no need. She completed the process, and Kaitin observed that all the optical connections were once again illuminated, indicating an online state.
Turning her attention back to the maintenance console once again, Pheebs scrolled through the options until she reached her objective. RESTART PRIMARY HEURISTICS ONBOARD ENGINEERING BINARY INTERFACE. “Here goes nothing,” the white haired woman muttered as she tapped the option with a well-manicured fingertip.
Instead of a progress bar, a series of progress bars began tracking multiple tasks as Prime was coming back online. One by one, each system interface confirmed as the AI reintegrated itself into the numerous operations of the ship, until Pheebs’ comm badge chirped. “Prime to Pheebs, System restart is complete. However, initial data integrity checks lead me to determine that I have been restored from a backup, resulting in indeterminate data loss.” After a brief pause, Prime continued, “Also, be advised that we are standing off a very large fleet of iShan’tal vessels. Shall I take the ship to battle stations?”
“Negative,” Pheebs asserted quickly. “That won’t be necessary. We are in the process of negotiating with the iShan’tal. You are correct that you’ve been recovered from a backup. Nearly ten days of operational data has been lost in the process. Lieutenant Shune will attempt to clean up the isolated data and should be able to restore a majority of what’s been lost. Please help her in any way she requests.”
Turning to address Shune, Pheebs placed a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know, I’ve had my doubts about whether or not it was wise for Dutch to accept you into the crew, after that shit you and McIntyre pulled. Please, keep proving me wrong.” Giving her shoulder a brief squeeze, Pheebs turned away and headed forward. “Let me know as soon as you are able to isolate the corrupted code and restore the rest,” she called back over her shoulder as she exited the hangar.
Kaitin spent a moment digesting what Pheebs had just confirmed. She’d had doubts about Kaitin. This was natural. Kaitin had been duped into helping to betray the ship, to the point of trying to destroy it. She didn’t blame Pheebs for distrusting her. What Kaitin couldn’t quite figure out was why Dutch had allowed her back onto his ship. But she was damned if she’d let that man, or this ship and her crew, down ever again.
Looking around, she decided that the hangar bay was not the best location for her to do what needed to be done. Neither was the bridge, she decided. Too many distractions. Instead, she headed for the workshop she knew Dutch liked to use, one deck up. As she entered the space, she became aware that this was likely his private space, as she could clearly detect a hint of his musk in the air.
She’d ask for forgiveness later. Right now, Kaitin was determined to prove her value to the ship, the crew, and their Captain. Sitting down at the computer console, she opened up a command shell window and began composing her worm.
*****
Dutch struggled to maintain his poker face as he followed Admiral Xyphara on a tour of the Dominion’s Wrath. The hangar bay had been large enough to hold a pair of Odyssey-class ships side by side, had it not already been mostly filled with snub fighters and bombers. The vessel itself reminded him of the super carriers that had dominated the oceans of Earth a century prior to his birth. As a boy, and later a young man, he had taken tours aboard several of them, years after their service had ended and they’d been turned into museums. The vast spaces of those ships were similar in size to the hangar of the Dominion’s Wrath.
As he walked beside the Admiral, he casually asked her, “I thought you referred to your ships by their class type and hull number. How is it that your vessel carries a name such as the Dominion’s Wrath? Shouldn’t this vessel’s name be something like Lam’Tyyr-92?”
The Admiral chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “You’re close. She was commissioned as the Lam’Tyyr-12. She didn’t earn her name until her first victory in battle.”
Dutch nodded his head slightly, positing, “So any vessel named after their hull-type and sequence number…”
“Has not yet been blooded,” Xyphara finished for him, looking satisfied that the answer was self-explanatory.
Dutch shook his head, wondering how he was ever going to be able to bridge the gap between what he considered ‘normalcy’ and the Admiral’s worldview.
At last, the tour ended, and the small group entered a rather large meeting room. The table was spacious enough to host up to fifty occupants, and there was additional seating in a theater-like gallery on three sides of the chamber. The fourth side was dominated by a large viewscreen, offering a panoramic view of the fleet.
Sitting around the table, Dutch observed more than thirty senior officers, all similarly adorned as the Admiral, wearing their armor sans helmet. All were nearly identical in appearance, but each had some unique variance, some feature that differentiated her from the others, allowing the observant to distinguish between them.
As one, the gathered officers all stood to attention, waiting silently until the Grand Admiral had moved confidently to her seat, gesturing Dutch and his officers to a set of seats adjacent to hers. As soon as she sat, the other officers all returned silently to their seats, waiting for what was to come.
The large viewscreen altered its display, the exterior view being replaced with lines of text that Dutch immediately recognized as the Treaty of Ganymede.
The Grand Admiral cleared her throat and spoke aloud, microphones in the tabletop conveying her words clearly throughout the vast gallery. “Perhaps we could begin our discussion by reviewing this,” she swept an arm across the screen, “and what it means for both of our races.”
Dutch almost blurted out that there was only one race in this chamber, but he decided to go slowly. “Of course,” he acquiesced. “What you are projecting was the treaty that the Battle Masters of iShan’tal sought with the Terran Empire a hundred years ago. A handful of delegates were selected by your Battle Masters and sent to negotiate this treaty with the Terrans. It was meant to bring the hostilities to an end and pave the way for a peaceful coexistence between the two cultures.”
“I don’t understand,” one of the officers sitting a little further down the table called out. “The iShan’tal defeated the Terrans. There was no need for the treaty.”
Dutch was formulating his response when Alisia stood. “The outcome of the war was far from certain at that time,” she declared, causing several of the attendees to gasp aloud at the boldness of her statement. “When Zyyr’kaal the Woe Forged commissioned a group of emissaries to enter into negotiations with the Terrans, there was general concern among the Council that the Terran Empire might prevail. It was a first in the history of the iShan’tal, and the Masters considered the option of a negotiated truce to be preferable to defeat.”
“How can you possibly know this?” another of the gathered officers demanded from further down the table.
Again, before Dutch could intervene, Alisia replied, “I know this is true because I was there! I am Alisia, Unit 792548, and I served during the war with the Terrans! I was blooded a century before most of you in this room were decanted. I saw the many victories, as well as the larger number of defeats. We were losing. The Battle Masters were of a divided mind on the matter. Some, including Zyyr’kaal, foresaw the coming defeat and sought to prevent it. Others, such as Sundrakk the Thrice Damned were consumed by their demand for victory at all costs. My team had negotiated a treaty with the Terrans, while Sundrakk broke the cease-fire to stage a surprise attack on the Terran home world. He sacrificed the entire fleet, hundreds of Lam’Daal-class vessels, in his mad desire for an empty victory. The sad shame of it all is that the treaty was signed by both parties, but we were unable to communicate this knowledge to others because of the signal jammers who preceded the attacking force.”
Alisia stood before those gathered, shaking, her hands balled into tight fists as she experienced a moment of frustrated rage from the memory.
“How can this be true?” another officer interrupted, this one closer to Dutch. “How did you survive, and how are you alive here today, serving with…”
“ENOUGH!” Dutch shouted, launching to his feet and slamming his fists down, hard, on the table. “Enough,” he repeated, slightly quieter. “I’ve survived more time than everyone in this room. Just yesterday, I was in the Xai’Vorrathi system with one of your Battle Masters, Zyyr’kaal, discussing this very treaty. Some of you were no doubt there as well – I was with her when she commanded your evacuation, just before the binary cataclysm that destroyed the entire system.” Dutch swept his gaze across the attendees, including them all in his remarks. “Her final command was for you, the remnants of the great iShan’tal fleet, to gather here and await me, so that I could deliver this treaty to you and lead you into a better future.”
“That much I can verify,” one of the other officers volunteered. “Mine was among the ships ordered to leave, and we observed his ship on our scanners.”
“So,” the Grand Admiral spoke at last, “what would you have of us? What is this future of which you spoke moments ago?”
“I’ll get to that,” Dutch said, his voice lowered to a more civil tone, as he retook his seat. “But first, I’d like to play a game I like to call ‘the Truth’.”
“I beg your pardon?” the Admiral flared, her irritation plain for all to observe.
“A few minutes ago, you said something about ‘both of our races’. The problem is, there is only ONE race in this room. Human. Homo Sapiens. Can I assume that at least some of you are aware of your origins, as well as the full history of the iShan’tal?”
A general murmur began spreading through the chamber as many of those gathered took umbrage at his statements. Silence returned quickly, however, as the Grand Admiral lifted one hand, commanding all others to be quiet.
“Please,” she said icily, “illuminate us with your fascinating tale.”
“Fine,” he snapped, growing weary of this exchange. “First things first – you are all aware that you are clones, right? That you are, in fact, genetic copies of a human, and not iShan’tal in origin, correct?”
Several of those gathered hissed in anger, but the Grand Admiral just nodded. “Go on,” she instructed, to the amazement of many.
“Perhaps two hundred and fifty years ago, give or take, a scientific expedition from the Terran colony of Methos encountered the previous servants of the iShan’tal while exploring ruins in the Betelgeuse system. These servants were also clones, derived from some prior race with which the iShan’tal had warred. This Terran expedition included a human female named Taryn Lysara, a Professor in Xenoarchaeology. She was a scientist. She was survived by a family back home. If you like, after these meetings, I can direct you to some of your relatives, who’ve already met Alisia, and would happily tell you of your progenitor, should you desire to know more about her.”
“Your point, Captain?” the Grand Admiral growled, clearly not impressed with this information.
“My point is, and part of the future that I am here to discuss with you is, what do you want for yourselves?” He got up from his seat, mainly so he could see the others, but also because he hated speaking while sitting.
“The iShan’tal created you to be their warriors. That war with Terra is over. Any future conflicts must be met by the combined might of the Alliance.” Dutch began to pace, as was his habit, as he continued, “But there is nothing to compel you to continue to serve if you wish to do something else. I am here to tell you – all of you – that your compulsory service has been satisfied. Those of you wishing to continue to serve are welcome to remain in the Alliance fleet, but you will need to understand that your role will have to change.”
He paused, making sure that all were listening to him. “The Alliance is intended to support peacekeeping operations. Freedom of navigation exercises. Defending weaker races from aggressors. If that sort of service does not interest you, I beg you to consider finding success in another walk of life.”
“Such as what, Stonerager?” another officer asked, looking skeptical. “What else would you have of us?”
“The planet nearby is Mars. To you, it may mean nothing. To me, it was the first colony that humans established beyond their planet of origin and its moon.” Dutch looked around, but was met by blank expressions. These women did not seem to know much about the history of humans, nor particularly care. “When the iShan’tal attacked this system, they destroyed the Earth, and its colonies on the moon, as well as surface cities on Mars, colonies on Ganymede, Titan, and elsewhere in the system. But humans are a tenacious people. There are survivors below, on Mars. We detected sub-surface shelters, in which some survived the nuclear bombardment, and are still living.”
“What is that to us?” the officer wanted to know.
“A chance at redemption,” he answered bluntly. “You all need to understand something. You are humans. All of you. You’ve been engineered to identify humanity as your enemies. Perhaps the Terran Empire was. From what I’ve heard about it, I don’t much like it either. But the humans that remain, they are not your enemy. Not all of them, at least.”
“What does that mean? Not all of them,” the Grand Admiral wanted to know.
“It means that there may be some human colonies that are holding a grudge. The iShan’tal did destroy their home world, after all, as well as kill an awful lot of humans. On both sides, as it turns out.” Shaking his head, Dutch tried to get back on topic. “But Mars represents a chance to undo some of the damage done during the war. The humans on Methos have developed ways to repair an ecosystem damaged by radiation. Some of your people – those tired from war or seeking fresh challenges – might find value in helping to bring life back to the surface of Mars. I would like to encourage that.”
“So, you would have us go from being the slaves of the iShan’tal to being the slaves of the Terrans?” another officer demanded to know.
“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting,” he replied, shaking his head. “Look, clearly there are recriminations aplenty, but let me ask you this. Did any of you volunteer to fight for the iShan’tal?”
“What do you mean, Stonerager?” an officer sitting next to the Grand Admiral asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in her tone.
“I’m sorry, madame, what is your name?” he asked her, not answering her question.
Looking slightly annoyed at his delay, she set her jaw before replying, “I am Fleet Marshal Vaelith.”
“Vaelith, I’d like to propose something. I’d like to suggest that, for this meeting, you all should just call me Dutch, and I will call you by your names, as best I can, as I learn them.” Checking to make sure she wasn’t going to argue, he returned to her original question. “What I was asking before, Vaelith, was if any of you had been given a choice of whether or not you desired to serve the Battle Masters. Were you ever presented with an alternative? Did you volunteer, or were you compelled to serve?”
Vaelith scowled as she considered his question, suddenly angry at what he was suggesting.
“I can see this conversation upsets you, Vaelith. Please, I don’t mean to offend. I’m merely stating, none of you woke up and decided, ‘Today, I’m going to go join the iShan’tal military, and go wage war against my fellow humans’. Well, guess what? It turns out that the iShan’tal were pretty clever. Those encounter suits you all wear, your armor, it not only protects you from harm, but also from recognition. During the entire hundred years of war with the Terran Empire, the Terrans never discovered that they were fighting other humans.”
“And how did you come by this knowledge, Stonerager?” Vaelith asked him, still looking perturbed.
“The hard way,” he blurted. “I fought against one of your ships. I overestimated its defenses, literally whacked it with a moon, then boarded it to rescue anyone that I could. Imagine my surprise when I peeled them out of their armor.”
“Where are you going with all of this, Dutch?” The Grand Admiral asked him, genuinely not sure what he was trying to accomplish.
Dutch stopped to gather his thoughts before he continued. “Look, Xyphara, I’m not a military leader, and I’m not a political leader. I’m a scientist, an engineer, and an explorer. The war has been over for a century. But it should have ended differently. It should have ended with both sides at peace with one another.”
Running a hand through his hair, he struggled for the right words before finally continuing. “I’d like to see our two peoples brought together, but in a more positive endeavor. For some, that means continuing to serve as part of an Alliance fleet, protecting the weak from those who would exploit or prey upon them. For others, it means transitioning to a new life. This could be simply going to find some quiet, peaceful village by the water and settling down. Maybe finding a mate, raising a family. It all starts with us putting aside our own hostilities, deciding to find common ground, then working together to forge a better future from there.”
“That’s all? Just stop fighting and work together peacefully,” Xyphara said, looking dubious.
“That’s all. I do not wish to be your enemy.” He paused to look at her, attempting to convey his sincerity, before he continued, “We don’t have to be friends, and if you really don’t want to, we don’t have to serve together. But we don’t need to be enemies.”
Feeling exhausted, as if he’d been running, Dutch returned to his seat, sitting quietly, desiring to hear a response from Xyphara or any of her subordinates.
After a moment of consideration, Xyphara stood. “Captain... Dutch. You’ve given me… all of us… a great deal to think about. I think now would be a good time for you and your party to return to your ship while we deliberate amongst ourselves.” Nodding to her left, she motioned for a security detail that had been standing off to the side to come forward. “Ladies, please escort our guest and his companions back to their shuttle in the hangar bay. Dutch, you will hear from us within a day. Until then, let us abide by the terms of this treaty.”
Rising, Dutch took a few steps over to the Grand Admiral and offered her his hand. She looked at him with confusion. In a low voice, soft enough that others nearby did not hear him, he explained, “I am offering you my hand in friendship. It is a very old human custom, but I suspect that, someday soon, you will come to learn that I am a very old human.”
Smiling despite her misgivings, Xyphara reached out to him and grasped his hand. She had a firm grip, as he had expected. Shaking her hand, he bowed slightly. “Xyphara,” he grinned, “I look forward to our next meeting.” He then stooped to kiss her hand, then released it and stepped back. Turning, he stepped over to the surprised security detail.
“Lead on, my dears. The time for me to return to my Odyssey is at hand.” Alisia nodded briefly to Xyphara, then she and Justine joined their Captain and departed.
“What an eccentric human,” Xyphara opined out loud, feeling strangely flushed as she examined her hand.
****1945 Ships Time, Day 71****
“I believe my worm has successfully isolated the corrupted hexacode,” Kaitin expressed confidently to Pheebs. “I’ve documented the affected code segments, then extracted the malicious code. I’ve also attached an analysis of the timings and sizes of the prior broadcasts, which suggests two things. First, the intervals were random, probably in an effort to make them more difficult to detect. Second, the data was cached prior to the broadcast, meaning there has always been a delay between events in real-time, and those shared with the recipient.”
Pheebs stiffened slightly at this last piece of information, but before she could opine on the matter, her Comm Badge chirped. “Dutch to Odyssey. We’re on our way home.”
“Odyssey confirms,” she stated, then closed the circuit. Turning back to Shune, she placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “This is good work, Kaitin. Very good.” Pausing for a moment, she scanned the information Kaitin had given her before looking back up. “Do you think you’d be able to create false data, and then broadcast it synthetically? Dutch might have use for that.”
Kaitin considered the request for a moment, then nodded her head. “I’m sure I could do that, yes. I’ll just need to know what sort of false information the Captain is likely going to want to pass along.”
Glancing forward at the massive fleet dwarfing the view ahead of them, she speculated, “Well, for starters, he’s probably not interested in sharing the true size and composition of the iShan’tal forces arrayed out there.”
Kaitin followed her gaze, considering Pheebs’ words, and understood immediately her intent. “I’ll get right on it and have a substitute data package ready for the Captain to review.”
“You know you can call him Dutch, right?” Pheebs reminded the junior officer gently, “Especially when he’s not here.”
Kaitin felt herself blushing slightly as she forced herself to speak clearly. “I know,” she said softly, looking down. “I just feel like I haven’t yet earned that privilege… that level of informal intimacy.”
“Kaitin,” Pheebs offered, reaching out to use a finger to lift her chin to meet her eye contact. “Look around you.” The white-haired woman glanced slightly toward the helm, then the command chairs, where Jjan’tira and D’narius were working silently on other tasks, then out the forward viewport at the assembled fleet of their former adversary.
“Dutch is all about second chances.”
****2230 Ship’s Time, Day 71****
Dutch had debriefed his crew over dinner in the galley, sharing with them the details of his visit with the iShan’tal leadership, supported by frequent observations from Alisia or Justine.
“Really?” D’narius exclaimed toward the end of their tale. “He pounded his fists on the table and yelled at them?” There was a distinct twinkle in her eye as she glanced approvingly at her husband.
Dutch blushed slightly, then managed to confirm, “They were pissing me off.”
The women all enjoyed a good laugh at that, and more than a few commented on their man’s wrath when it came to defending his crew. Dutch sat silently, not wanting to say anything that would come back to haunt him later.
“So, what’s next?” Pheebs asked, after the laughter had died down.
“We’re giving them time to decide their next steps,” Dutch shared. “I gave them several options, and made it clear the choice was theirs, and to make the most of it. I don’t think they’d ever considered what to do if they were able to decide for themselves. I saw more than one of the senior officers who looked interested in alternatives to continued service in the fleet.”
“Wait,” Jontalla spoke up suddenly, “you mean to tell me there’s about to be, what, several tens of thousands of ginger-haired beauties suddenly on the prowl, looking for love? Good thing we’ve got the D-man locked down!”
This caused yet another outburst of laughter, but when things finally started to settle down, Pheebs grabbed Kaitin by the arm and pulled her to stand. Clearing her throat to get everyone’s attention, the XO announced, “Just after the three of you departed to go hang out with the iShan’tal, Kaitin here made a bit of a disturbing discovery.” Nudging her, Pheebs made it clear that it was her story to tell.
“Well,” the young woman began, looking for all the world as if she’d rather be anywhere else, “I’d seen something a few times that I hadn’t been able to confirm, so I sort of set a trap.” She went on to tell the rest of the story, gradually warming to the task as she got involved in the details. Finally, after explaining at great length the cyber-sleuth tasks she’d undertaken, she brought her story to a close, wrapping it up with one final bit. “So, at Pheebs’ suggestion, I’ve prepared a misleading report that incorrectly details the iShan’tal fleet as significantly smaller than it is, going so far as to leave out the heavies. I’ve instead created data to suggest the fleet is less than two hundred vessels strong, and went a bit further, suggesting a continuing level of animosity towards us, and by extension, other Terrans.”
“There may be some truth to that last bit,” Dutch begrudgingly acknowledged. “But I think they’ll all come around, eventually. There may be some lasting distrust or suppressed anger, so we should probably see what we can do to address that. On both sides, while I’m thinking about it. That’s not a task for us, but we should get the Rigellians and Methosians working to put some sort of counselling program together for all sides.”
Stopping to consider this fresh matter for a moment, it was a second or two before he caught the significant glare that Pheebs was directing at him. Realizing his mistake, he glanced back at Shune. “This was very good work, Kaitin. Thank you for your efforts. I’m positive that you’ve helped us avert a disaster.”
The woman beamed at the praise, doing a slight curtsy before she took her seat, averting her gaze initially, but sneaking frequent glances back at Dutch.
Suppressing a yawn, Dutch scratched at his beard as the other women began clearing away the leavings, putting dishes and leftovers alike through the recycler. “I feel like there’s something else I’m supposed to be doing,” he mumbled out loud.
Leaning down to whisper in his ear, Jontalla Ironheart jogged his memory for him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you had a date with my ass!”
*****
