Pepper rubbed her chin. “Because this is an area I know something about. And because I’m thinking with my head, not my heart. If you stay with me, I can not only keep you from getting in trouble, I can keep you from causing it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know.” She started to get to her feet. “I’ll give you some time to think it over. It’d take me a day to pick up the kit and get back here anyway. I’m in no rush.”
“Wait a moment, please,” Lovelace said. She focused part of herself back toward the cargo bay, back to the two techs who hadn’t slept in three days. Jenks’ sobs had grown quieter. Kizzy still held him fast. Lovelace could make out the words choking through Jenks’ heaving breaths.
“What am I gonna do?” he said, his voice soft and strained. “What am I gonna do?”
Lovelace watched his face fall in his hands as he asked his pointless, horrible question over and over again. When she zoomed in, she could see the bleeding cracks in his fingers, caused by days of twisting wires and circuits together by hand. This wasn’t her fault, she knew, but she couldn’t stay here if it meant that she was making this man’s pain worse. He had exhausted himself in trying to save whoever she had been before. She didn’t know who that was. She didn’t know Jenks, either. But she could help. Even after watching him for only two and three quarter hours, she knew he deserved to be happy again.
“Okay,” she said to Pepper. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
Day 169, GC Standard 307
THE COMMITTEE
“Please place your scrib in the receptacle,” said the AI in the waiting room.
“Why?” Ashby asked.
“No unauthorized recording of audio or images is permitted within Parliament meeting facilities.”
Ashby glanced at the camera nodes lining the ceiling. He hadn’t had any plans to record anything, but it did feel the slightest bit unfair. He hadn’t authorized anyone to record him. But he opened his satchel, took out his scrib, and placed it in the wall drawer, as requested.
“Thank you,” said the AI. “The committee will see you now.”
Ashby took a step toward the door, and paused. Something made him think of Jenks, waiting patiently through dockside AI speeches he’d heard dozens of times over. “Do you have a name?” Ashby asked.
For a moment, the AI said nothing. “Twoh’teg,” he said. A Harmagian name.
Ashby nodded. “Thanks for the assistance, Twoh’teg.”
“Why do you want my name?” Twoh’teg asked. “Have I offended in some way?”
“No, no,” Ashby said. “I was just curious. Have a nice day.”
The AI said nothing. His silence sounded baffled.
Ashby stepped into the meeting chamber. The brightly lit walls were rounded, no corners, no windows. The committee—eight in total—was seated in a semi-circle behind a smooth continuous desk. Harmagians, Aeluons, Aandrisks, Quelin. Ashby was very aware of being the only Human in the room. He involuntarily glanced at his clothes—folded pants, collared jacket, the best he had. Kizzy had whistled at him as he’d walked to the shuttle. Here, though, alongside the representatives’ finely dyed fabrics and expensive adornments, he felt plain. Worn, even.
"Captain Santoso,” one of the Aeluons said. “Welcome.” She gestured to a desk facing the circle. He sat. The desk was high enough to make his arms rest awkwardly, but the chair, at least, was designed for his species.
A Harmagian spoke. “This committee recognizes Ashby Santoso, ID number 7182-312-95, captain and owner of the tunneling ship Wayfarer. Captain Santoso, you understand that everything you say at this meeting will be recorded and preserved within the public record?”
“Yes, I do,” Ashby said. Apparently they needed his authorization after all.
“Very good. We shall begin.”
“Captain Santoso,” said the Aeluon. “On behalf of this committee, I want to extend my deepest regrets for the danger you and your crew encountered, as well as the damage suffered by your ship. I understand that the Transport Board has compensated you for your repairs, as well as paid off your contract?”
“Yes, they have.” He had initially been surprised by the generosity. It would’ve stung a bit to have used the contract money on repairs, instead of new equipment, but he would’ve understood the logic there. The Transport Board, however, seemed very eager to smooth things over. He was sure their public relations people were working overtime.
“And you suffered no casualties, correct?” said one of the Aandrisks.
“We lost our AI. She suffered a cascade failure, and we were forced to reset.”
“Well,” said the first Harmagian. “At least no one was hurt.”
Ashby took a quiet breath, slowly.
“The committee has read your report of the incident at Hedra Ka,” said the Aeluon. “But there are some details we’d appreciate you going over with us.”
Ashby nodded. “Whatever will be helpful.”
“You had no prior contact with any Toremi individuals before your arrival at Hedra Ka, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And you did not speak with any Toremi individuals outside of the reception aboard the Harmagian carrier?”
“No.”
The other Aandrisk jumped in. “Not in the hallway, not in the airlock, even just a quick word?”
“No,” Ashby said.
One of the Quelin spoke. “Did the Toremi ship that attacked you contact you before firing?”
“No, no, they never said a word to us,” Ashby said. “Lovey—our AI—sent them a warning to stay out of our work area. She never got a reply.”
“What was the warning? What did she say?”
“I—I don’t know, exactly. Just to keep their distance. She was friendly and polite, I’m sure. She always was.”
“I’m sure whatever it was was fine,” the Aeluon said, giving the Quelin an admonishing glance. “At the reception, did any of the Toremi threaten you, or make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No, not that I can recall. They were a little odd, but that’s all.”
“Odd how?”
“Just different, I mean. Culturally.” He tried to think of something more useful to say. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“That’s all right,” said the Aandrisk. “We understand.”
“Who of your crew had contact with the Toremi?” asked the Quelin.
“Just myself and my pilot. As far as I know, no one else spoke with them.”
“Can you confirm that?”
“Can I—”
“Were you observing your crew at all times? Can you say with absolute certainty that none of them said anything to provoke the Toremi?”
The Aeluon’s cheeks flashed pale purple. Ashby knew that look. She was annoyed. “Let’s not forget who’s at fault here. His crew is not to blame for this.”
“All the same,” the Quelin said, fixing her black eyes on Ashby. “I want to hear his answer.”
“None of my crew left the room during the reception,” Ashby said. “I didn’t see any of them speak to the Toremi.”
“Do you know if any of them said anything insulting about the Toremi while they were in the room, regardless of whether they were speaking to them?”
Ashby knitted his brow. “I have no idea. I highly doubt it. The people on my ship are all well-behaved.” Somewhere in his head, Kizzy and Jenks waved at him with a pair of grins. But no, even they wouldn’t be that stupid.
“I’m sure they are,” said the Aandrisk, shooting the Quelin a look as well. “It’s obvious that this conflict runs deeper than anything your crew might have been involved with.”
“Possibly,” said the Quelin. “Though I do find it interesting that they fired on his ship instead of one of our ambassadors.”