Jennifer Wells - Beyond the Stars - At Galaxy's Edge

“Hey, now, if they didn’t want us in that shipyard, they should have posted signs,” Brook said.

“In space?” JP asked.

“Or something like that. Anyway, that was Walletarde; this is Meltia.” Brook waved her arm at the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated one wall of the corridor, affording an exquisite view of the capital city of Telahmir. “As far as I can tell, bureaucracy is this planet’s official sport. And don’t tell me they’ll break the rules for us.”

“Break? No. Bend? Perhaps, if you motivate them to do so.” JP aimed an elongated blue finger at her chest. “Bureaucracy is only obstructive to the uninitiated. To the experienced‌—‌including those on this committee‌—‌it provides opportunities.”

A half-formed laugh hissed between Brook’s lips as they arrived at the committee’s chamber. “Whatever you say, JP. Just make sure we have all the boxes checked so we can roll‌—‌or preferably fly‌—‌on out of here after this.” The IES was a popular agency with the Meltian people, so there was no way this committee would deny her request outright, but if they wanted to make her life difficult, the Meltian bureaucracy provided far more “opportunities” to slow things down than to speed them up. That was part of the reason she lobbied the Emergency Service to create the IES in the first place: with a single starship, a small budget, and galactic purview, she could run her little agency without Meltian bureaucrats constantly looking over her shoulder. In fact, she was pretty sure this was her first time on the Republic’s capital world since that initial lobbying tour, four years ago.

On the wall outside the committee’s chamber, an engraved panel read, “Meltian Republic Legislature Subcommittee on Internal Procurements.” Below it was a screen listing the committee’s docket‌—‌she was right on time. She placed her hand on the door, an ancient thing that swung on metal hinges.

“Remember,” JP said, “this committee is not yet aware that the Spirit is no longer operational. As far as they know, we are here to make an ordinary procurement request. Make sure that before you acknowledge that fact‌—‌”

“I frame the question in a manner that appeals to their self-interest. I’ve got this, JP.” Brook gave the archaic door a push, and a groaning, creaking noise accompanied its opening. By the time she closed it behind her, the committee chamber was silent, and every pair of eyes in the room‌—‌plus the third eye of one non-human representative‌—‌was focused on her.

In total, there were nine representatives seated behind a severe semicircular metal desk, each identified by a nameplate and attended to by at least one aide. There was a lectern in the center of the committee’s long desk, so Brook strode toward that, smiling out at her observably unreceptive audience. “Good afternoon! So, how has everyone’s day been so far?”

“Welcome, Captain Brook.” Representative Divar, a human with glossy shoulder-length black hair, sat at the midpoint of the semicircle, so Brook assumed he was the chairman, or whatever Legislature Subcommittees had. “You may begin your appeal.”

Brook winced inwardly as she assumed her position behind the lectern. “Appeal” made it sound like she was some kind of criminal. “Thank you, Mr. Divar. I’m here today to let you all know about an opportunity by which this committee could demonstrate its support for the Interstellar Emergency Service, which, as you all undoubtedly know, is a very popular agency with the Meltian public.”

“Captain Brook,” Representative Divar said, “how was the Kindred Spirit destroyed?”

That stopped Brook cold. She still had almost three minutes of JP-written introduction before she was supposed to so much as hint at the fact that the Kindred Spirit was no longer in service.

“Right,” Brook said. “Funny story, that.”

Divar glared at her.

“Not funny. A very serious story.” Brook scrolled to her notes about the incident itself. “So, the IES has monitoring probes across the galaxy, orbiting stars that are likely to go supernova. They’re pretty dumb probes, just taking sensor readings of their star and slowly changing their orbital inclination so they get the full picture over time. Anyway, one of these probes smacked into a station owned by Griffin Space Technologies.” There was a disclaimer scribbled in the margins of her notes. “Now, for the record, let me note that space is very, very big, and our probes are very, very small, so there is no way this would have happened if they had not been intentionally following our probe, and let me also note that this GST station was completely unregistered and actually used scanner-jamming technology, so there was no way we could have avoided this accident.”

The members of the committee did not seem very impressed. In fact, eight of them still looked downright hostile, while the other‌—‌a woman in a light blue cape‌—‌just looked confused. Time to turn this around, lest Brook be compelled to jump through all the bureaucratic hoops before she got her new ship.

“But we’re not traffic cops, we’re the Emergency Service.” Brook gave the committee a warm smile. “So when this unregistered station calls up and says they’ve lost their flip drive and thrusters‌—‌stranding them in orbit around the maybe-supernova‌—‌we swoop in to save the day. Unfortunately, since they were already unsafely close to the star, the probe collision put them on a course to get an unpleasant solar haircut, so we had to get them out fast. We wanted to evacuate them, but they wouldn’t leave their precious space station, and we couldn’t fit it inside our hangars, so we had to basically strap them to the nose of the Spirit and strain our own flip drive to push them away. Unfortunately, the load was too much, and our flip drive... basically exploded. On the bright side, we managed to get everyone‌—‌even the GST people‌—‌onto lifeboats before we sprayed the Erian system with chunks of Kindred Spirit .”

Perhaps “chunks of Kindred Spirit ” was not the most positive image to end on. Brook added, “I think providing for such a popular agency to acquire a new ship...” She glanced at her notes, plucking a few choice words from JP’s introduction. “...is an uncontroversial and pan-partisan objective. Any questions?”

The woman in the blue cape‌—‌Representative Arriet‌—‌looked like she was about to say something when Divar cut her off. “This committee has everything it needs to deliberate on this appeal.”

What? JP had told her she would spend the majority of her time fielding questions from the representatives.

Divar rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his hands. “With the committee’s assent, we will move to a vote on whether to grant Captain Brook her ship. Those in favor?”

Seven of his colleagues raised their fingers in assent.

Arriet folded her arms. “What are you doing, Divar?”

Divar gave her a confused glance, but then shook his head and turned back to Brook. “This committee is now called to a vote. Captain Brook, you may leave the chamber.”

Now was probably not a good time to upset Divar further. Whatever she had done to upset him in the first place. Brook found JP waiting outside the chamber.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“They knew,” Brook said. “They knew the Spirit was destroyed before I said a word.”

JP’s black eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, an aide opened the door with another calamitous groan. “Captain Brook.”

That didn’t take long.

When Brook followed the aide back inside, she found Arriet giving Divar a distasteful look. Divar seemed to be ignoring his fellow representative.