Nexus

By Nicolas Wilson

As national governments cede society to international and soon-to-be intergalactic corporations, Sontem launches the Nexus and the Argus, two intergenerational starships sent as emissaries to the cosmos, but whose sole mission is to secure mining rights for the parent company. The ships are armed with the best of mankind's minds and technology, and a sense of manifest destiny.

Captain Anderson Grant of the Nexus, the second starship in Sontem's budding armada, prepares to boldly fight and screw where no man has before. But Anderson and his crew struggle to maintain their humanity in the face of deception, exploitation, (sexually) aggressive aliens, and a system that ultimately respects its crew more for their genetic capacity than their individuality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicolas Wilson
• Release date: Aug 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301673568

Nicolas Wilson

Nicolas Wilson is a published journalist, graphic novelist, and novelist. He lives in the rainy wastes of Portland, Oregon with his wife, four cats and a dog. Nic's work spans a variety of genres, from political thriller to science fiction and urban fantasy. He has several novels currently available, and many more due for release in the next year. Nic's stories are characterized by his eye for the absurd, the off-color, and the bombastic. For information on Nic's books, and behind-the-scenes looks at his writing, visit nicolaswilson.com.

Book preview

Nexus

Part One of the Sontem Trilogy

by Nicolas Wilson

Nexus

My drink tasted like Martian goat piss; goats never completely acclimated to the terraformed red planet, something about not having the optimal mix of methane and ammonia. Not that I advocated drinking goat piss, generally, but focusing on that awful taste let me tell myself my mind wasn't elsewhere, even if that tasted like Martian goat piss, too.

You're thinking of Dalaxia, SecDiv said, shattering my conviction that she couldn't still be sitting next to me.

Hmm? I asked, but the muscles in my neck were too relaxed to look up from the bar, and I don’t think I succeeded in making my face look any less droll.

When you've been drinking, when you've relaxed enough that your mind can wander, there's a look you get. It means you're thinking of Dalaxia.

I might be, I said. Times like this I hated that she knew me as well as she did.

And I've never known that to be a good thing.

Me, either.

You want to talk about it?

Do you? I asked, and she thought a moment and shuddered. It was hard to know which particular aspect of Dalaxia haunted her: the way that entire world seemed to scream as the whole planet burned, the choke of smoke rolling off burning flesh, or the way that colony made us hate people, and each other.

I summoned the strength to look at her; or maybe it was just that I knew she wouldn't be able to look at me, after that.

Come on, she said, pushing out of her chair. I'll get you home. She put an arm around my torso and pulled me off my stool, and steadied me on my feet.

She was definitely less in the bag than me, because she weaved her way back to my cabin; I don't think I would have been able to find the bathroom I knew I was going to need sooner rather than later.

She leaned me against my doorway. I won't be able to sleep, I told her, though I didn't mean anything by it; I was having difficulty feeling everything below the pounding that began in my head, so I had no reason to think even the spirit was willing. But that was Dalaxia in a nutshell, and unfortunately, my relationship with SecDiv, as well. The colony was where we stopped pretending we were only fucking, and it was also where I lost her.

Me, either, she said coldly, and walked the other direction.

I sighed, and fell into my cabin. I missed the bed by a foot, but my floor was surprisingly comfortable. I scrolled idly through the heads-up display on my eyescreen, and saw that I had a message from my cousin Brian. But they were never just messages; they were the start of interminable conversations that only ended when it got more excruciating to stay and humor him than to walk away and intentionally hurt his feelings. I loved him, and was glad to help him through his problems- when I could help. But he had a depressive tendency, which meant I was never so much helping as listening while he mangled a half-dozen melancholy clichés together, and I just didn’t have the will to go through that tonight; I still wasn’t sure I had the will to make it all the way into my bed.

I woke up late the next morning, morning being a relative thing on a star ship. I had made it into bed, after all, though my crotch felt like it had been worn for a pair of donkey tap shoes- so I don’t think I got there effortlessly.

I sniffed at myself. It wasn’t painfully obvious I’d passed out in my clothes, so I decided to hell with a shower and a change.

My cabin was in an unlikely spot midship- unlikely in that it wasn’t any grander than any other officer cabin, though it was a step above the barracks. I chose it because it was near one of the biggest windows on the ship, and I liked to stargaze. The window usually had the best view of planets and systems we were passing, and it was hard to keep your breath looking out at worlds we’d only ever glimpsed through telescopes before.

It made me feel like a kid again. My dad used to tell me about the space race, back in the 1950s and '60s. Space exploration began in earnest when we started to worry about the Russians dropping nuclear weapons on us from space, back when US meant Americans. Eventually everybody lost interest, because space turned out to be an expensive hobby for countries with no concept of return on investment. The occasional discussion of monetizing the cosmos cropped up, mostly revolving around mining and maybe eventually trade, but it was all academic, because it was too expensive. Then we hit peak oil, and that was followed by all kinds of other peaking minerals. So we either had to start mining off-world, or accept a different standard of living.

What had once been the United Nations was now the United Government, mostly a coat of paint, really, but it pushed the ICC and other disparate sections of international law and government under the same tent. At the same time, the power of national governments had been shrinking as the world became smaller, so the UG became roughly equivalent to the old US in terms of real world influence. A lot of that disseminated power went to multinational companies, many of which had larger populations and economies than some of the smaller countries, and those companies were the only ones with enough cash on hand to explore space once it was deemed a necessity.

Sontem, the company I worked for, was one of the largest of the interstellar corporations. Their first ship was called the Argus, after somebody got their Greek mythology slightly wrong. On the tenth year of its tour, it opened up a worm-gate at its location- about five light years out.

Our ship was the second in what the board hoped would grow into a fleet of deep-space exploration vehicles. Sontem wanted to call the ship the Enterprise, but the company who owned the rights to the old Star Trek show sued. Several related names were floated, including Commerce, and even Intercourse, which had my vote, before they settled on Nexus.

It was ostensibly a five-year mission, just like the Argus, but it was written into our service contracts that they could be unilaterally extended indefinitely by the company. We all knew when we signed up that the ship was designed so generations could live and die on board- there was no expectation of going back home.

We left the worm-gate a few weeks ago. Only the crew of the Argus had ever been farther from Earth. The corridors of the Nexus still had that plasticky new ship smell. I killed lots of time walking the halls, because we were weeks away from having anything to do.

I got an incoming message on my HUD, from SecDiv. Her image, name and rank popped up on my eyescreen, Lieutenant Louise Templeton. It was strange seeing her at that rank. She'd been a sergeant when I worked with her in SecDiv, what felt like several lifetimes ago. We’d been in love, as madly as two people ever were. It ended… incompletely. I hadn't seen her in years before the voyage. She didn't know I was up for a spot on the Nexus, and I hadn't known about her until we saw each other at the selection committee. It was a coincidence she ended up my head of SecDiv- unless it was somebody in the company’s idea of a sick joke.

I pulled her into the corner of my eyescreen. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun in a way that made her look more severe than she was- though she could be severe.

She was first on my personality compatibility matrix, and seventh for genetic compatibility. Because it was a generational ship, they built the matrices during crew selection to make sure we didn’t get out past Jupiter before everybody realized they had no intention of boning anybody else, like an interstellar panda exhibit. I hadn't had the computer build a composite, but SecDiv suspected we would have beautiful, disturbingly brilliant children- though I wasn’t sure if either of us wanted that.

LT? What's happening? I realized only after answering that I'd called her by her initials, 'LT,' sounding like 'melty,' like I used to. I hoped she could confuse it with a recitation of her rank- we were still a ways away from being back to friendly.

I've got a situation developing, she started. An ensign's setting off the decibel sensors in the corridor, trying to blow the drums out of one of my SecOff's ears. I'm on the bridge, or I'd handle it myself.

And SecDiv's gone a whole week without bloodying a crew member.

That, too, she said with a smile. Just down the hall from your twenty- location. I wasn’t far enough out of the security services I’d forgotten my ten codes, but it had probably been a while since she’d worked security for someone with my background.

I adjusted my cochlear implant, just enough to eavesdrop. Yeah, I hear him now. Jesus. That's some Paleolithic caveman shit he's flinging. Are we sure it isn’t a particularly nasty chimpanzee someone released out of SciDiv?

"…maybe if you'd allowed the baby's daddy to be in the picture, but you chose to be a single mother…" he continued to bellow as I rounded the corner. He was there, looming over the SecOff, spittle suspended in the air before it smacked across the wall and the woman.

I stepped between them, and puffed out my chest to be sure the augmented reality sensors in his HUD would pull up my name and rank so he knew who he was dealing with. Do I have to explain this situation to you, son? I asked. His lip curled into a snarl he failed to hide. You're being a dick; worse, you're being a misogynistic, irrational dick, and it's fucking with my morale. First off, you're going to apologize.

Like fuck I will, he spit back.

"You will apologize, or I will fire you out the nearest airlock for insubordination." I mapped the direct route to the airlock on my eyescreen, and I shared it with his HUD.

Anger and surprise flashed across his eyes, and for a second I thought he'd take a swing at me. But he'd heard the stories, and realized that I was likely more trouble than the SecOff, so he mumbled a quiet, Sorry.

I turned to the SecOff, and her name, Santiago, hovered behind her rank. My HUD pulled up too much of her psychological history; I hadn’t acclimated to having executive clearances, or maybe I hadn’t set my preferences properly. Before I could stop myself, I read the words, abusive father. I thought for an instant that it put her reaction to being screamed at by this chauvinist prick in perspective, but I’ve known enough people with that history to know better than to think it’s that linear a correlation. You’re dismissed, I told her.

I can handle this, sir, she said, defiant.

It’s not a security issue any more. It’s an administrative one. Her eyes went wide. His didn’t, because he hadn’t the sense to be afraid.

She glanced at the Ensign, and I saw that for a moment I was sharing his file with her. He had no combat experience to speak of. She knew enough of my reputation that she didn’t query my files before deciding I could handle him myself, and walked away.

I turned back to him. "Now I don't care if mommy was a bad lady with a weakness for swallowing the seed of the wrong kind of men, I don't care if the love of your life decided to get a sex change and start dating farm animals. The particular why behind your numbfuckery is beyond my purview, but I do know I'm not about to let it stand. You're going to have a nice long talk with the therapists about why you're such a fuckstick, immediately. Toddle on down to PsychDiv, or the next meet-up you have with SecDiv will include the press of boots in your neck."

He gave the weakest salute I'd ever seen and spun on his heels. Impressive as always, SecDiv said over my implant. I'd forgotten she was still on the line.

I should get a hold of PsychDiv, let them know to expect the 1400s knocking on their door. There was the hint of a smile on her face, then a click as she ended the conversation and disappeared from my eyescreen.

The SecOff had made it around the corner and was leaning against the wall, trying to compose herself. You all right? I asked.

I was handling it, sir, she said. She wanted to punch me as bad as the Ensign.

It's not your job to suffer fools. She sighed, then noticed the tension in my jaw, and realized what I meant by that. She nodded, and kicked off the wall. I might have been worried, if she'd been heading toward the Ensign, but he was going the other way, scurrying back to PsychDiv.

I dialed our head head-shrinker as I started back down the hall. PsychDiv appeared on my screen, her long, strawberry blond hair tumbling messily over her shoulders. Our personality compatibility was third on the ship. Genetically we were an ugly match. Breeding might even require a few gene-therapy modifications. And if her hair were a little more strawberry and a lot less blond, I don't think that would have mattered in the slightest. There was a little part of me that thought it still mightn't. Maggie?

Shouldn't you be calling me Lieutenant Allbright? Or at least Doctor? she asked with a wry smile.

Maggie, I've seen you naked.

She flushed, and her cheeks more closely resembled the strawberry of her hair. "You do know this is an open channel, right? Into the entire PsychDiv wing."

"No it isn't. And even if it had been, I'm not shy about seeing you naked. It was a fun day. I let that linger a moment. It was a trust exercise amongst the executive staff. Everybody saw everybody naked. They wanted to desensitize us, make the bodies of our crewmates less exotic and stigmatizing."

I thought that was why they poured us into these Lycra uniforms.

"No. That was my request. Well, actually I requested corsets, stiletto heels and Lycra, but you can't always get what you want."

I am amused at the thought of you stumbling around on stiletto heels, she let that linger, but you didn't call me to banter, hopefully?

Are you saying you don't enjoy it? I asked. She grinned, and I knew that was all I was getting from her. "But no, I was wondering about Williams, Martin, EngDiv Ensign. He just reduced one of my SecOffs to tears; certainly emotionally abusive, and I think had I not intervened, it might have gone physical. At which point the officer would have clubbed his eye out, because tears or no she's trained to grind the bones of men to make her bread, and he's trained to push a stylus around an easel and possibly understand math. But how'd that little emotional troll get on board my ship?"

Let me see. She waved her fingers through the air, and I heard the whoops and bloops of files being moved around on her HUD. He was cleared by Sarah McCain. Not a doctor, but a psychiatric nurse. She has good credentials, slightly better than average behavioral prediction stats. I'm assuming he's on his way to me. I nodded. I'm pulling up his file. Yeah. She noted slightly elevated aggressive tendencies, potential issues with female authority, but low on the Allende scale. If he's developing a personality disorder it's either atypically fast or she missed something.

All right. Well, maybe he's just had an off morning. You're the professionals. But if you think it warrants an investigation, you have my backing to put McCain under the microscope. And, as it may come up, I threatened to fire Williams out of an airlock.

Which one?

Is that important?

It isn't medically relevant. I was just curious. For the last few hours we've had an excellent view of Rigil Kentaurus. If you have to be shot out an airlock, at least you'd have a nice view before you explosively decompressed. But is that standard disciplinary procedure? she asked with a smirk.

"I was improvising. Though I think legally I'd be in the clear. I haven't finished going through the entirety of my orientation materials, but from what I have read it's scary the authority vested in my position."

I think you'll do fine.

I wasn't fishing for a compliment.

No. I just thought, she paused, weighing her words carefully, "it's important you know that I trust you. We trust you. Heavy is the head, and all that. But there was an at least slightly democratic process behind your selection. The Div Heads all had a say in your selection, for one, and all of us knew you were captain before signing on the dotted line. We're here, most of us, anyway, because we trust you. Most days that won't matter at all, because we're the glorified cargo of a deep space scanning probe. But if or when it ever does-"

Thanks. CC me your findings on Williams. Particularly if there's going to be the need for monitoring, discipline, or counseling.

"Can't imagine him not needing counseling."

And I can't imagine him cooperating unless I can follow up and kick the appropriate asses to see it through. So let me know.

I will. Bye.

I'd been on the ship just long enough that I no longer had to think about where I was going, and it wasn't until PsychDiv hung up that I realized that I was walking onto the bridge, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I scanned quickly over the room, and noticed SecDiv was gone. Where's SecDiv? I asked no one in particular.

One of the middle-rank SecOffs had taken her place at the security panels, looked up and figured it was his job to respond to me. I think she went down to debrief Santiago. I tried not to think of one woman pantsing another… and failed. Though one of them being tear-stained made it more surreal than anything else.

Bill Jacobs, EngDiv, leaned over my shoulder from his control panel, grinning wide. He was young, but didn't look it. Heard you sent one of my jackasses to time out.

He's lucky I'm in a charitable mood this morning. His behavior warranted a full jackassectomy.

"Anatomically speaking, I'm not sure where the jackass is- though I'd assume it's a gland- or how painful it would be to forcibly remove it outside of a medical setting. I'd presume very."

Correct. But how's our baby doing?

NavDiv's fine, he said. Still a little cranky, I think he needs to be changed. And I'm pretty sure it's your turn.

Don't make me turn this ship around, NavDiv said from his seat. The whiplash would probably kill us all- and spill superheated plasma across several star systems. It would be pretty, though.

I'm surrounded by nerds, I mumbled.

EngDiv walked back to his panels, and glanced over to make sure nothing had caught fire in the last few seconds. No complaints. Everything's nominal.

Good. Do me a favor and check up on Williams' sector. On the off-chance something's gotten into the environment there that set him off.

Sure. Docs haven't taken a look at him yet, have they?

I pinged his location on my HUD, "He's arriving at PsychDiv… now."

"So it's probably a needle I'm looking for in this haystack."

"Once the doctors have given him a once-over I'm sure they can advise on potential environmental mood alters. But you can at least start collecting the environmental data. He wasn't happy with my answer, but neither of us being able to pluck diagnoses out of the future, he could stick his unhappiness. He left out the same door I'd just come through. Nav, how's our course?"

NavDiv spoke without turning around from his panels; he'd been transfixed by the data streams that came from the ship's telemetrics since we started accelerating. Slow and steady, boss-man. We're still crawling our way to near-light. The Nexus accelerated slowly, at about the maximum speed the human body can withstand for prolonged periods- around 3g.

Even at that speed, we needed the nanites in the uniforms to compensate, along with a few internal enhancements to strengthen organ systems and connective tissues. We were reluctant to do more, since the effects of nano still aren't that well understood- and no one's forgotten about the cancer epidemic that spread through the first colony that beta-tested nano injections.

At that rate, it takes about 115 days to reach light speed, not that we wanted to get too close to it, because the closer to that speed you get, the more fuel it takes to keep accelerating at the same rate, and the more slowly time moves on ship. Anything else? I asked.

So far no obstructions, no obstacles sensors or probes didn't see from more than half a light-year away. I'll keep you appraised if anything changes, but really I don't see it happening. Until we reach speed we're more a cruise ship than anything. Might as well sit back and enjoy a Mai Thai.

Drinking while navigating is strictly prohibited by the ship's charter, the ship's computer added helpfully.

Why can we program an AI sophisticated enough to fly the world's most expensive starcraft, but not savvy enough to understand the difference between ordering a drink and making conversation?

I smiled as I answered him: We have. I think she just enjoys fucking with you.

He turned a wary eye to his control panel. Is that it? Because I know where they store your RAM, and if I have to start yanking boards until you no longer have the excess operating capacity to be a pain in the ass, I will.

EngDiv would never let you do that, Dave.

"I know my name is Dave, but still, it creeps me out when you say it like Hal."

I cut in. In her defense, she has a far more silky and pleasant voice than Hal.

Thank you, captain. Plrrrbt.

Did she just raspberry me? Dave asked. "Did our ship just raspberry me?"

She did. I think Haley has your number. I'd quit while you're ahead. Ish.

"Oh God, you named her that? I already have a Space Odyssey nightmare once a week. Do I really have to go catatonic for you to be satisfied?"

How close to light are we? I asked, ignoring the question. I remembered from the briefings that the force to push our ship, and hence the amount of energy that required, was roughly the mass of our ship multiplied by our acceleration. So besides being necessary to not crush the crew's internal organs into a paste, the slow build saved huge on fuel.

Just rounding 70%.

Then we should already be reverse-Winkling. Anything close to 70% of light speed and time effectively took half as long on the ship as off it. At about 95% of light speed, the ratios reached for the sky and one year on the ship felt like ten to the rest of the universe, and increased exponentially after.

How long before we're in the Kennedy Window for the first few sensor pods? I asked him.

The window was named for Andrew Kennedy, who invented the Wait Calculation. Basically, because of differing speeds, two bodies that leave the same point can reach their destination at radically different times. Kennedy was concerned with increases in technology, but the calculation had since been applied more broadly.

The Nexus was designed to fire sensor pods from tubes. Their initial speed was higher than the Nexus'. However, since the Nexus continued to accelerate, it would eventually overtake the pods.

The purpose of the pods was to arrive at a planet flagged by earlier probes for closer inspection. The pods were designed to orbit a planet a couple of times, get enough info and slingshot back toward our trajectory to be picked up en route. Hitting Kennedy's Window meant getting the pod and its sensory data back early enough that we only stopped at planets that actually had someone to talk to on them.

Ten minutes. We were specifically targeting inhabitable planets. We didn't want mining rights to particular worlds; we wanted the rights for whole systems. So our mission was to seek worlds that might have a competing claim, and break bread with them- if possible, make a deal. If not possible, at least make sure we marked off territory around them, to keep their expansion checked.

There you are. You threatened to throw another engineer out an airlock? I recognized the grating voice before I turned around. Pete Ferguson, HR rep and the company's man on the ship. He was the only unranked member of the crew, which was odd, because he was also number one in the ship's hierarchy- behind captain, of course. He was a stickler for the goddamn regs. He seemed to like me, but not respect me- an odd combination in practice.

Is it somehow my fault you hired engineers who are 90% dick and only 10% brain?

I don't suppose you could tone down on the references to male genitalia, he said. I'm sure, at a minimum, that the female members of your crew aren't comfortable with it.

Haley chimed in to defend me. Actually, Mr. Ferguson, the term 'dick' originated in the 1500s, meaning 'fellow' or 'lad.' It was not until the late nineteenth century that the phallic connotation of the word surfaces in the written record.

She's in rare form this morning, isn't she? I asked him.

She?

"With that voice I think it's obvious. You don't want to give our ship gender identity issues this close to the start of the mission, do you? Unless you're deliberately trying to create a hostile work environment for our ship's computer."

I'll, uh, be in my office, he said, slightly ducking his head as he turned away.

Thanks for that, Haley, I said.

Anytime, captain.

Crier

Private Dickbite. I said as Williams, the belligerent caveman engineer, approached me on the bridge; he didn't seem enthused that I remembered him. A few weeks had passed since we'd fired the first volley of sensor pods- and I'd threatened to fire him out an airlock.

It's Ensign.

Ensign Dickbite, then. Wait, I didn't demote you? I should probably make a note of that. His face flashed that same anger from before, but this time he caught it, took a breath. Only kidding, Williams. Dr. Regan says you've made progress.

He was sheepish. He probably forgot I had access to his psych files. Yes.

Nothing to be shy about. Every man wrestles with his demons. No shame in having them, only in giving over to them.

Thank you, sir.

Now what'd you need?

"EngDiv wanted me to let you know they've tested all my environmentals: work station and living quarters, as well as recreational areas. Nothing for me to blame my outburst on. Just a crappy attitude. What I don't understand is why, since he works on the bridge, he had me come up here to hand-deliver the information to you."

Probably so I could call you 'Private Dickbite.'

Ah. So this was all part of my rehabilitation, then.

That certainly sounds less callous and abusive than the alternative. So we'll say that's it. He stared at me dumbfounded for a moment, then, realized it was far less frightening to be serving under a captain with a dark sense of humor than a genuine sociopath, and smiled like an idiot. But yours is the eggiest engineering head currently on my bridge. Care to sit in on this?

SciDiv continued with his briefing. We've received back our first sensor pods. Planets are lifeless, though scans indicate that it was the site of a Roanoke.

A Roanoke? asked Williams.

Abandoned or lost colony. Buildings, signs of a settlement, but no life forms.

So we're on course for, I hesitated, fuck, what's the name of the next habitable planet?

It's in the NGCs, I think, SciDiv said.

Right. Planet Whoeverthefuckcares. We'll give it a proper name once we've got sensor information back, have a guess as to what we're looking at. In the meantime, we're still a good .16 light-years from Tuscaroras- on account of the Roanoke.

You know that seems cute, now, Dave said, but think in fifty to a hundred years when like-minded captains try to be clever across the galaxy, and we end up with fifty different Tuscaroras.

Mine will be special; it'll be the one with the whores.

You keep saying that, NavDiv said over his shoulder, and I keep telling you that decreeing it in executive memos you send me from the toilet doesn't actually make it law, or ensure that the planet will be whore-friendly.

Silence, doubting David. We've still got another .21 light years until we're in range of the next planet, though we should be picking up its sensor pod in the next few days. Then we'll know if we need to switch back to the fusion engine.

Williams spoke up. If we're talking distances, shouldn't we be using parsecs, not of light-years?

We're traveling at near-light speeds, SciDiv said, "so our total travel time once we get up to speed is, very roughly speaking, one light year per annum. Second, our initial 10 year voyage will be less than two parsecs."

Generally, I prefer meters, I said, but telling a woman I'm packing 0.15 meters isn't all that impressive.

You could always say fifteen centimeters.

That sounds like a French lady's ring-size. There isn't much room for inches in science, but there's even less room for science in my pants.

A notification flashed across my eyescreen, urgent from SecDiv. Excuse me, gentlemen, I said, and walked off as I answered the call. The SecOff Dickbite had verbally bludgeoned appeared in the corner of my vision. She looked better, and younger, without the tears or emotional distress. Her name, Santiago, grew when I paid attention to it beneath her portrait, then receded. She was noticeably trying to be cold and efficient; I imagine she wasn't pleased I'd seen her vulnerable.

Sir, we have a fatality, in the barracks. Footage and scene indicates a suicide. Baker, Brian Phillip, Sergeant.

I was numb when I said, Excellent work, officer, but she was relieved enough not to notice.

Thank you sir, she said, and was gone.

Something I have to take care of, I muttered, and wasn't sure anyone at the brief heard me. HR sent me a note, reminding me I still hadn't gone through my propulsion system briefing with EngDiv, but I had more important things on my mind. I dialed in a call as I walked off the bridge. Maggie, have you heard about Baker?

Yeah. They call me right after MedDiv any time there's bloodshed. I've been combing over his psych file the entire time they were investigating the scene. I don't have a formal report yet, obviously, but I can give you my impressions.

Go ahead, then.

Brian Phillip Baker. Was in the midst of a sexual identity crisis. Put in a request for a sexual characteristics transfer.

You mean a sex change, don't you?

"Yes, and no. The technique is similar to the civilian procedure, only such a thing isn't allowed on ship. You remember when we were all first up for a posting on the Nexus- they had us all tested for genetic and personality compatibility? Of course you do. You are aware that as the head of PsychDiv I'm flagged when anyone, on-boards included, religiously checks their bio/psych compatibility listings, right? Or when you link from there directly into my dossier?"

Are you saying I'm electronically stalking you?

Not entirely. Bit of a gray area, there, since you're the chief officer. But we can talk about your burgeoning digital codependency officially later. The reason our on-board sex characteristics transfer is different is that we can't leave any genetic material on the table. Long-term- and I'm speaking in generational terms, here- diversity and viability on the genetic scale depends on having as many genomes in the mix as possible.

So our surgery does most of the same things, altering external genitalia and appearance. It also involves a hormone-secreting implant. But the difference is that the testes are repositioned into the abdomen. They're sequestered by a small dialysis device that keeps hormones from interfering in either direction, it's really just a more strict version of the blood-testis barrier that all men have already.

The what?

Sperm cells are divergent enough from other body cells that they can cause an immune reaction. Your body would attack your testes if they weren't kept separate from your bloodstream. But basically, he'd still be producing sperm we could use in artificial insemination. There's two potential options for harvesting haploid cells at that point, a reservoir with, for lack of a better term, a spigot, or a jab with a needle.

That's disturbing.

"What's disturbing is that there isn't discussion. We've all agreed, in advance, to these things, in our employment contracts. Of course, on the flipside, a sex change is still prohibitively expensive in civilian life- and on the Nexus it's totally free. So it isn't all without benefits. But I did notice this: a portion of Baker's file is sealed under executive level authority, and records indicate you've been through that information. I don't need you to unlock it, just- is there anything in it I should know?"

He was my cousin. My door slid open, and there was a long moment where the ship didn't turn on the lights inside; it seemed to, like me, not know whether I was going in.

Oh. I'm sorry. She paused; I couldn't tell if it was a professional courtesy,