MEGAN'S CHOICE

Megan’s stomach grumbled, reminding her how long she’d been cooling her buns in Gerald’s office. Right before she vacated in favor of the cafeteria, he returned, clapping his hands when he saw her.
“Megan. Glad you’re still here.”
“We hadn’t finished our meeting,” Megan pointed out, ignoring the fact she’d been a click away from leaving. “I want my vacation approved.”
He ignored her petition. “I have bad news. Scratch that. I have interesting news. The emissary was just informed there’s a civil war brewing in the Elteri system.”
“Elteri?” Megan straightened in her plastene chair, hunger forgotten. The chair shifted with her, supporting her back in its new position. “How can they have a civil war? There’s no indigenous intelligent life. I thought it was classified as a raw materials system.”
“I’ll get there.” Gerald returned to his seat and squinted. Megan felt an answering tingle in her brain that indicated use of psi, one of her skills. A Library terminal rose from Gerald’s desk in response and began flickering images and text. “This terrorist group overran the colony and took everyone prisoner, including the, ah, fifth steward, apparently.”
“What the hell was a steward doing there?” Each populated planet that met certain criteria was allowed an emissary to the Guidance, and the thousands of emissaries elected the ten stewards who headed their government. The fact that a steward had been touring an outbound system with few exports and a barely-there outpost made no sense.
Gerald settled more comfortably his chair, causing the yielding material to creak. He was large for a Terran, and he liked his creature comforts. He was the one who’d introduced her to her little sensaround addiction. “Sheeshan wouldn’t say. The terrorists dispatched an apprentice pilot on a zip ship to relay their demands.”
“They never heard of holocalls?” Megan might not want to be a government drone, but like any citizen, conflict concerned her. Outbound disputes had a way of spilling into midbound and inbound economics; plus she hated shuttling in and out of war zones.
“No idea.” Gerald slowed the progression of data onscreen with the twitch of psi. So much tech required psi to access that wetwiring--kitium implants that increased residual psi--was becoming more commonplace, but no less costly. Naturally-occurring psi was stronger and more reliable, and ST prided itself on employing all congenital pilots. “They destroyed the com systems on the ship and forced the pilot to deliver their demands in person.”
“The Truce didn’t blast the uncommunicative ship out of the sky?” Megan asked. Military protocol expected stations and settlements to use deadly force against ships that didn’t respond to hails, especially at inbound locations. All part of keeping the peace.
“The pilot landed on the first midbound planet he could reach. Didn’t travel to Beltway, much less Polestar.”
Megan nodded. “It’s what I’d have done. Hit the first outpost and report the frackers. The pilot didn’t recognize the species?” Pilots, like librarians, the employees of the government’s information-gathering branch, were trained in species recognition and cross-communication. They never knew who’d require their services and had to be prepared.