Obliquity

There are Three Kinds of Lies

"Good trip, boss?"

Taking a seat at the bar of the deserted rec club, Cam pondered how best to answer the barman's innocent enquiry. While 'no' sprang to mind as the obvious choice it also risked encouraging more questions, which he didn't really feel up to at the moment.

He went with, "Could've been worse, Shot." It wasn't strictly a lie. Not really. For starters, Lara Velis could have had him tossed out an airlock when he refused her offer, rather than sending him on his way with a knowing smile and the suggestion to, "Just give it some thought." Or he might have crashed his interceptor into a stray moon on the way home or forgotten to shut the hatch and asphyxiated in space or...or...spontaneously internally combusted or...something. Oh, yes. It definitely could have been worse. A bit.

The barman wasn't buying it. "That bad, huh? No problem, I've got the cure for what ails ya. What'll it be?"

"Soda water, Shot." Like bar people the galaxy over, since time immemorial, Shot had a solid sideline in psychology going on. Cam should have known better than to think he'd pull the wool over his experienced eyes. "Got a feeling I might need a clear head over the next few days."

"You got it, boss. Although you won't drown too many sorrows with that." Shaking his head, Shot shimmered a little as he watched one of the bar's robotic arms prepare the drink. As a hologram and therefore incapable of pouring so much a drop, he was redundant to the process, but whatever worthy soul had designed the bar—way back before Cam's time on Theves—clearly felt a barman, be they virtual or otherwise, was a key component of the whole experience.

And who was Cam to argue? On duty 24-7, always ready to lend an ear, and equipped with a surprising reservoir of useful advice, Shot had been a source of solace to sodden Sentinels for longer than anyone cared to remember. As the maintenance budget these days didn't stretch to non-essentials, his AI was old-school and his projection algorithms a little unreliable but much like the Sentinels themselves, Shot kept right on trucking, regardless.

"Sure I can't add a little extra, Chief? Something to pick you up? Settle you down? Knock your socks off? Maybe all three?"

"Tempting, Shot, but I'm good, thanks." As he took a sip, wincing as the bubbles tickled his nose, Cam came to a decision. "And the same goes for everyone else. Sentinel Base Theves is now dry until further notice. We need all hands on deck until the Pan-Galactic Council is safely done and dusted. Or otherwise."

"Seriously?" Shot gave a low whistle. "If you say so. Hey, just out of interest's sake, when's the last time we had a mutiny?"

"They'll be fine, Shot." Cam spoke with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. The Sentinels had a long, hard-earned reputation for taking their...recreation seriously and their recent diminished state had done little to alter that. In fact, probably the opposite. Cam wasn't particularly worried about a mutiny, but could very much foresee some crankypants and grumblebums in his near future. Heavily armed ones.

Which meant it was time for some of the old Estrela charm.

He drained his drink and, with a stifled belch, got to his feet. "I'll do the rounds and get everyone up to speed. Who's here?"

Shot appeared to give the matter some thought, as he industriously polished a virtual glass to high virtual sheen. "Let's see. Jaster and Balisto are off chasing up some rumours of unauthorised activity out in the fringe, but I think the rest of the crew are around somewhere. Oh, except for Kaz, of course. What happened, cap? You dump him in space? Finally got a bit of delayed payback, Earthling to Rigellian?"

"Even worse, Shot. I left him with the bureaucrats."

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