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Updated: June 26, 2025
Fitzhugh and Miss Crannon are listed as 'civilian technical advisers' and are therefore legally part of the crew. I'm wondering if it might be a cargo vessel, though." "Sure it is," said Ensign Vaneski. "That brain in Cargo Hold One is cargo, isn't it?" "I'm not certain," Keku said thoughtfully, looking up at the overhead, as if the answer might be etched there in the metal.
He had an appointment to talk to Leda Crannon, but he had no intention of broadcasting it. As he closed the wardroom door, he heard Ensign Vaneski's voice saying: "I still say this should be classified as a cargo ship." Mike sighed as he strode on down the companionway. The ensign was, of course, absolutely correct which was the sad part about it, really. Oh well, what the hell.
What's the trouble?" Jeffers asked. "He's dead," said the Chief Physician's Mate. Leda Crannon was standing outside the cubicle that had been built for Snookums. Her back and the palms of her hands were pressed against the door. Her head was bowed, and her red hair, shining like a hellish flame in the light of the glow panels, fell around her shoulders and cheeks, almost covering her face.
He looked at the others at the wardroom table Quill, Jeffers, von Liegnitz, Keku, Leda Crannon, and Mike the Angel. But he didn't really seem to be seeing them. "Ruined," he said. "Eighteen billion dollars' worth of work, destroyed completely. The brain has become completely randomized." He sighed softly. "It was all Vaneski's fault, of course. Theology."
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