Interim

Interim 

“Control?” 

“Yes, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker?” 

“No, not you, Home. Shut up.” 

“What can I do for you, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker?”

“Shut up.”

“What can I do for you, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker?” 

“Shut up. Control? Do you read?”

“What can I do for you, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker?” 

“Radio control, please.” 

“Alright, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker. I’ll radio control for you. I’ll need authorization first.” 

“This is Captain Cypris. Control? Do you read?” 

“Please use your full name, Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker. Your full name is: Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker.”

“I’m going to kill you when this is over.” Cypris said. “This is Captain Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker, calling control from Home Station. Control, do you read?” 

“We read you.” Griggs said. “What’s your situation Captain Cypris.” 

Cypris Maricela Alta Cranford-Tracker turned to the wall. “See, Home? The heartless bureaucrat knows my proper title.” 

“Copy that?” 

“Nothing. Control, we are aboard Home Station, which we will be using to rendezvous with the asteroid. Any objections.”

“None you’ll pay attention to.” Griggs said, in a display of something that might have been misinterpreted as sarcasm or weariness. It wasn’t; it was just a statement of facts. There were roughly 463 A.C.R.O.N.Y.M. Codes of conduct that Cypris had broken simply by stepping onto the station. There were exactly four times that number forbidding her from flying a station to redirect an asteroid. Cypris was perfectly willing to disregard 1,852 of those codes, which is to say, all of them.