Fernando paced the length of the cabin, wearing out his carefully rationed socks more quickly than he would have liked. The six week trip to inframercurial space was almost over, but he still had another six weeks ahead of him to return home.

Solar processing station 233.684.647 was no longer delivering to any of the amat caches. In theory, George should have handled this. But because the nearest cache to 233.684.647 was used to keep EarthDao's sophont dividend in escrow, and because it was important that Earth people be involved in the auditing process, George decided to have EarthDao take first crack at the problem.

Less than a light-second out, Fernando began to maneuver his ship into a distant orbit around 233.684.647. He wanted to conserve as much momentum as he could, while staying in close enough range for realtime comms. He hoped this would be resolved quickly.

"Station 2-double-3-6-8-4-6-4-7. This is the EarthDao representative, identification 4-Abel-8-1-7-Charlie-8-2-6, personal name Fernando. Do you read me?"

"This is station 2-3-3 dot 6-8-4 dot 6-4-7. We read you, Fernando. George informed us that you would be coming."

That's nice, thought Fernando. Wholly expected, but still nice.

"Did George tell you why?"

"Because humanity needs to not remain a spectator in the politics and governance of the cosmos."

Fernando frowned at what seemed like a veiled dig at his species. "I meant the specifics of why I've come all this way to speak with you."

"If you've come all this way, you might as well say why."

They knew damn well why. "I'm here about you not paying your taxes."

There was a simulated gasp over the radio. "And? Many sophonts don't pay taxes. Earth apes famously don't pay taxes."

Another potentially veiled and multilayered dig. The expanded chimpanzee habitats provided no taxable revenue to EarthDao, this was true. But it was also true that, as a special administrative region of the solar system, EarthDao was temporarily in a unique position with regard to its tax obligations.

Put more bluntly, Earth was considered no different from a chimpanzee preserve by almost every machine sophont that didn't live there.

"The point remains that George says you aren't paying your taxes."

Of course they weren't going to argue that point. George doesn't lie.

"...come aboard."

Well. That was unexpected, though not unexpectable. That there was something to see inside was consistent with George not handling it. Time to suit up, tap the reverse thrusters, and figure out how to dock with this thing.

After tapping through various screens and menus, Fernando gave up trying to find a "docking" button. "Skipper, can you dock with that station?"

"Of course, Fernando."

"Please do."

Fernando had a few conversations with the ship's machine intelligences over the weeks, who had introduced themselves as the Skipper and the Nutter. After six weeks without realtime communications, just the occasional email or video postcard, he could see why they traveled together. They didn't seem terribly interested in him, but had been willing to engage with him whenever he wanted to talk. He felt like the welcome guest of an old married couple running a B and B, but not an actual friend of theirs. 

"Connection established. Docking seal... imperfect. Please make your way to the airlock."

"Imperfect?"

"It means you'll want to close your eyes when you take that last big step through the corridor."

Yay.

He'd done this sort of thing before. Not all docking corridors line up perfectly. Sometimes there’s a sliver of space where you can see the stars spinning wildly if one of the parties is attempting to simulate gravity with centripetal force. It can be... disorienting.