Post by Lorpius Prime on Mar 15, 2011 4:16:15 GMT -5
"So what do you think of Brussels, Mr. Ambassador?"
Arreyux didn't answer immediately. He ran a claw around the outside circumference of the glass vessel he held in one hand. The dark liquid inside shuddered gently. Arreyux enjoyed looking at the substance rather more than drinking it.
"Truthfully, Mr. President, it seems much the same as the other Human cities I've seen." He sniffed the air. "A little cooler than Caracas."
Out of the corner of his eye, Arreyux saw the Human shrug.
"Well that's a shame," he said. "Understandable, I suppose. But still a shame."
"Why is that?" Arreyux asked. He really should be feigning more interest in this excursion to Earth's continent of Europe and in the idle chatter of his Human hosts. But it was boring, and Arreyux was not in the best of moods.
"Well the EU—not to mention Belgium itself—has spent considerable effort turning Brussels into the world's foremost technological city. It's got the most complete maglev infrastructure anywhere and it's the only city in the world run entirely on solar power."
This time the silence was not so calculated. Arreyux did not know how he ought to respond. The Human official's tone had sounded important, but the significance of his words was lost on Arreyux. Perhaps it required a more thorough understanding of Human culture.
"Would you like a waffle?"
Another Human in a dark suit—they all wore dark suits if they intended to speak with Arreyux—was holding out a tray of food. Arreyux took one of the offered pieces, a warm square covered with a white powder and something darker that his nose told him might be chocolate. He bit a corner off of the confection, and nearly gagged.
The dark syrup was chocolate, but the powder was apparently sugar. Only Humans could eat something as cloyingly sweet as this. Arreyux managed not to spit it out, but forced himself to chew and swallow. Then he set the "waffle" down on his plate and wished he could make it disappear through sheer force of will.
"It's a local specialty," the European President said eagerly, and apparently oblivious to the Ambassador's disgust. Arreyux took dark notice of the fact that the Human had not taken one for himself.
"Too sweet for me, I'm afraid."
The President nodded silently, his head and eyes turned forward. In front of them, in the field of the great stadium where they were seated, a troop of Human children was finishing a song. Every Human organization of any significance seemed to have its own dedicated song—an "anthem". Music for Humans was symbolic and static compared to the highly dynamic challenges among the Republic's citizens. Arreyux appreciated a good song, though he had never been much of a musician himself. Actually, he had never been much good at most of the highly abstract and intellectual games that his people liked to play amongst each other.
He considered it a useful trait. His opponents tended to underestimate him when it came to more… practical contests.
Several hours later Arreyux was tearing up bed sheets in a luxurious hotel room. The Republic had a consulate in Brussels, but it was just a small office rented in a Human building. The consul was a Junior Representative of mediocre skill, and a Consequentialist to boot. Still, Arreyux had felt sorry for him upon their meeting. The poor male staffed the consulate alone, and was clearly not adjusting well to living among Humans.
Arreyux shredded a pillow, sending the innards fluttering around the room. The pillows were stuffed with small white objects shaped like blades but soft like the fur on Arreyux's neck. They made a grand mess.
If the Human owners had the courage to charge him for the destruction, Arreyux would pay. He could probably purchase the entire building and never notice the expense. Humans were terribly desperate for Republican currency. Hyarahek had enforced strict monitoring of traders to make sure they didn't overpay for Human goods. Arreyux thought it was one of his predecessors' few good policies. The exchange rate for Human currencies was so steep; it would be easy for a single naïve merchant to upset the entire balance of trade by getting careless with his prices.
After running out of pillows and blankets, Arreyux moved on to the mattress. It was made of some sort of dense foam, and proved far less satisfying to rip apart than the rest of the bed. He was looking around for a new toy when the door to his room opened.
"Hello, Yenga," he said, and flicked a bit of foam at his intelligence Operative.
She ignored the projectile as it bounced off her vest. "I need to inform you of some developments."
"Has something happened?"
"Not to us."
Yenga was still standing just beyond the door, so Arreyux gestured for her to join him. He spent a moment finding two chairs in the room which were both large and comfortable enough to seat them. Perhaps predictably, Yenga chose to remain standing. Arreyux sighed and told her to explain.
"There's been an outbreak of disease on the Human expeditionary fleet. Not a Human disease, however, they think it came from the Kekregka."
Arreyux clasped his hands together, "They're not sure, though? Is that actually possible?"
"There's no consensus. We've never seen it happen, but plenty of biologists say there's no absolute reason it couldn't. An alien microbial infection, I mean. The Kekregka environment should not be simply toxic to Humans."
"Should not?"
"From what we know about them. And both the Humans and the Kekregka are advanced enough to be able to understand and control those risks. I doubt the Humans could have been simply poisoned out of ignorance."
Arreyux stretched a little, "What does Operative Yaheek say about the matter?"
He didn't have time to read the expression which flashed across Yenga's face before she regained control of herself. "He hasn't reported anything. We're getting this from intercepts of their communications with the expeditionary fleet."
Straightening, Arreyux asked, "Should we be concerned?"
"About Hyong? I mean, Operative Yaheek. No. He has to be careful about his reports from the fleet. He may wait until he has more information, or he may wait until he has returned to say anything about it."
"Could he be affected by this disease?"
Yenga shifted her weight, "I don't know. That's my primary concern. Not for him," she said quickly, "but in general. If the Kekregka's flora is biologically compatible with our species, we should know."
Arreyux looked in her eyes for a few seconds. "Does the colony know?" he asked.
"I don't believe so. Gyergroch did rendezvous with the expedition and Operative Yaheek several weeks ago. But otherwise, he's indicated that we are still responsible for monitoring the Humans' affairs, including this matter."
"Well don't send them a report just yet." Yenga gave him a skeptical look, so Arreyux tried to sound casual as he explained. "I'd like to wait until we have more information and I have given the matter more consideration. I don't want an overreaction from Shyankyang or his advisors because we passed along rumors without context or recommendations."
Yenga was visibly cycling through several emotions at once. Clearly she agreed with him, but did not want to agree with him. Arreyux couldn't help but smile at that.
"So long as the Governor has delegated authority over our Human policy to this embassy," he said, "let's live up to that responsibility. Shall we?"
Shyankyang would probably balk at the idea that he'd delegated any such authority to Arreyux Goyeharg, but the Governor wasn't here to argue with the Ambassador.
Operative Goying was, however, and she visibly struggled with her own feelings for a moment before sighing. "Very well."
Arreyux grinned and got back up to his feet. "So," he said, "what else?"
"You've known about this for two days?"
"Yes."
"And you don't think you should have told me something before now?"
"No."
Pascual's hands twitched; he wanted to throttle Commodore Lee. Somehow, though, he didn't think her operations chief would appreciate the attempt. Commander Donaldson sat next to the Commodore and watched Pascual with an almost equally impassive expression.
That was the worst part, somehow. Not that the Task Force's commander actually had hidden Colleen Muyskens' condition from Pascual (and most everyone else). But that the Commodore could sit across a table from him after revealing the truth, and look like she didn't care. Like this disclosure was just the next, mildly unpleasant step in some procedure.
"Well then," Pascual let the disdain show in his voice, "I assume you have some sort of compelling reason to tell me now, rather than the never it seems you would have preferred."
That got him a slightly raised eyebrow from Donaldson. How the man could stand to work under this insufferable witch, Pascual couldn't fathom. He doubted many people volunteered to serve with the Commodore.
Commodore Lee nodded slightly, "Our doctors have exhausted all their ideas except radical brain and spinal surgery. With our equipment here, that would be extremely dangerous for Lieutenant Muyskens and without any certain results even if it were successful.
"She might have a better chance of survival in an Earth hospital, but rapid transport back home would create an unacceptable logistical problem for the Task Force."
She extended a hand and began tapping one finger on the table between them. For some reason, the gesture reminded Pascual of a Bat. Commodore Lee probably wouldn't try to use her fingernails to tear up the surface of the briefing table in her own flagship, however.
"In any case, neither of those options would do much to resolve the wider issue. We still don't know what caused Lieutenant Muyskens' condition, whether anyone else is at risk, and what sort of prevention is possible. So," she said, emphasizing with a forceful tap, "Chief Molinas has ordered us to contact the Tadpoles."
"Of course he did!" Pascual came to his uncle's defense before actually considering whether he agreed or not.
If Commodore Lee was annoyed, she didn't show it. "As I see it, we can either ask for their help treating the Lieutenant directly. Or we can request they allow a Bat ship to approach the planet in order to pick her up and make the speedy transit to Earth, assuming the Bats themselves would agree.
"Either way, Ambassador, you would be making the request. I'd like your advice on which you think is best, or suggestions if you have another idea."
Pascual briefly clenched his teeth. He would not have expected the Commodore to ask for his opinion. He mulled, but only needed a few seconds.
"I think we should try the first one. Tell the Tadpoles everything—or everything we can," he said, acknowledging the Commodore's suddenly tensed expression, "and see if they can help. If we think this did come from their ship, they're likely to know something. Best way to approach the problem of exposure and prevention, as you said."
"That's actually my preference, too," Lee nodded. "I don't trust the Bats any more than the Tadpoles, and I'd rather limit outside involvement. You think the Tadpoles will help if they can, then?"
"I do." He tilted his head, "They really are nice people, Commodore. We're helping them, and if they can help us, they will"
"I don't like to trust my chances to the charity of others, Ambassador." She exhaled loudly and then was silent. It seemed she was thinking, and Pascual didn't say anything.
"All right," she said after moment. She unbuckled herself and began getting up from the briefing table. "We'll get you set up in a cabin to contact who you need to from the Uruguay. I assume they'll want to see the Lieutenant, but that can't happen here. We'll have to move her to the Discovery or somewhere else. Tell me what they say."
"Got it," Pascual looked down at his waist to start undoing his own straps.
"Ambassador Molinas."
He looked up. Commodore Lee was actually looking somewhere above his head, her expression unusually whimsical.
"The Tadpoles you've met may think we're nice people too. Because they've been talking to you." She met his eyes, "But behind you there's me. People like me and ships like the Uruguay."
She rapped her knuckles against a bulkhead, but the only sound was a dull thud from the battlecruiser's steel.
Casey Rukavina no longer worried about time or temperature. He was aware of both, but only on a subconscious level.
No, that was incorrect. Casey spent several hours pondering a better description of his situation. His awareness was not subconscious. It was perhaps more accurate to say that his conscious mind was now operating on multiple levels. That part of his mind which was most concerned by his immediate surroundings was no longer fully integrated with the rest of his personality. Casey knew that he was unusually cold, but it was simply another abstract fact, not a constant bother. Similarly, he knew that he had now gone several weeks without performing any serious work, engaging in any entertainment, or even simply sleeping, but he did not feel bored.
The experience reminded him a little of an extended trip on some of the more dissociative drugs Casey had taken in his youth. There were differences, of course. For one thing, Casey was not sure that he was really enjoying the feeling. Not that it was unpleasant, either. But even if feelings of euphoria could have intruded upon his higher thoughts in this state, Casey thought he would probably feel quite ambivalent about the whole thing.
Casey could also acknowledge that his competence was severely impaired in this condition. He could function well enough to perform ordinary complex tasks, but it required a great deal more concentration than normal. The part of his mind which could perform higher math was separate from the part which could interact with his ship's equipment, was separate from the part which cared about fulfilling his duties as an Earth Fleet officer in the first place. Making all of those separate pieces work together in concert took effort and time. Fortunately, Casey had few responsibilities at the moment, and plenty of time. For the most part, he allowed himself to float in his dreamy fog, contemplating nothing of substance.
There was an upside, too. At first he'd worried about resisting the urge to run too many systems out of sheer boredom and discomfort. But he no longer felt any need. Casey was actually coming in well under his energy budget. At this rate, he might even be able to wake the rest of the crew early.
If he even needed them. The mission data he had received so far was appallingly sketchy, barely one step up from guesswork. Still, his calculating mind had little to do but consider the problem endlessly. Some of the solutions it had designed were far more effective than Casey probably would have even thought possible before he began the assignment. It was the sort of brute-force work better suited to computers using evolutionary problem-solving methods, but Casey was doing it all in his head.
And once the real data started pouring in, Casey's solutions could only improve.
Arreyux didn't answer immediately. He ran a claw around the outside circumference of the glass vessel he held in one hand. The dark liquid inside shuddered gently. Arreyux enjoyed looking at the substance rather more than drinking it.
"Truthfully, Mr. President, it seems much the same as the other Human cities I've seen." He sniffed the air. "A little cooler than Caracas."
Out of the corner of his eye, Arreyux saw the Human shrug.
"Well that's a shame," he said. "Understandable, I suppose. But still a shame."
"Why is that?" Arreyux asked. He really should be feigning more interest in this excursion to Earth's continent of Europe and in the idle chatter of his Human hosts. But it was boring, and Arreyux was not in the best of moods.
"Well the EU—not to mention Belgium itself—has spent considerable effort turning Brussels into the world's foremost technological city. It's got the most complete maglev infrastructure anywhere and it's the only city in the world run entirely on solar power."
This time the silence was not so calculated. Arreyux did not know how he ought to respond. The Human official's tone had sounded important, but the significance of his words was lost on Arreyux. Perhaps it required a more thorough understanding of Human culture.
"Would you like a waffle?"
Another Human in a dark suit—they all wore dark suits if they intended to speak with Arreyux—was holding out a tray of food. Arreyux took one of the offered pieces, a warm square covered with a white powder and something darker that his nose told him might be chocolate. He bit a corner off of the confection, and nearly gagged.
The dark syrup was chocolate, but the powder was apparently sugar. Only Humans could eat something as cloyingly sweet as this. Arreyux managed not to spit it out, but forced himself to chew and swallow. Then he set the "waffle" down on his plate and wished he could make it disappear through sheer force of will.
"It's a local specialty," the European President said eagerly, and apparently oblivious to the Ambassador's disgust. Arreyux took dark notice of the fact that the Human had not taken one for himself.
"Too sweet for me, I'm afraid."
The President nodded silently, his head and eyes turned forward. In front of them, in the field of the great stadium where they were seated, a troop of Human children was finishing a song. Every Human organization of any significance seemed to have its own dedicated song—an "anthem". Music for Humans was symbolic and static compared to the highly dynamic challenges among the Republic's citizens. Arreyux appreciated a good song, though he had never been much of a musician himself. Actually, he had never been much good at most of the highly abstract and intellectual games that his people liked to play amongst each other.
He considered it a useful trait. His opponents tended to underestimate him when it came to more… practical contests.
Several hours later Arreyux was tearing up bed sheets in a luxurious hotel room. The Republic had a consulate in Brussels, but it was just a small office rented in a Human building. The consul was a Junior Representative of mediocre skill, and a Consequentialist to boot. Still, Arreyux had felt sorry for him upon their meeting. The poor male staffed the consulate alone, and was clearly not adjusting well to living among Humans.
Arreyux shredded a pillow, sending the innards fluttering around the room. The pillows were stuffed with small white objects shaped like blades but soft like the fur on Arreyux's neck. They made a grand mess.
If the Human owners had the courage to charge him for the destruction, Arreyux would pay. He could probably purchase the entire building and never notice the expense. Humans were terribly desperate for Republican currency. Hyarahek had enforced strict monitoring of traders to make sure they didn't overpay for Human goods. Arreyux thought it was one of his predecessors' few good policies. The exchange rate for Human currencies was so steep; it would be easy for a single naïve merchant to upset the entire balance of trade by getting careless with his prices.
After running out of pillows and blankets, Arreyux moved on to the mattress. It was made of some sort of dense foam, and proved far less satisfying to rip apart than the rest of the bed. He was looking around for a new toy when the door to his room opened.
"Hello, Yenga," he said, and flicked a bit of foam at his intelligence Operative.
She ignored the projectile as it bounced off her vest. "I need to inform you of some developments."
"Has something happened?"
"Not to us."
Yenga was still standing just beyond the door, so Arreyux gestured for her to join him. He spent a moment finding two chairs in the room which were both large and comfortable enough to seat them. Perhaps predictably, Yenga chose to remain standing. Arreyux sighed and told her to explain.
"There's been an outbreak of disease on the Human expeditionary fleet. Not a Human disease, however, they think it came from the Kekregka."
Arreyux clasped his hands together, "They're not sure, though? Is that actually possible?"
"There's no consensus. We've never seen it happen, but plenty of biologists say there's no absolute reason it couldn't. An alien microbial infection, I mean. The Kekregka environment should not be simply toxic to Humans."
"Should not?"
"From what we know about them. And both the Humans and the Kekregka are advanced enough to be able to understand and control those risks. I doubt the Humans could have been simply poisoned out of ignorance."
Arreyux stretched a little, "What does Operative Yaheek say about the matter?"
He didn't have time to read the expression which flashed across Yenga's face before she regained control of herself. "He hasn't reported anything. We're getting this from intercepts of their communications with the expeditionary fleet."
Straightening, Arreyux asked, "Should we be concerned?"
"About Hyong? I mean, Operative Yaheek. No. He has to be careful about his reports from the fleet. He may wait until he has more information, or he may wait until he has returned to say anything about it."
"Could he be affected by this disease?"
Yenga shifted her weight, "I don't know. That's my primary concern. Not for him," she said quickly, "but in general. If the Kekregka's flora is biologically compatible with our species, we should know."
Arreyux looked in her eyes for a few seconds. "Does the colony know?" he asked.
"I don't believe so. Gyergroch did rendezvous with the expedition and Operative Yaheek several weeks ago. But otherwise, he's indicated that we are still responsible for monitoring the Humans' affairs, including this matter."
"Well don't send them a report just yet." Yenga gave him a skeptical look, so Arreyux tried to sound casual as he explained. "I'd like to wait until we have more information and I have given the matter more consideration. I don't want an overreaction from Shyankyang or his advisors because we passed along rumors without context or recommendations."
Yenga was visibly cycling through several emotions at once. Clearly she agreed with him, but did not want to agree with him. Arreyux couldn't help but smile at that.
"So long as the Governor has delegated authority over our Human policy to this embassy," he said, "let's live up to that responsibility. Shall we?"
Shyankyang would probably balk at the idea that he'd delegated any such authority to Arreyux Goyeharg, but the Governor wasn't here to argue with the Ambassador.
Operative Goying was, however, and she visibly struggled with her own feelings for a moment before sighing. "Very well."
Arreyux grinned and got back up to his feet. "So," he said, "what else?"
* * *
"You've known about this for two days?"
"Yes."
"And you don't think you should have told me something before now?"
"No."
Pascual's hands twitched; he wanted to throttle Commodore Lee. Somehow, though, he didn't think her operations chief would appreciate the attempt. Commander Donaldson sat next to the Commodore and watched Pascual with an almost equally impassive expression.
That was the worst part, somehow. Not that the Task Force's commander actually had hidden Colleen Muyskens' condition from Pascual (and most everyone else). But that the Commodore could sit across a table from him after revealing the truth, and look like she didn't care. Like this disclosure was just the next, mildly unpleasant step in some procedure.
"Well then," Pascual let the disdain show in his voice, "I assume you have some sort of compelling reason to tell me now, rather than the never it seems you would have preferred."
That got him a slightly raised eyebrow from Donaldson. How the man could stand to work under this insufferable witch, Pascual couldn't fathom. He doubted many people volunteered to serve with the Commodore.
Commodore Lee nodded slightly, "Our doctors have exhausted all their ideas except radical brain and spinal surgery. With our equipment here, that would be extremely dangerous for Lieutenant Muyskens and without any certain results even if it were successful.
"She might have a better chance of survival in an Earth hospital, but rapid transport back home would create an unacceptable logistical problem for the Task Force."
She extended a hand and began tapping one finger on the table between them. For some reason, the gesture reminded Pascual of a Bat. Commodore Lee probably wouldn't try to use her fingernails to tear up the surface of the briefing table in her own flagship, however.
"In any case, neither of those options would do much to resolve the wider issue. We still don't know what caused Lieutenant Muyskens' condition, whether anyone else is at risk, and what sort of prevention is possible. So," she said, emphasizing with a forceful tap, "Chief Molinas has ordered us to contact the Tadpoles."
"Of course he did!" Pascual came to his uncle's defense before actually considering whether he agreed or not.
If Commodore Lee was annoyed, she didn't show it. "As I see it, we can either ask for their help treating the Lieutenant directly. Or we can request they allow a Bat ship to approach the planet in order to pick her up and make the speedy transit to Earth, assuming the Bats themselves would agree.
"Either way, Ambassador, you would be making the request. I'd like your advice on which you think is best, or suggestions if you have another idea."
Pascual briefly clenched his teeth. He would not have expected the Commodore to ask for his opinion. He mulled, but only needed a few seconds.
"I think we should try the first one. Tell the Tadpoles everything—or everything we can," he said, acknowledging the Commodore's suddenly tensed expression, "and see if they can help. If we think this did come from their ship, they're likely to know something. Best way to approach the problem of exposure and prevention, as you said."
"That's actually my preference, too," Lee nodded. "I don't trust the Bats any more than the Tadpoles, and I'd rather limit outside involvement. You think the Tadpoles will help if they can, then?"
"I do." He tilted his head, "They really are nice people, Commodore. We're helping them, and if they can help us, they will"
"I don't like to trust my chances to the charity of others, Ambassador." She exhaled loudly and then was silent. It seemed she was thinking, and Pascual didn't say anything.
"All right," she said after moment. She unbuckled herself and began getting up from the briefing table. "We'll get you set up in a cabin to contact who you need to from the Uruguay. I assume they'll want to see the Lieutenant, but that can't happen here. We'll have to move her to the Discovery or somewhere else. Tell me what they say."
"Got it," Pascual looked down at his waist to start undoing his own straps.
"Ambassador Molinas."
He looked up. Commodore Lee was actually looking somewhere above his head, her expression unusually whimsical.
"The Tadpoles you've met may think we're nice people too. Because they've been talking to you." She met his eyes, "But behind you there's me. People like me and ships like the Uruguay."
She rapped her knuckles against a bulkhead, but the only sound was a dull thud from the battlecruiser's steel.
* * *
Casey Rukavina no longer worried about time or temperature. He was aware of both, but only on a subconscious level.
No, that was incorrect. Casey spent several hours pondering a better description of his situation. His awareness was not subconscious. It was perhaps more accurate to say that his conscious mind was now operating on multiple levels. That part of his mind which was most concerned by his immediate surroundings was no longer fully integrated with the rest of his personality. Casey knew that he was unusually cold, but it was simply another abstract fact, not a constant bother. Similarly, he knew that he had now gone several weeks without performing any serious work, engaging in any entertainment, or even simply sleeping, but he did not feel bored.
The experience reminded him a little of an extended trip on some of the more dissociative drugs Casey had taken in his youth. There were differences, of course. For one thing, Casey was not sure that he was really enjoying the feeling. Not that it was unpleasant, either. But even if feelings of euphoria could have intruded upon his higher thoughts in this state, Casey thought he would probably feel quite ambivalent about the whole thing.
Casey could also acknowledge that his competence was severely impaired in this condition. He could function well enough to perform ordinary complex tasks, but it required a great deal more concentration than normal. The part of his mind which could perform higher math was separate from the part which could interact with his ship's equipment, was separate from the part which cared about fulfilling his duties as an Earth Fleet officer in the first place. Making all of those separate pieces work together in concert took effort and time. Fortunately, Casey had few responsibilities at the moment, and plenty of time. For the most part, he allowed himself to float in his dreamy fog, contemplating nothing of substance.
There was an upside, too. At first he'd worried about resisting the urge to run too many systems out of sheer boredom and discomfort. But he no longer felt any need. Casey was actually coming in well under his energy budget. At this rate, he might even be able to wake the rest of the crew early.
If he even needed them. The mission data he had received so far was appallingly sketchy, barely one step up from guesswork. Still, his calculating mind had little to do but consider the problem endlessly. Some of the solutions it had designed were far more effective than Casey probably would have even thought possible before he began the assignment. It was the sort of brute-force work better suited to computers using evolutionary problem-solving methods, but Casey was doing it all in his head.
And once the real data started pouring in, Casey's solutions could only improve.