Marcus was having a hard enough time wondering how it was that an alien society would come to adhere to so many of the same practices as Terrans did. Just the fact that they were sitting in a restaurant was cause for consideration, let alone the fact that the restaurant was set in the pedestrian streets of a bustling city.
Rodan ordered for them in one of the alien tongues. The waiter made sure that they all produced their Pamco devices, which he then held up to his datapad, downloading the necessary data to make certain they were only served food and drink safe for their physiology.
At the table next to them, a humanoid with wrinkly gray skin sat poised, its huge milky, lifeless eyes staring into a ceramic bowl, half-filled with what appeared to be some form of grayish meat. The alien’s frame was so thin that it looked as if it was ready to collapse from malnutrition. It leaned forward and extruded a short snout, divided in the middle by a groove that ran up the snout and clear across the creature’s bald head, and regurgitated a bright yellow gooey substance into the bowl. The resulting chemical reaction produced a thin yellow vapor as the meat slowly began to liquefy, filling the air with the faint smell of sulfur. The emaciated being then quickly ejected a thin straw-like appendage from its snout and began slurping up the concoction. Marcus cringed as he looked away, unable to observe its odd eating habits.
“Never mind him,” Rodan explained, noticing the focus of Marcus’ attention. “Arangi are harmless.”
“Are we not going to discuss the fact that you’re human?” Captain Mitchell interrupted him, drawing stares from the entire group.
“I am Gaian,” Rodan corrected him carefully. “And you are Terran.”
“You’ll have to excuse us, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a difference,” Serena interjected.
“That is not important at this juncture,” Rodan insisted.
“Not important?” Taz bellowed. “We’ve flown halfway across the fucking galaxy only to find humans living with aliens. Not important? I’d say it’s the most important topic up for discussion!”
“Pipe down Taz!” Captain Mitchell shouted, drawing glares from a nearby group of Hrūll who were entrenched in a holographic game.
“I have been instructed not to talk about it,” Rodan explained.
“Instructed by whom?” Captain Mitchell inquired, starting to get irritated by the mystery.
Rodan’s flashing glare spoke more than words. It was obvious that he wasn’t about to divulge his secrets to them, no matter how much they persisted.
“First of all, you should know that Gaians are not exactly popular in this part of Semeh’yone. In fact, you are fortunate to have made it this far unmolested,” Rodan said, making an effort to change the subject.
“Why is that?” Reid probed, leaning forward in interest.
“Yeah, you seem so open and forthcoming,” Taz sneered.
“Because our morals do not mesh well with the criminal element which dominates the New Arrivals’ Zone,” Rodan explained.
“Point taken,” Captain Mitchell said. “I guess that means we won’t be popular around here either.”
“I fear not. So stick to the more populated areas,” Rodan advised. “As long as you remain in a crowd, and you stay together, you should be relatively safe.”
“Relatively…” the captain replied, raising his eyebrow.
“I would also advise you to learn Hiodan as quickly as possible. It is the most common language spoken in Etherium space,” Rodan added.
“What exactly is the Etherium?” asked Serena, who seemed to be the only one among them enjoying the encounter with the self-proclaimed Gaian.
“The Etherium is the name given to an alliance of races which governs this region of the galaxy,” he explained.
“This region? So there is more than one alliance out there?” Taz prompted.
“Oh yes,” Rodan confirmed. “There are several main powers in this part of the galaxy. You were most fortunate to arrive in Etheran space. Had you ventured into the territories of the Moloukan Empire or the Sereni Sanctum, I am afraid you would not have lived long. At least… not a life worth living.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Marcus wondered. “We have no funds, we have no means to support ourselves. Effectively, we’re stranded.”
“My advice is to tread carefully,” Rodan informed them. “You have a meeting with the Etheran Council scheduled, when you will be able to apply for asylum. Until then, I have been instructed to offer some financial assistance. A small sum, but it should suffice to support you until your meeting with the Council. In the meantime, I can guide you to safe and affordable accommodation.”
“I think perhaps it’s best if we remain aboard the Tengri,” Captain Mitchell said. “We’ll feel a lot safer in familiar surroundings.”
“A wise decision,” Rodan remarked.
As they took in all the newfound information, Rodan produced his Pamco and proceeded to transfer the credits to Captain Mitchell’s account. Almost immediately, the captain’s device let out a sharp beeping sound, alerting him that the status of his credit account had been updated.
“The support you are receiving does not come without a price,” the blond man warned them. “I must insist that you do your best not to cause trouble. Gaian or Terran, to the other races, we look the same. The Gaian people strive to maintain a certain reputation, and as such I must insist that you help to uphold it.”
“You don’t have to worry about us,” the captain replied. “I’ll keep my people in line.”
“I hope so. There are many eyes upon you, not the least of which are those of my own people,” Rodan cautioned them grimly. “You do not wish to make enemies here, Captain.”
As the waiter brought forth an array of exotic dishes, almost all of which were met with high praise, Captain Mitchell stared quietly out at the busy streets. Though he was mesmerized by all that they had experienced, he did not trust the Etherium’s agenda. Why make them wait so long for an audience? Who were these Gaians who had sent their emissary to offer their ‘support’, and why were they so reluctant to reveal their intentions? Perhaps they were the remnants of the first C-CORE colonies, cut off from all communication with Terra once they’d been sent out over a century ago. The possibility was not entirely impossible, though if they’d managed to establish themselves here, surely they could have informed the Republic? Perhaps he was just being an old fool to allow his paranoia to reach to such heights. For now, as far as first contact scenarios went, things could definitely have gone far worse. He only hoped their newfound funds would stretch until their meeting with the Etheran council.
Chapter 15
Ambassador Janosh’s audience chamber looked more like a vibrant forest glade than an office. Near a central pool of clear water, occupied by schools of silver and golden fish, the ambassador sat upon a tiled square laid with roughly hewn stone. Trees of all sizes and shapes surrounded the pool, and flowers nearing bloom were allowed to grow freely along the borders of the freshly cut grass. Colorful birds rested on branches, some hidden by the leafy canopy while others, more daring, peered down at the ambassador who appeared deep in meditation. Their song reminded him of a gathering of women, recanting gossip and tales of their children’s exploits.
The domed roof above the embassy projected an image of a blue sky lit by a bright orange sun cresting the edge of a single formation of clouds. An enormous old tree cast its shadow over the glade, its gnarled branches enveloping the ambassador as if shielding him from the troubles of the outside world. A pair of bright orange butterflies fluttered passed him, as if competing for his attention.
On the surface, he appeared to be a simple man, with simple tastes. One who was in touch with nature, leading a life of perfect balance and harmony. Those who knew him well, however, knew that he also bore a superior intellect, one capable of complex compartmentalization and great strategy. He was respected, even revered, throughout Gaian society, a fact which reinforced his self image and tradition
al views.
From his stark white and neatly trimmed stubble and receding hairline to his neatly pressed robes of purest white silk, the ambassador was the pinnacle of refinement, taking painstaking care in his appearance and demeanor. His blue eyes exuded a boyish innocence, but hinted at ages of wisdom and experience. His plump nose lent a friendly tone to his otherwise serious façade. Faintly wrinkled skin hinted at the weakness which comes with old age, but he harbored an inner strength few could rival.
A sudden shimmer of light produced a holographic depiction of an androgynous humanoid being of glowing blue light, hairless and dressed in plain robes, standing before the meditating figure.
“Ambassador,” the hologram prompted.
“Yes, Thales?” Ambassador Janosh acknowledged, his eyes still closed as he remained unshaken in his lotus position.
“Your disciple has arrived as requested. Shall I send him in?” Thales inquired.
“Please do,” the ambassador responded. “Can you have some tea sent in as well?”
“Certainly, Ambassador.”
With a flicker, the image of Thales vanished.
After a minute of silence, hurried steps signaled the arrival of Rodan Kesh. As he entered the glade, he bowed down on one knee in reverence.
“I have done as you asked, Master,” Rodan informed him.
“Good,” the ambassador voiced, without inflection. “What is your impression of the new arrivals?”
“It is still too early to tell, Master. They have yet to prove themselves either way.”
Ambassador Janosh suddenly opened his eyes and began to unfold his legs.
“Please, take a seat,” he gestured to the tiles before him.
“Yes Master. Thank you,” Rodan replied, sitting cross-legged before the older man.
“Tell me Rodan, have you heard of Master Silos?” the ambassador asked him when he’d settled.
“Of course, Master,” Rodan acknowledged. “There are few who have not heard of his great deeds.”
“During my apprenticeship with Ambassador Silos, I learned some of life’s most important lessons. Among them was patience,” the ambassador said with a friendly smile. “When we find the strength to wait and watch our opponents, their weakness will ultimately reveal itself.”
“Yes Master,” Rodan concurred, listening intently to his master’s wisdom.
They became aware of the appearance of a young servant girl bearing a silver tray laden with porcelain cups and a decanter of steaming hot water. They waited in silence as she gracefully knelt down beside them and placed the ornate platter on the ground between them. She bowed gently before leaving hurriedly the same way she’d come. Ambassador Janosh leaned forward to pour tea into the pair of ornate cups, the gentle fragrance mixing with the scent of blossoms.
“Of course, patience is not always the best course of action. Sometimes, one must provoke one’s opponent into reacting,” he explained, and as he spoke, every single flower surrounding the two men bloomed before their very eyes.
The buds of the morning glories spread their brilliant pedals, white lilies swayed under their own weight, their filaments writhing as if they had suddenly gained sentience. A small grouping of butterflies ascended from their hiding places, shaken by the sudden change in scenery. Rodan’s attention wandered from his master and with a gaping smile he admired the ambassador’s power over the forces of nature.
Janosh passed one of the cups to his aid before taking a modest sip from his own.
“How should we proceed?” Rodan inquired, gently swirling his cup to let the tea blend properly.
The ambassador looked apprehensive, tentatively examining the situation from every aspect in his mind’s eye.
“We need to know how many more of them there are, and whether they shall be arriving here,” the ambassador decided. “I’ve been informed that their technology does not allow for two-way travel, which leaves those already here stranded.”
“Yes Master,” Rodan acknowledged.
“We always knew they would show themselves eventually,” the ambassador continued. “But we must know their intentions before it is time to act.”
“I shall continue with my observations, Master,” Rodan proclaimed proudly.
“We need to make it apparent to the Etherium that there is a clear difference between Terrans and Gaians.”
“Yes Master.”
With a wave of his hand, Ambassador Janosh dismissed his aid and placed his porcelain teacup back on the tray. He let his eyes fall shut once more and folded his legs back under his body, reaching his hands out with their palms open, facing skywards. His body began to relax, letting go of his conscious mind. He felt his core, his very soul, begin to merge with the surrounding flora and fauna. He envisioned his essence pooling with that of the flowers, the trees, the freshly cut grass, even the fish and the birds.
As his heaving chest took in deep breaths of the freshly scented air, the glade moved with him, writhing back and forth in perfect harmony.
Chapter 16
After four days of sleeping in the ship’s quarters and forcing a semblance of routine, the crew was starting to get impatient. It was one thing to travel through space with a purpose, but sitting in dock with nothing to do but wait was another matter entirely. Taz and Jago were taking it the worst. The metropolis lying in wait outside the spaceport was haunting them, and the more the captain denied them access to its opportunities, the more desperate they became to leave the ship.
Tempers flared, and, at the urgings of the others, Captain Mitchell finally gave in and allowed the crew to explore the New Arrivals’ Zone, albeit with certain restrictions. They were only to travel in groups, and they had to stay in regular contact with the ship. They were also reminded to be on their best behavior, and to steer clear of even the slightest hint of danger.
Marcus, Taz and Serena were among the second group given shore leave, and they were eager to leave the ship. Also in their group was Dr. Gehringer, who had approached the trip as an opportunity to conduct field research, arriving at the airlock carrying all manner of instruments and scanners, along with his trusted datapad.
“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Serena remarked sarcastically as the scientist stumbled through the hatch to the forward airlock, almost dropping half of his gear.
“I believe so, Ms. Kim,” he replied earnestly, apparently unaware of her facetious tone, as he set most of his equipment on the deck and began strapping each piece onto a makeshift shoulder harness. “I’ve requisitioned some funds from Captain Mitchell in order to conduct my research. If it is at all possible, I would like to find some form of knowledge repository, or a center for learning. A library if you will.”
“Figures. We’re finally free to have some fun, and the Professor here wants to do some reading,” Taz groaned.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Marcus reassured him, patting the corpse-pale doctor on the shoulder.
* * * * *
It was early evening when they emerged from the docks, and Marcus found himself admiring the mock sky. The sun was setting behind the rim of the docking ring, bathing the cloud-cast sky in brilliant hues of crimson and lavender.
“How do they that?” Taz gasped, following Marcus’ gaze.
“My guess would be either a very powerful holographic projector, or some form of plasma being manipulated between twin force fields,” Dr. Gehringer proposed.
“Does it really matter how it’s done?” Serena intervened. “It’s astonishing!”
“I’m a scientist Ms. Kim. It’s my job to question everything.”
They made their way down one of the busier streets, stopping periodically to allow Dr. Gehringer to record each new species he came across with one of his various instruments.
If it weren’t for the language barrier that prevented him asking questions, and Serena’s reluctance to work with the doctor, whose insensitivity she was fast developing a distaste for, their journey would have taken hours.
Nonetheless, Dr. Gehringer did his best to pose questions to passersby through hand gestures and awkward facial expressions, most shrugging him off as nothing more than a nuisance. Some tried to take advantage, offering up their trinkets as if they were exotic treasures worth their weight in gold. When the clueless scientist eventually wandered too close to a group of Banthalo thugs standing outside what looked like a dive bar, Marcus finally felt compelled to intervene.
“Doctor, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Marcus hissed, running up behind him to grab him by the shoulder.
The entrance to the sleazy establishment was blocked by a two meter tall monstrosity with a large metallic ring through his green nose. As the alien’s companions began to take note of the scientist’s curiosity, they began to get agitated. One of them, who had been sitting on top of a bike-like contraption hovering a short distance off the ground, furrowed his brow and scowled at them with his large black reflective eyes. Its pointy ears, which had been flapping at the side of his head, were now raised and angled, seemingly to better monitor their conversation.
Marcus pulled Gehringer away, casting an uneasy glance at the massive weapon that rested beside the entrance of the bar, within easy reach of the gang’s leader. It resembled a two-handed meat cleaver with a serrated edge and a ball of metal on the end to give it more weight, increasing the force of its impact. Clearly the Banthalo gangs took the station’s weapons regulations more as suggestions than laws.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Gehringer demanded, angered by Marcus’ interference. “You mustn’t interrupt me when I’m performing research.”
“Doctor, if your research requires you to have your skull caved in then by all means go and bother the nice doorman,” Marcus growled at him.
Dr. Gehringer’s expression turned from one flush with anger to one of quiet apprehension. He turned his head cautiously to look over his shoulder to where one of the lower-ranked Banthalo had gone over to the monstrosity by the entrance and was standing on his toes to whisper something in the giant’s ear, all the while eying Dr. Gehringer with great interest.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 11