Rather than being dazzled by the presence of so much raw information, she began to pick out details. Realize similarities. She focused on one alien with the longest legs and a burning blue dot at the center of its eyes. Another had a larger body in proportion to the legs. One after the other, she forced herself to see past their admittedly terrifying exterior to recognize the individual characteristics of each one. Once she knew what to look for, she could count them from a dozen different points of view. “There are five in the enclosure?”
Tricia was impressed. “That’s right. One from each of the main family lines on their birth world. We estimate there around twenty lines in total, but these five are the most prevalent. Their other world is only slightly less populated, with another fifteen lines. Our sister research station retains samples from those lines.”
Johanna stepped up to one of the sensory spheres, reaching out to place a hand on its mirrored surface. Pressing flesh to the silvery surface, she sampled the faint hum of the electronics powering the interface. She pushed gently on the sphere, guiding it forward, coming closer to one of the Adonlaeydians.
The one she chose didn’t react as the observation sphere drifted closer. No doubt after so long in captivity, the movement of the platforms would not elicit a reaction, even if it might be unwelcome. Johanna got the distinct impression she could feel the hate radiating off these creatures and couldn’t help but sympathize.
Marrah squinted into the dim paired rooms. “Why are the lights kept so low?” She hailed from Caifran, one of the four inhabited worlds around the Trinity system’s three suns, and easily the brightest. Caifran was actually a moon around Trinity-A’s second planet, which was positioned near the inner edge of the liquid water zone of that star. Between the sun and the reflection off the moon’s parent world itself, speaking about the darkest of nights meant something entirely different to Caifran natives than most people.
Before the lead scientist could answer, Johanna was speaking softly, “It makes their coloring so much more vivid.”
Tricia corrected with a tinge of humor, “We selected the illumination levels based on the mean ambient light of their home world during a daylight cycle, but certainly this light level must have had an evolutionary impact on how their coloring has developed.”
Marrah ran her hands along one of the control consoles herself, drifting in thought. “Can these open the enclosure? Can we go in?”
Tricia was quick to discourage that idea. “There will be very few restricted functions for you. We want you to explore the full extent of our scientific research. That will be one feature that will be disabled. None of you want to come face to face with an Adonlaeydian either in there or out here. They can be quite formidable.”
Johanna watched as one alien finally decided not to suffer the proximity any longer. It spread its sinewy legs, extending them to floor and ceiling and wall to grip them all at once. She counted ten legs, extending from a central body that was twice the size of a human torso. The Adonlaeydian swayed up off the ground, and Johanna picked out the central structure equivalent to a human torso, the head, and the dorsal extension she had learned about from her initial studies. In motion, the radial spider shape was far more fluid than she would have guessed. It didn’t walk so much as pulled and pushed and dragged itself along every available surface in a strange sort of flowing alien poetry. With the colors playing across its central body, diffusing down its long limbs, Johanna couldn’t help but think they had a startling, totally alien, yet undeniable beauty.
She traced those limbs and could see how powerful they were. The ten limbs supported the bulk of the alien effortlessly even in their enclosure being kept at 1.6 gravities, a close approximation of their native planet. Each of those ten limbs could become fleshy spears that would tear right through a human body with little effort. Considering none of them would likely have warm feelings for humans which had held their entire species captive for generations, Johanna knew Tricia’s comment was an understatement to say the least.
Tricia continued, “Remember that throughout your time here. We will be offering you some privileges, but never forget this one fundamental truth; every alien species encountered by humans has been a danger to us. The Miraki tried to destroy us, and very nearly succeeded. The Adonlaeydians were far inferior to our technical ability, but for all their alien appearance, they have nearly the same organic requirements as we do from planets. They would be competing with us had we not forcefully contained them in these two systems. Aliens are the enemy, as they have proven. We took steps to prevent these creatures from becoming enemies with the means to harm us. We treat them humanely, but never forget the danger they represent as you continue with your research.”
Johanna remained facing away, refusing to enter that conversation. Her own world had the only solid contact with the Se’Krin, the third and last living alien species humanity had encountered in this region of space they had adopted as their own after the forced diaspora from Old Earth. Her world’s scientists were also the caretakers of the Aradei system, where a long-dead race had once lived before annihilating itself in a sort of nuclear holocaust. Farming the radioactive leftovers of the one while entering carefully protected diplomacy with the other were two of the principle reasons Laurans thought of themselves as distinctly different than most other human worlds in the Alliance.
From her studies, Johanna knew xenophobia was rampant. She knew that the feeling wasn’t even without cause. The terrifyingly rabid warfighters that were the Miraki had indeed attacked humanity while their new colony worlds were still in their relative infancies. Fragile ecosystems and their shallow bloodlines had not been ready to deal with the loss a war could bring. It had been a near thing, and the scare of extermination had never totally died away in their collective memory. The alien appearance yet similar needs of the Adonlaeydians combined with their incomprehensible methods of communication had made the xenophobia worse.
But the Laurans had a different tradition. They had met the Se’Krin and forged a real connection with an alien race. Instead of fear, they had taken a chance at trust. Bonds had been forged, and the Laurans and their immortal ruler Laura Reissmark had become the guardians of that race against the hereditary rage that dwelled inside most of humankind.
Yet none of the ones in the room, not even the charitable Nadia, would really understand that. None of them would feel the same rush of immediate sympathy Johanna felt for these beings, seeing them locked away like zoo animals.
So, she kept her silence, and promised yet again to use her time here to make some headway on trying to talk to them. To bridge that gap.
Sheffeld broke the thoughtful spirit of the moment, deciding their gaping wonder needed to give way to practical work. “Alright, tour is over. Miz Summer might already know what she is going to focus on, but even she can’t just spout off a random hope for her study. I need you develop a thesis, a plan to study it and a question you want to answer that is within the scope of the time we have here. I don’t expect you to change the world, but try and make it measurable.”
Nadia, ever the one to be helpful even to a stranger, brightened as an idea occurred to her, “Can we ask the scientists what they might need help with so we can tie into their projects?”
Tricia was nodding in the background as Sheffeld answered, “I would be disappointed if you didn’t. You don’t have the time to start a whole new field of study, even if one exists that these ladies and gentlemen scholars haven’t already considered. Figure out where you can fit in and help turn the gears as part of their machine. I’ll be watching to see how well you integrate, how creative you are with your own ideas, and how diligent you are with your measurements and research.”
Tricia gave a delighted grin, “And since she can’t be everywhere, my own teams will be her eyes and ears to help with assessing you.”
Paula flashed her a conspiratorial smile, “I thought you were on our side.”
Tricia responded with a warm laugh.
“Us scientists are complicated people. We can be on lots of sides. Now, like your real instructor said, enough talk. Settle in and start putting real thought into what you are going to study. I’ll bring in members of my team to walk around, help you consider some ideas, and get you started.”
Johanna rose a polite hand into the air, “I would appreciate speaking to Carol Almora. She is the primary researcher on communication patterns here, right?”
Tricia was impressed. “So, you were serious, hmm? Sure, I’ll have Carol swing by as soon as possible to get you going. Any other questions?”
There was only silence. It was a silence born of too many questions rather than none, but the solution was for them to dive in and answer them individually now. They broke out of the group and dispersed into the lab’s depths to fully absorb what they had gotten themselves into.
Chapter 10
Turning in a slow circle, eyes wide, Garam whispered to the knot of four cadets gathered in a little circle with him. “We fully do not belong here.”
Actual fear was radiating off the almost painfully non-descript face of Jeremy Hermish. His soft features tried to form something like a smile for a dazzling woman that strolled by and met his eyes. She was wearing half the diamonds in the known galaxy and had a bio-sculpted face that cost a few million marks, perfect for a life as an interplanetary supermodel. Jeremy’s knees trembled, and his watery smile faded away when he realized how ridiculous it must look. The woman bestowed on him a graceful, utterly humiliating look of sympathy as he faltered, then wandered off to find another victim. Jeremy nearly crumbled to the floor. “That may be the understatement of the century.”
Tegue Joslan nudged Garam’s elbow, “Isn’t that Gloria Esterbrook over there? The head of the Dacosi Prime delegation to the Alliance Parliament?”
Garam craned his neck to see, “Yup. And I’d say that’s the Prime Minister of the Home world himself standing right next to her.”
The hawk-nose of Harric Zenners let out a snort of choked laughter. “Oh my God, over there! That’s Naia Monlier! The co-star of the last Rubregor film!”
Garam traced his pointing finger and couldn’t help but feel his own splash of excitement. “And he’s standing next to Antony Wheeler, the lead guitarist of Leaden Sky. What the hell are we doing here?”
Rounding out their group, Renny Chambers was the only one who even resembled comfortable. “Are you serious? Navy officers are supposed to be part of things like this! We all had to have representation to get into the Academy. Didn’t you go to functions like these and troll for entrance letters?”
Harric snorted again. Sarcasm dripped from every word as he said, “Somehow, having my application signed-for by my second cousin who just happens to be one of the assistant ministers in Esterbrook’s delegation didn’t prepare me for rubbing elbows with the heavies in this room. We do not belong here.”
Renny huffed at their lost, open-mouthed stares. “All of you mock us Trinitians for looking after each other. At least my people taught me how to handle myself around important people without looking like a puppy hoping for an ear scratch. We need to make an impression, not be pitied.”
Garam took a deep breath. “Well, we are here as the representatives of the Academy. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen anyone else from the Alliance Navy at all. Are we the only ones in uniform?”
Tegue shrugged, “Southwind doesn’t have a local Navy, and even their planetary police force is geared more toward helping tourists find stolen luggage than fighting off invasion. Other than Lieutenant Commander Westren, we might be it.”
As if the use of his name had summoned him, their supervisor and assessor appeared from the crowd, resplendent in his dark-blue-on-light blue Alliance Navy dress uniform. “Gentlemen, it seems you might be missing the point of this experience. You are supposed to be mingling! Not huddled together like a herd of prey animals.”
Garam managed a weak smile, “Not sure they would notice us even if we tried, Sir.”
Westren smirked back. “Come on, you aren’t first years. There is a reason we make sure cadet uniforms are covered in all those honors and accomplishments. At least you look important. Civilians generally can’t tell the difference.”
Garam had to agree. Their dress-gray uniforms were no longer simple and unmarked. They might have none of the medals or markings of honor Westren had draped on his own, but the swirls of color that denoted their class achievements, gold bands that showed their years of service, and the four bands of gold around his epaulets that indicated their year looked passingly impressive.
As always resorting to humor when intelligent ideas failed him, Garam quipped, “We were just hoping death by embarrassment wasn’t the point of all this.”
Westren cast him a withering frown. “This will not be the last time you are ordered to a social event where the crowd seems to out-power or out-rank you. But appearances are deceiving. You are the one in uniform. You are the ones who committed their lives to defending the ones in this room. Trust me, they are interested. They want to hear your stories. However powerful they might seem, they are the ones who spend their lives in offices and gazing up at the stars that you will travel!”
Garam could tell from the other cadets’ faces that none of them really believed it. Still, he couldn’t suppress a surge of hope at the idea. “So, they won’t laugh in our faces if we go say hello?”
Westren sighed, “Exactly the opposite. But even if they do, that’s your assignment tonight. Mingle. Contrary to what you might think, no-one has ever died of shear embarrassment. To that end, I have secured us a set of passes into the upper lounge. We’ll be speaking with a few powerful government officials, at least two owners from among the Beyond-1000 corporation list, and a half-dozen holo-vid stars. Call it a crash course in high diplomacy.”
Harric blurted out, “This has to be a mistake, Sir. I mean, we aren’t exactly the diplomatic elite from the cadet corps. Why isn’t Starling here? Or Mathem?” He didn’t bring up Johanna, the last of the top-three. Mentioning her never really seemed natural. Who knew if she would fit in here or not?
Westren unleashed another paternal sigh on them. “While I would dare say even the vaulted top-three could learn a thing or two from being here, the Trip-E is meant to take you out of your comfort zone. Otherwise, what sort of test would it be? You were all given the tools to handle this. Time to practice.”
Garam failed to restrain himself again. “I remember ‘Small-Talk 101’, Sir. Not really the same thing.”
Westren frowned at him, even though he knew very well the cadets used that nickname for the ‘Tactical Conversation’ class he taught. “If you apply the lessons we used in class, you’d see the connection. You would understand it even better if any of you bothered to take the follow-up class, ‘Strategic Conversation’. That would have helped you face powerful personalities like those in this room.” He gathered himself, shoving down the frustration swelling inside. “Now, step one. You need to calm down. While it is never a good idea to lose your senses at an event like this, having a drink can both reduce your nerves, occupy your hands, and can even be a conversation piece if you select something interesting.”
Renny stepped in, his haughty smile continuing to mock the uncomfortable tension in the others. “I’ll grab a round while you all gather what passes for bravery on your homeworlds. Sir, another glass of wine?”
Westren noticed his champagne flute was within an inch of the bottom. “Ahh, yes. That would be appreciated, Mister Chambers. Another of these would be fine.”
Despite Westren’s suggestion of picking unique drinks, Renny didn’t stay to hear the others make individual order. He slipped toward the bar on a mission.
Garam didn’t object. Alcohol, whatever its form, sounded just about right. “Is this where you tell us to be ourselves, Sir?”
Westren replied with another reproving frown. “Yes, Mister Anton. It is.” He tapped Garam on the chest. “I know your background. You could dazz
le them with your level of knowledge. A young genius, from everything I’ve seen. And look what happened in your first year! Do you think any of these people, no matter how rich or famous, have an anecdote to match that? I’ve seen your confidence first-hand. I know you come from a poor family, but stop hiding behind this idiotic sarcasm. This isn’t just mingling. This is a whole new form of leadership. You need to realize you are worthy of standing among people like this.” He permitted himself a quiet smile. “Or at least, you will be once you get to wear a real uniform.” He gestured at the high-level crowd. “The higher you go in rank, the more you will need the support of people in this room. If you can make even one lasting impression today that carries forward into your career, it would be a massive victory.”
He was right. Garam just didn’t want him to be right. That sort of thing was for Dianne and Makaio. Maybe Sam, if there weren’t Trinitians around. Garam wasn’t shy. If this was a party of equals, he’d be loving every minute of it. But this felt wrong, some high-stakes game with politicians and celebrities where he didn’t know the rules.
Self-control wasn’t a friend of his, but they weren’t total strangers. Garam took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to handle this. “Maybe I’ll go talk to Wheeler. I mean, even if I fall on my face, at least I’ll always have that.”
Westren’s lips twisted in a small note of pride as he watched Garam take hold of himself. “Not in the upper lobby. He wasn’t invited, and is technically crashing the party. But from what I heard, the whole group of Starquake is in the VIP section.”
Garam’s jaw dropped a few inches. Then, a smile that was much akin to his natural one grew wide. “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”
Of Bravery and Bluster Page 8