Chapter Five
Captain Sheltarah zh’Corithan and her contingent of five rematerialised in what was presumably the planetary capital under the brilliant sunshine of local late afternoon. Before them was a massive, beautifully ornate building that struck the Andorian’s aesthetic senses as a mix of Vulcan desert and Terran European architecture. Early in her career she’d had a staff assignment in the office of Starfleet’s liaison to the Federation President. While living in the City of Light she’d seen the Sacré-Cœur Basilica and visited it. Now, taken as a whole, that massive, ancient church perched on a hill in Paris is what the Nirophian building most reminded her of.
Two males in deep green outfits and khaki boots apparently stood guard in front of the large main entrance. Their swarthy and bearded faces and turban-like head coverings reminded her of Lieutenant Commander Naryan Singh, her astrophysicist – though they lacked the giant Sikh’s impressive physique. The colour of their uniform contrasted vividly with the white columns and beige walls of the edifice they stood watch over.
The
click-whirr of a tricorder being activated seemed unnaturally loud even in the hundred-metre open square of the courtyard behind them. “No energy weapons or power packs detected to maximum range,” her security chief reported quietly. “The only chemical projectile weapons I’m detecting are on the two guards in front of the doors there, two more behind them, and on several people stationed at various points within the buildings.”
“Thank you, Commander,” his captain replied equally quietly as she took in the guards standing carefully at attention, rifles in their arms and sidearms in khaki holster-belts.
From the vaulting main entrance into the magnificent structure they guarded came a procession of some thirteen Nirophians and Sheltarah got her first good look at the inhabitants of this planet. They were quite tall but also more fragile-looking, no doubt a result of their planet’s lesser gravity. Physically they resembled slightly elongated Humans; their average height was around two-point-one metres, though their mass appeared to be around sixty kilos. Of the thirteen, eight were male and of those five sported long, thick, curly beards. The other three also had beards, but these men were both younger and their beards were shorter. Their attire was typical of desert-wear on planets across known space, made of light, airy materials that could be the local equivalent of cotton or muslin, and worn in a fashion that allowed for ease of movement but demonstrating high local standards of modesty; the men wore loose, baggy trousers and shirts, and the women wore ankle-length flowing skirts and loose, shapeless blouses. Light colours such as beige, white, tan, and dun were worn to deflect the heat of the desert sun, and the men wore a pillbox-style cap while the women wore headscarves and showed no loose hair. Each one of them sported a coloured tattoo of an attractive, delicate, mostly white flower on their foreheads just above their brow line.
The people themselves all seemed to be of advanced age – even the younger ones – appearing to be Humans from their late eighties to early century, though Sheltarah knew from experience that on less-developed planets such as Nirophia appeared to be these people could be literally half that, like a Human from their 20th Century in their forties and fifties. They also seemed to represent a cross-section of their species, with members both short and tall, fat and thin, and with skin tones ranging from olive and dusky to coffee and ebony.
All this Sheltarah observed in the few seconds it took for the delegation to approach her party. As one, they all halted a metre away and each one formed a circle with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, their other fingers pointing upwards, and bowed their heads. The one in the centre spoke, and a mere fraction of a second later the universal translator in her combadge rendered his words as, “May we all be thankful that the Circle of Life has brought you on the Path to our world, our honoured guests from the Federation.”
Her crew were quick to adopt the gesture of greeting and Sheltarah did likewise, then nodded politely. “As we are grateful that the Circle brought us to your beautiful world, Rukah Mohad,” she replied, recognising the man’s sonorous voice from their earlier conversation. “I am Captain Sheltarah, and these beings are of my crew.”
She noted outright curiosity on the faces of some of the Nirophians at the diverse nature of her landing party, but also detected some disbelieving and disdaining looks too, as well as an undertone of fear, tension, and hostility among them.
Not from Rukah Mohad, though. The man was obviously well schooled at controlling his reactions. Apparently taking her own blue skin and antennae and Lieutenant JG N’Keena’s Caitian physiology and ginger tomcat fur patterning in his stride, he addressed her whole group. Indicating his own party, he stated, “The Council of Guardians and I welcome you to Nirophia on behalf of the People of The Faith. If you will follow us, we shall lead you to a place where we can discuss your reason for visiting us.”
With a nod of respect, Sheltarah answered. “It shall be as you say, Rukah Mohad.”
Bowing from the neck, the Rukah took a step back before turning to lead them into the building that seemed more cathedral than administrative centre.
Speaking in a low voice pitched to his captain’s superior hearing, Lieutenant Lin Jianchao noted, “Sir, there were no other people in that courtyard besides our respective parties. If this city and this building are the seat of their planetary government, should they not be bustling with civil servants?”
Sheltarah acknowledged her sociologist’s observation with a brief nod, pleased that her crew had already begun their task of assembling data on this new culture. She had noticed the lack of activity herself with her peripheral senses, but had needed to focus on greeting their hosts without causing unavoidable offence.
If they are religious we may have arrived amidst a period of prayer and meditation. Or perhaps to avoid the heat of the day in this region these people sleep though it. It is still too early to draw any reliable conclusions, she reminded herself and instead extended her awareness to note the activity of government around her as she was led through it’s assumed heart.
Her musings she kept to herself as they arrived in a large chamber with vaulted ceilings and sporting a large, solidly built, and ornately carved conference table of a rich auburn colour, all of which was illuminated by sunlight flooding in from large windows some six metres up that lined the length of the room. It was also gratifyingly cool despite the profusion of sunlight. In the brief period she’d spent outside Sheltarah’s body temperature had risen to uncomfortable levels and even the adaptive materials of her uniform had lagged in keeping her cool. She would have to watch her hydration levels while on this world.
Once everyone was seated around the table, Nirophians on one side, Starfleet on the other – and her own contingent looking decidedly out of place amongst all the washed-out desert colours in their bold maroon- and black-dominated uniforms – Mohad spoke again. “Captain Shell-tar-a, perhaps we could offer you and your crew some refreshments?”
“My thanks, Rukah Mohad. That would be most kind,” she replied graciously.
A quick gesture to a female aide standing by the doors sufficed to expedite that courtesy and Mohad asked, “Now, Captain Shell-tar-a, perhaps you could enlighten the Council and myself as to the reason for your journey to our world?”
“Thank you, Rukah Mohad, I will. Simply put, respected councillors, we are here to learn,” Sheltarah began, noting the darted looks of surprise pass between the more open-faced members of the Council. “Learn, and begin a dialogue that would hopefully lead to a relationship of mutual benefit to both our respective peoples.”
“Forgive my scepticism, Captain, and my interruption, but what could an advanced technological society such as you represent learn from a no-doubt backward-seeming world such as ours?” Mohad asked pointedly, though without heat. “Further, what could a culture that reveres technology to the extent that yours obviously does offer to a society which voluntarily chooses to forgo such contrivances?”
“Both good points, esteemed Rukah, so please let me address them in turn,” Sheltarah responded, deeply burying her own agreement with his position and her own distaste for voluntary technophobes as she did. She paused further as the female aide retuned with two male companions, who set down several carafes of clear water and accompanying cut-glass tumblers, and two urns of a steaming milky beverage that had a spicy aroma accompanied by elegant stoneware mugs. A large platter of fruits and cheeses was also laid on the conference table between the two parties.
Lloyd made a miniscule move towards the water, but arrested himself at a subtle but looked-for signal from N’Keena. The Caitian had noticed a change in the air and wanted to await developments.
Mohad spoke to the Starfleet contingent as the serving staff departed. “Please join us in a short benediction to Kishar for the bounty she has provided us with.”
“As you say, Rukah,” Sheltarah nodded once in respect, then gave a quick nod to her own people to follow their lead. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, not able to find fault herself with this simple offer of thanks for their food. Her crew did likewise.
Rukah Mohad’s oratory voice issued forth then, a strong, deep, sonorous baritone as befitted a public speaker and religious leader. “Holy Mother Kishar, we offer thanks for your most beneficent gift of Nature’s bounty that we are about to partake of. We give praise to the Earth for the nurturing of our seeds and the gift of her nutrients; to the Sun for warming the Earth and the gift of his energy; and to the Rain for the wetting of the Earth and the gift of his life-giving moisture.
“Amen.”
The short prayer ended and the participants opened their eyes and raised their heads.
“If you will forgive the further interruption, Captain,” Mohad said smoothly, not waiting for an objection, “the hot drink is
k’ruk, a spiced tea from the subtropical region of our world. The fruits are
ilesh,
bha’vin,
azam, and
rizalino,” he stated, indicating in turn a fruit that looked like an apple, a mango, a persimmon, and a banana.
“May we use our medical device to scan these items, to ensure that they will not adversely affect our metabolism?” Sheltarah asked with the utmost delicacy. “I’m sure you can understand that what might be succulent and delicious for you may not necessarily agree with my own or Lieutenant N’Keena’s biochemistry,” she added with a slight smile to defuse the look of offence that was spreading across several faces across the table.
Mohad nodded serenely, though. “Indeed I do, Captain. We would not want to accidentally poison our guests through blind insistence of an unproven trust.” His words seemed more like exposition directed at his own councillors than the aliens he was purportedly addressing, and Sheltarah again blessed whoever was responsible for putting this reasonable man at the head of the council. “Please, proceed.”
“My thanks, Rukah Mohad,” the Andorian replied, and nodded to Doctor-Lieutenant Niamh Brogan to scan the fruits. She did so quickly but thoroughly, and pronounced them clear of hazards. To show there were no ill feelings – in her party, at least – Sheltarah was the first to sample the
ilesh and pour herself some
k’ruk. She found the fruit to be quite sweet, reminiscent of Kaferian apples, and the milky beverage was as expected and similar to Terran Indian Chai. Her crew also helped themselves to small samplings of the refreshments, and the atmosphere relaxed somewhat as several councillors did likewise.
Bringing herself back to what she was saying before, Sheltarah began again, careful to fully finish eating first. “To address your questions, Rukah, what we can learn from you is not limited to the technology used on your planet. In its many explorations the Federation has discovered that technological sophistication does not go hand in had with cultural development. They often go hand-in-hand, yes, but the two are quite distinct in our eyes and advancement in one does not equate to advancement in the other. We have encountered technologically advanced societies whose cultural values are the antithesis of our own to the point where we cannot co-exist peacefully and must agree to avoid each other. We have encountered societies which have not advanced beyond agrarian villages but which have reminded us if the importance of staying connected to one another as a vibrant community to counter the distancing effects of technology. It is in this spirit of constant discovery and
re-discovery that our Federation values the acquisition of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
“Also, while many cultures and societies offer parallels and comparisons to one another they are not exact duplicates. Each new society we encounter has risen due to unique set of circumstances. We of the Federation wish to know of these circumstances to understand their social dynamics and what choices their ancestors made on order to survive and emerge the stronger from their trials.”
Sheltarah noted some raised eyebrows and approving looks for her last words and assume she’d struck a positive chord with her hosts. Continuing along that vein she added, “”Knowing how different species encountered their different trials, and understanding what choices they made and actions they took to overcome them adds to our own whole. Your knowledge and your history could help members of our own diverse worlds confront and overcome trials of their own, either now or in the future. Additionally, the values and beliefs that you hold may also hold interest for some of our citizens or societies, who might discover that a solution which worked for your people could also benefit theirs.”
“This is, in truth, our whole reason for being out here, exploring the galaxy. To seek out new life and new civilisations, to learn what they know and to better ourselves and enrich our lives from the experience.”
Despite her misgivings about her audience, Sheltarah’s obvious belief in what she was telling them shone through, and her enthusiasm was plain for all to see. Realising that she had perhaps gotten carried away, the Andorian
zhen subsided slightly as she addressed the flip side of the issue.
“As for what the Federation can offer your society, Esteemed Councillors, our technological prowess could no doubt refine and upgrade the technologies you actually still use, such as geothermal power taps, solar collector fields, and wind turbine farms. These refinements could be a mere increasing of the efficiency of your existing structures or their replacement with more advanced and self-sustaining materials. We have noted your use of radio and the destruction of your orbital satellites as well as the abandonment of your magnetic levitation trains. If this was due to… outside considerations rather than personal choice, the Federation could help you regain these capabilities.
“Our assistance is not limited to merely technology, however. We can offer the knowledge and innovations of a thousand worlds to improve your city infrastructure, teaching methods for your students, medical solutions for your sick and injured, recreational activities to engage your minds, bodies, and senses, philosophical questions which have beset our own members’ histories which your own learned minds may find of passing interest... the list continues,” she rounded off naturally as she noticed more varied reactions from the councillors during her recital. Thoughtful expressions sat side by side with worried looks and outright rejection. Changing direction and taking a dismissive tone, she continued, “These issues can of course be debated at a later date and acceptance or refusal are entirely up to you. However, as Starfleet’s primary mandate is to gather knowledge for the betterment of all, we would like to strongly advocate for an exchange of knowledge between our two civilisations,” she finished her opening pitch. “We would very much like to get to know who you are.”
One of the councillors spoke up, his face closed and unwelcoming. “And if we asked you to leave and never return?” he asked, his tone and bearing confrontational.
Before Sheltarah could respond to that, Rukah Mohad shot the man a warning look then addressed her himself. “Forgive my colleague’s… bluntness, Captain. Our only other experience with aliens has left us exceedingly wary of you.” He raised his hand to still the agitation of the Starfleet contingent as he continued, “We recognise the extreme difference in approach between your Federation and the… Klingon Empire. However, the esteemed councillor’s question is a valid one. If we declined your offer of interaction, would you honour our wishes?”
Rukah Mohad was livid. He had wanted to ask this question and mostly in the words he had just used, but Goron had forced it to the top of the agenda and no doubt put everyone on the defensive on both sides. The last thing he’d wanted in this information exchange was an atmosphere of combativeness, but with his utterly blinkered view and single-track mind the Councillor for Education had done exactly that. In order to maintain a united front before the aliens he’d had to back the old dinosaur, but Mohad was
not happy at all with Goron. The two of them would be having words later. But for now…
He watched the contingent of bizarre and almost normal aliens settle down after bristling at Goron’s tone, and their blue-skinned and antennaed “captain” clasped her hands on the table before her.
“Let me make this absolutely clear,” she began seriously. “The United Federation of Planets is a voluntary union of almost one hundred sovereign planets and nearly one thousand colonies and outposts. We have joined together for the common defence against aggressors as together we are stronger than separately, to increase the quality of life for all, and to seek out and share knowledge for the betterment of all.
“We are
not the Klingons,” she stated decisively, emphatically. “Your people have had first-hand experience with them, and believe me when I say that the Klingons showed atypical restraint in your case.” Looks of disbelief flashed between some council members at that, but others seemed to accept it with grim pragmatism. She continued, “Any interaction you have with us will show you the truth of my words. Because of the principles under which we operate, if you wish to be left alone Starfleet and the Federation will respect that wish,” she told them firmly, making eye contact with all present but first locking eyes with Mohad, and lastly with Goron.
Mohad was impressed with the Andorian’s forthrightness – while he understood that she was an alien, with what skills he did have in reading her he could detect no deception from her – and turned to his colleague. “Well, Councillor Goron, I believe that answers your question, yes?”
Goron grimaced but nodded nonetheless.
“Good,” Mohad commented, managing to eliminate any sarcasm and censure from his voice.
“Again, just to be absolutely clear, Esteemed Councillors, Rukah Mohad: we require nothing from your people or your world. We do not need to establish a base on your planet. We need none of your resources such as metals or crystals. We need none of your people to work for us. Our only purpose here is to learn about your world, its people, and their history, and to inform you that you are no longer alone in space. There is a large interstellar community out there and you can participate in it if you wish. But the choice is yours.”
Several seconds of silence greeted her words, and there was a feeling of everyone sitting back to consider them even if there was no physical move to do so.
After some ten seconds Mohad spoke again. “Well, Captain, you have certainly given us much to think about. We would like some time to discuss your proposal and what you have told us, so we would like to take our leave of you to do exactly that.” He stood up and the rest of the Council of Guardians followed his lead.
Sheltarah responded in kind and her contingent did likewise. “I understand, Rukah. We will return to our ship and await your decision.”
“Thank you, Captain. We will give this matter our utmost attention and considerable thought, and will contact you upon reaching our verdict.”
A shadow flitted across Sheltarah’s feelings at his choice of wording, but she allowed none of it to touch her face and let it pass uncommented upon.
“Isatar will return you to the courtyard where you arrived. May the Light of The Faith guide you and your crew on your Path through the Circle of Life, Captain Sheltarah,” Mohad bade her goodbye, with the same hand gesture as he greeted her with. This time the councillors didn’t echo it, remaining silent as well.
Sheltarah returned the gesture and ad-libbed a response in kind that she hoped was acceptable. “May the Light of the True Faith guide you in making the best decision for your people, Rukah Mohad.”
While the Rukah nodded expressionlessly and accepted her goodbye in the spirit it was given, Sheltarah noted the offended and outraged looks on the faces of some of the councillors. She was very glad when the senior council aide led them away.
Isatar returned minutes later to a silent debate chamber where the Rukah apparently led the Council in meditation. Interrupting softly, she told them, “Your Holiness, Respected Elders, the aliens have teleported away.”
Mohad opened his eyes and replied, “Thank you, Isatar. You may resume your normal duties.”
The underling left and, now that he was sure the aliens were out of earshot, Mohad turned a hot glare on Goron. “You felt it necessary to insult our guests?” he snapped out.
Unrepentant, Goron fired back, “They are
infidels who fail to respect even our most basic beliefs and customs. The other female flaunted her legs like a slut in heat, not one of the men grows a beard, and
none of them covered their head as a show of respect! They even
flaunt their lack of status by wearing far more black than even our lowliest Unworthies! To them such an abomination actually seems to be a badge of
honour!” He waved his had dismissively. “They deserve neither our respect nor our humility before them.”
“
FOOL! The power of their space vessel grants them claim to our courtesy! You would not have treated the Invader Infidels so!” Mohad blasted back, his raised voice raising his colleagues’ eyebrows. “We have only their own manners to convince us that they wouldn’t rain fire upon our heads for such ill manners, as did the
Klingons!”
“You exaggerate, Rukah. I did not spit in their faces—”
“
These are unknown aliens!” Mohad thundered, shocking the entire room into stillness. Mohad was not one for histrionics. “Or did not the blue skin of one and another being a
cat-thing not illustrate this enough for you? And just where do you suggest that these aliens would have gained a knowledge of our customs and beliefs? From their enemies, the Klingons?”
“We got their answer,” Goron protested weakly, his own confidence undermined by their normally unflappable leader’s apparent worry.
“And what if it is an elaborate bluff constructed entirely of lies? If we say yes they gain access to our world without a struggle. If we say no – and they actually
do have use for us – maybe they emulate the Invader Infidels!”
Now thoroughly cowed, Goron stammered, “I… I… humbly beg forgiveness, Your Holiness! I… accepted them at their word, and—”
“And failed to see what might lie beneath,” Mohad ground on, eyes flashing.
Kokra spoke up at this juncture. “Your Holiness, deferentially, I do not see this possibility as likely, based on all observed behaviour,” she began. “The crew behind the blue woman reacted in a way we’d term ‘indignantly’ at being compared to the ‘Klingons’—”
“I agree with you, Kokra. But you make my point for me,” Mohad countered.
Suppressing her annoyance at being interrupted, with due deference the justice councillor asked, “Please enlighten me, Your Holiness.”
“They are
aliens. Even the ones who look most like us are short, squat, powerful. How do we
know that what looks indignant on us is in any way similar to what looks indignant on them?” he asked simply, and saw that it reached all of them. “Emotions and offence are culture- and societal value-driven. We know
nothing about them! The Klingons invariably referred to them as weak and soft, yet they still considered the Federation a threat even if they did not dare admit it to each other. You also say, ‘from all observed behaviour’. These Federation aliens may even be
acting, to put us at our ease to gain their objectives economically and efficiently.”
He was starting to lose them again with that, he could see. Kokra reminded him, “Your Holiness, you did said that you agree with me.”
Mohad nodded. “I do. Based on my own observations and people-reading skills, I do not rate highly the possibility that this is an elaborate bluff. I too tend to take their words at face value.” Goron’s face darkened into outrage at being needlessly humiliated, so Mohad moved on smoothly but quickly to prevent another outburst. “However, these observations are by necessity based on what I know or assume. What if my assumptions are wrong and I’m completely misreading these aliens because their own cultural values are so far removed from our own?”
Once again on a boat in heavy seas, Goron’s emotions crashed into a wall of freezing saltwater and he subsided into a deeply troubled, brooding silence.
“As the leaders of our entire planet, we
must take into consideration a wider view,” Mohad continued. “What if, as previously raised in this very room, this contact does cause the return of the Invader Infidels? On the other side of this issue, taking their captain at her word we could ask this ‘interstellar community’ for help and protection. How likely is it to be given if our ‘Esteemed Councillors’ insult and berate the emissary of those we seek protection from?”
He had the satisfaction of watching that realisation strike home, and Goron blanched once again.
Thaetan inclined his head in respect. “Again, we are guided by your wisdom, Your Holiness. The Light of The Faith truly does banish the shadows from your eyes.”
Mohad accepted the compliment and praise with a gracious nod, and turned to Goron. “Come, brothers and sisters, we must now debate this issue with our eyes wide open. Let no question go unasked, no assumption left un-debated. The future of our society and cultural identity are in the balance, and we must rise to meet this Trial as one,” he told them, with a magnanimous smile of friendship and forgiveness at the Education Councillor.
Goron received it with a jerky nod and a weak smile, and in that Mohad saw his peace offering accepted.
*****
The last chime of the transporter effect faded and the landing party stepped down from the pad. “Debriefing. Follow me,” Sheltarah snapped out and left the transporter room for the nearest turbolift. Picking up on their captain’s discombobulation, the landing party remained silent on the way there. From the turbolift, Sheltarah tapped her combadge and in a hard tone stated, “Executive Officer.”
A moment’s silence passed before Faris’ voice returned.
“Faris here.” “XO, Captain. Report to Briefing Room One,” she ordered shortly.
“On my way, Sir,” was the equally short reply.
Once everyone had arrived and was seated, Sheltarah asked in a more normal tone, “I want everyone’s impressions and opinions on everything from the surface. Lieutenant N’Keena?” she prompted her contact specialist.
“Their council seem to be uniform in their desire to see us go and never return,” the Caitian answered after a moment’s pause. “Some, including their leader, seem willing to hear us out and see what we may offer, but the impression I got was that even those ‘moderates’ don’t want us there. The others… did not seem happy about our presence on their planet at all.”
“Mr. Daquillon?”
“I agree with that, Captain,” the Frenchman responded. “Rukah Mohad is a cool customer though. I could not tell if he was upset with his councillor for asking that question, or merely for the way it was asked.”
“That was my impression also,” Sheltarah admitted. “I think he truly fears us being more Klingons, but is actually hoping that we can protect his planet from them as well.”
“The impressions I got from the councillors tally with N’Keena’s: they’d be willing to accept our help, but not our presence,” Lieutenant Lin Jianchao added. “Even the ones who didn’t want us there at all looked momentarily thoughtful or interested when you mentioned helping them regain their lost satellites and maglev trains, Captain.”
“I confirm that observation, Captain,” N’Keena added. “Their scent for the majority of our time there were fear-related reactions like worry and hostility to the unknown, but on listing the
material benefits we could supply, satisfaction was something I scented, as well as desire.”
“How exactly does that work?” Daquillon asked the room in general. “That is to say, how does a society of religious technophobes get greedy for the technology they have lost or abandoned?”
“Not their society, Commander,” Sheltarah stated in hard, flat tones. “The government of that society.”
The realisation struck them all at the same time. “Ah,
merde,” Frédéric muttered, summing it up for them all.
“Remember the briefing materials,” Khaleel spoke up. “This society practices religious discrimination against its own population. It was so ‘natural’ to the Nirophians and prevalent that the Klingons actually made note of it. And since the Klingon footprint on the planet was so small in this instance there had to b a fairly large population of those discriminated against.”
“I see now why the admiral considered these people nowhere near Federation membership levels,” Sheltarah commented darkly, her own personal demons stirred up. “We are going to have to be very careful what we offer these people. Weapons are forbidden, no question, but even maglev trains and global communications would help tie their society together even more firmly, and if their government fails in basic sentients rights standards, discrimination and oppression would be further enhanced.
“I will
not allow that to happen.”
The finality and vehemence in her tone created a shroud of silence for a few seconds, until the XO spoke up again. “Captain, did you or any of the landing party personally observe this discriminatory behaviour?” he asked neutrally.
“No, Commander,” Sheltarah sighed, and her contingent likewise indicated a negative. “But the briefing materials also stated that it is people without a forehead tattoo that are the ones discriminated against. We saw none of those people during our very brief visit.”
“Then based on how unreliable the rest of the Klingon reports were, I suggest that you reserve your judgement on this until we have confirmation from our own people,” Faris advised seriously in an apparent about face from his earlier comment. “You yourself warned against adopting Klingon views of these people.”
Sheltarah found it intensely irritating to have her own words used against her, especially from a meeting her Human XO had not seen the point of. Still, irritating as it was, he was also correct. Shaking it off, she said briskly, “You are right, XO. We will wait for additional data on this. Admittedly, we’re not going to start pushing satellites out of the shuttlebay in the next hour. If our visit proceeds that far we’ll negotiate our teams onto the ground first before any assistance is given.”
“Sounds good to me, Captain,” Faris commented agreeably.
“Lieutenant Lin, what were your impressions of their ‘governmental building’?” she asked next. “Specifically, the activities within?”
“That puzzled me, Captain,” he answered. “It seemed to me that the staff we saw and the atmosphere they were working in… it was more like a records archive. Sombre, quiet, studious. I might say even ‘reverential’.”
“More like a cathedral than an administrative centre?” Sheltarah asked, voicing her earlier thoughts on the matter.
“Yes, Captain, exactly,” Jianchao confirmed.
“Mr. N’Keena?”
“I agree, Captain. What I saw was data collection and cataloguing, reference work and such like. I scented no excitement or passion from any of those we encountered,” the contact specialist stated. “There was no sense of urgency for tasks being completed that one would expect from people dealing with critical or important matters of state.”
“Captain,” Jianchao spoke up. “I think we’ll find out that this building houses the religious government that hands down edicts for people to live their lives by, and judgements on matters of faith as pertaining to societal values. The actual running of all the planet’s infrastructure will probably be handled by a different branch of the executive, consisting of administrators and workers whose jobs it is to ensure the waste is processed, public transportation runs to schedule, and such like.”
“An interesting hypothesis,” Sheltarah noted, giving Faris a look.
He picked up on it. “What?”
“If memory serves, your nation was once governed that way, Commander,” she told him. “Any insights to offer?”
Khaleel looked nonplussed. “No, Captain. That was centuries before my time.”
Sheltarah shrugged philosophically. “In my clan, and by tradition on most of my world, family and related regional history is taught from as far back as records are kept, over a thousand years,” she offered by way of an explanation. “Plus, many Humans I’ve known have an unfathomable fascination with Earth’s 20th Century. I have been regaled many times,” she finished archly.
“Fair enough,” the Iraqi answered equably, “but I’m not one of them.”
“I’m actually glad to hear that, Commander,” his captain replied then moved on – but not before noting Daquillon’s smirk.
“Mr. Daquillon?” she asked, a fine gossamer eyebrow raised in curiosity.
The Frenchman looked as if he might answer the implied question, but apparently decided against it and went with continuing his report. “The guards we saw were more military than police. They did not just woodenly guard doors either, not locked into an ‘at attention’ pose. As we walked past them their attention was fully on us, and their bodies were relaxed and ready to move even though they were tense. They seemed very experienced to me.”
Sheltarah nodded, the information news to her.
That’s why I took my specialists with me, she thought with satisfaction. “Now, Ensign Madobe, any further developments with the UT?”
The Somali linguist shook his head. “No Captain, the translator seemed to pick up all the proper nuances and there were no noticeable mistranslations or untranslatable words or concepts on our side. However, I cannot be sure about the other side. Tensions were high and the participants were unwilling and distrusting, so I cannot say if this resulted from any subtle mistranslations, contextual issues, or shades of tone from the words we used and our speech patterns, or if it was just because of the situation. We will have to interact with them more naturally to actually determine any translation nuances that are affecting our algorithms. I’d like to be able to question them about how our words sound to them as we speak. It would be most helpful.”
Sheltarah came to an instant decision in that regard. “Excellent report, Mr. Madobe. If we get to visit them again, you are on the next landing party detail. I want our translation matrix locked down as tightly as possible.”
Shaykh Adan Madobe grinned toothily, eyes alight with the desire to acquire a new language to puzzle out the nuances of. “Aye, Sir! Thank you, Captain!” he exclaimed happily.
Sheltarah nodded at him with a smile of her own, then turned her attention to the final member of her landing party. “Doctor, do you have any insights of your own to offer?”
The fair-skinned Irish woman shook her head, her short, curly brown hair brushing against her shoulders. “I’m sorry Captain, but there was little to be gained in the way of insights. Especially when the subject won’t allow themselves to be examined,” she lamented in her lyrical Dublin accent. “All I got from a visual assessment was that they all seemed healthy and vital despite what are likely to be advanced ages on their world. No physical ailments were apparent, and they all seemed to have a reasonable level of fitness.”
“I sympathise, Doctor, but after the kind of meeting we just had, asking them if they would allow us to invasively scan them for our records seemed like something that would only cause further outrage and offence on their part,” Sheltarah told the physician, who nodded her understanding with a wry smile.
“Okay, now we wait. Update your own departments and brief in all relevant personnel. Judging by the reactions of the councillors it’ll be some time before a consensus is reached, but I want us to be ready to go as soon as they signal us with permission.” Sheltarah paused, then corrected herself wryly, “If we are granted permission at all, that is. No delays, people. Let’s get it done. Dismissed.”
Topic: Fearless: Wide Black Yonder (Read 20895 times)