That being said, start reading.
Part One: Ensign Jardin in the 22nd Century
Chapter 1
SpoilerShow
“Good morning, Captain,” Beryl said as she entered the alien’s temporary quarters. The human diplomat leapt to his feet, mumbling a greeting, but she waved him down. “Sit, please. I just wished to observe you for a moment. Carry on with what you were doing.”
It was fortunate, she thought, that her caste and natural talents so suited her for the study of alien cultural traditions. She had always had a fascination for the exotic and unknown, and when her commander had told her of her new duties…
Alexander Jardin, the self-described “Guardian of the Garden,” still did not have the appearance of a warrior. It was something of a consensus among the crew of the Tempest that if the alien was indeed fairly typical for a human warrior, the Loroi would have little to gain from such an alliance. Not only that, but in casual conversation with him Beryl had gotten the distinct impression that the alien was impressed by various aspects of Loroi technology, particularly military weaponry. The possibility that Humaniti was at a relatively low technological standing worried her, although she let her superiors do most of the worrying—if they were advanced enough to take to the stars, she was sure that they could easily bridge whatever technological gap might be encountered, and besides, there were tasks they could be used for that did not require high-tech equipment. Leave that to the Mizol to sort out.
No, what intrigued her was the vast extent of the alien’s cultural knowledge. She herself knew many of the ancient telepathic Loroi ballads, especially since her position as a Listel required her to learn and store vast amounts of information on diverse subjects. The nuances and subtleties of telepathic speech was an art in and of itself, causing the spoken word to pale in comparison. Even so, she’d heard of the musical traditions of the Neridi and Barsam, and had on one occasion heard a traditional hymn being sung by some Barsam evangelical or preacher. She’d seen Loroi reenact the traditional stories, and had heard second-hand of some of the more talented performers from Loroi old enough to remember such events from before the war. Yet this…
How a combat soldier could retain so much useless knowledge and still remain remotely functional on a battlefield or in the skies baffled the Loroi analysts. The easy answer—that Humaniti produced inefficient and incompetent warriors—wasn’t one that was universally shared, although the audio and video recorders located in the holding cell had picked up no less than four thousand distinct human “songs” being performed by the (incredibly bored) diplomat. After he’d managed to get hold of the… “instrument”…that number had climbed. One of the Barsam had helped him build the “guitar,” whatever it was. The analysts were going nuts over it; no doubt someone was going to come up with a radical new theory on human traditional practices. Some of the more outlandish ones had already been debunked by a certain bewildered alien, who had probably wondered why he was being asked so many questions about his life, hairstyle, and reproductive process.
The impromptu human performance had come to an end. Beryl was briefly silent before rather abruptly asking, “What was the name of the human who wrote that one?”
Ensign/Captain Jardin appeared somewhat surprised by the question. “Ah…it was written by a man named Buddy Holly two hundred years ago or so. Not very long by Loroi standards, no?”
Beryl smiled. “The Loroi remember ballads that are many thousands of years old. A few hundred years is not a great period of time. A healthy Loroi may easily live for that span of time.” She thought for a moment. “If she does not perish, of course, in the heat of battle. Since the beginning of the war with the Umiak, death in battle has become increasingly more common.” Awkward silence briefly descended as both remembered the war that so predominantly featured in both their lives.
The human cleared his throat and attempted to change the subject. “You know, since I’m supposed to teach you English anyways at some point…I might as well teach you a few songs. If you want to. I mean…”
“Learning more of the culture of Humaniti would be a great opportunity,” Beryl quickly replied. “When can we start?”
“Right now, if you want.” Alex smiled. “Say, this gives me an idea…”
--
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?!?” Stillstorm shouted. Telepathically, of course, because she’s Loroi and Loroi talk telepathically. She still shouted, of course, because she was irritated.
“I THINK IT’S THAT HUMAN THING THAT THE DIPLOMAT’S DOING,” Tempo replied.
“CAN YOU TELL THEM TO KEEP IT DOWN?”
“I DID. THEY DIDN’T HEAR ME.”
“WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?”
“I DON’T KNOW. WE SHOULDN’T REALLY NEED TO SHOUT THIS MUCH WITH TELEPATHY. ALTHOUGH THE NOISE MAKES IT KIND OF HARD TO CONCENTRATE RIGHT NOW.”
The Tempest rang with human music. In the main crew quarters, a space had been cleared that was now occupied by three humanoid figures. Fireblade was doing quite well with the drums. Alex was rocking out on his improvised guitar. And Beryl? Well, she took to human music quite well. Forming words with the vocal cords in rhythm and harmony with other words was almost as fun as sanzai. Plus, there was the added bonus of pissing off Stillstorm and being able to get away with it on the grounds of “cultural research.” Maybe once the Tempest got back to the combat zones they could try to weaponize this thing. Psychological weapon. The possibilities were endless.
“I’M GOING TO KILL THE FUCK OUT OF WHOEVER AUTHORIZED THIS PIECE OF—”
“You know, I actually sort of like this.”
“What?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”
“I do. And do stop shouting, Commander. It’s kind of hard on my ears.”
“And this isn’t?!”
It was fortunate, she thought, that her caste and natural talents so suited her for the study of alien cultural traditions. She had always had a fascination for the exotic and unknown, and when her commander had told her of her new duties…
Alexander Jardin, the self-described “Guardian of the Garden,” still did not have the appearance of a warrior. It was something of a consensus among the crew of the Tempest that if the alien was indeed fairly typical for a human warrior, the Loroi would have little to gain from such an alliance. Not only that, but in casual conversation with him Beryl had gotten the distinct impression that the alien was impressed by various aspects of Loroi technology, particularly military weaponry. The possibility that Humaniti was at a relatively low technological standing worried her, although she let her superiors do most of the worrying—if they were advanced enough to take to the stars, she was sure that they could easily bridge whatever technological gap might be encountered, and besides, there were tasks they could be used for that did not require high-tech equipment. Leave that to the Mizol to sort out.
No, what intrigued her was the vast extent of the alien’s cultural knowledge. She herself knew many of the ancient telepathic Loroi ballads, especially since her position as a Listel required her to learn and store vast amounts of information on diverse subjects. The nuances and subtleties of telepathic speech was an art in and of itself, causing the spoken word to pale in comparison. Even so, she’d heard of the musical traditions of the Neridi and Barsam, and had on one occasion heard a traditional hymn being sung by some Barsam evangelical or preacher. She’d seen Loroi reenact the traditional stories, and had heard second-hand of some of the more talented performers from Loroi old enough to remember such events from before the war. Yet this…
How a combat soldier could retain so much useless knowledge and still remain remotely functional on a battlefield or in the skies baffled the Loroi analysts. The easy answer—that Humaniti produced inefficient and incompetent warriors—wasn’t one that was universally shared, although the audio and video recorders located in the holding cell had picked up no less than four thousand distinct human “songs” being performed by the (incredibly bored) diplomat. After he’d managed to get hold of the… “instrument”…that number had climbed. One of the Barsam had helped him build the “guitar,” whatever it was. The analysts were going nuts over it; no doubt someone was going to come up with a radical new theory on human traditional practices. Some of the more outlandish ones had already been debunked by a certain bewildered alien, who had probably wondered why he was being asked so many questions about his life, hairstyle, and reproductive process.
The impromptu human performance had come to an end. Beryl was briefly silent before rather abruptly asking, “What was the name of the human who wrote that one?”
Ensign/Captain Jardin appeared somewhat surprised by the question. “Ah…it was written by a man named Buddy Holly two hundred years ago or so. Not very long by Loroi standards, no?”
Beryl smiled. “The Loroi remember ballads that are many thousands of years old. A few hundred years is not a great period of time. A healthy Loroi may easily live for that span of time.” She thought for a moment. “If she does not perish, of course, in the heat of battle. Since the beginning of the war with the Umiak, death in battle has become increasingly more common.” Awkward silence briefly descended as both remembered the war that so predominantly featured in both their lives.
The human cleared his throat and attempted to change the subject. “You know, since I’m supposed to teach you English anyways at some point…I might as well teach you a few songs. If you want to. I mean…”
“Learning more of the culture of Humaniti would be a great opportunity,” Beryl quickly replied. “When can we start?”
“Right now, if you want.” Alex smiled. “Say, this gives me an idea…”
--
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?!?” Stillstorm shouted. Telepathically, of course, because she’s Loroi and Loroi talk telepathically. She still shouted, of course, because she was irritated.
“I THINK IT’S THAT HUMAN THING THAT THE DIPLOMAT’S DOING,” Tempo replied.
“CAN YOU TELL THEM TO KEEP IT DOWN?”
“I DID. THEY DIDN’T HEAR ME.”
“WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?”
“I DON’T KNOW. WE SHOULDN’T REALLY NEED TO SHOUT THIS MUCH WITH TELEPATHY. ALTHOUGH THE NOISE MAKES IT KIND OF HARD TO CONCENTRATE RIGHT NOW.”
The Tempest rang with human music. In the main crew quarters, a space had been cleared that was now occupied by three humanoid figures. Fireblade was doing quite well with the drums. Alex was rocking out on his improvised guitar. And Beryl? Well, she took to human music quite well. Forming words with the vocal cords in rhythm and harmony with other words was almost as fun as sanzai. Plus, there was the added bonus of pissing off Stillstorm and being able to get away with it on the grounds of “cultural research.” Maybe once the Tempest got back to the combat zones they could try to weaponize this thing. Psychological weapon. The possibilities were endless.
“I’M GOING TO KILL THE FUCK OUT OF WHOEVER AUTHORIZED THIS PIECE OF—”
“You know, I actually sort of like this.”
“What?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”
“I do. And do stop shouting, Commander. It’s kind of hard on my ears.”
“And this isn’t?!”
SpoilerShow
As the six worlds of Humanity geared towards a war footing, unnecessary luxuries were being discarded one by one. Rationing of certain consumables began at once; it was expected that over time, the government would gradually restrict access to a large range of substances that were desperately needed for the war effort.
The changes, however, still had a few weeks to go into effect, and were not going to be anywhere close to the scale of the deprivations experienced during the Second World War and elsewhere. The new starships would require large amounts of resources, but the fact was a significant amount of the materials required were either in relatively plentiful supply or not things that the average consumer would be looking to purchase in the first place. In most cases, the Terran life of bread and circuses continued uninterrupted.
Besides, entertaining alien dignitaries was almost a patriotic duty, if you thought about it.
“Is this what humans do all day?” Beryl asked, as Alex led the group of Loroi through the amusement park. While the park was still semi-crowded, about half of the people in the area were security personnel. Wouldn’t do to have visiting diplomats injured or something, after all. Especially if they have plasma weapons.
“Not really. Humans have invented lots more things to do when bored.” Alex shrugged, grinning. “Killing people sort of got boring a century or so ago.”
Behind his back, Fireblade rolled her eyes. The Loroi had not so much tired of making war on their fellow Loroi rather than transferred their aim to other alien species that stepped out of line. Beryl, however, seized the opportunity to probe the human guide/diplomat/warrior for more information on human culture, and the conversation eventually segued into the musical traditions of Humaniti and the Loroi Union.
“You know, they’ve opened a new ride,” Alex said casually. All eyes swiveled towards the newest rollercoaster in the amusement park. “Anyone up for a chance to experience human recreation?”
Beryl grinned. “Nah. I’ve fallen for that once before. That thing nearly—”
“I will ride this fabled ‘roller coaster,’” Fireblade said calmly. Mouths dropped open.
“Wha…you can speak…” Alex found himself saying.
“Of course I can,” Fireblade said calmly. “Beryl has told me of the attractions available here. I intend to prove myself equal to anything human ingenuity can devise.”
Alex grinned. “Alright, then. Anyone else up for a ride?” The rest of the Loroi were quick to assent. After all, if Fireblade was doing it, everyone else had to avoid getting left behind. The alternative—listening to the Teidar bragging about how she was the only one brave enough to experience the human ritual—was too much to think about.
--
“You know, I warned them,” Beryl said. “Sort of.”
“Is Fireblade alright?” Alex was slightly concerned.
“I was born to the Listel caste, not Doranzer. I have no idea. Although from the variety of imprecations she is currently using, some of which are nearly archaic in their usage, I would suspect that she’s just fine.”
“Can we do that again?” This was Talon. “That was almost as fun as the new flight sim they just installed on Tempest. Really. Well, Fireblade having a psychic freakout sort of put a damper on things, but…”
“Sure, why not. Maybe later we can try traditional Terran cuisine.” It was shaping up to be an interesting day…
The changes, however, still had a few weeks to go into effect, and were not going to be anywhere close to the scale of the deprivations experienced during the Second World War and elsewhere. The new starships would require large amounts of resources, but the fact was a significant amount of the materials required were either in relatively plentiful supply or not things that the average consumer would be looking to purchase in the first place. In most cases, the Terran life of bread and circuses continued uninterrupted.
Besides, entertaining alien dignitaries was almost a patriotic duty, if you thought about it.
“Is this what humans do all day?” Beryl asked, as Alex led the group of Loroi through the amusement park. While the park was still semi-crowded, about half of the people in the area were security personnel. Wouldn’t do to have visiting diplomats injured or something, after all. Especially if they have plasma weapons.
“Not really. Humans have invented lots more things to do when bored.” Alex shrugged, grinning. “Killing people sort of got boring a century or so ago.”
Behind his back, Fireblade rolled her eyes. The Loroi had not so much tired of making war on their fellow Loroi rather than transferred their aim to other alien species that stepped out of line. Beryl, however, seized the opportunity to probe the human guide/diplomat/warrior for more information on human culture, and the conversation eventually segued into the musical traditions of Humaniti and the Loroi Union.
“You know, they’ve opened a new ride,” Alex said casually. All eyes swiveled towards the newest rollercoaster in the amusement park. “Anyone up for a chance to experience human recreation?”
Beryl grinned. “Nah. I’ve fallen for that once before. That thing nearly—”
“I will ride this fabled ‘roller coaster,’” Fireblade said calmly. Mouths dropped open.
“Wha…you can speak…” Alex found himself saying.
“Of course I can,” Fireblade said calmly. “Beryl has told me of the attractions available here. I intend to prove myself equal to anything human ingenuity can devise.”
Alex grinned. “Alright, then. Anyone else up for a ride?” The rest of the Loroi were quick to assent. After all, if Fireblade was doing it, everyone else had to avoid getting left behind. The alternative—listening to the Teidar bragging about how she was the only one brave enough to experience the human ritual—was too much to think about.
--
“You know, I warned them,” Beryl said. “Sort of.”
“Is Fireblade alright?” Alex was slightly concerned.
“I was born to the Listel caste, not Doranzer. I have no idea. Although from the variety of imprecations she is currently using, some of which are nearly archaic in their usage, I would suspect that she’s just fine.”
“Can we do that again?” This was Talon. “That was almost as fun as the new flight sim they just installed on Tempest. Really. Well, Fireblade having a psychic freakout sort of put a damper on things, but…”
“Sure, why not. Maybe later we can try traditional Terran cuisine.” It was shaping up to be an interesting day…
SpoilerShow
<Explain what happened.>
<It’s a little hard to do, commander…>
<Explain.>
<Well, you know how you ordered the full toxicity tests on the alien diplomat? So the little incident last month wouldn’t be repeated? It…well, we might want to expand that a little, cover several things that were—>
<Get to the point. What has befallen the entire diplomatic security detail.>
<Through the toxicity tests and trial-and-error, we’d managed to confirm the Human’s reactions to most common Loroi foodstuffs. Kind of silly, really, that we didn’t do all that immediately after recovering him from his ship. Anyways, it seems that a number of foodstuffs that were deemed unlikely for him to ever come into contact with were omitted from the testing program, and as a result the security detail was unprepared for his reaction to…one of our more powerful beverages.>
<And this sequence of events led to…?>
<As it turns out, some quirk of biochemistry causes him to be more or less immune to many Loroi intoxicating agents.>
<What.>
<You had given leave to the security detail. Take a few days off, you said. No need to worry, you said. Show him how Loroi have fun, you—>
<Who neglected to administer the toxicity tests.>
<What is done is done. What happened was he managed to get into a drinking contest with the members of his security detail.>
<Fuck.>
<I am pleased to report that none of that occurred. However, Fireblade is still in the medical bay thanks to overindulgence. She will recover. It seems she will not attempt something like that again.>
<Have a word with her. The Teidar are always so headstrong on matters of pride.>
<I already have. Oh, and speaking of which, the human is currently in the medical bay as well. From what we can tell, he finally managed to succumb to intoxication after his security detail finally found something that would work on humans and believed himself to be capable of flight. No permanent injuries were sustained.>
<…after this is over, I think I will need a drink as well.>
<The three-day leave you granted to all crewmembers of the Tempest has already expired, I am afraid. As the commander is aware, intoxication while on duty is a serious—>
<Shut up, Tempo.>
<Just kidding.>
<You're starting to act more like the human every day. Stop it.>
<At once, commander.>
<It’s a little hard to do, commander…>
<Explain.>
<Well, you know how you ordered the full toxicity tests on the alien diplomat? So the little incident last month wouldn’t be repeated? It…well, we might want to expand that a little, cover several things that were—>
<Get to the point. What has befallen the entire diplomatic security detail.>
<Through the toxicity tests and trial-and-error, we’d managed to confirm the Human’s reactions to most common Loroi foodstuffs. Kind of silly, really, that we didn’t do all that immediately after recovering him from his ship. Anyways, it seems that a number of foodstuffs that were deemed unlikely for him to ever come into contact with were omitted from the testing program, and as a result the security detail was unprepared for his reaction to…one of our more powerful beverages.>
<And this sequence of events led to…?>
<As it turns out, some quirk of biochemistry causes him to be more or less immune to many Loroi intoxicating agents.>
<What.>
<You had given leave to the security detail. Take a few days off, you said. No need to worry, you said. Show him how Loroi have fun, you—>
<Who neglected to administer the toxicity tests.>
<What is done is done. What happened was he managed to get into a drinking contest with the members of his security detail.>
<Fuck.>
<I am pleased to report that none of that occurred. However, Fireblade is still in the medical bay thanks to overindulgence. She will recover. It seems she will not attempt something like that again.>
<Have a word with her. The Teidar are always so headstrong on matters of pride.>
<I already have. Oh, and speaking of which, the human is currently in the medical bay as well. From what we can tell, he finally managed to succumb to intoxication after his security detail finally found something that would work on humans and believed himself to be capable of flight. No permanent injuries were sustained.>
<…after this is over, I think I will need a drink as well.>
<The three-day leave you granted to all crewmembers of the Tempest has already expired, I am afraid. As the commander is aware, intoxication while on duty is a serious—>
<Shut up, Tempo.>
<Just kidding.>
<You're starting to act more like the human every day. Stop it.>
<At once, commander.>
SpoilerShow
<Is he alright?>
<Probably. He had a bad reaction to the last hyperspace jump. We think he’ll be okay, but...it gets all psychological.>
<How so?>
<We don’t quite know how human minds work. We know what makes us tick, and our medics know enough about our various affiliated species, and we’ve managed to vivisect a few Umiak here and there, but humans? This thing’s one of a kind, medically speaking. Unless he gets well again and can show us his brethren, he may very well be just that.>
<Can you give me specifics as to the…event?>
<That is somewhat difficult to tell. It seems that he sees visions of his deceased comrades. He has testified to that effect in the past. Our guardsmen have expressed their sympathies in private, as it is a common enough affliction among our combat veterans.>
<Strange as this may seem, it is comforting that we share at least one thing with these strange creatures from across the galaxy.>
<I am of a mind to agree. Oh, and continuing my previous point…>
<You are going to tell me of Fireblade now?>
<You know of this? She seems to respect the human. After their last clash, the two of them seemed to have put aside any petty rivalries for the moment. They resembled, in my untrained opinion, two wary predators who have learned each other’s strengths. At the very least, they would have made great comrades-in-arms. Perhaps that is why she is occupied with the thought of him.>
<And now one of them is injured. It will not do to have her distracted from her duties.>
<True. However, recall that she is not very stable herself. We all know what happened on Seren. She survived that. We already had to deal with her telepathic nightmares, and this isn’t the time to further agitate her. It seems to me that the best course of action is to sit back and hope for the best.>
<So you're telling me there's not a damn thing we can do?>
<That's it, commander. We can only let nature take its course. Here's to hoping human minds are as strong as Loroi.>
--
Ensign Jardin mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep. If he had been born in Victorian times, his symptoms would have been ascribed to a fever of the brain. In more modern times, he would have probably been diagnosed with one of a variety of stress disorders. The affliction, in his case, was not major, and he would soon recover. It would not do to have the ambassador of humanity laid low by a nervous breakdown.
He was barely conscious for most of the time he spent in his sickbed. He was unaware of the medics who treated him, the soldiers who came to visit him, the red-haired Teidar who waited by his sickbed every day. Until he finally woke up, his mind revisited scenes of the past. He remembered his childhood. He strolled through the thoroughfares of his adolescence. He could see the faces of everyone in his graduating class. He saw Ellen.
He could hear the impromptu concerts he’d put on with Beryl and Fireblade. The Loroi had been slightly curious about human forms of recreation and self-expression, and the novelty had taken weeks to wear off. Even then, the trio had continued to play for “research purposes,” as Alex taught Beryl English and the art of playing the guitar.
Oddly enough, he could clearly remember their last concert together.
We're leaving together
But still it's farewell
And maybe we'll come back
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We're leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?
It's the final countdown
We're heading for Venus
And still we stand tall
'Cause maybe they've seen us
And welcome us all
With so many light years to go
And things to be found
I'm sure that we'll all miss her so
It's the final countdown.
All in all, it was a good concert.
--
As Alex Jardin slept, the red-haired Teidar remained by his bedside, maintaining her vigil.
<Probably. He had a bad reaction to the last hyperspace jump. We think he’ll be okay, but...it gets all psychological.>
<How so?>
<We don’t quite know how human minds work. We know what makes us tick, and our medics know enough about our various affiliated species, and we’ve managed to vivisect a few Umiak here and there, but humans? This thing’s one of a kind, medically speaking. Unless he gets well again and can show us his brethren, he may very well be just that.>
<Can you give me specifics as to the…event?>
<That is somewhat difficult to tell. It seems that he sees visions of his deceased comrades. He has testified to that effect in the past. Our guardsmen have expressed their sympathies in private, as it is a common enough affliction among our combat veterans.>
<Strange as this may seem, it is comforting that we share at least one thing with these strange creatures from across the galaxy.>
<I am of a mind to agree. Oh, and continuing my previous point…>
<You are going to tell me of Fireblade now?>
<You know of this? She seems to respect the human. After their last clash, the two of them seemed to have put aside any petty rivalries for the moment. They resembled, in my untrained opinion, two wary predators who have learned each other’s strengths. At the very least, they would have made great comrades-in-arms. Perhaps that is why she is occupied with the thought of him.>
<And now one of them is injured. It will not do to have her distracted from her duties.>
<True. However, recall that she is not very stable herself. We all know what happened on Seren. She survived that. We already had to deal with her telepathic nightmares, and this isn’t the time to further agitate her. It seems to me that the best course of action is to sit back and hope for the best.>
<So you're telling me there's not a damn thing we can do?>
<That's it, commander. We can only let nature take its course. Here's to hoping human minds are as strong as Loroi.>
--
Ensign Jardin mumbled something incomprehensible in his sleep. If he had been born in Victorian times, his symptoms would have been ascribed to a fever of the brain. In more modern times, he would have probably been diagnosed with one of a variety of stress disorders. The affliction, in his case, was not major, and he would soon recover. It would not do to have the ambassador of humanity laid low by a nervous breakdown.
He was barely conscious for most of the time he spent in his sickbed. He was unaware of the medics who treated him, the soldiers who came to visit him, the red-haired Teidar who waited by his sickbed every day. Until he finally woke up, his mind revisited scenes of the past. He remembered his childhood. He strolled through the thoroughfares of his adolescence. He could see the faces of everyone in his graduating class. He saw Ellen.
He could hear the impromptu concerts he’d put on with Beryl and Fireblade. The Loroi had been slightly curious about human forms of recreation and self-expression, and the novelty had taken weeks to wear off. Even then, the trio had continued to play for “research purposes,” as Alex taught Beryl English and the art of playing the guitar.
Oddly enough, he could clearly remember their last concert together.
We're leaving together
But still it's farewell
And maybe we'll come back
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We're leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?
It's the final countdown
We're heading for Venus
And still we stand tall
'Cause maybe they've seen us
And welcome us all
With so many light years to go
And things to be found
I'm sure that we'll all miss her so
It's the final countdown.
All in all, it was a good concert.
--
As Alex Jardin slept, the red-haired Teidar remained by his bedside, maintaining her vigil.
SpoilerShow
Memories of an anonymous Loroi of the Listel caste, maintained in Central Archives. The following passage was probably transcribed at some point after the cessation of hostilities in the Loroi-Umiak conflict. Translated to English Standard by Charles Yuan. First published in Memories of the Loroi War by Prasad University, 3072 CE.
My first encounter with a human was during one of the first great offensives into Tanuki space. A number of humans were attached to Loroi vessels as auxiliaries at that time. I recall somewhat violent disagreements at the High Command level, with regular debates over the number of humans to be integrated into the fleet, what positions they should fill, how to provide for them. I was not privy to most of these discussions, due to my low rank, but thoughts filter down, and I was able to pick up scattered opinions here and there from certain notable commanders.
In any case, it was decided that our vessel was to take on a fair number of humans as auxiliary support. What was unique about their position was their role: we were to serve as a sort of experiment. A number of humans had been ordered to serve with the ground-attack forces, those who dropped from the skies in small craft to pacify and conquer planetside objectives. To the best of my knowledge, such operations had been rare during our war, with most battles near a planet either ending with the defeat of the attacking fleet or the planet’s surface being trashed from orbit. The only time large-scale ground-attack operations had been carried out, to the best of my knowledge, was during the early days of the Semoset offensive, when the subjugated Loroi colonies were liberated from the Umiak.
Humans, it seemed, were being seriously considered for such a position for a number of reasons. They were physically hardy, relatively equivalent to Loroi in endurance and stamina. They would be taking up an occupation that was projected to be very costly in terms of Loroi lives, and would thus prevent many Loroi casualties. Their body structure was similar to ours, rendering expensive modifications to equipment unnecessary. Training humans to use Loroi equipment was not predicted to be difficult, as the technological gap in this particular field was not insurmountable. And, oddly enough, they were willing. Perhaps they were keenly aware of their status as outsiders and were desirous of proving themselves. In any case, many of their number volunteered for the experimental force that was to engage in ground combat with the Umiak. Thus we took onboard representatives of the Union’s newest members, most of whom were nursing serious inferiority complexes.
We saw them here and there, occasionally wandering about their ship. The official human-Loroi liaison would keep us updated on their condition, and the novelty of the arrangement soon began to fade. When I saw them with my own eyes for the first and last time, it was not a major shock for me. Their outrageous skin, their exotic yet familiar appearances, even the unusual stature of their males had already been relayed to me by others. I was curious, of course, but not startled, you understand.
One of the humans I observed making a strange gesture. Even my memories have faded from time’s onslaught, and I do not recall precise features of that particular human. All that I can recollect is that I took notice, and curiosity drove me to engage him in conversation. (I suppose he must have been male; their strange custom of employing males as soldiers had seen much speculation on our part, and I remember concluding that they must have experienced some sort of natural gender imbalance.) We engaged in conversation; he dismissed the gesture as a relic of his religion and culture. According to their ancient prophets, the world had been created by an omnipotent and perfect being who occasionally interacted with humankind through messengers. The story he told me that day was a splendid insight on the viewpoint of his species; the last great messenger, as the story goes, was born to a human woman, but eventually became acclaimed for his teachings. His death was a gory one—the human assured me that his culture no longer impaled the condemned upon crosses. The almost frantic reassurance delivered by him seemed to speak to a cultural distaste for violence.
It was time to board shuttles. I said farewell to the human, and made the strange cross-gesture out of goodwill. He grinned, and turned to join his comrades.
The human auxiliary force completed their objectives, I am told, but sustained nearly ninety percent casualties. I never saw that human again.
My first encounter with a human was during one of the first great offensives into Tanuki space. A number of humans were attached to Loroi vessels as auxiliaries at that time. I recall somewhat violent disagreements at the High Command level, with regular debates over the number of humans to be integrated into the fleet, what positions they should fill, how to provide for them. I was not privy to most of these discussions, due to my low rank, but thoughts filter down, and I was able to pick up scattered opinions here and there from certain notable commanders.
In any case, it was decided that our vessel was to take on a fair number of humans as auxiliary support. What was unique about their position was their role: we were to serve as a sort of experiment. A number of humans had been ordered to serve with the ground-attack forces, those who dropped from the skies in small craft to pacify and conquer planetside objectives. To the best of my knowledge, such operations had been rare during our war, with most battles near a planet either ending with the defeat of the attacking fleet or the planet’s surface being trashed from orbit. The only time large-scale ground-attack operations had been carried out, to the best of my knowledge, was during the early days of the Semoset offensive, when the subjugated Loroi colonies were liberated from the Umiak.
Humans, it seemed, were being seriously considered for such a position for a number of reasons. They were physically hardy, relatively equivalent to Loroi in endurance and stamina. They would be taking up an occupation that was projected to be very costly in terms of Loroi lives, and would thus prevent many Loroi casualties. Their body structure was similar to ours, rendering expensive modifications to equipment unnecessary. Training humans to use Loroi equipment was not predicted to be difficult, as the technological gap in this particular field was not insurmountable. And, oddly enough, they were willing. Perhaps they were keenly aware of their status as outsiders and were desirous of proving themselves. In any case, many of their number volunteered for the experimental force that was to engage in ground combat with the Umiak. Thus we took onboard representatives of the Union’s newest members, most of whom were nursing serious inferiority complexes.
We saw them here and there, occasionally wandering about their ship. The official human-Loroi liaison would keep us updated on their condition, and the novelty of the arrangement soon began to fade. When I saw them with my own eyes for the first and last time, it was not a major shock for me. Their outrageous skin, their exotic yet familiar appearances, even the unusual stature of their males had already been relayed to me by others. I was curious, of course, but not startled, you understand.
One of the humans I observed making a strange gesture. Even my memories have faded from time’s onslaught, and I do not recall precise features of that particular human. All that I can recollect is that I took notice, and curiosity drove me to engage him in conversation. (I suppose he must have been male; their strange custom of employing males as soldiers had seen much speculation on our part, and I remember concluding that they must have experienced some sort of natural gender imbalance.) We engaged in conversation; he dismissed the gesture as a relic of his religion and culture. According to their ancient prophets, the world had been created by an omnipotent and perfect being who occasionally interacted with humankind through messengers. The story he told me that day was a splendid insight on the viewpoint of his species; the last great messenger, as the story goes, was born to a human woman, but eventually became acclaimed for his teachings. His death was a gory one—the human assured me that his culture no longer impaled the condemned upon crosses. The almost frantic reassurance delivered by him seemed to speak to a cultural distaste for violence.
It was time to board shuttles. I said farewell to the human, and made the strange cross-gesture out of goodwill. He grinned, and turned to join his comrades.
The human auxiliary force completed their objectives, I am told, but sustained nearly ninety percent casualties. I never saw that human again.
Chapter 1
SpoilerShow
The moment that the human’s eyes fluttered open, a certain Teidar warrior quickly relayed the message to the rest of the ship: He’s alive.
Thus, when Alex Jardin, human ambassador/captain/rock star, finally woke up, he found himself quite surrounded by medical personnel, all looking slightly worried and saying the Loroi equivalents to phrases such as, “Does it hurt?” and “Stick out your tongue and say aahhh.”
Fortunately for all concerned, the human seemed to be unharmed. In fact, the first thing he did after ascertaining the circumstances was apologize profusely for any inconveniences he may have caused. Some of the medics looked slightly skeptical at his insistence that simple stress and fatigue had caused his collapse, and muttered to themselves (figuratively speaking; they’re telepathic, remember?) about silly males and their silly hormones. Nevertheless, he was up and about again, and the Loroi on his guard detail were given strict instructions to not tire out the fragile human.
Still, the impromptu rock concerts continued. Because on a boat in the middle of interstellar space, watching a human make noises on strange instruments is considered high entertainment.
Beryl was, to say the least, rather concerned. She was finally able to have a word with the human after one particularly spectacular display, while the remainder of the crew still reeled from an enthusiastic rendition of “Good Golly, Miss Molly.”
“Captain,” she began, “It seems to me that you may be in danger of overexerting yourself again. Would it be…” She searched for a word in the alien’s language, then gave up and returned to the Loroi trade language. “It would not be wise to needlessly endanger your health as the sole representative of a sapient species. We have yet to make arrangements to transfer you to a more secure location, and our medical facilities on this ship, while up-to-date, may not be able to fully aid in your recovery should another emergency arise. For your safety, please slow down.”
The human seemed to be thinking, then shook his head in what she had learned to be a nonverbal indication of refusal. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, then stopped and appeared to be contemplating his next words. “It’s just…there’s not much for me to do on this ship other than sit around and watch my fingernails grow, and I’d like to do something with my time here, you know?” He shrugged his shoulders and returned to packing up his makeshift guitar.
Beryl wasn’t sure why she said what she did next. She expected it was a side effect of being around the human for so long, picking up the habit of saying what was on her mind. But…“What did you see?”
Alex paused. “Beg pardon?”
Beryl mentally kicked herself. She couldn’t exactly pretend she hadn’t said anything. The human wasn’t stupid. “I…did you dream of anything when you were…indisposed?” There was a brief period of silence, and Beryl rushed to fill it. “I apologize for my forwardness, and it was not my place to say anything that could have disturbed you…”
“I saw Ellen.” The human turned back to his guitar. Then: “She was a friend.”
Beryl knew enough to let him talk. The more he spoke, the more she and the rest of the Union stood to learn. Alex, meanwhile, kept speaking, the words tumbling out one by one. “She and I met when we were both young. We went through the Academy together. We were both chosen for the Scout Corps. Assigned to the same ship. I wasn’t exactly the highest-ranked person on the Bellarmine, and she outranked me, if only barely, but we were still friends. I mean, we were never, um, you know…” Beryl was looking confused. “We never were…we didn’t have sex. We weren’t like that. Although there was that one time about a year ago when we both got incredibly drunk and…” He restrained the urge to smack himself in the face. “Anyways. We were friends, and comrades-in-arms, I suppose, and now she’s dead.” With that matter-of-fact statement, he glanced away.
Beryl hesitated. What she was thinking right now was…somewhat foolhardy. There was something in her idea, however, that felt like the right thing to do. Maybe…
--
<I really don’t think this is a good idea.>
<Tempo thinks otherwise.>
<Beryl, with all due respect, this idea seems incredibly stupid.>
<Oh, hush.>
They’d gotten permission from Tempo to take the human to the bodies they’d recovered from the derelict. It was beginning to dawn on Beryl that the whole situation was somewhat awkward. The human didn’t seem to notice. He’d already started towards the rows of bodies arranged in the makeshift morgue/storage compartment. Each one looked almost lifelike, wounds healed, nothing to indicate their status except a complete stillness. The Loroi had done their best to revive the humans, or at least make their bodies presentable. They were even still clad in their uniforms. Beryl and Fireblade watched their charge set out through the rather macabre display, looking intently at the faces of each recovered corpse.
He returned shaking his head. “She’s not here.”
Beryl’s heart plummeted. “I’m sorry. We were not able to recover every—”
“It’s alright.” Alex waved his hand in a short gesture of futility. “Thank you for taking me here. I…I’d like to return to my quarters now.”
The two Loroi silently escorted him back to the compartment that had been converted into the official temporary diplomatic residence.
Thus, when Alex Jardin, human ambassador/captain/rock star, finally woke up, he found himself quite surrounded by medical personnel, all looking slightly worried and saying the Loroi equivalents to phrases such as, “Does it hurt?” and “Stick out your tongue and say aahhh.”
Fortunately for all concerned, the human seemed to be unharmed. In fact, the first thing he did after ascertaining the circumstances was apologize profusely for any inconveniences he may have caused. Some of the medics looked slightly skeptical at his insistence that simple stress and fatigue had caused his collapse, and muttered to themselves (figuratively speaking; they’re telepathic, remember?) about silly males and their silly hormones. Nevertheless, he was up and about again, and the Loroi on his guard detail were given strict instructions to not tire out the fragile human.
Still, the impromptu rock concerts continued. Because on a boat in the middle of interstellar space, watching a human make noises on strange instruments is considered high entertainment.
Beryl was, to say the least, rather concerned. She was finally able to have a word with the human after one particularly spectacular display, while the remainder of the crew still reeled from an enthusiastic rendition of “Good Golly, Miss Molly.”
“Captain,” she began, “It seems to me that you may be in danger of overexerting yourself again. Would it be…” She searched for a word in the alien’s language, then gave up and returned to the Loroi trade language. “It would not be wise to needlessly endanger your health as the sole representative of a sapient species. We have yet to make arrangements to transfer you to a more secure location, and our medical facilities on this ship, while up-to-date, may not be able to fully aid in your recovery should another emergency arise. For your safety, please slow down.”
The human seemed to be thinking, then shook his head in what she had learned to be a nonverbal indication of refusal. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said, then stopped and appeared to be contemplating his next words. “It’s just…there’s not much for me to do on this ship other than sit around and watch my fingernails grow, and I’d like to do something with my time here, you know?” He shrugged his shoulders and returned to packing up his makeshift guitar.
Beryl wasn’t sure why she said what she did next. She expected it was a side effect of being around the human for so long, picking up the habit of saying what was on her mind. But…“What did you see?”
Alex paused. “Beg pardon?”
Beryl mentally kicked herself. She couldn’t exactly pretend she hadn’t said anything. The human wasn’t stupid. “I…did you dream of anything when you were…indisposed?” There was a brief period of silence, and Beryl rushed to fill it. “I apologize for my forwardness, and it was not my place to say anything that could have disturbed you…”
“I saw Ellen.” The human turned back to his guitar. Then: “She was a friend.”
Beryl knew enough to let him talk. The more he spoke, the more she and the rest of the Union stood to learn. Alex, meanwhile, kept speaking, the words tumbling out one by one. “She and I met when we were both young. We went through the Academy together. We were both chosen for the Scout Corps. Assigned to the same ship. I wasn’t exactly the highest-ranked person on the Bellarmine, and she outranked me, if only barely, but we were still friends. I mean, we were never, um, you know…” Beryl was looking confused. “We never were…we didn’t have sex. We weren’t like that. Although there was that one time about a year ago when we both got incredibly drunk and…” He restrained the urge to smack himself in the face. “Anyways. We were friends, and comrades-in-arms, I suppose, and now she’s dead.” With that matter-of-fact statement, he glanced away.
Beryl hesitated. What she was thinking right now was…somewhat foolhardy. There was something in her idea, however, that felt like the right thing to do. Maybe…
--
<I really don’t think this is a good idea.>
<Tempo thinks otherwise.>
<Beryl, with all due respect, this idea seems incredibly stupid.>
<Oh, hush.>
They’d gotten permission from Tempo to take the human to the bodies they’d recovered from the derelict. It was beginning to dawn on Beryl that the whole situation was somewhat awkward. The human didn’t seem to notice. He’d already started towards the rows of bodies arranged in the makeshift morgue/storage compartment. Each one looked almost lifelike, wounds healed, nothing to indicate their status except a complete stillness. The Loroi had done their best to revive the humans, or at least make their bodies presentable. They were even still clad in their uniforms. Beryl and Fireblade watched their charge set out through the rather macabre display, looking intently at the faces of each recovered corpse.
He returned shaking his head. “She’s not here.”
Beryl’s heart plummeted. “I’m sorry. We were not able to recover every—”
“It’s alright.” Alex waved his hand in a short gesture of futility. “Thank you for taking me here. I…I’d like to return to my quarters now.”
The two Loroi silently escorted him back to the compartment that had been converted into the official temporary diplomatic residence.
[link]
