Mutually Assured Destruction (24/?)

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Mem-O-Gram file user: Betty Hartwell, US Cultural Attaché

File subject: Incident Report

Date [standardized human time]: September 5th, 1974

I stood with Sam and a mixed Venlil-Human delegation on a hill overlooking the festival.

The celebration was held in what was called the Great Alföld, a vast plain that took up most of southern Hungary. It was sunset, and everyone looked happy.

Except for an empty square platform the size of a football field, the area was festooned with tents. While there were some human tents here and there, the majority were Venlil - geodesic domes that were covered in banners, tassels, lanterns and embroidered decorations. The decorations juxtaposed against the futuristic structures reminded me of one of Robert's books, about noble houses in space.

The Venlil themselves reinforced my thinking. They dressed in loose, poofy clothing, embroidered like the tents. I also spotted a few wearing hats with feathers in them - they looked every bit like space-age nobles.

"Wait a minute. How'd you guys get feathers?"

Sam laughed from behind his tablet. He was presiding over the ceremony, wearing his governor's coat over traditional Venlil clothes. "T-Those aren't feathers, Betty. They're frond-grass blades. They were very common on Venlil Prime and made very good tassels."

The festival itself was some kind of settling ceremony. Sam mentioned that the Venlil population in the area had settled down enough to recreate a traditional Venlil city.

"F-Funny thing is, we Venlil didn't really make cities," Sam explained. "We were n-nomadic for much of our history, and even when the Federation took over we never settled down. Before Selvim took the governorship, we specialized in diplomacy, so we were always traveling around. We lived in embassies, not cities."

"So your holdouts on Earth are like embassies?"

"They were. L-Little settlements, exclaves in foreign territory. Until now."

I looked to the large platform that was the centerpiece of the festival. It was made of stone and intricately carved. Sam saw what I was looking at, and clipped his tablet to his belt with shaking fingers. He looked thoroughly uncomfortable; probably the social aspect was getting to him. He took the tablet that he'd just put away, gave it a few taps, and handed it to me, his ears and tail flicking in a gesture that I recognized as an apology. Looked like he was too frazzled to talk properly; the poor guy.

The tablet said that the platform was called a 'foundation' by the Venlil: an ancient landmark that served as both territory marker and campground. Originally large fields of piled rock, each foundation delineated fertile ground. The nomadic Venlil herds would travel from foundation to foundation, leaving old grazing grounds to let the grasses regrow. Agriculture set in when the herds designated people to stay behind and cultivate the grasses, and civilization took over from there.

The foundations turned into stone platforms for Venlil tent-cities, and whenever a herd reached a foundation, there would be a great festival followed by a stay of a 'deci-cycle' (the translator said 3.4 months) until the grasses depleted and the herd set off all over again. Of course, with agriculture techniques the grasses didn't deplete anymore, but the trips each herd made were still an ingrained tradition.

Sam was holding a canteen now, swirling the fluid inside before taking a swig. He seemed to have gotten his composure back. "Fascinating stuff, our history. Most of what we know comes from Selvim's personal library, you know."

"And your government archives didn't have any of this?"

"Well, some of it. Most of it was… wordunpolite, I believe. Not wordcrime, but close. The Federation made it extremely hard to access those records. Only radicals showed the effort to get to them, and they would identify themselves with their search queries. Easier to watch."

"That's… disturbing."

"Hm. Well, we have a festival to attend to. Don't think too hard about it. Better to enjoy the moment."

Sam sat down in the grass, looking out at the great plains beyond. "Such a vast plateau, full of infinite possibilities. It reminds me very much of Leng."

Behind me, Robert spat out his drink. Sam continued obliviously.

"Leng's the continent from which we Venlil come from. I've even been there, you know; it's got the most foundations on Venlil Prime. The Farsul loved the place. Had archeologists swarming all over the ruins."

He suddenly looked uncomfortable. He didn't frown, but his ears swiveled around in nervous staccato, as if something was stalking him.

"Selvim's library… there were reports in there. Theories, that some of the ruins on Leng weren't of Venlil origin, but were something else entirely." He looked at his canteen, then wagged his tail. "Well, that's neither here nor there. Might as well focus on the festival, hm?"

He stood up and walked back towards the party, leaving me a pat on the shoulder and a feeling of eerie uncalm. He'd cheered up with a speed that almost spoke of insanity. He's hiding something.

I followed his trail through the party, towards an isolated spot by the foundation, which I found was made of something like granite and had lines of Venlil script carved into it. I peeked around the corner to see him talking to a pair of Venlil, both wearing long aprons and toolboxes; probably masons to finish the foundation. They must've all taken their translators off, because I didn't hear English, only the baa-ing noises of Venlil language. Luckily, I also had a translator, and I turned it on just as another Venlil, wearing ceremonial armor and carrying a tasseled spear rushed up to Sam and whispered in his ear.

"They're here."

Sam seemed perturbed. He waved the masons away and addressed the guard. He seemed not to have noticed me yet.

"Federalists?"

"No, sir, they're humans. Humanity First; a local branch. We've been monitoring their comms; looks like the Federalists riled them up."

"Intentionally, I presume?"

"Since when have the Federalists ever done anything accidentally? They know as well as we do that our species' position is unstable."

"So they're trying to destabilize us?"

"Or maybe to assassinate you, sir. You should evacuate."

"At such an important moment? No. What are we looking at?"

"Bombs, mostly. A few ballistics."

"So nothing you can't handle."

"With all due respect, sir-"

"I'm not evacuating. This is an important event and the humans' friendship is going to be very useful to us. Where are the terrorists now?"

"Among the guests; we've singled all of them out. They're waiting for a signal to act."

"You've taken care of the signal, then?"

"Yes."

"Hm. They've infiltrated the party, so nothing overt. I'll see what I can do. These people are probably wanted by the humans, too; nobody's going to miss them. Once they're isolated, lethal force is authorized. Just keep it quiet."

They stopped as aircraft roared overhead, half Venlil and half Hungarian - a display of friendship. The crowd cheered behind me.

The guard broke the silence, voice tense and so quiet my translator barely got it.

"Even so, the humans won't be happy. The terrorists' friends back home will sound the alarm. 'Alien abductions,' they'll cry."

"Which is why we'll raid their bases and replace them with plants. Given time, we'll be able to de-radicalize most of them. The worst of them we can take care of in other ways."

"And the Federalists?"

"Since they're using proxies, they have plausible deniability. I can't really do anything about them just yet… keep them on watch. Especially Admiral Banlek, I'm sure he's trying to find a way to creatively interpret my orders. I wouldn't put a coup past him."

"And if they try anything?"

"You know…" Sam's voice got louder; he was talking normally now, but with all the whispering before it felt like he was shouting. "I've been watching movies of humans from the western plains. Honor duels were prominent there; the duellists would stand in the street and wait to see who drew their guns first."

There was a groan, presumably from the guard, but Sam steamrolled over him.

"See, the thing with western honor duels is that your goal isn't to draw first. It's to draw last." I peeked around the corner to see Sam quick-drawing an imaginary six-shooter. "The authorities would say the one who drew first would be at fault for any deaths that happened, and the those who drew first were seen as cowards. To win, you watched your opponent carefully, and acted with all speed the moment you saw them do anything."

"But wouldn't you be drawing first then, sir?"

"Not quite! See, if you shot your opponent before they could even get their gun out of their holster, you were seen as skilled and heroic. The trick is to shoot at the slightest action, the first suggestions of enemy action. That is what wins you honor among the humans. That is what I intend to do."

I'd heard enough. I left in a hurry.

…

I stood in the crowd as Sam gave a speech. He promised friendship and prosperity, and toasted the beginnings of a new era. The Hungarian Prime Minister made a similar speech. They huddled together and announced a raffle. Attendants began to hand out tickets.

A man in a long coat stared at his ticket with confusion. I tried not to stare at the lumps in his coat.

I remembered something, something obscure from Robert's ramblings. Pattern recognition. He said that the same senses humans used for art and aesthetics were used by animals for picking out potential dangers. Even though the party was jovial, I began to pick out things I wouldn't have noticed before. I saw people fidgeting with things in their pockets or rubbing their belts. Members of the Venlil guard, ostensibly there to protect Sam, were spread out among the crowd, clutching halberds. A momentary light in the sky that moved too regularly to be natural, too high to be a news chopper. Things were tensing up.

The raffle was underway and numbers were picked. Laughing, Venlil and human attendants picked out the winners. The man in the coat was pulled onstage. Soon Sam addressed a motley line of humans, looking like they'd rather be somewhere else.

"Well well well, quite a few winners! Auspicious, I say. Us Venlil, we say that every winner is a cooperative opportunity. And for so many of them to be our friends! We truly have a bright future together." Sam toasted the Hungarian Prime Minister, and the crowd toasted with him. The man in the coat was gripping something in his pocket, very tightly judging by his wrist. He only had time for a momentary look of panic to flash across his face before he and his friends were led to the back, to receive their prize.

I tried not to think too hard about it when the fireworks came on minutes later. Better to ooh and ahh with the rest of the crowd. And think about how wily my best friend had gotten.