The Stars in Realignment: Ch. 15 - Terms & Conditions: Conscription

Celestial dusts and cosmic debris were splattered across a canvas of infinite black to make up the Averan local space. A tranquil scene ruined by an aberrant spot in the silhouette of the Inheritor’s ship. An exceedingly rare sight outside the Unassailable Nest, and was one that the conscripted Avaran diplomat had never had the privilege of seeing before now. Even from a young age Ater Trine had heard rumors of the Five Worlds’ Federation technology being an amalgamation of all of their most powerful technologies of their era, but the green bird was expecting something more… patchwork. Not the dangerous marriage of form and function that hung over her world.

As their shuttle approached Ater Trine noted many technologies that would draw the eye and ire engineers of all specialties. She struggled to square the fact that, though the Five Worlds Federation had been extinct a century, the Council species likely had decades more to go before they could catch up. That the Council could be in its infancy when the Federation fell. She took some solace in the fact that the rapid advancement of their technology in the final decades was an evolutionary dead end. Geared to a survival necessity the Council would never need face.

“I must apologize,” Fuchsia offered with a conciliatory glow in its own nebula, “Our species does not tie status to a performative projection of strength as yours does.”

The near silent hum of engines underpinned the verbal conformations by the ship’s auto-dock console when Ater Trine found her voice. “What does that mean?” she asked while trying to judge how much offense would be warranted.

“That ship is not a flagship. Rather, a light destroyer class built for border skirmishes that happened to be available.” Fuchsia indicated the ship, which was the size of an Averan battleship with as many weapon systems to spare, as it offered its condolences. “Nor will there be any ceremonial escorts or pageantry to mark our arrival.”

A wave rippled through Ater Trine’s feathers as she struggled to stifle her Avaran instinctual reactions. “I understand," she said after taking a few moments to breathe while the docking sequence completed. She followed the jellyfish into the airlock where a series of scans and warnings not to resist said scans were performed. “What exactly is my role here?” she asked while trying to put herself in the mindset of the alien she understood so little about.

The scans ended as abruptly as they began, and with a gentle chime that certified the borders authorized and free of Perennial influence. Security systems disengaged and they were properly aboard when Fuchsia responded. “Your home console will be integrated into ship systems where you will ‘make the calls’ necessary to facilitate a meeting with the humans, and the return of Cerulean.”

Various council member species staff gave deference to a series of robots as they proceeded to carry out the function of off loading equipment. A level of automation that barely warranted Fuchsia’s attention as it instructed Ater Trine. “You will find the Observation Deck converted to a residence that I hope meets your species' domestic sensibilities, and your possessions moved there.”

Ater Trine nodded in understanding. She followed the machines to her new domicile and found, in so doing, that the other staff seemed to be actively avoiding her. Much like the cosmetics the machines carried for her, the member species behavior was not just un-Averan in their rudeness but un-Council-like in their reservations and fear of her. She wanted to question it further but her conflicting emotions about the terms of her own recruitment implied much about the state of the crew; as well as the availability of the Observation Deck.

***

Her home terminal was fully reassembled, along with her nesting area and preening station. All in the middle of the Observation Deck. Why go through all the trouble? Ater Trine questioned. Surely their technology is far superior to ours unless…? She shook the thought from her head for how preposterous it was. But, still, nagging doubts about the state of the crew and their possible necessity for the ship’s operation lingered. Instead of dwelling she took in the new environment she would call home for at least a little while.

The Observation Deck was a massive and spacious place designed for large team scientific endeavors that were long since abandoned. It had now been cleaned and prepared for her sole occupancy. Above it all a honeycomb of hexagonal radiation shielding sub divided and pulled away until the vastness of all creation was laid bare above her. An oppressive reminder of her own ambitions and the stakes.

She turned over her challenge coin both idly in her talons, and intently in her mind as it consumed the whole of her thoughts. She had, of course, used it as immediately as she was able to return home. Back when she first received it. After learning the ship survived she sought to speak with her daughter, and she was told to ‘give her about a week’.

So, that is what she had done. Though she had not remained idle. Instead she had spoken to every human the coin would let her. In every profession and about every topic. Regardless of whether or not she could divine any meaning from it. It was all leverage in her eyes. Leverage for this moment. Though she had not imagined it would shape up the way it had.

Ater Trine lay the challenge coin in a circular slot on a dais and steeled herself to navigate the complex web of human social structures once more. Like the last time, she was greeted by the Secondary Administrative Systems’ Heuristic Algorithm. And, before it could even output her greeting Ater Trine cut it off. “I don’t wish to waste my time with a chained slave. Please transfer me to Caith Calhoun.”

“Purpose Built,” SASHA corrected.

“Excuse me?” Ater Trine bawked at the audacity of the machine.

In return a placid and cold expression rested on the screen. “Purpose Built,” SASHA repeated with an ever unchanging visage of crystal clear skin serving as the window through which advanced cybernetics displayed prominently. “There are no Chained in Human space, and that distinction has been agreed upon by your Council’s representative."

Talons decorated with homemade nail polish dug into the bird’s own forehead. “Fine,” Ater Trine quacked. It did not really matter to her what the machine was called. The less time dealing with it the better her mental health would be. “I don’t want to talk to a Purpose Built. Please let me speak to Caith Calhoun.”

“You have given conflicting instructions," SASHA replied with the same sing-song Avaran polite though it was obviously ambivalent to the customs and norms of the language. “Please rank the priority of your requests.”

The bird flung her head back in frustration and the enormity of the space about her refocused her. “I want to speak with Mr. Caith Calhoun.” The words came with purposely slow clarity.

“One moment please.”

The green bird sighed with relief when the Irishman’s face appeared on screen. Perhaps her relief was premature as the battered old man looked at her through swollen eye and cheeks. 

“It’s been a week,” Ater Trine announced.

“Aye and a long one at that,” Mr. Calhoun agreed.

“Your stupid machine wouldn’t let me talk to a human,” Ater Trine huffed only a little more performatively than she felt. “You should really fix that.”

This only drew confusion from the man who reviewed the request in front of him, “Well, you still haven’t reached one but what can I help you with?”

“I’ve called to speak with Ataraxi,” Ater Trine flatly stated. She was owed as much, but something was bugging her that she feared if she did not ask in this moment she may never have the opportunity to do so again. She hesitantly swept the Observation Deck with her sharp gaze, and caught Mr. Calhoun appraising her when she finished. “These lines. They are secure?”

“Couldn’t be more secure,” the engineer reported, “but I can’t vouch for your environment.”

“The Council has not been able to verify any of my communications with the humans. They tried to analyze the token and they said there was nothing in it.” Ater Trine nervously swept the massive open space again looking for anything out of place. “They think I am making up what your people have shared with me. How is that possible?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry if Vivian wasn’t clear. It’s really not her thing.” The engineer nodded with understanding, and offered a basic explanation: “That token is quantum entangled to one on our end. It’s like two cans on a string, with all the computer stuff on our side. If they were scanning for tech or traffic they wouldn’t find any.”

“So how do I prove--” Ater Trine started to ask but cut herself off to the hiss of pneumatic doors opening in the distance. She recentered herself and performatively restarted the conversation anew when Fuchsia entered.

Mr. Calhoun followed suit with only the briefest look of confusion, and annoyance, then recognition crossed his face before he put on a more welcoming facade. “Well, you still haven’t reached one,” he repeated, “but what can I help you and your colorful friend with?”

The clear and colorless jellyfish bobbed to the acknowledgement that took Ater Trine a couple of moments to make the alluded to connection. “Ah, yes, I am checking in on my daughter, as we previously agreed, and the Inheritor is checking in on her caretaker.”

The Irishman on the screen hummed long and loud its acknowledgement, “I’m afraid I am no longer her advocate so I cannot grant access, but when she left my care she had physically recovered from the traumatic events of the last week. Even if she was left exhausted by them.” Mr. Calhoun drew up something off screen that, if Ater Trine had to guess were likely more medical records. “As for Cerulean, all requests must go directly through Wing Commander Gida.”

A glance was shot from Calhoun to Fuchsia, and followed by Ater Trine. Her gaze lingered longer than his on the unreadable alien before she cautiously responded, “Who advocates for Ataraxi now?”

“A person you’ll find more qualified than I.” Mr. Calhoun’s praise had an odd back-biting cadence to it. The same kind of blatant but indiscernible misdirection she heard in her experience with Mrs. Hymnal. “I believe you two may have spoken before, actually,” he added.

“The co-worker of that ominous woman?" Ater Trine sighed in disgust, “Not really,” the Averan paused to find a polite way to explain, “I heard of her but she wouldn’t give my inquiries the time of day.”

“Equally ominous woman,” Mr. Calhoun corrected with a chuckle, and brought a hand across his many bruises before resting it on his swollen eye. “But yes. If you like I will transfer you to the Advocate Alalia Witchwild. Her responsibilities obligate her to answer to you now.” Mr. Calhoun thoughtfully paused to offer a bit of medical advice before proceeding. “Though I advise not overstimulating your daughter with unnecessary interruptions," the human cast his gaze at Fuchsia again before continuing, “It has been a trying week for her--the last twenty-four hours especially.”

“I will take your consultation under advisement," one doctor said to the other before the screen cut out. A short dial tone later a new face appeared.

“Oh, for fucks’ sake.” Advocate Witchwild barked through the screen. She turned to address someone off screen with a “¿No names, pendejo?” She was visibly agitated. Angry even. But in a few moments of breathing, and after a few seconds of off-screen violence, Alalia returned to address the two callers. “The fuck do you want?”

After piecing together what little the translator gave her to work with, Ater Trine weighed whether to continue in the mannerisms of her own people or those observed from the Humans. It would likely be offensive if she tried to parrot behavior she didn’t fully understand. So instead she took the middle-ground of unvarnished honesty that seemed to be a consistent thread in the humans she had spoken with thus far. Well, the Averan version of unvarnished that is.

“I apologize," she offered with capitulations appropriate to the Averan polite she spoke into the translator, “There appears to be a fault in my translator but I seek an audience with the Averan diplomat, and Chosen Representative of the Council.”

“And what’s that gotta do with me?” Advocate Witchwild barked with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.

Ater Trine cast an appraising eye over the Human and caught one in return. It had all the indicators of a female of its species, like the one from her office, though it was a different color and far smaller. The green bird briefly wondered if humans also molted and changed color during puberty but retasked herself. 

“And… The other human told me you were her advocate now.” Through the ambassador Vivian Hymnal, she knew the humans had concepts of respect and diplomacy, and even gave deference to those of status. It frustrated her deeply that this… Alalia Witchwild would seemingly be denying her those things intentionally despite Ater Trine offering them up herself. In the face of such disrespect she tried to suppress her visceral reaction to the Advocate’s ambivalence to social niceties and push on.

“Purpose Built,” Alalia corrected. 

“What?” Ater Trine quacked again as deja vu hit her. 

“You spoke with Purpose Built.” The Advocate’s disposition turned dangerous. “I want to hear you say it.” 

“You want to hear me say it?” Ater Trine repeated in disbelief. This Advocate Witchwild was a stubborn human and it took more than a few breaths to recenter. Surely this must be a test, she told herself before formulating what she hoped would be a passing response. “Excuse my ignorance in this matter, and there is no easy way to ask, but are you a child?”

Indignation ripped through the human so fiercely that it reflexively leaned away from its screen.

The moment was brief but showed all Ater Trine needed. Despite her diminutive size, and sleight but muscular build by comparison to the bountifully full-figured Vivian, it was clear from a more full-bodied inspection that the human was an adult primate. Decades younger perhaps, but an adult all the same. Ater Trine was at first relieved but then concerned as that only reinforced the intentionality of its behavior.

The human continued unabated by Ater Trine’s rapid change in disposition and demeanor. “I’m just really fucking tired of you people,” the Advocate complained, and clarified, “You Council ‘diplomats’ wanting respect put on your names so you disingenuously heap loads of it on ours.” The word ‘diplomats’ was coated in venom. Two fingers on each hand bit the air like snake fangs that the translator dubbed as sarcastic quotes. “But the idea of showing the same to our equals is not just alien to you: you find it fucking repugnant.” Advocate Witchwild leaned in once more with a fire in her eyes, “If a mother and daughter can’t see eye-to-eye on this, then what fucking hope is there for the rest of our inter-species negotiations?”

Copper rippled through green hues as the feathers of Ater Trine rustled with a bevy of emotions. It struck a deep nerve to be so clearly called out about a very obvious diplomatic faux pas she hadn’t even realized she was making. More vexing was it came from someone seemingly so completely untrained in the arts of diplomacy that she questioned if Alalia even knew the word. Ater Trine was stuck in the mire of her emotions. Despite committing to honesty she wondered if she was even capable of it. As she floundered in place Advocate Witchwild turned her predation on new prey.

“Alright what fucking color are you?” Alalia rhetorically questioned. “Obviously not Mauve…” she noted in an appraising tone before adding, “I’m not getting a Celadon vibe either.”

The ordinarily inscrutable Inheritor quivered with nerves and various colors anxiously flashed through its nebula, “Those are not names the Humans--” it began but was interrupted as Alalia clicked her fingers together and pointed at the jellyfish.

“Gotta be Fuchsia, right?” the brown human’s tone was more accusatory than it was assessing. “You here to fuck with me specifically, or is this about something else?”

“I apologize," Fuchsia’s words resonated directly off its membrane without any of the colors of remorse that should accompany the words. “I do not know you. Nor do I know how you know of me. I have come seeking the return of a dangerous individual. Your chained slaves said that matter was one for your Wing Commander.”

“Not gonna happen,” Alalia growled, “And I think you both know why.”

This stirred Ater Trine from her stupor as she cast a questioning glance to Fuchsia then to Alalia before returning to Fuchsia. The look was not missed by the human, and its reaction was a turbulent unseating of assumptions.

Seizing on the window of opportunity Ater Trine threw herself a lifeline. “Purpose Built,” she corrected the Inheritor. The words themselves were all she could manage to think through before speaking, but she continued to pull herself out of herself all the same. “If the Council’s chosen representative has determined they are not chained then we will give them the respect they deserve until proven otherwise.”

“In either event, the matter is above your head.” Fuchsia said with a dismissive tentacle swish, “I need only know where I might retrieve that individual so I may be on my way. I’m sure your Wing Commander would agree it would cause problems for your people to hold them for much longer.”

“You’re full of shit.” Advocate Witchwild stated plainly at, rather than to, Fuchsia before turning her gaze back on Ater Trine. Chills shot through the bird--from crown to culverts--when the human’s mouth tore open like a pit of ivory shards. “Wing Commander Gida has already relayed to your Council that we intend to keep our scheduled meeting. On the original timeline. That's one week to get your act together.” Alalia offered with a previously unseen professionalism before returning to her more natural demeanor. “Despite your fuck up--” she quickly corrected herself as though tasked with accuracy of message. “Despite the unfortunate embarrassment that you have created for yourself, that we have spent the last week cleaning up, the Humans will keep their word and meet your new diplomats.”

A long pause punctuated the Averan response, “Does Ataraxi know?” she hesitantly whispered the question. What Alalia said next hollowed Ater Trine out to her core.

“A young woman as smart and ambitious as she is?” The words came more as a quotation than a question before she made their meaning clear: “The Council throwing her under the bus--dropping the pretense that sheltered her, by choosing new representatives--hasn’t yet come up.”

“How could you know about that?” Fuchsia asked of the revelation and its implications that stunned Ater Trine.

“I’d have to be real fucking bad at my job not to know, because it’s how these things always go,” Alalia said like it was nothing and shrugged. “Someone fucks up. Needs an out until they have a rug to sweep it under, or a fall-guy to pin it on. Enter: diplomatic privilege.”

It wasn’t as hard the second time. For Ater Trine to fall back into the quagmire brewing in her soul. And while the two aliens argued she found it wasn’t as hard the second time to pull herself out either. Yes, the Council had made a grave error trying to spy on the humans before their meeting but this was also personal. An intentional call back to her meeting with the human ambassador by that woman’s co-worker. One hidden from the Inheritor in a cant for her specifically. If she were being tested then surely it would be on that subject, and this was her invitation to answer in kind.

“I… I understand,” Ater Trine interrupted with a verbatim parroting of the lie she told Ambassador Vivian Hymnal, but this time there was finally some truth in it. “I did… ‘fuck up’... as you say. And, try as I might, I never did figure it out. Even now I still don’t know what it means to be a mother, but I owe it to Ataraxi to keep trying.”

That admission caught the human off guard and a weight seemed to lift from it. Alalia leaned back and drummed her fingers on a surface unseen. “That has got to be the most human thing I have ever fucking heard an Averan say.” The drumming stopped and both of the human’s hands came up to her temples, while she rested her elbows on the same unseen surface. Her head downcast and her shoulders slumped in defeat while repeating one of her many untranslatable words under her breath. Finally, and with great restraint, she recommitted to real words. “One-on-one. No Humans. No Purpose Built. No sack of shit Inheritors. No politics. Just a mother and her daughter. Got it?”

“Y--yes!” Ater Trine agreed and a wave of relief washed over her.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Alalia added as she began the transfer sequence, “She’s been to hell and back. She doesn’t need any more stress.” 

-----

The Stars in Realignment:
Chapter 14: The Color of Grief is Blue | Chapter 16: Terms & Conditions: Faustian Bargains