Val Vega, page 21
The high level of security reminds me of airports on Earth. But part of me feels relieved to have the protection. Maybe Marrow’s threats have all just been bluster.
When we enter the Citadel, we’re met by several low-level Hoshan and Etoscan administrators. The others go directly to the negotiating chamber, but they escort me to a waiting area just beyond the main entrance for the entry processional. After a few minutes, from within the main chamber of the Citadel comes the trumpet-like sound of an Etoscan chant, signaling that the processional is starting. The Etoscan ambassadors enter first, followed by Charism and the Northern Hoshans. An elderly Hoshan leads me toward a stone archway that towers dozens of meters above us. I’m up next. My heartbeat accelerates as I walk through the enormous entrance. I remember what my brother Miguel always says: “Stage fright isn’t bad, it just means your body’s ready to put on a hell of a show.”
I follow my prescribed path, walking at a slow, deliberate pace, like a wedding processional. I stifle a gasp of awe as I enter the chamber. The ceiling is the highest I’ve ever seen—at least triple the height of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. But somehow the room still has that grounded feeling of Etoscan architecture. The walls and ceiling are made of brown stone, the surfaces rough and jagged. The walls are inset with life-sized sculptures of Etoscans molded so gracefully that they look like they weren’t chiseled, but grown. At first, it seems like there’s no wall on the far left of the chamber, just open air. But several Hoshans are pressing their noses against a nearly-invisible surface, looking out at the view of Tumasra’s flames. This close, Tumasra is like the surface of the sun. It’s like being in a cathedral inside a volcano.
“Valiant One?” says a familiar voice—that’s my cue to greet the Etoscan ambassadors. I turn to my right, where Speaker stands, flanked by another Etoscan I’ve never seen before. Where’s Listener? Part of me is relieved—Speaker is by far the more reasonable of the two—but it also worries me. Why would Listener not be here?
Behind them is a Hoshan wearing a headpiece. All my thoughts are under observation. I bow to Speaker and her comrade. “It is an honor to see your eyes, and an honor to be with you in this sacred space.”
Speaker’s wearing a taller headpiece than before, adorned with orange jewels. She lets out a gentle rumble with her trunk. “It’s an honor to see your eyes, again, Valiant One. Many welcomes to you. Alas, my second could not attend today, but I’m joined by his alternate, Listener.” Speaker points her trunk to her right, and I wonder again how Etoscans keep track of each other when so many have the same names. I bow to both.
I walk forward, to where Charism stands waiting on his hind legs. As leader of Northern Hosh, he’s technically a co-host of the talks, though the Citadel is run by the Etoscans, with only token involvement of Charism and the North Hoshan government. “Madame Ambassador!” he says, four upper arms spread wide. “Such joy to see you again.” He extends an upper arm toward me. I reach down, and we give each other a gentle scratch along the forearm.
It’s great to see you, too, I think—a thought that comes easily and authentically. Charism lifts his nose with a smile, and I continue walking.
I’m supposed to take my seat now. Along the wall closest to the door are at least a dozen Hoshans, seated in the typical circular, papasan-like chairs. The Southland Hoshan support staff. Opposite them is another group of Hoshans in the same circular chairs—the Northern delegation. In the large space between the two, closer to the window, is a small cluster of Terran-style chairs, where Johnny, Timoteo, and Pash-Ti are seated, just behind the single empty chair for me. I walk over to them and nod a silent greeting as I take my seat. It’s a simple wooden armchair, made for my exact height, so my feet can rest comfortably on the ground when I sit up straight. Other than one pillow for comfort, it’s unadorned, but its back stretches six feet high, needlessly high above my head. The combination of simplicity and height was Pash-Ti’s suggestion. It’s important, they said, for everything I do—from my choice of words to the aesthetic of my chair—to convey humility, but not submission.
Trimana enters next, walking on her hindmost legs and holding her head high. On her upper left arm, she wears two armbands like the ones I’ve seen on Southland police, but more similar to Levinti rings—they glow with a pattern of phosphorescent red and gold colors. Checkers flashes a note on my arm: Trimana’s armbands are ceremonial garb indicating she has attained two of the Scholocracy’s degrees in colonial governance. She lifts her snout in polite greeting to me, then takes her seat at the head of the Southern delegation.
The Levinti enter last. Kantroponar glides into the chamber, her enormous body dwarfing everything else in the room. She hovers close to the ground as she makes a round of cordial greetings. Thankfully, the entrance sequence was easy to negotiate: as hosts, the Etoscans have the honor of entering first, while the Levinti have the honor of entering last—the most valued placement in their respective cultures.
Close behind Kantroponar comes Guiyomar, her mentee, followed by four more Levinti—each a pair, a large adult Levinti followed by a smaller kiromakee. The Levinti group glides across the room toward the Southern Hoshans. Their long tendrils dangle just above the Hoshans, and the massive forms of six jellies floating above them makes the vast chamber seem less empty, like a giant tank suddenly populated by a herd of whales.
With all four parties in the room, I feel a pang of guilt that the Outlanders aren’t represented. But even Ferus said that was impossible—and even the thought of them could be dangerous, so I push it away from my mind.
The entry procession now complete, Charism takes his seat with the Northlanders, and the Etoscans walk up the long ridge that winds its way along the far wall. They come to the top, joining several other Etoscans in an alcove just below the ceiling.
This had been a trifling, but thorny point of contention, something tío Umberto worked out just before he died. The Levinti had insisted on a space large enough to allow them to float freely in the air, but the Etoscans found the idea of the Levinti floating above them an offensive assertion of Levinti superiority. The Levinti had then suggested the Etoscans make use of antigravity to float as well, which the Etoscans scoffed at—since that would make them half-deaf, the mechano-receptors of their toes out of touch with the ground. Umberto organized the compromise that the Etoscans could stand on solid ground in an alcove close to the ceiling, so that the Levinti could never rise above them.
From the alcove, the two Etoscan ambassadors look out over the chamber, like royalty on a castle balcony. Speaker lifts her reddish-brown trunk and lets out a mighty trumpet. “Welcome, honored guests,” comes the translation, “to this hallowed site of Tumasra. Let us begin with a ritual of welcome, to name the echoes of history that dwell here still.
“Let us honor the first caretakers of Tumasra, the Hoshan priests whose names be lost to history, who protected this sacred site with their wise minds, who welcomed the brave Hoshans who made the pilgrimage here to bathe their minds in Tumasra’s fires. We honor all those ancient Hoshan pilgrims who made that long journey, at a time when they had no power cells, traveling only on the back of a charo-beast or their own six legs.”
Dozens of Levinti tendrils twitch in irritation. This was why the Etoscans wanted to host the talks here. They wanted to open with the sacredness of Tumasra not as a matter for discussion, but a presupposition.
Speaker goes on, “Let us honor Sage, that great Etoscan prophet. Millennia ago, Sage shocked the Etoscan worlds, when late in life he—the wisest of priests—experienced a spiritual crisis. He was overcome with profound loneliness, with the certainty that it was impossible for one being to ever truly know another. We are all of us, he said, trapped in the tyranny of our own subjectivities. He abandoned his home and loved ones, setting off for the stars in a small vessel for one. The emptiness between the stars mirrored the emptiness in his soul, and in this he saw the quiet whisper of Synchronus. He hibernated, seeking solace in prayer.
“Years passed before Sage awoke, his vessel plummeting toward an unknown planet. He crashed less than a mile from here, where he was met by Hoshan priests, who offered him shelter. When he realized that these creatures could look within his very mind, he knew that Synchronus had answered his prayers. He gazed for the first time upon Tumasra, and as he bathed in its fires, surrounded by loving Hoshans who could see his soul, he realized he had never been alone. So began the great tradition of Hoshans and Etoscans praying together at Tumasra. Just as those ancient Hoshans welcomed Sage, so I welcome all of you to Tumasra, that we may pray and learn together.”
Speaker lets her trunk rest upon the ground, and the vast chamber is silent. Kantroponar inflates to slightly greater size, rising a few meters higher. A stream of colors dances across her skin, followed by the translation: “Thank you, Ambassador Speaker, for welcoming us warmly, and for sharing your quaint story.” A note appears on my arm: The Levinti word for “story” also means “folk legend,” often used in reference to a myth held among primitive people as the explanation for a natural phenomenon not yet understood by local science. I’m sure the Etoscans won’t love that. “We can all learn from the spirit of openness embodied by the character of Sage and the Hoshan natives. May we all be equally open in the sharing in the study of Tumasra, which offers much knowledge to all those who pursue the scholarly method.”
Speaker touches her trunk to the ground and lets out a rumble so strong I feel the tremors in my feet—even without mechanoreceptors. I can easily see this exchange of passive-aggressive insults escalating into an irreconcilable argument before the negotiations even start.
Pash-Ti has told me dozens of times that I have no real power—that my only authority comes from the agenda that all the parties have agreed to. I stand up. My hands are trembling, so I clasp them behind my back. “Honorable Speaker and Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar, thank you both for your wise words and for the spirit of openness you bring to these negotiations. With our welcome ritual complete, I’d like to begin our agenda as planned—turning to the many matters of substance we must cover today.” I hope that last bit will discourage them from arguing over symbolism, reminding them to save their arguments for bigger concerns.
Speaker slowly rolls her trunk away from the floor, and Kantroponar deflates slightly and sinks a few feet. I figure that’s as close as I’ll get to agreement. I take a deep breath. My opening script is super verbose, but I’ve rehearsed it so much I have it memorized. “Whereas Article 17 of the Third Treaty of Centron will expire on Galactic Standard Date 43A4.25, and whereas the Etoscan Fellowship and Levinti Scholocracy seek continued peaceful shared stewardship of Hosh in accordance with the principles of the Interstellar Declaration of the Rights of Primitive Worlds, and whereas I as ambassador of the planet Terra am designated mediator of these talks, I call this meeting to order. The first agenda item is the Misreni borderlands, and Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar of the Levinti Scholocracy has five standard minutes to speak.”
I sit down, my body still tense. If everything goes well, that might be the hardest thing I have to do. As Kantroponar inflates herself and speaks, a message lights up across my arm. Good save, Val-Val! –Tim-Tim. I smile. From just behind me, Timoteo is using super-advanced alien tech to text me. I bring up my holoscreen keyboard and write back, Thx.
The Misreni discussion goes on for hours. Every 80 minutes we take a scheduled break to rest, confer with colleagues, and attend to the various bodily needs of various species. Timoteo and Johnny give me encouraging advice in whispers and texts, and even Pash-Ti is helpful, keeping track of the allotted times to the second. Everything is going well.
Still, two things bother me. First, the Etoscans and the Levinti are talking three times as much as their Hoshan counterparts, whose fates they’re deciding. But it’s always been clear the Etoscans and Levinti are the ones making the real decisions. Even this imperfect process is better than the violent alternative.
My second worry that there’s another meeting—a sort of shadow meeting of unspoken thoughts. Just behind Speaker and Listener stand three Hoshans in Etoscan headwear. Another group of Hoshans wearing armbands stand just beneath the Levinti, literally in their shadows, continuously typing into small handheld devices, transmitting messages to their Levinti bosses. The delegations of both Northern and Southern Hosh exchange meaningful glances throughout the talks, undoubtedly in constant telepathic communication. Of everyone in the room, my small team is the only group excluded from the thoughts being shared in parallel to the words spoken aloud.
After more than five hours, we wrap up the borderlands discussion, with all sides agreeing to a division of territory that basically maintains the status quo. After a brief break, I reconvene the group for discussion of a more difficult issue: Tumasra. I stand again, relieved that my hands finally seem capable of not trembling uncontrollably, and give the floor to Speaker.
Speaker approaches the edge of the alcove above us and lifts her trunk to speak. “Since Sage first came to this land, guided by the hand of Synchronus, Tumasra has been a sacred site not only for the people of Hosh but also for Etoscans across the Galaxy. It must remain inviolable. A temple cannot be made a laboratory.
“But Synchronus teaches us the importance of fluidity. So we offer the Levinti the opportunity to study the physical aspects of Tumasra through limited and monitored visitations. Visitations may take place only during the daytime, when fewer of our nocturnal Hoshan brothers come to Tumasra to pray. They must be limited to a duration of one nine-day-period per cycle, and the Levinti may leave no permanent equipment of any kind in place at Tumasra. Only representatives of the Levinti’s Meteorological and Geological Academies will be permitted visitation, and no Levinti with any affiliation to the Academy of Military Studies will be admitted. Finally, all Levinti visits must be observed by surveillance bots.”
That’s about what we expected as an opening offer from the Etoscans. Now the Levinti will push for more—the question is how much more.
“Thank you, Ambassador Speaker,” I say. “Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar, you now have seven minutes to respond.”
Kantroponar inflates and rises several feet higher, gesticulating with her enormous tendrils, decorated by dozens of rings. “Your offer is appreciated, Ambassador Speaker, as is the religious meaning that both you and the primitive North Hoshans ascribe to the Tumasra phenomenon. We have no military interest in Tumasra. We seek only knowledge, the ultimate goal of the Scholocracy in all things. The Tumasra phenomenon is unique in the Galaxy, and yet remains poorly understood, because you allow no others access to it, and you yourselves have devoted more resources to worshiping the phenomenon than studying it. For this reason, we continue to demand a permanent scientific base at Tumasra.”
Kantroponar inflates to a greater size and rises higher, so that she’s near the ceiling of the cavern, her many large eyes at the same level as the Etoscans standing in the alcove. “However, in the spirit of mutual compromise, we are open to a visitation model on three conditions. One: the period of visitation must be at least ten nine-day periods per cycle. Two: scholars from the Academy of Neurology must also be permitted entry.” That means the study of Tumasra’s effect on telepathy, which the Etoscans will probably see as military. This is not going to be easy. “Third, in accordance with the basic rights of all sentients, we ask that the children of Hoshans who have served in the interstellar Legions for both the Scholocracy and the Etoscan Fellowship be permitted homecoming to Hosh.”
The chamber erupts in a cacophony of languages in the wake of this unexpected announcement. The South Hoshan delegation exchanges hurried glances, gesticulating wildly to one another. The Northern Hoshans let out a torrent of clicks. Charism and Trimana gaze at each other from across the room, as if an offer is being made and considered. In the alcove above, the Etoscans huddle, their Hoshan agents whispering in their ears. Only the Levinti hover in unperturbed silence above the clamor.
I twist around in my chair to face my team. “What’s going on? I thought the Levinti were completely against homecoming. Isn’t it as bad for them as for the Etoscans?”
“Most unexpected,” Pash-Ti says. “The Levinti may believe homecoming would be even more harmful to the Etoscans, since they’ve shared less technology with the Northern Hoshans, a policy which would be threatened by the return of Hoshans with interstellar experience.”
“Or maybe,” Timoteo says, “the Levinti just want to look like the benevolent one?”
Pash-Ti’s eyestalks extend up and to the right, which means they’re looking at the clock on their eye-screen. “More than a minute has passed, Madame Ambassador. You must call the meeting back to order and move discussion forward.”
It’s not just my hands shaking now, it’s my legs too. I have no idea how to get this back on track. But I stand and try to hold my body steady. “Order!” I say, projecting my voice theater-style. “Order!” The room quiets. “Thank you, Madame Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar,” I say more quietly. “Ambassador Speaker now has the right of response.”
A Hoshan agent is still standing at Speaker’s side, murmuring to her as her red trunk twitches in agitation. Before Speaker can speak, Trimana leaps up and stands on her two hindmost legs, stretching her body to maximum height. She signs with her claws, “I must speak on this proposal with great urgency.”
According to the complex rules of the talks, the Levinti and the Etoscan delegates are each permitted to speak out of turn on three occasions, but the two Hoshan delegates are never allowed to. Trimana looks at me from across the room. My proper role is to stop anyone from speaking out of turn—but doing that now would mean silencing someone with less power in favor of those with more, and there’s no way I’m doing that.
Trimana quickly resumes her gesticulations. “On behalf of Southern Hosh, I applaud the bold proposal on the part of Doctor Ambassador Kantroponar calling for homecoming for the children of Hoshan Legionnaires. We recognize homecoming as an essential right of all Hoshans. I call for all parties to embrace this proposal immediately.”
