Blasphemy (part 7)
"Maggie, we're on approach for their spaceport." I was down in my wardrobe storage closet, looking for something appropriate to wear. Usually I know I'm heading into a First Contact situation, and someone has done the research into what's tasteful and not insulting to wear.
"What have you learned from their broadcasts, so that I'm not added to their list of heretics?"
"Conservative, based on their vids. While I don't detect any specific body or dress prohibitions, there is little nudity or genital exposure in their programming. Their clothing tends to cover their torsos, but in a practical manner." Vortex flashed several examples on the vidscreen on the wall.
"Good. Sounds like a standard dress uniform jumpsuit might work, then. What about colors?"
"Reds are clerical colors, so you'll want to avoid that. Greens and browns are prevalent in the wardrobes of everyone else. Jewelry and decorative objects are common. I detect no noticeable overt sexuality or mating symbolism."
I slipped into my favorite green jumpsuit, with insignia patches from half a dozen official Coterie First Contact missions. Having survived them, I hoped they would bring luck. Even the least superstitious Contact teams would not deny luck as a factor in a successful encounter.
"What do you think?" I asked, as I spun around, feeling a little giddy and nervous about the upcoming contact. I didn't need to spin; Vortex has enough sensors and video pickups to see me from several different angles in most parts of the ship.
"That should be fine."
Unzipping several of the pockets in the jumpsuit, visible and hidden, I moved over to my stash of Contact gadgets. There was a standard checklist of devices, everything from the biochem monitors to determine if the food was edible and nontoxic, to a standard medikit, in case you missed something, to the electromagnetic lockpicks, for situations that weren't quite so hospitable.
"What else can you tell me?"
"Their air traffic system is on par with any Coterie planet, even though they do not appear to have any starships. The Arm of Joos-tow appears to be their most advanced ship."
I picked up a vid transceiver and clipped it to my ear, powering it on.
"Are you picking this up?" I didn't want to go anywhere without a lifeline to Vortex. I slipped a spare into an inner pocket, lined with material that might prevent someone noticing it.
"Yes, I am. There shouldn't be any interference, as they do not use that frequency range."
"Why not?" Most broadcasting civilizations made use of most of the electromagnetic spectrum for communications. I tucked a portable signal analyzer into a hip pocket.
"Unclear, although it may be their efficiency in using other parts of the spectrum. I have catalogued three transmission technologies unknown in the Coterie. I have also catalogued thirty four other technological developments that seem to be unique to this world."
"Really?" While different worlds invent things at different rates, and there are always variations, it's unusual to find a pre-Contact civilization with so many unknown gadgets. If we could get the hyperdrive fixed, this could turn into an unexpectedly profitable run. "Then you'd better prepare the usual trade agreement treaties."
"Maggie, five minutes to touchdown. There is a delegation waiting for you." Vortex switched the screen to show a large crowd of men and women cloaked in all shades of red.
"Wonderful," I said, filling my voice with sarcasm. You always expect to see some kind of delegation come out to you when you make a First Contact. You just hope they're not the paranoid kind, hauling out their best armaments. Usually, it's the local brass. This looked like practically every religious leader on that part of the planet. "Do you detect any weaponry?"
"A few hand-held energy pulsers, maintained by the guards. I detect nothing in the rest of the delegation." I took a small stunner of my own and split it into its two halves, hiding each half in inner pockets up my sleeves. I would not be detectably armed, but would be prepared.
"They won't need it, yet." Theological types are the kind of thing First Contact specialists just hate. You never know what kind of taboos a belief-system will have, and, well some of them just don't make a whole lot of sense. Cross some unknown rule and then the zealotry appears. Even in some "civilized" places, that can lead to torture and death.
I closed everything up and headed towards the bridge. It's always a good idea to let the natives see a pilot. That way, if they underestimate Vortex, it leaves me an advantage.
As I settled down into my pilot's chair for the touchdown, I let Vortex take us in. Besides the usual piloting displays, which showed the ship right on the defined approach, Vortex also had the latest compilation of what she'd learned about their civilization.
"It doesn't make sense," I said, scrolling through the list.
"What doesn't?"
"Look at their tech. We should've heard from these people. They have everything they need for a hyperspatial drive. It ought to be obvious to them."
There was a gentle bump, and then the engines powered down.
"Well, Maggie, now you can ask them in person."
I could see them waiting outside the viewport, a semicircle of dignitaries, their carmine robes gently fluttering from Vortex's touchdown. I nodded to them as I got out of my chair, knowing that they could probably see me as well as I could see them. Vortex had identified half a dozen spotters and lookouts, in addition to the burly bodyguards nonchalantly failing to look undistinguished amidst the welcoming committee.
The walk to the airlock always seems shorter when there's a First Contact. Vortex extended the ramp for me. I stepped out of the airlock door to face about two hundred locals. The air was clear and fresh, with the usual hints of mechanical scents found at any spaceport. There was only the slightest breeze, which took the edge off the intensely bright yellow sunshine.
I stood straight, making eye contact with the apparent leaders, holding up my arms, palms outward. It's the standard First Contact Position of Greeting for civilized humanoid species. I held the position as I walked down the ramp, praying that I wouldn't stumble. I kept my eyes on the dignitaries instead of the ramp, holding any speech until I was sure I was on the tarmac, standing at the same level as those I was greeting. Initial impressions are so important - and you don't want to start out a Contact by talking down at someone. I don't know what I'd do if I came across a species only a meter tall.
"I am Maggie Gale. I am honored to be here with you, and am thankful for your hospitality." Vortex whispered the words to me in the Laasko language syllable by syllable, so that I could greet them in their own tongue. The language was standard First Contact protocol - you ask for hospitality right from the start. Sometimes you get it.
The crowd nodded, almost in unison. It was a bit eerie.
A tall, lithe woman, cloaked in swirling, silky reds, stepped forward. Her black ringlets of hair danced around her face. Her smile was warm and disarming.
"I am Zuu Jenn, High Priestess of Joos-tow. You are welcome, Stranger in our Midst." My handheld translator added the capitals on its display, because they were tangible in her voice. She was clearly the leader.
"Where did you come from?" She was straight to the point, too.
It was the first potential trap. When you're dealing with pre-Contact theocracies, or religious societies of even moderate technology, there's usually a conservative mindset at work. Typically, it can be summed up as 'the Universe centers around us, the unique creatures of God' kind of ideology. The race believes that the Universe is there for them, and they're the only ones in the whole place. Being called 'Stranger in our Midst', and not being introduced to any of the others wasn't helping, making me a little paranoid. This might be a very short Contact.
So, it was time to step into the trap.
"I am not of your world." I waited for the cries of 'heretic' to come. It has happened before, too many times, with grisly videos of some incidents shown as training films to beginning xenolinguistic and xenoanthropology classes.
"This much is obvious," the Priestess said plainly. "Where do you come from?" Vortex, watching with all her sensors, whispered in my ear that the delegation's reactions were curious and not hostile. Yet. It was time to take the next dangerous step, one that might challenge their entire theology. First Contact is a dangerous business, but many of the really fatal mistakes come from trying to shade the truth.
"I am from a world that circles a star about eight thousand light-years from here, a world that is part of an aggregation of intelligent beings known as the Coterie. I am one of the thousands of species, one of trillions of people." The crowd remained attentive but quiet. "We are friendly and open..."
"This is not unexpected," the Priestess interrupted. "The Universe is large, and life is to be expected, as Joos-tow has written. Intelligence and community follows as a matter of course, as Joos-tow has also written." That was surprisingly enlightened, despite the references to Joos-tow. Perhaps I'd avoided the first of the traps. "The question remains," she continued. "Where did you come from?"
"I do not understand the specifics of your question." When in doubt, ask politely for a clarification. It's all too easy to come off as superior when you're riding in with advanced tech and seemingly backed by the strength of the Coterie. It's better to look a little dense.
"You appear, out of nowhere, as if popping into existence, with a sleek spaceship and great claims. Where exactly did you come from? Where were you before you were in our field of view? It is a simple question."
"Ahh, I see. That will take some time to answer, but I will be happy to do so. This is not the easiest place for such a discussion, on a ramp at the airfield. The discussion will involve some mathematics and physics, which is best described in a place where I can draw pictures in a way that everyone can see."
"Then come, and we shall go to a more comfortable place. I look forward to your explanation." They all nodded simultaneously again, then turned to walk towards one of the entrances. The Priestess swept her palm in the direction of the building, inviting me along. Behind me, Vortex slowly and quietly pulled up her ramp and closed her hatch.
Transportation terminals across the galaxy are recognizable almost anywhere you go. Sure, there are some exceptions, like anything built by the Klorn, but, for the most part, you will always find soaring tall ceilings, densely packed fast food stalls, banks of data displays showing delayed departures, and people patiently waiting for their trip as bored children run about the gate areas. No one paid us very much attention, as if the entire local theological contingent routinely ushered an offworlder through the halls on a regular basis.
There was an auditorium waiting for us, another nearly universal architectural constant. As the High Priestess led me down to the stage, the others filed row by row into the rising tiers of seats. There was no jostling for position, no rushing for a better view, and no empty seats left in each row. Perhaps they were used to this; it reminded me of military parade drills in its efficiency.
There was a small silver stylus on the highly polished black wooden lectern. The High Priestess picked it up deftly and turned to the back of the stage. The wall behind the stage glowed gently, and writing began to appear as the Priestess gestured with the wand.
"Will this be satisfactory for your explanation?" She showed me how to write, how to erase, and how to summon up a mathematical library of diagrams I might need. The wand also acted as a microphone. I knew several Coterie universities that would love to have this kind of equipment.
"Now," the Priestess said, handing me the stylus. "Where do you come from?" She sat down in a chair on the stage, waiting for me. Her face was soft, her eyes interested and alive - not at all like you'd expect from someone trying to determine just how blasphemous you were.
"Of course." The obvious thing was to give them a little lesson in hyperspatial physics. That's standard First Contact protocol for an advanced civilization like the Laasko. A few of the standard equations and my sudden appearance is explained. In fact, I figured those who knew the math would take one look at the formulae, nod their heads in understanding, talk about their versions of the mathematics, and that would be it. After all, most of the races of the Coterie had hyperspatial physics figured out tens of yearcycles before they actually built a ship that could use it. So, I started slowly, with Einstein space-time and the equations for relativity. From there, I went into Hawking and wormholes, and Donross's Multidimensional Equivalence.
I talked for fifteen minutes, using lecture notes that Vortex was feeding me straight from the First Contact Handbook. The diagrams I needed were already in the Laasko library, appearing almost before I finished scribbling the related equations. There were no questions. They all seemed to understand, even the High Priestess. I was impressed.
To reach hyperspace, ship engines generate an energy field of specific shape, size, and frequency. The ships wrap themselves with a vibration that slips it into another dimension. This is described by Carpenter's Manifold Symmetry, a beautiful equation, simple and elegant, a handful of symbols that open the Universe to the Coterie, to Vortex, to commerce and adventure.
"Stop," interrupted the High Priestess. The screen went gray, Carpenter's equation vanishing before I could complete it. She turned to the audience. "This presentation is over." I was stunned.
They all rose, again in eerie unison, and turned to leave. Only the first three stayed behind.
"Why?" I wasn't sure what theological trap I had fallen into. I'd been lulled into a false sense of security by their complete comprehension right up to Carpenter's physics. While her work had been as great a breakthrough as Einstein's relativity, it was, in retrospect, just as obvious in hindsight. And, while I used Carpenter's formulations, on Dan Hee, it had been Mytanya, on Keli, it had been Feel. Across the trillions of the Coterie, there had been thousands of minds as brilliant and insightful as Einstein and Carpenter. It was clear that the Laasko were also at that point.
My question was answered, in part, by two new women, clad in close-fitting red bodysuits, who entered the room. They were large, clearly very strong, dressed for easy and fast movement, and carrying powerful energy weapons probably capable of razing the entire terminal building. They moved to either side of me, menacingly efficient, while the High Priestess talked quietly with her three closest aides.
I looked at the nearest of the two women. She clearly massed seventy kilograms of solid, tensed muscle, from the tensed toes she balanced on to her cropped tensed black hair. I smiled at her. She didn't move. The other woman was slightly larger, only because she was taller. At nearly two meters tall, she towered over me, with a gaze that seemed to be trying to burn into my skull to root out my probable heresy. I pointed to where I'd set my translator unit on the lectern, where it could project my explanation in the Laasko language. The translator was stylish and elegant, covered with gentle curves and dimples, with no holes or radiative surfaces that might be misconstrued as weaponry.
"I will need that back, if you don't mind." I used the First Contact Vocal Tone of Harmless Intentions, as best I could. There are experts in linguistic inflections, of nuanced pitch in their voice. I'm not one of them; I'd almost failed the training course I'd taken, and that was yearcycles ago.
"I'm going to move very slowly to the lectern and pick it up." I watched for understanding, for a sign of agreement. They were so disciplined in their duties that I had to check to be sure they were still breathing.
They were. As I slowly stretched for the handheld, both guards slowly moved their hands to the stocks of their energy weapons. It was a subtle movement, barely noticeable in its graceful economy, yet ever so blatant in its practiced threat.
I picked up the translator with exaggerated slowness, lifting the calming cerulean blue plastic device carefully, attempting to make sure that none of the larger surfaces seemed aimed at anyone. I let the handheld slide into my palm as I rotated it with my fingers,turning it face up, making sure that they could see every movement. It almost slipped out of my grasp in the process.
It might have looked clumsy, but it was a practiced clumsiness, designed to appear harmless, as it was. It was also designed to touch three carefully separated regions of the case.
"Maggie," Vortex whispered in my ear, "I acknowledge the signal invoking Distress Potential Protocol Three. I have already gone to Protocol Two based on the interruption of the lecture." I shifted the handheld in my palm again, my fingers sliding along two shaded dimples on the left edge of the casing in another practiced motion. "Confirmation acknowledged," Vortex replied. She would have gone to Protocol Three even if I hadn't confirmed, based on the signal. By using the secret touch points, she knew that I probably wasn't under some kind of hidden compulsion, which meant that she wouldn't increase the Distress Potential further. For now, Vortex would start incrementally powering up a few of her surprises quietly, just in case we needed them to be ready.
The High Priestess looked up from her huddled discussion, with something that might have been doubt shadowing her face.
"You present us with some difficulty." She struggled with the words. "I do not know how precisely your device registers the subtleties of meaning inherent in our language. It is a language of poetry and idiom amassed over a long history. In the past, I have been..." She paused, her brows knitted slightly as she started to use one word, then changed her mind to use another. "...advised that I do not always have the requisite tact for negotiations."
That was worrisome. She was telling me she was blunt and less than diplomatic, even as she carefully couched her words to be polite.
"I must insist that you show the four of us the mechanisms you claim to have brought you here. We must examine them in person."
"And these two?" I pointed to the guards.
"They will follow to insure my protection, as they have promised their lives in that service."
"My engine room contains a great deal of high-energy equipment, which could be destabilized if one of their weapons discharges in that space. The results could be disastrous." That was if they were lucky or clever. I didn't want to give them the chance at either.
"Then we must not give them a reason to discharge their weapons." She didn't have to search for those words. The two guards smiled slightly, in unison of course, as the High Priestess urged me towards the door. I slipped the translator into my thigh pocket, keying in Distress Potential Protocol Six as I did. I didn't trust those smiles at all.