by S. H. Jucha
“Are you offering an alternative?” Quizra inquired.
“We would be pleased to transport you, Commander,” Figaro replied.
“You don’t want to miss this opportunity,” Zoza said. “Their shuttles have to be experienced to understand the technology that the Omnians possess.”
Figaro noticed that for the first time the commander’s thin lips turned upward.
“I accept,” Quizra said to Figaro.
Then, facing his friend, Quizra clasped his palms together and touched them to his forehead. “Safe journey,” he said. Then he walked to the traveler’s steps and carefully folded his willowy three-meter frame to navigate the hatch opening.
21: Envoys
Commander Quizra bent his head and shoulders to slip through the outer doorway to enter the envoys’ hall. He walked carefully. Toral’s gravity was twelve percent higher than his home word, and his slender frame struggled against the added pull.
The envoys’ hall was in chaos. Member clusters had lost all sense of decorum. They were yelling at one another, shouting to be heard over the din.
The sisters employed their full capabilities to keep the members aware of what was being said.
Quizra stood still and quietly watched the melee. He’d envisioned joining a group of the races’ senior members and intelligently discussing their demands of the Talusians. Instead, he was disgusted by the wasted energy and opportunity to cooperate.
Out of the corner of Quizra’s eye, he caught sight of a figure, who watched him. When he returned the individual’s stare, he was approached.
“Commander Quizra, I’m Miriamette, an advisor to President Sargut.”
“A SADE?” inquired Quizra, when he heard his tongue spoken.
“We’re a unique type of SADE, called the Sisterhood or sisters,” Miriamette replied. “Except for a single human, only sisters exist with the Toralians.”
“How long has this stupidity existed?” Quizra asked, pointing a long digit at the shouting groups.
“Only recently,” Miriamette replied. “After the events with the Syslerian battleship, many envoys vowed to work amicably, but a vocal minority has resisted, and that’s led to this.”
“What’s your role?” Quizra asked.
“I’m an observer for the president,” Miriamette replied. “Every other sister who is here is busy translating for an envoy cluster. The members of a cluster can converse in one another’s languages.”
Quizra was a senior commander. He’d lived a long life and would soon retire. It was likely that this assignment to Toral would have been his final task. Throughout his career, he frequently dealt with young officers and insubordinate crews. In time, he’d managed to improve the lot of them. Unfortunately, time was against him to help the envoys.
Nodding to Miriamette, Quizra walked to the nearest group. He laid a hand on the shoulder of an envoy. Owlish eyes blinked at him, and the commander quietly indicated the seat nearest the envoy.
The envoy regarded the Podarla commander uniform and acquiesced. He tapped another member of his cluster and indicated the commander.
Slowly, Quizra managed to seat one cluster. Then he moved to another. He never said a word. He merely tapped shoulders and pointed at seats.
With Quizra less than a quarter of the way through the hall, the noisy envoys grew quiet as they watched others sit and follow the commander with their eyes.
Finally, the entire hall of envoys was silent, and Quizra walked to the front. His eyes roamed over the hall, and he picked out the troublemakers. To him, their postures easily identified them.
“Commander Zoza sailed his wedge toward Toral,” Quizra began. “He didn’t heed Admiral Thompson’s warning to retreat, and he paid a heavy price. He lost five hundred eighty-five crew members and a lead ship. The Omnians have a weapon that we haven’t encountered before now. They don’t need to attack our battleships with their fleet of tri-hulls. They need only launch one small missile, and our vessels are rendered useless metal. What do you think will happen if you fail to meet the admiral’s deadline?”
Most of the envoys were silent, having recognized a rhetorical question. Three clusters stood and took the opportunity to make their opinions known at the top of their voices, and Quizra marked the groups.
The commander waited out the noise. When the envoys failed to get a rise out of him, they sat down.
“Here’s how we’ll proceed,” Quizra said. “I’ll lead the discussion. I may have suggestions of my own, but I’ll be speaking only for Syslerians and Podarlas. An envoy will speak only when recognized.”
Again the three clusters shouted their dissension.
When Quizra had quiet, he beckoned to Miriamette, who came to his side. After a brief exchange, he waited, while Miriamette carried out his request.
When Miriamette nodded, Quizra addressed the hall. He said, “Admiral Thompson has been consulted, and she’s accepted my suggestion. It’s this. There will be order during our discussions, or we’ll relocate to new quarters, leaving behind those who demonstrated an unwillingness to cooperate.”
The Kirmler envoy regarded the members of his cluster, expecting them to stand, as he did, and object, but they were rooted in their nanites-laden chairs. The other two clusters, who had been the other dissenters, were looking anywhere else but at him.
Quizra kept his eyes on the Kirmler envoy, who he’d identified as the dissidents’ ringleader. When the Kirmler sat down, Quizra noted the fire in the envoy’s eyes. Yes, you aren’t done yet, are you? he thought of the envoy.
Miriamette had remained at Quizra’s side, and she was ready to hear the request he quietly made to her.
While Miriamette organized a holo-vid, the Kirmler stood. When the commander pointed at him, he asked, “By what authority do you propose to lead these discussions?”
Unexpectedly, the commander laughed. It was a soft breathy sound, indicating his lighter lung power.
“The only authority I have here is whatever this body grants me, Envoy,” Quizra replied. “We can cooperate and reach agreement before the deadline, or we can argue and squander our opportunity to negotiate. At which point, we can board our battleships and sail home empty-handed.”
“What makes you think that we’ve no other option if we miss the admiral’s deadline?” the Kirmler asked.
Quizra scratched the horned scales above an eye, as if he was confused. “Kirmler, what part of the destruction of a lead battleship for disobeying the admiral’s directive did you miss?” he asked patiently.
Much of the hall erupted in laughter. Many envoys had argued the same thing, but the quiet manner in which the commander asked the question undermined the Kirmler’s arrogant stance.
The leathery decorative skin flanges alongside the Kirmler’s neck flared in anger, and he bared his twin slender fangs. It signaled his indignant reaction to the implied insult. Whatever the Kirmler’s intent in his display, it didn’t faze the commander.
If the Kirmler had known of the many battles that the commander had survived, he might have been more circumspect in his objections. He was a career diplomat, who’d never faced a hostile situation unless it was across the negotiating table. No one had ever launched missiles at his ship in an attempt to kill him.
When the holo-vid lit beside Quizra, he said, “We will track the many suggestions of requests to be made to the Talusians on this display in whatever language the sisters choose. They will provide the translations for you. When we’ve exhausted the ideas, we’ll vote by allowing each envoy to select half the suggestions. Then we’ll repeat the exercise until we’ve only twenty. Finally, you’ll award points to your preferences, which will indicate your priorities.”
An envoy of the Kirmler group stood. After recognition, she asked, “Why only twenty? There are many more needs than that.”
“Across the arbitration table from us will sit President Sargut and his individuals,” Quizra said. “How generous do you expect them to be? If you thought your
battleships would intimidate the president into granting your every wish that was viable only until the Omnians arrived. Now, your power is neutralized. You must consider getting what you can from the Talusians, not what you want.”
Quizra’s logic brought into sharp focus the thoughts of many, and hostile glances were directed at the three clusters of envoys who had resisted compromise.
“Let’s begin,” Quizra said in his soft voice.
Despite the simplicity of the scheme, progress was made slowly.
The first suggestions were easily obtained. However, support for them was conditional until the envoys had an opportunity to see how the requests were crafted.
To Quizra, many of the statements were clear, but the envoys believed the original wordings didn’t capture the nuances that they wished to see. It was a matter of the different languages.
With four days to the deadline, Quizra switched to defining objectives or receivables rather than negotiating points. Thereafter, the process moved much faster.
Two cycles later, Quizra had the final twenty items and their rankings. Not everybody was pleased, but most felt that some of their demands were found in the final list.
With two days to go, Quizra entered the hall, rested and ready. After each session with the envoys, he’d retire and then sleep aboard a traveler. The sister would adjust the power of the grav plating until it imitated Quizra’s home world. It granted him a degree of relief that he heartily welcomed.
“Now, we select the representatives,” Quizra said to his audience. “You might be thinking that all envoys are eligible for the eight positions. This isn’t true.”
The envoys had become accustomed to Quizra’s light voice, and despite receiving translations, they wanted to keep their cluster discussions quiet so they could hear him. However, at this moment, that was forgotten.
“Why isn’t every one of us eligible for consideration?” a Ghorget asked, after being recognized.
Miriamette, who stood beside Quizra, tilted her head to hear Quizra’s whisper. She consulted her data files for the answer and relayed it to him.
“Envoy, I’ve been informed by Miriamette that none of the final twenty objectives received your votes,” Quizra said. “How can you successfully negotiate for considerations that you don’t support?”
The Ghorget’s mane of hair bristled. He thought to argue, but the sister was correct. His preferred receivables hadn’t made the final list. However, he couldn’t resist undermining the commander’s idea. “How many of us will be considered for the negotiating team?” he asked.
“I’m pleased you asked,” Quizra replied. “The sisters have provided the answer for us.”
The holo-vid display scrolled through the final list. Appended to each objective were the names of the envoys who had supported it.
“You are seeing and hearing the names of those individuals who voted for our list of requests,” Quizra said, as the sisters translated for each cluster. “Those are the envoys who would best represent this body’s desires.”
“But those are more than half the number here,” the Kirmler objected, without recognition.
Quizra knew why the Kirmler envoy had become combative again. His cluster hadn’t managed to have a single request make the final twenty. The reason was that their desires were more akin to forms of revenge, and the majority had rejected their proposals.
“It does seem to be an obstacle to solving the problem,” Quizra said.
The envoys carefully refrained from laughing again, knowing the Kirmler would be insulted. They’d come to appreciate the commander’s understated leadership.
“Once again, the sisters have an answer for us with their extraordinary data capabilities,” Quizra said.
The holo-vid changed to display a list of eight envoy names.
“What you’re hearing from the sisters are the names of the eight envoys who voted for most of the final list,” Quizra said. “They’re ranked from most to least. I propose that these individuals would best represent the desires of the group.”
The solution was so simple that the envoys sat in stunned silence.
Then two clusters, totaling nine envoys and led by the Kirmler, stood and walked out of the hall.
Miriamette carefully noted who was leaving.
“I disagree with your selection,” the Foothreen said, after rising and waiting for Quizra to indicate her.
Quizra was slow to recognize the Foothreen. First, he hadn’t noticed the envoy had risen. She wasn’t more than a meter high, and she resembled a dirty ball of ice, a round body covered in various tones of gray hair. Second, the Foothreen was the eighth member on the list, and he couldn’t imagine her objection to being party to the negotiations.
“How would you improve the selection?” Quizra asked.
Instead of responding, the Foothreen stepped into the aisle. Then several short appendages stuck out from the furred body, which the envoy used for propulsion and rolled to the front of the hall. She stopped beside Quizra on the side opposite of Miriamette.
The triplet was a study in contrast — heights, shapes, and coverings couldn’t have been more unique and more contrasting.
“I’m honored to be selected as one of the eight envoys to represent our races in negotiations with the Talusians for the devastation caused by Artifice,” the Foothreen said. “I would have this audience note that we were at odds with one another before Commander Quizra appeared in this hall. We made great strides under his counsel. He rarely offered his opinions, and although he represents the Podarla and Syslerian races, he didn’t take part in the voting. It seems to me that we would be foolish to forego his talents at the negotiating table. Therefore, I respectfully request the envoys allow Commander Quizra to be the substitute for my position.”
During the past days, Miriamette had carefully observed Quizra. She knew that the slight rise of horned scales on his forehead was an indication of anxiety. Now, they rose more than usual.
“The price of success, Commander,” Miriamette whispered. “I understand your feelings, and you have my sympathies.”
Quizra regarded Miriamette. He hadn’t considered the possibility that an AI, in this case a sister, might feel compelled to accept conditions that she wouldn’t have otherwise chosen for herself.
To Quizra’s chagrin, the vast majority of the envoys enthusiastically accepted the Foothreen’s offer. He had to admit, the opportunity he needed had presented itself. He owed it to his council and to Zoza’s to represent their races at the table.
“Then we have our list of objectives, and we have our eight,” Quizra pronounced.
* * * * *
At Hector’s request, Miriamette shared the recording of the walkout.
Ellie mumbled under her breath.
Ellie sent.
The delay in a response indicated to Ellie and Hector that Miriamette was querying the Sisterhood. That the response was slow in coming told the pair of them that consensus wasn’t forthcoming.
Miriamette chose not to comment to the admiral. To the sisters, predicting the future was an exercise. The manner in which it finally unfolded was a curiosity to compare to the earlier predictions and improve the modeling.
Hector’s opinion was different. He’d suffered under the duress of a biological. Then he was saved by another human, Alex Racine. He understood the emotional pressure that biologicals, especially Omnians, operated under while trying to make the decisions they felt best represented their society’s values. Judgments that cost lives weighed on their consciences and were with them throughout their short lives.
