Assegai

by S J MacDonald

  ‘I think you’d better give them space while they’re working,’ he said.

  ‘Okay.’ Silvie could feel his amused resolve and the relief of the Samartians at that, so agreed with a smile.

  Some damage, however, had already been done, as two days later Jarlner asked to meet with Alex privately.

  ‘I am,’ he confessed, ‘in difficulty… I need your judgement, Captain.’

  ‘However I can help.’ They were meeting in the Samartian quarters, Alex sitting cross legged on a mat while Jarlner held the Samartian formal seated pose, squatting so that his posterior didn’t touch the mat. Bum on mat was as casual to them as feet up would have been to Alex, and Jarlner was evidently keeping this at an official level. Alex, unable to sustain the Samartian squat for more than a few seconds, signified his own formality by keeping his back very straight and his knees in square alignment.

  ‘I find myself,’ Jarlner said, in the calm, measured tones of one who’d thought out carefully just what he wanted to say, ‘no longer able to give the Service the full devotion it requires.’

  Alex was shocked, but didn’t show it.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and waited.

  ‘I have feelings,’ Jarlner said, ‘which are distracting me. I am not, and can not, give of my best. If we were at home I would step out next parade. But we are not at home.’ He glanced around the cabin. ‘If I step out, there is nobody to step in. So do I step out, sir? Or do I continue to work when I know that my performance is inadequate?’

  Alex tried not to respond to that too quickly, or too forcefully, as any reply along the lines of an immediate ‘Are you kidding?’ would have been crashingly insensitive.

  This, he recognised at once, was a culture-clash issue. The Fleet, having invested considerable resources in training their people, was geared towards resolving any problems they might have so as to keep them productively in service. The Fourth itself, indeed, was the ultimate expression of that principle, giving their highest potential personnel a last chance to make good before the Fleet had to let them go.

  On Samart, the culture was the opposite. Very few of their personnel were actually dismissed from service because they were expected to recognise, themselves, when their performance was under par for any reason, and to take themselves out. There was no dishonour in that, no sense of failure – on the contrary, someone who had the integrity to step out of a parade and declare that they could no longer give the Service the dedication it required was considered to be acting in the interests of that Service so were praised and thanked for their decision. Ex-Service people had places of distinction in civilian life, too, remaining available for call back to military duties should emergency call their training back into use. The only disgrace would be to continue when you knew you weren’t up to it, to the detriment of the Service, leading to the ultimate dishonour of being told to leave. And it wasn’t as if there was any shortage of deserving candidates competing to step into the vacated rank, after all. But that was on Samart. Here, as Jarlner recognised, there was nobody else. If he quit, Bennet would be left on her own, having to do the work for both of them.

  Alex could see three possible outcomes, but before he knew which to advise he needed to know more. If Jarlner really wasn’t up to continuing then he would have to be relieved, of course, either to be removed from the ship when they got to Karadon or perhaps moved into a less demanding, civilian-consultant role. Alex was not giving up hope, though, of resolving this so that Jarlner could remain in post.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘can you tell me what the feelings are which are distracting you?’

  Jarlner stiffened a little – that would have been a highly inappropriate, invasive question from a Samartian superior – but he had evidently prepared himself to discuss this if Alex wanted to go into his reasons.

  ‘I… have feelings for Silvie,’ he said. ‘I think about her all the time, at times when I should be concentrating on my work. This morning, I had to ask three times for things to be repeated to me because I had not listened properly. I keep thinking about her, where she is and what she might be doing. I want to be with her. I keep looking at the time and thinking of how long it will be till I see her. I can’t focus on what I am doing. And I can’t see that I can get over it and be able to continue in Service. These feelings are…’ he looked at Alex with a mute appeal in his eyes, ‘overwhelming.’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘You are not,’ he observed, ‘the first person to fall a little in love with Silvie.’ There was, indeed, a trail of people in her wake, left staring with a characteristic look, like stunned sheep. Silvie found it mildly amusing, complimentary, but had no reciprocal interest whatsoever. She was not yet at a phase of her life when she was ready for romantic pairing, and when she was, her partner would be quarian.

  ‘Oh, I would not…’ Jarlner began, hastily demurring, then as Alex looked significantly at him, gave in. ‘I have never felt like this,’ he said. ‘The Service has always been All. And now, I don’t know what it is I feel, only that I want to be with her. I do not want to…’ A blush was rising in his neck, ‘you know… I know she only feels for me as a friend. I wish only to admire, with respect. She is like Alodane…’

  Alodane was one of the ancient goddesses of Samart, the personification of perfect beauty. She was said to walk through the world with a train of forest creatures, birds and even insects following her adoringly, while men hid their eyes so as not to be enchanted. Even now, in these secular times, Samartians coming across a concentration of wildlife around a forest pool or the like might well say that Alodane was passing, whilst the more superstitious might pass a hand in front of their eyes, just in case, in much the same way that people in the League might cross their fingers for luck.

  Alex smiled, mentally adding Jarlner to the tally of people who worshipped Silvie as a goddess.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And you may breathe easily, Jarlner. What you are feeling is not a situation which justifies you stepping out of Service. The feelings you are experiencing are a recognised aspect of exodiplomacy with quarians – the Diplomatic Corps calls it by several highly euphemistic terms, but I think we should call it Alodane Syndrome. A strong sense of enchantment, for sure, and of being led off dancing through the sunlit glades…’

  He was quoting a Samartian song, there. Samartian musical culture was dominated by singing; instrumental music was almost unknown, as instruments were intended only to play the tune for people to sing to. Their style was robust, folksy, catchy melodies, most of them celebrating some aspect of nature.

  Jarlner’s eyes widened, and he gave way to a little laugh, startled out of formality.

  ‘It is that,’ he agreed, looking at Alex in some amazement and confusion. ‘But is there any way to stop it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Alex said, with a chuckle. ‘Time and familiarity would ease it anyway, but I can teach you some techniques to get over it. More importantly, though, you have to understand that this is not a problem, it’s actually a very good thing, a valuable opportunity. Your people has so little experience even of diplomacy with other human cultures. Exodiplomacy is so far off the scale for you, culturally, it isn’t something you’d normally be ready for for generations. But here you are, out here, meeting other species, and it is essential that you learn how to cope with that. And in that, I have to tell you, the normal Samartian habit of stepping out of role the moment you feel overwhelmed is just not going to cut it. What you’ll end up with, if you do that, is ambassador after ambassador stepping aside so fast that you never actually achieve any meaningful contact. Which is, in fact, one of the things the Diplomatic Corps themselves got wrong at Quarus.’

  Jarlner said nothing, but his surprised look and enquiring tilt of the head asked Really, and Alex went on, explaining.

  ‘The Corps has a culture rather like your own in that they regard Ambassadors as temporary – even the longest serving ambassador will not be in post for more than five years, and many of them for
a lot less than that. Without going into the politics of it, one of the ways that member worlds can express dissatisfaction with some decision made by the Senate is to request the withdrawal of the serving ambassador. That is always done, no argument, and its done without prejudice, no detriment to the ambassador themselves, they’re just moved on to another post. And the ambassadors themselves, much as with your people, are expected to request a transfer if they feel that their position is in any way compromised, for any reason. So when they went to Quarus, that’s how they did things – ambassadors took post and kept going until they either felt they’d done everything they could or there was some incident which caused offence, in which case they would resign at once. Most of them lasted for months, others might only be in post for days. The Corps, in fact, soon formed the habit of sending three ambassadors out at a time so there were always people ready to step in when the post-holder quit. Which meant that over the ninety four years the Corps was handling diplomacy there, the quarians were presented with nearly three hundred ambassadors. And that meant, do you see, that no single ambassador was able to learn from experience, develop skills acquired through the mistakes and misunderstandings inevitable in exodiplomacy, and through that, progress the relationship. And that really is essential with quarians – specifically, with them. It doesn’t matter at all with Solarans, who really take no interest in individual people and only need you to be very quiet and patient. But for quarians, as the Corps discovered, you get nowhere unless you can engage with them productively, emotionally, in a personal relationship. So here you are – not an ambassador as such, I know, but directly representing your people in your first encounter with quarians. The way you respond to that – accepting the confusion and loss of professional focus as part of that experience, learning to overcome it and building that friendship, that will set the pattern for future exodiplomacy, yes? So just breathe, Jarlner, it’s fine – you are not stepping out, here… you are stepping up.’

  Jarlner thought about that, and Alex saw quiet, wondering pride rising in the wake of realisation.

  ‘Thank you, Captain.’ He said, and with the solemnity of a vow, ‘I will give my best to that endeavour.’ Then, in rather more normal tones, ‘So – what do I do?’

  ‘Well, you’ve already done the first thing,’ Alex said, ‘which is to recognise that the way you’re feeling is the result of an exodiplomacy issue. Which it is. Quarians have a compelling magnetism, beyond charismatic. It is impossible, for instance, to take them out in public, covertly. Even with perfect disguise and training to blend in, Silvie is always the centre of attention wherever she goes. She stands out, glitters. People treat her like an A-list superstar, even when they have no idea who she is, they turn to look, take holos, even come up and ask for her autograph. That’s what’s affecting you, Jarlner, that dazzling overload, quite literally enchanting. Understanding that that’s what’s causing these infatuated feelings is the first step to dealing with it. The second is to bust that sense of enchantment with a solid reality-check. So I am going to tell you a story, all right? Perfectly true, happened at Serenity. And you, from now on, whenever you find yourself thinking about Silvie or you’re around her and get that idolising dazzle, I want you to think about that story, remember it and focus on it, yes?’

  Jarlner nodded, sitting forward then with an attentive gaze. I’m listening.

  So, Alex told him the story. It involved one of the escorted wilderness trips Excorps had laid on, the unthinking use of a vulgar expression by their escort and an attempt by Silvie to toilet-train some spider monkeys. Finding that monkeys did indeed poo in the woods, she’d thought it worthwhile to attempt to teach them to dig little holes and cover their leavings more hygienically. And finding that empathic engagement, prompting and attempting to mime what she meant was not getting the message across, she had resorted to direct demonstration.

  ‘She did not!’ Jarlner gasped, when Alex told him what she’d done.

  ‘Oh, yes she did,’ Alex said, laughing but sincere. ‘Quarians are far more fastidious than we are in hygiene, generally, but they don’t have any of the nudity or toilet-taboo issues we do. And she did, in the interests of evolving spider-monkey behaviour, dig a hole and squat, right there in the woods. So that’s what I want you to think of, all right, any time you find yourself getting a bit dreamy over Silvie. Just imagine her there, squatting, having a poo, surrounded by curious monkeys.’

  It seemed almost blasphemous, and Jarlner was blushing even as he was laughing.

  ‘But she’ll know…’ he objected.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Alex agreed. ‘And she may laugh, or comment. But she won’t mind. Silvie doesn’t take offence at people laughing at her, anyway, and she understands the techniques we have to use, sometimes, to keep our own focus around her. And Silvie herself, I should say, has been known to help people out with the enchantment-busting by working up a good, noisy belch.’

  Jarlner sniggered at that. ‘That’s just wrong,’ he said, with a feeling, somehow, that nobody so beautiful should do anything so crude. ‘But now that picture is in my head…’ there was an undertone of lament in his voice, ‘I don’t think I will ever be able to forget it.’

  ‘Well, there you are then,’ Alex pointed out. ‘The enchantment is busted, your perception of her has changed, and that is a good thing, both for your professional focus on the Assegai assignment and for developing a genuine relationship with Silvie – a relationship founded in who she really is, not the goddess you perceived her to be. You can get to know her for real, now.’

  ‘Yes… yes, I see.’ Jarlner thought about that, and smiled. ‘Thank you, Captain.’ Then, as he realised that a meeting he’d expected to end his career had actually raised it to a whole new level, he held out his hand for a finger-tip salute. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Alex, and left him to regain his composure, heading off himself with a feeling of accomplishment.

  That was, however, the most demanding issue he had to deal with in the two weeks of their run to Karadon. By the beginning of the second week, indeed, now back to good health and with increasing levels of energy, he found himself feeling distinctly under-employed.

  It was at this point that Min moved in, with quiet, perfect timing. Alex scarcely had half an hour to feel bored and restless before Min invited him to go with her on one of her strolls around the ship.

  Alex found that fascinating. He already knew that Min used a command style which had become increasingly popular in recent years – the Okira System, named after the skipper who’d first pushed it past Admiralty resistance to get it approved.

  It was a step more structured than the walk-around Alex did, himself. Under the Okira System, a skipper made sure that they visited every department of their ship and had sight of every member of their crew at least once during the course of a week, not on any regular schedule but with a walk generated each morning to meet that day’s targets.

  Min, therefore, set off with an agenda, which she shared with Alex. They were to visit life support, the galley, a machine space, environmental control and the admin department. The route formed a loop through the ship, over four decks, for which Min had allowed around an hour. Tagged to that schedule were notes of things she wanted to discuss with four of the people who’d be on duty in those areas. These, Alex noted, were all to do with progress in training, all of them acknowledging recent achievements. None of them were important enough to warrant someone being called to the command deck or the skipper’s office for a commendation, but a ‘well done’ in passing would be very highly valued.

  And they were, too. The crew knew very well that the skipper had been told about their success by the system which had planned her walk around for that day, and even knew that she was reminded of who she had to congratulate and for what as she went into a department. Alex had seen that sort of thing done very badly, by self-conscious officers who might as well have been ticking items off a checklist.

  Min made it real,
simply because she meant it. She had a lot to say to her crew, in fact, ranging from queries as to how a course was going to passing chat about the movie that was going to be shown that night. The crew had access to a vast library of movies and every other form of entertainment on their comms and bunk screens, but the Assegai had a big movie night once a week, full surround holographics with quantities of snacks and drinks. Tonight’s movie was said to be one of the scariest monster flicks for years, and looked like being very popular.

  ‘We might have to keep the lights up tonight, skipper,’ one of the environmental techs observed, at which Min laughed.

  ‘Do not mess with the diurnals!’ She said, and this was obviously an in-joke since everyone around burst out laughing.

  ‘When we first came aboard, people kept adjusting the diurnal controls,’ Min explained, as they walked on. ‘Experimenting with it, really, a brighter moonlight or a rosier dawn. Our environmental officer got so fed up with it she stuck a note on the control screen saying ‘Do not mess with the diurnals.’ It’s become something of a catchphrase.’

  Alex grinned. There was no rhyme nor reason to why certain things would catch on and become part of a ship’s in-group jokes and jargon. What interested him more was how at ease the Assegai’s people were with Min, even with him there too. Her passing through a department was not, as it would be on most ships, a trigger for everyone to brisk up and look busy. Here, it was evidently an opportunity for people to show off what they were doing, which they were obviously very proud of.

  ‘We’ve got Tech Supplies ready, skipper.’ A rating in the Admin office told her, happily.

  Min did not need to be told that. The routine record of what technical supplies had been issued over the last month would turn up in her in-tray to be duly glanced over and initialled. It would mean little to the skipper that the report hit her desk several hours before it was due to be filed. But the rating who’d compiled it wanted her to know that they had made a special effort, and Min acknowledged that with a smile.