—Marcus Alexander, Sophist at Konstantinople Prime University, 2052.115.18.32 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 20 under Conflict Imperative
Matt followed Joyce down the narrow corridor of the Bright Crescent. The uniformed personnel that brushed past him were intent and full of purpose; everyone was a cog in the gears of their mission. Except Matt. He didn’t know what sort of mission this cruiser performed. Ariane had called this a "lightly armed cruiser,” but that didn’t help him.
Matt was far out of his depth. He’d never been aboard a military ship. He had space operational experience, of course, born and raised on the Journey IV, the third largest of the sublight generational behemoths. Her size required class-A dock support. Athens Point, even as large as it was, couldn’t service a class-A ship. The Journey IV required a minimum of two hundred and forty people to operate piloting, navigation, and system engineering. That number didn’t include personnel for acquiring and analyzing exploration data, maintaining hydroponics and environmental, food services, medical support, component maintenance, etc. During Matt’s time aboard the Journey IV, the soul count never dipped below eighteen hundred.
Joyce stopped at a narrow door that said LIEUTENANT OLEANDER. Before opening it, he tapped in a command and the door changed to read VISITOR.
"Your quarters,” said Joyce.
Matt colored. He wanted to ask whether this lieutenant was evicted just for him, but Joyce pushed him through the door.
"You only have the small locker, since the other two are being used.” Joyce answered Matt’s question, pointing to one of the lockers. Poor Oleander had to get out of his quarters without moving his personal items. "Stow your stuff and get webbed in for—”
"Take hold, take hold, take hold. This is third and last warning. Prepare for undocking.” A male voice sounded throughout the cruiser.
"Contrary to civilian ships, we don’t check that passengers are webbed in before maneuvers.” Joyce’s glance was hard as he left, securing the door behind him. If he had substituted "useless baggage” for "passengers,” his words would have matched his tone.
Matt numbly stowed his bag and quickly got into the bunk, feeling the familiar squirm as the webbing secured him. He hoped he’d done the right thing in calling Edones.
The clear tones of the boarding pipes sounded. Ariane had a moment of disorienting recognition: Hadn’t she been doing this about ten hours ago? The moment felt so familiar, down to the sounds of Santorini fidgeting behind her. Yesterday she was suppressing anxiety and terror caused by the arrival of the Terran inspectors, but her mission seemed simpler yesterday, when she’d had clear lines between ally and enemy. Today she was no longer sure who might be her friend.
Parmet stood on one side of her and Jacinthe Voyage stood on the other. Flanked by indifference and hostility, Ariane felt like an empty effigy standing in the front line. Were the Minoans upset about the sabotage to the station, worried that this might affect treaty support? The answer might be to thrust the intelligence liaison officer forward as a sacrificial goat.
As usual, the most advanced sensors and algorithms that AFCAW could employ were confused by Minoan technology. The weapon detector light above the air lock flickered between blue and orange, and then decided to stay blue. There was no doubt in Ariane’s mind that the light should display orange, because the Minoan emissary certainly had an armed escort.
Mankind had a century of space flight under their belts, but they’d yet to catch up with the Minoans in the area of weapons technology. They had tried to analyze the results from Minoan weapons. The wreckage of would-be pirate vessels were examined and the aftermath of genetically targeted bioweapons were still being measured, to little avail. Both AFCAW and TerranXL military intelligence had theories regarding the directed energy weapons used by the Minoans, but the theories only proved how far behind the technology curve mankind fell.
The air lock opened and a figure stepped onto the landing, carrying a baton slightly longer than its arm. This was what net-think called a "guardian,” one of the mute armed escorts that protected higher-level Minoan functionaries. Clothed in flowing black to below the tops of its black boots, it had a headdress of short, sharp horns with no jewels and what looked like worked gold and platinum over the crown. The headdress still hid facial features, but as the guardian looked far right and left, it displayed a silhouette that looked like a human forehead, nose, and chin. Whether this was a generated illusion, or the actual profile, no one knew.
The guardian examined the loading platform with waiting audience and, finding no obvious threats, stepped aside for the emissary to disembark. Emissaries represented a different Minoan class or race. Their robes were always red and drifted down to the floor to obscure all their body. This emissary, given the height and graceful curvature of its headdress horns, might be an important personage. Precious metals covered the horns and each tip provided anchors for dripping ropes of jewels that cascaded down and looped back to connect to the headdress under the emissary’s collar; or perhaps they connected to the emissary itself.
There was a third class of Minoans, rarely ever seen. Mundanes called them the "warrior” class and Ariane hoped never to meet one. They only showed up when nasty work had to be done with their weapons, like surgically dissecting ships used for piracy or wiping out would-be anarchist tribes.
The emissary stepped forward onto the landing.
There were fanatics who thought the Minoans were gods. If Ariane believed that she would have been facedown on the deck in supplication when finding herself this close to a Minoan. As it was, her breath stuck in her throat as she suppressed an urge to offer obeisance.
Jacinthe Voyage saluted, as one would for a visiting head of state. They hadn’t saluted State Prince Parmet, but as leader of the inspection team, he wasn’t acting as a head of state. Mentally, Ariane approved. This time, given the indications of this Minoan’s rank, a salute might be appropriate. Ariane saluted and heard the soft whoosh of cloth whisking behind her as Lieutenant Santorini and others did the same. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Parmet make a shallow bow.
"Welcome, Emissary. I’m commander of the Thirty-second Naga Strike Squadron.” Jacinthe cleared her throat. She was awkwardly filling the role of the facility commander, who was embarrassingly deceased.
There was silence. Ariane couldn’t hear Santorini fidgeting any more. There was nothing to do but wait. Over more than a century of interacting with the Minoans, mankind had learned a few social tips. First, there was no sense in giving Minoans your name, since they seemed to only remember titles. Second, Minoans didn’t use their own names when interacting with mundanes unless they were extremely high-ranking leaders. Third, one must learn to wait when conversing with Minoans.
The emissary’s horns dipped slowly to acknowledge the greeting. It had been standing in front of Jacinthe and now took a step sideways to stand in front of Ariane and Parmet. Ariane suppressed a shiver in seeing that movement, which seemed the result of inhuman joints. The Minoans were obviously bipedal, but the red robes that moved under a nonexistent breeze gave no hints of gender or overall shape of limbs.
"This is Terran State Prince—” Jacinthe cut off the name and Parmet nodded his head. "—and our intelligence liaison officer for compliance of the Mobile Temporal Distortion Weapon Treaty.” Jacinthe gestured toward Ariane.
The Minoan shifted its attention to Ariane and they waited again. They all expected this visit had something to do with the treaty and the recent sabotage.
It took time for mankind to understand the Minoan mind ruleset, called such because it seemed about as inflexible as an AI ruleset. Minoans never forced their own laws, morality, or ideology upon mankind—they worked strictly within mankind’s laws and they expected the same compliance from mankind. When they first offered the sale of referential engine plans that could navigate nous-space (or N-space, which was still a theoretical vista to mankind), they made trade agreements with governments and always honored them.
It all fell apart when individuals tried to subvert their own governments, their own taxes, and their own laws.
Minoans didn’t understand idiosyncratic behavior, defiance of authority, or individuals that bent rules or laws, much less broke them. They could barely comprehend individuality since the concept didn’t translate, behaviorally or emotionally. That’s why piracy was lethal to practice in Minoan space, and why Minoan weapons squashed violent anarchists until they learned to avoid Minoan targets. Minoans understood societal rules and laws, and they expected everyone to follow them.
They also appeared to understand aggression between governments, at least when there were rules for warfare. In the case of the decades-long hostility between CAW and TerraXL, everything was fine as long as conduct fit the Phaistos Protocol. Attacks outside this protocol were labeled as war crimes. The most notable, and most ambiguous, attack had been the TD weapon for Ura-Guinn. Was an entire solar system a space habitat? The prohibition against destructive bombardment of habitable bodies didn’t seem to apply, at least not until the effects of the weapon could be verified. TerraXL called for Minoan judgment, while CAW tried to justify a loophole in the protocol. In the end, both sides agreed to sign Pax Minoica and phase out temporal distortion weapons research, development, and deployment. The Minoans declined judgment or perhaps they only suspended it, waiting for the evidence to travel from Ura-Guinn.
Ariane tensed under the emissary’s scrutiny. An armed Minoan vessel sat less than fifteen kilometers off Karthage. If Karthage Point was undergoing a weapons inspection under a codified treaty, then by Gaia, they’d better be following those treaty rules and protocols. This emissary would certainly be concerned about the station sabotage and Icelos’s murder, if the events affected treaty compliance.
"We recognize you, Ariane-as-Kedros. I now acknowledge you under this role, Treaty Compliance Officer.” The emissary’s voice was pleasant, although lacking soulful quality and vibrancy. The voice sounded neither male nor female.
Shit. Even Great Bull-shit. Minoans didn’t identify mundanes by name. Ariane’s knees almost buckled. Parmet and Jacinthe turned and looked down at her, their eyes narrowing. Behind her, she heard Lt. Santorini and the Maintenance Squadron commander both draw in their breath.
"Thank you, Emissary.” Ariane tried to respond cheerfully, as if the Minoan had merely complimented her trim uniform. "We’re about to start a baseline inspection to confirm the number of warheads aboard this station. In accordance with treaty protocols, this is occurring within twenty-four hours of the arrival of the Terran inspection team. Would you like to observe?”
"I am honored to record your compliance, as well as that of Terran State Prince and Naga Squadron Commander,” said the emissary gravely. "First, however, I must speak with you privately, Treaty Compliance Officer.”
Jacinthe wasted no time in escorting the emissary to a conference room recently used by the Terran inspection teams. She motioned Ariane to follow. Jacinthe didn’t call SF and place a security detail; Ariane shrugged and followed the emissary into the empty room. The emissary’s guardian took up a post outside the door.
At this point, I’m probably safer here than anywhere else on Karthage. Besides, Minoans wouldn’t do anything illegal, as defined by CAW law.
The emissary sat down with oily grace at the small conference table. Ariane went to the other side of the table facing the emissary, but remained standing. She grasped the back of a conference chair and used it for support. It gave a small peep of alarm, telling her that her grip might cause damage. She tried to relax and keep her gaze on the emissary.
The emissary’s smoothly gloved hand came out from within the red robes, and dark graceful fingers reached up to a particular jewel on the chain and twirled it. Then the fingers went farther down the chain and caressed another jewel. With each touch, a faint tinkling tone rose from the chain and then faded. Ariane watched, fascinated. The movements might have looked like random fidgeting, but—
"I have disabled MilNet node recording in this room,” said the emissary. As she wondered whether this Minoan had the concept of individual privacy, the emissary added, "For security of common state goals.”
She waited silently. When she’d moved to her current position in Intelligence, she’d gone through additional training modules, one of which covered interacting with Minoans. She had hoped she’d never need it. Now she had to curb her apprehension as well as her expectations; the training had emphasized how different mental models led to misunderstandings. Exchange of information using common mental models worked quickly because each person anticipated where the conversation was heading.
"You have risen above your initial title and have become multiroled, Ariane-as-Kedros. You were single-roled as Destroyer of Worlds—”
The chair squeaked in protest again as Ariane’s fingers dug into it. She relaxed her hands as the emissary paused. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised the Minoans knew she was on the crew that detonated the TD weapon at Ura-Guinn. Perhaps that gave her notoriety enough, in their view, for having an individual name.
"—but I wish to address you as Explorer of Solar Systems, not as Treaty Compliance Officer or Destroyer of Worlds,” continued the emissary.
"Oh.” Dumbfounded, Ariane took a step backward. This was the problem with expectations. She relaxed a little; the further away from the subject of Ura-Guinn, the better.
"You are unwilling?”
"Not unwilling. Unprepared, perhaps.” Ariane chose her words carefully, remembering her training. "I accept title Explorer of Solar System. Please continue addressing me in that role.”
"You are partners with Aether Explorations, Limited, and you have signature authority.” The Minoans had a tendency to overuse plural forms, but Ariane wasn’t going to correct it. The accurate name for Matt’s company wasn’t important.
"Yes . . .” Wait until the proposal is made, her mind cautioned, and she held back the "but” qualifier that should follow.
"We have interests in leases controlled by Aether Explorations, Limited. I have requests for you.”
She kept her face blank. The Minoan wanted to talk about G-145. I’ll bet you’re interested. She’d been just as excited as Matt when they’d confirmed the presence of intelligent civilization, which might or might not be Minoan. Then there was the problem they had with the artifact. She’d bet a year’s salary that it hadn’t been made by Minoans. Its appearance, to include the symbols on the sides, was different from all the others she’d used for N-space drops.
The emissary wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. She waited.
"We can make no offers of special payments or dispensation to you, of course. We only request that you assign certain leases to the companies that we identify to you.” The gloved hands emerged from the diaphanous robe, this time opening into palm-outward gestures of honesty.
Of course this was a request, because kickbacks were illegal. Ariane tried to form her answer so she didn’t insinuate that the Minoans were sidestepping the laws regarding fair and open competition. From her training, she knew that was a deadly insult.
"I do have signature authority, but I rarely use it,” Ariane said. "My partner, the majority owner of Aether Exploration, has more experience in these matters.”
"You do not need experiences for this, since I will provide the suitable companies.”
"True, but I have a private agreement regarding division of responsibilities with my partners. Matt—er—the majority owner of Aether Exploration usually authorizes leases and contracts. I merely provide consultation or advice.”
"Could you advise your partners toward certain companies? As tokens of our gratitude, I could provide you with confidential information.” Again, the open, honest hand gesture caught her attention. "This information has no monetary or intrinsic values, except perhaps to you.”
The emissary sat back, unmistakably expecting her to take some time to reflect upon its proposal.
Ariane hid a sigh. She alw
ays hated the business side of, well, business. Even when she wasn’t stepping into anything illegal, she felt dirty. Luckily, she’d had a military salary ever since she accepted the reserve position under Colonel Edones. It wasn’t outlandishly huge, but it was sizable enough to keep her comfortable even if she didn’t have a job. She got monthly deposits whether she was on active duty or not.
Ariane paused as a revelation struck her, something that should have been obvious to her; perhaps she wasn’t cynical enough after all. I’m being paid hush money. It sounded so melodramatic that she almost smiled.
AFCAW certainly wouldn’t want her, in either identity, plastered across the feeds. This unwelcome Minoan attention could be the result of discovering the ruins in G-145. She hadn’t been catching the feeds lately because Karthage’s corridor walls were disabled. I wonder how Edones is taking all this, particularly if I’ve registered a high exposure rating on net-think.
The Minoan emissary still sat waiting for her next words. Mundanes thought long pauses were awkward and would rush to fill the void, sometimes taking silence during conversations as offensive. Minoans considered silence respectful, considerate, and thoughtful.
"I’m sorry, but I cannot guarantee my partner’s actions. Final authority rests with him.” Ariane’s curiosity got the better of her and she asked, "What information were you going to offer me in exchange for my advice?”
The emissary cocked its head sideways and Ariane wished she could see its face and get any idea of emotional content.
"We know you were dispersed with no knowledge of where all Destroyers of Worlds were sent. We thought you might value the locations of the others.”
Her breath caught and her heart pounded. "You knew all of us, as individuals?”
"Always.”
Ariane wondered whether Brandon had been warned specifically about the assassins. She had access to classified information because of her reserve position, but Brandon had probably returned to civilian life. If so, the Directorate might have only sent him some nebulous warnings. Brandon was probably somewhere in the countryside of Hellas Prime. He’d always valued his home planetary vistas, the natural fauna and flora of what he called "the great outdoors.” Just before their last mission, he’d been contemplating separation at his next reassignment window.
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