by Zen DiPietro
“It’s lovely,” Nagali agreed, looking at the set. “But this isn’t art for the sake of art. It was used for ceremonies that were considered crucial to their civilization. That makes it a survival tool.”
They moved on again. Cabot gestured to a four-meter by three-meter painting of a battle. “But what about this? This shows something about the people who made it, in that particular point in time when they made it. It shows what they valued, and what they found noteworthy for public remembrance. That’s thought-provoking too.”
“I suppose.” Nagali didn’t look convinced. “Sometimes I think museums like this are a shame. Think how much the government could get for these pieces, which serve no purpose but to be looked at.”
“You really see no purpose in these people honoring their ancestors and remembering their history? Or of sharing it with offworlders like us?”
She sighed. “I get it. I just can’t help seeing the missed opportunity. An item that just sits around doing nothing but existing, and is worth lots of money, well, it makes me itchy.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “I think in the old days, you’d have been one of those tomb-raiding adventure rogues. The kind that always gets shot in the end.”
“If I’d been a tomb-raider, I definitely would not have gotten shot. Only a very bad thief gets killed.”
“Is there such a thing as a good thief?” he wondered.
“If you’re the one getting robbed, no. But if you’re very, very good at what you do…” she winked at him.
Sometimes he had a hard time telling if she was teasing or serious.
Arlen joined them, with Omar trailing her. Though he’d suggested a romantic interest in Arlen, he’d been nothing but pleasant and friendly, and Cabot was glad for that. He didn’t need any drama developing between the two. Not while they had work to do here.
“What do you think of the museum?” Cabot asked Arlen.
“I think it’s fascinating.”
A high-pitched child’s voice interrupted. “Look mama, those people are all smooth.”
Cabot turned to see an embarrassed Briveen woman shushing one of the three children with her.
“Children make their own rules.” Cabot gave the woman a polite bow and a gesture that meant he took no offense.
He pretended not to notice her obvious surprise at his knowing how to handle the situation. “Your children are observant, and look very strong.”
Complimenting a person’s children was universal. Cabot knew of no people who failed to respond well to it. Though the Briveen’s preference for praising strength and health was a little different than some.
“You are kind to notice.” The woman bowed. Her scales were a light, yellowy shade of green that Cabot hadn’t seen before. They were lovely.
Two children had scales like their mother, while the outspoken one had a darker monochrome green. All children were adorable, but Cabot found Briveen children especially so. This was his first time seeing them in person, and was charmed by how boisterous and improper they were, compared to their elders.
As the family moved away, the child that had spoken turned back to watch them. To him, Cabot’s group must look very strange.
The child gave Cabot a surreptitious wave with his three-fingered, biological hand before they turned a corner and moved out of sight. He wouldn’t receive his cybernetic replacement arms until he turned eighteen.
“I can’t imagine having one kid, much less three.” Arlen shook her head. “Briveen moms must have incredible patience.”
“Having clutches of three or four is normal.” Cabot led his little group to an art installation in the middle of the room—a forged-metal freeform design. He had no idea what it was. “I guess it’s all a matter of what you’re used to.”
Only the highest caste of Briveen was permitted to have children. A thousand years ago, Briveen had suffered a high rate of genetic mutations that had affected their ability to have healthy children. For the survival of their species, they’d begun requiring proof of genetic health before approval to have a child. Infant mortality plummeted, and the tragedy of dead children stopped. Over time, with greater scientific knowledge, the Briveen had perfected their ability to produce healthy children and prevent fatal mutations.
Cabot wasn’t going to explain all that now. It wasn’t the place, and chances were, his companions already knew. They should, if they’d done their homework, and if they hadn’t, then they weren’t very good traders.
The rest of the museum was a randomly-placed collection of armor, weapons, food implements, and art. Cabot could find no explanation for this choice of design. Most museums sorted items by type or by time period.
What did it mean? He wondered about it as they walked to the quarters they’d been assigned. Omar and Nagali led, as they’d been there before.
“Don’t you love the architecture and design here?” Arlen asked. “They’re so deceptively simple.”
Nagali half-turned to shrug at her, wearing an indifferent sneer.
“It’s nice,” Omar said, rather lamely.
Arlen looked to Cabot.
He said, “Yes, I’ve been admiring it too. There’s an organic flow in the subtle color gradations and subtle changes in texture and thickness. This entire transit station is a masterpiece in understated, perfected beauty.”
Arlen brightened, glad someone else saw what she did. “Exactly. The materials are neo-industrial, but the style is something else.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” He hadn’t even noticed at first, when he’d been focused on Brak and Gretch and the job ahead. Now, he scrutinized everything, recognizing the complexity of making it all so deceptively simple.
It was breathtaking.
It meant something, he was certain. But whatever the meaning was, Cabot was missing it. He felt it like a presence, hovering just out of his reach. His nose itched something fierce.
He declined an invitation to join the others in the quarters shared by Nagali and Arlen. He wanted to be alone in his own room to think.
The answer was right here, in this transit station, and he needed to figure it out.
***
Briveen brandy wasn’t much like Alturian brandy, but it would do the job. Cabot sat in the silence of his quarters—which were decorated in the same elegantly simple style as the rest of the station, creating a quiet sophistication that suited him remarkably well. He’d decorated his own quarters on Dragonfire in a similar way, with clean lines and no clutter.
“There’s something to that…” he muttered, swirling his brandy in its bulbous little glass. “But what?”
Something at the edge of his thoughts evaded him; something about how to present the deal to the Briveen that would allow them to accept it, giving both them and the PAC what they needed. Something simple. Pragmatic.
Yes, that was it. Something pragmatic. Only a highly pragmatic species would create a caste system that allowed for the continuance of their species. Or adopt the practice of having their short arms removed at the age of eighteen so they could be replaced with strong cybernetic ones that better suited the rest of their powerful bodies.
But then, their devotion to ceremonies and rituals did not seem so pragmatic. They were a time-waster, really. Cabot had a theory about that, and he wanted to talk it over with an expert.
He set his glass on the table in front of him and leaned forward to touch the voicecom display. He opened a channel to Brak, but she didn’t answer. She might still be with Gretch and the council.
“Brak, when you get this message, I would appreciate it if you could come to my quarters. I need to discuss something with you.”
He picked up his glass and sat back, swirling the brandy again. He did more swirling than drinking, as he’d never been a heavy drinker and the Briveen brandy felt like it was strong enough to use in place of orellium in a ship’s propulsion chamber.
He sat, thinking of every transaction he’d ever conducted with a Briveen, an
d everything he’d ever read or heard about them. The solution he was reaching for could be hiding in the recesses of his experiences.
When the chime sounded, he checked the tiny camera on the doors to make sure it was Brak before he answered. He didn’t need an encounter with Nagali right now. But it was Brak, so he put down the glass and greeted her.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said.
“I came as soon as Gretch and I finished with the council.”
“How did that go?”
“Fine. They accepted the gifts. They have agreed to hear your proposal at noon tomorrow.” She remained standing, as he hadn’t yet invited her to sit. But he had other plans, if she agreed to them.
“I’d hoped for early morning. Time is slipping by too quickly.”
“Then we should figure out your strategy. What can I help you with?”
He appreciated her directness. “Have you ever heard of ‘the nose?’ As in, a Rescan trader having a good nose for business.”
“I don’t know that I have.” Her tone suggested she was puzzled by his topic change.
“It’s a certain business sense. It’s something I’ve always honed. Almost like an additional sense—the shrewdness of sensing a shift in markets, or an opportunity that is not readily apparent to others. Rescans value the nose greatly.”
“Okay. But I don’t understand how that relates to me.”
He continued, “My nose tells me there’s a solution here, right in front of me. I’m just not seeing it. I’d like to talk to you about your people, if you wouldn’t mind, to see if I can get that solution to come into focus.”
“Of course.”
“And, if possible, I’d appreciate going outside of this station and seeing a bit of Briv while we do it.” That was the tricky part, and he watched her closely.
“That’s fine. But just you, and you need to stay right with me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of wandering off.” He didn’t need a conservative-minded Briveen cracking him upside the head with one of those powerful cybernetic arms.
“Very well. When would you like to go?”
“Now. I feel like there’s no time to waste.”
***
“Is there anything particular you’d like to see?” Brak asked.
They’d just cleared the exterior doors of the transit station and Cabot drank in his first in-person view of Briv.
It was beautiful.
He’d seen green planets, but Briv put even Sarkan to shame. In one glance, he saw a greater variety of trees than he’d ever seen in one place. Most were shades of green, but there were some yellows and reds too. Smooth bark, spiky bark, and every texture in between covered the tree trunks that reached toward the sky. Flowers, shrubs, and tall decorative grasses grew full and vibrant along every pathway and sidewalk. The temperature was a few degrees warmer than the warmest spring day on Rescissitan. The sky was a brighter color, too, with a hint of green hidden within the blue. It added to the lush, verdant quality.
And the smell. The air was clean and lightly scented with floral and herbaceous notes.
“By Prelin, this is incredible. The voicecom images don’t even begin to do it justice.”
Brak concealed her amusement well, but he sensed it.
Quickly, he answered the question he’d ignored. “I didn’t have anything particular in mind. I just want to see life. I’d never even seen Briveen children before today. I’d like to better understand your people.”
“Let’s walk down the main avenue, then.” She started forward and he kept as close as he comfortably could. Briveen needed less personal space than Rescans, and he tried to split the difference. “Just remember to let me lead any interactions with others.”
“Of course.”
“We do have a handy trick to sidestep obligatory greetings and rituals. When walking in public like this, it’s perfectly polite to avoid eye contact.”
“Really?” He was intrigued. “I’ve been told that failing to maintain eye contact with a stranger is insulting.”
“That’s true, but since we cross paths with a lot of unfamiliar Briveen every day, we have to have workarounds. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.”
They walked slowly by a square with a fountain, where children ran and laughed and squealed.
“You avoid stopping for greetings by pretending not to notice one another.”
“Yes.” She led him further down the avenue, and they passed doctors’ offices and storefronts.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to shorten the rituals? Just turn it into a ‘hello’ and a nod, like most species?”
“It would, and teenagers tend to push their limits by behaving like the simian species. I think eventually, gradually, we’ll get to that point. But for now, we just politely ignore one another.”
Cabot chuckled. One species’ politeness was another species’ insufferable rudeness. He loved the variety of it all. “So why have the rituals? I know it’s tradition, but why hang onto such ancient ways?”
“You’d be surprised how long-lasting the effects of near-eradication of your species can be. It became ingrained in us that we would continue only if we adhered to our castes. The rituals helped define the castes. The castes shaped our government and our way of life. So you see, it was a circular process, one thing reinforcing the other. And underneath it all was the memory of nearly going extinct due to our own genetic failures.”
Cabot could see how that would put great pressure on a people. “But technology and medicine have come so far. Gene therapy and genetic screenings would permit all people to have children, if they chose. People wouldn’t be limited in life due to their genetics.”
“Would you believe that it is we of the illustrious breeding caste that, in fact, have the greatest limitations? When we are born and certified as genetically healthy, our future as breeders becomes a matter of national pride and survival. We’re the ‘nobles,’ the highest caste, and we’re essentially forced into slavery.” With a look of chagrin, she corrected herself. “I shouldn’t have said that. Not slavery. It’s just…a terrible duty, if it’s not what you want.”
“I see,” Cabot said softly. He understood her better now.
She cleared her throat and continued in a lighter tone. “To escape it isn’t easy.”
“But you did. And now you’ve come home a hero. Things like that help create change, don’t they? To help society pioneer new ways that better serve it?” A Briveen couple passed them, resolutely ignoring their existence. He and Brak returned the favor.
“Yes. And you’re right,” she answered once the others had passed. “I do hope I can be an example for others, to effect change. The council has been remarkably supportive. I was surprised. I think they’re more eager for change than the general public. I suspect they’re doling out as much progress as they believe the people can handle.”
Cabot stopped walking. “Now that is fascinating.” Then he hurried to catch up to Brak and match her pace again. “Would you say that the council is hoping we’ll come up with a proposal they can accept without the citizens of Briv expressing outrage?”
“I can’t speak for the council. My interaction with them is limited to the past weeks since my return. But from what I’ve observed, and from what Gretch has said, yes, I believe that’s probably so.”
“Then it isn’t truly the council we need to sell our proposal to, but all Briveen.”
“I think that’s fair to say,” she agreed.
“Hm.” That gave him more food for thought, but still wasn’t quite the angle he was grasping for.
She stopped in front of a narrow gray building. “Let’s go in here. I want you to try something.”
The building maintained the simple-but-elegant esthetic he’d noted at the station. Everything did, really. The lush greenery wasn’t overly manicured, but he saw no weeds, either. There was no crowding, no gaudiness of having signs slapped everywhere the eye looked. The architecture of the buildings
varied somewhat, but they all blended together.
“There’s something almost Kanaran about how well everything goes together here. There’s a sort of harmony to all of it. Would you agree?”
She paused, with one hand poised to pull an old-fashioned manual door handle. “When you put it that way, I can see a similarity. I’ve visited Kanar many times. Their buildings and art look harder, with a strong emphasis on thick, straight lines. At least that’s how they look to me. But the colors and styles of buildings and roads match one another, so I see what you mean.”
“You don’t see hard lines here?” He gazed at his surroundings, trying to see what she saw.
“Not really. I see gentle curves and slopes. Gradual arcs. Like the architecture isn’t in a hurry to get anywhere, and it isn’t determined to aggressively pit itself against everything in its vicinity either.” She chuckled and finally opened the door. “If that doesn’t sound crazy.”
“It doesn’t,” he assured her. “Not in the least.”
Once inside, Cabot took in his surroundings. “You thought I needed to see a mandren meat store?”
Shanks of raw meat hung behind the counter in a see-through cooler. Smaller cuts were displayed within a case. Behind the display, a Briveen stood.
“Thank you for entering my shop. How may I help you today?” he performed a bow and three hand gestures that were an odd mix of a brief introduction and a gratitude ritual, but both vastly abbreviated.
Brak made a single gesture and a simultaneous bow, which seemed like an abbreviation for a return introduction. Very interesting. “We’d both like a stick of smoked mandren jerky. Sweet citrus glaze, I’m thinking.”
Cabot tried to hide his horror. He’d smelled the mandren meat on Dragonfire, and he had no interest in repeating that olfactory experience, much less put a piece of the large game rodent into his mouth.
“Trust me.” Brak smelled of sweet musk, and he was glad she was amused rather than offended by his reaction.
Did Briveen play practical jokes? Perhaps that was his next lesson.
