TFS Theseus: The Terran Fleet Command Saga – Book 2

by Tori Harris

  “Attention all Terran Fleet Command vessels and facilities, this is Ensign Katy Fletcher aboard Admiral Kevin Patterson’s flagship, TFS Navajo. This vidcon is classified Top Secret, code word MAGI PRIME. All recipients of this data stream are responsible for ensuring that a secure environment, appropriate for this classification level, exists at your location. We have established a secure laser communications link with the Pelaran Guardian Spacecraft, which is standing by to join the call. Please note that the Guardian’s feed will include audio only at this time. Control of the comlink will transfer to Karoline Crull, Chairwoman of Terran Fleet Command’s Leadership Council in three … two … one.”

  There was a brief moment of silence as control of the vidcon signal passed from the Navajo’s Combat Information Center to the lectern Command console in front of the Leadership Council’s meeting chamber. Crull, who had been staring at her image on the small screen, allowed an additional moment of dead air before realizing she was now addressing the Leadership Council, the senior military leadership of Terran Fleet Command, and, for the first time, the Guardian Spacecraft itself. “Hello,” she began hesitantly. “I am Chairwoman Karoline Crull. On behalf of Terran Fleet Command’s Leadership Council, and all of Humanity, it is an honor to welcome you to our world.”

  Just a few meters away, Samuel Christenson felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he contemplated the potential damage that Crull might do, intentionally or not, simply because she was arrogant and naive enough to believe herself entitled to speak on behalf of the entire planet.

  “The honor is entirely mine, Chairwoman Crull,” the Guardian began agreeably and without any hint of hesitation. “I bring you greetings on behalf of hundreds of worlds, many of which were fortunate enough to have been chosen for membership in the Pelaran Alliance in the same manner as Terra. Before we continue, please allow me to address a concern some of you might have regarding my status as a representative of the Alliance. I am what your people might still refer to as a synthetic or, God forbid, an ‘artificial’ life form,” it said in a tone a parent might use when preparing to relieve a small child of an adorable, but potentially dangerous misconception. “On all of our member worlds, I am afforded the same level of recognition as a sentient being that any of you would be as a matter of course. I recognize that this idea takes some getting used to, and I bring it up now only to reassure you that I am fully empowered to speak on behalf of the Pelaran Alliance as an ambassador. Now,” it continued, transitioning smoothly back to a tone of voice one might use when speaking comfortably to a close friend, “let us return to the business of welcoming your people into the fold, so to speak. This date will echo through time as the single most important day in the history of your species, and I am deeply honored to have been given the opportunity to take part in it with you. To say that we have much to discuss is a monumental understatement, so I am anxious and excited to get started.”

  “Thank you, uh,” Crull stammered. “I’m sorry, what is the appropriate way to address you? Do you have a name … a title of some sort?”

  “Humans, you may address me as ‘Supreme and Mighty Celestial Emissary,’” it replied, deadpan. On the floor of the meeting chamber, as well as in the viewing gallery surrounding the room, there were murmurs of disapproval accompanied by the sound of people shifting uncomfortably in their chairs.

  “I see. Thank you, Sup—”

  “I’m kidding!” the Guardian interrupted, once again clearly amused by its own attempts at levity. “My God, and you were going to say it, too. I have to tell you that the historical records contain hundreds of variations of that joke coming up during induction proceedings. It’s one of those classics that never gets old.”

  Just under five hundred officers and civilian officials from Terran Fleet Command were participating in the live vidcon. Most exchanged dumbfounded looks with their neighbors, none having expected anything resembling what they had heard so far.

  “Well, I, uh, I’m happy to see that you have a sense of humor.”

  “Of course. If you think any sentient being, biological or otherwise, can spend hundreds of years alone in space without the benefit of a sense of humor, then we have much to teach you about behavioral psychology. In the interest of full disclosure, however, I can tell you that the use of humor has been part of what you might refer to as our ‘first contact’ protocols for a very long time. If you’re interested in truly getting to know another species, one of the most revealing things you can do is to study what they find humorous.”

  “And what did you learn about us, based on our sense of humor?”

  “Oh, a very great deal indeed, Madame Chairwoman. Understand that I’ve been out here observing for a very long time — just over five hundred revolutions around your sun, in fact. Over such an extended period, societal norms that tend to govern humor undergo significant change. What’s interesting about your species, is that, to a large extent, you find humor in practically everything. And that, my friends, is a gift that is largely unique — even among very advanced and so-called enlightened civilizations. It should be celebrated … nurtured …”

  “Cultivated?” Christenson interjected, already growing tired of the Guardian’s rather smarmy tone, especially in light of the seriousness of the current situation. There were a few audible gasps, followed by a moment of dead silence in the meeting chamber. From behind her lectern, Crull shot him a look that could have melted steel, incensed that he would dare to speak without her explicit permission.

  “Ah, Councilman Christenson, I presume,” the Guardian began again, its voice taking on a decidedly darker tone. “The last thing I want to do is put a damper on such an auspicious occasion as this, but I find your use of that term particularly interesting. In fact, I have never once included that word in any of my communications with your species … other than referring to myself as a ‘GCS,’ which actually does refer to the Guardian Cultivation System in your parlance. I have specifically avoided the term because I believe it has a somewhat negative connotation, particularly in the rather ambiguous English language your world seems to prefer. I’m sure you will agree that, in a situation such as the one we find ourselves in at the moment, misunderstandings should be avoided as much as possible. Yet I can’t help but wonder where you might have stumbled upon that term,” the Guardian paused, allowing time for the implication to be fully realized by all those in attendance. “It is of no immediate concern, however,” it said, resuming its bright, friendly tone. “As I said, this should be a day of celebration. There will be plenty of time to explore the details of matters such as this at a later date.”

  “I apologize for the interruption,” Crull said, still furious and now also justifiably concerned that a major breach of information security had just occurred. “I believe you were about to tell us how we should address you.”

  “Yes, as to that, I am open to suggestions. I hope you will find me easy to communicate with, and not easily offended. In some cases, organizations such as yours suggest some sort of contest where the world’s children vote on their preference, but, really, can anyone here think of anything more tedious?” it laughed. “Some of your military members have taken to calling me ‘GORT.’ Now, you see, that’s a great example of the Human sense of humor. An apt reference, in my opinion … I love it.”

  “I am truly sorry. I’m sure they meant no offense. I will personally make sure that does not happen …”

  “Nonsense,” the Guardian interrupted. “As I said, I am not easily offended, and that reference is not only fitting, but it’s all in good fun. In any event, if you are looking for a Human-sounding name to call me, how about ‘Griffin?’ I’ll admit to being a fan of Terran mythology, and the Griffin was a majestic beast said to be the king of all creatures — part lion, part eagle. Like dragons, they were said to be known for guarding hordes of treasure and priceless possessions, which, in a manner of speaking, is precisely why I was sent here in the first place. Besides,” he chuckled,
“there’s one on our flag.”

  “A griffin? On the flag of the Pelaran Alliance? But how is that even possible?”

  “Ah, well, I expect that will be one of a great many topics that symbolic anthropologists will be poring over for the next several centuries,” he said. “Without getting too far off topic, I can tell you that there are common threads among the mythologies and their accompanying symbols of most intelligent species. That’s especially true when the species have quite a bit in common. When you consider that symbology tends to arise from how people interpret the world around them, it makes sense that similar species would come up with similar symbols.”

  “So you’re saying that we are similar to the Pelarans, then?” Crull asked.

  “That, Madame Chairwoman, would be an understatement, but let’s handle one earth-shattering revelation at a time, shall we?”

  “Very well,” she replied after a moment. “Griffin the Guardian it is, then.”

  “Perhaps we should just stick with ‘Griffin,’ but, yes, that should work nicely. Now, about this time, someone will typically ask the question, ‘What happens next?’ so, if you will permit me …”

  “That was, in fact, my next question,” Crull interjected.

  “Induction into the Pelaran Alliance can be a bit tricky from both a societal and political perspective. That’s particularly true for a world such as yours where there is no worldwide governmental body, per se. That’s because the more enlightened civilizations tend to follow a path of self-determination, which implies that most people are reasonably happy with their current form of government. Well, that is, happy enough that they will typically resist any significant change orchestrated by someone they perceive as an ‘outsider,’ which certainly applies in this case.”

  Christenson arched an eyebrow at this, but reserved comment for the moment. He was keenly aware that his one-word contribution to the discussion, while justifiable, had probably been foolish and ill-timed on his part. The last thing he wanted to do was provide Crull with sufficient cause to mount some sort of campaign to have him ousted from the Leadership Council. He stared at her surreptitiously for a moment and noticed that she was sweating profusely. Odd. He could think of a great many adjectives to describe Crull, but nervous was certainly not one of them.

  “So,” the newly dubbed “Griffin” continued, “that is one of the fundamental reasons we insist that our Regional Partners — and by that, I mean civilizations like yours that are invited to join the Alliance — establish an organization such as your Terran Fleet Command once we begin the process of sharing our technological data.”

  “Is there some sort of formal invitation process?” Crull asked.

  “There is indeed. After we have concluded here today, I will transmit a series of documents that, together, constitute our official offer of admission. Most of them are simply informational, but there are also copies of the actual legal documents we typically use when inducting new members. You are, unfortunately, already familiar with the Alliance’s tendency to use rather legalistic documentation,” he sighed. “I do apologize for that. Honestly, if there is any one thing I think we can and should improve within our organization, it’s reducing the level of bureaucracy.”

  Christenson pressed a button at his console, providing an indication at Crull’s lectern as well as on the floor of the meeting chamber that he wished to speak. She paused and stared at him for a moment as if toying with the idea of ignoring him completely. He was a popular representative, however, both publicly and among the other members of the Council. She also knew that, now that he had formally requested the floor, she ultimately did not have the authority to prevent him from speaking. Not yet, anyway.

  “Griffin, I believe we have a question from the floor,” she said pleasantly. She then stared momentarily at Christenson through narrowed eyes as an obvious warning that he was on very thin ice at this point.

  “I expected we might,” the Guardian replied. “I will do my best to answer questions for as long as you feel is necessary. I will tell you, however, that many of the questions you have now will probably be answered within the context of the documentation I’m about to provide. In any event, fire away … I’m guessing you’ll get tired of asking before I get tired of answering.”

  “Thank you,” Christenson said, coming to his feet. “Assuming that membership in the Pelaran Alliance is something we, as a planet, would like to pursue,” he paused, taking the measure of his fellow Council members, “would you please take a moment to explain how we would go about the process of getting something like that approved? I’m sure you are aware that Terran Fleet Command has no authority along those lines, and, furthermore, Humanity has never even attempted to agree to something like that on a worldwide basis.”

  “That’s an excellent question, Councilman Christenson, and does a great job of getting at the heart of the most common problem facing many prospective members. First off, yes, I do agree that Terran Fleet Command does not have sufficient authority to approve membership in the Alliance on behalf of Earth. You do, however, make decisions affecting the entire population of your world every single day, do you not?”

  Christenson paused, not having expected such an immediate and direct challenge to the essence of his argument. “Within the context of our charter, yes, I suppose we do.”

  “You do indeed. I will further suggest that your charter implies a significant level of latitude in making those kinds of planetary decisions. Just as an example, the vast majority of Humans believe that Terran Fleet Command is largely a scientific organization, and that your ‘fleet’ consists of precisely one unarmed frigate. I assume that the long series of decisions that brought you to that state of affairs was made without the need for some kind of mass, planet-wide voting process. Am I correct?”

  The corners of Crull’s mouth turned upwards in a barely concealed smirk.

  “Although I have not agreed with all of the decisions that have brought us to this point, yes, that is correct,” Christenson replied. “Other than our being elected, or appointed in some cases, to our positions on the Leadership Council, we do not require the approval of our respective member nations in order to make decisions on their behalf.”

  “Oh, I would not expect any duly elected representative to always agree with the decisions of their organization at large. Nor would I expect the people you represent to always agree with how you choose to represent them. Such, dear Councilman, is the nature of government by proxy. In any event,” the Guardian continued, satisfied that the momentum of the discussion was now in its favor, “a few minutes ago, I mentioned self-determination among individual nations. We believe strongly in this concept, be it at the local, state, nation, world, or Alliance level. Where membership in the Alliance is concerned, this can be accomplished in a variety of different ways, but the end result must be that the majority of Humanity as a whole must be in favor of membership, preferably by a two-thirds majority.”

  “I doubt seriously you could get two-thirds of Humanity to agree that you even exist. So what do you propose?” Christenson asked, still holding the floor.

  “Point well taken, Councilman,” he said agreeably. “Although there are historical precedents for a global vote, most nations on Earth are accustomed to some form of representative government. In cases such as this, each nation’s decision typically falls to the governmental body empowered to enact treaties on their behalf. In the case of your nation, for example, I believe the Senate will conduct the vote, hopefully based on the wishes of your people. Each nation’s decision will then be weighted in direct proportion to their population. Since Terran Fleet Command is generally seen as trustworthy by the public, I recommend you take a lead role in disseminating information so that people can make an informed decision.”

  “I’m sure our membership would be happy to help distribute the information once we have had the opportunity to review it,” Crull spoke up, anxious for Christenson to sit back down before he managed to cause
his second “interstellar incident” of the day. “I’m afraid that I have to agree with my colleague, however. The Pelaran Alliance has shown a level of generosity towards our world that we can never hope to repay. Still, I don’t have a great deal of confidence that the public at large will be particularly keen on the idea of membership. I believe many will see it as a threat to our world’s sovereignty.”

  There was a discernable period of silence on the comlink as if the Guardian were considering how best to answer a particularly difficult question. “At the risk of concluding our first conversation on an ominous note, I feel it’s important for you to understand that no civilization has ever declined an invitation to join the Alliance. I suppose such a thing is possible, but would require us to examine a number of … shall we say … legal issues surrounding Humanity’s use of Pelaran technology. In any case, let’s not burden ourselves with such an unlikely outcome,” the Guardian said dismissively. “After all, the only reason your population might be concerned about a threat to what they perceive as your world’s ‘sovereignty’ is that they still labor under the illusion that Terra is an isolated island surrounded by an infinite, peaceful sea. For their own benefit, it is time they were permanently relieved of that rather childish notion. Leave that to me.”

  Chapter 8

  Earth

  (The following day — worldwide data stream broadcast)

  Twenty-third-century communications being what they were, practically any news or entertainment of widespread, general interest was available to most of Humanity in real-time. The lines separating various forms of popular media had long since blurred, resulting in a single, global communications network, readily accessible on devices ranging from the ubiquitous tablet to the wall-sized displays present in most homes and businesses. Accordingly, it took only a single call from an “unnamed Terran Fleet Command source” to one of the leading commercial news corporations in order to alert the entire planet that the Guardian was about to make its first public announcement. In an unprecedented feat of modern, global communications, over seven billion of the planet’s twelve billion Human beings (and two Wek) were watching live as the Guardian finally made “his” public debut.