by C H Gideon
“The freedom you are looking for,” Geroux answered. “We can help you move somewhere on Grindlevik 3; somewhere you can start over.”
“But with support from Gorad still,” Jiya added. “My goal would be to see you autonomous—free of the Grindlovians and their expectations—and we could provide your people with the building blocks toward a brighter future.”
“There is much we can teach you,” Takal joined in. “Then, when you are ready, you can enlist Gorad’s aid in teaching you how to pilot those destroyers in orbit above. Then you would be free to seek out a new planet where your people could develop and grow as an independent race with your own destiny.”
“That might well take generations, though,” Reynolds warned. “This is no short-term plan but a marathon of existence. A way forward…eventually. As much as we want to help you, we cannot leave the Grindlovians with no support. Removing the Telluride all at once would be a death sentence since the Grindlovians can’t fend for themselves.”
The Telluride shared looks but said nothing, Reynolds knew they were communicating. It wasn’t something as complex as telepathy, but what Geroux had said of L’Sofee was true. She did know the will of her people, and she spoke for them all.
L’Sofee stood and offered the crew and Reynolds a respectful bow. “We would take this path…with your assistance,” she told them. “We will embrace the change and take responsibility to realize a new and better destiny.”
“I will make your desire known to the others,” Gorad said.
Outside, the community viewscreens awoke, and the news of the Tellurides’ decision was announced to the whole of Grindlevik 3.
“Though I support your right to do this, I would be remiss in not mentioning that there will be strife in the wake of your decision,” Gorad warned from his spot on the floor.
“There can be no change without it,” Reynolds comforted them. “My people and I will work with yours to assure the smoothest transition possible. We will do whatever we can.”
“Thank you, Reynolds,” Gorad said, then turned to look at the crew. “And to you, as well.”
Jiya nodded. “Don’t thank us yet.” She chuckled. “None of this is going to be easy, like you said. It is going to cause problems. Since the will of the Telluride is clear, the negotiations will be a significant challenge.”
“I had no expectation that it would be simple,” Gorad admitted.
“Good, because even peaceful revolutions can be dangerous,” Jiya told him.
“Fortunately, we’ve all had a little experience with this,” Reynolds assured the other AI.
“Still,” Maddox announced, making sure Gorad and the Telluride knew he was talking to them, “we cannot guarantee anything. You are upending both your lives and those of the Grindlovians. People are going to feel betrayed, offended, sad, and even angry. With those emotions stirred up, there is always a chance for violence to erupt.”
“I can increase the security presence of my droids,” Gorad said. “That will keep the outbreaks of violence to a minimum should they occur.”
“Well, not that you Telluride got much in the way of training,” Ka’nak said, “but my money’s on you guys. Even the worst of you can kick the ass of a pudding ball in a chair.”
“Which is another issue that will need to be addressed,” Reynolds said.
“You mean who’s going to patch up all the Grindlovians when they get boot-stomped?” Ka’nak asked.
Jiya slapped him on the arm and Reynolds shook his head.
“No, I mean that without the Telluride to assist the Grindlovians, they will be entirely dependent upon Gorad’s machines to get by.” He turned to look at the other AI. “Can you manufacture enough devices to overcome the deficit of Telluride help?”
“Not immediately, of course,” Gorad answered, “but I can modify what’s available to them now and make it easier for them to function independently. Mostly.”
“Not entirely reassuring, Gorad,” Jiya told the AI.
L’Sofee stepped away from the table and turned to take in everyone there. “What is it we should do first?” she asked. “Where do we go from here?”
The other Telluride stared, awaiting the answer.
“I’d say the first step is to get the two factions together and see if we can find a starting point from which to work,” Jiya replied. “It’s unreasonable to imagine society is going to change immediately and everyone will just move on.”
“Jiya’s right,” Maddox told the group. “This change needs to be incremental, baby steps if you will. Nothing is going to change in a day, but we need to get the two groups together and work out a way forward, a plan to divorce two species of beings who have been interdependent for so long.”
L’Sofee nodded. “We understand, and we will do as we must.”
Gorad nodded. “Then I will convene another meeting shortly so that we might discuss the changes to come.” The alien AI sighed as he activated the communications system again and announced what they’d decided, calling a meeting of the two groups, the Grindlovians and the Telluride.
“It is a new day on Grindlevik 3,” L’Sofee announced.
“Let’s just hope it’s not a Monday,” Jiya said, looking for humor and sounding positive for the first time in a long time.
“You are making a mistake,” Fulla Sol told L’Sofee matter-of-factly once the two sides had been convened again. “Without us, your people have no purpose,” she declared.
L’Sofee scoffed. “You’re mistaken, Fulla Sol, in your belief that our sole purpose is to serve you.”
“We watched the Telluride attempt to do what the crew of the Reynolds showed you, and it was clear you have no aptitude for any of the skills required to live your lives without our assistance.”
“Your assistance?” L’Eliana blurted in surprise, jumping to her feet. “We might well be dependent upon the kindness of Gorad, but your people do nothing to better our lives. We’ll be fine without you.”
L’Sofee raised a hand and L’Eliana reluctantly returned to her seat, though it was clear she was still fuming, her golden cheeks gleaming. L’Sofee hadn’t sought to raise the Telluride’s ire, only to take charge of their destiny. Tearing others down did nothing to improve one’s status.
“You misjudge your importance in our lives, Fulla Sol,” L’Sofee told the female. “We might not be ready to strike out on our own, but it is not the contribution of the Grindlovians that holds us back. It is our own ignorance,” she said, then gestured to the council members. “You will soon learn that the same can be said for your lives when our assistance is reduced and eventually ceased.”
“Your people barely work eight-hour shifts ten of the eleven days of the week,” Fulla Sol said. “Do you think we cannot cope without such minimal assistance?”
“Minimal?” L’Eliana shrieked, and L’Sofee stopped her before she could jump up again. Her withering gaze told L’Eliana she was on thin ice.
“We created Gorad,” Vor Stygn reminded, “and we will order him to abandon you and no longer provide his assistance.”
“Order?” Gorad asked, stepping forward, a frown distorting his android features. “I’m afraid you misunderstand our relationship if you believe you can give me orders. You may have misinterpreted all of your relationships.”
“We are your creators,” Fulla Sol told him. “You would not exist were it not for us.”
“I would not exist were it not for your ancestors,” he corrected her. “And none of my programming requires me to comply with you or anyone else. I am autonomous and will do what must be done for the health and wellbeing of Grindlevik 3, but I will not be made to do anything I consider to be inappropriate, such as holding people against their will.”
“You dare to defy us as these servants do?” Fulla Sol shouted—as much as a Grindlovian could shout—gesturing feebly toward the Telluride. Fulla Sol slumped back in her seat and gasped for breath.
It was the most movement Reynolds had seen from
one of her people. He stared at the female, a bit surprised she could pull it off without hurting herself.
“I will not allow such foolishness on Grindlevik 3,” Fulla Sol announced a moment later. “You people will do what they always have. You will serve us, and be grateful for your place in our lives.”
The whole group of Telluride rose to their feet, defiantly glaring at the council.
“We will speak no more of this,” Fulla Sol announced, and the council members dropped into the floor, leaving the stunned Telluride and crew behind.
“I’m thinking that didn’t go as well as anyone hoped,” Ka’nak said. “Who wants a drink?”
Takal raised his hand, and Geroux glared at him. He lowered it quickly.
“We will not tolerate this,” L’Sofee told everyone. “We cannot.”
“I agree,” Jiya replied, shaking her head. “To think the Grindlovians believe they can get by without you and your people!”
“They cannot,” L’Eliana assured her.
“Then maybe you should prove that to them,” Jiya suggested.
“What do you intend?” Gorad asked slowly.
“Me? Nothing,” Jiya answered, then pointed to the Telluride. “They, however, should show the Grindlovians just how different life would be without their help.” Jiya grinned. “I say it’s time to strike.”
“Strike?” L’Sofee asked, clearly unsure what the word meant. “I have no intention of attacking the Grindlovians. We will not do that.”
“Sorry, ‘go on strike,’” Jiya clarified. “It means to protest your situation and step away from your work with the Grindlovians—all the Telluride as one. Let the Grindlovians survive on their own for a time, so they see just how much you do for them. That will teach them the value of your service.”
L’Eliana smiled. “I like this idea.”
“As do I,” San Paget agreed.
L’Sofee nodded. “Then strike it is. The Telluride are strike!”
“On strike,” Ka’nak corrected.
“We are on strike?” L’Sofee asked.
“Yes you are, damn it!” Jiya shouted, pumping her fist in the air.
Everyone looked at her strangely.
“Too much?” Jiya asked.
Geroux nodded. “A little, yeah.”
“Okay, well, regardless, the Telluride are on strike,” Jiya repeated. “The Grindlovians will have to take care of themselves for a bit. Let’s see how they react to that.”
“I suspect not well,” Gorad said. The look on his face made it clear he was dreading the days ahead since the majority of the problems would fall on his shoulders, even with the crew’s assistance.
Reynolds patted him on the back, trying to comfort the alien AI. “Don’t worry, my friend. All that can happen is that everything falls apart. A strike will establish a base understanding of what happens when one side withdraws from the negotiations. The status quo changes. The negotiating positions change. I expect the Telluride will not be impacted, while the Grindlovians will be sorely challenged. A strike will move the Telluride into a superior bargaining position, but when the Grindlovians return to the table, they must be treated with respect and the Telluride must negotiate in good faith without lording the change in dynamics over the other party. ”
“Interesting, but I see the wisdom. I expect things will be bad for a short while. Despite their lack of physical capabilities, the Grindlovians are a proud people,” Gorad explained.
“Things could be worse,” Maddox told Gorad.
The AI looked at the general, an eyebrow raised. “How so?”
“You could be in charge of a planet full of Ka’naks.” He chuckled, pointing at the Melowi warrior.
“He’s not wrong,” Ka’nak agreed. “There would be blood everywhere if there were a bunch of pissed-off mes roaming the planet.” He motioned toward the departed council members’ hatches. “At least now, all you really have to worry about is scrubbing tire scuffs off the tiles. I’d say you got it pretty good, robo-boss.”
Chapter Fifteen
The first week of the strike was absolute chaos.
The Telluride, used to getting up daily and tromping to work for the Grindlovians, struggled with the lack of activity almost immediately.
The people had gathered at the dining hall that the crew had turned into a makeshift headquarters. The Telluride were restless. They stomped about aimlessly, pacing, desperate to find something to do while understanding that they were expected to remain there and discuss the future of their people. It made for quite a mess.
Jiya could tell it was torment for them.
They didn’t understand what was going on, and passively sitting there discussing their future was as strange a task to them as swimming, fighting, or conducting a science experiment. The Telluride were not mentally prepared to not use their hands. They had been raised to a life of activity.
That only added to the chaos of the strike. They were not yet ready for the change. As Reynolds had surmised, both parties would suffer during the strike.
The Telluride were in as much mental anguish as the Grindlovians. Something worth having was never easily achieved. The Telluride were earning their freedom.
Jiya stood on a table and called the restless throng to order. It was several minutes before they complied, and only L’Sofee raising her hands managed to quiet the crowd. Jiya offered the female a nod of thanks before turning to address the Telluride.
“Today is the first day of your new lives,” she announced to a grumbling of uncertain voices. “Give yourself time to get used to it,” she advised. “None of what you’re doing here will be easy, I’m afraid, even if it is physically easier.”
“This is unnatural,” one of the crowd called. Her voice was echoed by dozens of others. “What are we doing?”
“You need to make a point,” Jiya replied. “If your people go off and serve the Grindlovians as you’ve always done, then they will continue to expect it and nothing will change,” she argued. “The Grindlovians need to become uncomfortable to realize the value they place upon your service.”
“Are we, too, supposed to be uncomfortable?” one asked.
Jiya nodded, hiding her sigh. She’d answered a hundred variations of that question already.
It wasn’t that the Telluride were fools. They had simply become so used to their lives as they were that, even when they were bothered by what was happening, they still stepped up and did the job. Serving others gave them purpose. It was their true nature.
Unfortunately, the Grindlovians had taken advantage and pressed the Telluride to do more and more. Their acquiescence had led the Grindlovians to believe themselves superior.
“Yes, I’m afraid you are going to be uncomfortable,” Jiya answered. “No one here is saying you can’t eventually go back to working with the Grindlovians, but it must be your choice and not because anyone ordered you to.”
“Is there really a difference?” San Paget asked.
“Of course there is,” Jiya replied, holding her hands out to calm the masses. “You will know when the decision is yours. You do what you’re comfortable doing, and you’re rewarded for it. The latter means you don’t have a choice and the Grindlovians own you and your efforts,” she explained. “Huge difference.”
“Is there no middle ground?” a female cried out.
That was another question Jiya was becoming tired of—not that it wasn’t a good one. Compromise was the cornerstone of diplomacy, a means to keep both sides participating in the process. If one side always got what it wanted, they would end up like the Grindlovians. If one side always submitted, they would be like the Telluride.
Explaining this to them was tedious, but Jiya knew she needed to keep doing it, over and over until it sank in and made sense to both sides.
“There is most certainly a middle ground,” Jiya told the female. “That’s what we’re here to explore. We’re trying to find a way that those of you who wish to work for the Grindlovians can do so fa
irly, while those who wish to move on can also do so.” But here was the recurring problem. “All of you, however, must agree upon how we move forward with this. If you split, with one side doing one thing and the other doing something completely different, you will tear your society apart.”
The crowd rustled and heated conversations broke out, as they had a dozen times since Jiya started saying it. The problem was that they had yet to determine a cohesive way forward.
Many of the older Telluride were content to serve as long as Gorad continued to care for them, providing food and stability.
The younger Telluride, who’d grown up seeing their parents struggling to cater to the uncaring Grindlovians, hated the idea of spending their lives slaving away for people who cared little about them or their welfare. To them, it was all about what the Grindlovians gained with no thought to what it cost the Telluride.
They’d seen their people suffer, growing old and weary and fading away, while the Grindlovians simply recruited another Telluride to take their place. The old passed away in the Telluride’s part of the city, forgotten by their previous masters, having been viewed as disposable.
“No!” a young male shouted. “We must make the Grindlovians understand we are not their slaves! We are residents of this world, the same as they are, and we deserve the same respect.”
The youngest of the group cheered the male while the elders grumbled and questioned the dangerous and unknown path forward.
Once more the crowd broke out into harsh conversations about what was best and how to accomplish it.
Jiya stomped her foot on the table and demanded the throng’s attention. With L’Sofee’s efforts, she managed to settle them down enough to listen.
“Look, I understand that there isn’t a single way forward for all,” she told them, believing her words wholeheartedly, “but a decision must be made that satisfies the majority. There will always be some among you who are unhappy with the way things are, and each of you will be allowed to go your own way once the majority solidifies the process and focus for your people,” she explained. “However, there need to be protections in place to ensure that those who wish to work can do so, and those who wish to leave can do so, both without prejudice from Telluride and Grindlovians alike.”
