December 2005 - Post Selection
ON: Alien Cultures
Day: 13
Time: 05.00 Scene: Planetside
"So, how am I doing, for a man who hasn't eaten in many days?" Zarain asked.
Jamaica looked up at the new alien. He was easily two metres tall, making him almost a third of a metre taller than her. In fact, none in their group, including Gol'Khar, matched his height.
"Honestly, and based on what my devices tell me so far?" she asked rhetorically. "Not well. You are suffering from several of the effects of nutrient deficiencies, not the least of which is hunger. However, although we have come with rations and supplies, I must ascertain whether you might react negatively to ingesting any of them. What is good for one may not be so for another."
She looked at the tall alien, unsure whether it had understood what she said, and if so, how much.
"It would be helpful if I could do some additional scans to help me determine how we can best help you. Or perhaps you can tell me what some of your normal foodstuffs are..."
The Professor was quiet for a moment. Although still cautious in his approach, from all he could tell of these beings, their intent was not hostile. He could not completely understand them yet, but their actions, and the tone of their words were those of beings who wished to help. The leader had divulged much more information than was necessary, perhaps in an effort to show goodwill. He could think of no other reason for telling him the makeup of their group, although he did had no idea what a "diplomat" was. Still, he must get word to the Elders. He realized that he must have been lost in thought, as the Doctor asked him another question.
"What do you eat?"
Zarain contemplated the question. He understood what she was asking, but was not sure she would understand his answer. He wondered whether shiga-oth, and dnu-oth were merely native to his planet. Suddenly he panicked. In all their planning, they had not considered the possibility that their inability to communicate with their rescuers would present problems in their ability to describe their foodstuffs.
"Shiga-oth, dnu-oth, vinze-oth when it is in season..."
Jamaica was not sure exactly what was wrong, but the readings on her tricorder advised her that Zarain's vital signs spiked at her question.
"Never mind," she said in a reassuring voice. "From my scans, I ascertain that you are not carnivorous."
That certainly jived with the planetary information they had. There would be no way for them to raise livestock. The only thing that made any sense was that they were herbivores. If she could see their teeth, she would know for certain.
"We do not eat flesh," Zarain added, regaining his composure. He did not appear to know what a "carnivorous" was, but his body language changed in such a way as to show his extreme disdain for any who might eat meat.
N'we hoped the others in the group picked up on that signal.
"In order for us to help you, we simply must have more information," N'we said.
"We must send a message to the others," Zarain replied.
Meanwhile, in the Nebula...
Aboard the M'Rtlag ship, Jovoxo was not happy.
"This is wrong," she said to the Chef. "Even though she is no longer among us, we still follow Amala's ways. We are not criminals. Yet we hide here in this nebula, running away like we have done something terribly wrong. If we wish to return home, we must do so in honor. I will not lead us home in disgrace. If you will not follow me, then kill me and take my place now. Otherwise be patient for a while longer, and we will bring honor to our creches on our return."
The Chef considered for a moment. They were safe in the nebula, but they were also trapped hiding there. They were no closer to home than they had been before, even though all their people were present.
"Choose," Jovoxo said, her tentacles writhing in patterns in front of her face.
The Chef picked up a carving laser. It would be a simple matter for him to dispatch Jovoxo, and claim the right of leadership. She stood there unafraid, almost daring him to do what she had done. He remembered the years serving Amala, and the treatment under her. He remembered that, as Chef, he could have taken her life at any time, and claimed the right of leadership. He hadn't. He put the laser down.
"We will return home with honor," he said to Jovoxo, "and may the Great Powers grant that it happen soon."
A guard lumbered as quickly as he could toward the two, and stopped a respectful distance from Jovoxo.
"Eminence, we have decrypted Amala's files."
"Yes..." Jovoxo said.
"It is too horrible. We should all be spaced, and may the Great Powers have mercy on our creches."
"What have you found?" Jovoxo demanded. It was obviously something very important.
"There are beings on the planet."
"Where?"
"On the world we last visited."
"WHAT? But she told us the probes showed no life forms..."
"She... Oh, Great Powers, be merciful..., reprogrammed the probes, Eminence. And this was not the only time."
The Chef looked as though he would have preferred to behead himself with his own laser. While they might seem harsh to outsiders, the M'Rtlag had codes of ethics. What the messenger had described was beyond the worst breach of those codes one could imagine.
"How will you lead us home in honor now, Jovoxo? Perhaps it would be best if we set a course for the nearest sun...," the Chef said.
Jovoxo was in shock. Cruel treatment among them was one thing, but the minerals they took from the planets they had thought were unoccupied, those could not be replaced. The biodiversity... the environmental damage... it was too astounding to contemplate. Taking them from dead worlds was one thing. It was not their way to intentionally harm others. Jovoxo did the only thing she could do. She picked up the Chef's carving saber, and amputated all of her tentacles. The Chef and the messenger stood in shock at their leader. Her tentacles were gone. They would never grow back. It was amazing that she still stood. She had marked herself as bearer of their shame, and she had done so before witnesses. It took a moment before she could force herself to speak.
"We will have a full accounting of everything in those files. We must know the truth, and the truth must be shown to all. It must not be kept in secret. And when we have learned the truth, we must atone. We will do that by returning to each planet, and performing new scans to determine whether life forms are there now, and if it is possible that they were there when we ravaged their worlds. We will provide whatever assistance we can where we have done harm. We will begin immediately."
The Chef calculated. They had been gone from home for a long time. What Jovoxo had just decreed meant that they would not return for a long while still. Perhaps, though, by the time they did return, they would have purged themselves of the burden Amala had placed on them.
"May her creche die out," the Chef thought to himself.
"Set a course for Dark Matter," Jovoxo directed. "Stop at the distance they had previously requested of us. Once we leave the nebula, lower our shields. Do nothing to provoke the Lars Persson. When we are clear of the magnetic interference, open a channel to the Lars Persson. Send this message until we receive a response: The M'Rtlag have only now learned that the planet below is inhabited. We wish to offer our assistance to those we have harmed."
The messenger left quickly to do as he was bid. The Chef approached Jovoxo to offer his assistance. Surely she must be in great pain.
"No," Jovoxo said as he neared, "We are shamed, and I must bear this alone."
Although the Chef knew it was true, he could not help but feel empathy for her. It was more than Amala, lying, heartless, Amala, who had done the unimaginable and, in doing so, damned them all, had ever done for any of them, and Jovoxo had not hesitated to do this, for all of them. He would not challenge her again.
OFF:
Lieutenant Jamaica N'we
CMO
USS Dark Matter
Day: 13
Time: 05.00 Scene: Planetside
"So, how am I doing, for a man who hasn't eaten in many days?" Zarain asked.
Jamaica looked up at the new alien. He was easily two metres tall, making him almost a third of a metre taller than her. In fact, none in their group, including Gol'Khar, matched his height.
"Honestly, and based on what my devices tell me so far?" she asked rhetorically. "Not well. You are suffering from several of the effects of nutrient deficiencies, not the least of which is hunger. However, although we have come with rations and supplies, I must ascertain whether you might react negatively to ingesting any of them. What is good for one may not be so for another."
She looked at the tall alien, unsure whether it had understood what she said, and if so, how much.
"It would be helpful if I could do some additional scans to help me determine how we can best help you. Or perhaps you can tell me what some of your normal foodstuffs are..."
The Professor was quiet for a moment. Although still cautious in his approach, from all he could tell of these beings, their intent was not hostile. He could not completely understand them yet, but their actions, and the tone of their words were those of beings who wished to help. The leader had divulged much more information than was necessary, perhaps in an effort to show goodwill. He could think of no other reason for telling him the makeup of their group, although he did had no idea what a "diplomat" was. Still, he must get word to the Elders. He realized that he must have been lost in thought, as the Doctor asked him another question.
"What do you eat?"
Zarain contemplated the question. He understood what she was asking, but was not sure she would understand his answer. He wondered whether shiga-oth, and dnu-oth were merely native to his planet. Suddenly he panicked. In all their planning, they had not considered the possibility that their inability to communicate with their rescuers would present problems in their ability to describe their foodstuffs.
"Shiga-oth, dnu-oth, vinze-oth when it is in season..."
Jamaica was not sure exactly what was wrong, but the readings on her tricorder advised her that Zarain's vital signs spiked at her question.
"Never mind," she said in a reassuring voice. "From my scans, I ascertain that you are not carnivorous."
That certainly jived with the planetary information they had. There would be no way for them to raise livestock. The only thing that made any sense was that they were herbivores. If she could see their teeth, she would know for certain.
"We do not eat flesh," Zarain added, regaining his composure. He did not appear to know what a "carnivorous" was, but his body language changed in such a way as to show his extreme disdain for any who might eat meat.
N'we hoped the others in the group picked up on that signal.
"In order for us to help you, we simply must have more information," N'we said.
"We must send a message to the others," Zarain replied.
Meanwhile, in the Nebula...
Aboard the M'Rtlag ship, Jovoxo was not happy.
"This is wrong," she said to the Chef. "Even though she is no longer among us, we still follow Amala's ways. We are not criminals. Yet we hide here in this nebula, running away like we have done something terribly wrong. If we wish to return home, we must do so in honor. I will not lead us home in disgrace. If you will not follow me, then kill me and take my place now. Otherwise be patient for a while longer, and we will bring honor to our creches on our return."
The Chef considered for a moment. They were safe in the nebula, but they were also trapped hiding there. They were no closer to home than they had been before, even though all their people were present.
"Choose," Jovoxo said, her tentacles writhing in patterns in front of her face.
The Chef picked up a carving laser. It would be a simple matter for him to dispatch Jovoxo, and claim the right of leadership. She stood there unafraid, almost daring him to do what she had done. He remembered the years serving Amala, and the treatment under her. He remembered that, as Chef, he could have taken her life at any time, and claimed the right of leadership. He hadn't. He put the laser down.
"We will return home with honor," he said to Jovoxo, "and may the Great Powers grant that it happen soon."
A guard lumbered as quickly as he could toward the two, and stopped a respectful distance from Jovoxo.
"Eminence, we have decrypted Amala's files."
"Yes..." Jovoxo said.
"It is too horrible. We should all be spaced, and may the Great Powers have mercy on our creches."
"What have you found?" Jovoxo demanded. It was obviously something very important.
"There are beings on the planet."
"Where?"
"On the world we last visited."
"WHAT? But she told us the probes showed no life forms..."
"She... Oh, Great Powers, be merciful..., reprogrammed the probes, Eminence. And this was not the only time."
The Chef looked as though he would have preferred to behead himself with his own laser. While they might seem harsh to outsiders, the M'Rtlag had codes of ethics. What the messenger had described was beyond the worst breach of those codes one could imagine.
"How will you lead us home in honor now, Jovoxo? Perhaps it would be best if we set a course for the nearest sun...," the Chef said.
Jovoxo was in shock. Cruel treatment among them was one thing, but the minerals they took from the planets they had thought were unoccupied, those could not be replaced. The biodiversity... the environmental damage... it was too astounding to contemplate. Taking them from dead worlds was one thing. It was not their way to intentionally harm others. Jovoxo did the only thing she could do. She picked up the Chef's carving saber, and amputated all of her tentacles. The Chef and the messenger stood in shock at their leader. Her tentacles were gone. They would never grow back. It was amazing that she still stood. She had marked herself as bearer of their shame, and she had done so before witnesses. It took a moment before she could force herself to speak.
"We will have a full accounting of everything in those files. We must know the truth, and the truth must be shown to all. It must not be kept in secret. And when we have learned the truth, we must atone. We will do that by returning to each planet, and performing new scans to determine whether life forms are there now, and if it is possible that they were there when we ravaged their worlds. We will provide whatever assistance we can where we have done harm. We will begin immediately."
The Chef calculated. They had been gone from home for a long time. What Jovoxo had just decreed meant that they would not return for a long while still. Perhaps, though, by the time they did return, they would have purged themselves of the burden Amala had placed on them.
"May her creche die out," the Chef thought to himself.
"Set a course for Dark Matter," Jovoxo directed. "Stop at the distance they had previously requested of us. Once we leave the nebula, lower our shields. Do nothing to provoke the Lars Persson. When we are clear of the magnetic interference, open a channel to the Lars Persson. Send this message until we receive a response: The M'Rtlag have only now learned that the planet below is inhabited. We wish to offer our assistance to those we have harmed."
The messenger left quickly to do as he was bid. The Chef approached Jovoxo to offer his assistance. Surely she must be in great pain.
"No," Jovoxo said as he neared, "We are shamed, and I must bear this alone."
Although the Chef knew it was true, he could not help but feel empathy for her. It was more than Amala, lying, heartless, Amala, who had done the unimaginable and, in doing so, damned them all, had ever done for any of them, and Jovoxo had not hesitated to do this, for all of them. He would not challenge her again.
OFF:
Lieutenant Jamaica N'we
CMO
USS Dark Matter