“That’s good,” concluded We’Nkrak.
“The Zzrey social tension factor is surprisingly high, probably above one. We’re still far from estimating the global value, but the world is polarized, and I think we landed in the middle of a war. Their capital looks deserted and bears some limited… traces of destruction,” he said, again clearing his throat. “Surely in the next few days, we’ll have more to say about this.”
The Federals exchanged worried looks.
“That’s bad,” exploded We’Nkrak angrily. “Just what we needed! Contact with a warring world! It was a mistake, Sirtam 4, to let them know about our existence!” he addressed the Rigulian with golden rings presiding over the meeting.
“Who would have thought that someone able to build space distortions is only at the fusion level—and in a war?”
“We could ha—”
“Regarding the mission,” continued Omal 13 without knowing that he interrupted We’Nkrak, “we ruled out that the Antyrans had developed the distortion in their current evolutionary wave. Maybe we found a siamese civilization. If so, the projection of the past world would explain the oversized Zzrey factor. We should have found obvious imbalances in their technology, but no luck yet.”
“Is it possible, such a thing?” asked We’Nkrak incredulously. “It’s true we found siamese worlds in Arkadia’s history; it’s an obvious cyclicity. Sometimes the survivors repopulate the destroyed words and find their artifacts. But an advanced precursor… able to build space distortions—we would see the technological imbalance from light-years away! We wouldn’t need investigations!”
“Who knows?” replied Sirtam 4. “We don’t know all of Arkadia’s cycles. If the forerunners self-destructed—”
“Without a trace? A world capable of hiding stars didn’t leave trails in the galaxy? Besides a poor distorter?” We’Nkrak burst into maniacal laughter, slamming his hideous tumor to the hole acting as his mouth, in a totally annoying manner for the Rigulians leering at him. “I suppose I’ve heard bigger absurdities than this one, but I can’t remember them right now. Even you know it! The chances that the Antyran ancestors invented the device and then were wiped out by a war, leaving no trace, are zero!”
“Keep in mind that even we don’t have this technology,” said the other scrawny creature. “You mean we could disappear from galaxy without a trace?”
His question remained unanswered, as Omal resumed his report, still without seeing them.
“The other possibility is that the Antyrans have no idea what it was all about. Another civilization created the distortion and locked them inside.”
“Hey, how did he get this idea? Very dangerous assumption,” exclaimed We’Nkrak’s companion, worried. “If there’s another world hidden somewhere in the shadows, maybe it’s time to raise the quarantine and—”
“Rassgan, let’s not panic for nothing. Let’s find the details, and then we’ll know what to do.”
“But we are exposed, and you know it. Just as we—”
“We made contact with them,” said the ambassador. “We’re… building a relationship. They’re quite strange. At our first meeting, I suppose I made a mistake. We landed in a field, surrounded by a million Antyrans in a kind of procession. Something bothered them, and… their rulers left without talking to us.”
A tense silence fell over the room. Antyra’s appearance wasn’t such big news; other galactic civilizations had been discovered in the past. The problem lay in the way it appeared from a point in space folded in on itself. A threat hidden in a cone of shadow was growing in their quadrant, and all sensed it instinctively, even though the reaction of the Rigulians was all too predictable. They had this habit of delaying any decision indefinitely—until it was usually too late.
“In the end, an official ordered us to wait in space, far from their planets,” the ambassador continued the story. “We recorded some primitive holotransmissions, but after the contact, they went silent. And tomorrow we’ll meet their ruler.”
“I want to see the hologram of the contact,” We’Nkrak said to the Rigulians. “When can we expect it?”
“I’ll send the hologram of the contact,” said Omal 13 as if he had read his thoughts. “In two days you’ll have it.”
He lowered his eyes, avoiding his Corbelian sphere.
“Yes, I know I broke the protocol, but I wanted to finish as quickly as possible. Sirtam 4, I’m waiting for your instructions. I want to know… err… ” he stumbled, hesitating, “if you got my request.”
After a while, Sirtam’s sphere finally released a short whistle and began to pulse faster.
“Everyone check if his translator is entangled with Antyra.”
“Mine isn’t red yet, said Rassgan. “They always feel us slower! Stupid protocols,” he scoffed with contempt, “I should have brought mine from home!”
“Patience is a virtue seldom found among Sarkens,” exclaimed Sirtam sarcastically. “What does it matter if we wait a bit more?”
“OK, we can start now,” grumbled Rassgan, annoyed by the Rigulian’s patronizing tone.
“All right, we’ll send our reply now to Omal 13,” said Sirtam in a formal tone, similar to the one used by the ambassador.
The synchronization started to work both ways, and Omal finally noticed the aliens in the room. He looked around and fixed his eyes on the two weird nervous grays whispering in their rough, rattled language.
“Omal 13, you can’t hibernate right now,” exclaimed Sirtam 4. “Take the hormones for another month; we have no one else to send in your place! We have to move the rail-planet from Lacrilia59 before the crazy star bursts a big storm on us. As soon as we finish the geometry of the superstring—”
“We’re out of here!” We’Nkrak finished for him, grinning.
“If I ask for another ambassador, it may take two months to arrive from Rigulia,” continued Sirtam, pretending he didn’t notice the interruption.
“Which, we don’t have,” added We’Nkrak with a grimace, mocking Sirtam’s official tone. “Find out about the distortion!”
“I understand, Sirtam 4, but it’s getting harder,” admitted Omal.
And jeopardizing my mission, he thought, but he had the common sense not to say it to his superior. It wouldn’t change the situation because Sirtam didn’t care much about such details.
“Omal 13, that’s not all. We’ve got a strange… but most welcome request: Grammia asked to get involved in this. You know we have some difficulties with them, but the council sees this as a great opportunity to make them more open. You have to meet their envoys.”
“Grammia?” exploded We’Nkrak, exasperated. “On the arms of the galaxy, what do they want this time?”
“Antyra’s in their sector,” replied Sirtam. “They have all the rights to stick their tongue in this.”
“And how’s that going to help the Antyrans?” Rassgan laughed. “They don’t have fleets or resources. Just a lousy planet sunk in eternal reverie.”
“They’re the most peaceful world in the galaxy! They don’t even have the word war in their language; we should all learn from them!”
“Amazing words, especially coming from you, Rigulians, who never gave a handful of mud about Grammia till today. What made you change your way with them?” barked We’Nkrak.
“Can we block their access to Antyra?” insisted Rassgan. “I don’t like this at all; they show up just as we’re about to find the most powerful artifact in the galaxy. Maybe the council—”
“Block their access?” exclaimed Sirtam clapping his mouth blades in disdain, using the tone of someone having to argue with a mentally retarded creature. Road workers, always road workers! Everywhere in the galaxy, the same impertinent Sarkens, the same primitive mold, he thought, angered. They stick their scales everywhere; they fail to understand the importance of the protocols and poison the meetings with their rude ironies. Why did we have to plant the serums on their stupid ships? “You really didn’t H-E-A-R they want to H-E-L-P us?” he spelled. “How do you want to block the access of a member of our Federation? Under which law? In addition, when did we have such an offer from Grammia?”