Garden
“So that’s it?” I asked.
Four of us were hanging out in the galley, staring out the Jack’s windows. Nai was being a bit of a party pooper, magnetizing her feet to the floor while she read a book. Tasser, Nerin, and I were floating lazily in zero-G.
“Yup. Cammo-Caddo,” Tasser said. “Here’s hoping we don’t have to go.”
It was the bluest planet I’d seen since Yawhere, and even more evocative of Earth. The detail in its clouds and seas grew steadily clearer as we hurtled closer to it. Relative to the planet’s position, we were travelling something like Mach 30, and yet we weren’t slowing down either.
The Jackie Robinson wouldn’t be stopping there today.
We were just dipping into its gravity long enough to adjust our own vector without shedding speed.
“Not a fan of good weather and, what do they do there, farming?” I joked.
“Lots,” Nerin nodded. “That planet is the single largest exporter of organic materials after the homeworlds, and as the planet keeps developing it’s probably going to surpass them eventually too.”
“In fact, I’m not a fan of farming,” Tasser said. “At least, not when I have to do it. I just don’t like sleeping on mats.”
“They sleep on mats?” I asked. “Like, just a bed between you and the hard floor?”
“Can’t even really call it a bed,” Tasser frowned.
“That’s standard for a lot of Casti cultures,” Nerin shrugged.
“Not me,” Tasser said. “I can rough it with the best of them, but when I can get them I really appreciate the creature comforts.”
“Like a galley where we can make our own hot food?” Nai added. She didn’t even look up from her book.
“I don’t know if I can go back,” Tasser nodded, giving a rare—for him at least—click in the affirmative.
The Jack was a nice ship. We’d made sure of it. Between Nai and an all-purpose Vorak fabricator, we could modify the ship however we wanted it.
“…They probably still eat better than we do down there, don’t they?” I asked, staring at the Casti colony.
“Definitely,” Nerin snorted. “They can buy foodstuffs fresh. They’re living a full ecosystem.”
“There’s really only five of those?” I asked.
“Seven if you count homeworlds,” Nerin said bitterly. The most obvious inference going unsaid: it had been eight a few decades ago.
“Was it a fertile planet from the start?” I asked. It was a legitimate question. How hadn’t I asked about this sooner?
“No,” Nai said. “Colonies with planetary ecosystems were terraformed.”
“All of them? How many systems are out there? Like, fifty? Surely there’s been some life on one or two of them,” I asked.
“Systems? More like a hundred, and most of them are empty. But there are exactly two systems with native life,” Tasser nodded. “And both planets in question are inhospitable for eukaryotic life. They’re basically sulfuric oceans with some moss growing on the rocks sticking out above the surface.”
“…Technically moss would be eukaryotic,” Nerin said.
“Bah, you know what I mean.”
“Terraforming,” I said, dragging the conversation back. “Cammo-Caddo and Yawhere both had ecosystems. Those are entirely artificial?”
“It depends on your definition of artificial,” Nai said, finally deciding our conversation was more interesting than her novel. “New ecosystems were introduced, but that’s the very last step. Terraforming involves preparing the planet to support life, then figuring out exactly what varieties of life you’re going to introduce, and then you do so at planned points. But once you get to introducing life, it takes care of itself. That’s the point.”
“How much preparation goes into it?”
“Literally decades,” Nai said. “You start by picking the right planet. It’s got to have the right gravity, most of the time that means it’s not too light, but there’s a few that are too heavy too.”
“…Because you’re not really creating an ecosystem,” I grasped. “You’re transplanting one. The gravity should match, at least as close as you can.”
“It’s the bane of every lunar colony’s gardens and atriums. Moon gravity lets most plants grow too large,” Tasser said.
“[Goldilocks] gravity, I got it,” I nodded.
“Then you get rid of the ones that are spinning too slow or too fast,” Nai said. “Blackout curtains can be overlapped to cover even small planets, but the rock itself still has to spin decently fast. If one side is exposed to the system sun, both curtain and surface get cooked.”
“You’re looking for all things [goldilocks].” I was following this.
“Believe it or not, there’s actually a lot of those that qualify,” Nai said. “Gravity and spin aren’t the biggest obstacles. In any given system, about half its rocky planets will qualify or come close enough. The real filter is ground conditions.”
“Not atmosphere?” I asked, surprised.
“Planets with the right gravity will usually have at least some atmosphere,” Nai said. “And as long as you can introduce a water cycle, atmosphere becomes a lot easier to alter. But you can’t get a water table if the whole planet is solid rock, or doesn’t have enough change in elevation to support a cycle. Tectonics are what the first colonization efforts looked for. Planets with molten and active cores would have plate activity that would make different kinds of soil and ground types. That variety is key at every subsequent stage of habitability. If your planet is all one type of ground, then it’s impossible to create biomes and microclimates, and that variety is crucial for actually keeping your future ecosystem stable.”
“So, take Sidar,” I said. “It would be a bad candidate…because its gravity is too light, and the whole planet is basically all just solid rock. There’s no soft ground, and it doesn’t have the gravity.”
“Correct,” Nai said. “It’s range of elevation is also rather poor.
“Then what did it look like on Yawhere? How long does each stage take?”
“Yawhere was the picture-perfect case study for these procedures, and it still took forever,” Nai remarked. “Casti and Kiraeni teams spent close to a century filtering contaminants out of icy comets and asteroids and then diverting that ice into Yawhere’s atmosphere. The planet’s oceans had dried up a few hundred thousand years ago until we dumped in new ones, one frozen meteor at a time.”
I frowned.
“No offense Nai, but this seems pretty far outside your [wheelhouse]. How do you know all this?” I asked.
“Oh, I know why!” Nerin said. “She wrote a paper about planetary habitability for school, and halfway through she got fed up enough to try wrangling me into helping her with it.”
If Nai was embarrassed by the story, she didn’t show it.
If anything she looked smug, saying, “a few years after the Razing I got angry and wanted to know why we couldn’t terraform a new homeworld. My school mentor had me turn it into a personal research project.”
“What is stopping the Farnata from terraforming a new homeworld?” I asked. “Besides getting the resources together, I mean.”
“Nothing,” Nai said. “It just takes a lot of resources. But we aren’t terraforming a ‘new’ one. We’re getting the old home back.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. That’s great!”
Except the looks on Nai and Nerin’s faces didn’t match mine.
“…It’s a long way off, Caleb,” Tasser told me. “Not in our lifetime.”
“It’s just not that easy to turn an otherwise barren rock into a flourishing planet,” Nai said. “There’s a reason in three-hundred years of spacefaring Vorak, Farnata, and Casti have only pulled it off with five planets out of several hundred we’ve discovered.”
“Still, even if we never see it, your kids might someday right?” I said.
“Good grief, could you imagine Nai being a mom?” Nerin snickered.
“You’re one to talk,” her sister said. “You went into surgery because your bedside manner was awful.”
“Hey, it’s gotten a lot better,” Nerin pouted.
“Two sisters at each other’s throats,” Tasser chided, “it’s so tragic to see firsthand.”
“That was funnier in your head,” Nai accused, but I chuckled a bit. We continued to watch the lively planet pass until eventually it passed out of view.
Tasser, Nerin, and I pushed off the nearest wall or ceiling within reach and set ourselves back on the floor just in time for the faux gravity to return. A few more hours accelerating toward Mogh, and then we’d flip and begin a long braking burn.
It was routine to check the ship after we’d been weightless, just to make sure nothing had shifted catastrophically. After covering those bases with Nai, the two of us left Tasser to needle Nerin while we met with Serral.
The captain was one of only two crew members to have their own quarters. Shinshay was the only other person onboard without a roommate, but we still had an entire deck of crew quarters going empty.
Serral’s quarters weren’t any different from anyone else’s onboard, but what would have normally been devoted to a berth for a second occupant was instead converted into a very messy office.
Even with Shinshay and I elbow deep in our prototype filing network, some of the ship’s affairs needed to be documented digitally. Papers too were set into neat piles on a handful of surfaces.
It might have been intimidating to talk with Serral on the other side of that organized chaos, but we found him on the livable side of the cabin this time.
“Captain,” Nai greeted.
“Take a seat if you want,” he said.“We arrive at Doriga station in about thirty hours with our scheduled burn. We need to cover expectations.”
In the corner of my mind’s eye, I sensed Nai wake up more of her psionics. I wasn’t sure how sharp Captain Serral’s own psionic perceptions were, but if he could sense us preparing to take notes he would approve.
“Doriga is in geosynchronous orbit above a dome-&-pod colony on Mogh’s surface, so their shipping and receiving should be more than capable of routing our cargo; Nai, we want that unloaded from the hold as soon as possible upon docking. That’s your first priority. I want to deliver the invoice and get our pay as quickly as possible.”
“We’re that desperate for cash?” I asked.
“Not once your work on the station is complete,” Serral said. “But if something were to go wrong, we would be down to thirty-three hundred liquid and five thousand in non-ship assets. So, yes. We’re cutting our margins rather close.”
I frowned. Those numbers were certainly lower than the last set I’d been told, but my grasp of alien finances was meager at best. I had no clue how long those funds could last us if we needed them to. I just didn’t know how much anything cost. Not food, not fuel. Not even work. Not helping me was the wide variety of currencies Casti colonies used.
Don’t let it get to you, I reminded myself. You’re learning. Take it one step at a time.
“Org and transport union psionic work,” I recalled, “plus the adept synthesis stuff, right?”
“It’s the synthesis job I wanted to talk to you both about,” Serral said, “but especially Caleb.”
“I’ve done one before,” I said. The second week on Sidar, Nai and I had been called to help manufacture a few thousand kilometers of fine gold, silver, and copper filaments. Adeptry was downright cheating.
“It’s not the work I feel you need to be warned about, it’s the clients,” Serral corrected. “We’re going to a Mogh station, but the firms contracting us run out of Cammo-Caddo.”
“Ah,” Nai said understandingly. “You did mention that…”
“Are we expecting problems with them?” I asked.
“Maybe?” Serral said. “It’s certainly possible, but the truth is we have no way of knowing until we meet an agent or face for the firm.”
“What’s so hard about finding out?”
“Honestly? Because there’s not really a formal way of asking ‘are you going to back out of this business deal on religious grounds’,” Serral sighed. “At least, I don’t know of it.”
“I don’t know, that seemed pretty formal to me,” I said. “Direct. Concise. What more do they want?”
“Assurances,” Serral said simply. “The filament job wanted them too. Fact is you’re an unknown quality, and that means people want to meet you face to face, Caleb.”
“And when those people are from Cammo-Caddo…” Nai followed. “Face to face meetings carry extra baggage.”
“What about Cammo-Caddo means extra baggage?” I asked.
“That’s a very complicated question with a frustrating number of correct answers,” Serral said. “How much have you been told about the planet?”
I shared a glance with Nai.
Most of what I’d heard about the Mummar system came from her and Tasser, but they were quick to admit they’d never visited the system before now.
“Cammo-Caddo’s like Yawhere,” I said, “one of the earlier Casti colonies. But…Mummar is C7, isn’t it? Doesn’t that put it later?”
Serral nodded.
“Mummar might be the seventh Casti system, but that’s because they were numbered in order of access, not colonization. Nai what have you told him about Cammo-Caddo specifically?”
“I just know it wasn’t founded by a nation like most colonies,” I said. “It was a religious group instead, right?”
“Not just one, but yes,” Serral said. “Our real trouble is…well, I understand talking about gods and spirituality is a contentious topic on Earth too?”
“Definitely,” I nodded.
“Then you might have an idea about what to expect from Cammo-Caddo—and Mogh too, though to a much lesser extent.”
“Are they—what’s the word…Nai, what’s [fanatic] in Starspeak?”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
She paused for a second, letting her brain work out my English. It was a handy translation trick, we’d stumbled on, even if it was only good for one word at a time.
“Fanatic,” she answered.
“They can be,” Serral said. “But it will depend on which colony you’re talking with, and which denomination they keep to.”
“…How many are there?” I asked.
“On Cammo-Caddo? A lot. It was founded mostly by Fiansisi. But it’s a big planet, and dozens of other groups followed their example. We don’t need to worry too much about any religious envoys immediately. We should be talking strictly to civilian government authorities, but on Cammo-Caddo there can be overlap. I wanted you to be ready for when we do have to talk with them. You too, Nai.”
“…You’re going to make me brush up on my Casti social studies too, aren’t you,” Nai frowned.
“That’s right,” Serral sighed. “I know Casti conventions are a pain, but we’ve been searching for humans on our own for months to no avail. It’s time to make some new friends.”
Nai blinked in surprise.
“That’s…a little surprising to hear from you, Captain,” she said.
It was his turn to frown. “That we need to court allies?”
“No, that Casti conventions are painful. I almost thought I was talking to Tasser for a moment.”
“Why would that be so surprising?” Serral asked.
Nai snapped her mouth shut, and tried elbowing me into saying it for her.
I elbowed her back. She could pull her own foot out of her mouth.
“Well, it’s just you’re…the Ase. Straight laced…professional…” she trailed off, not wanting to offend. She was a lot more intimidated by Serral than I was for some reason. Seeing it firsthand made me curious why.
Still, I took pity on my friend.
“You come across as a very traditional Casti,” I said. “We know you’re not, but that’s the air you give off sometimes.”
“Once upon a time in my life, I think I would have taken exception to that,” Serral admitted. “But that might actually be an advantage if we need to secure the cooperation of Cammo-Caddo authorities.”
“Feels like you’re trying to brace me for how difficult interacting with them will be,” I said.
“It’s less about the difficulty and more about the unpredictability,” Serral said. “I don’t know how it is on Earth, but out here, the trouble with zealots is that some of them are zealous in your favor, and some of them aren’t. Telling the difference ahead of time can be…challenging.”
“Tasser and I didn’t talk a lot about religion when I was learning Starspeak, and it hasn’t really come up talking to anyone else,” I said. “The way you use the word ‘zealot’ makes it seem like there’s something different about the way the Cammo-Caddo colonies practice their religions.”
“It’s…complicated,” Serral said. “It’s not like the colonies are uniform. There are certainly some places on the planet without much religious affiliation.”
“Definitely some places,” Nai snorted.
Serral chuckled back. “True. But…I guess what I mean is that Cammo-Caddo and its leadership most resemble that of a homeworld, for better or for worse. Most other colonies—certainly all thee ones you’ve been to—won’t have as entrenched culture and traditions. The culture of those colony will be reflection of the challenges the colony is facing currently. Even if a colony has long history, its culture will flex and evolve more quickly. Cammo-Caddo’s culture is slower. Stiffer. The colony was founded to expressly nurture and preserve some elements of Casti culture. You can expect to navigate that culture to be drastically different from what you experienced on Yawhere and Lakandt.”
“Other colonists like minding their own business,” Nai elaborated. “They understand that everyone in the colony came there for different reasons, so everyone is…more prepared to deal people with radically different backgrounds.”
“That’s a good way of putting it,” Serral nodded. “Those on the station should be a bit more acclimated to strange traffic, but the Casti visiting from Cammo-Caddo will find you more ‘alien’ than anyone else you’ve run into before.”
“I don’t suppose you can share anything more specific about Casti religions?” I asked.
“Nope. Maybe ask Tasser?”
“Eh, Tasser doesn’t seem like the praying type,” I said.
Nai shrugged. “Not all religions involve prayer. You should still ask him.”
“When he doesn’t have much to say, talk to Fenno before we land,” Serral said. “I know she has some extended family on Cammo-Caddo. She should be able to clarify things for you.”
“So, on my schedule is…talk to Fenno about Casti-religious ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’, dock with the station, unload our cargo, teach a bunch of Org and shipping folks psionics, do some Adept contract work with Nai, then talk to every colony authority we can get on the phone about the abductees? Do I have all that right?”
“Yes,” Serral clicked. “Better get some rest while we fly.”
“No need to tell me twice,” I agreed.
·····
Almost a day of deceleration later and we docked at Doriga station.
Serral had disappeared to treat with the station officials as soon as Nai had finished unloading our cargo. Nine pallets of high purity platinum, molybdenum, and a bunch of other rare transition metals I couldn’t figure out the English translations for.
Transporting a small fortune like that netted us a neat percentage, though the details of our cut still eluded me. I really needed to get more involved with the finances…
But it was here we hit a small snag. Awaiting us upon arrival was a notice from the Geslyon Transport Union that their ship was running almost two days behind, and the Org personnel already on the station were apparently fine with waiting.
The initial plan had been to do our psionic workshop on the first day, Adept work the second, and then dedicate whatever remainder of our stay to our abductee hunt. Now it looked like we wouldn’t be getting to our workshop until after the Adept work.
That could be problematic. We were planning on using Coalescence to maximize the quality of our product, but the backlash from Coalescing could last days.
However things unfolded, it left us—me, at least— with some unexpected holes in the schedule.
While our honorable captain was off wrestling the local bureaucracy on our behalf, Nai had command of the ship while Fenno was leading anyone coming ashore.
“Don’t run off,” Fenno told me.
“I won’t,” I promised. She didn’t need to know I’d been thinking of wandering over to look at another docked ship. Tasser didn’t look fooled though.
“How big is this station?” Deg wondered.
“Bigger than Korbanok by a few miles,” I said, “but I read it was the same basic model.”
“Big old asteroid with a gravity core sunk into the middle?”
“My reading said they blasted the asteroid’s surface to get it spherical,” I nodded. “Before, it was an oblong [potato] looking rock.”
“The ones orbiting Farnata weren’t spherical or rocks at all,” Deg said. “They were all metal super-architecture, the kind you could convert to a massive ship if you wanted.”
“Find a better time for this,” Fenno said. “Not to be harsh but the point of this tour is to get Caleb’s feet wet with local customs.”
“I’m paying attention,” I affirmed.
Fenno led us to a tram away from spaceport. Almost everyone we passed was Casti, but I saw one or two Farnata too. Very similar to Lakandt & High Harbor, I caught a few stares from other passengers. But equally was surprising was the number of aliens who didn’t give us a second thought. Some of it was definitely people not noticing exactly what kind of alien I was, but I had to wonder if it wasn’t also the lack of rumors.
There was definitely gossip about humans out here. Even if the Organic Authority was no help to us directly, they had been diligent about sharing information. Every colony government we talked to had at least heard of my situation second-hand.
We disembarked the tram and followed spacious walkways through pedestrian accessible storefronts. Like what I’d seen of Archo, colonies weren’t designed around cars and roads. Or maybe that was just lunar and orbital colonies? Yawhere had roads and cars carving through its mountains.
It made sense that cars wouldn’t be so prominent on more cramped asteroids and moons.
I was entirely following Fenno’s lead, namely because only about half the signage was in Starspeak. What words I could read seemed to be appended directly below other text.
“It’s Anchuiya ,” she said. “It’s the third most spoken language on the homeworld. It’s used here because Fiansisi has roots in Anchuir.”
Third most spoken language sounded like it was a bronze medal until I thought about Earth. I was pretty sure Hindi was the third most spoken language back home, and India had more than a billion people.
“Anchuir , that’s the nation back on Nakrumum?” I asked.
Fenno clicked for ‘yes’.
“Hah!” I said, jabbing at Tasser. “And you said English was lame for being named after the country that spoke it.”
“And I still stand by that,” he said unfazed. “Fiansisi picked a country with very uninspiring nomenclature to be founded in.”
“Except it didn’t,” Fenno said. “The religion wasn’t founded in any one nation…much as the Anchuiya like to claim otherwise.”
“Yes, of course,” Tasser nodded. “I apologize. Go on.”
Fenno brought the four us to a stop. The shops and buildings we’d been walking past gave way to a vibrant park filled with trees sporting leaves of blue, yellow, and green.
“Whoa, nice place,” I said.
The park was built on slightly lower ground, like a basin the size of a football field. We had a nearly unobstructed view of the whole thing.
“I thought so too,” Fenno said. “We can see a few points of interest from here too. Look across, see the black brick building?”
I did.
On the far side of the park, it loomed ominously, and unlike the surrounding buildings it had more space cleared around it than just foot paths and alleys. On the side of the building facing the park was a square inscribed with a small circle nestled so that it touched two sides of one corner. A message was printed beneath in what I presumed were Anchuiya letters.
“The square with the circle in one corner?” Feenno said. “If Fiansisi had a symbol, it would be that. It’s not universal, but most denominations use it in some form. I won’t go into what it means when the circle is moved to different corners of the diamond, but for now just know that it is.”
“Anything I should know about Fiansisi beliefs I said? Any taboos I need to know before interacting with them?” I asked.
“Not any one in particular,” Fenno said. “But I’d recommend you call any Casti older than you ‘Senior’ or ‘Elder’. Deference is a prized virtue amongst most Casti, even outside Fiansisi. Disrespecting honors and positions will probably be thing to avoid most.”
I glanced at Tasser, and he rather pointedly had nothing to say in response to that. I could guess his thoughts on this particular Casti convention.
“How many Fiansisi denominations are there?” I asked. “Even if we can’t cover all of them, maybe it’s worth touching on some of the more popular ones, just to play the odds?”
“Part of the problem is the folk from Cammo-Caddo might not actually be Fiansisi,” Fenno explained. “Two-thirds chance they probably are, but they might be Shumi, and I’m significantly less familiar with that faith.”
“Shumi isn’t centered around adherence to a positive divinity of some kind,” Tasser explained. “They’re about eschewing a negative…‘anti-divinity’. They don’t believe in any gods so to speak, rather, they believe in evil and demons that need to be fought and opposed in all of life.”
“That’s in line with what I’ve heard,” Fenno said, “but I couldn’t say anything more. I was raised Fiansisi and I’d say it’s about fostering love and community—” she saw Tasser about to open his mouth, “—though I understand it’s failed spectacularly at that many times and places.”
“Honestly? Given that whoever we talk to will be here on behalf of a business? I think we can expect some benefit of the doubt,” Tasser said. “Even if Caleb offends them inadvertently, I have a hard time imagining it will be bad enough to stop them from getting a obscene deal on some extremely high-quality Adept work. Religious folk can be high strung about some things, but I’m sure they can get over it.”
“That’s rather big of you,” Fenno said appreciatively.
“Not really—” he started, and I elbowed him.
<…Right. Dropping it,> he said.
“Captain Serralinitus said you talked with the Admiral about Casti culture?” Fenno asked.
I nodded. “Laranta told me that Casti history was more or less shaped by you guys being constantly under threat from insane wild animals.”
“That’s true,” Fenno said. “I heard you talking about terraforming on our way here. So connect what you know about terraforming with what you know the Casti homeworld was like.”
“…Transplanting ecosystems…you can control what predators you introduce,” I realized.
“There’s a reason colonizing Cammo-Caddo was appealing enough to draw so many people,” she said. “I have family that wound up there, and for millions of faithful it’s tantamount to paradise. Wide open land for farming, no lurking predators to ruin harvests to hunt farmers. Whether it’s Fiansisi or Shumi, every religion offers similar hope. But for people living on Cammo-Caddo, it’s different. They get to live out those hopes. Keep that in mind, and you’ll be able to understand where we religious Casti come from.”
“I didn’t know you were religious,” I said.
Fenno stared at me like I’d said something she couldn’t quite make sense of. “…I might not keep the strictest rites, but I was raised Fiansisi and I still believe it.”
“Thanks for helping me with this then,” I said, “and thanks for being willing to share.”
“You make me nervous sometimes,” Fenno said. “You and Nora both did, honestly.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Oh that’s easy,” Tasser said, but Deg wanted to get their first.
“It’s because you’re kids,” he said. “Or at least, you’re supposed to be.”
“I mean, sure, but I don’t see the connection,” I said.
“If there’s one thing all the different underpinning theories can agree on, it’s that every species has a very long and violent history interacting with anyone and everyone ‘different’,” Tasser said.
“You and Nora are just kids, but you keep reacting to alien cultural eccentricities more maturely than most adults,” Fenno said. “We warn you that you might catch some dangerous and fanatical persecution from powerful religious groups that have strong influence on the Coalition, and you just…”
“You say ‘thanks for sharing,’ like it’s no big deal,” Tasser grinned. “It’s brilliant.”
“…It’s not really special,” I said sadly. “It’s just something I needed to survive.”
“Take the compliment, why don’t you?” Tasser joked.
“Because, especially with Nora’s whole group successfully cooperating with the Vorak, I’m sensitive to how easily things could have gone differently,” I said. “I’ve killed Vorak for no other reason than because someone else made stupid mistakes. The earliest foundation of you and I’s friendship, Tasser, was pantomime. If even one Vorak thinks to try something else, this all plays out very differently, and who knows? Maybe I wind up killing one of you guys instead.”
“Survival is an interesting way of putting it,” Deg commented. “I thought you meant with the abductees that died, but you mean it specifically for you personally, don’t you?”
“It’s really easy to see past people’s mistakes when you remember you and everyone else are constantly making new ones,” I said.
“That’s a really bleak way of looking at things,” Tasser joked. “Maybe Fenno should pray for you.”
I did smile at that.
“I know it’s rich for this conversation,” Fenno said, “but aren’t you getting lax forgoing rank address like that, Tasser?”
“Who’s forgoing anything?” Tasser grinned. “My officer’s commission is suspended while I’m doing this ‘ambassador’ assignment. Technically, you don’t outrank me now.”
“Captain Serral does though,” I said. “He told me about it. ‘Special authority to revoke’, they said. ‘In case of conduct unacceptable of a dignitary’, I believe were the exact words.”
“Ha-ha,” he replied, taking his lumps.
“It does feel a bit odd,” I said. “Being an ambassador, even if it’s mostly in name only.”
“Could probably flag down anyone on this rock and they’d have no clue who you were,” Fenno said looking at the hundreds of Casti passersby.
We’d been stationary overlooking the park for a while now, and a few people were beginning to stop walking and gawk at the human.
“I’m always down to practice things,” I said. “Lead the way.”