---Shanties---
mf♫Santiana, now we mourn♫mf sings Brunhilda, the song’s previous bouncing, energetic fierceness now taking on the character of a dirge.
mf♫Away Santiana!♫mf responds the crowd, in solemn unison.
mf♫We left him buried, off Cape Horn♫mf she continues.
mf♫Aaaaaalong the plains of Mee-xiii-cooo♫mf sings the chorus, wonderfully harmonising the syllables they draw out over multiple notes as Byrne’s [violin] and Yuán’s [èrhú] trail off, sombrely.
The Canteen breaks into cheers and applause as the latest song concludes.
Most of the ship is present for our [pushing off] party. Even Drs Fischer are present, though sitting apart from the main group to maintain their professional distance.
One of the few people not present is Kas, apparently making the most of still being in communication range to spend time with her [fiancée] and [fiancé] on her homeworld.
In the midst of the group are two of the newest additions to the ODR’s subcontractors aboard the ship, a slender, graceful, Qlofltli woman named Weyavl, a political analyst, and a stout Kargak called Gamoiwoth, an architect… My Clansister, however, is nowhere to be seen!
“Alright!” smiles Brunhilda “Who’s next? Any more that we haven’t done yet?”
Victor raises his hand.
“Victor, for the last time, Dreadnought is not a sea shanty just for having a nautical theme!” says Jennie with mirthful indignance “Also, apart from you, the only lyrics any of us would be able to contribute would be fff♫And the Dreadnoughts dread NOTHING at all♫fff! Disqualified!!!”
Victor chuckles and lowers his hand.
Here, Xon asks “I’m not exactly sure why you like that song so much, Victor… Wasn’t creating the Dreadnought one of the worst military mistakes your country ever made? Didn’t it render your entire existing naval arsenal obsolete the moment it hit the water and clear the way for a new arms race?”
“First, Xon…” says Victor, extending a finger “…I wanna be clear that me likin’ that song has absolutely nothin’ to do with pride in my country’s imperialist past, I just think it’s a banger!… Second…” he extends a second finger, turning his hand around to show her the palm side and not the back “…put yourself in the mindset of a British Sealord, hellbent on maintainin’ rulership of the waves in the wanin’ days of Pax Britannica. You reckon there’s a new type of ship possible; one that can outrun, outgun and outrange any ship on the water and is so thickly armoured that, even if they do get a hit on it, it won’t matter much. Would you rather Britain be the first country to get one in the water… or the second? Does it make more sense to stymie their development in exchange for a few more years of your current ships bein’ an unassailable, world dominatin’ force or does it make more sense to get ahead of the game and not let your enemies catch you with your pants down?”
Thoughtfully, Xon answers “Good… point…”
“Still doesn’t make the song a sea shanty, though!” interjects Jennie “Honestly, Victor! This is originally your people’s tradition we’re partaking in! You ought to know better than any of us what is and is not a sea shanty!”
Victor smirks “I think you mean our people’s tradition, fellow Brit(!)”
Jennie screws up her face in mirthful disgust and answers “I refuse! Gaels are not Brits!!!”
Victor turns both his palms ceilingward and beckons with all ten of his fingers “Join us on the dark side(!)… We’ve got tea and crumpets(!)”
There is much laughter as Jennie shakes her head vigorously from side to side.
Eventually, Xon asks “Alright? Do we have any?… Any more that we haven’t done?” casting around.
Several long moments pass as I look around and see expressions of attempted recall on every Terran face.
Just as it looks like the supply of [shanties] has finally been exhausted, someone unexpected puts up their hand.
Baorbo, the (as far as I have been thus far made aware) entirely mute Umbouapa Technologies Officer, from Plus Ultra, raises a webbed hand.
There’s a murmur of surprise as everyone is clearly just as disbelieving of the man’s volunteering to sing as I am!
Jennie is the first to extend her hand to Byrne and Yuán, indicating for Baorbo to go ahead.
The gigantic man stands from his seat on the floor (which I infer him to have made a habit of so as not to loom).
He treads to the two instrumentalists and bends to offer his choice for their approval.
Whatever Baorbo whispers, Byrne excitedly nods his head and Yuán smiles and chuckles.
His choice seeming to have been accepted, the enormous amphibian stands and starts inflating his barrel chest.
Byrne begins thumping his fist on the table at around [90bpm] and, after a few beats, Baorbo begins.
f♫ There once was a ship that put to sea
The name of the ship was the Billy o' Tea♫f
Excitement breaks over the faces of every Terran present as the anuran man’s deep, operatic, Umbouabo accented voice causes them to realise their stock of [shanties] isn’t quite depleted yet!
f♫ The winds blew up, her bow dipped down
Oh blow, my bully boys, blow♫f
At this point, Baorbo is joined by the chorus with a mighty fff♫Huah!!!♫fff and many fists being thrust into the air.
The beat is devolved out to the entire chorus’s fists on their respective tables as the string instruments join and the next verse is sung in wonderful harmony.
ff♫ Soon may the Wellerman come
To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguin' is done
We'll take our leave and go!♫ff
I’m aware, from the fact that (despite the surprisingly fetchingly voiced man having a translator equipped) I’m having to rely on my English comprehension to understand the lyrics, I didn’t somehow miss Baorbo being a speaker of Victor’s language when he came aboard. This is a song he learned by rote!
As he leads the verse, I notice someone trying to slink away unnoticed.
Emiko has peeled from the group and is making for the exit.
Concerned, I wordlessly make my excuses to those around me and follow after her.
I come out onto Starboard side, Deck 0.
I look to my left and see nothing bowward. Then I look sternward and see the door to the rear Loading Bay closing.
I make my way in that direction.
Entering the Loading Bay, I look around and quickly see the elegantly dressed woman stood facing away from me, looking out of the clear boarding ramp at the stars receding away behind us.
The outsides of her fists are pressed against her temples and her shoulders are hunched in a posture of clear frustration.
I approach her from behind and, from far enough away that I will be in no danger in the unlikely event that I startle her, ask “Did you despise that latest song selection that much… or did you simply judge the [tonguin’] to be done(?)” attempting to lighten the mood.
She turns to look at me and, mildly relieved, answers “Oh… neither, Captain. I just… needed somewhere to think…”
Stepping next to her, I face forward, looking out of the clear polymer, and ask “Would you… like to talk about it?”
She sighs exhaustedly before responding “Not really, no… but I probably should anyway!”
“It’s about our new Compliance Officer?” I guess.
Clearly mildly taken aback, she confirms “Y… yes! Very perceptive!”
I chitter “It really isn’t!… I know the woman quite well and have inferred that she’s certainly not the kind of individual you would prefer to have on a mission like this!”
Emiko nods, miserably “She was in the initial pool of candidates for that position… but I distinctly remember her being rejected in the first round of eliminations, due to her long history of antideathworlder agitation… The one we chose instead was a Kwilion, named Vrilanix, who had a reputation for being a stern but fair, straightforward, by the book sort of man and absolutely no overt history of bigotry!… I pushed for him over other candidates who might have been laxer because I didn’t want any nasty surprises when we got back to Citadel! I wanted the whole thing to be completely on the level, above board and above reproach! I didn’t want to run afoul of some technicality and have the entire expedition trashed over it! It’s this new species who’d suffer for it, in that scenario! And now, because of nepotism, we’re stuck with that woman who’s exactly the kind of officious, inflexible, bureaucratic stickler I was trying to get ahead of when I pushed for Vrilanix!… She’s going to find something to disqualify them! She’s going to find some impropriety in the way we run this mission that would mean we would have to do the whole thing from scratch (meaning months to years of delay) or, worse, she’ll find some detail that would get AG10790263b declared a No Contact Zone!… She won’t tell us! She’ll just file it away in her back pocket and wheel it out when the time comes for us to present to Parliament!… The only consolation is that I don’t think she’ll be able to convince the gardenworlder galaxy to exterminate them! I think everyone realises that doing something like that would be very likely to start a second War with the UTC… and nobody wants that!… I was really hoping that I’d be able to talk to her… I’d like to try to charm her, win her over a little, maybe even make friends with her… but of course she’s going to avoid a deathworlder party like the plague! If I go to her room to try and have a chat, I think she may well perceive it as an attempt at intimidation! It would only harden her resolve!”
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Emiko stands, catching her breath from her vent, while I mull over her points.
“What if… I went to speak to her?” I say, eventually.
“…If you went to speak to her?” says Emiko, querying.
“Yes… she and I are not exactly friends… but we are acquainted with eachother. Additionally, I think she’d have a much harder time spinning my visiting her room as an attempt at intimidation(!)”
“I don’t know(!) You do have a deathworlder designed weapon in place of a leg(!)” giggles the glamourous Terran.
“True, true…” I concede “…but if she wants to claim that I used these talons to try and threaten her, that would be an internal Clan matter. Her reputation would be destroyed if it got out that she had taken such an impropriety to the Galactic Union rather than seeking arbitration from our Clanmother! She has more sense than that!”
Emiko thinks for a few moments before saying “In that case, Tcakqaal… I would really appreciate it if you spoke to her for me… I don’t expect any miracles so don’t feel bad if you aren’t able to get her to budge!”
“I will do my best, Emiko.” I say, turning back around to face the bow and opening my wings.
I blast a jet of air downward, launching myself up.
I really need to exert myself to gain the necessary elevation in this space, so much taller than it is wide or long.
I quickly pass Deck 3, where the room Waqa’arc refused is, and keep ascending.
Around [90m] of climb from where I left Emiko, I reach Deck 17 and alight on the safety railing.
I hop down and make my way to the Portside section.
I exit the loading bay and make my way to the Dorm column.
Twila lets me in and I walk to room 1719, at the back of the Dorm.
I wave to send an alert to her which I hear resounding through the door.
A few moments pass before the woman I recall being the disciplinarian of my childhood is revealed.
“Sister…” I greet, forcing my tone to be warm “…I just thought I’d let you know that there’s a party going on in the Canteen, on Deck 0. Most of the ship’s crew are there. I wondered if you and your lifemate might care to join us? It would be a good opportunity to get to know the people you’ll be voyaging with.”
“I’m quite capable of hearing that there’s a party going on for myself, thank you.” she answer’s, coldly, extending a wing to the Dorm door, through which can be heard the distant [shanty] lyrics:
f♫ …And the winds would cry, and many men would die
And all the waves would bow down to the Loreley…♫f
Which are clearly audible despite the [150m] or so of horizontal distance.
“Ah… they sang that one earlier, too! Though, they were just about out of new ones when I left… It looks as though they’re recycling them now(!)” I say, attempting to be mirthful.
“Yes. I heard the first time they sang it as well!” responds my Clansister, mirthlessly.
“Oh… you could always put your privacy field up if the noise is disturbing you?” I suggest.
She does not answer me verbally, only giving a slight sneer.
“Would it be alright if I came in for a chat, Sister?”
She gives a discourteous sigh and turns to walk back into her room.
I follow after her.
She hops onto one of the perches standing in the large empty space that would be occupied by a bed, in most rooms. I hop up to a perch facing her.
“Akrat, darling…” she says, addressing her lifemate, a much younger male from Clan Kaqwau “…would you be a dear and go to the Commonroom for a while? I need to talk with my Clansister and don’t wish to bore you with womantalk!”
The moderately ditzy male answers “Of course, darling. Let me know when I can come back.” and steps from the room.
Some moments of silence follow as Waqa’arc and I size eachother up.
I am the one to break the silence by saying “Sister… I know you’ve never been any great lover of Terrans but…”
“I haven’t…” she interrupts “…unlike you, I would consider it shameful to consort with monsters like them! To forget my pride as a woman of Clan Highspire, my pride as a R’qali, and share a perch with the vermin that killed 20 trillion of our sisters and brothers in arms… I would consider it doubly shameful if they had taken my parents from me! Honestly, if you were half the woman your mother were…!”
“Enough!” I say, her reference to my parents instantly making me forget the aim of ingratiating myself with her.
Shocked she answers “E-excuse me!”
“I will not excuse you Waqa’arc!… I’m not a child anymore, you are no longer my superior, and I will not allow myself to be bullied by a woman riding on my ship!… You are not in charge here! If you mention my mother and father like that again, I will put you off at the next planet and damn whatever consequences I may face from the Clan, the ODR or the GU!… The same goes for calling my lifemate a ‘colony brat’, as I recall you being fond of doing! DO you understand me!”
Clearly unused to being spoken to that way, she’s struck dumb for a few moments.
Then her sneer returns “So… you haven’t matured at all, I see!… A nerve gets touched and you immediately threaten to have that Terran lackey of yours drag me from the ship!”
I sigh internally at having made her perceive intimidation, even without any Terrans being present.
Forcing myself to speak calmly, I answer “If you want to call Victor my ‘lackey’, you’re welcome to(!) I’m sure he’d laugh in your face if he heard you describe him that way… and no, I wouldn’t ask any of the Terrans aboard to remove you. I would order you and your lifemate gone and, if you refused, I would call local law enforcement to put you off.”
“Oh, yes(!)” she jeers “Wouldn’t want the deathworlders to tarnish that affable façade they’ve worked so hard to cultivate since they got bored of their slaughter(!) ‘We’re just harmless old [teddy]kwarats(!) We wouldn’t hurt a [fly](!) Pay no attention to the thousands of years of ceaseless butchery that is our history(!) To the 11 times in our past that we’ve detonated nuclear bombs with the intention of killing our own people(!) To the fact that we precipitated a mass extinction simply by developing our technology and didn’t care enough to do anything about it for [centuries] until it threatened the liveability of our cradleworld(!) The fact that our population has increased by a thousandfold in the last [8 centuries], as we’ve infested planets at a rate never before seen and bred like vermin, should give you no cause for alarm(!) We promise we didn’t mean to destabilise the foundation on which your whole society rests by introducing dangerous egalitarian ideas to the ungrateful malcontents among your clanless population(!)’”
“The Terran’s make no pretence about who they are and where they’ve been.” I respond, coolly “Nobody is more disgusted by the historical conditions that surviving on a deathworld has made inevitable than they themselves are… but they’re not like that anymore.”
“Aren’t they?!” she demands “You don’t remember the barbarism they visited upon us during the War?! You don’t remember the never ending trains of [coffins] being brought back to R’qal!? It certainly didn’t take much provocation for the deathworlders to remember their savage roots!!!”
“We tried to [exterminate] them, Waqa’arc… what circumstances would excuse their brutality if not those?… Are you telling me that you wouldn’t think it acceptable for R’qal to do as they did if the rest of the galaxy decided that we were ‘vermin’?”
“We would never be judged as vermin because we wouldn’t be capable of acting as they did, even in self defence!”
I look at the spitefilled woman for a few moments, thinking.
Eventually, I ask “Have I ever told you about my experience of Terran's, in the War?”
She waves her wing, dismissively “I know you were shot down and surrendered to them… like a coward!”
“You’re right… I was…” I say, surprising her by not contesting the insult “…I was [17], fighting in the Battle of Geliyê Nû in the last months of the War. My engine took a hit and I went down. I crashed in a remote region of the planet and was badly hurt. I lay against the dashboard of my fighter for [hours], the crushing deathworld gravity making it difficult to breathe, my wing broken, bleeding heavily, drifting in and out of consciousness… Then, out of the cockpit window, I saw a craft approaching. It set down and, off it, stepped several heavily armoured soldiers… I assumed I was about to be summarily executed… but, then, more Terrans followed… clad in red and white… of course I’d seen the vids of them and, like you, assumed they must be propaganda!… But I saw no cameras… no recording devices of any kind… One of the soldiers ripped the hood off my fighter to gain access to me, I couldn’t understand any of the language they were speaking but, weakly, I told them to either kill me or leave me to die… I never expected what came next. Before I lost consciousness, they stabilised my wounds, fieldsplinted my broken wing and, when they had deemed it safe to move me, carried me away… when I came to, I was shackled to a bed in a hospital in a prisoner of war camp… a man with a very early model translator explained that I was to be held there until the War was over… When my wing was mended and I was allowed free reign of the indoor areas and even to go outside (so long as I was tethered to a guard, meaning no danger of me flying away to escape) I spoke to my fellow prisoners… many had stories like mine… I realised that the red and white ones were not simply a show put on for propagandic purposes! That the Terrans genuinely cared for those fighters who could not fight any more! That they weren’t simply attempting to lull us into a false sense of security. That they weren’t perpetrating a perfidious deception to make us more willing to surrender to them! That they truly were as compassionate as they had always told us they were!… How many species do you think would be capable of acting that way, amid a War for their survival?”
My Clansister says nothing for a long time, only glaring at me.
Eventually, she responds “Your words are useless, Sister! You’ll not convince me to buy in to their lies the way you have!”
“Do you truly wish to see every deathworlder dead?” I ask, frustratedly “Would you have us prosecute another War to satisfy your dogmatic hatred?”
“No…” she answers, coldly “…I’m not a fool! I know how well the last War went for us… I know that there are more Terrans now than there were before the War while we (the GU) still have 7 trillion to go before our population recovers! I know that, thanks to the terms of a certain humiliating peace treaty, their technological development has come nearly to par with ours! I know how well a second War would go for us!… Instead of that, I would modestly propose a separation! There’s no reason for deathworlders to sit on the GU’s Parliament, having the ability to vote and speak on issues that overwhelmingly effect gardenworlders! I’m only thankful that they have but the one seat and that they didn’t get allotted a separate seat for every species they unnaturally brought back from the dead, built from circuit boards or raised up from dumb animals!… There’s no reason for deathworlders to live on gardenworlds that would never naturally be able to support them nor for gardenworlders to live on deathworlds that they would never naturally be able to survive! There’s certainly no reason for miscegenation between gardenworlders and deathworlders to be permitted to occur!” there is utter revulsion in her face and tone at that thought “As far as I am concerned, our greatest blessing right now is the fact that they’ve already taken everything they want from us! If it were up to me, we would strip them of their Parliamentary seat, close every port in the GU to their ships, expel every one of them living on our planets and have nothing further to do with them!”
“And… because you can’t do that, you plan to sabotage this mission and have this new species declared uncontactable?” I query.
“Oh no… dear girl!” she patronises “I don’t need to resort to anything so crass as sabotage! I would hate to give any ammunition to the Terrans and their…” she uses her flight feathers to gesture to me “…sympathisers!… No… I shan’t ‘sabotage’ the mission. I don’t need to! I know that with that pack of barbarians down there, there’s precisely no way you will be able to run this mission properly! I just need to watch you and your crew like a [hawk] and document every time you slip up… and you will! Then, when we get to Parliament, I will send the records of every impropriety to every member of the antiTerran faction… You’re going to sabotage yourselves for me!” her voice filled with vindictive glee.
I burst out chittering!
“Stop that!… Why are you laughing like that!?…” she says, clearly perturbed by my unexpected reaction.
“I’m laughing because…*hehehehehehehe*… of the funny thing you said!” I respond, unable to contain myself.
“I just told you I plan to thwart your attempt to gain a new deathworld ally for those Terrans you love so much!” she responds, incredulously “Have you gone mad!?”
“Tell me something, Sister…” I smirk “…have you ever actually met a Terran? Conversed with any?”
She doesn’t respond.
“And how do you plan to document every minor transgression without doing so? Do you plan to do so from here? Shut away in your quarters, as far from the deathworlder enclave as it’s possible to get!?”
More silence.
“No… you’re going to have to interact with them! You’re going to have to meet them! Talk to them!” I say, triumphantly “You’re going to change your mind about them once you do! I promise!!!… You can’t win! You either stay here and get nothing! Oooor… you mingle with the Terrans and realise you. were. wrong!”
“I won’t!” she answers, defiantly.
“Then prove it!” I answer, victoriously.
She says nothing.
I hop down from my perch and smugly saunter to the door.
“The invitation to the party stands, Sister… any time you’re ready to show me you’re not all talk!… Oh, and I’ll let Akrat know we’re done speaking!” I say as the door closes behind me.