The Bureaucrat’s Tale – Chapter 3

          The best way to prepare for uncomfortable duty was to create a comfortable environment.  I returned to my office and made the necessary preparations with practiced speed.  The temperature, lighting, and ventilation were already at my preferred settings.  One button-press added the pleasant scent of plumeria flowers to the air mixture, while a second control introduced background music.  My tastes at the time ran to bio-harmonic trance modulated around my personal frequency, 29.6 Hertz.  A third button dispensed a cup of hot guayusa tea with Peruvian wild honey.

          The perks and challenges of my job do go hand-in-hand, I admit.  Simpler work has fewer rewards.  Still, at that moment, I would have traded my gourmet drink for a lighter load.  Its cheering aroma was slight incentive to press on.

          I decided to ease into the project by getting inter-Office communication handled first.  Other Secretaries and Assistants and the like would hardly be grateful to have me piling more work on their desks, but we could resolve our internal business quickly.  Most Collective Offices are housed together in the same building, for convenience.  Nearly all the other Offices not in our building are at least within the same System, which eliminates the nuisance of transmission delays.

          As you likely know, reaching contacts beyond a few light-minutes requires additional links in the transmission chain.  Each link adds to our operating expenses.  Offices have a specific allowance of ‘free’ packet traffic, but those costs are still paid out of tax revenues, and it’s easy to exceed that allowance when situations get complicated. 

         The most expensive option, but the fastest, is to send a packet via Ningyo courier.  I was reserving our share of that resource for the highest priority messages.  I also wanted to have every possible communique stuffed together in one packet first, to avoid wasted space and the cost of a second courier.

          Most of my diplomatic work is conducted via standard Collective transit, via data uploads aboard any starships departing to the appropriate systems.  The arrival of such messages and the timing of each reply depended on the timing of inter-system flights.  I might wait hours or even days for a response. 

          Still, starship traffic is still more reliable than my last option, robotic courier.  The odds of each little automated ship hitting their proper destination, transmitting to the correct listener, and then coming back on target are good but not good enough.  There was no way to know if a robot was lost or just waiting on a reply, and if one were delayed, what could you do but eventually send another?  At least crewed starships could recover from course errors and send back some notice of arrival, even if the recipient delayed their reply.

          Those pretty much are my options.  I’m not an expert on interstellar transmission technology, but I understand there are some major hurdles to sending messages without matter encapsulation.  Energy alone scatters too much when bent through hyperspace, and the Ningyo can’t keep a space fold open long enough to punch through more than a few gigabytes of data, even with compression.  When either problem gets resolved, we’ll be living in a whole new universe, including a much more streamlined Collective bureaucracy.

          I still do well with the tools I have.  My best tool is my girl Aika.  Now that I was settled into my office, I woke her up.

          “Ohayou, Aika-chan!” I called into the air.

          “Ohayou gozaimasu, Hori-kun,” came back from my desktop system.

          “We have a lot of work to do today.”

           Aika triggered her holographic projector and shimmered into view, seated on the edge of my desk.  Rather than her childish, hand-drawn cartoon of a default avatar, she had chosen an almost realistic adult form.  It was still obviously an artificial animation, but at least three-dimensional and shaded in natural tones.  Her eyes and bust were oversized, as exaggerated as a female Gold Caste Zig's, and her nose, mouth, and waist were impossibly small.  She was dressed in an outfit I recognized as a late 20^th-century Terran business suit, although with a short skirt and long stockings.  She was being a ‘secretary’, in the older sense.  Cute, as always.

           Her avatar produced a notepad and stylus and turned her head over one shoulder to look at me, crimson hair immobile in an elaborate updo.  She prompted, “What’s on the agenda, kahuna?”

           I decided to ignore her humor and keep playing serious.  “Big trouble.  Take a look at courier delivery 7-3452-A, header: Locust 4; I give you permission to access.”

          Aika’s avatar blinked several times, her signal that she was ‘thinking’ about complex input.  After those two seconds, she swiveled on the desk to look at me directly.

          “I see the problem.  Do you want my analysis?”

          “We’ll get into that as we break down and pass on the news.  First additional input: I’ve already met with the Secretary and heard his instructions.  Just assume that my choices about what to tell, to whom, are based on his orders.  We also have authorization to ignore anything under First Priority, at our discretion, in order to focus on this situation.”

           “No surprises there.  Let’s see, medical would usually come first?”

           “Absolutely.  Next after that is any other Collective Office.”

           “Not the cultural embassies.  Understood.”  Aika smirked, her body language conveying just how much she grasped of the politics involved.

           I and my Brin had an interesting synergy over the years.  I was the one first interested in the game of politics.  She supported my early strivings to understand and direct my peers, but drew the line when I started trying to manipulate adults.  After I committed to serious study in social science and population management, she accepted additional functionality in psychosocial dynamics.  Before long, she was teaching me new tricks and managing my campaign to move up in the Collective hierarchy.  I made allies easily enough among Terra’s power brokers, but Aika advised my approaches to non-Human authority.  She made sure I knew how to manage eye contact with Zig of all three castes, how to appeal to a Hrotata’s protective instincts while not triggering a full matronage reaction, and how to phrase requests to a Mauraug without creating a Dominance issue.

           Over my nearly three years in the Office of Settlement, Aika had kept my course straight through rough weather.  This storm wasn’t going to shake her.  Despite being confined to my desktop at work and my apartment’s internal network at home, she was still an invaluable ally.  She checked my speeches, communiques, reports, and other paperwork for errors.  She talked out major issues to make sure I remembered and understood all the details.  We worked out arguments and counterarguments for each possible debate.  I just had to be capable enough to handle the ‘face’ duties of my job.

           I finished ticking off the list for her benefit: “After the Offices, we talk to the adjacent systems, make sure they’re warned and watching for the culprits.  Next comes regional Defense Command.”

          “Did the Secretary give any guidelines for dealing with the region Commander?” Aika interjected.

          “No, which means I have latitude and he has deniability,” I admitted, shrugging to indicate that I wasn’t concerned.  I sipped my tea for dramatic effect.

           Aika giggled, her underlying persona leaking into her ‘serious’ avatar.  I raised an eyebrow and lowered my mug, grinning back.

           “That laugh is why I handle the calls alone, ku’uipo."

           “I’m sure that’s it,” she responded, equally mock-serious.

           I knew that her humor – and her appearance – were calculated to improve my mood.  Knowing that fact did not significantly reduce her effectiveness.  I hoped I could pull off the same magic with my counterparts, who knew the tricks I would use to adjust their moods.  Well, some of the tricks.

           “Between Defense and the cultural heads, I’m open to your suggestions.  Flip through my contacts and line up a list."

           Aika blinked once and confirmed, “Done.”

           “Great.  Listen in, but output only to text on my monitor.”  It was an unnecessary reminder, but relieved Aika of responsibility if she was tempted to interrupt me at any point.

           “Here we go.  Connect me to the health office and stand back.”

           Aika pantomimed dialing an ancient telephone and put her intangible hand to my head as if handing me a receiver.  She then faded slowly from view, a phantom assistant.

           I heard the steady blip-blip-blip of the com system signaling another Office.  I wasn’t left waiting long.  After fifteen blips, my viewscreen presented the image of Assistant Secretary TaVinKo, a female Gold Caste Zig.  Even if I had somehow forgotten her name, Aika provided a helpful reminder at the bottom of the image.

          “Assistant Secretary JeeTah, to what do I owe this pleasure?”  Compared to my boss, TaVinKo was better with my name, but still gave it the Zig double stress.  She was being polite but formal.  She kept her charms in reserve, since they generally worked better on Zig than on Humans.  I liked her well enough, in a professional acquaintance sort of way.

          “I’m calling on official business.  High priority.  We just received an update from Locust System.”  I was being flexible with the meaning of ‘just received’.  I also deliberately paused at that point, letting her form her own conclusions, watching to see if she knew anything already.

          “There is a medical emergency?” she ventured, volleying my serve without adding unnecessary speed or spin.

          “In a matter of speaking.  A lot of cleanup and maybe some toxicity issues.  Locust Colony is gone.”  I decided to avoid dragging the news out further.  I was aiming for gravity, not callous indifference.

          I continued, “Reports state that both Human and Mauraug settlements were subjected to extended bombardment, with few if any survivors.  I’ll send you what we have now.  I’ll be investigating further as new data arrives, but early indications blame Mauraug Apostates.  The survivor count is the tricky part for you.  One of the first salvagers on site reported contact with survivors who had been out in the wilderness during the attack.  Then that salvager stopped talking and left system.  I’m not venturing any guesses about what happened there.  In any case, there might be other wanderers left on Locust Four.  If they lost com contact, they could be hiding out in the wilds, either unseen by the remaining salvagers or actively hiding from them… maybe they can’t tell ships apart visually.  If you have anyone in range, they could start a more thorough search.  At the least, the salvagers could use the support, especially if they’re digging through hazardous materials.  There’s also the possibility they find someone alive, buried deep enough to be invisible to scans.  There were mines on Locust Four.  The attackers hit those operations, but they might not have collapsed every tunnel."

          As I started to explain, I saw a flicker of horrified interest pass through TaVinKo’s wide, steel-irised eyes.  They looked more artificial than some cyber-eyes.  She kept her body language otherwise neutral and steadied even her gaze as I went on.  At the end, her lips twitched to the side.  The left side, upwards, indicating distaste or possibly anger.  I doubted her disgust was focused on me, personally.  Either the situation or the culprits were more likely to have triggered her reaction.

          “I understand, colleague JeeTah,” she replied smoothly.  “I will notify our supply hub in Vesta to dispatch personnel.  If message and passenger traffic keep to schedule, they can reach Locust Four in…”

          She paused to bring up reference data, then tapped out a few calculations before concluding, “six-point-three standard hours, assuming a team is ready for travel right away.  Eight hours, if not.  A safe estimate is half a Locustian rotation, allowing for miscellaneous delays.”

          While she was calculating, Aika output her own commentary: Estimated: seven hours, lacking specific time tables for Vesta station or personnel rosters.  When her estimate fit within the range TaVinKo produced, Aika updated the message: Updated estimate: ten standard hours, per contact’s reactions.  Likely no personnel shortage, but ship availability delayed.

           “Half a day,” I acknowledged, “Heard that.  Please let us know if any colonists are recovered… alive.  You’ll also be needed for mortuary duties.  As far as Secretary ChiTakTiZu is concerned, Locust Colony is gone.  Settler remains will be transported back to next of kin, however far back we need to go, unless they have filed funeral directives specifying burial on Locust Four.”

            Now TaVinKo grimaced visibly.  Transporting remains would be an additional expense, requiring either a separate med ship run to and from Locust System or else hiring an existing ship to handle the courier duties.  The latter involved either checking certifications to handle sapient remains or accepting the risk that the bodies would come back minus parts or plus microbes.  I didn’t envy her the hard choices my request would entail.  I also didn’t feel any guilt laying the responsibility at her feet.  She had reacted as much to the thought of the work to come as to our Office’s decision which handed it to her.  If Settlement had chosen to keep the Locust Colony listed as viable, Health could leave the bodies in storage down there.  The cadavers would be a problem for the next herd of colonists to resolve.

           Maintaining the colony was not an option.  If every resident of Locust Four was dead and the parties responsible were still at large, we would be fools to leave the Colony open.  Some idiots might try to resettle, even if warned about the dangers.  We wouldn’t have much legal room to stop them.  Plus, if the media found out we were keeping a ‘dead’ colony on the books as open, they could suggest a half-dozen scandalous possibilities: embezzlement, cover-up, and/or negligence among them.

           No, Apostates killed our beloved Locust Colony in a barbaric criminal act.  It was a regrettable tragedy, but dead is dead.  A new Locust Colony might someday arise, under a new treaty, but this one was pronounced and gone.  I was already rehearsing my statement to the media.  The media were somewhere low on the list, but not quite at the bottom.  I wanted all our friends to have first chance to react and prepare their stories before loosing the real verminous plague upon them.  I wanted our enemies to hear the news just after the media started calling.

          Our enemies were the ones responsible for this entire problem in the first place.  The only way they would be called to account was if they were caught off balance.  Give a talented politician – especially one that stands atop an entire culture’s government – a chance to bring up their defenses, and they can repel any inquiry.  I wasn’t about to give them a chance.

           The maneuver was risky.  If my targets weren’t tangled enough, or if they noticed my role in snaring them, I’d be on their enemies list, too.  I couldn’t point them out directly to the media.  Direct attacks were sure death.  When I reached time for the official press release, I’d have to avoid questions about Locust’s defenses or lack thereof.  No worries, I could stick to Settlement’s role and decline to comment about anything else.

           Aika, I was sure, had already started drafting a press release, just in case they called me first.  In the worst case, she could impersonate me for a few minutes, until I finished my current conversation.

          Oh, damn, TaVinKo was talking while I had let my mind wander.  She finished with, “…based on your updates from the Colony site.”  I’d have to replay that section later, in case I’d missed anything important.

          I held her off with a quick, “One moment, sending those files to you now.”  I typed out several commands to Aika.  One did in fact authorize release of the Locust packet to the Office of Health, with very minimal editing.  The first, though, asked Aika for a recap of the Zig woman’s last few sentences.  I ended by asking if there were any points I had missed.

          Aika’s responses scrolled steadily by: Expressions of regret, frustration, and condemnation.  No questions asked.  Request for continued updates.   Files sent.  Be more specific about the missing survivors.

          I picked up her cue and offered TaVinKo, “In case I was vague, there are three salvagers currently at Locust Four.  There were four, initially.  A Terran salvager, Saving Grace, was assigned survivor search at the Terran side of the colony.  As you’ll see in the com logs, ‘Grace reported unidentified persons approaching the settlement ruins.  No video, no further reports after that.  One of the other three spotted the ship accelerating toward the star, Ra.  Likely it skipped out of the system.  Again, I have nothing else to inform speculation.  We might have wounded or dead ‘survivors’ down there, thanks to a disreputable salvager.  We might have wounded or dead salvager crew on the ground, thanks to angry survivors... or Apostate remnants.  Lots of possibilities.  Just thought you should be aware before sending people in.”

          “Thank you for highlighting that issue.  I agree that it is inexplicable and potentially of concern.”   Her voice had gotten noticeably colder.  I wondered if she had noticed my attention wandering earlier or was just getting more irritated as she processed the impact of our newly shared problem.

          “Anything else you need?”  I asked, signaling that I was done piling on my requests.  Offering help was a formality.  There was little Settlement could do to assist Health, short of keeping them informed whenever we received news first.  The work definitely flowed downhill from us to them, most of the time.

          “Not at present.  Just time to work.  Thank you for notifying us first.”  Oh, she hadn’t missed a trick.  I never told her she was my first call.  It was likely just a smart guess, but if she already had the files from Locust she might have checked the header timestamps and spotted how long I had held the information before calling.

          “You are welcome.  Call if you think of anything else… though I might not be able to answer right away.”

          “Good day, Assistant Secretary.”

          “Good day."

          With another Human, I might have closed with an aloha, to soften the formality and let them know we were in the same boat together.  A Zig wouldn’t appreciate the term if they didn’t know its translation.  With other Offices, I also wouldn’t try out my shaky command of Zig expressions.  I wasn’t even sure what they called their dominant language; I just knew a few words I had learned or overheard from coworkers.  I knew enough to catch when I was being insulted, for example.

         TaVinKo hadn’t used any of those words, at least.  She definitely hadn’t appreciated my approach, though.  It was good enough.  Nothing about this task was going to win me any friends.  As long as I avoided making any enemies, I could accept a few bruised feelings.

The Bureaucrat's Tale - Chapter 2

          The first stop on my blame-passing tour was pre-ordained.  I was obliged to relay major issues to my superior, the Secretary of Settlement.  Issues don't get much more major than a colony's death.  In this case, I didn't want to avoid the meeting.  It was part of my agenda.  I might hope that Secretary ChiTakTiZu would assume full responsibility for the situation and take it out of my hands.

         Such an ideal outcome was unlikely, but why not hope?  More likely, I’d get the matter handed back with instructions for its further management.  There was an outside chance the Secretary would get the problem shifted entirely out of our office, possibly to Security or even the Executive desk. 

There was a wide scope of possibilities.  Despite my political theorizing, I actually didn’t know all the undercurrents flowing around this particular debacle.  The worst-case scenario would be for the Secretary to refuse contact with the file, put the whole matter on my shoulders, and pretend I had never mentioned any trouble.  This mess could be a career killer.  In that case, I would feel more justified jettisoning it like an overloaded power core and letting it detonate elsewhere.

No reason to carry hazardous materials longer than necessary.  As soon as I had compiled the key points of the Locust System dispatch, I started a call to the Secretary’s office, requesting a personal meeting.  I justified the time required for physical presence by citing security.  Not that electronic communications within our shared offices lacked protections, mind you.  A dedicated observer could still eavesdrop on a live conversation.  But the probability of being overheard was lower in a closed office, offline.  Plus, no record of the conversation’s content would exist, unlike an inter-office transmission.

In deference to this principle, I neglected to inform my own ‘assistant’, my devoted A.I., Aika.  She would never voluntarily betray my trust, but also could not avoid recording her experiences.  She would be powerless if an internal audit demanded her testimony.  Biological memories were conveniently porous.

It was a shame having to bypass Aika.  I could have used her analysis and advice.  Still, political games involved empathic judgments and adjustments beyond the capabilities of A.I.s.  Thank silicon for that.  Not that I would be afraid to trust A.I.s, if they understood our biological, emotional vagaries better.  It's just that, if that happened, I’d be out of a job!  I mean, yes, most Collective cultures would resist A.I. bureaucrats, but not for long, if our virtual citizens became as persuasive as I.

So, I was required to fly into this meeting half-blind, a handicap when dealing with a sharp minded Zig.  The Secretary was Gold Caste, which meant not quite as scary genius as the Copper Caste specialists, but still specialized in their own way for social management.  ChiTakTiZu was somewhere in the middle stratum of the ‘ruling class’, as I understood Zig society.  He had risen to titled status and was qualified to represent Zig culture to outsiders, meaning the Collective.  He was talented enough to be elected by the Collective’s representative council, which earned him a measure of respect back home.  He held academic degrees in civil engineering and climatology, in contrast to my political and sociological background.  The Secretary had selected me as a complimentary force, a facilitator to his evaluator.

Just doing my job, boss.  The response from ChiTakTiZu was brief, asking for confirmation that my ‘emergency’ warranted his personal attention.  I duly confirmed and asked for his next open time window.  Half an hour away, overlapping his luncheon.  Good enough.  I was sure we’d both sacrifice a meal in order to protect our continued employment.

I filled the wait by lining up candidates for the next stage of notification.  First up: our military contact: regional Commander Grissakh bash’Ruushid.  Inevitably and regrettably Mauraug, given their adjacency to Locust system, but unbiased enough to qualify for Collective employment.  He would make the decisions about what sort of military protection to give the salvagers.  His office would be responsible for investigating the colonial ruins.  Oh, and planning any response, though the attackers were long gone and already kill-on-sight outlaws.

Second, medical and supply aid, via the Office of Health.  Probably moot, judging from the few reported survivors, but why not get them involved? 

I also listed the respective Representatives for Human and Mauraug cultural interests on the Collective council.  We absolutely had to shove this mess in their faces.  The temptation to scream, “I told you so” was strong.   Sad to say, being too aggressive in our approach could backfire politically.  It might even be useful to delay the full report to those notables.  We could convey the impression that we had tried to manage the catastrophe, but the situation was just too thoroughly flawed, too awful from its inception, to be salvaged.

We could only delay so much, though, before the Representative offices received their own reports from the disaster site.  If their internal governments had operatives within the colonies or among the salvage teams, those reports might already be in transit.  I doubted that either side had access to Ningyo messenger ships, but I could be wrong.  Collective internal operations, the Offices, benefited from the rapid transmission allowed by space fold technology as the Ningyo 'donation' to our society.  The Ningyo might relay a message to other parties for their own unclear reasons, whether for free or for a fair price.  No one could command exclusive rights to news, unless they owned their own relays… and encrypted them well.

Who else?  We could overstep the council and punch directly toward the cultural governments themselves.  Such transfer of blame was more deserved but that much more dangerous.  I could be recalled by the Terran government.  The Secretary might be safe, but causing enough trouble for a powerful Terran or Mauraug politician could encourage that authority to petition their Zig counterpart.  They could raise questions about the neutrality of a certain Zig employee within the Collective’s Offices.

It took that kind of power – and its ignorant use – to force a settlement like the Locust colony charter.  The Collective had been pushed into the only acceptable option, given the intransigence of its member states.  We were supposed to be grateful that a mutually (un)acceptable option was even ratified.

In turn, the powers that run planets would blame their constituents for their behavior.  The people, being the source of their power, could not be ignored.  The people demand colonial expansion.  The people refuse to consider opposing claims.  The people refuse to consider security issues, clearly.  If the politicians stop obeying the people, they will be replaced by more useful servants.

Complete keke.  When that obedience will get your ‘people’ killed, you take a stand.  You show your worth by opposing the popular error and persuading the masses away from a mistake.  Otherwise, when they run off a cliff, you’ve got no excuse not to get pushed over with them.  I could hope this debacle would take down a few of the responsible parties, but I knew better.  The best I could manage would be to protect myself and my people.  The final political casualties were out of my hands.

I had worked through fear and anger by the time for the meeting with the Secretary.  I was ready for righteous action.  With luck, I could maintain that for another hour or so before depression or resignation settled in.

We were too far removed from the frontier to manage grief.  Deaths on colony planets are regrettably common, though rarely concentrated in such numbers.  The most common cause of death is technical accident, followed by disease, especially if you lump mental disorders into the mix.  Colonists are their own worst dangers, even with careful screening.  Disease is still a risk, along with local natural hazards like wildlife and weather.  Outsider aggression is rather low on the list.  New colonies might be tempting targets due to weaker defenses, but they are relatively poor and scattered targets for piracy.  For military action, either.  Only zealots or isolationists tend to target new colonies specifically.

Which was exactly what had happened, look at that.  Just like we, the experts, predicted.  In a way, I and the Secretary had already grieved the inevitable death of Locust colony.  It wasn’t enough of a sure thing, though, to have a response strategy drafted.  We had plenty of other follies to manage on a daily basis, plus quite a lot of healthy, responsible, productive colonies to assist. 

As such, neither I nor the Secretary could spend our entire day massaging this specific cramp, significant as it was.  Even slowing down operations would draw attention.  We wanted to create the impression that we could handle any trouble, but not that we were taking ownership of it. 

I was already striding down the hallway with minutes to spare before our scheduled meeting.  Members of our Office staff nodded politely as I passed.  Fortunately, none of them had questions needing my attention.  None asked if I needed assistance, either.  I was doing a fine job masking my urgency.  Outward signs of trouble were quickly noticed in an enclosed domain like ours.

You may think I exaggerate the hazards of a political environment, but I do not.  Trouble is like radiation.  You don’t want to be near it.  You don’t want to accumulate any exposure, as it takes time to dissipate and too much is lethal.  You certainly don’t want to be responsible for a leak, as anyone exposed – or endangered – will be after your head.  It also lingers even after the source is gone.  Good analogy, well done.  We needn’t discuss the equivalents of critical mass and chain reaction.

Anyway, I was keeping my dose of trouble well-shielded, transporting it safely down the hall.  For disposal, I hoped.  The Secretary’s door was closed.  Not to me, but to keep others from intruding before I arrived.

I signaled my presence at the door pad.  The door opened and I entered as if delivering a routine update, possibly as if paying a harmless social call.

My superior was not misled.  Secretary of Settlement ChiTakTiZu stared as I entered, his wide amber eyes scanning my face and body for clues.  Slightly shorter and thinner than me, the Secretary still had an impressively broad chest and shoulders.  He was considered an attractive older male by Zig standards.  His skin might no longer glitter as brightly as it had decades ago, but he still reminded me of a certain ancient android model: a metal man with exaggerated facial features.

Like such automatons, the Secretary had a fixed, neutral expression.  When he spoke, his tone was pleasant but flat, leaving out the niceties of courtesy.  We had worked together long enough to be past the need for verbal reassurances.

“What brings you here, Undersecretary ChiTa?”  he asked as I neared his desk.  Very formal.  I had probably claimed time he wanted to himself.  His irritation would never emerge as rudeness, only an absence of pleasantries.  He still mispronounced my name, though, the accent from his particular Zig dialect evident.  I wouldn’t mind, except it made me sound like a Terran wild cat.

“I have a report from the colony on Locust Four, Secretary,” I replied, equally even-tempered and succinct.  I allowed myself some drama: “The former Locust colony, I should say.”

Only a long blink betrayed ChiTakTiZu’s surprise.  He bade me, “Continue.” 

I chose to take this as permission to sit, claiming the guest’s chair across from the Secretary at his legume-shaped desk.  When he did not protest, I continued my presentation.  Even so, I did not relax, remaining stiffly upright.

“Two Standard days ago, at approximately 0430 local time – 1510 Collective Standard on Second Day – both the Terran and Mauraug colonies on Locust Four were bombarded from within atmosphere.  No record of the attackers has been confirmed but recovered messages from that time period describe three Mauraug vessels.  Those messages include both stored data found in wreckage within the Colony as well as transmissions intercepted in transit later.  Mauraug Apostates are the responsible party, per the highest probability given current evidence.”

With no interruption so far, I continued further, “Early reports from salvagers on site indicate either no survivors whatsoever or possibly no more than ten survivors located outside of the settlements at the time of attack.  None of these survivors have been confirmed, much less identified or recovered.  The reporting salvagers are a Great Family passenger liner, a Mauraug freighter, and a Zig mining vessel, all drawn from adjacent systems by intercept of the first distress message from Locust.”

I paused before delivering the last twist.  “One other ship, a licensed Terran salvager, Saving Grace, was confirmed on site by the other three ships, but abruptly left system without explanation after starting work at the Terran settlement.  The messages regarding survivors came from that ship, shortly before its departure.  We received this news via third-party transmission, courtesy of the nearest Ningyo ship able to relay.  So far as they claim, this information was passed directly to this Office, tagged and relayed specifically for our eyes only.”

Secretary ChiTakTiZu absorbed my synopsis without reaction and waited to hear if I held any further surprises.  He did not reply at first, but opened his personal computer and performed several manual operations within five seconds.  The virtual screen transmitted only to his retinas, so I could see nothing.  My exclusion meant only that time was too valuable to waste on personal consideration.  I could be patient.  I could be especially patient if it meant my part in this ordeal ended that much sooner.

I could guess, though, what he was doing.  He might already be initiating contact with the parties I had identified.  My recommendations were unnecessary, although I still held responsibility for doing my own research.  He might be alerting internal staff to make time available pending an update to their duties and priorities.  He was probably opening files and programs to assist his own decision making.  A Terran would have brought their A.I. online for the same reason, but non-Terrans had to manage their own searches and inputs if they wanted the same kinds of analysis. 

He did not wait for the return of answers or outputs, but focused on me again.  “Do we have documentation of the extent of damage to the colony?” he asked.  He emphasized the ‘proper’ terminology, colony singular, rather than colonies, plural.  He was already mentally set for damage control.

“Yes, Secretary.  Video and in-depth scans from overflights confirm thorough destruction at both sites.  No structures remain standing.  It appears both colonies chose to extend underground.  The bombardment dropped upper levels into lower.  At the time of report, the salvagers were checking into mining works and defensive outposts… their description… for potential survivors.  None were found in the settlements proper.  Incendiary effects likely killed anyone surviving initial collapse, not to mention destroying many remains.  Collection and identification of casualties is ongoing.”

ChiTakTiZu raised a hand to pause my report.  “I understand the limits of available information.  I am also not surprised at the extent of destruction.  I will receive further reports directly as they become available.  We are not responsible for monitoring the salvagers, until such time as survivors are confirmed.  The settlement of Locust Four is ended for the present.  Our responsibilities end with the disposition of settlers afterward.  All equipment donated, loaned, or sold to Locust colony will be declared as loss.  I will document that officially… in due course.”

I might have betrayed some impatience.  Then again, the Secretary knows Terrans, knows me, well enough to anticipate my concerns.  “That doesn’t mean our work is done.  I will need you to handle communications for the Office regarding this matter.  Notify the appropriate parties of their new responsibilities.  Notify other appropriate parties of our responsibilities, present and past.” 

I caught his meaning clearly enough.  Make it clear what Settlement could and could not do in the past.  Make it clear what Settlement can no longer do, by Collective law.  Brush off any claims of wrongdoing, now or then.  Call up the reserve stock of fingers, because I was going to be doing a lot of pointing.  Got it.

Unfortunately, the Zig in charge was making that finger-pointing my personal responsibility.  I would survive or fall based on my ability to motivate other Offices and representatives.  The Secretary would handle analysis and policy, as usual, and I was stuck as the face of Settlement.  The visible, punchable face, if I didn’t block or dodge well.  If I botched somewhere, the Secretary could disavow my ‘regrettable misstatement’ and thereby disperse any direct attack on the Office.

I might have hoped he would take full charge of damage control today, maybe even hand off the entire problem to another Office, but that wasn’t going to happen.  I couldn’t be angry.  I might do the same, in his place.  In his place, I’d also have access to contacts and secrets that would inform my decisions.  There must be something about the Locust colony agreement – or the process of its ratification – that discouraged Secretary ChiTakTiZu from personally addressing its failure.

I also didn’t have any space to argue.  As challenging as the task before me was, it was my job.  It paid well, not to mention provided a platform for further ascent within the Collective.  If that platform became unstable from time to time, I couldn’t complain.  Rather, the less I complained, the more competent I looked.  Just don’t fall off, right, ChiTa?  Let others fall, but dig in your claws.

I smiled to indicate readiness, even welcome to the challenge before me.  “Understood, Secretary.  I will compose our statement immediately.  Is there any order of precedence for contacts, for our outreach or to accept theirs?”

“Collective officials have first priority, of course.  Hold calls to or from cultural representatives, for the present, until I give permission.  Office-internal queries secondary.  Anything else, use your judgment.  We might still get inquiries from on-site workers, depending on the Ningyo.  Tell them what they actually need to know.”

The Secretary’s instructions were pretty much aligned with my earlier thoughts.  Put off the Mauraug or Terran reps, but be helpful to our Collective comrades.  The main trouble was that I had to respond to each party, after identifying whom I was speaking with and judging their need to know appropriately. 

“Very good.  Anything further?”

“Quite a lot, but nothing we need discuss right here.  Watch your messages; I will relay policy documents as they are completed.  Oh, and you have permission to set aside anything below First Priority, until otherwise notified.”

That last instruction spoke volumes.  First Priority was assigned only to all-hands-on-deck emergency operations, rarely used but always resolved first.  Second Priority was used for time-sensitive tasks, anything where delays could be dangerous or expensive.  So this problem ranked between First and Second Priority, but wasn’t going to be explicitly labeled as such.  Good to know.

Add another area where my judgment would be tested.  I could ignore Second Priority items if I chose, but I didn’t have to, so it was my decision what to do.  I also couldn’t interfere with anyone else’s work or hand off any Locust-related business to staff.

I certainly could hand off Locust matters outside of the Office.  I certainly would, given an opening.  I was practically being encouraged to do so.  That was power I could work with.

I nodded acknowledgment to the Secretary. 

“Go to it,” he added by way of dismissal. 

Standing, I turned and walked back out.  I almost forgot to regulate my pace and expression for the benefit of bystanders.  Steady.  Calm.  No need to alarm them, not yet.  I might need to raise the temperature later, if I had to delegate work myself, but it was too soon to raise any alerts.

If I was really as skillful as I believed, nobody would know I had ever been worried.

The Bureaucrat's Tale - Chapter 1

What do I do with this?

The characters still floated several inches from my eyes, maintaining their relative position like an oddly disciplined swarm of flies.  The contents of the short transmission were responsible for my thoughts of vermin.  For one reason, it was a nuisance, wrought by small creatures, which refused to be ignored.  The second reason was less metaphor and more wordplay: the communique had originated in the Locust System.

This plague could not be pushed aside; it would only return.  Much less could it be destroyed; the underlying origin would only breed another swarm of the same kind, perhaps larger, certainly worse.  All I could reasonably do was pass it on to another victim. 

The pestilent news would have to be persuaded to move somewhere more attractive.  Certainly there were targets more deserving of its torment.  Still, no one would welcome this particular communication, no more than they would thank me for an infestation.  So the problem became: how to hand off this mess without being included in its blame.

I just happened to be the gatekeeper: Hori Jeetah, Assistant Secretary of Settlement Affairs.

More literally, the troublesome message was a packet from a Ningyo diplomatic mission which had arrived across folded space from a region adjacent to the Locust system.  They were relaying a transmission from the Great Family passenger liner Vlluti, which was itself orbiting the fourth planet from Locust C, a star informally named ‘Ra’.  The planet itself had no decided name, save its official designation: Locust 4.

The news was summarized in a single block of text, accompanied by an enrichment of associated data: direct video recordings, multi-dimensional scans, ship log records, and the like, all elaborating and corroborating the claims asserted up front.  Someone would have the task of sifting through all this information to confirm that it did, in fact, support its introductory claims.  Someone else, not me.

The attached records included contributions from two other vessels: a Zig mining ship, VasKoTaCho, and a Mauraug freighter, Shomuth.  It was strange enough for these particular cultures to be working in cooperation, but that oddity was only a footnote to the greater anomaly.  For one thing, these two were not the only ships involved in the Locust system’s troubles.  One other vessel, Saving Grace, a Human salvager, had been present but was unavailable for comment.  The report couldn’t answer why 'Grace was unavailable, either.  That was another mystery for someone else to actively pursue.

In quick summary, the story was this: the joint Terran-Mauraug colony on Locust 4 was gone, leveled in an attack.  That great experiment initiated by the Collective’s negotiated settlement – this department’s negotiated settlement – was over.  Depending on how you read the matter, the results were either inconclusive due to early termination, or an utter failure due to that same termination.

As wiser minds – mine included – had feared, the joint colony had become an unbearable irritation to the dissidents of the Mauraug Apostasy.  How much stronger a reminder could we have issued that the Collective was still, bizarrely, more comfortable working with the expansionist, imperialist, Dominionist faction of the Mauraug majority?  Of course the Apostates had come calling.  What surprised me was how thoroughly they had expressed their outrage.  The number of known survivors at Locust was in the single digits, although even that number was uncertain, for reasons detailed further in. 

A massacre on this scale could hardly raise sympathy for the Apostate cause.  Their leadership (and I use that term loosely) must have felt that the colony itself posed a greater risk than the infamy generated by its obliteration.  Perhaps I was being too generous.  This attack might have been an impulsive reaction to an insult, with no thought about its long-term consequences.  Most lay readers would assume as much, finding a common thread of Mauraug fanaticism between both factions, Dominion and Apostasy.

Those readers would also ask the obvious question: where was the Collective?  Why hadn’t we, the bureaucrats and officials and experts of the galaxy’s largest organized society, anticipated this obvious danger and put safeguards in place to prevent it?  The answer ought to be equally obvious: of course we recognized the danger.  Most of us did, at least.  Some of us downplayed the risk.  Some acknowledged its possibility, but accepted the danger as a necessary risk, worth permitting in return for a potential gain.  What might be gained?  Closer association and reduced hostility with the Mauraug Dominion.  Greater understanding between cultures.  A shared stake in a common project, with neither side getting everything they wanted… that was the hallmark of a good negotiation, right?

I had argued that the actual threat was not worth such tenuous benefits.  The Apostates would attack, overtly or covertly.  They couldn’t not respond.  If you can believe it, some sophists argued that such attacks could be turned to a profit, pushing the two cultures closer together in shared opposition.  None of those voices came from Humans, of course.  Most of the absurd social theory came from our Great Family representatives.  I wouldn’t even say that the worst arguments came from the Hrotata.  That whole ‘shared enemy’ speech had hallmarks of Vislin psychology laced through it, although of course the speaker had been Hrotata.

So an attack was likely, if not inevitable.  Why not, then, be on guard?  Why not give the colony defenses, or better yet, station a ring of Collective warships around Locust System?  That would certainly have deterred the resource-challenged Apostates.  With an equal or greater number of defending ships, an attack would fail.  Even the likelihood of a small prepared defense, raising the cost of an invasion, might have been sufficient deterrent.

The reason a fleet of Collective warships were not in Locust system was as prosaic as it was regrettable: economics.  The Collective could not afford to spare five, four, three, or even two military vessels, with their crew and fuel supply demands, for any extended period.  Certainly not for the many planetary cycles it would take for a colony to take root and grow self-sufficient in its own defense.  Much less could so many ships be spared from other duties, such as border defense or active duty at 'known' conflict sites.

It was telling that the first responders now working to salvage the remains of the Locust 4 colony were a motley of various ships, each from a different culture and specialized for different purposes.  Only one, Saving Grace, was designated a licensed salvager.  That one had abruptly lifted from the planet before completing its stated survey, leaving the system without further explanation to its three collaborators.  Its last message had confirmed the presence of survivors, stragglers who had been outside of the colonial settlements at the time of the Apostate attack.  How those clues fit together was still a mystery, pending further investigation… which would have to wait on an official constabulary visit.

So, that left three civilian ships to do the work of the Collective, at least for another planetary rotation before support ships were estimated to arrive.  If any military vessels were to arrive sooner – and the need for them was questionable at this point – they would have to be outfitted with Ningyo fold drives.

There was another reason explaining not only why a military fleet was absent, but also why not a single warship was nearby.  The substance of that reason is the ocean in which I swim: politics.

First up, Settlement couldn’t get approval for a military presence.  Whose ship would it be, for example?  Human and Mauraug presences were excluded immediately, for fear of granting an in-system advantage to one culture or the other.  The crux of the negotiation had been competitive.  Both cultures would have an opportunity to develop Locust 4, with permanent rights to the planet going to the culture that showed itself better able to utilize the world and prosper.  Idealists had hoped that the competition would end in a draw, with both parties recognizing that they succeeded best together rather than separately.  It’s difficult to argue publicly against such ideals, given that they form one basis of the Collective.  But the other basis of the Collective is recognition of differences and allowance for inequitable relationships when those imbalances offer the greater benefit to all members.  Hence the technology laws, hence settlement rights, and hence commerce law.  Still, competition had to be done on a fair basis to avoid exploitation of present advantages... such as a nearby military vessel full of supplies and armed allies.

That exclusion of Terran or Mauraug military still left a handful of cultures eligible to provide military support.  Once again, the Terrans and Mauraug argued themselves out of options.  Zig obviously are biased toward Humanity.  The few existing Tesetse ships are too automated for the Mauraug to trust.  The Great Family had offended the Terran delegation by forcing the whole negotiation in the first place.  And nobody is comfortable enough to trust the Ningyo or Awakeners, except where we have no choice.

That’s not to say that a few compromise candidates couldn’t have been found.  Some secondary members of the Collective could have been acceptable neutral parties.  The problem there was, once again, cost.  Unless a Collective member offered to cover the expenses out of a sense of duty to the organization, the costs of protection would have to be paid by one or both of the colonizing parties.  Plus, all this debate presumed that a willing third party could be found at all.  Whether or not they were getting paid for the effort, there was a high probability of an attack to consider.  Essentially, any candidate – volunteer or mercenary – was signing on for an almost guaranteed military engagement.  The cost might include lost lives or even lost ships, at a probability actuaries wouldn’t touch.

Finding such sympathetic, noble, and/or courageous captains would be difficult enough if the hiring parties were dedicated and concerted in their search.  They were not.  Up until the date of the Apostate attack, the Terran and Mauraug governments were still hashing out a defense plan and recruitment strategy.  They hadn’t let those considerations delay their settlement plans, oh no.  As soon as the contract was countersigned and saved to memory, they had started launching transports to Locust system.  First arrival had an advantage, after all, and one couldn’t discard any advantage… not if one wanted to stay in office.

As far as I was concerned, blame for this disaster could be placed most squarely at the feet of those cultural governments, both Terran and Mauraug.  More specifically, the responsible parties were the leaders who had interfered with their own interests by pushing the colonization forward before they managed its protection.  By association, my condemnation included the business interests and perhaps even the colonists who had put pressure on those leaders.

In turn, those authorities had put pressure on my office to open up settlement.  Since they were in compliance with the terms of the contract, my superior, the Secretary of Settlement, had no choice but to approve the touchdown of their ships.  At the time, we hoped that those transports would stay in-system long enough for defense support to arrive.  Perhaps we should have specified supervision as a condition of approval, as much as that demand would exceed the authority of our office.  Sometimes you have to bend the rules to do what is right, although that doesn’t exempt rule-benders from sanctions.

All this byplay was a matter of public record.  Anyone who wanted answers to their questions about the whys and whodunits of the Locust settlement could access our network and search directly, or even read themselves to exhaustion through the transcripts, contracts, and associated exhibit data.  Would they?  No.  Most would see the upcoming headlines and blame the Collective for permitting another massacre.  After all, the Collective created the colony, therefore we were responsible for anything that happened to it.

To a limited degree, I could agree with that sentiment.  I, personally, am responsible for monitoring settlement progress.  Setbacks, pressing needs, and other concerns of Collective-sponsored settlements pass directly through this office, for relay to the offices that supply those needs.  We do a fair amount of filtering, deciding which requests merit response, on what timetable, and who should be contacted to provide that response.  Routing this particular message was going to be a challenge, which was my personal dilemma.

However, the Office of Settlement does not handle culture-internal matters.  It certainly does not set Collective policy.  We follow existing law and custom as instructed, exercising judgment only to determine how a given situation fits into that framework.

For that matter, the Collective is supposed to do the same, enacting and enforcing the collective will of its member cultures.  Sorry if I’m slipping into Galactic Political Science 1001 here.  The more I think about the Locust colony mess, the more aggravated I get about the ignorance of so-called sapients.  The Collective did not cause that atrocity.  We’re not responsible, not by commission or omission.  Nonetheless, we’re going to be tarred by association. 

While the Collective may have set the scene for this disaster, like I said, there were some good and noble reasons for the joint colony.  I haven’t even discussed why the good and rational arguments against that arrangement were overruled.  To do so, I once again point to the cultural governments themselves.  Neither would back down from their claim on the Locust system.  Both had equal claims from proximity and precedent to establish settlements.  Locust 4 was the best, most habitable world in the region, so there was no question of dividing up the system planet by planet.  One possibility that was proposed and discarded was to trade claims in other star systems for exclusive rights in Locust.  Nobody could come up with a current or anticipated dispute that might be resolved by giving away one system in return for another… and neither side would accept “a credit to be claimed in future disputes.”  I can’t really blame them there.

So, short of military resolution – something the Collective could not accept – or mutual abandonment – again, inimical to the nature of the Collective – it became inevitable that some kind of division of Locust IV would be necessary.  Perhaps a continent-by-continent split?  Well, no, the nature of the baby prevented that kind of split, as well.  All of the most preferable resources were found on the same continent, just slightly north of the equator.

The best separation that could be managed, in the end, was to establish separate colonies in the same geographical zone.  For reasons both idealistic, practical and cynical, the sites were chosen to be within driving distance of one another.  Keep an eye on the neighbors, in case they need help, but also in case they start getting too far ahead.

I may be Human, myself, but sometimes I despair of my species.  I tend to agree with the sapients that find little distinction between us and the Mauraug.  But for several accidents of history, there go we.  There could easily have been a Terran Dominion pounding dogma and bad poetry into our minds, right now.

I work for the Collective by choice.  It’s something that might pull Humanity out of itself.  I’m not a species traitor; the same is true for all the member cultures of the Collective.  They all have flaws that need to be addressed: Mauraug obviously, but Zig and Hrotata need humility, Vislin and Taratumm need restraint, and the Ningyo… need some kind of racial psychotherapy, probably.

Anyway, if there’s one thing all those cultures share, it’s resentment of the restraints the Collective puts on their preferences and ambitions.  Situations like the one before me just give them a target to pin those frustrations on.  “The Collective isn’t working; look at this mistake.”  “Why do we bother with this nonsense; let us manage ourselves and let other sapients do the same.”  “They don’t understand what we need.”

I wasn’t about to let the death of Locust colony feed opposition to the Collective.  I suspected, even then, that that was the real goal of the Apostates: not only to hurt Dominionist Mauraug and their ‘allies’, not only to demonstrate against the Collective for our unacceptable collaboration with Dominion, but to undermine the Collective and what it represents.

Oh, not what it actually represents, which is the pinnacle of enlightened self-interest.  I mean, why would so many disparate cultures even bother meeting, discussing, and negotiating, if they didn’t find some advantage in it for themselves?  The idealists are a minority in this Universe, but pragmatists are common enough.

No, I mean the Apostates - apparently like the majority of sapients out there – think the Collective represents power, authority, and the domination of others by an empowered minority.  The Apostates see us as Dominion writ across the galactic disc.  Frost, the Dominionists probably do, too, which would explain why their official policy shifted to support us.  That majority, including both Mauraug factions as well as most of the sapients in all the cultures of the Collective, are idiots.

This office has exactly the power given to it by the colonists that rely upon it, the offices that answer to it, and the cultures that support the Collective as a whole.  If nobody returns my calls, I have zero power.  The Office of Settlement has no military power to enforce its edicts, and its economic power is contingent on other bureaus doing their jobs.  Even the mighty executives of the Collective are beholden to their subordinates and the cultures they operate between.

That’s enough lecturing.  I just wanted to make sure you understood my problem, before I explain how I went about resolving it.  There are all these pieces, all these actors, each limited in scope and span of power.  Each was responsible for how they used that power: the decisions they made and the orders they issued to put events in motion.  Lots of those sapients were going to have to make some hard decisions, issue some orders, and work hard in reaction to this Locust plague.  Some of them were going to get hurt, particularly in the realm of public opinion.

I just wanted to make sure anyone who got bitten deserved the pain.  I certainly did not.