A Terran in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire
Hashiyo-Hashiyo 210
"It's the beginning of the end."
A Ctarl-Ctarl nun from an Abrahamic church—actually, a very attractive young woman with a very modern-looking bob haircut underneath her wool habit, so probably an apprenticing nun—said this abruptly when he returned to the Clan-Clan home after his morning constitutional. The morning constitutional was one of those things he'd started doing when he decided he was definitely old, but simultaneously, bourgeois enough to simply walk for the sake of walking.
"I'm sorry, excuse me miss? What do you mean?'
"It's the beginning of the end," she repeated. She had eerily red eyes—something of a rare eye color for Ctarl-Ctarl, unlike her dark skin and white hair.
"The end of what?"
"Your end."
Mr. Carcono came rushing in, gesturing. "Oh, Mr. Chandrasekhar, I'm very sorry about it. She's just hear to take donations for charity. This way, if you'll please!" he ordered the nun, who promptly shuffled off.
Chandrasekhar had no idea what to make of the enigmatic nun. With Aisha having gone for military school, the Clan-Clan's home was rather quiet and even a little lonesome. Lord Dawid became increasingly involved in domestic politics in the fairly-new government. Lady Ayesha didn't like him anymore than when they first met. He mostly wanted to be left alone and kept his head down to the best of his abilities. Ultimately, that wasn't enough: in his fear of being yelled at for incompetence, he didn't avoid his fear of being involved in more things for being competent.
So, while Lady Aisha was away, it happened: Chandrasekhar's promotion to the rank of Counter Admiral that accompanied him being made military liaison, 1st class, and official envoy to 181st Royal Guards Combined Taskforce. In fact, he had already acted in some unofficial capacity for years doing exactly that, which he assumed was normal. He didn't really care about military promotions anymore, correctly identifying that they would not solve any of his life's problems (and might just lead to more). Nonetheless, it happened anyway, regardless of his wishes.
The chain of events was put in motion by Admiral Ludoviko, who was the executive officer of the fleet admiral in charge of a portion of the Terran-Ctarl-Ctarl DMZ in Ban Guild Space, including the civilian asteroid base Blue Heaven. The DMZ was an increasingly futile mission since, while Blue Heaven had been successfully demilitarized, practically all the space around it was a haven for pirates and Outlaws. Both Terrans and Ctarl-Ctarl understood that the legalistic argument for the DMZ had to take a back seat to the reality of a major traffic lane for smuggling and banditry. The Ctarl-Ctarl had already begun posting a lone warship in the Blue Heaven area, its commander given the title of 'Ambassador Plenipotentiary', since Blue Heaven was nominally independent and thus, entitled to have its own representative to the Ctarl-Ctarl Emperor (even if none had ever been considered necessary until now), who operated out of their deep-space command cruiser.
Ludoviko rose in influence and rank when the Terran border was finally formally rolled back, since his familiarity with the area was still necessary. He was a large, amicable man, someone who genuinely cared about his position. Chandrasekhar had met him on multiple occasions, mostly since he worked closely with the Deputy Inspectors-General, including the one with the sword over Chandrasekhar's head. He seemed deeply grateful for Chandrasekhar's work, even though he wasn't certain why Ludoviko valued him so much. On one occasion, the ever-friendly Ludoviko had been having an friendly chat with the Deputy Inspector-General about his own retirement: he might have cared deeply for his duty, but he was sick of the Space Forces, the naval bureaucracy, the political indecision and the individual tyrannical personalities that occasionally rose above those. Ludoviko called the Deputy Inspector his friend—he meant it truthfully, he was an honest, genuine character—and the Deputy Inspector acknowledge that she was grateful but wasn't in her position to make friends. Ludoviko laughed and exclaimed that Chandrasekhar, whom he almost always saw in her company, was a friend. When he asked to confirm it, he nearly panicked, merely yelling, "Huh?" as though he hadn't heard every word of their conversation in the opposite room. Ludoviko jovially pushed the issue and Chandrasekhar fumbled out a detached attempt at a witty, harmless answer, which Ludoviko's obliging chuckled at.
Immediately afterwards, he sent Ludoviko a politely worded message not to involve him in any gossip or chatting that might jeopardize his position, that he didn't enjoy the liberty that the high officers or civilian officials like they did, and that he'd inadvertently put him in a dangerous spot. Sending that message, Chandrasekhar considered that the letter might be what was jeopardizing his position. After all, he was so terrified of complaining to anyone, including the sympathetic Ludoviko, that he never did. He sent it anyway, deciding that whatever they could do to him probably wouldn't be as bad as what they already had over the last 20 years.
Ludoviko immediately apologized, thanked Chandrasekhar for his candor, and explained that he had only hoped to incorporate him into their friendly dialog, which made their work more tolerable. Chandrasekhar in turn accepted his apology, complimented his compassion and his discretion, and that was that. The next time they encountered was the normally chatty Ludoviko popping his head into the room, shaking Chandrasekhar's handshake with a knowing smile, and departing. He "appreciated everything he did to make the life easier for the rest of them," whatever that meant.
Apparently, this wasn't empty praise. When the Admiralty wanted an official military liaison to the Ctarl-Ctarl, they would have never chosen the unreliable Chandrasekhar were it not for Ludoviko's pushing. Chandrasekhar accepted, since it really meant no practical change to his duties, including the nerve-racking interactions with the Deputy Inspector-General. Lord Dawid, of course, was thrilled—he thought it actually made a difference. Chandrasekhar didn't make much of it, just like he didn't make much of his last promotion in the navy, to the rank of Vice Admiral, purely for the purposes of sitting on the table over Terran-Ctarl-Ctarl Arms reduction.
That was the matter of it. Of course, there was also the fact that Chandrasekhar had been in the navy, technically without pause, for multiple decades—he was a professional officer, or was supposed to be. If he hadn't become an admiral, he must have been incompetent enough to be relieved of his commission. Since the later wasn't happening, the former had to. It was all very binary, to his dismay.
Due to the curse placed on him by Gregory, Chandrasekhar's salary was actually just a fraction of what an officer of his rank would normally be paid, not enough to live as a foreign national in Ctarl-Ctarl high society of course, and the tiny increase meant nothing. He got a slightly different uniform to wear, and a slightly different title. "Admiral Chandrasekhar" didn't even feel it was worth telling his son or Lord Dawid. He'd probably meet him if or when the negotiations over the DMZ began anyway.
Very little happened in the intervening time. Lady Kalin spent her holidays with her own family, naturally, instead of in the Imperial Capital with Lady Ayesha and Lord Dawid. Lady Aisha, of course, got the occasional break from her classes to visit her family, typicaly on one of the long number of Ctarl-Ctarl national holidays, like Sovereign's Day or New Year's or Victory Day. He looked forward to those, simply because when it came down to it, he didn't have many friends. The household staff couldn't be considered his friends, and Lady Ayesha was more of a long-term acquaintance.
On occasion, she wasn't really a fan of him sitting around the estate with a blank stare at his notes and at his supposed manuscript, and she'd drag him to some official function involving the Imperial Court. Really, it was an opportunity far above his station, one that a more enterprising individual would have taken advantage of. For Chandrasekhar, it was a chance to see if he could look presentable in the nice new uniform would never wear otherwise. The disappointment from Lady Ayesha, a life-long member of the Imperial Court, was palpable.
In one occasion, His Imperial Majesty was personally advocating a particular policy position, rather than differing it to the cabinet or other members of parliament, which was a more common reason for a public appearance at Court. Emperor Anton, not unlike his younger sister, was naturally a charming, sociable person, often appearing with the Empress and their children at these functions. Additionally, the topic of environmental conservation—something the Emperor actually felt passionate about—wasn't very controversial, unlike Mariana's press to reform political and historical education in the Empire to better reflect its coexistence with other species, particularly Terrans. The Ctarl-Ctarl had a simultaneous love of nature and industry—their interstellar warships, the pride of the technological development, reflected that fact. The reality was that the Empire had strip-mined a number of worlds that might otherwise have been candidates for terraforming into habitability, for both military and industrial necessity. This resembled the principle of conservation of energy—those planets and moons could be terraformed, eventually, back into habitable worlds, but the resources and effort expensed would basically be depriving other worlds of some amount of their own natural resources. Nothing was completely efficient, after all.
His Imperial Majesty wasn't a pacifist, certainly, but he didn't push the military agenda the way his sister had as a means of directing attention from her secrets. Anton had no secrets, nothing to hide. With plain, simple rhetoric he argued that, since naval power had been restored to pre-war levels, there was no need for further expansion, only maintenance.
"The planets we're leaving to our children are no less part of our legacy than the Imperial Navy that we will bequeath them in the future. More ships can always be built—the same cannot be said about terraforming planets."
Environmentalism increasingly became a top-down issue, contrasted with the Social Revolution, which was a grassroots change. But like everything else, it tied into military readiness. The only Terran present that particular day (the other diplomats and corporate representatives didn't happen to be in), Chandrasekhar sense that there was a particular issue the voices at Court were all thinking of, but didn't want to bring up. Rather than stand there feeling sorry for himself, he decided to bring it up if one of the nobles present went through the trouble of asking him what he was doing here in the first place.
His opportunity came. After a very talented Silgrian opera singer rendered a beautiful Aria her native tongue, which the people at Court politely clapped to, Emperor Anton decided to speak his mind for a few minutes, once again about conservation. He then opened the floor to questions, which it didn't seem anyone had.
Disappointed, his Imperial Majesty stood up and surveyed the crowd. Something caught his eye and he smiled, pointing.
"You, who are you?"
He was pointing at Chandrasekhar, who froze like prey before a predator.
"The Terran gentlemen in the back row, may I have your name?"
Nearby, Lady Ayesha elbowed him very hard. "Ow! I mean, my name is Alan Chandrasekhar, Your Highness…sir. I'm an envoy for the United Space Forces of the Terran Empires."
"I see, Mr. Chandrasekhar. Do you have a question?"
He actually didn't.
"Ask something, you idiot," Ayesha hissed.
He came up with something off the top of his head. "Sir, Your Majesty, do you think…do you think it is possible to have peace with the Kata-Kata Democratic People's Republic?"
The room was silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Emperor Anton pondered the question. "Why not?"
That was it. The Emperor didn't elaborate any further, though one of the last initiatives of his reign was to normalize relations with the autonomous Kata-Kata people some time later. The Kata-Kata had their own social changes, though they manifested primarily in the Kata-Kata émigré scattered throughout the Empire: the demand for political freedom and a respect for their ideology, for the procedural right to travel through the Empire as foreign nationals, which they believed they were. The so-called 'Red Dawn' movement for justice.
Court was more of a distraction than anything. Eventually, news reached him: Lady Kalin Clan-Clan had graduated with honors, third in her (very substantial) class at the flight school. Her parents were no doubt very proud. As such, she'd also been accepted into both active duty, and accepted into a very distinguished university on Home as an undergraduate. When she wasn't on duty, she'd continue her civilian education. To facilitate this, now-Lieutenant, junior grade, Kalin Clan-Clan was going to be posted to one of the squadrons orbiting the home world, itself part of the 181st Royal Task Force—an extremely prestigious posting, naturally.
Chandrasekhar was genuinely happy for her. Happier than when his son earned his formal commission in the Space Forces around the same time, which he felt guilty for, but surmised must have been because her career actually showed some promise. The same could not be said about Shekhar's chances, he suspected.
He thought that would be the end of it, and it might have been if not for a letter he received. It was sent by someone he'd never heard of, a professor at the Imperial Central University's Capital Province Campus, asking that he visit to discuss something in person. Chandrasekhar had no better excuse to not go, so he simply set out one day and took a train. He visited the Biology Faculty of the Imperial Central University in the Capital Province, where he found the specific lecture, immediately recognizable by the participants: there were a dozen young Ctarl-Ctarl students, their professor, and five Terran women, each joined by a child ranging from one to five years in age.
The lecturing professor looked like the quintessential serious academic: short and slight, clean-shaven, in a vest and tie under a white laboratory coat. If it wasn't for his long hair and ears, he'd look like a Terran professor. Standing next to him was one of the children, a little human girl, staring up at him as he spoke in front of a screen laden with research findings.
"Some of you, I'm sure, know people or have family who are, let's say, skeptical of evolutionary science. This is despite that we, as a species, have the same sort of demonstrable proof of the evolutionary process that we do of nuclear physics, which very few object to. Your friends or relatives who are members of Terran churches and synagogues and mosques are, statically, more likely to have this opinion."
The twelve students said nothing, and he discreetly took a seat in the back row.
"They are, of course, legally entitled to have that opinion, even if none of them would pass this particular class. But as part of our research study on the maternity habits of contemporary Terrans, I've found some interesting observations I would like to share." He gestured to the little girl. "This is Ms. Costa."
"Mommy?" the little girl asked, while her actual mother waved at her.
"Ms. Costa is clearly a Terran infant of about 40 months age. Her eyesight is less than outstanding, and she frequently confuses adults that she sees from a distance."
Where is he going with this? he thought. "Mommy...mommy...mommy..." the little girl repeated in English energetically.
The professor ignored her. "Despite her appearance, Ms. Costa's behavior is very obviously different from any Ctarl-Ctarl infant. Notice her current pattern of behavior."
"Mommy...mommy...mommy...mommy..." she repeated, sounding excited but insistent.
"When confronted with certain stimuli compelling a response, the normal behavior for an infant...I should say, a Ctarl-Ctarl infant, is to fall back on animalistic instinct, pouncing on small insects, stalking imagined prey, and so forth. A handy historic artifact left behind by our ancestors that we share with our closest biological relatives."
"Mommy...mommy...mommy..."
"But not Terrans. When confronted by the same situation, Terran infants have a very different response. Instead of assuming predatory behavior patterns, Terran infants overwhelmingly do one thing: they sit and cry."
"Mommy...mommy...mommy...mommy..." As if on cue, a baby cradled in the arms of one of the Terran mothers started crying, for no apparent reason. Immediately, every student immediately covered his or her ears and winced, visibly aggravated by the sound.
"The cry of a Terran infant is widely and consistently agreed to be the most aggravating non-injuring orally-produced sound from any being that still exists in the galaxy. This includes among the Terrans themselves," the professor said, calmly raising his voice. "This amazing ability has arisen as one of the earliest actions capable by a newborn mammal that cannot even stand upright or feed itself. It is not transmitted by learning, and is culturally universal among Terrans. It's quite an amazing product of evolution, I would say!"
"Mommy...mommy...mommy...mommy...mommy..." Ms. Costa continued until the professor reached down and picked her up, holding her in his arms gingerly.
"It is an incredibly effective way of making a demand without access to advanced communication," the professor explained, shaking Ms. Costa lightly. "So effective that our own social mechanisms, tens rather than thousands of years in the making, haven't overcome it. There are, sadly, tens of millions of Terran orphans, and practically none will be adopted outside of Terran space. The rate of adoption of Ctarl-Ctarl infants by other species is actually higher than that of Terrans, despite the best efforts of the Imperial government to curtail it."
The professor gave Ms. Costa a look. She had finally gone silent. "There is nothing in this universe more intolerable than a crying Terrans baby, and that's true among Terrans. Next week, we'll be studying diet and nursing patterns. Please keep up with you reading."
Chandrasekhar made his way down to the professor, who gingerly handed the noisy girl to her mother, Mrs. Costa.
"Professor Mori-Mori, I didn't think you were an evolutionary biologist."
"I'm not," he assured him, offering him his hand. "Admiral Chandrasekhar, thank you for meeting me so promptly."
"Who are they?"
"Them? Mothers from Little Terra, in Dorov. We pay for their food and necessities during the study, not to mention a meager restitution."
"I see," he added while gesturing at the rows of empty seats. The two of them sat down and the professor lowered his voice.
"Admiral, you first came to my attention when some colleagues of mine mentioned your part in the PARA●SOL incident more than ten years ago."
Chandrasekhar felt a nervous twisting, stabbing in his spine. "What was your connection to PARA●SOL, if you mind me asking?"
The professor nodded and lowered his voice. "I was on Boto Matsuo-Matsuo III during your campaign there."
"You're joking."
"I'd just earned my doctorate. I had a few months to rest before the Imperial Academy recommended me for a position on Home, so I went on what I thought would be a cheap, boring vacation. I left shortly after the Terran military fled the planet."
Chandrasekhar nodded. "I don't really reminiscence about the old days, believe it or not."
"I wouldn't imagine so, given how history has played out. I contacted you because an acquaintance of mine, one of the daughters of the host family I was staying with, has become a writer."
Reaching into his academic-looking satchel, he took out a medium-size paperback book.
"Eighty Days of Silence: The Terran Army in Boto Matsuo-Matsuo and the PARA●SOL Corporation," Chandrasekhar said, reading the title out loud. "Oh God, I'm going to be sick."
"Calm down, Admiral. The whole PARA●SOL incident is barely looked at, the whole affair is simply too obscene to be discussed in the mainstream, even today. And to be honest, she actually spoke of you pretty positively, considering who she was."
"I don't recognize her name."
"Look at the title page."
Opening the book up, he found himself staring at an image of three Ctarl-Ctarl women, adolescent girls actually, dressed in very short white tunics and cloth masks. Kunoichi.
"I'm not a historian, but given your part in the Battle of Liberty Bell, I guess we should be grateful she and her accomplices didn't succeed."
Alan despairingly handed the book back to him.
"No, please. She sent me a copy for free. I'm sorry if this meeting has distressed you, but since the whole business with PARA●SOL will probably never be put to rest, I thought you might want to see how it was being handled. It's for the best, really."
"Well, I appreciate it."
"Believe it or not, for a foreign military governor, your behavior in Panaan City was quite acceptable, and that hasn't been forgotten. Not everyone endeavors to be a decent man."
He sighed. "You know, you sound a lot like a comrade of mine during the occupation, one of the officers I worked with."
"Really?" the professor asked incredulously, before turning. A tall student that Chandrasekhar hadn't even noticed was standing behind him: a large, statuesque Ctarl-Ctarl with pale skin and long, dark hair with a blue twinge. Definitely a military type. Her odd appearance was offset by her typical clothing: skirt, knee socks, a headband and one of those unnecessary tight short-sleeved sweaters that seemed to be all the rage for college students. Alan barely reached to her shoulders.
The teacher turned over his shoulder and stood up. "Oh, what can I do for you, Lady Kalin?"
"Sorry, Professor, I was just…"
"Of course, how rude of me: Admiral, this is Lieutenant Kalin Clan-Clan of the Imperial Navy Fighter Corps, one of my best students. Lady Kalin, this is Vice Admiral Chandrasekhar, of the Terran Space Forces."
He stood there silent for a few minutes, not sure how to respond. He settled for extending his hand. "How do you do?"
Clan-Clan just stared at him. "It's been a long time, sir," she said in a deep voice before taking his hand.
"Excuse me? It has?" the professor asked, caught off guard.