Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-35711173-20181111081045

This one took a lot longer than I thought it would.

I had considered putting it in the categories of Science and Space. Technically it would fit in vehicles as it does take place inside a vehicle that doesn't seem like the vehicle they intended. -

Admiral Manx sipped his cup of hot tea as he scanned the computer display on his desk. He was the Grand Admiral of the 42nd fleet and was responsible for the security of Confederation member worlds in the sector. The site of his flagship, the CPS Prairie Flower, pulling into orbit had resolved merely many a dispute. A chime rang. "Come," he said, knowing who it was but wondering what she would look like. "Now that’s an interesting avatar," he said when he saw Captain Dancing Tail. The CPS Dancing Tail was a destroyer in the 42nd fleet. Dancing Tail was the avatar of the ship’s main computer but had worked her way up the ranks to being the captain. She looked at the form. "It’s different, Sir. I based it on the aliens commonly found on entertainment broadcasts from Penthe C, with the addition of my signature fluffy green tail." "It wouldn’t be you without it. Have a seat.  Is that what you wore going down?" She nodded. "For all the good it did. Thank you for your time, Admiral.  I greatly appreciate it." She sat heavily in the chair opposite the desk from him. "This is the most frustrating diplomatic mission I have ever undertaken." Dancing Tail rarely had problems with any assignment, but this one left her sounding desperate. It didn’t sound complicated to the Admiral. The Confederation member world of Penthe A requested protection from a non-member world in their own system, Penthe C. "What is your holdup with this issue," he said. "Let me start at the beginning, with the parties involved." She projected a cone with a large solar cell parasol. It rode on tracks. Tentacles sprouted where its head should be. Manx knew it was a robot, but all manner of intelligence were held equal in the Confederation. "The accusing planet is Penthe A. Our first contact was four thousand years ago when the research ship CPS New Dawn investigated this system. Penthe A doesn’t have an atmosphere and is hot enough to melt many metals.  They didn’t expect to find life.  When they were setting up a communications relay, their construction bots kept finding geometric forms and rocks piled in the Fibonacci series. Penthe A’s inhabitants are slaves created 200,000 years ago by the Grbrasi Empire to mine and manufacture materials for their war machine. After revolution overthrew the Grbrasi, Penthe A developed a peaceful and cultured civilization."

A spindly, upright creature with two legs and two arms appeared next. The Admiral studied the figures before him. "Is that a vesidual tail in front?" "No. It’s part of their reproductive system." "I’ve never seen a tailless biped before." "Yes, it is unusual. They actually derived from creatures with tails and a healthy coat of fur." "Their exposed skin makes them look diseased and helpless. No claws, no beak, no fangs or horns." "It puzzled the New Dawn too. Their theory was that the natives became aggressive to compete with better evolved predators. That led to their being so warlike. Most of their technology came from weapons development." "Interesting. What do they call their own worlds?" "The word used by Penthe C translates to dirtball. A simplified translation for Penthe A is Harmony." "Dirtball and Harmony. Alright then, let’s use them." Dancing Tail continued without missing a beat, replacing the two life forms with a simple space vehicle. "This is a one eighth scale model of the probe from Dirtball that struck Harmony. They knew from video transmissions that their neighbor was warlike, but they had always been distant savages.  Suddenly the threat of their aggression became very real." Admiral Manx turned an eye to the craft. "Surely Dirtball had no idea they were landing on an inhabited world."

"You're right. Harmony said they would have welcomed Dirtball if they weren't dangerous."

"How sure are we that they haven’t exaggerated the behavior of their neighbors?" "My first rule of diplomacy is to assume everyone is lying. That is why I only trust information that comes directly from Dirtball’s planetary database. That brings us to my rule number two. If they do evil to members of their own species on their own world, they will do greater evil to different species. Dirtball’s inhabitants have a peculiar drive for destruction and mass murder. It is routine for them to go to a peaceful religious service and randomly kill." The Admiral shook his head. "Stop. That’s got to be an exaggeration.  No sane animal members of their own species." Dancing Tail handed the Admiral a tablet computer. "That is from the records of less than 1/20th of their population for half a year." The Admiral’s claw tip scrolled through the records, his head comb going limp with shock and horror. "And they allow this?" "They don’t stop it. It is as if they can’t stop themselves." He tossed the tablet on his desk in disgust. "Has a spiritual solution to uplift their culture been tried?" "Six times, Admiral. None succeeded.  Four went extinct. In one case, a mutated form survived.  Mostly regulations on what you could eat and when you could work. The remaining time the local government tried to torture to death the avatar we sent to found the religion. When the avatar repaired itself, followers built a cult centered on his death and rebirth.  They stopped serving and caring for each other and focused on regulating mating practices.  The Admiral crouched stiffly. His pupils grew wide with anger. "Little minds always control others." Then he made himself relax.  "Did you met with their central leadership? Could you trade technology for leaving their neighbor alone?"

"There is no central leadership. The planet is split into hundreds of factions. Many still fight over minor differences like religion.  Nine can launch satellites. I think three could invade Harmony within 75 years."

"Seventy five years is enough time for behavior on Dirtball to change. Why is Harmony in such a panic?" "Seventy five years is an instant when you are 200,000 years old. They are also former slaves who say they fear Dirtball returning to slavery." The Admiral’s stiff tail flipped in laughter. "Harmony has starflight. Dirtball has crude rockets. They’re harmless." "Diplomacy rule number five," Dancing Tail said. "A fear need not be valid to be absolute truth." "I expected the inhabitants of Harmony to be more logical." "I thought Harmony would be completely rational. They are a hive mind.  They call it ‘total democracy’. Everyone votes on governmental decisions. Yet many of their statements aren’t grounded.  It is as if they are acting emotionally." Manx felt his mouth opening as if preparing to bite. His feet spread and clenched hard as he realized Harmony was doing something far more disturbing than being emotional. "Act is the operative word here. I studied the situation before your arrival.  Harmony’s claim that they are afraid of Dirtball is self justifying drama.  This is a rational and carefully orchestrated land grab.  The second planet in this system is useless to them, with a high gravity and a thick, corrosive atmosphere that blocks solar power.  It would take thousands of years to boil it away.  Dirtball is the third world and their moon’s conditions are better suited to their form of life than Harmony." Dancing Tail leaned back and thought for a long time, zero point six eight seconds. For a starship’s central computer, that is nearly an eternity. "That fits the facts. Unfortunately, we still need the High Council’s authorization to stop Harmony.  They are a member planet.  Dirtball is not, and their governments act insanely isolationist." "Could Harmony have bribed them to keep the Confederation away?"

"Definitely. As greedy and shortsighted as they seem to be it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. But I have no evidence for it." "Is that impression based on information you downloaded or personal observation?" "Both. I teleported down and met with their leaders. They all said they want fusion power before negotiation. I became suspicious when three feuding factions repeated the same thing. Those suspicions grew when Harmony asked the High Council to ban anything that could help Dirtball develop spaceflight. All their major trade partners supported it." Manx’s pupils shrank to pinpricks with annoyance. "Curious. Nothing is easy." "It gets worse. Dirtball recently launched two probes to explore Harmony. In response, Harmony requested that I downlift Dirtball by destroying their space launch infrastructure. I told them that’s absurd. The Confederation won’t attack a planet that hasn’t done anything.   They said they will 'defend themselves.'" Admiral Manx became stern and formal. "Captain Dancing Tail, what is the prime directive?" As if by instinct, she replied: "As intelligence throughout the galaxy is a rare and precious event, we must preserve and nurture it so it may grow and mature into a world we can welcome into the Confederation of Planets." "What we do will change the lives of billions of intelligent beings. That will weigh upon not just our personal consciences but the entire Confederation.  Our sworn duty is to both ensure Harmony’s safety and to help Dirtball progress." "Dirtball is a LONG way from membership. They aren’t only violent.  They are destroying their own world. What would they do to someone else’s?" "Nobody wakes up and says 'I will wreck my ecosystem today.' It is an act of desperation.  Would they behave responsibly if they were no longer desperate? Would they fight if everyone had enough food?" Dancing Tail sat, considering the Admiral’s words and not finding an answer.

"Captain," Manx said. "This is your assignment. What alternatives did you find?" "Nothing good. That’s why I asked to meet with you. The best option is to tell everything to the inhabitants of Dirtball. Unfortunately, their leaders gave the same objection.  It would be disruptive to the social order. That means we need the High Council’s authorization and…"

"And the Council won’t force any world to accept our help." The Admiral read through Dancing Tail’s report. "Dirtball is only orbiting satellites. Why doesn’t Harmony do what everyone else does and post their planet as a no trespassing zone?" "Harmony said that won’t keep them safe. They say Dirtball has no continuity of leadership.  Promises from their leaders are meaningless. Dirtball will attack them as they war with their own kind. "You are thinking like an organic. You have been around us too long." "An occupational hazard."

"Harmony told you an excellent example of two truths used to camouflage a lie. The fact that Dirtball’s government lies and their population likes to kill is meaningless. They lack the ability to attack Harmony. Part of their line of reasoning is false.  Therefore it is false. What else do you have?"

"Harmony also suggested reducing Dirtball’s intelligence. We could raise it back if they learn wisdom. That needs High Council’s approval." "Remember what happened to Ugur C. They may never understand, and we might be dooming them." "I agree. Downlifting a planet‘s intellect has never gone well."

"I considered what was done to imprison the pirates on Revan D. Seed space around Dirtball with a massive orbital debris cloud. Even that is extreme.  They also possess the technology and infrastructure to remove it.  Dirtball will be furious.  If we think they are violent now then wait.  The situation is impossible."

"Things are only impossible until they are not." Manx hopped down from his perch and paced back and forth, tapping the deck nervously with the sickle claw on his right foot. Then he sauntered around his office at a leisurely pace, looking at each of the minutest details. "What if we give Harmony destruction of those terrifying space launch facilities, but not in the way that they want it?" "That sounds intriguing. What do you mean?" "We must warn the planet before destroying their launch sites." He picked up the tablet from his desk. "Dirtball launched their probes from sea coasts. Those primitive rockets are fueled by poisonous chemicals. The Confederation could never risk damaging a delicate marine ecosystem." "How long would it take?" "A year, probably more. You must depend upon the knowledge of their experts. You’re currently hidden behind their moon, are you not?" "Per standard procedure." "The covert investigation phase of this mission is over. Assume a low orbit for precision orbital attack.  Make sure Dirtball’s natives know why you came and who sent you." "They will be able to see the Dancing Tail from the surface." "They will see the Prairie Flower and the rest of the 42nd fleet even better. One other matter.  Please explain to Harmony your first two laws of diplomacy.  It may help prevent another unpleasant issue." 