Today's Reading

Wow," Neera says as Dalton climbs through the air lock from the docked lander. "That was unfortunate."

Dalton scowls at her as he strips out of his pressure suit. "No shit."

Spin gravity in the docking bay of the Good Tidings has been set to eight meters per second squared since just after orbital insertion. Dalton arches his back, rises up onto his toes, and stretches until he hears his spine crack. Per SOP, the outer ring of the ship should have been kept to 9.8 at all times, but Boreau, who has final say on pretty much everything that happens on the Good Tidings, never ventures out to the ring, and so doesn't particularly care if they're following protocol or not. Gravitation on the planet below is nearly eleven, and Dalton and Neera, who spend most of their time here, are in full agreement that it doesn't hurt to give Dalton's joints a break while he's in orbit.

"That thing you met with, she's a real piece of work, huh?"

Dalton shrugs. "Hard to say. The translator sure made it sound that way, but who knows how accurate that was? It probably hasn't gotten enough data on their language yet to render tone."

My rendering was fully accurate, the translator whispers in his ear. I resent the implication that I may have embellished.

"You're saying that tone was real? Come on. You made that monster sound like a snooty British butler."

My mandate is to translate emotional valence as well as words in a form that you will best understand. Also, please bear in mind that my English-language model was developed based primarily on intercepted BBC broadcasts. In any case, you are more than welcome to turn me off and try to learn the minarchs' language yourself if you think you can do better.

Dalton doesn't dignify that with a response as he follows Neera out of the bay and into the outermost ring corridor. This part of the ship was designed for the comfort of the two of them rather than the ship's master, but even so, the corridor is wide and tall enough for an ammie to squeeze through at need, and Dalton can't help but feel like a toddler trying to navigate his way through a world built for grown-ups.

"Boreau has some theories about their psychology," Neera says without looking back."If you're interested."

"Sure," Dalton says. "Hit me."

She stops at the drop bay ready room, palms the access pad, and pushes through the door. Dalton follows her in. This is the only space on the Good Tidings built purely on a human scale. Neera, who's been with Boreau nearly three times as long as Dalton, seems comfortable anywhere on the ship, but Dalton spends as much time here as he can manage.

"First," Neera says, and drops onto the frayed plaid couch that takes up most of the center of the room, "he thinks they probably evolved to be apex predators."

Dalton laughs. "You think? Old Assessor down there looks like the bastard child of a tarantula and a velociraptor. I hope Boreau's come up with more than that." He pulls a water bottle from the cooler at the back of the room, then comes back to sit next to Neera. 

"Okay," she says."Since you know so much about xenopsychology, why don't you tell me what that implies about the way they'd interact with a possibly threatening new species?"

He drains half the bottle in one long pull, then lets loose a gut-rattling belch. "Well," he says, ignoring her scowl, "I'm just the pretty face around here, but based on my recent experience, I'd guess it implies that they'd be supremely unimpressed with said new species' clearly superior technology, and also that they'd be bitchy as hell."

Neera grins, ties her long black hair back in a loose ponytail, and slouches down to rest her head against the back of the couch. Boreau granted Dalton a hundred-kilo allowance when he signed on to the Good Tidings. He spent most of it on food and liquor. Neera spent over half of her own allowance on the couch. Three years down the road, Dalton has to admit that she had the right idea. His supplies are long gone, but they're still getting faithful service from the couch. Neera turns her head to look at him."That's pretty close, actually. For their entire evolutionary history, the minarchs have been the meanest kids on the block. Boreau thinks they may be psychologically incapable of recognizing that something that looks like us could be a potential threat."

"Despite the fact that we've clearly mastered interstellar travel while they're still trying to figure out how electricity works?"
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