SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

The probe that came before me, essentially a miniature pod, had dropped a commbox. The Jötnar had figured it out at about a median pace—not so fast as the advanced races we’d met, but still faster than the Caulerpans or Romaleons. By the time I hit their orbit they understood our opening bid enough to tell me that I had permission to land.

They sent me coordinates and a flight plan to get there. The planet was small, so I didn’t have to wait long. It gave me—and the pod AI, nicknamed Comet—a chance to check their figures. Their math was right, and maybe it wasn’t the smoothest descent, but it was within tolerances. The landing was rocky, but I told myself that following their flight plan to the letter would get us off on the right diplomatic foot.

I landed a couple hundred yards from a dome that covered the city. As I stepped out of the pod, I noted that it looked crystalline, but then I realized it was carved out of the exact same glacier I was standing on.

Out of it wended a pair of Jötnar, wielding what looked like short staves, though I realized as they approached that their weapons were probably bigger than me. They stopped just far enough from me that I didn’t feel the need to draw my pistol, then they turned inward, facing each other. My escort, then. Working the security division, I was more than familiar with that particular gig.

I slung my rifle. I didn’t think I’d need it, but that was no reason not to want it along, and leaving it at my back felt like it would be less intimidating.

I walked past the sentries, hoping it wouldn’t be considered an insult that I didn’t introduce myself. Inside the dome were two more guards, standing at attention. Every few dozen feet there was another pair, and I walked from one to the next. It was an odd escort, but also a show of strength, that they could spare so many fighters just to show me where to go.

Eventually I reached an assembly hall. It was large, but not large enough. I recognized projection equipment and cameras. There was a studio audience, and folks watching at home.

I noticed that the panelists—judges or leaders or whatever—were organized by size: smallest on the wings and getting larger towards the center. The one in the center, while the largest, didn’t acknowledge me, but just stared off. My HUD, working in combination with the commbox’s notes, flagged several markers I wouldn’t have caught, and flashed that he was a male. I wondered idly if he was old and suffering dementia, or if he had their equivalent to gigantism, and perhaps it had also impacted his brain.

One of the Jötnar flanking him stood up straighter, though it hardly seemed necessary, because she dwarfed me. To the eye, I wouldn’t have noticed the gender differences, but my HUD marked several morphological markers, told me she was female, and also flashed a list of suggested names from the pool I’d decided to use on my way in. I selected Bergrisar, and the name popped up under her.

She began to gyrate menacingly, and made noises that I hoped were her speaking, because otherwise I was pretty sure she was about to tear my limbs off and devour whatever was left. After a moment’s deliberation, the commbox spat out a translation. “I am Bergrisar. We have disseminated and understood your proposals. Do you have anything further to add beyond the written words?” It certainly didn’t sound like she was eager, and if they were giving me a chance to sway minds, well, that was going to be difficult.

Crap. I was never one for speeches. I’d read all of HR and PsychDiv’s materials about optimal communication, but even the best of those were written with human mores in mind. I’d given a few morale talks, to grunts, but that was about it.

I took in a deep breath, held it, then let it out. “The proposal I sent is intended as an opening to talks. I believe our two species could be excellent partners. The tech we could give you in trade would make your lives better, and having existing treaties with us would make you safer. I hope we can come to some kind of an agreement.”

The commbox projected a hologram of a Jötnar above it, flailing its arms and antennae and making the same kinds of groaning, guttural noises that made me think that even my avatar was about to attack.

I heard rumbling from the audience, and from among the judges, in response. “Very well. We will now commence voting.” The judges lifted small devices and registered their votes, and I noticed the crowd doing the same. On their screens, numbers started popping up. My HUD translated them and overlaid their Roman equivalents. The voting was close; in fact, I was starting to pick up a lead. I smiled, which evidently was not a gesture they appreciated, because it cost me some of my lead. I stood perfectly still from that moment on.

After only a handful of minutes, a percentage, which I presumed was either the necessary percentage for a quorum, or the percent of the population voting, hit one hundred.

Bergrisar reared herself to her full height, several sections of carapace stacking to expand her width. I didn’t need the commbox to tell me that this was a gesture of authority and dominance.

“We are divided. In the case of division, the proposal fails.” My stomach dropped through my feet and didn’t stop until it hit the planet’s molten core. “However, you can appeal the decision. By combat.” At least it wasn’t a spelling bee or a pie-eating contest. Then again, these were giant, terrible creatures; at least a stomach ruptured in a pie-eating contest felt earned.

“How does that work, exactly?” I asked.

“You fight to prove your mettle, to prove how much you care for your cause, until there are no more detractors.”

“So I kill half your population to swing the vote?”

“Theoretically that is possible. But more likely, others will be swayed by your victories. Theories are tested at the tip of the spear. ”

I thought of Louise and Drew. I couldn’t see either of them backing down, not with an entire ship’s morale hanging by this thread. They needed me to come back with a win. I needed it, too.

“In this trial, am I allowed to use my weapons?” The commbox translated, and the leadership became suddenly very animated. They were debating the rules, dozens of them talking over one another. I looked towards the commbox sitting in the middle of the floor, and above it my HUD printed three question marks.

The Jötnar on Bergrisar’s other side, who I quickly named Gýgr, seemed to be winning the discussion, and eventually Bergrisar squealed, flailed, and deflated.

The commbox helpfully translated, “Euphemism for female genital infection.”

Gýgr turned in my direction and started to gesticulate and murmur. “As your technology is a part of what’s on offer, we believe it is only fair for it to be allowed to make its case as well.”

With my tools, I thought I could do this. I wasn’t crazy about the idea. But I’d fought giant space monsters before. Maybe not this giant, but I was essentially a soldier. At least Drew hadn’t sent a poet. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. So what now?”

Bergrisar exchanged a look with Gýgr. I got the feeling that something passed between them, but the twitches of their antennae and shells must have been too subtle for the commbox to read.

“We will put you up for the night, and commence in the morning,” Gýgr said. Many of those assembled immediately began filing out, but several lingered. Bergrisar picked up a shaft of ice, dwarfed in fingers so heavily segmented and shelled they appeared most of the way to pincers. She tore it into several pieces before licking each. The other creatures on the panel then reached into her palm, each removing a stick. When everyone had a stick, they smelled them, and most dropped theirs into a pile before walking away. Only one held her shard—and stayed.