The Hreshi were shambling, gold-pelted people whose idea of nanotech was a well-ripened cheese. Avitrol offered them luxury goods, automated services, and the skills to use them. All they asked in return was the run of the planet and the right to keep whatever useful things they found.
When Arron got there to study a people he was physically incapable of talking to, huge segments of their world had been razed. First, Avitrol hauled up plants and insects by the freighter-load to test and retest. Then, the Hreshi themselves mined and drilled for fuels and raw materials for their new manufacturing needs. The people, dazed and distracted by their new wealth and able to travel farther and faster than ever, were warring with one another over ideals and land use. The gouging of their ecosphere unleashed disease that their medical sciences, which Avitrol had forgotten to augment with their luxury-goods market, had no way to control.
Arron had stood horrified at the sight of so many dead and dying while his site supervisor lectured about what a great thing it was to find a race in transition like this. Furious, he'd built the blitz file and tried to knot it into the web, only to be informed by the university that if his name was found connected to its release, he could find other employment.
So, he'd kept it under wraps. He'd tied other more staid and strictly factual knots. With the help of thousands of other voices, the webbed enclaves had rallied. Avitrol was shunned and had to make reparations to the Hresh.
Now, as he watched the horrors he'd recorded, Arron wondered if the blitz could be reworked. He could weave parallels between Avitrol's life-mining of the Hreshi and Bioverse's working over of the Dedelphi. He could do it. His career at the university would be over, but if he could get the word out about what was happening here, if he could give back just a portion of the life and hospitality the Getesaph had shown him, it would be worth it.
He'd need to set down a core idea to give the rest of the presentation something to wrap around. Take a page from Marcus and minimalize it. A text block, maybe with music in the background, but make it something they'd have to pay attention to.
“Station, prepare media-tool workspace for a new thread. Clear space for text input. Convert voice input to text.
Arron bent over the keyboard and set to work.
Parliament Hall was never quite empty. Soldiers patrolled its gates and stood beside its doors, guarding the Members and their staff who worked through the night. The wide, polished-stone rooms were lit if dimly, by electricity all night long. Lareet had never lost her love of the beauty of the place. Layers of round wooden terraces rose from the floor like uneven stacks of coins. Tiled pools held island conference spaces in their center, fountains and waterfalls that filled every crevice with music.
Umat paced beside her, close enough so that their shoulders could rub reassuringly together. Umat's expression was intense. Her slender ears were completely alert. She had probably already pushed the memory of the morning's blast into the back of her mind and was concentrating on nothing except accomplishing their errand. Umat was like that, and Lareet envied her.
Silver lamplight illuminated a third-level terrace near the center of the hall. Their members, the Members Shavck, Ris, Pem, and Vreaith, sat at the circular worktable. Reflexively, Lareet fell back and let Umat precede her up the steeply slanting stairway (why did Arron call stairs ladders? Ladders were temporary, mobile things) to their workspace.
Lareet and Umat stood side by side in front of the Member's worktable. Umat extended her hand and received the touch on her knuckles from Shavck Pem.
“Dayisen Umat. Dayisen Lareet,” Member Pem greeted them. “The shades of night look well on you.”
Lareet let Umat return the greeting. No one who had hearing could miss the pride in Umat's voice as she said, “We were successful. Scholar Arron will speak to Manager Lynn.”
“Excellent!” boomed Member Vreaith, folding her hands on her belly. “I knew he would not refuse you after years of guestship and particular friendship.”
Lareet wished she could bask in the approval as fully as Umat did. “He did warn us, Members, that she might not be persuaded. He has not had contact with her for a long time.”
Umat dropped one ear toward her scalp in warning. “He did, however, complete his mating with her amicably. Our best research shows this can establish a pattern of favor and reciprocation, even if the parties involved are separated.”
Member Ris laughed quietly. “Do relax, Dayisen Rual, both of you. No one is expecting a blood promise. There is nothing to do now but wait and see what happens. If the schedule is changed, we can go ahead with our first plans. If it is not”—her ears dropped briefly and lifted—“alternatives exist.”