Lablonnamedadon

“I don’t understand,” the creature said. “What are you asking, exactly?”

Obadon paused to scratch his comb before answering. Anybody else, he reflected with a touch of bitterness, would have given up by now. Three weeks of frantic scrabbling battles between programmers, linguists, and supercomputers to make a working translator. Another full week giving a crash-course in Alliance history, politics, and culture to this new race’s ambassador. And he still found himself having to explain the most basic concepts. It wore him ragged.

True, anyone else would have quit in disgust. But Obadon had been cursed with that most terrible affliction, a burning curiosity, which had driven him into an ambassadorship position at the edge of known space. Which meant that he was the closest representative on hand when the signal had been detected from the outermost planet under Alliance control. Which meant that he was now slogging along with this oompta ape who needed to be spoken to like a child.

“I am asking if your race has achieved Lablonnamedadon, the, ah… Great Planetary Dispersal,” he said. “You do not know this term?”

“Lablo… what? No, I don’t know what that means.” The, what was it, the human, seemed far more interested in the view out the port side window than their conversation as they began to finish docking with Sheltered Cove. It gazed wild-eyed at the stately drifting of tremendous vessels around the central hub. The creature had likely never seen a starport before. Obadon rattled air through his beak in exasperation.

“Greater Planetary Dispersal,” he said, “is a concept developed by the storied philosopher Gadalin Mablotobinoidijang in the third century of the Alliance’s twelfth iteration, inspired upon observing the disruption of Updalon IV’s bureaucracy following famine induced by solar flares believed to you’re not even listening to me anymore, are you.”

“No, no, keep going, I’m listening,” said the human, eyes still glued to the window. “Can you boil it down for me?”

Obadon had to flick quickly through his translator device to determine the analogy. Boil it down- a cooking term. How quaint. “Very well,” he said, “the principle states that there is a minimum number of planets, spread out across many light-years, required for a space-faring species to survive any single natural disaster while still being close enough for feasible travel. Be it an impact event or solar flare, or even supernova, or gamma-ray burst, the Dispersal theory allows the other planets to at best provide immediate aid, and at worst prepare and evacuate. In essence, we spread ourselves far enough that we cannot be wiped out.”

He scratched at his comb again. “Gadalin proposed that six planets, over a wide enough area, be enough to ensure survival. Since his death, adjusting for advancements in hyperdrive technology and the discovery of further galactic anomalies, it has been raised to eight. Four races of the Alliance have achieved Lablonnamedadon at great expense, while the other two are approaching. With your race’s admission into the Alliance, we will lend our aid and resources, that you may reach Lablonnamedadon within a thousand years.”

That got the human’s attention. He pulled his gaze free from the massive docking arms finally latching onto their ship and turned to look intently at Obadon. “Hold on,” he said. “You’re telling me that each member of the alliance has eight populated planets?”

Obadon sighed, but only half in frustration. He found that he actually quite enjoyed impressing the yokel with the Alliance’s achievements. “Not all,” he said. “As I said before, the two lesser members, the Glit’pan and Trepliket, have not yet reached the eight planets required for Lablonnamedadon.” Honestly, how had these creatures even managed to leave their system?

The human’s brow furrowed. “Why not more?”

Obadon sputtered for a moment. “More?” he said. “I don’t understand the question. This may be difficult for you to understand, but the terraformation and colonization of a planet is a tremendous undertaking, requiring most of a single civilization’s resources and spanning many centuries. With eight planets guaranteeing survival, what possible reason could we have for more?”

The human seemed about to reply when the door slid open to reveal an honor guard of Trepliket soldiers, their armor glistening black in the artificial light. “Ah,” said Obadon. “It seems your escort has arrived. They’ll show you to the Council Chamber.”

The creature rose from his seat, hesitated, turned for some parting comment, then clearly thought better of it. As he passed the Trepliket, they formed around him in a square, feet clicking with unnerving synchronization, and walked with him down the docking tube.

Obadon watched him go. Despite the constant difficulties, he had enjoyed instructing the creature.

He was almost sorry for how badly they were going to screw it over.

Heb’lik sat glumly in his chair. He glanced to his left, where the rest of the Council were seated in balconies of ascending height, a symbol of the hierarchy of their races. Immediately to his left were the Trepliket senators, an insect species, quiet and precise. As ever, only the subtle twitching of their antennae were markers for any form of emotion. Above them were the Maprok, great lumbering mammals, then the Prang, a sentient conglomeration of annelids. Highest of all were the Toglannidan, preening their jeweled quills, and the Zobafin, whip-thin reptilians peering imperiously over their railing. It was their original union that had created the Alliance that ruled today.

The six balconies circled a small podium from on high. Whenever this human arrived, he would find himself standing at the bottom of a long narrow shaft, craning upwards while the Council could glare down at leisure. Like a specimen on a slide, to be examined and scrutinized through the barrel of a microscope.

Heb’lik slouched a bit further. He should have been happy. Finally, his people could move up a rung in the Alliance. For the first time in almost a millennium, they would be able to reap the long-promised profits of their venture. But for all that, the emotions that continued to rule his mind were pity, and disgust, and fuming, helpless rage.

A fanfare rang out through the chamber and he straightened up. More than twenty meters below, the great doors were opening to reveal the almost robotic Trepliket bodyguard and their human charge. As he came to the center of the floor, the guards pivoted, paused, and marched away in what could only be described as a dignified skitter.

Heb’lik leaned close to the edge to look at the human. The creature seemed a crude chimeric mashing of each race of the Alliance. It was a mammal, like the Maprok, but lanky, like the Zobafin, with a bright shock of yellow fur at its crown, almost like the flamboyant fleshy combs bobbing on the Toglannidan representatives. It lacked the fur coat of the Maprok, instead having a smooth pink hide, much like Heb’lik’s own amphibious skin.

The Council Chamber was specifically designed to excite a number of psychological reactions in an organism entering for the first time; primarily awe and fear. Heb’lik had looked forward to seeing these emotions in the human, that he could get a grasp on how they were expressed in an alien face. But in this he was disappointed. The creature’s visage, looking up to the Council in all its glory, was as blank and unchanging as that of a Trepliket stoic. It locked eyes with Heb’lik, then looked to each balcony in turn, with a serene calm.

The only creature it did not resemble was the Prang senator. Then again, neither did anyone else.

The High Councilor, Xizin, rose to his feet and bellowed the formal address down to the human. Though his voice may not have reached him, it was carried down and blasted out of speakers at ground level, that he may feel the full impact of the address. “The Allied Council, delegates of the Six Races, convenes on this day to celebrate first contact with the Human Race, and to extend our greetings and welcome you into our fold!” He paused, arms splayed in a power stance on the railing.

Many who find themselves at the bottom of the Council Chamber believe they need to shout to be heard, so far from their audience. Their foolish straining was a continual source of amusement for the pettier delegates. Heb’lik knew that more than a few senators were waiting eagerly to see if the freshly arrived creature would make the same mistake.

In this, they too were disappointed. When the human spoke, it was in an even, deliberate pitch, trusting the hidden microphones to pick up his words. “I, Ambassador Iosef Baboian, hereby accept and reciprocate your greeting,” he said. “I hope that our meeting may work to foster happiness and prosperity between our races.”

An odd choice of phrasing, but seemingly polite. The High Councilor, satisfied, drew back to stand fully upright. “Prosperous for your race, undoubtedly,” he boomed. “The combined resources and technological advancement of the Alliance will be a great boon to humanity. In time, you too will know the luxury and security we enjoy.” Now he leaned forward again. Here it comes, thought Heb’lik. The High Councilor’s voice softened to a sibilant hiss. “But I wonder, will we prosper from an alliance with you?”

The human’s face remained dispassionate, but no doubt he wondered at the sudden breach in courtesy. “I think you would find it rewarding,” he said. “You have many marvelous technologies, but we do as well. Our sciences are likely to explore branches unknown to yours, and their sharing would benefit all members of the Alliance. Further, we have deep and storied cultures whose art and beliefs would bring spiritual enrichment to-”

“No doubt, no doubt,” the High Chancellor cut in. “But our concern is more for rewards of a… rewarding nature. Raw materials, valuable minerals and elements, trained and untrained labor, that sort of thing. You must understand, we will be investing a great deal into the advancement of your race. We require certain… guarantees that these investments will pay off.”

The human’s eyes narrowed, a reaction at last. Was it suspicion? Readying for an attack, or a gesture of submissiveness? Or was he merely squinting to see the High Chancellor better?

“...such as?” he said.

Then the hammers came down, one after another. Outrageous taxes to the Alliance. Loans saddled with crushing compound interest on any and every form of foreign aid. Grossly unbalanced trade agreements. Unpaid human labor to be supplied to every corner of Alliance territories. Each species stepped forward in turn to put another weight around humanity’s neck.

As his own species came up to deliver their terms, Heb’lik gripped the arms of his seat until the blood left his fingers. The Glit’pan had struggled under their virtual serfdom to the Alliance for almost a thousand years, yet here they were, ready to saddle another innocent species with the same debts. It was gunboat diplomacy. The whole human race, carved up into spheres of influence.

At the same time, he marveled at the human’s self-control. According to the official records, his own people had raged furiously at the revelation. The Prang had proclaimed the blackest curses on the Alliance upon their initiation. Even the Trepliket had suffered nervous fits and begged for better terms when the facade of geniality had been stripped away. But in the end, all had realized the inevitability of their situation, and bent their necks to the collar.

And yet the human stood there, unmoving, still wearing a placid expression. Heb’lik wondered if he even understood what was happening. Perhaps he was in shock.

When the final terms had been delivered and the senators took their seats, after enduring almost an hour of alien creatures deciding his race’s fate for him, the human had only one question: “And if we refuse the terms?”

The High Chancellor’s toothy maw spread in a smug grin that Heb’lik would have loved to put his fist through. “Then you will face the full might of the Alliance. The combined forces of forty-four planets will bear down, annihilate whatever pitiful military strength you have and claim your planet. Your species will be shattered, split apart and sent to every planet enslaved. We will find a use for humanity, one way or the other.”

The human stood in silence. He fiddled with the device strapped to his wrist for a moment, then looked back up to the Council.

“You people... all of you people… are lucky.” he began. “In the past week I’ve learned as much as I could about the histories of your races, everything I could. It was my job, but more than that, I was eager, and curious. To learn about our new neighbors.

“I’m sure you hid as much as you could, especially about how you seem to screw over every race you can find, but I learned enough. Enough to look at you all and say… lucky.”

He began to pace the narrow reaches of the podium. Did he feel caged? Or was it merely a human custom when speaking?

“Each of your species evolved, advanced, eventually tore free of the confines of their atmosphere,” he continued, “and found new species, waiting for them. Perhaps not the best neighbors,” Heb’lik snorted at the obscene understatement, “but you knew, so early on, that you were not alone.

“Humanity has not been that lucky. We evolved in what seems to be a particularly empty region of space. When we broke free of our planet, there was no one waiting for us. You don’t know how long we have wondered if we were alone in this universe.

“You have no idea how long it has taken to find you.”

Heb’lik blinked both sets of eyelids, confused. What did it mean, ‘how long’? Hadn’t the Alliance been there to meet humanity as soon as it reached the stars? Hadn’t the creature come from an underdeveloped world, in a ship that could barely break orbit?

How much did they actually know about the humans?

He heard the muttering of the councilors beside him, the quiet discussion from the balconies above, and realized that he was not the first to ask this question. It was not a comforting thought.

“And so,” the ambassador went on, “when we found the first, unmistakeable evidence of alien communication, I jumped at the chance to make first contact. I took the first ship I could lay my hands on, a clunker held together with spit and prayer, so eager was I to finally, finally, know that we were no longer alone. You know, I had two hours of air left in that heap before you picked me up.”

He paused. There was no sound but the frantic whisper of fingers flicking across dataslates, as the councilors not currently sifting through the scarce data they had on humanity looked up ‘clunker’, ‘spit and prayer’, and ‘heap’. Heb’lik, on the other hand, could not free his eyes from the human.

If it felt any pleasure at the consternation caused, it showed no sign. “We’ve wondered so much what you would be like. There have been uncountable stories told of how you would look, how you would speak… how you would think. So much, we wondered how you would think differently than us; your thoughts of good and evil, on individuality, even how you perceive time. We wondered what words you have that remain beyond translation, that require an alien mind to even comprehend.

“Yet here I am,” the human said, “and I have to say, I’m disappointed. There is nothing new to learn from you. There is not one petty, banal cruelty you’ve laid upon me today, that humans have not committed against ourselves. We have words for every one. Imperialism. Exploitation. Zero-sum Mercantilism.” The human paused. “Bad manners.”

He glanced at his wrist device again. “But there is one word we don’t have. A concept so alien that it defies comprehension. A word unthinkable to a species that has been so lonely for so long.

“Lablonnamedadon.”

Now he looked up, straight into Heb’lik’s eyes once more. Heb’like shivered. The human held his gaze a moment, then turned to meet the gazes of each balcony. “Even now,” he said, “I look at you and wonder how you could even think of such a term. The minimum needed to ensure survival? The maximum you are willing to sacrifice, to expand your horizons? I can find only one word that comes close to translating Lablonnamedadon.” Now he locked eyes with the High Councilor. “Complacency.”

Heb’lik became aware of his aide, tugging frantically at his arm. He was pale, and held a dataslate in a trembling hand. “We received multiple transmissions almost as soon as the human started talking,” he said. “All video feeds.”

Heb’lik took the slate cautiously. His first thought was that he was looking at a view through compound eyes, like the fractured feeds he’d seen of Trepliket media. Then he realized the slate was displaying hundreds of videos, each showing markedly similar images. He zoomed in closer.

They were… humans. Each screen was a different transmission of groups of humans, some in groups of three or four, some in crowds almost too large to pick out individuals. Humans of wide variety in color, height and size, but all unmistakeably human.

Quite unlike their stoic representative, these humans were clearly caught in the throes of some powerful emotion. Their faces were contorted in bizarre fashion, and their limbs were splayed or thrashed about. He zoomed closer. Many had some form of liquid flowing from their eyes.

He skimmed through videos, too caught up to notice that the human had stopped speaking. That every other councilor had been given dataslates. That the Council Chamber had gone silent.

Image after image after image. More humans, more diverse than he could believe. Each video held different humans. Different buildings. Different skies.

Different… stars.

He went cold with a sudden, terrifying suspicion. He grabbed at his aide. “Where are all of these coming from!?”

“We mapped out a display of all the points of origin,” the aide said. He tapped the screen with quaking fingers. “Here it is.”

Heb’lik looked at the spacial model. It took a second to orient himself. They were… here, and all the blue points were Alliance worlds, and all the red points… all the red points… were…

He jerked to his feet, stared down wild-eyed at the human. He was not the first. Across the Council, members were arguing furiously amongst themselves, shouting down at the human, or merely sitting in shock. But the noise that gathered, rose, and mixed itself into an incoherent, frothy mess, was killed in an instant by the crisp sound of a cleared throat.

The councilors turned, as Heb’lik had, to look down at the human. He held their attention as tightly as if they were rambunctious schoolchildren, waiting to find out just how much trouble they were in.

“By now I’m sure you’ve all received the message,” he said, face still as expressionless as ever. “All of humanity is in undivided celebration, knowing that we are no longer alone. All of humanity.”

He spread his arms wide. “The thirty-eight planets, twelve lunar colonies, fifteen asteroid settlements and twenty-three drifter fleets of the Terran Federation send their love. Hundreds of billions of humans are eagerly awaiting my return and the news that I bring. So the only question I have left for all of you is-

“’What kind of neighbors do you want us to be?’”