EPIPHANY
Once upon a time, my second father and I visited a windswept shore and he told me of the marvels of the worlds. The wind whipped our faces and I felt very grown up as I told him what I knew of cities and continents and seas while he listened very, very intently. We ate our pre-packaged lunches and then, for some reason, he, or I, or we together decided to send a message to some unknown reader in a far-off land. We thought hard about what we should say and decided on simplicity itself: “Do good in the world.” I scrawled it in my childish hand and tucked it into our empty drink container. Out on the breakwater as far as we could venture, we waited until the wind was just right, and then I flung that capsule as hard as my little arm could. I wondered if anyone would ever read it.
132-440
aboard BF Extreme orbiting
Verg 3202 Kutubba C563875-8 Ph
The briefing started with the basics: an image of an inverted triangle labeled Process with its vertices marked strategy, tactics, intelligence. The next image provided foundational data: the world below us was in Verge sector.
Lieutenant Harka talked us through the codes, “Just to make sure we are on the same channel.” Rudimentary starport, and thus infrequently visited and with very little trade. A small world with a thin atmosphere chemically tainted enough that filter masks were necessary for Humans. About a third of the world surface was seas, less than normal, less than optimal. Billions of sophonts: given the atmospheric taint, most of them were indigenes. Governed by a representative democracy, theoretically at least. That many people meant there had to be a relatively large bureaucracy. The legal system was unobtrusive, which meant that a lot of people carried self-defense items, or clustered in self-protective sub-communities. Finally, technology was fairly sophisticated. That implied, in light of the lack of starport facilities, that this world was not especially interested in off-world affairs.
I noted and appreciated the briefer’s editorializing, expanding the single-digit codes with their logical consequences; she was indeed helpful in making sure we were on the same channel.
She moved to the Danger statement. “Danger is potential harm: we evaluate it at 10, extending to the entire world, but not beyond. Threat—the source of the Danger—is regional, actually it’s one of the seas, we evaluate it at 8. The other seas are shallow; this Sea of Adesh is extremely deep and accesses core volcanic processes. That brings us to the Risk statement.”
A new image appeared: a large numeral 11 flanked by three smaller numbers 5, 6, 0. “Probability, if events continue, is almost certain.” The five flashed. “Severity, again, if events continue, will be total destruction of the current social and government structure.” The six flashed. “When? Months, maybe even a couple years.” The zero flashed.
I interrupted. “Destruction? Is that deaths?”
“No, not necessarily. It’s on the next graphic.” Which appeared. “Our evaluation predicts volcanic activity will essentially vaporize the Sea of Adesh. That has trade and transport consequences, but they are overwhelmed by the probable atmospheric changes: massive environmental and climate change over a short period of time; crop failures; health issues. This world faces immense challenges within the next year and they will last for centuries.”
A new image appeared; I saw predictive animations of murky skies, storms, and flooding. Catastrophic winter. It all seemed fairly straight-forward. “Is there an action plan?”
“No, Agent. Any pro-action would work more chaos than letting nature take its course. There are some educational measures we can implement. Our recommendation is to apply an Amber Zone advisory on the system and provide what support we can. There is no way to evacuate billions of people. There are some problems that just cannot be fixed.”
“Thank you.” I agreed. People would die; fortunes would be lost and won, but that happens anyway. There was no sense that the threat reached beyond this system, or potentially affected the Empire. Rule 2 didn’t really apply here.
But with that conclusion, a stray and irrelevant thought came to me. “Lieutenant, please go back to your first image.” A succession of flashes brought us to the original triangle. “Tell me about this foundation.”
“Yes, Agent. Strategy is our ultimate plan of action (or in this case, inaction). Tactics is our means of achieving our strategy. We invert the triangle to show that all plans are balanced on good Intelligence. I try to show this graphic first in presentations in order to direct our thoughts toward well-reasoned action.”
My mind raced. She stood there as I surrendered myself to thought. It wasn’t that I purposely ignored her; I was compelled by an epiphany. I felt both used and empowered. The feeling passed in what felt like an instant, but I realized that those around me were waiting nervously.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” I turned to the squadron commander. “Thank you, Commodore. This is an excellent evaluation and I concur. Please arrange for a series of meetings with your staff over the next three watches; I want to take what steps we can to minimize upheaval and consequences.” I dismissed them but asked the briefer to remain.
We were now alone in the vast briefing chamber. I quizzed the briefer on mundane facts and concepts. Tell me the current date? 132-440. Who now sits on the Iridium Throne? Martin the Third. How fared the Empire? We grow; we have peace. What party was in ascendence? A coalition of Reds and Oranges: The Centrists and the Statists. What was the latest technological advance she could think of? Some improvement in laser turretry. What was the current social trend within her experience? She liked the current realism-based musical theater, which surprised me because that was popular when I was a boy. As I gathered this information and processed it, I also examined my epiphany.
I was chosen, selected, created to protect the empire. Our training and instructions, our standing orders were all established to direct us to right action. Activate my personality, tell me the facts and the situation, and I applied my expertise to make a decision. When it was over, I returned to my genie bottle wafer until the next crisis.
Her graphic pointed out that without information, without intelligence, I would become increasingly detached from the mainstream of society. My very mission required more. I created for myself Rule 6: Right action requires intelligence. I would be alive for another four weeks; I had the time to start the intelligence gathering process.
We classified the Kutubba system Amber. The label would propagate through the trade lanes; travellers and merchants would be warned that this world faced upheaval; that there was a personal risk attached to visiting. Visitors were rare in any case, but now the data banks would warn the unwary. In a year or two, the label would reach Capital and become truly official. In a few centuries, someone would re-examine the situation and might, or might not, change the warning back to Green.
My meetings with staff directed a compilation of reference data on dealing with climate change, weather-related catastrophes, and social unrest. The petabytes of information in a variety of accessible formats would be distributed widely and would probably save, over centuries, millions of lives.
I next spent a day reviewing recent historical information. I asked for a census of ships in the system. I interspersed these requests with discussions of Kutubba and projections of the catastrophes it could expect. I arranged for the Emperor’s noble to visit us in orbit; we gave him a thorough briefing. We did everything possible.
135-460
aboard BF Extreme orbiting
Verg 3202 Kutubba C563875-8 Ph
“Run a personnel screen for me.”
“Yes, Agent. What criteria?”
“Let’s do it here. Bring up the file overview. Naval officers. Pilot-skilled. Liaison-qualified.”
“There are eight.”
“Start at the top. Display it.”
“Gustav. Lieutenant.”
I looked at the text on the screen without commenting. Human. Female. “Skip ahead.”
“Trenchans. Sublieutenant.”
The personnel file showed a Plexxan. “Skip ahead.”
“Cobalt. Sublieutenant. MCG awarded for the Action at Achenaar.”
Human. Male. Ah, no wafer jack. “Skip ahead.”
“Ten. Lieutenant. Liaison-certified.”
This one had exceptional marks. I saw the wafer-jack notation, good. Gender was trans male. Mental pause. How do the hormones work; or the genes? Would this be a male wafer in female? Best not to take chances. “Skip ahead.”
“Shuginsa. Sublieutenant. Exceptional pilot rating.”
Human. Male. Wafer jack. “Select that one. Have him assigned as my aide.”
“What about the others?”
“No need.”
160-460
aboard BF Extreme orbiting
Verg 3202 Kutubba C563875-8 Ph
Sublieutenant Enn Shuginsa was a capable aide. He was attentive; he understood his place. He ensured that I had nutritious meals with enjoyable tastes. He learned my preferences in music and found pleasant, relaxing melodies to support planning sessions. He gatekept without overstepping. He learned how I operated and worked to complement my methods. I wished he could accompany me into the future.
For my part, I conversationally engaged him in idle moments. I discovered his likes: his passion for his career, for learning. He enjoyed history and the lessons it taught he was especially fascinated with the many Human minor races.
As my days dwindled down, I needed to act.
“Enn, join me. Close the door.”
“Sir?”
I was prepared. I simply needed to cover some preliminaries. “I have appreciated your assistance to me over the past weeks. You have done an excellent job of support. I thank you sincerely.”
“Sir, I thank you for the opportunity for this experience.”
“My time here is drawing to a close.
“The Angin wafer which holds my personality is a special technology. It only works in a specific host once; after that, the host builds an immunity. It malfunctions in non-males, or in non-Humans. My personality in this host will fade in the next few days. Which is fine. The crisis here is relatively low grade and is being handled competently.
“On the other hand, I need to make a report to Quarantine headquarters. Personally. I am sending you to Capital with my wafer. When you get there, you will be my host so I can make the report.” Rule 1.
“I have prepared orders.” I pointed to a package on the table. “You are promoted to Lieutenant. Congratulations.”
He started to speak, and I waved him silent. “There’s more. You are assigned command of the fleet corvette Ukaammur. Proceed directly to Capital. These orders assign you to the Quarantine Agency in their Appeals Office. Once there, and in place, your instructions govern using my wafer.”
These particular instructions were in writing rather than electronic, the safer thus from prying sensors.
“I want you to understand that I make this assignment because I value and appreciate the work you have done for me, and because I have great confidence in your abilities.” And to myself, I thought, because you are Human, male, and have a wafer jack. “You will go far in the service.”
I removed my wafer from its niche and included it in the package of orders. It records my personality in real time and so I have no memory of my activities thereafter.