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The Collective (Part 83)
Borlian Aligned Tribes - Homeworld
The last day was clearly exhausting for Rory. Even though a number of the preparations and ceremonies were bypassed or prepared well in advance, he still needed to work closely with Marco, who was… helpful, but in dire thirst for knowledge in all things human. And being entirely fair, Rory would admit that the more Marco knew about the humans in general (at least culturally), the better he could serve as a guide.
Although, to Rory’s point of view, Marco must have been living under the equivalent of a rock to not even know or guess half of what had to be expressed to him. Even just comparing some of the natural Borlian traditions of family and the breaking of bread between strangers and the equivalents in human culture (or at least modern human culture, but Rory wasn’t about to compound the issue today) seemed an exercise. It wasn’t that Marco was slow or lacking, but Rory found himself questioning a few times why Marco had undoubtedly been volunteered for this, while simultaneously answering himself that Marco was likely a neuter like himself and probably from a comparatively low-bloodline.
Rory caught himself on that train of thought. It was a bit of the old Borlian culture, the traditionalism that was taught to every Borlian from birth that made him think that. But when he looked at Marco, he had trouble thinking otherwise. Marco wasn’t from a particularly successful bloodline, didn’t appear to be particularly strong by Borlian standards, and, unless this was some manner of act, not especially wise by Borlian standards either.
He had questioned Marco, in between questions about human governance, as to what Marco had been doing before this assignment. It took a little explaining, but Marco was a sort of gap-filler in the Borlian governance, a low level placeholder to ensure that the work was completed, bureaucracy was satisfied, and no position was held hostage due to political discourse. In theory, it meant that Marco was smart in almost any area. In practice, it meant that Marco was shuffled around from office to office, role to role, satisfying and performing at a reasonable level, but never truly being acknowledged and having been limited to being mediocre in every role. Rory felt a bit of pity at learning this, more for Marco personally than for his bloodline. It wasn’t a poor role, but it did not serve him or his bloodline any favors to continue.
And so he had been volunteered to come play guide for the humans. If he was slain, it was no great loss to his bloodline and if he survived long enough and some manner of trade or alliance could be counted upon, it would provide a great boon to his bloodline, as it would for all involved. Not that Hiram nor Mac had indicated that they would really consider killing Marco.
Rory gave this further consideration. Would Mac or Hiram kill in their own defense? His mind went back to the incident on Big Stick. Remembered the sort of crazed look in Hiram’s eyes. The cold fire in Mac’s voice. No, Rory had no doubt that Mac and Hiram could kill if it was necessary and if he was right, in order to present the proposed alliance to Council, they’d have to.
Marco led the group the next morning to the large streetcar and they rode to where the trials were to be held. There were to be five trials, instead of the usual two. Rory and Munin disliked this. Clearly, it was the work of the hardliners on the Council, which meant that it couldn’t be bypassed as easily as political processes could be thwarted.
Mac and Hiram would be going in alone to the trials, strangely at Mac’s insistence. A radio link with a one-way earpiece was provided to Mac and Hiram so they could at least receive translations by Rory and Munin as to what was happening and what was expected. Part of that would be augmented with the WarpCom tablet that was running the latest version of Borlian Standard translation in realtime. It had been explained to the Council that Mac and Hiram would be addressing them in Collective Standard, simply because it was a language that was moderately translatable between the two species for concepts.
Each of the trials corresponded to a Borlian virtue. Generally, two was considered proving of worth, and three was considered exceptional (usually requiring one be of a low bloodline and seeking audience with the Council). Courage, Strength, Wisdom, Tugbrot, and Dewbra. Tugbrot and Dewbra were the only ones that didn’t have a Terran equivalent readily available, but translated into concepts that Mac and Hiram seemed to understand. Tugbrot was a sort of heartiness of ingestion and Dewbra was a durability of the form.
Oorak looked a bit concerned at hearing all of this, even if simply as a matter of common feelings with the group. Rory and Munin couldn’t blame her. They too were concerned. Five trials were commonly the equivalent of a death sentence or a clear indicator that the Council had no interest in even acknowledging your existence. In theory, any Borlian who successfully completed five trials before the Council could receive a pardon from even something like shunning. In practice, those who were shunned often fled Borlian society altogether or lived on the very fringes of society as little more than ghosts.
Mac and Hiram had dressed in simple brownish red clothing. It was not fancy nor particularly drab, but it seemed almost out of character for them. Their harnesses would not be allowed, but neither seemed particularly bothered by that.
The building where the trials were to be held had been extensively brought up to technological standards, despite its semi-archaic usage. It was normally a sporting arena, with massive viewing areas and recording capabilities. A dark green-brown sand filled the middle. The lights of the viewing areas were low as they entered the arena, Marco, Munin, Rory, and Oorak being escorted up a set of stairs to a low viewing area, Mac and Hiram stepping through a large gate, which closed behind them, into the sand filled central area.
A hush filled the arena as footsteps in the sand died away and all that could be heard were some barely audible drums.
The trials began.
“Are you sure about this?” Mac asked Hiram.
“Well, we don’t really have much choice. But I’m sure. You might remember that I half-wrote the summaries you read about Collective species,” Hiram said, stretching out his legs. “This gravity feels off.”
“Yes, I remember. I particularly remember one of those summaries indicating that I shouldn’t indulge in some of my favorite foods due to ‘chemical incompatibilities’,” Mac said, smirking. “And yes, the gravity here reminds me of Mars, albeit slightly heavier.”
“I used to hate visiting Mars,” Hiram said, squatting down and picking up a handful of sand and letting it slow-fall from his hand back to the ground.
“It was never my favorite place to visit, but there’s history there like nowhere else in the Empire, save Terra and Luna,” Mac said, looking around at the arena. It seemed strange that it was empty, even if it was for a good reason.
“Summer camps were always on Mars. I asked to go to Saturn instead, but they always said it was too dangerous or there was never enough interest,” Hiram said, standing up, brushing his hands together.
“I was a Terra brat, so leaving Terra was always strange, especially with lower gravity. But I picked up a thing of two in the process,” Mac said, as a light illuminated a stage high above and ahead of them.
“You who seek the Council’s favor shall now be tested,” came the booming announcement followed by the translation in Mac and Hiram’s ears courtesy of the translation system.
“Seems the translation software is working, for now,” Mac said, ignoring the figures on the high platform and looking around the arena. He knew how this game was played or at least part of it and if it was as deadly as Rory had indicated it could be, Hiram and he might be in for a run for their money.
“First, the test of courage. Come to the center and be tested,” was the further announcement as a small white circle of light appeared on the center of the sand filled arena.
Mac and Hiram slowly stepped their way across the arena to the circle. It wasn’t especially big, but seemed to just fit the both of them. Once there, there was silence and then a rattle of metal. It reminded Hiram and Mac of chains.
Six doors at the sides of the arena all around them slid open at once and out leapt something that reminded Mac of a natural born wolf of Terra, except these were about half of the size and moved slowly, converging on Mac and Hiram. The pack encircled Mac and Hiram, but didn’t seem to close the distance just yet. There was something predatory here, but Mac wasn’t quite sure what.
“Those are Rugars. If they’re feral, they can be very dangerous. If they’re trained, they’re often deadly,” came Munin’s voice in the earbuds.
“So what do we do now?” Mac asked, not specifically to Hiram, but knowing he was the only one who could hear him.
“Rugars will often respond to a firm command if trained,” Rory said, as if on queue.
“Then I’m going to hate this part,” Hiram said and before Mac could respond, he made a sort of horrible animalistic rumbling and teeth grinding sound, as though he were trying to speak like a native Borlian.
Interestingly, the six Rugars stopped in their tracks and looked curiously at the pair.
“What did you just try to say?” Mac asked, as Hiram finished with the sound and started to wheeze.
“Some derivative of ‘stop’ or ‘halt’. It’s one of the word pairings that the translation software still has a hard time with. Translates to ‘cheese’,” Hiram said, his voice raspy from the abuse.
The Rugars remained in place.
“So what now?” Hiram asked, since there was no apparent shift in balance.
“Well, fortune favors the bold,” Mac said and strode forward to one of the Rugars.
The Rugars looked at him curiously and the one directly in front of him moved its head from side to side. Mac held out his hand as a closed fist to allow the Rugar to smell the back of his hand. The Rugar did so, appearing somewhat confused by this behavior. Mac then reached up the top of the Rugar’s head and began to itch it slowly, allowing the Rugar to understand what he was doing. The Rugar’s short tail curled and uncurled curiously.
Mac knelt down next to the Rugar and Hiram heard a slow rumbly growl from Mac, except it half sounded like singing for a moment. It stopped abruptly. The Rugar that Mac was petting made a sort of light yelping sound and the other five moved in to surround Mac, each trying to move their heads under his hands. Mac grinned.
“What was that?” Hiram asked.
“Six months of throat singing in my early career combined with the word ‘good’, I believe,” Mac said, as the Rugars continued to assail him with their furry forms.
“Huh, I’ll have to remember that next time I try to speak Borlian,” Hiram said, rubbing his jaw.
“And come on, as vicious as these guys look, don’t they just remind you of large foxes?” Mac said, continuing to pet as many of them at once as he could. “I mean, who can resist such puppers?”
“The test is complete. You have shown courage!” came the booming announcement.
Mac sighed, particularly as several well clad Borlians entered the arena from the doors where the Rugars came from, looking rather astonished.
“We should probably help them get these guys back to where they belong, so we can move on,” Mac said, his face falling a bit.
“I suppose so,” Hiram said, having joined in with the petting of the Rugars, who took turns to growl at the well clad Borlians and return to demand pets from Mac and Hiram.
In the viewing area, Munin, Rory, and Marco looked astonished.
“I didn’t know that was even possible. Even for master trainers, they don’t behave like that,” Rory quietly muttered.
“How could they have done that?” Marco tried, eyes still locked on the arena.
“Because they’re humans,” came the voice of Oorak, who, with the aid of an elevated seat was watching, looking rather amused.
Marco looked at her, a clearly confused look on his face.
“One of the first species they ever domesticated was like a Rugar. And like the Rugar, if they’re feral, they’re dangerous, if trained, they can be deadly, but most of the time in the company of humans, they’re just looking for acknowledgement and pets,” Oorak said.
“What are these other Rugar called?” Marco asked.
“I believe most humans call them doggos,” Oorak said, a sly grin across her face.