As Kataru allies arrive, Namazu meets the Chava
Namazu sat in the Captain’s chair going over communications. She dreaded meeting with the Tiamatu, pale, hairless, webbing on their fingers and toes, a large horn-like projection growing from the back of their heads. In the one meeting she had with them via live feed, they sat back from the camera, as if they wanted to be convinced, “or paid?” she thought to herself, to join the alliance. The male who led their delegation, Agu, was a military leader of some kind. Thanks to genetic evolution related to Compatibility, he appeared to be humanoid except for multiple eyelids and a highly decorated, bejeweled projection on the back of his head. His skin was so white, it seemed blue, shining as if oiled. Three clear blue cabochons were attached to the ridge of his head. He would have been beautiful, if it had not been for what she knew of their history. He sat on a chair, or throne, made of polished gold. She thought he was pretentious, using formal, falsely-gracious gestures, ostentatiously displaying his wealth.
“Admiral Namazu?” a female voice sounded from the display.
“Acknowledged,” she responded.
“A transmission from an ally,” she paused, then continued, “…the Chava?” she asked.
“On screen,” Namazu responded, growing tired of incessant administrative tasks.
An image on the display materialized. A gray, humanoid creature, with organic armor or plates covering its body appeared. The creature seemed to have breasts, and was wearing earrings and a cloak. She stood with her hips leaning to the right. Her large muscled body seemed to be female. Namazu heard words, but the creature’s mouth did not move. The communication did not feel like telepathy. She heard actual sounds, although they seemed to materialize inside her head.
The creature turned both palms upwards. “My people send you congratulations for membership in the Kataru,” her voice sounded. She nodded, and continued, “I am Bosmat. We have arrived at your Portal.”
She was not speaking. The sound didn’t come from her face, but her hands made expressive, fluid movements, describing curved shapes in the air. Her fingers were splayed, tracing graceful circular patterns.
She continued, “We see why ownership of your system is contested.” She looked down and seemed to smile. Now, she looked to her left, as if she were speaking to someone else, but continued to address Namazu. “We see three planets in your habitable zone and your position in the Orion Spur is enviable. We are not surprised that hostile races view your,” her words stopped as she stepped closer to the visual recorder, her right leg extended, and her feet turned sharply in what a dancer might call, fourth position. She continued, “…your oasis.
“This is a perfect location to stop over, to visit, to refuel on journeys between spiral arms.” Her body shifted, turning to the right, but her head and face turned towards the camera in an oblique angle. Namazu had seen similar movements at the opera in Napoleonic Europe. Stylized, formal, theatrical movements meant to communicate social status, attitudes and emotions. Why would these creatures, aliens from a distant system, use these same movements?
The voice sounding in her head was gentle and soft, like a caress. Namazu believed the communications device was malfunctioning. The vocal sounds materializing in her head sounded more male than female. Namazu saw the creature’s eyes were yellow.
“Welcome to Sol,” Namazu ventured. She was tired, but tried to smile. “Do you have everything you need?”
Bosmat responded, “Yes, child. Please do not worry with details.”
Namazu wondered if Bosmat could sense her feelings.
“We have everything we need on our vessel,” she laughed gently. “As you will see, our ships are quite old, built millennia ago, before the Catastrophe, but they still function extremely well.”
Namazu wondered, but thought she should not ask; she did not want to be rude. She simply smiled. “I believe we are all to meet tomorrow at the Portal.”
Again, as if she read Namazu’s mind, she responded, “Yes, child, you may ask. We do not consider such questions rude. If I had not wished to explain, I should not have mentioned it. I see that you, yourself, have an especial commonality with my people.”
Namazu tilted her head, wondering what this female, at the same time so gentle, and so strong, meant.
“My people are gifted in telepathic communications. Like the Amelu, we communicate over great distances. I feel your thoughts and your feelings. In fact, I felt them upon our arrival.” She paused looking aside, again. Now, she turned, facing in the opposite direction, turning her head again to face the recorder. She lifted her left arm, in a gracious movement, like a baroque dancer, seeming to point to an object to her left. “The Catastrophe was a disease that swept our system 30,000 of your years ago, wiping out all males.”
Namazu’s eyes grew wide. She looked down at the controls on the console uncomfortably, then, back up at the display.
Bosmat continued, “It was a cataclysm. We feared our generation would be the last; that we would no longer reproduce. We prepared ourselves to simply grow old and die, the last of our people.” She saw that Namazu regarded her with more interest. “Fortunately, our benefactors, the Amelu came to our aid.”
Namazu opened her mouth and drew a breath to speak. But, could think of no response.
“But, you see, so much time passed during the time before the Amelu arrived that those of us who survived, had changed.” The camera followed her as she walked to a curved window on the other side of the hallway. Within reach below her, were screens with symbols and weathered metal panels. She gestured to the right, through a scratched, dusty window. “You see here, our world, the way it is now.” She turned looking through the window. An image of a valley between two ridges resolved. Between the ridges stretched miles of golden grain. Though the windows were scratched, Namazu sensed the air was clear and devoid of pollutants.
Bosmat continued, “Before the Cataclysm, our world was considered a resource to be exploited, dirty, filled with chemical byproducts, contaminants,” the paused, “…the cost of success.” She walked back to the other side of the hallway. Reaching above her, to another stretch of screens and panels. She pushed a control and the live feed of her home world faded away to the blackness of space, studded with galaxies and systems in the distance. “We evolved and our planet recovered. We had no wish to risk those advances. So, we chose to remain as we were. A planet of females.”
Namazu watched her gracious, expressive movements with wonder. Still, no sound came from her mouth.
“We are here to pledge ourselves to the success of your mission.” Finally, she took a breath, and opened her mouth. She spoke aloud, “We bring a race of brilliant administrators with us. The Ormarr have an interesting history. Please accept my delayed telepathic packet of information.”
Namazu had never heard of telepathic packets. She looked into Bosmat’s eyes with wonder. The female with gray, curved plates covering her head continued, “We look forward to meeting you in person. Good day, Admiral.” The video feed switched off.
Just then, a question appeared in Namazu’s mind. A question seemingly from a different source. “Do you accept?” a voice asked. She wondered, looking down at the display with anxiety.
“I suppose so,” she responded silently, without thinking.
Images, words, and faces, both speaking and telepathic appeared in her mind. The flow of information was instantaneous, but smooth, easy. She gasped with the awareness that information had just been implanted into her memory. In an instant, she knew the history of the Ormarr, her new administrators.