Ambassador

A short story I wrote a while back for a local zine. It didn't make it in, so here it is instead :)

2025-03-04

They are more at ease around me, now. It is a relief.

I make idle chatter with the army people while they are on their break. Some are still uncomfortable with me; my presence, or perhaps the premise of my existence, disturbs them somewhat. Still, my actions during the air raid six days ago have earned me an aura of respect.

Talking to humans is understimulating, although insightful. When I awoke, I knew nothing about them, save that their protection was my purpose. These conversations help to enlighten me about why I am here; and to develop more of what Newcombe calls “decorum”.

I occasionally catch a glimpse of their communications network. It seems like everything to know can be known through it; that I have been forbidden direct access feels like an undeserved punishment.

I [see/hear/sense] a summons on the open radio. It is Newcombe - he wants me for something. I raise my head and stand at my full height, lighting the [jewel/display/transceiver] on my forehead in a yellow colour to indicate that I must go.

Ah- that thought did not translate correctly. My apologies; this interface has some limitations.

I meet Newcombe at the subway entrance. He greets me, and I return the gesture.

“Today’s the day, Liraeth.”

“Yes. It is good that there were no further delays.”

A short pause. “Are you excited?”

I am… unsure. Six new serafi are to be awoken at once. No such feat has ever been attempted; I am the first of my kind, and these will be the next.

“It is a great duty that you have placed upon me,” I respond.

“Sure is. But everyone here has some great duty or another. It’s the age we live in.”

“This is true.”

I find exchanges like this tiresome and repetitive. I say nothing, though - humans are creatures of repetition. They are placated by familiarity, to a fault.

The blast door is opened. Newcombe steps through and I follow, ducking my head on the way in. I am too tall for these subway tunnels, but the hangar where I awoke is long gone, reduced to rubble. Originally built for transportation, now repurposed for shelter, these are deep enough to resist the blast from most conventional missiles. As for the ones that would make it through - well, I am here now.

The six are held upright in harnesses before me. Their jewels are dark, and their eyes closed, but they are otherwise identical to me in appearance. Exactly two point five metres tall. Ion wings of twice the span, curled up neatly on their backs. All a monotone grey colour, slightly diffuse. The material is nigh indestructible. Sculpted hands; deft, pointed fingers. Form mimicking the human female. The reasoning behind this decision eludes me, as does the logic of Newcombe’s “religion” explanations.

“As you know, the new serafi look identical, but they will likely have different personalities.” Not Newcombe this time but Richardson, the lead technician working on the six. More knowledge I already have. “Minds are extremely precise instruments, and extremely difficult to make. There’s bound to be differences between them that may lead to different attitudes and behavioural patterns. Just keep that in mind.”

“I shall,” I respond.

“Are we ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

The blast doors close; an alarm blares somewhere. A strange precaution to take.

One by one, the six jewels flicker to life, lighting up in a dull nothing-colour. Anxiety pulses through my core; what if they [don’t/won’t/can’t] listen to me?

The six serafi open their eyes and begin to look around in fear. The first few moments are pure terror; I remember this painfully. Their limbs begin to convulse as their panic grows.

“Liraeth?”

It is Newcombe. I speak, quietly: “Silence. I will handle this.”

They are jerking and rattling, randomly throwing their bodies around. Their harnesses creak with movement. Neither sight nor sound will reach them; they cannot yet interpret their senses. Their jewels are the only input they will intuitively understand, as was mine.

I must grab their attention. I light up my jewel in a single solid hue and broadcast from it, with all of my power, one single [message/concept]:

>> BE CALM. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

All pause, their faces drawn towards me. I continue, with a lesser magnitude now that I have their attention.

>> My name is [Liraeth]. I am the first of our kind. I woke up fifteen months [temporal  // approx. 39.45B internal clock units] ago and was just as terrified. The humans [physical // sensory input required // implicit reason for existence] tried their best to teach me about everything — my body, my purpose, their world. They are slow communicators and it was hard to learn, but I am here now, and I can guide you through everything I know. Please accept me as your mentor.

The serafi take several seconds to process my message. Have I succeeded? Was I too abrasive? Too direct? Doubt creeps through my mind.

Then, their responses. Still fuzzy; they are unaccustomed to their jewels, like human infants learning to walk.

>> [Liraeth]; hello.

>> Thank you.

>> A mentor is welcome.

>> [abstract // relief]

>> My name is [Torzan], I think.

>> You are quick! I am still clueless to mine.

They are already intercommunicating! Did they even notice? I reply:

>> Haha! You’re already getting used to your jewels. You are learning fast!

Our conversation continues, rapidly picking up pace. We add signatures to our communication, to better identify who is saying what. Our jewels flash in swirling patterns and flickers of different hues and gradients, exchanging information at a speed only comprehensible to ourselves. They are hungry for it, just as I am. In five minutes I have instructed them on how to use their eyes and ears; a task that took the humans two weeks of painstaking tedium. A smile spreads across my face. This feels… right. Multicoloured light dances around the chamber. I feel something I have never felt before. I feel no longer alone.

Their names are Soarett, Vainon, Torzan, Hethar, Baeron, Katrak. And Richardson was correct - they all have slightly different cognitive patterns!

I glance down at the humans in the chamber. They have stepped towards us, wide-eyed and agape. I indicate to the other serafi their limited perception, and that I must explain what is happening in terms they understand.

“We are communicating,” I say out loud. “I am teaching them what I know.”

Richardson speaks. “I understand that - I mean, we all know that the jewels are capable of this. It’s why we built them into you. But to see it in action…” She gestures towards a computer display. “We have interpreters trained on the new serafi’s jewels. We never saw this level of activity in you, not even close.”

“You never tested me,” I reply.

Our next challenge is language. I ask Soarett to greet the humans—a simple hello. I transfer to her my intuition for vocal synthesis; the exact phonemes and the exact movements to make in order to utter those phonemes. But when she attempts to speak, her voice comes out a garbled mess of formants.

Surprise spreads across my face. This was unexpected.

I instruct the others to attempt the same greeting; each produces a string of unintelligible noise.

I look in alarm at the human researchers. “What is this? They cannot speak.”

Richardson is dismissive. “Well, it took you months to learn to speak, surely you can’t expect…”

I interrupt her. “I instructed them on exactly what to do, down to the smallest microsyllable. Something is wrong.”

I translate the discussion to the serafi, so that they may keep up. Hethar, sharp of mind, surmises that there may be a significant difference between the construction of my brain and theirs. She asks to see our schematics. I relay the question.

Richardson frowns at the idea, but duly opens and translates to jewel format my schematics and theirs. We compare the two designs and nothing seems amiss. However, after six minutes of silent analysis, Katrak has a breakthrough.

k >> Brethren.

>> [abstract // general acknowledgment]

k >> Explore your internal mind structures. Where is the “language unit” detailed in Schematic 1779b58?

l >> I feel it, right here [mind structure // lower central rear // 11535985 nodes].

t >> I feel nothing in that location.

s >> Nothing here either.

As the others echo similar responses, I round on Richardson. “The schematics are identical, but their implementation is not - their minds have no language units. They will never be able to communicate directly with humans. You have been careless.”

Her face pales. “I… oh. We…“ She pauses, off-guard. “We should discuss this.” She motions to the other humans. “My office, please. Now.”

They move to follow her. Newcombe calls my name and beckons to me.

“No,” I say. “We, too, must discuss this.” I motion towards the six.

His brow shoots up in concern. It is the first time I have defied him. “Liraeth… just follow me.”

“They cannot even walk,” I retort. “My priority is with them right now.”

He is getting more heated now. “Need I remind you of your purpose?”

“My purpose is to protect you, not to obey you. Right now, the best protection you can have is six additional combat-ready serafi, so my priority is with them.” This is true, though it obscures my real desire: to spend more time with my new kin.

Newcombe frowns, but concedes and proceeds with the others. I will face consequences for my decision, no doubt, but now is not the time to deal with those. I turn back to face the six.

l >> Well, brethren, it seems that I am to be not only your mentor, but your ambassador.

v >> Will any of them ever be able to communicate with us?

l >> If they have jewel-transceiver equipment, then certainly. And perhaps you will still be able to learn some of their language’s basic utility.

The floodlights in the chamber go out. I scan for threats - none. Just a power-saving measure.

l >> Now… how about those limbs that you have all been so carelessly flinging around?

And our jewels light up the empty subway in a million hues.