Reduced in Rank (in His Own Mind)
Brennan Vela was prowling the hallways in search of her boss. The corridors of the Eridanus were less crowded than usual and more silent. Fewer crew members chose to stop and chat these days. Ever since the fact had become widely known that the late Deputy Ambassador Palladin had undergone chemical and surgical procedures in order to appear human, every human crew member was now viewed with suspicion. Members of the rescued landing party had described the three Pargysonians they had encountered as having an extra pinky finger rising out of the bottom of their palm (similar to the dewclaw of a cat), weirdly shaped nostrils, and an abundance of silky hair circling their necks and draping over their forearms. Everyone surreptitiously scanned the faces of their fellow crew members for signs of scars or stubble, and anyone who routinely sported extra long sleeves or protective gloves immediately came under suspicion.
Brennan discovered Ambassador Gillis sitting alone in an empty conference room on one of the lower decks. He extended no greeting to her as she entered the room.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.
“I have fallen short and am not worthy of my rank,” was his reply, an obvious outward expression of his current train of thought.
“How so?”
“Well, Ms. Vela, I’ve recently been enlightened about the capacity of ambition, pride, self-deceit . . . to wreak havoc.”
“You think too much about your rank.”
“An unsatisfactory answer.”
“Could I give a satisfactory answer?”
“No.” Gillis paused, then continued on without looking at his assistant, as if he were giving a class lecture to himself alone. “How could I have been so thoroughly taken in?”
“Everyone was,” Brennan said. She thought about this for a moment. “Although, you know, I have to admit, Joanni always said Palladin made her uncomfortable.” Then, realizing that the fact of Joanni being right would not in any way cheer up Gillis, she hastened to add, “But, just in a run-of-the-mill, male, creepy way, not in an otherworldly, alien spy sort of way.”
Gillis twisted around in his chair to face her. “Of course.” He turned his back on her again. “I’m a jackass.”
Brennan had had just about enough of this, but she continued to try to boost Gillis’ spirits in her own unique manner. “You may or may not be one, but you‘ve been acting like one. Be more like Chipman . . .”
Gillis spun around again. “What are you talking about? He didn’t save the girl or the ship—the kid did, Thornby did.”
“Everyone did their job.”
“The two big guns didn’t do squat; the kid did. And now he’s dead. Both of us should’ve seen this coming.”
“I mean keep looking ahead to the future, Ambassador. Be excited about it, like Chipman. Find some strength of will to remain optimistic. Exercise that muscle. Face the future with optimism.”
Brennan left Gillis to his own misery on that note. He was not an explorer at heart like Joanni’s beloved captain, that was for certain, but she was surprised by his openness just now, an openness that would probably close up again quite quickly. But possibly the man had room for growth—a new seed germinating within an old shell, as it were. However, she doubted it.
Image: A caustic self-appraisal. Source: “Man's Rank Badge,” Qing dynasty, 1880/1900. The Art Institute of Chicago. Public Domain. Edited by J. Weigley.