Chapter 33. The Signing
The Signing
The ISEA delegation walked into the Cultural Arts Hall’s main meeting room two by two: the captain with Brennan, then Gillis and Lee following. The newcomers’ feet were wet from stumbling into the statue puddles, and they craned their necks upward gazing at the sparkling ceiling. Occupying the middle of the room was a large, glassy-surface table with a stunning slab of vouronium running through its center; it made both the ambassador and his first deputy widen their darkened eyes and swallow hard upon spying it. A sculpture of obsidian and vouronium, art deco-like in its curviness and violet and black coloring, stood in one corner. As with much of Oreana, there were precious few straight lines, few right angles.
A number of chairs with low backs—almost stools—had been placed around the table, a double row on the visitor’s side. The seating was comfortable for those who wished to spread their wings, but perhaps uncomfortable for those with bad backs. Brennan was seated in the front row directly across from the Primora; Gillis was directed to sit behind her. Brennan got up and changed places with the ambassador. “I prefer this seat, thank you,” she said. The Primora did not challenge her, remaining silent, but others in the Oreanian party softly tutted, and one official nervously reached back to stroke her wings as if to calm herself.
The rest of the council members, along with the official certifier and Joanni, then entered the room. Joanni had asked permission to attend, and her request had been honored. If anyone on the Council had objected, they had stayed silent; she was seen by many at this point—and not completely enthusiastically, either—as a pet of the Primora’s. Chipman, who had not sat down, but rather, chose to carry on standing behind Deputy Lee, turned to Joanni as she came in and the doors were closed behind her. He had had enough of her metamorphosis. He asked, lightly, “On which side are you seated, Ms. Neiswender?”
His remark carried the force of an unexpected slap across the face. Joanni was shocked by the depth of his bitterness. The Primora, seeing her reaction, slammed her hand down on the translator key, turning it off. She had had enough of this man. “The driver’s not a part of this . . .” she barked.
“Let him be,” Joanni snapped back at her.’ Her retort, unfortunately, sounded more aggressive and undeservedly entitled in Oreanian than it would have in her native tongue.
The Primora gave her a hard look and pointed to the second seat to her left at the end of the row. “Sit down.” Gillis cleared his throat and was about to say something to reestablish diplomatic decorum, but he was ignored. “There is no need for Chipman to be here, have him wait outside. Put a guard on him.” Everyone watched two small Oreanians pantomime to the captain of the Eridanus that he should leave the room with them, which he did after giving a brief nod of departure to those assembled. The Primora flipped the translator back on, and the treaty signing continued without further interruption.
The doors opposite the captain’s exit opened, and servers brought in drinks in glasses shaped like twisted straws, mini replicas of the sculptures outside. Brennan politely refused, as she was not seated directly at the table, but Gillis and Lee had to brave the unknown liquid. Lee later said it had the color and consistency of milk of magnesia, and tasted like semi-liquid chalk.
Hospitality concluded, the parties got down to the business at hand. The details of the mutual cooperation treaty were painstakingly spelled out and agreed upon, one by one; a complex stew of extracting, equipment, depots, transportation, restrictions, and security arrangements explained by Gillis and Lee in the semidarkness while worrying about bird droppings falling onto the documents, or God forbid, their heads. Branch-like poles were stuck at intervals into the walls of the meeting room, upon which birds perched when not flying about and causing the aforementioned concerns. At the point of the official signing, a trained bird flew down and landed to the right of each Oreanian official. These were not ravens, not ceremonial performance birds; these birds were the official seal. Each bird dipped its foot into a small saucer of red liquid and walked across the signature line. The official then dipped her ring finger into the liquid and lightly tapped to the right of the bird’s claw prints. The Primora’s bird was a most beautiful specimen with intelligent, penetrating eyes, whom she called Scuta. After ISEA’s Ambassador and First Deputy signed with pens brought along for that express purpose, after the Primora last rubbed her finger on Scuta’s scratchings, the certifier declared the treaty valid. And with that, the mission was essentially complete. Gillis and Lee had so many questions that remained to be answered; the Oreanians had none. They got their clesig back; they were done. There was no more going forward, simply the saying of good-byes and the returning home.
Tom Chipman stood outside the Hall staring up through the murkiness, watching the electricity sparking and running through the wires high in the Oreanian sky. With his arms crossed across his chest, leaning against the wall, he looked like a ne'er-do-well loitering on a street corner, like the troublemaker he understood the Oreanians thought him to be. The truth was he was an unwelcome visitor to a strange world with an atmosphere like India ink, spinning in a galaxy far from Earth. The captain harbored a personal prejudice against the Oreanians. He struggled against it, but at the same time, trusted his instinct to remain somewhat suspicious of them. He continually argued with himself as to where Joanni stood with them and what his place was in her heart. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness away from the inside installations, he could see in the black distance the Oreanian scout vessel, silent and stationary in its dock, waiting to take them to the rendezvous space station, the first stop on their way back home.
Image: Avian accord. Source: “Bamboo in Snow,” by Kamisaka Sekka, Kyoto, 1909. Rijksmuseum. Public domain. Edited by J. Weigley