Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [86]
Academics still speculated about the Investor ranking system. The Ship's Commanders were always female, the only females aboard ship. They were twice the size of crewmen, massively built. With their size went a sluggish calm, a laconic assumption of power. Ensigns were second in command, as combination diplomats and ministers. The rest of the crew formed an adoring male harem. The scampering crewmen with their bead-bright eyes weighed three times as much as a man, but around their monstrous commanders they almost seemed to flutter. The frills were the central kinesic display. The reptilian Investors had long ribbed frills behind their heads, rainbow-tinted translucent skin netted with blood vessels. Frills had evolved for temperature control; they could be spread to absorb sunlight or opened in shade to dispel heat. In civilized Investor life they were a relic, like the human eyebrow, which had evolved to deflect sweat. Like the eyebrow, their social use was now paramount. The Ensign's frill bothered Lindsay. It flickered too much. Rapid flickering was usually interpreted as a sign of amusement. In human beings, bad laughter kinesics were a sign of deep stress. Lindsay, despite his professional interest, had no desire to be the first to witness an Investor's hysteria. He hoped it was simply a repulsive mannerism. This ship was new to the Solar System and its crew was unused to humanity.
"No news, Artist," the Ensign said in pained trade English. "A further discussion of payment."
"Good business," Lindsay said in Investor. His throat ached from the high-pitched fluting, but he preferred it to the Ensign's eerie attempts to master human language.
This Ensign was not like the first he had met. That Investor had been smooth and urbane, his vocabulary heavy with glib cliches gleaned from human video broadcasts. This new Ensign was visibly struggling.
Clearly the Investors had sent in their best to make first contact. After thirty-seven years, it seemed that the Solar System was now considered safe for Investor fringe elements. "Our Commander wants you on tape," the Ensign said in English.
Lindsay reached automatically for the thin chain around his neck. His video monocle, with its treasured film of Nora, hung there. "I have a tape which is mostly blank. I can't surrender it, but—"
"Our Commander is very fond of her tape. Her tape has many other images but not one of your species. She will study it."
"I'd like another audience with the Commander," Lindsay said. "The first was so brief. I will gladly submit to the tape. You have your camera?" The Ensign blinked, the lucid nictitating membrane flickering upward over his dark, bulging eyeball. The dimness of the room seemed to upset him.
"I have the tape." He opened his over-the-shoulder valise and produced a flat round canister. He grasped the canister with two of his huge toes and set it on the black gunmetal floor. "You will open the canister. You will then make amusing and characteristic movements of your species, which the tape will see. Continue to do this until the tape understands you."
Lindsay wobbled his jaw from side to side in imitation of the Investor nod. The Investor seemed satisfied. "Language is not necessary. The tape does not hear sound." The Investor turned to the door. "I will return for the tape in two of your hours."
Left alone, Lindsay studied the canister. The ridged and gilded metal top was as wide as both outstretched hands. Before opening it he waited a moment, savoring his disgust. It was as much self-directed as aimed at his hosts.
The Investors had not asked to be deified; they had merely pursued their own gain. They had been aware of mankind for centuries. They were much older than mankind, but they had thoughtfully refrained from interfering until they saw that they could wring a decent profit from the species. Seen from an Investor's viewpoint, their actions were straightforward.
Lindsay opened the canister. A spool of iron-gray