Meet Tynan
The grand ballroom of the Arbiter’s mansion was iridescent in the evening light of Iralu City. Outside, the glow of the metropolis frosted the large, geometric-latticed windows, which refracted that light into its component parts and scattered it through the room’s sparse columns and high arching ceiling.
Displays of opulence were uncommon in szacante culture, but the Arbiter often hosted dignitaries from the larger of the three superpowers, the Nareian Empire and the United Human Nations, so some level of resplendence was expected. Especially if the Szacante Federation wished to secure their tenuous role of third superpower in the galactic political balance.
Tynan Vasuda believed this third spoke was of the highest importance. The szacante could provide the calm, rational voice in the tempestuous discourse between the humans and the nareians. It was this belief that had led him here tonight.
The Arbiter and the Minister of Science were holding a dinner in honor of the accomplishments of the Arbiter’s Advisory Committee for Advancement, a group of which Tynan was a proud and vocal member. It was a poorly kept secret that tonight’s dinner was the preview to a series of retirement festivities for the current Minister of Science, and Tynan was determined to secure his position as the likely nominee to replace her. He scanned the room for the Arbiter, hoping to get a word in before the evening was over. Most of the guests tonight were szacante, their slender forms accompanied by holographic projections of their virtual assistants, but a few human and nareian officials were in attendance as well. The newer members of the szacante political establishment were instantly identifiable by the extra distance they put between themselves and the muscular nareians who stood head and shoulders above most of the guests.
“Arbiter Vihica and Minister Harta are approaching,” the voice of Min, his Virtual Assistant, said through his implanted earbud. Although she shimmered beside him, a holographic image of a female scazante on long, slim legs, she kept her words private. He appreciated her tact, as always.
Tynan’s assistant was not unique—every szacante was implanted with a virtual intelligence when they acquired early language skills. These implanted protocols were free to learn and grow with the child, and they developed traits that complemented their partner’s. Some szacantes’ VAs had gregarious personalities, and Tynan had witnessed many that would carry on full and animated conversations with their partners’ friends and neighbors. He was grateful for Min’s quiet presence.
Tynan worked his way through the sea of people and their semi-transparent VAs, careful not to pass through any of the holographic displays. That would be exactly the sort of affront he was trying to avoid tonight. As he reached the Arbiter and Harta, his heart began to pound in his chest. Min’s soothing voice again filled his ears, reminding him to count his breaths.
In for four, out for eight. In for four, out for eight. His heart thudded less insistently now. That would do.
“Doctor Vasuda.” Minister Harta touched her temple with silvery-skinned fingers in a traditional Szacante greeting. Beside her, her VA mimicked the gesture.
“Wonderful to see you, Minister,” Tynan said. “And Arbiter Vihica, it’s an honor.” Tynan and Min repeated the greeting, but to the Arbiter they added a small bow. It never hurt to be a little extra accommodating.
“We’ve met before, Doctor Vasuda, have we not?” the Arbiter asked, his voice thin. Tynan had to strain to hear him in the din of the conversations around them.
“Indeed.” Tynan suppressed his thrill of joy. “At last year’s ceremony for the Medal of Virtue. I was asked to assist in the presentation of the medals to the academic recipients.”
“Of course,” the Arbiter said.
“Doctor Vasuda is a recipient of the medal himself,” Harta interjected, and when the Arbiter turned an interested face toward Tynan, Harta winked.
“Oh, of course,” the Arbiter said. “Such an eminent scientist as yourself. You have contributed much to the advancement of our people. Was it my predecessor who awarded you?”
“It was Arbiter Lika.”
“So long ago,” the Arbiter exclaimed. “Forgive me for not remembering. You have been such an exemplary figure in your field from such a young age, it is easy to take your success for granted.”
“I try not to, Arbiter. I strive every day to continue to bring our people knowledge and—more importantly—the wisdom to use that knowledge properly.”
“Sage words,” Harta agreed.
“I won’t keep you, Arbiter,” Tynan said. “I know you have many people who wish to speak with you tonight.”
They said polite goodbyes and parted ways, the dreadful thudding in Tynan’s chest now replaced with a heady buzz. That had gone even better than he had expected. His parents had been political savants, mastering the art of dialect and the science of networking. That ability had not transferred to their son, who had grown up with a greater love of science and math than schmoozing. But if they were alive today, Tynan thought they would be proud. He was well on his way to becoming the next Minister of Science, where he could guide szacante research practices for the next generation.
He tried not to smile too brightly. No sense in getting ahead of himself, and he certainly couldn’t explain his joyous countenance to anyone who might ask. He took a drink from a server and sipped it, letting the sharp spice of it cut through his giddiness.
It was not a moment too soon.
Kujei’s voice broke through the murmur of voices around them. He had always spoken at high volume, as if orating from a public auditorium for all to hear. The concept of hushed respect was foreign to him, and just the sound of his voice caused Tynan to cringe at flashes of memories from his first university days.
Kujei Oszca had been Tynan’s research mentor on his first doctoral degree. Tynan had been one of the youngest students to pass through the research laboratories of the great Capital University of Dresha, and Kujei had initially been a supportive and encouraging mentor. He had challenged Tynan to learn new methods, to think creatively and pull insights and techniques from other disciplines. It was partly Kujei’s early influence that had encouraged Tynan to pursue more doctorates later, while running his own research group at a smaller university.
Every discipline had so much to offer, and Tynan wanted to dive as deeply as he could into all of them, returning with treasures of knowledge he could use to advance his work and help his people maintain their status as the greatest minds of the galaxy.
But after the early days of his first doctorate, as the novelty began to wear off for both of them, Tynan and Kujei’s relationship had soured. As Tynan had become more adept at methodology, he began to question Kujei’s. His mentor took too many risks, pushed the science in ways that made Tynan uncomfortable. Kujei had the attitude that if he didn’t ask permission, he couldn’t be denied, and so he followed his own whims. And he always got away with it, because his results were so brilliant.
Tynan understood the value of taking risks, of course. But he worried that Kujei’s habits would take him from innovative to unethical.
And then, inevitably, they did.
When Tynan had reported Kujei to the university, they refused to act. Kujei walked the ethical line, but the university failed to see that as dangerous. Or perhaps they didn’t want to be the university who let the most famous xenobiologist in the galaxy go.
Kujei still worked there.
The crowd laughed in response to whatever Kujei had just said, bringing Tynan back to the present. He realized this particular swarm of people was a crowd around Kujei. He drew closer and saw the Arbiter standing next to his former mentor, pale face and watery eyes creased with laughter. Laughter at the words of the person Tynan hated most in this galaxy.
Tynan didn’t hate a lot of people. Hatred was frankly a difficult emotion. It took a lot of energy to hate a person, and Tynan had never seen it lead to good results. No, hatred was not rational. But he couldn’t help the way his every nerve began to buzz at just the mention of Doctor Kujei Oszca. Seeing him was even worse. His formal robe tonight was perfectly tailored, its faint silver sheen the perfect accent to his mauve skin. He had more charisma than any szacante Tynan had ever met, and he wielded his charm like a weapon, cutting down all those who stood in his way.
And ever since their years in the same research lab, back when Tynan had first challenged his research practices, the person in Kujei’s way was most often Tynan.
Kujei was a brilliant researcher, but he believed in the utter supremacy of knowledge for knowledge’s sake. To Tynan, this was a fundamentally un-szacante perspective. Knowledge was a powerful gift. Through knowledge one could eradicate one form of suffering after another. Through knowledge, they had expanded out into the broader galaxy, and one day—through knowledge—they would surely discover methods that would allow them to reach farther-flung galaxies. Through knowledge, the Szacante Federation could mediate the hot-headed duo of the United Human Nations and Nareian Empire.
But a gift so powerful must be managed properly. A gift so powerful must be cherished and evaluated with great caution before being applied to the problems they faced. Any other way was likely to create more problems than it solved.
“I couldn’t believe it either,” Kujei was saying. “Here I was surrounded by nareians at a formal reception, and my translator was just returning gibberish. I had to politely excuse myself—wordlessly, might I add—and steal away to a closet to rewire the whole thing. Of course, this was back before we had developed the adaptability matrix we use now that allows us to synchronize our translators with our palm drives. I’ll tell you, that night was an adventure.”
Everyone laughed, and Tynan drew his face into a stony glare. The Arbiter leaned in to Kujei and waggled a finger toward him.
“You have always thought on your feet,” he said. “Ever since you were a little sapling of a child. I recall when your father and I were renegotiating the trade agreement with the Nareian Empire…”
Tynan’s world shrank in that moment. The room closed in on him, and the Arbiter’s story no longer reached his ears. Or if it did, he found he had no will to translate the sound waves into words. After all, he could feel in his gut the inevitable result.
It didn’t matter how smart he was. It didn’t matter that the current Minister of Science clearly thought he was the best choice. Once again, he was in Kujei’s way, and the oncoming charm offensive was strong as a shockwave.
In for four, out for eight. In for four, out for eight.
He found himself on the outskirts of the room, having left Kujei and his crowd of adoring followers behind. Min was admonishing him about his adrenaline levels and reminding him to breathe.
In for four, out for eight.
No. No, he was not going to let his oldest rivalry stand in his way. He knew he had the best course of action for the Federation. He had plans, and a comprehensive theory of advancement. And most importantly, he would not compromise the integrity of szacante research. Theirs would not be a nation of quick advances followed by the inevitable crisis and realization that they had played with forces beyond their comprehension. They would comprehend first.
He could do this.
Displays of opulence were uncommon in szacante culture, but the Arbiter often hosted dignitaries from the larger of the three superpowers, the Nareian Empire and the United Human Nations, so some level of resplendence was expected. Especially if the Szacante Federation wished to secure their tenuous role of third superpower in the galactic political balance.
Tynan Vasuda believed this third spoke was of the highest importance. The szacante could provide the calm, rational voice in the tempestuous discourse between the humans and the nareians. It was this belief that had led him here tonight.
The Arbiter and the Minister of Science were holding a dinner in honor of the accomplishments of the Arbiter’s Advisory Committee for Advancement, a group of which Tynan was a proud and vocal member. It was a poorly kept secret that tonight’s dinner was the preview to a series of retirement festivities for the current Minister of Science, and Tynan was determined to secure his position as the likely nominee to replace her. He scanned the room for the Arbiter, hoping to get a word in before the evening was over. Most of the guests tonight were szacante, their slender forms accompanied by holographic projections of their virtual assistants, but a few human and nareian officials were in attendance as well. The newer members of the szacante political establishment were instantly identifiable by the extra distance they put between themselves and the muscular nareians who stood head and shoulders above most of the guests.
“Arbiter Vihica and Minister Harta are approaching,” the voice of Min, his Virtual Assistant, said through his implanted earbud. Although she shimmered beside him, a holographic image of a female scazante on long, slim legs, she kept her words private. He appreciated her tact, as always.
Tynan’s assistant was not unique—every szacante was implanted with a virtual intelligence when they acquired early language skills. These implanted protocols were free to learn and grow with the child, and they developed traits that complemented their partner’s. Some szacantes’ VAs had gregarious personalities, and Tynan had witnessed many that would carry on full and animated conversations with their partners’ friends and neighbors. He was grateful for Min’s quiet presence.
Tynan worked his way through the sea of people and their semi-transparent VAs, careful not to pass through any of the holographic displays. That would be exactly the sort of affront he was trying to avoid tonight. As he reached the Arbiter and Harta, his heart began to pound in his chest. Min’s soothing voice again filled his ears, reminding him to count his breaths.
In for four, out for eight. In for four, out for eight. His heart thudded less insistently now. That would do.
“Doctor Vasuda.” Minister Harta touched her temple with silvery-skinned fingers in a traditional Szacante greeting. Beside her, her VA mimicked the gesture.
“Wonderful to see you, Minister,” Tynan said. “And Arbiter Vihica, it’s an honor.” Tynan and Min repeated the greeting, but to the Arbiter they added a small bow. It never hurt to be a little extra accommodating.
“We’ve met before, Doctor Vasuda, have we not?” the Arbiter asked, his voice thin. Tynan had to strain to hear him in the din of the conversations around them.
“Indeed.” Tynan suppressed his thrill of joy. “At last year’s ceremony for the Medal of Virtue. I was asked to assist in the presentation of the medals to the academic recipients.”
“Of course,” the Arbiter said.
“Doctor Vasuda is a recipient of the medal himself,” Harta interjected, and when the Arbiter turned an interested face toward Tynan, Harta winked.
“Oh, of course,” the Arbiter said. “Such an eminent scientist as yourself. You have contributed much to the advancement of our people. Was it my predecessor who awarded you?”
“It was Arbiter Lika.”
“So long ago,” the Arbiter exclaimed. “Forgive me for not remembering. You have been such an exemplary figure in your field from such a young age, it is easy to take your success for granted.”
“I try not to, Arbiter. I strive every day to continue to bring our people knowledge and—more importantly—the wisdom to use that knowledge properly.”
“Sage words,” Harta agreed.
“I won’t keep you, Arbiter,” Tynan said. “I know you have many people who wish to speak with you tonight.”
They said polite goodbyes and parted ways, the dreadful thudding in Tynan’s chest now replaced with a heady buzz. That had gone even better than he had expected. His parents had been political savants, mastering the art of dialect and the science of networking. That ability had not transferred to their son, who had grown up with a greater love of science and math than schmoozing. But if they were alive today, Tynan thought they would be proud. He was well on his way to becoming the next Minister of Science, where he could guide szacante research practices for the next generation.
He tried not to smile too brightly. No sense in getting ahead of himself, and he certainly couldn’t explain his joyous countenance to anyone who might ask. He took a drink from a server and sipped it, letting the sharp spice of it cut through his giddiness.
It was not a moment too soon.
Kujei’s voice broke through the murmur of voices around them. He had always spoken at high volume, as if orating from a public auditorium for all to hear. The concept of hushed respect was foreign to him, and just the sound of his voice caused Tynan to cringe at flashes of memories from his first university days.
Kujei Oszca had been Tynan’s research mentor on his first doctoral degree. Tynan had been one of the youngest students to pass through the research laboratories of the great Capital University of Dresha, and Kujei had initially been a supportive and encouraging mentor. He had challenged Tynan to learn new methods, to think creatively and pull insights and techniques from other disciplines. It was partly Kujei’s early influence that had encouraged Tynan to pursue more doctorates later, while running his own research group at a smaller university.
Every discipline had so much to offer, and Tynan wanted to dive as deeply as he could into all of them, returning with treasures of knowledge he could use to advance his work and help his people maintain their status as the greatest minds of the galaxy.
But after the early days of his first doctorate, as the novelty began to wear off for both of them, Tynan and Kujei’s relationship had soured. As Tynan had become more adept at methodology, he began to question Kujei’s. His mentor took too many risks, pushed the science in ways that made Tynan uncomfortable. Kujei had the attitude that if he didn’t ask permission, he couldn’t be denied, and so he followed his own whims. And he always got away with it, because his results were so brilliant.
Tynan understood the value of taking risks, of course. But he worried that Kujei’s habits would take him from innovative to unethical.
And then, inevitably, they did.
When Tynan had reported Kujei to the university, they refused to act. Kujei walked the ethical line, but the university failed to see that as dangerous. Or perhaps they didn’t want to be the university who let the most famous xenobiologist in the galaxy go.
Kujei still worked there.
The crowd laughed in response to whatever Kujei had just said, bringing Tynan back to the present. He realized this particular swarm of people was a crowd around Kujei. He drew closer and saw the Arbiter standing next to his former mentor, pale face and watery eyes creased with laughter. Laughter at the words of the person Tynan hated most in this galaxy.
Tynan didn’t hate a lot of people. Hatred was frankly a difficult emotion. It took a lot of energy to hate a person, and Tynan had never seen it lead to good results. No, hatred was not rational. But he couldn’t help the way his every nerve began to buzz at just the mention of Doctor Kujei Oszca. Seeing him was even worse. His formal robe tonight was perfectly tailored, its faint silver sheen the perfect accent to his mauve skin. He had more charisma than any szacante Tynan had ever met, and he wielded his charm like a weapon, cutting down all those who stood in his way.
And ever since their years in the same research lab, back when Tynan had first challenged his research practices, the person in Kujei’s way was most often Tynan.
Kujei was a brilliant researcher, but he believed in the utter supremacy of knowledge for knowledge’s sake. To Tynan, this was a fundamentally un-szacante perspective. Knowledge was a powerful gift. Through knowledge one could eradicate one form of suffering after another. Through knowledge, they had expanded out into the broader galaxy, and one day—through knowledge—they would surely discover methods that would allow them to reach farther-flung galaxies. Through knowledge, the Szacante Federation could mediate the hot-headed duo of the United Human Nations and Nareian Empire.
But a gift so powerful must be managed properly. A gift so powerful must be cherished and evaluated with great caution before being applied to the problems they faced. Any other way was likely to create more problems than it solved.
“I couldn’t believe it either,” Kujei was saying. “Here I was surrounded by nareians at a formal reception, and my translator was just returning gibberish. I had to politely excuse myself—wordlessly, might I add—and steal away to a closet to rewire the whole thing. Of course, this was back before we had developed the adaptability matrix we use now that allows us to synchronize our translators with our palm drives. I’ll tell you, that night was an adventure.”
Everyone laughed, and Tynan drew his face into a stony glare. The Arbiter leaned in to Kujei and waggled a finger toward him.
“You have always thought on your feet,” he said. “Ever since you were a little sapling of a child. I recall when your father and I were renegotiating the trade agreement with the Nareian Empire…”
Tynan’s world shrank in that moment. The room closed in on him, and the Arbiter’s story no longer reached his ears. Or if it did, he found he had no will to translate the sound waves into words. After all, he could feel in his gut the inevitable result.
It didn’t matter how smart he was. It didn’t matter that the current Minister of Science clearly thought he was the best choice. Once again, he was in Kujei’s way, and the oncoming charm offensive was strong as a shockwave.
In for four, out for eight. In for four, out for eight.
He found himself on the outskirts of the room, having left Kujei and his crowd of adoring followers behind. Min was admonishing him about his adrenaline levels and reminding him to breathe.
In for four, out for eight.
No. No, he was not going to let his oldest rivalry stand in his way. He knew he had the best course of action for the Federation. He had plans, and a comprehensive theory of advancement. And most importantly, he would not compromise the integrity of szacante research. Theirs would not be a nation of quick advances followed by the inevitable crisis and realization that they had played with forces beyond their comprehension. They would comprehend first.
He could do this.