Gods Dogs, Book 3
Chapter 8

The worst mistake of first contact, made throughout history by individuals on both sides of every new encounter, has been the unfortunate habit of making assumptions. It often proved fatal.

David Brin

Intercepting the delegation coming from Andromeda was a challenging problem. Raina, who was with the science department, received a briefing on how they accomplished it.

There were two main currents flowing between the galaxies – one outbound and one inbound. A variety of cross currents played between them. To use the currents, especially with the speeds involved, a phase-shift field was employed as a ship shield. Similar to a dimensional shield, the phase-shift created a repelling phenomenon that redirected any space debris along the sides of a ship.

The phase-shift signature, though, lit up like a beacon in the dimension the Sangalore called the Rip. Using a quantum pulse like a radar sweep, the beacon was visible in the Rip many thousands of light years out.

After locating the approaching convoy, the Congress task force sailed the main current most of the way to the intended meeting point. Then it navigated the connecting currents the rest of the way.

Over the last week, communication had been established with the Andromeda group, which the team began referring to as the A-group, and translation software was exchanged. When that was accomplished, a meeting place was agreed upon.

Raina sat at her station in the science lab of the battlecruiser, surrounded by twenty others. All of them were hooked into a virtual space where monitoring and sharing their data was nearly instantaneous.

“All sub-light systems coming on line,” the science commander told them from his feed. “Looks like there are eighteen ships.”

“They are all shielded,” another voice said. “No indication of weapons ready to fire.”

Raina scanned the shield composition and reported, “Their shield is dimensional but of a different type.”

Her internal A.I., Grace, commented, “The video-audio link they are offering us seems benign.”

In the virtual working space, Grace sat next to Raina at her own station. She presented as a generic human female in a blue ship suit – brown hair and eyes, even features, and cocoa brown skin tone.

The commander replied, “I’ll okay contact and let the bridge know. Monitor the buffer.”

“Our ships have launched fighters for a CAP,” a different tech announced. “No response from the A-group.”

“Contact initiated,” the commander said. “Translation software is online. Let’s see what our neighbors have to say.”

“Greetings from our galaxy to yours,” the voice of their battlecruiser captain sounded over the speakers. “We represent the Galactic Congress, and we come with the expectation of peaceful relations.”

In the Satya, which was still in its docking bay but ready for immediate launch, the team was monitoring the exchange at their general quarters stations.

The response from the Andromeda group came, “Greetings. We are representatives of the five ruling councils in Andromeda. Our expectations are exploration with the intention of annexing the Galactic Congress into our body politic.”

“Shut down the buffer,” Grace demanded. “They are launching a cyber attack.”

After a moment of quick activity, a tech said, “Network secure.”

The captain’s voice ordered, “Lay a laser-com on them. Voice only.”

“Connected.”

The captain went on, “A-group, we are open to negotiation. We will, however, defend our ships. Perhaps a better starting point is for you to define what you mean by annexing the Galactic Congress. Our way of understanding that term is a hostile take-over.”

The answer came, “We are the superior organization. It is right for you to submit.”

Another voice came into the discussion from the battlecruiser's bridge. “A-group, the Galactic Congress is founded on the principle of voluntary cooperation. If we submit to the A-group, we will do so because we choose that affiliation. Give us your reasons why and how we may benefit from an association with you.”

After a pause, the answer was, “There is a balance of power in Andromeda. The balance must be maintained. Colonizing your galaxy equally among our five empires maintains that balance. Allowing your autonomy does not.”

Another lengthy pause ensued before the captain said, “We are sending you a brief history of the formation and development of the Galactic Congress. We request a similar history of the A-group. It is important that we understand where each of us is coming from.”

The histories were exchanged, and the diplomatic staff tore into the information. In the science lab, they maintained a watch on the energy signatures from the A-group ships. In the Satya, the captain relaxed general quarters.

Many hours later, the dialogue was suspended so that the two cultures could study each other. The diplomatic team now knew what the issues were – assuming the history they received was a fair representation of the truth. It was time to determine the why of it.

The five empires were run by five different species. In the long struggle for survival, and during the planetary and then inter-planetary struggles that followed, these different species won the competition in different local areas. However, by dominating the other species, four of which were now supreme in other parts of the galaxy, the inter-species chaos truly began when the empires ran into each other. There were humanoids, reptilian, avian, water-breathers, gas giant dwellers, insectoid, machine, and other species that clashed together to replace others of their kind with uneven rights, freedoms, and privileges in the other empires.

The ensuing turmoil included revolutions and alignments of similar species against the dissimilar ones. As yet, the diplomatic staff noted, the five empires didn’t agree on basic sentient rights, let alone free passage among the empires. The conclusion was: from the current state of societal evolution within Andromeda, the best they could do was annex the Milky Way. That would maintain their shaky status quo.

Raina caught dinner aboard Satya on the third day after the exchange of histories. She slept aboard, but she was working into the night the last few days. She briefed the team on what was known and what the diplomatic staff concluded.

Moss responded, “That makes sense. It’s a bigger galaxy. It would take longer to sort out the social structures.”

Pax agreed, “A dominant species in each heterogeneous empire. It’s a formula for constant revolution. It’s surprising they worked out an accommodation at all.”

“On the flip side,” River added, “all that conflict would have driven technological development.”

Raina said, “That’s our concern. We may be ahead of them sociologically, but we may be behind them technologically.”

Quinn asked, “Is there a diplomatic plan?”

“Other than keeping them talking,” Raina said with a frown, “not really.”

“In our expansion phase,” Quinn went on, “we used shaman-to-shaman communication to establish common ground.”

“I broached that subject,” Raina replied. “They didn’t discount the idea, but it was clear the diplomatic team preferred conventional methods.”

“Bureaucrats,” Moss muttered. “Why don’t we do it anyway? It can’t hurt to see if anybody is over there.”

Quinn half-smiled. “Not without permission. Although, I do agree that it can’t hurt to look. If nobody over there is listening, then no harm, no foul. If there is someone capable, then another line of communication opens.”

“I’ll ask,” Raina said, “and I, too, think the logic you’re using is compelling.”

Pax nodded and asked, “Do we know what they think about our history?”

Raina sighed. “Not yet. What we are hoping for is confusion that morphs into curiosity.”

“Rather than fear, indignation, and war,” Moss added.

“Right,” Raina sighed again. “I didn’t know diplomacy was this complicated.”

River spoke, then, in a pensive tone, “Couldn’t we just listen to see if they are trying to make contact with us?”

Moss laughed and clapped River’s shoulder. “The training room is open.”

They trooped down to the training room and sat cross-legged on the mat. A few deep, releasing breaths, and they shifted to the location in the world of spirit that supported distant communication through the qi-field.

It appeared as a broad meadow surrounded by forest. They stood at a tree line and gazed out at the empty meadow. With merely a focused intent, they could call any living thing here to talk to.

In the distant past, shamans would call the archetype of a deer, or caribou, or elk to this place and ask permission for a hunt. Or they could talk to distant tribal shamans to relay information. This was a useful and fairly easy location in spirit to access. It was one of Penglai’s main forms of communication during First Contact missions.

The team’s intent now was to open an avenue of communication should someone over there want to initiate it. They figured this intent would cause a less noticeable ripple in the qi-field, much less than a directed call, but it was an invitation nonetheless. And, technically, they weren’t initiating contact.

In the spirit world, their default appearance was an expression of their true selves. The Coyotes appeared in stylized black armor. Raina appeared in the saffron robes of a tulku – a silpin nirmanakaya, she embodied the first of the Buddhist three levels of Enlightenment.

Whereas, the Coyotes shimmered with disciplined power, Raina glowed with the inner heat of compassion and creative potential. She warmed the space around them with unself-conscious serenity.

They chatted amicably for long minutes until an answering disturbance in the qi-field solidified into a tall, humanoid shape in a lavender cloak.

“Hail, shaman,” Raina called out.

“You’re here,” was the surprised response.

“We are, and we come with peaceful intent.”

“You are powerful beings. Why wasn’t this in your history?”

“It was not deemed important, just as it was overlooked in your history. But now we are here. What can we do to aid our teams in replaceing a peaceful alliance?”

The shaman, who was now more distinct, appeared insectoid in some ways: a narrow waist supported a large torso and broad shoulders, a thin neck, and an oversized head with two short antennae and large eyes; wide hips gave way to jointed legs that bent backwards at the knees; his two arms rested, praying mantis style, over his chest; and a hard, chitinous layer covered most of his body with a shiny, blue-black glow.

He answered, “We have five viewpoints to reconcile. You have but one. We are struggling with our disagreements.”

“How can you be in disagreement about peaceful associations?” Moss called.

The shaman clicked in what seemed like humor and answered, “We’ve never managed that among ourselves. We balance power against power to produce a status quo where we are not at war. We manage lengthy truces with each other, not lasting peace. We don’t know how to do so.”