a David Ventax (mis)adventure
He wanted to linger, to gaze at the stars at his feet. Or not yet stars but protoplasmic nebulae, the universe less than a third of a billion years after the Big Bang. The ghostly, glowing shapes were starting to twist into what a long, long, long time later would become the filaments of the galaxies he knew.
“Sir, the matter is urgent.” The announcement broke the spell, and reminded the human of the darkened chamber he was in, a grand hemispherical lobby ringed with the famous Thousand Portals. As usual, he could not remember which of the identical portals he had taken to get here, and to cross the room felt like walking across a thinly-iced pond held within a giant soap bubble.
David swallowed his minor phobia, being too professional to complain. He straightened up, then proceeded to stride through the kilometer-wide hologram towards the glowing center of the chamber. He stretched his arms and flexed his hands. “Okay,” he said to his Josippian guide, “give me a rundown of the situation.”
Intergalactic diplomat extraordinaire David Ventax dreamed of travels across the vast expanse of the universe, of spending his long life visiting unique worlds and viewing awe-inspiring cosmic phenomena—but it was here, in the Continuum Complex, where he spent most of his waking hours. Situated in the center of space, time and all the other dimensions, the CC was well-suited for the official staging ground for cross-world diplomacy. All the known worlds had wormholes that led to this no-place—and since these civilizations numbered in the millions, their wormholes had to access the CC on a time-sharing basis. The “final frontier” had been reduced to the protocol of the mundane. Sort of.
“A major gaffe, Mr. Ventax,” said the guide, whom David wished he could see. “Apparently one of the human envoys—” (it just had to be one of the humans again!) “—has offended the Gügell during critical talks. Or at least we think they’re offended. They’re flickering amongst themselves, and that’s all we can go by. Their language glitches up the translation software, I’m afraid.”
“Well,” said the diplomat, “I know a bit of Gügellese. So at least we have somewhere to start. I don’t think they’re warlike…”
“I hope not, sir.”
David was glad the Josippians weren’t either. It was lucky that the only invisible species ever discovered had turned out to be strict pacifists. Since they were made entirely of cold dark matter, not just cosmic rays but radiation of all spectra passed through them—and with such an unfair tactical advantage, they could have taken over an entire galaxy in no time.
“How did he manage to offend a species like the Gügell?” David’s question to the guide, Ultrav, was a mere formality, as he could imagine countless ways one of his fellow human beings could have screwed up.
“Well,” said Ultrav, “he ate one of them.”
“He… ate one.” David furrowed his brow. “You must have mistranslated that.”
Ultrav did not skip a beat. “We shall see, sir.”
