Professor Temerin’s office held, in its chairs and couches, the usual suspects: undergrads Eric and Rachel, grad student Cobb, and of course the professor himself. Temerin sat at his desk, before a wall of awards and pictures from excavations and archaeological searches on Terra. Even with the constant churn of history, there was still a lot to be found under the polluted soils and flooded shores of humankind’s homeworld, and Temerin was telling them as much in between questions about last week’s exam grades.
A knock sounded. Standing in the doorway was a lupen woman, like an uplifted wolf with a high forehead. Eric couldn’t place her uniform—the overall design suggested Star Patrol, but instead of navy-blue it was colored black like her fur. Then he saw the white Omega symbol.
“Can I help you?” Professor Temerin pushed his glasses atop his nose, then his eyes went wide.
“Fyodor Temerin?” the lupen woman asked. “I am Agent Mara Vela, of the Existential Risks Directorate.”
“Have I... Have I done something wrong?” Charged with protecting interstellar civilization from destruction, the XRD was one organization whose bad side you did not want to be on. But what could bring them here? This was only the Terran Classics department!
“No, of course not.” Apart from the reassuring words, she let no emotion show. “In fact, I am here to discuss how you can help.”
Now that was interesting. And at least a little scary—the XRD needing help was not a pleasant thought. Temerin continued:
“Please, come in.”
Agent Vela did so, tapping the door-switch panel to slide it shut behind her. She stood near the wall, equidistant from the couch and desk, and held up an open palm. A wireframe hologram projected from it, of a planet. “This is Meridian, located in the outer frontier.”
Rachel said, “That’s the one they thought was aliens, right? Until it turned out to be someone’s old forgotten colony.”
“Correct,” Vela said. “However, its origins remain mysterious. We have yet to find reference to it in any databases, and the planet itself lacks evidence of bombardment or prior high-tech societies. The current state of advancement approximates that of Terran Antiquity, and thus you may deduce why I am here.”
“You want us to review some data for you? Write up reports on how to best proceed with recontact, perhaps?” Temerin asked.
“I want you to go there, and stop a war.”
“But I’m just—” he sputtered “We’re all—there’s no way we’re qualified for that! Don’t you have experts you can call on?”
“Why do you think I am here? You’re one of the foremost scholars in the entire field of pre-wormhole human history, and you’ve led numerous expeditions to Terra itself.”
“I was a younger man, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve overdue for a rejuve as it is. Even if I believe you, and even if you think we can help, what could we do?”
“More than you think. You know history, you know the factors behind conquests back then and you know what made them succeed or fail. There is a man leading a nation on Meridian, a ruler named Dulaine, and we want you to help stop him.”
“Isn’t that a little small-fry for the Existential Risks Directorate?” Eric asked. “Some two-bit warlord on a backwater planet? He couldn’t be a threat, unless he got his hands on a replicator nest or something.”
Vela replied, “Since Meridian’s rediscovery, the Star Patrol has been looking for ways to broaden its recontact program, open the way for technological uplift and its eventual entry into interstellar civilization. As it is, they’re stuck on an island base running aid drops over famine hotspots. Dulaine’s conquests threaten several nations we’ve identified as least-likely to misuse any technology we give them.”
Cobb spoke up, “Why not just…take him out from orbit?”
“That is a blunt-force solution, only suitable as a last resort. Even if we eliminated him quietly—no laser beams slicing down from the heavens—it could easily make things worse. He is a known quantity now, so we can use our existing information to work against him.”
“But still,” Eric said. “Sure, it’s terrible that he might mess up recontact plans and everyone there has to live in barbarism for a few more decades, but that doesn’t seem like something on your level.”
Vela nodded. “Consider: if Dulaine disrupts the recontact program, the Star Patrol and Foreign Directorate will take blame, as they have in past recontact disasters. Enough of those, and people might start questioning why we need the Stellar Compact at all. The results of such civilizational disunity may be reviewed a few floors down, in Professor de Falco’s studies on the Interstellar Dark Ages.”
Eric gulped.
“Let’s assume we can help you with this,” Temerin said. “What does it involve?”
“You, along with one of my agents, will make a covert drop to the surface, limiting you to only light supplies. After that, your initial objective would be to make contact with the leadership of the Druza Freeholds—” the hologram of Meridian spun, zoomed in to highlight territory east of an inland sea, “—and formulate a defense against Dulaine, with a secondary objective of researching Meridian’s origins. The usual restrictions against technology transfer and proliferation will be lifted, you may introduce any non-indigenous concepts you deem necessary. In return, you will receive compensation on the level of ten million Stellar Dollars, enough to live a secure life indefinitely, if properly managed.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Eric protested. “I’m just an engineering student, I’m only taking one Classics course! And Rachel’s studying paleobiology!”
“Yet you’d like to become involved in technological uplift yourself,” Agent Vela answered.
Eric gulped again. How did she know that? Silly question—what does the XRD not know? “Yeah, but I was thinking more like Highland, where they at least kept space travel and nuclear fusion, not Meridian!”
“I brought all of you here for a reason, each of your specialties will be advantageous.”
Exam grades, right. Even Professor Temerin was confused about that. He chuckled a bit at the thought of the XRD caring about his C+.
“So,” Cobb started, “What happens if we say yes?”
“I will furnish a cover story about your acceptance of a sudden grant to perform an anthropological survey, and we will depart with due haste. I must warn you, though: Meridian is a primitive planet, and so you cannot expect the morality there to conform to something you are comfortable with. You may be faced with unpleasant choices and situations for which there appears to be no good answer.”
Temerin asked, “How long have we got to make up our minds?”
“I figure a day ought to be fair.”
Eric already knew one thing: She wouldn’t have come here unless she was certain of their answer.
