Fine Tuned Read online

  Fine Tuned

  A short story

  Paul Anlee

  “Esteemed Representative Wedgwood. Welcome to Paradise!”

  The man greeting me from the bottom of the shuttle ramp was human but just barely. He was no more than a meter tall, with a squat, muscular frame adapted to the five-times normal gravity of the planet. A mesmerizing rainbow-colored, heat-radiating sail protruded from his back.

  The natives called the planet Kuh-lan-ti, which according to the translators meant “The Ascension of Essence.”

  And what that meant, I had no idea. No one did.

  Without thinking, I extended a hand–or meant to. In its place, one of my hairy, brilliant blue appendages lifted off the floor and reached forward.

  The intended recipient, Ambassador Oliver Lee from Earth, couldn’t help flinching.

  “Oh. Sorry,” I said and tried again. This time I held out a dry tentacle.

  He ignored it with visible distaste. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “On Kuh-lan-ti, the common interspecies greeting is a simple dip,” He slightly bent his enlarged knees to demonstrate.

  “Right. I knew that.” And I did. Standard protocols had all been programmed in during the acclimatization process in orbit.

  “It’s my first time.” I smiled apologetically, or at least tried to. When one’s body has been genetically and surgically altered into a twelve-legged spider with a tentacled palm tree for an upper body, it’s hard to know how best to translate customary human facial expressions. I think some of my fronds waved. I managed a dip by flexing all twelve of my bristled, iridescent legs.

  Ambassador Lee waived off my embarrassment. “No worries. I can only imagine how odd this must seem to you. It was hard enough getting used to these changes.” He indicated his own purple, abnormally compacted body. “Give it a few days.”

  “I’d love to,” I said, “but I’ve been summoned to an audience with the Emperor tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Which one?”

  It was a fair question, given that Kuh-lan-ti boasted one-million-forty-eight-thousand-five-hundred-and-seventy-six (two-to-the-power-twenty) Emperors. “Chi-ta-pron,” I answered.

  “Ah, yes. Him.” Lee grimaced. “Ever the trailblazer. Well, you’d better not delay. They’re preparing for his Ascension Ceremony now. He probably only has another eight days. Let’s get you settled in quickly.”

  He pivoted and led the way. There was little grace in his movement; it was more like a coordinated shuffling of feet with the ponderous body following reluctantly. Imagine an ocean freighter with legs and you get the idea.

  “I’d advise you to move with caution for the first few days,” Ambassador Lee said as his body swung into position and he launched his first step toward the exit. “Even as heavily modified for this gravity as we are, tripping over your own feet will mean an emergency trip to the hospital. And, trust me, mending broken bones in such extreme gravity is no fun; they may have to ship you back into orbit.”

  We left the Shuttle Reception Lounge, and passed by heavy ornamental pillars accented by an occasional arch or pergola. No solid roofs, of course. Who wanted that much deadly weight overhead? The room displayed impressive architectural extravagance, all considered.

  “Ostentatious signs of the wealth of the Empress Kran-tuk-to,” Ambassador Lee waved his arms toward the decor.

  “It speaks more to the dedication of her followers, does it not?” I corrected.

  “On Paradise, they’re pretty much the same.”

  He was right of course. The planet’s million-plus Emperor-gods absorbed nearly half of the economic activity. None of our Contact Specialists had been able to figure out why the common people tolerated such extravagant excess.

  Four times each Kuh-lan-ti year, every one of the Emperors or Empresses held an Ascension Ceremony. The different ceremonies for the different regions—you couldn’t call them countries as there was no regulation of trade and migration between them—meant thousands of ceremonies were happening on any given day of the year.

  One might think something called the “Ascension Ceremony” would celebrate the death of an Emperor and their rising to celestial status, or perhaps some kind of coronation. But neither seemed to be the case. Following the elaborate and expensive celebrations, the newly-ascended Emperors or Empresses returned home to their respective throne rooms as if nothing had happened. Their followers went back to their business. They disassembled the Seat of Ascension and its opulent surroundings and normal life resumed.

  Until they begin preparing for the next ceremony, and the heightened activity and extravagance start over again.

  Back on Earth, we couldn’t figure it out. How could an entire planet dedicate so much activity and so many precious resources to frequent ceremonies that had no discernible effect on anything? With at least eight unique, intelligent species, incredible natural resources, fertile lands and oceans, why did ninety-nine percent of the population accept such miserable lives, and devote themselves to completely meaningless rituals?

  Even the Six were baffled.

  That’s why I’m here—I reminded myself.

  The lengthy and painful bodily alterations, the extensive training, and the tweaking of mental processes touching my very soul were all for one purpose: figure out the mystery of Paradise.

  We walked out to a waiting carriage, basically, a low-slung, wooden box on crude, metal wheels pulled by a pair of docile ox-like creatures that had antennas in place of eyes. The driver reminded me of a fiendish demon from a distant childhood nightmare.

  Ker limbs (I had no hope of determining its gender, so I used the unbiased pronoun common on Kuh-lan-ti) were a chaotic jumble of arms, legs, and tentacles from every part of the animal kingdom. Ker head sprouted a dizzying array of insectoid and cat-like eyes. Ker antennas vibrated rapidly, buzzing a Terran “Welcome” as we boarded.

  Kee warned us to hold on tight, and we lumbered off, our driver urging the beasts of burden to pull the cart around the deepest potholes. I concentrated on ker back (as far as I could tell) as the wagon slogged down the street. Kee scratched under ker collar and revealed yet another pair of eyes staring back at me.

  I turned to the Ambassador and asked, “Are you certain there’s no advanced gentech on the planet?”

  “Look around you,” he replied, encouraging my dozen eyestalks to scan the cobblestone streets and roofless, windowless, single-story, cinderblock structures that the natives used for houses. As my sight passed over a nearby house, someone opened a door and emptied a chamber pot into a gutter fetid with raw sewage.

  The Ambassador grunted. “They’re barely out of the stone ages. Does this look like a society that could develop advanced methods for genetic engineering, let alone hide it from us for over a hundred years?”

  He had a point.

  “Why did they ever call this place Paradise?” I asked.

  “Bad translation,” Lee answered. “‘Transition to Paradise’ would be closer to what we now think ‘Ascension of Essence’ means, which also fits better with the local superstitions.”

  I guess it’s not the first time something was lost in translation, and I doubted it would be the last.

  Blessings to the Lord and the Six that the carriage ride to my accommodations was brief. Tomorrow’s trek to the adjacent empire for my appointment would be much longer but, hopefully, involve better roads.

  * * *

  “Rise and approach!” Emperor Chi-ta-pron boomed.

  I gathered all twelve legs back under me as gracefully as I could, lifted my body to its tip-toes as required by Court Protocol, and set out on the final fifty meters of the approach to the throne. I kept half a dozen eyes nervously focused on the ceiling above as it transi
tioned from draped sheers to hardwood planks to solid, gold-plated cement.

  Just like a visit to the last Emperor of China—I thought as I made my way slowly forward. No doubt, my studies of the history of the Forbidden City in that era had weighed favorably in the decision of the Six to recruit me for this job. No one knew more about Imperial-style manners than yours truly.

  I staggered on outstretched legs along the blue and pink streaked granite floor. Courtiers and servants representing all eight sapient species on the planet watched from either side in expectant silence.

  Hoping I fall, or praying I don’t?—I wondered.

  I kept my main eyes staring at my goal ahead, but allowed a few peripheral ones to catch glimpses of the elaborately costumed onlookers. Along the first twenty meters or so, the outfits, makeup, and jewelry were conservative. Bands of gold, silver, and chromed steel were sensibly wrapped around appendages, and the clothing was colorful but reasonably draped across the various body shapes. The makeup highlighted sensory and reproductive organs subtly and artfully.

  The closer I got to the throne, the more elaborate and ridiculous the outfits became. I was new to the planet but even I knew Goltis didn’t have an extra six green arms sweeping out from their muscular backs to rest on the ornamental crown-shaped crests of their thick skulls. Those were obviously artificial.

  Oh, the weight that poor head must be supporting! I cringed in sympathy. How many hours will this being have to stand in their resplendence while supplicant after supplicant makes the same long walk up this polished approach? Feeling a little guilty for my contribution to their suffering, I picked up the pace, but prudently, not enough to raise any alarms.

  I stopped at the required three meters from the throne and painfully bent my legs, lowering my belly to the cold stone floor. “Your Majesty,” I said.

  “Rise, Representative Wed-jay-woo!” The Emperor’s voice filled the Imperial Throne Room. I thought I heard the ceiling creak above us, and said a prayer to the Prophet Rees that I make it through this first meeting without being crushed to death.

  I staggered to my feet. Months earlier, I’d stood without flinching before the Council of Six before being chosen for this task. Now, my knees—all twelve of them—were shaking, and not just from the gruelling walk. I willed myself to take a deep, calming breath but my respiratory spiracles had tightened and the result was an extended whistling fart of exhalation into the expectant hall. I heard a snicker or two from the crowd of courtiers on either side. Back at the start of the run, where my approach had begun, Ambassador Lee paled.

  Emperor Chi-ta-pron took no notice. He rose from his throne and descended all eighteen centimeters in three easy steps to the floor where I awaited. He moved off to my right, as if examining me for weapons. I kept my various eyes in neutral positions and peripherally followed his progress as he circled around me.

  “Xichial,” he said once he’d finished his inspection. “And a very passable likeness to our dominant species.” He pointed a tentacle at my lower body. “But not quite perfect, is it?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” I replied, wondering how he could tell my inner organs were placed a little differently than Xichial standard. “Our humble technology cannot reproduce the perfection of the Imperial body structure.” I bobbed, begging tolerance. “May it please your Imperial senses. My masters on Earth thought Your Highness would find it more pleasing to speak with one who aspires to wear a form similar to your own royal one.”

  “Hmm.” He resumed circling around me. “But we all aspire to this form, do we not? And to that which follows.”

  Knowing next to nothing of the relationships between species, let alone with the Ascendants, I remained silent.

  Chi-ta-pron completed his inspection. Apparently satisfied, he grunted and returned up the steps to his throne. “So, I guess you’re here to convert me, and save my people.” It sounded more like an accusation than a question. An unpleasant charge of some treasonous act, perhaps.

  I stood still, transfixed. How do you safely answer a question like that?—I searched desperately for something to say. Not that it wasn’t true, but I’d hoped it wasn’t so obvious. My fronds waved in agitated confusion.

  “Haaa, ha!” the Emperor roared. “Relax. Don’t get your fronds in a twist,” he said. “I’m just joking.” The onlookers to either side of me guffawed their appreciation of their ruler’s humor.

  He stood but remained on the dais. “Come. I’ve nothing else scheduled for today. Why don’t you tell me about yourself and your Church? Did I say that right? We have no churches on Kuh-lan-ti.”

  He laughed again. “Or we have nothing but churches, depending on your perspective. But certainly, nothing like the Church of the Six. You must tell me all about it. Come!” He ducked behind his throne and waved a trailing tentacle for me to follow. Before he left the dais he yelled, “Dismissed!” to the throng behind me.

  I scaled the raised platform and followed Chi-ta-pron through a thin, gold-lace curtain into what appeared to be his private office.

  The Emperor perched on a thickly-cushioned stool behind a low desk; his legs barely brushed the floor below. He waved me forward onto a similar, though somewhat less plush, stool of my own. “Sit, sit.”

  I took a seat and waited expectantly for his Majesty to begin, as protocol normally demanded. I waited and waited. The seconds turned into uncomfortable minutes.

  The Emperor’s upper fronds waved giddily, a sign of humorous delight, if I correctly recalled my briefings. “Well?” he said.

  “Well, what, Your Highness?” I asked.

  “If this is how you try to get converts on your planet, it’s a wonder the Church of the Six has any members at all,” he replied. “Give me your best pitch. Make me believe.”

  My mouth gaped. Or it would have, if I still had a mouth. I felt my feeding proboscis drop toward the floor but reeled it in before I embarrassed myself any further. “That’s not how this usually works, your Majesty.”

  He laughed again. “Okay, okay. Whatever. How do you usually approach conversion?”

  How do we usually approach conversion?—I echoed silently. I hadn’t attempted a conversion in decades; there was no need. The correctness of the Creed of the Six was obvious, scientifically proven. It was a rarity of the highest order to come across anyone in human-run space that wasn’t a member of the Church.

  “Uh...,” I said, beginning brilliantly.

  Chi-ta-pron gave me a few seconds to gather my thoughts, while his four legs tapped out an impatient rhythm on the floor. When it became apparent that nothing more clever was imminent, he made a helpful suggestion. “Why don’t you begin with something simple? How did your Church come into existence?”

  “I’m afraid the history of faith among humans is anything but simple, Your Highness,” I answered. “But if you will permit me, I can sketch the origins of the Creed of the Six.”

  He waved a tentacle. “Proceed.”

  “A few hundred years ago, the major religions of Earth—”

  “Wait! You had more than one?”

  I bobbed my assent. “Yes, Your Highness. At one time, there were several major belief systems and thousands of sects. Some of them agreed on central issues but there was vigorous, sometimes deadly, debate on many issues.”

  He picked up a stone seal from the desk and passed it nervously from tentacle to tentacle until it had made several circuits of his trunk-like body. “Proceed,” he said at last, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

  “To make matters worse, there were central tenets of dogma in all of the major faiths that made claims without any credible scientific basis.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “The contradictions with established fact were highly disconcerting to people of the time.”

  “I can only imagine,” he whispered in reply. “What did they do?”

  “The Original Six, the Prophets Rees, Barnes, Behe, Hoyle, and Craig led us into the light. They resolved t
he contradictions.”

  “And how did they manage that?” he asked. The question sounded sincere, but there may have been a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

  “With the best available knowledge of the time, they demonstrated beyond the shadow of a doubt the footprint of the Creator in the universe.”

  “Impressive,” Chi-ta-pron replied. “But how?”

  “It began with just six numbers,” I answered, “And the Prophet Rees.”

  “Six numbers, you say? And what would those be?”

  “Well, they are quite complex numbers, your Highness. I barely understand them myself.”

  “Give me an example,” he said. “Do you mean something like forty-two?”

  “Not that kind of—” I began, but stopped short. What were the odds he’d pick that particular number? An ancient, joking answer to the question of the meaning of life, the universe, and everything.

  I tried again. “Not that kind of number, your Majesty. What do you know of the four basic forces of nature?”

  “Duty, integrity, ambition, and ascension,” he said. “Everyone knows those.”

  I allowed myself an inward sigh. “I’m referring to the four physical forces, your Majesty. You know about electricity and gravity, right?”

  “Oh, those.” He sniffed with all eighteen spiracles simultaneously, as if the topic were trivial and beneath his notice. He plucked a plush cloth from his desk and dabbed at his side. “Proceed.”

  “Well, it turns out the electromagnetic force is about ten to the power thirty-nine times stronger than the gravitational force.”

  “Thirty-nine!” He held up three tentacles to ensure I noted the number. “That’s very close to forty-two.”

  I tried not to waggle my fronds in annoyance. “Mere coincidence, I assure you, Your Highness.” I pushed on. “If gravity had been a bit weaker, relatively speaking, stars like your sun would have been significantly colder and much less likely to blow up in supernovas.”

  “Oh, I don’t like stars that blow up.”

  I ignored that. “That would mean we’d have far fewer of the heavier elements like iron and gold, or even potassium, calcium, and copper, all of which are essential for life to develop.”