|
|
Issue Number 10
Interview With A Careful Man
The room is a reflection of the man- spare, elegant, familiar and yet the presence is almost alien. The Solomani Consul greets me at the entrance of the Consulate himself, an act of unprecedented kindness in the formalized protocol of the diplomatic milieu in Regina. His eagerness to help and to have his people's point of view explained slip through his diplomatic mask.
Christopher Blaelok is a spare man, his lean frame makes his tailored suit drape perfectly. His words are spare too, and all of them are about how his government, a year away, views the galaxy. "We want the same thing all government's want," the consul explains in a gentle voice. "We want our people to prosper and to be at peace." Familiar words from diplomats across space.
His walking tour of the Solomani Consulate is a jarring mix of familiar and exotic. The piano sits in a room of ecru walls and little else, it's bench carefully placed under the keys. A large linear abstract hangs cleanly on a wall sans frame-and color. "Everything is designed to give the room more space," Mr. Blaelok explains. "We have so little of it at home." Home. The word is spoken with a reverent longing.
The staff is very efficient around us until they stop to smile at one of the smallest ambassadors. Sullivan greets the Consul by shoving a shoulder into Blaelok, then purrs loudly. The consul takes a moment and picks up the tabby cat, stroking the happily purring feline. This action is seen as undiplomatic by Gilbert who lodges his protest with a bark. For a moment I see the private man, the man who must be on his best everyday in the service of his government far away from home. He is in charge here, but for a moment the loneliness of both command and distance fall away in the uncomplicated affection of his pets. Then Sullivan declares hostilities with a swipe of a paw and the two are off in a familiar seeming romp. Mr. Blaelok becomes the Solomani Consul again.
Lunch is announced and the table in the consular dining room fills with familiar vegetables and spreads that reminds this reserved figure of home. Breads are brought in, done in classic Terran styles, filling the air with familiar scent. Many of the staff seem to be uneasy at first, sharing a meal with an outsider. Soon it is clear that they are used to an environment as strange to me as Regina is to them. Each takes up as small a space as possible at the table, their movements careful of each others space. I try to emulate them and in moments feel the closeness that must be normal for these natives of the Rim. This elegant, spare, very human dining room becomes more alien to me than Grrv'k Noorr ever has been.
After lunch I ask Mr. Blaelok why such a large Solomani Consulate so far away from Solomani space. "Besides the large buildings at great prices?" ? he smiles. Then he slips into his official role, "We know so little of the Marches, the Zhodani, and other Alliances of this region. 'Knowledge is power'. We must be strong for our people."
Mr. Blaelok explains more fully as we sit in his office. "Solomani space is very different from the Marches. Nearly every planet carries as many people as it possibly can support. Privacy is a rare jewel. That which upsets our lives' delicate balance must be dealt with swiftly lest chaos disrupt thousands of others."
"Corrected," Blaelok says firmly. "Caging people is, I'm sorry, barbaric beyond explanation and killing people for committing crimes..." he shudders, "impossible. They should be helped to become productive so the whole society becomes stronger."
I am surprised at the similarity to the words I have heard from the two diplomats, Solomani and Zhodani. Their earnestness is undeniable, their mutual views for helping echo with sincerity. Both are so far from my view I can barely report them with the evenness my professionalism demands.
The first part of my interview finishes here. I return, but only to say goodbye. Somewhere in the confusion of the night of 13-14 things have been said, actions taken that historians will have to explain for those of us in the here and now have no way to know whose version of the events is true. All I know is that the Consul goes out of Regina as diplomatically as he served here. All of Regina's society shows up to say goodbye after the Regent and Blaelok crossed swords and the diplomat resigns the field gracefully. There is even a vargr couple here.
Mr. Blaelok is as natty as ever as he leaves Regina, but his mask has slipped a bit. He speaks with several people of Regina, even the Regent. He seems somewhat worn but almost happy. I see his lovely former wife Pamela and Blaelok speaking quietly, on her finger is a ring with a lovely old-fashioned engagement ring. Then they are away into the foreign stars of the Marches.
I return to the nearly empty Consulate, only the Solomani Marines are there. I can not fathom how these soldiers from the crowded Rim must feel in all the emptiness. The building is still alien, more so without the familiar sight of the human staff. It's emptiness is a sad reminder of an attempt by a government of humans to work with another group of humans, and failing. We are alien to those who are like us, our similarities are no more a bridge to understanding than the dreams we all share. This insight deepens the gloom of the place but then I remember the ring on Pamela Blaelok's finger. A common symbol throughout the reach of human space of hope and a future twined together. Regina brought this about.
How much more hope will Regina bring to those who pass through her gates. I leave the nearly empty Solomani Consulate smiling- and hopeful.