Caravellum

From:
Humanity Central Correspondence
To:
Humanity – Posts – All; Humanity – Posts – Outspace
cc:
United Galaxies – Non-Council Species Mailbox
Received:
23:25 UST, 12/03/3566
Subject:
United Galaxies Decree 3566-412 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Dear all,

As of 12 June 3566, the Humanity Central Legislature has ratified UGD 3566-142, with Article 9(2)(a) taking immediate effect through the cessation of visa requirements for outspace peoples embarking and disembarking at UG-affiliated posts.

We note that there are concerns that this may potentially deteriorate the secure systems and spaces that Humanity prides itself on as a universal leader. While the Legislature looks to enact appropriate security measures, we are putting in place a temporary registration system (which will go live at 09:00 UST, 15/03/3566) that any passenger who wishes to embark or disembark at a Humanity post must register with prior to travelling.

Requirements to register and procedures to follow are found in the attached memorandum, but include appropriate photographic identification, and the absence of any ongoing criminal charges or any other factors that would cause one to suspect a deleterious impact upon the safety of Humanity’s community. Please note that the change to this system does not retroactively set aside previous visa cancellations or non-revocation decisions.

If there are any queries regarding this direction, please communicate along your appropriate reporting channels to ensure that we are all on the same page moving forward. Remember, clear communication is key to capitalising on the opportunities for growth for our universal presence.

Yours sincerely,

Hazel L. Gharni
Central Registrar, Humanity Central Correspondence
Humanity Central Headquarters
E-mail: h.gharni@dgat.gov.central | Phone Extension: +10 2126
Standing Proud as Part of The Whole



From:
Maya Fukui-Roberts
To:
Atlas Bowling
Received:
10:02 UST, 13/03/3566
Subject:
FW: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
FYI. Maya



From:
Atlas Bowling
To:
Maya Fukui-Roberts; Gabil Ezna
Received:
29:11 UST, 13/03/3566
Subject:
RE: FW: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Thanks Maya. Spotted it this afternoon. Absolutely baffling. Don’t suppose we’ve had any word from Jae? Also, did they forget to attach the memo?

@Gabil, can you have a look in the storeroom for the good cameras? We’ll need them once the online system crashes. I think we last used them for the station fun run.

Atlas.





From:
Maya Fukui-Roberts
To:
Atlas Bowling; Gabil Ezna
Received:
08:45 UST, 14/03/3566
Subject:
RE: RE: FW: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Not that I know of. Can try your luck shooting him an email. Yes, they definitely forgot to attach it. Maya





From:
Gabil Ezna
To:
Atlas Bowling; Maya Fukui-Roberts
Received:
09:01 UST, 14/03/3566
Subject:
RE: RE: FW: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Good morning Mr Bowling.

Certainly, I will see if I can find the cameras.

Shall I put a notice out that we’ll be processing registrations tomorrow?

Kind regards,

Gabil Ezna
Receptionist
Embassy of Humanity, Aianaia-Nur Space Station
E-mail: g.ezna@dgat.gov.central | Phone Extension: +97 4152
Standing Proud as Part of The Whole




From:
Atlas Bowling
To:
Jaelim Asprey
Bcc:
Maya Fukui-Roberts; Gabil Ezna
Received:
09:31 UST, 14/03/3566
Subject:
RE: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Dear Jaelim,

I refer to the direction from Humanity Central to establish a temporary registration system for all visitors to Humanity-run posts.

Needless to say, there are some concerns with this direction, particularly in our specific circumstance working on the border of uncontrolled space and given the history of the Aianaia-Nur Space Station (having been founded by the combination of the E.P.S. Aianaia and Q.C.S Nur penitentiary ships). There is certainly a non-negligible chance of an applicant’s criminal history being considered a ‘deleterious impact’ on the safety of Humanity’s community in our region.

Are we, as the Embassy on this station that has spent years building goodwill with our neighbours, expected to be the frontline to bear the brunt of their disgruntlement when every applicant is rejected based on their criminal history, despite the requirement for registration clearly contravening the UG decree?

Grateful for your advice,

Atlas Bowling, D.G.
Ambassador
Embassy of Humanity, Aianaia-Nur Space Station     
E-mail: a.bowling@dgat.gov.central | Phone Extension: +97 4053


From:
Jaelim Asprey
To:
Atlas Bowling
Received:
09:31 UST, 14/03/3566
Subject:
Auto Reply: RE: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Thank you for your correspondence. I am currently on leave from 12/05 to 30/04. Your email has not been forwarded.

If you require any urgent assistance, please forward your correspondence to atlas.bowling@dgat.gov.central who will be more than willing to respond to your request.

My apologies for any inconvenience caused.

Jaelim Asprey
Executive Chief – Humanity Posts (Outspace)
Humanity Central Headquarters
E-mail: j.asprey@dgat.gov.central | Phone Extension: +10 2577
Standing Proud as Part of The Whole



From:
Atlas Bowling
To:
Maya Fukui-Roberts; Gabil Ezna
Received:
09:37 UST, 14/03/3566
Subject:
FW: Auto Reply: RE: United Galaxies Decree 3566-142 – Convention on the Freedom of Movement
Body:
Jae is on leave. Hoping the date is a typo but wouldn’t put it past him to take a year off. No idea why I’m his forward. Will try others at Central.

@Gabil, please put out a notice on the station bulletin. Thank you.

I’ll see you both in the morning. Any guesses as to how long before the online system breaks?

Atlas.



“12 minutes and 32 seconds.” Maya said, tapping at the diagnostic page displaying on her tablet.
“That’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be.” Atlas looked over her shoulder at the screen.
“For a total of seven complete applications.”
“Ah.” Atlas scratched at his beard.
“Two of which have been rejected.”
“That is quite bad.”
They stood behind the melamine counter, its off-cream semi-glossy surface reflecting blooms of smudged white from the overhanging batten lights. They fizzed and sparked as the occasional skittering insect found its way into their cage. They stared out into the lobby where a congregation formed a line that snaked through the lobby space, thrice-turning about itself before leading out the door. They could see heads poking from the outside of the square windows spaced across the back wall as the line undoubtedly stretched past the front gate.
The clock above their board read 08:00.
“Did you get through to anybody at Central?” Maya asked.
“Reached a few voicemail inboxes, but they were all full. Got through to Priya though.” Atlas said.
“You know, I was thinking about her just the other day. How is she doing?”
“Well, very well. Her son’s wedding is next week so they’re working through the preparations. Going to be a big celebration. She’s very excited. Showed me all the garlands. For about an hour.”
“She was never one for half-measures. Surely she had some idea of what’s going on?”
“None at all. She retired last year.”
“Ah. Still nice to catch up though, I’m sure.”
“Oh, of course. Very nice to catch up.”
“Just would have been nice if she had led with that.”
“Indeed.” Atlas nodded, taking a lengthy sip of his coffee as Gabil, the young Eloqian receptionist entered through the back door. He nodded to the two of them, a wide grin on his mouths.
“ˈBɪzi deɪ əˈhɛd.” Each of his mouths spoke in unison. Atlas took a moment to understand what he had said. Despite Gabil’s flawless pronunciation, and written mastery, of the Standard tongue, there was always something slightly off about the way he spoke in combination with the echo that Atlas struggled to comprehend.
“Indeed. We could have just closed up, and told them they can’t apply until the system is back up.” Atlas said.
“That would have played out well, first week after a universal convention to liberate movement and travel to Humanity posts hits a historical low of five.” Maya retorted.
“Absəˈluːt dəˈzæstər.” Gabil finished.
“We’d better get started.” Maya said.
Atlas tutted. “Opening hours aren’t ‘till 9, and we will have breakfast before dealing with this.”
Maya looked at him.
“And we’ll still open at half-past.” He conceded, and won from her a smile. “You need to work less sometimes.”
“Not much else to do here.” She said.

A few hastily heated and hurriedly scoffed croissants later saw them both ensconced at their respective counters. Gabil stood before the assembled crowd atop a small step, his diminutive height barely reaching above the front line.
“Gʊd ˈmɔːnɪŋ!” He waited, seemingly for a theatrical reply which with this audience would likely eventuate some time after the heat death of the universe. Atlas muttered a faint ‘good morning’ under his breath in response. Gabil continued unabashed. “Wiː wɪl bə’ɡɪn suːn.  Pliːz weɪt fɔː …”
As Gabil continued to explain the dramatic highs and lows of forming a queue, Atlas booted up the interface at his counter. He flicked through the attempts to scan his face – the cable for the internal-facing camera having been chewed through several months earlier by a creature they had not yet found – and dutifully tapped in the requested password that had been scratched into the base of the monitor since the embassy was founded. He navigated through the archaic web of the intranet to the Visitor Registration System folder. He ignored it, created a new folder next to it labelled In-Person Registrations, and shared the link to Maya. After a brief moment, she gave him a thumbs-up from the other side of the glass partition that separated them. When Atlas clicked into the folder, he saw that she had already put in a template document complete with all of the information necessary for the registration. He smiled, and gave her two enthusiastic thumbs-up, which she didn’t see as she was fiddling with the lever to lower her chair. However, the people at the front of the line did see it, and they returned an awkward attempt at a thumbs-up with their various appendages and phalanges. Gabil, taking it as a sign of consent, proceeded to unlock the gate and the line shuffled forward.
“ˈɔːdəli pliːz!” He cried, as the line moved forward all of a metre to reach the counter, and then stopped again.
Maya looked up. In front of her stood a Gwindan, its aged-alabaster quills bristling from its snouted skull as its rheumy eyes peered behind its large-framed spectacles. She panicked as she quickly attempted to finish setting up her workstation. She glared at Atlas who bowed his head in apology.
Atlas pulled the camera from the drawer and opened the shutter as he turned to his first applicant. Before Atlas stood a man, almost. He appeared to be in his mid-30s judging by the wrinkles upon his brow and the full beard. However, his facial features didn’t quite sit in the right spot upon his face – an eyebrow on his cheek, a nose upon his chin – a contortion of features that twisted into an approximation of a human face half-constructed. Even the full stock of dark black hair that tied back into a loose ponytail seemed to emerge from within his ears. Atlas sighed and returned the camera to the drawer.
Atlas signed the universal gesture for goodwill, which they returned and the almost-man took a seat.
“Good morning.” He started.
“Good morning.” The figure returned in a jilted attempt at Standard as they scrolled their finger-like appendage across the screen upon the table, flicking through a list of languages until it reached the one it was after. They started speaking. In a moment, the interpretation caught up and filled their booth with the sounds of the somewhat robotic Standard.
“I would like to make an application for-,” Atlas reached over to stop the interpretation, eyes wide.
“You speak Italian?” He asked in his own academically-trained Italian, rusted somewhat from disuse. They responded in an accented dialect from the northern regions of Friuli.
“You do as well?”
“I was stationed in Rome for a few years.”
“How splendid! I’ve always wished to go.”
Atlas opened up a copy of the template form.
“Fascinating, so you’re hoping to visit Earth?”
“That is correct.”
Atlas typed in the destination of his application.
“Do you have a station ID tag? It will save us from filling in some of the details.”
The almost-man fished out a collection of chips and cards slung through a band that wrapped about his waist. He pulled a black and yellow one out and scanned it against the panel atop the table.
It automatically filled in his name, age, and details into the form.
“So, Shaefa – may I call you Shaefa?” They nodded. “Shaefa, may I ask you for the reason for your trip?”
“How familiar are you with the Valbern?”
“I must confess only very tangentially.”
“It is our people’s greatest gift, and greatest curse, to have the ability of subsuming, in which we are able to mimic the distinguishing features of another. However, it is difficult to control and permanent once solidified. As such, it is forbidden amongst my people to spend too long with another non-Valbern, should our forms be forever changed.”
Atlas, fingers flashing across the datapad as he spoke, nodded for him to continue.
“When I was young, I made rash decisions with my subsumption, taking advantage of it to gain wealth, fame, to live in the shoes of another. Needless to say, I went too far, and I ended up in Aianaia Penitentiary.”
“For what charge?” Atlas interrupted, placing a question mark next to ‘Prior Criminal History’.
“I impersonated Airn Guran to get into a live concert.” Atlas stared blankly at him, before writing ‘minor misdemeanour’ in the column. “But I could never have known that it would lead to the most fortunate experience of my life. For it would allow me to meet a human for the first time.” Shaefa spoke with a gradually broadening smile, his features slowly moving about his face. “We had a guard by the name of Emilio. He taught me about what it was to be alive, about what it was like to be free. He showed me that it was the beauty of life that allowed us to make mistakes and to learn from them.” The jigsaw of his face slowly pieced together into the face of another, a man with kind eyes and a warm smile. “He helped me realise that I knew what type of Valbern I want to be, I want to be one that is confident enough to know what they want to be. And I want to be human.” They finished with a sense of tangible pride.
Atlas tapped his finger against his tablet, as he watched the image of the man pulse into focus before him with each cheerful anecdote Shaefa brought to life in front of him.
“And you wish to go to Earth to?”
“To find him again. He is perhaps the only person in the entire universe who truly knows who I am. And I would like to show him what I have become.”
“And you are certain he’s on Earth?”
“Yes, he was recalled from the prison for mandatory military service.”
Atlas looked up at that.
“There hasn’t been mandatory military service on Earth for almost a hundred years. How old are you?” He scrolled back up on the form to check the Valbern’s age.
“Almost 170 galactic cycles.” Shaefa said.
“Ah.” Atlas stopped scrolling. “How familiar are you with the human species?”
“I only know what Emilio told me.”
“Then perhaps you are not familiar with the life expectancy of our people.” Atlas turned from the console to look Shaefa in his transmuting eyes. “The most fortunate amongst us will live the balance of 120 to 130 galactic cycles.”
The Valbern was silent, amalgamate of expressions and features attempting to find an expression that would suit the feeling it felt, but it could not find it. The shape of the man’s face faded from it. Out of the reverie of reminiscence, it returned to its fluidity, eyes flickering between all colours and shades, lidded to hooded to shaded. Shaefa blinked several times as they thought.
“Then, I would like to change the purpose of my visit.”
“Indeed. To?”
“To pay my respects at my friend’s grave. I understand it is something that humans do?”
“Yes, I’m sure he would appreciate that.” Atlas finalised the application. “Now, the difficult part.” Shaefa looked at him. “We require photographic identification for the application. This may be an issue with your,” he paused, “dynamic features. If you are able to change your appearance at will, is there any feature about yourself that remains constant? Anything that can be used to identify you personally amongst others of your kind?”
The figure thought for a long moment, during which Atlas listened in to Maya’s conversation beside him.
“Your Station ID was vaporised?” She asked the Gwindan.
The Valbern eventually said. “My scent.”
“Your scent?”
“It is unique amongst the Valbern. We each have a particular scent.”
Atlas turned off the small desk fan and leaned in towards Shaefa, taking a long sniff. He shrugged.
“That will have to do.” He jotted down ‘smells of camphor and campari’ on the document, before approving, signing, and sending it. “I wish you the best of luck on your journey.”
Shaefa stood, tears welling from the wrong location. “Thank you.”
Atlas returned a gesture of gratitude, and watched the Valbern leave.

“Next.” he called to the line. The person waiting stood unresponsive. Atlas looked at the tall figure that appeared to be mostly a tangle of knotted hair, and gestured them forward. They didn’t move. A voice emerged from the space before him.
“I am in line, Mr Ambassador.” A deep voice came from the air in front of him, a shimmer in the air briefly materialising before vanishing again into nothingness.
Atlas sighed deeply, before closing the drawer with the camera in it again. “Okay, one small step at a time.”