[Back, on a new computer. This story occurs sometime after Chapter 32 of The Maker’s Ark. The latest chapter of The Maker’s Ark is here, and links to some of my other work are here. Updates are posted irregularly–theoretically every two weeks, a schedule I still aspire to return to someday.]

Sam rushed into the room and took the empty chair. Doc and Stella were both watching the main screen, which showed a stage with an empty podium and a few humans moving around the edges.

“Sorry I’m late,” said Sam. "What did I miss?“

"Nothing yet,” said Stella. "The wrangling over the introduction has been settled. Elder Trig'anth is doing an end run in a way that will let them save face.“

"As DASI predicted,” said Doc.

“Yes,” said Stella. "He didn’t want or need it, and he is not a political neophyte.“

"So…” said Sam. "DASI ‘refused to speculate’ about a lot of my questions. Doc, you’ve met him. What’s your read?“

Doc looked thoughtful. "Stella is understating. Trig is a skilled and canny Grs'thnk politician. Even though he’s part of a coalition group that is currently in the minority, he has some crucial privileges: He’s the Senior Opposition Observer for the aid mission, and back on Grs'thn he is a Speaker on Matters of Record. That means there is a very high bar to stop him from talking about something, even though he doesn’t have any direct political power.”

“Why is that important?”

“It establishes context for his request for a live, no-delay, unedited broadcast from any media outlet that wanted to carry his speech at all. DASI is enforcing that. The FCC is unhappy. They’ll cope. More restrictive regimes can’t do much except protest. Anyone with an UPPfone and a vid screen who wants to see this, will.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What is he going to talk about?“

"Officially, no one knows, other than that it is 'informal and personal’–he’s not speaking for the Grs'thnk, or even the aid mission.”

Doc smiled. "I have a good idea, though. He has some of the same worries about transition wars that I do. So I think he’ll use this historic 'first live speech by an alien’ to try to shift perceptions of older people who are still open-minded enough to hear what he has to say. It was clever of him to insist that no one under sixty be allowed in the local audience. And nixing the introduction is a tell; any biographical summary would be incomplete and misleading. He’ll be sharing some things that are common knowledge on Grs'thn but not on Earth.“

"Do you think there will be any translation problems?”

Doc smiled crookedly. "He’s a linguist, and he put in the effort to master idiomatic spoken American English. And he made a living for a while as a stand-up comedian, specializing in cross-cultural humor. So, no, I don’t think he’ll have any trouble.“

*****

The crowd noise increased and there was scattered clapping as a float-chair glided onto the stage. It stopped in front of a formally dressed human with a microphone–the presenter whose prepared introduction was now in limbo. A wizened Grs'thnk stood up slowly from the chair. Trig was short–about five feet tall–and wore high-tech bifocals, trousers that included a tail covering, and a loud Hawaiian shirt. He looked at the presenter, who leaned over to say something to him.

Stella suppressed a laugh and Sam glanced at her.

"Narrative control. Watch, and listen,” she said.

Trig had acquired the microphone and turned it on, allowing the audience to hear the rest of what had probably been intended as a private aside.

“…more comfortable if we adjust the heat?” the presenter was saying. "We didn’t expect–“

"I found this excellent garment that included my family colors,” said Trig in a gravelly voice. "Just the thing for an informal talk, and I have a tail-warmer. If I get too cold I can put on a jacket.“

"Ah. Well, if–”

“Come with me.” Trig beckoned, then walked, a little stiffly, the rest of the way to the podium.

“May I have your attention please,” he said to the crowd, his voice suddenly more resonant. "This fine gentleman helped prepare everything today, for which I am grateful, and he had an introduction all ready which he isn’t going to get to use, because he made a terrible mistake.“

Trig paused dramatically, and the audience hushed. "He let go of the microphone.”

Laughter.

“No one warned him about me, so don’t blame him. I am Not His Fault.”

Trig bowed to the presenter, who took the hint, smiled and bowed back, and left the stage. Trig moved to the podium and nodded to the audience.

“Hello, my name is Trig'anth, and I’m… old.”

Scattered laughter, quickly hushed.

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to laugh.” He raised his eyebrows. "I was a performer for a while, I spent years trying to get people to laugh at me.“

More laughter.

"That’s better. So… Being old, I’ve seen a lot of change in my life. The town where I grew up is gone. You used to be able to see some of the ruins at low tide, but not anymore. The cyclones wore them down, and the sea level is a lot higher now.”

“And I’ve done a lot of different things. I was in the military when I was a youngster. I wasn’t particularly good at my assignment, but I picked up some valuable experience.” A pause. "Most of it after I was captured.“

Trig’s voice was expressive, changing pitch and cadence for contrast and emphasis. "I spent six months in a temporary prisoner of war camp. It was thrown together in a hurry and not very well organized. I learned a lot of things that came in handy later. Because I had vivid memories of what not to do when I got put in charge of a refugee camp that started with 150 people, then kept getting bigger…”

*****

“Damn, he’s a good speaker,” said Sam. "And funny. He doesn’t sound like a politician at all–he reminds me more of George Carlin.“

Doc smiled. "Keep listening.”

*****

“…and they didn’t want me to retire the second time, either.” Trig waved a hand. "They even officially renamed the old town–where the original camp had been–'Trigtown’. Over a million people lived there by then. Six million in the metro area. But I’d finally had enough. I was getting to a certain age, and starting to slow down. I’d seen enough change, I thought. I was ready to settle in and spend my time watching my grandnieces and grandnephews grow up.“

"Then I found out the real reason I was slowing down. During the conflict in which I was captured, I had occasion to breath in quite a bit of smoke from a nasty chemical fire. I’d recovered fully from it, I thought, but medicine doesn’t stand still, they developed better tests, and a doctor gave me some bad news.”

*****

“Oof,” said Sam. "Is he making a point about the medical advances that the Grs'thnk will bring?“

"Yes,” said Doc. "But not the one you think.“

*****

"It was a long, inconvenient struggle, and I heard 'never seen that before’ from way too many smart people, but eventually they found a cure that worked, and implants to repair some of the damage,” said Trig. "I recovered. And you know where this is going, right? I’m going to say how you should never lose hope, life can still get better even when you’re old, et cetera. And that’s true. And important to keep in mind.“

He looked down without speaking for a moment.

"But it’s not the most important thing. You know what is?”

Trig looked back up with a glint in his eye.

“That was…”

He slammed his fist down on the podium and his voice boomed out:

“FIFTY!”

“SEVEN!”

“YEARS!”

“AGO!”

The was silence after the echoes died, and Trig took a deep breath.

“I was seventy. Now I’m a hundred and twenty-seven. My mind still works, I can still see, still walk, and I’ve set foot on three new worlds since I thought my life was winding down.”

“Change is coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. But you can live through a lot if you’re willing to accept it.”

He stepped to the side and bowed. "Thank you.“

Shocked silence, then tentative applause, growing to thunder.

