Chapter 16: Exhibition

“You seem tired,” Selkie said as he set David’s breakfast down on the desk. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I guess I just didn’t sleep so good,” he replied as he dipped a hand into one of the open packages. “Selkie, I’ve been wondering about something.”

The Broker settled onto his tentacles in an unspoken gesture for him to continue, watching him take a bite of a piece of crab meat.

“You talked to me before about the Reclamation – when the Brokers recaptured their lost colonies from the Bugs with the help of the Krell.”

“Yes, it took almost six-thousand Mountains,” Selkie replied.

“I was wondering,” he continued, pausing to examine his meal as he considered the best way to broach the subject. “Presumably, you had a lot of colonies at that point. Do any Brokers still live on them? Were they recolonized after the Bugs were exterminated?”

“From what I remember of my historical studies, the outlying colonies were all abandoned,” Selkie replied as his mantle furrowed pensively. “They were spread very sparsely due to the rare nature of planets with ideal conditions for habitation, and many were deep inside what we would now consider to be insect space. My people have never been very numerous, and the majority of the population was evacuated to the safety of the home system. I hear of PMCs and prospectors operating that far out, but it is very dangerous territory.”

“I see,” David mused, taking another bite of his breakfast. “Just seems kind of odd to fight so hard to retake them, only to later abandon them.”

“There was also the issue of the hives present on those worlds,” Selkie added. “They propagate ceaselessly and would invariably spread throughout the local star systems.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Why the sudden interest?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“Just something I was thinking about,” David replied evasively. “So, what’s on the docket for today? By that, I mean, what are we doing?”

“Well, I have been thinking about your frequently expressed desire to get out of the house,” Selkie replied. “If we manage our time efficiently, we should be able to visit a few places of note inside the city before and after our work at the facility.”

“I was wondering why you had me up so damned early,” David chuckled, his mood lightening a little. “I take it you have something in mind?”

“You seem interested in Broker history, and there is no danger in revealing our past to you. I thought that we might visit a museum collection. Events that happened before we were even spacefaring have no bearing on the present security situation.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to see things my way,” David replied, taking a satisfied bite.

“As long as we visit at unconventional hours, there should be few other visitors to disturb.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste any time,” he said, unceremoniously downing another piece of sushi. “Lead the way!”

Their shuttle coasted into the docking bay of one of the chimney-like towers that made up the city, sliding to a stop in a recessed boarding platform. They stepped out – Selkie reassuring David that he could leave his laptop in the shuttle – and headed into the building proper. As well as being residential structures, there was so much room inside them for all kinds of other uses. Much like the skyscrapers in the cities back home, they contained everything from restaurants and grocery stores to art galleries and infirmaries. The Brokers didn’t like leaving their apartments if it could be avoided, and if it couldn’t, they didn’t like to travel very far.

As they walked down a corridor with a large fish tank on the ceiling, David noted that a lot of the markings and lettering on the walls were different colors to those that he had seen elsewhere. Perhaps the buildings were color-coded? There were murals, too, featuring heavily stylized depictions of corals. It looked like abstract art – maybe this building hosted a gallery.

They swam up another of the open elevator shafts, rising a few stories, David starting to pant as he bounded from wall to wall. When they arrived at their destination, he took a few moments to catch his breath, seeing that he was standing in some kind of lobby.

The room was all sterile white, just like everywhere else, but the geometry was smoothed out with gentle curves that eliminated any right angles. To his left was a reception desk that was extruded from the polished floor, sporting the same fluid design language. It kind of looked like a giant toilet bowl, but he kept that observation to himself. There were black elements that framed the robotic secretary that was standing behind it, the construct peering at them with its dark facsimiles of eyes. As they approached, it seemed to bow its head in deference, raising a segmented tentacle in shining chrome to gesture at a holographic display that flared to life beside it.

David couldn’t understand what it said, but the translation software that he had surreptitiously installed on his suit’s computer displayed English letters over the text, revealing it to be a kind of museum itinerary. They expected payment, of course. Public museums likely weren’t a thing for the Brokers.

Selkie flashed his hand over the desk to pay the fee, then a door at the far end of the lobby slid open, the robot gesturing for them to proceed politely.

“There is an option for a guided tour, but you cannot speak the language,” Selkie said apologetically.

“I’d rather have you be my tour guide,” David replied, stopping just short of giving the Broker a nudge that he likely wouldn’t appreciate.

“I can read the displays to you, if nothing else.”

As they made their way through, David noted that Selkie was sticking pretty close to him. Brokers usually maintained a distance between one another – at least arm’s reach – but the alien seemed content to slither along beside him now.

Another short corridor opened up into a much larger room with a domed roof the size of an auditorium rising high above his head. The circular space was lined with exhibits, but at its center was a massive sculpture made of concentric rings, its golden plating gleaming beneath the bright lights that emanated from the ceiling above. It had to have been ten meters tall and just as wide. It was moving, the giant rings rotating around a central column, hundreds of gears turning like a Swiss watch the size of a building. It took him a moment to realize that there were golden balls on each ring and one large globe at their center. This was a model of the solar system – an old one. As he took a few steps closer, in awe of the sight, he picked out notches and reliefs that must track the Rains and Mountains and phases.

“An orrery,” Selkie explained, delighted by his shocked expression. “Long before a Broker ever dreamt of a circuit board or a logic gate, they recorded the passage of time using mechanical devices like these. They were built by master craftspeople and treasured by their owners.”

“Is that thing gold-plated?” David asked, stepping beneath the shadow of one of the great rings. He watched a golden ball drift past, the creaking of the ancient gears resonating through the water. “That’s a lot of fucking gold.”

“The gold is necessary to prevent seawater from corroding the metal,” Selkie explained. “It is also an ostentatious show of wealth, naturally.”

“You’d have to go on land to make this,” David marveled as he craned his neck to get a better look at the mechanism. He remembered the Broker that he had seen in the opera, clad in a thick, insulating apron as he tended the fire pit. “It couldn’t have been done underwater.”

“This one is uncommonly large, but the components would have been forged and plated on land before being transported to their ultimate destination for final assembly, yes.”

“They couldn’t have achieved something like this alone,” David continued as he began to walk around the circumference of its wide pedestal. “Even if some genius craftsman was overseeing the project and handling the most technical aspects, you’d need entire teams of people to mine the ore, smelt it, hammer it all out, and plate it. You’d need an army to move all of the pieces and assemble them.”

“A project like this would have been undertaken by a wealthy individual with great resources at their disposal,” Selkie replied, following along behind him. “As you have seen at the facility, one of the best ways to motivate Brokers to be cooperative is generous pay.”

“They were also more social in the past, like in the opera,” David continued.

“Communities were stronger by necessity,” Selkie explained, watching with a smile as his ward leaned in to examine a set of exposed cogs that were all spinning at different speeds. “They clustered around resources, collaborated for protection from predators, and cooperated to plant crops and rear livestock. As our level of technology grew, it became less and less necessary.”

“Predators,” David mused, his eyes still locked on the orrery. “That’s why enclosed spaces make you feel secure – you mentioned that when we were in the relaxation booth. What the hell was eating you back then?”

“You’ll find out,” he chimed.

“You’re not planning on feeding me to sharks, I hope.”

“I do not know what sharks are, but I enjoy your company just enough to deny them a meal.”

“Just enough?” David repeated, Selkie giggling as he raised an eyebrow through his visor. The Broker must be learning David’s body language just as David was learning his. It was probably confusing at times – humans were downright obtuse compared to Brokers. Maybe he should buy a mood ring to help Selkie along.

They left the impressive construct and moved over to the periphery of the room. There were alcoves recessed in the curving wall with more exhibits, each one creating a room that was isolated from the rest of the museum. As they stepped inside, David noticed that the acoustic quality changed, too. The Brokers had likely designed them to be isolated from the cavernous atrium, being especially sensitive to sound.

This one had a long pedestal down its center, and sitting atop it was a row of several stone sculptures protected by glass panels. If he had to guess, instead of being filled with water, it was some form of inert gas similar to what he had seen in the manufacturing areas of the research facility. They were clearly extremely old and worn, like something one might find at a Sumerian dig site or an Egyptian tomb – the details and reliefs eroded by time.

Despite the damage, he could easily make out the flowing sculptures, each individual tentacle reproduced in a masterfully intricate carving. Whoever had made these had been a sculptor to rival Michelangelo, every appendage and sucker visible where the details had not been marred by erosion or damage, even the delicate frills and fins on their mantles present. In their original state, the skin had been polished to a smooth sheen, giving them an almost lifelike quality. Like many of the artifacts he had seen, they had been carved not from marble but from fossilized coral.

“The sediment actually preserves relics such as these quite well,” Selkie began as he admired one of the pieces.

“How old are these?” David asked. He could read the little holographic display that was projected onto the glass, but Selkie didn’t know that. Besides, it was kind of nice just to have the alien talk him through it.

“Sixty thousand Mountains,” Selkie replied. “Roughly thirty-four-hundred of your years.”

“That’s a lot older than I was expecting,” David marveled. “That would put these at around ... seven hundred B.C by our measurement system. That’s incredible.”

“The sculptors of the period wanted to capture the beauty of the Broker form,” Selkie said as he slithered down the row of statues. “Flowing shapes, smooth skin, flexibility and dexterity hewn into stone. Can you not almost see them moving if you stop and watch for a moment?”

David knew what he meant – the way that their winding tentacles had been reproduced guided the eye, creating a kind of optical illusion. Even their faces were full of expression – at least, those that hadn’t been damaged enough to no longer be recognizable.

“I can kind of see it,” David replied with a nod. “They’re surprisingly sensual. I always considered Brokers to be kind of prudish.”

“You find them sensual?” Selkie asked, giving him a smile.

“I mean...” David trailed off, trying to find the right words. “Maybe I meant sinuous. I just meant that celebrating the physical form like this is something we humans associate with ... you know – sexuality. The whole Renaissance era nude statue deal – leaves over the ... personal area. None of this means anything to you, does it?”

“The only conclusion I can reach is that you find these statues sensual,” the Broker replied with an amused click of his beak.

“If you had context, it would make a lot more sense,” David added as his cheeks started to flush. “How about we look at the next exhibit?”

They moved to another alcove, this one displaying ancient stone tools arranged in glass cases, many of them neolithic in their appearance. They were clearly made to be used by Broker hands, with strange, curving handles and odd shapes. It was bizarre to see something as simple and universal as a flint knife made in such an unintuitive shape. There was pottery, too – ancient ceramic jars and containers that were decorated with painted representations of Broker life in an archaic style. He leaned in to examine a few of the better-preserved artifacts, seeing a group of Brokers harvesting fruit from tall kelp stalks, more of them clustering together beneath a sea spire. There was a cracked stone tablet that was covered in text that his translator couldn’t parse – likely some ancient, forgotten script that was no longer in use.

The next exhibit featured pieces of stone taken from a sea spire, showing off the intricate carvings and reliefs that had been hewn into its walls. There was a small recreation of a doorway featuring a decorative archway that they walked beneath. It was large enough that David didn’t need to duck. Further along was a glass case filled with recreations of Broker soldiers throughout history, the pair pausing to inspect them.

The mannequins they were displayed on were quite lifelike, frozen in various positions as they held weapons in their tentacles, their skin painted with different patterns and hues. The earliest one was wearing some kind of thick apron and had a flint spear clutched in two of its hands. Perhaps this one was their equivalent of a hunter-gatherer. While none of them seemed to be wearing clothes for the purpose of modesty, this one had a kind of woven satchel draped over its shoulder for carrying items.

The next one along was very familiar – a warrior wearing armor made from crustacean shells, the same as the ones that he had seen in the opera. The individual pieces of carapace looked like they had been sourced from a variety of different crab and shrimp-like animals, forming a kind of plate armor held together with little pieces of rope that were connected to holes punched in the material. In a sense, it reminded him of the way that some species of Earth octopus would collect empty clam shells and other items to protect themselves from predators. This guy was wielding a long pike with an iron blade on the end that looked like a railway spike. That meant they had discovered metallurgy by this point in time.

The next one in the row was wearing metal armor that enclosed its torso and its mantle, leaving a kind of medieval slatted visor that exposed its face. It also had a large shield held in one pair of hands, the armor on that side of its body appearing lighter to compensate. The metal had been adorned with golden filigree more as a decorative element than as protection from corrosion, and he could see where exposure to seawater had eaten away at the material over the eons. This figure was wielding an honest-to-god rifle, the wooden stock designed to accommodate all four of its hands with shaped handholds. Without a skeleton to brace it against, controlling recoil must have been a challenge.

“It is an air gun,” Selkie explained as he read from the display, noticing David’s interest. “Note the pressurized gas canisters in his sling. The weapon was weighted to be neutrally buoyant for use underwater, and it fired a projectile akin to a streamlined bolt. The range would not have been very impressive, but it could still beat the reach of a spear.”

The next figure was wearing something far more familiar – the Brokers having clearly discovered advanced textiles by this point in their history. It looked like a chest rig secured about the torso with velcro straps, and it was fitted with several pockets that contained magazines molded from polymer or resin. They fed a rifle that looked like it could have come from twenty-first or twenty-second century Earth, designed to be wielded by a four-armed Broker. He didn’t know much about firearms, but if he had to guess, it was an automatic weapon. One of the bullets was displayed beside it – a long, needle-like projectile with a flared casing near the back. This figure was as clothed as David had ever seen a Broker, with a full-body sleeve that looked like it was made of some flexible, damage-resistant material. The mantle was protected by a large helmet that enclosed it like a peanut shell, a pair of transparent goggles covering the eyes.

It was the final part of the exhibit that surprised David the most, however. Standing behind the glass was an early version of an exosuit. It was similar to the one in which Selkie had greeted him in size and configuration, with a large, fridge-like chassis and a pair of backwards-facing mechanical legs supporting its weight. It was far less sleek, with a more bulky design, clearly made using much less advanced technology and tooling. What really set it apart was the massive gun that was mounted where the arms would usually have been on the right side. It looked like the kind of weapon that should probably be bolted onto a vehicle, the barrel-shaped magazine beneath it feeding a belt of long cone-shaped projectiles into the receiver above. On the left side was some kind of boxy launcher that looked like it probably fired missiles, and below that was a segmented arm with a manipulating claw.

“It never even occurred to me that these things could be weaponized,” he muttered.

“The use of exosuits dates back several thousand Mountains,” Selkie explained. “Obviously, we have refined the design during that time. These older versions were very bulky and unwieldy, though they did serve as a weapons platform for heavier armaments where vehicles were not practical.”

“I’ll say,” David added. “Even today, I think the average Marine would have a panic attack seeing one of these things marching towards them. Do you ... still have armed variants like this?”

“Well,” Selkie began, pausing to consider for a moment. “It is not exactly a secret, so I doubt there is any harm in telling you. Yes, they were used throughout the Reclamation, and they are still fielded by hazard teams to this day. They are more advanced and better armed than what you see here,” he added with a gesture to the old suit. “Modern variants use plasma weapons and interlinked drones, but according to the display, this one fired supercavitating bullets and guided torpedoes.”

“I thought you weren’t into military stuff?” David asked.

“This is just basic historical knowledge that we are all taught during our schooling,” Selkie replied. “I will also admit that I am ... somewhat fond of simulators – as frivolous as they may be.”

“Simulators?” David pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Like, video games?”

“Perhaps I will show you sometime.”

As they moved on to another of the exhibits, David felt a stab of primal fear, seeing a maw of giant teeth staring back at him. Sitting on a long pedestal in the middle of the room was a creature, its long, winding body tapering into a pointed snout. Like many of the fish that he had seen on this planet, it had no fins or flippers, its muscular frame lined with a frill like a cuttlefish that powered it through the water using a wave motion. It was at least the size of a Great White – maybe six meters long. Its rough hide was all shades of blue-grey, and its stripy, tiger-like patterning suggested that it must hunt in shallow water.