3657/Echon II

Echon II
Date of Scene:	02 October 2020
Location:	The University of Idiocy, planet Echon.
Synopsis:	How do you deal with a society that judges you by the standards of something called 'fisk'? Keep it simple but logical and sensible? Try to be the princessier-than-thou? Try to show that they may be able to talk the hind legs off a donkey but you can talk the front legs off too? No, apparently you just Caitlin Smash.
Cast of Characters:	Donna Troy, Terry O'Neil, Caitlin Fairchild, Victor Stone

---

Donna Troy has posed:
    Lucan has been handling trade negotiations, and things seem to be going pretty well. The four Titans now have all the medical supplies they asked for and more, and most of their requests for parts have been answered too. One missing piece needed to get the shuttle craft functional is a high current regulator that isn't immediately available, but Commissar Devann has arranged a three-way barter deal for one in the next city, and it should arrive tomorrow.

    Which leaves a bit of time for investigations. As requested, Devann had put out the word and has found a historian at the local university who is willing to give the off-worlders a chance, at least.

    The cab trip to the unversity was not fun, and the driver was clearly glad to see the back of the Titans, but that's over with. The idea of another cab back is not something anyone is looking forwards to, but a hero's life is never easy.

    In the meanwhile there is the task of speaking to Academician Lohhn. Seven foot tall and looking rather like a giant stalk of silver broccoli, Lohhn is perhaps the most alien of aliens the Titans have yet to witness. He speaks in a musical, almost bell-like voice, but with the same ponderous, pompous phrasing that the four are beginning to find uncomfortably familiar. "I am Academician Lohhn. Amongst those of the Echoni who have made a study of Endovar, I am acknowledged as something of an expert; nevertheless I will warn you that even my knowledge is severely limited by the facts. Those most pertinent facts can be simply stated: Endovar is a figure of surrounded in myth. A study of his life is more a study of the anthropology of myth-making than it is of history. Nevertheless, it is a topic of endless fascination! You will undoubtedly be enlightened and enthralled by what I have to tell you. Come to my office then, and let me know of your questions."

    He leads the four through the halls of a small but lively-looking university - somewhat larger than might be expected given the size of the settlement, and of a construction and state of decoration that suggests the Echoni put considerable value in education. It's a brief walk to his office, where he sits at a desk and gestures towards chairs set out for the Titans. "A drink?" He suggests. "I have an extremely fine brandy from Caminask. A foolish and random people, but they know their spirits. Will you partake? I would be interested to hear your opinions on it."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
It was Terry who came on this expedition in lieu of Vorpal- Donna had remarked that his Cheshire cat could be rather random, and that care with words would be vital. Terry didn't have a problem with this, as his human form was uninjured, and still clad in the clothes that he wore when going to work at the Daily Planet, so he looked rather well put together.

Remembering the importance that the Echoni seem to put on titles, he is quick to introduce the party as Princess Troia, Engineers Fairchild and Stone, and he himself as Chronicler O'Neil. He does his best to match the tone while making it sound natural to him.

"We do not doubt that we shall be suitably enriched by that which you have to reveal to us, Academician Lohhn, just as we are certain to be delighted by your indutably impeccable taste in libations- we shall gladly partake of your hospitality and toast to the communion of minds."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
A doctorate in genetics and cellular biology. A certified Professional Engineer in the state of New York in Electrical and Mechanical Engineering. Minor degrees in Criminal Justice and Psychology, an IQ well into MENSA categories, and multiple patents for innovative biological and robotic applications.

And none of that is of any use to Caitlin on this wretched planet, where supercilious and expansive use of vocabulary is the best measure for 'fisk', the local version of 'street cred'.

To that end, Caitlin's opted for a relatively safe strategy: she's perfectly polite and keeps her mouth shut as much as possible unless asked a direction question. Introductions to Academician Lohn consisted of 'Such a pleasure to make your acquaintance; enthralled, I'm sure', after careful coaching from Terry, and then remaining otherwise silent unless asked a direct question. She takes a seat readily when offered after giving it a few careful probes to make sure it won't collapse under her hips when she sits.

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic is in a pretty dire mood by the time they arrive at the university. One of his legs has been refusing to work properly for most of the morning, and only by removing it entirely, giving it a minute unpowered to reset, and then reattaching it was he able to get its intermittent freezing and bursts of overextended motion under control.

Of course, this awkward and somewhat noisy process was so timed to occur in the back seat of the cab, which probably only compounded their general unfiskiness in the driver's eyes.

By the time they've been ushered into Lohhn's office, Cyborg has calculated that he is 3,189 percent done with this day, this body, and this planet, and is planning on remaining mute during the meeting. He's already tetchy just from malfunctioning, and the last thing he needs to do is let a planet full of people who remind him of some of his dad's most obnoxious personality traits goad him into saying something unwise.

Then, of course, the Academician leaps right into asking them each a specific question, and Vic takes a breath and summons his most extreme Silas parody, answering, "Indubitably, imbibing this unfamiliar libation will offer my compatriots and I the opportunity to expand our palates -- one hopes, concurrently with our understanding of the admixture of cultures in which we find ourselves adrift." Let's just hope giant sentient broccoli aren't good at parsing human tone of voice, because there's a definite twist to his tone that will make it perfectly clear to his teammates that he's making fun of the Echonite.

Donna Troy has posed:
Lohhn pours out four measures of brandy from a decorative crystal decanter and passes out the glasses. The four long, slender and tentacle-like fingers of his hand wrap around the glass and lift it to what is presumably his head. The glass disappears into the 'foliage' of silvery buds and is withdrawn a few moments later. No doubt there is a mouth in there somewhere, and Lohhn makes a pleased "aaaah".

    Donna lifts her glass and smells the drink suspicously before taking a taste. A mild look of displeasure crosses her features. "It is good to know that there are spirits that are at least drinkable in this place we find ourselves," she says. "It lacks zest and subtlty, but it is moderately palatable. Had I known we were going to fall into a black hole I would have brought a few crates of the brandy from home. The palace vitners have been making brandy for thousands of years, and you would have found a bottle or two to be most enlightening. Nevertheless, the brandy-makers on... Caminask, did you say? They must I suppose be congratulated for acheiving the acceptable in the limited circumstances they find themselves, and I have no doubt that a sentient such as yourself would avail themselves of the finest things available to them."

    Donna is apparently going for a rather different tack; it's not her diplomatic norm. There's a soft sussuration of tinkling noises from Lohhn, but he doesn't respond with any English, and nothing really indicates how he takes Donna's statement.

    "Well, to business, I suppose!" he declares. "On the matter of Endovar I will enlighten you this much; the man was a murderer and a rogue. He had a certain style of his own that has added to his myth, but ultimately he lacked any of the finer distinctions. We find him lauded amongst the seven worlds as if he were some folk-hero, but in truth it is the myths that others have dressed him in that are lauded; he gains the credit, yet it is the work of storytellers and historians that is truly being lauded. Now, with this in mind, perhaps you might enlighten me as to your own interests in the man?"

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic takes the snifter, gets a whiff of the brandy, and then takes a few modest sips, refraining from comment. Donna seems to have guessed that fisk might be a game of one-upsmanship, and is testing that hypothesis; even under normal circumstances, he would wait and see how that test played out before committing more than one of them to the tack, but frankly he is too on edge today to really get invested in trying to game the system.

Like Caitlin, he's going to sit quietly and see what the others come up with; unlike Caitlin, he's doing that to contain his own decidedly undiplomatic temper and keep them clear of the trouble he would likely cause by letting it off the leash.

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry has not had much experience with liquor outside of Colette's generous and totally illegal donations of Dom Perignon to his pantry, and the occasional wine that his mother allowed him at the dinner table throughout his early teenage years under the very sane notion that, if he got a taste of the forbidden fruit under controlled conditions, he wouldn't become an alcohol fiend upon hitting 21. After a few tastes, he raises his eyebrows.

"It's certainly... distinctive. It is a pity that at the moment we find ourselves unable to furnish you with a sample of the Queen of Heart's vintage. Fifth-dimensional wine is an experience very few are able to have, much less remember..."

He crosses his leg over his knee, leaning back on his seat. "There is, on Earth, a similar example, that of a celebrated folk hero by the name of Robin Hood of Locksley. In the common parlance of the country folk, this man became a legend of a man- complete with minstrels, men of the faith and other colorful characters in his sylvan court of Sherwood forest- none of which were, truly, based on any single historical figure. Carefully examined, the historical Robin Hood was no more than a murderous thug, and yet the myth that had been woven around the historical figure, while it did much to obfuscate the figure, could not fully truly hide it from sight. Scholars of history were able to arrive at many certitudes by examining the negative space left by the myth and turning a critical eye therein. It is my opinion that by becoming erudite in the matters of myth-making and, knowing the lore, that we may be able to arrive at certain truths. We have reason to believe that, by unearthing the truths of the man and his fate, we shall be able to unearth the location of certain historically significant locations and artefacts belonging to the gentleman in question, and in such a manner also allow us a safe conduit back home."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Yep. Donna and Terry have it wellll in hand. Caitlin pretends to sip her brandy without actually sampling it, and leans back in her chair while letting the two of them have at the more nuanced portions of the conversation. Caitlin's lips move almost invisibly, sub-vocalizing her words; a trick the Titans often play, considering how incredibly sensitive their average hearing is. For Victor, Cait's words are clear as a bell.

"In the front door, out the back wall, start running in circles until the building comes down." Caitlin pretends to sip more brandy. "We could level the place in ten minutes flat. Show 'em some 'fisk', Titan-style."

A sidelong look is shot at Vic, appealing to his good humor despite the foul mood he's clearly in.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Another wordless sound comes out of Lohnn's foliage at Terry's words, this time a soft watery burbling rather than the sharper tinkling that Donna's words had elicited. He inclines his 'head' slightly in Terry's direction.

    "You have some understanding of the type of scholarship involved I see," he says. "But I fear you find your thought-processes clouded; just as an archeologist can have their search for knowledge clouded by the glimmer of gold in a trench, so too is an understanding of what Endovar truly is clouded by the dream of white holes. My predecessor in this position made the same mistake you do; he sought to peel back the fog of legend to discover 'historical artefacts'. He succeeded in locating one of Endovar's asteroid bases, and deemed it a triumph. Absurd! It was his greatest failure. It is the fog of legends that has value, because those legends tell us of the minds of the people who speak them. He eschewed wisdom for a lump of rock. Such folly! You would do well not to follow his path."

    Donna smirks slightly and gives a dismissive shake of her head. She turns to Vic and rolls her eyes slightly, then starts examining the decorations around the room, looking thoroughly bored.

    Lohhn tinkles again, a little more vigorously this time, but again doesn't respond directly to Donna. Instead he turns his attention to Caitlin. "Curious. Your companion named you engineer, but you talk in the manner of a poet. Do you write your poems, or only perform them? A drinking companion of mine is a poet of the 'Eternal Jocularists' school. I believe she would be interested in your work."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
Terry raises an eyebrow, fishing into his satchel as he speaks, "Perhaps it is merely the purview of the exceptional to accomplish exceptional things. It was said on my world that man was not meant to fly, and those who sought to attain the flight of the birds was but a fool who would no doubt be struck down by the gods. And yet."

A slender cylinder is withdrawn from the satchel, "It is, then, perfectly understandable that some things are the fated path of the historian, and another altogether that of the explorer, one chronicles the deeds of the other." He flicks the switch on the cylinder, aiming the beam of the Unlight at his drink, "Those who come bearing artefacts are, perhaps, those touched by fate to set forth on paths that were, heretofore, barred to others. As it once was said- If thou be'st born to strange sights, things invisible to see, ride ten thousand days and nights, 'til age snow white hairs on thee..." He tilts his head, "Perhaps we ought to speak of this asteroid base and its location. You may not have considered that further legends may be buried amid the ruins, waiting to be unearthed. In dismissing such a find you are, perhaps, risking impoverishment by neglect."

He peers in Caitlin's direction, and adds, "Engineer Fairchild is a woman of deep thoughts, but she is of the kind of perspicatious mind that considers speaking only when that which is spoken is better not left unsaid. Her literary oeuvre is shared sparingly. It is a privilege to hear her speak in such a manner when she does, but it does behoove us not to be too greedy."

Victor Stone has posed:
Vic lifts his snifter up to his face again, this time to disguise a snort of laughter. Caitlin's snark seems to have just the effect she wanted: it has broken through his current frustrations to get at the amiable, quick-to-laugh man beneath. As he smirks into his glass, a light in his artificial eye flickers, repeating a short Morse code message, three times in case anyone missed the beginning: FISKVSFIST.

Despite the threat of violence underlying their teasing exchange, the moment's levity seems to bolster his mood well enough to make another conversational gambit -- partly a smokescreen to distract him from pestering Caitlin, partly a response to his scoffing at their investigation. "Far be it from any of us to impugn the dedicated scholarship of this academic community or your predecessor," he says, airily. "No doubt their faculties, and those of this isolated population, have been fully applied to the Endovar question."

"It's just that" -- he pauses, then sucks a bit of air past his tongue with a muted tetching sound -- "long experience has taught us to verify the conclusions of unfamiliar thinkers. So often a bit of seemingly minor evidence can be missed or misconstrued, spiraling into disastrous results for the overall conclusion."

He holds up one metal hand and waves it dismissively. "Not that we would ever assume such a thing of your no-doubt-illustrious predecessor. Still... it would behoove us to go over their findings ourselves. What could be less wise than to assume that a being you have never met has already exhausted an entire line of inquiry?"

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin starts turning pink at Lohhn's questions, which are either painfully condescending or malicious in their innocence. Then redder still at Terry's casual attempt to deflect the negative tally of 'Fisk', and Victor's rolling eloquence and the stultifying pontification that seems so hotly in demand on this planet.

"Doctor," she says, finally. "It's 'Doctor' Fairchild." Caitlin sets her glass aside hard enough to spill some, making angry eye contact with Lohhn. "It's not 'miss' or 'engineer' or 'consultant'. It's *Doctor*. I've spent hundreds of hours studying anatomy, physiology, chemistry, and genetics. I am certified as a professional engineer as a fellow of the Society of Professional Engineers. I've got more academic salutations than most people *dream* of getting in their lifetime."

She gets to her feet and plants two fists on Lohhn's desk, glaring at him with a week of pent-up irritation. "And just because I don't get up my own BUTT with fancy words and your stupid... FISK, everyone thinks I'm just some in-bred moron."

"I might be a poor girl from Iowa but y'know, we've got a joke where I come from." Caitlin grabs a hardened crystal off Lohhn's desk and holds it aloft in her palm, between them. "What's the three-hundred pound gorilla say?"

Fingers clench around the crystal, and it detonates into thousands of tiny, glimmering shards. "Whatever she doggone *wants* to say."

Caitlin leans forward, bulling into Lohhn's space and glaring at him angrily. "So enough of the fancy chit-chat, which I got tired of my first year of that doctoral program."

"Where. Is. Endovar's. Asteroid?"

Donna Troy has posed:
    Lohnn raises his glass and buries it in his fronds again. When it's withdrawn, it is significantly less full. He emits a soft rumbling sound, and his fronds wave in Victor's direction. "All thinkers are unfamiliar unless one is a telepath," he states. There is a shift in his tone of voice, but it's hard to place what it might indicate, and the lack of facial expressions to read hardly helps. "Thus what makes a thinker unfamiliar is one's own ignorance. Ignorance should not be flaunted as a virtue! The sophisticated mind should be able to determine from the modes and phases of another's address a sufficiency of confidence in their thoughts. It's a valuable skill."

    The tentacle-like fingers play with his glass. Although he shows some curiosity at Terry's unlight, his manner is shifting and he seems somewhat bored now. "You might as well ask about the composition of the paper a novel is printed on, or discuss the canvas an artwork is painted on. These questions are tiresome and miss the point."

    The no doubt carefully cultivated sense of ennui is shattered by Caitlin's far more forthright actions, and as the crystal shatters, Lohhn scoots back in his chair. Donna gives an amused snort. "Oh you've done it now, Academician Lohhn. You've bored the poet senseless, and she's decided not to put up with it any more. She's tired of your voice, and so am I. So here's the deal. Answer the question and we'll go away, then you can pretend you never met us, and we can pretend we never met you, and everyone will be happier. "

    Lohhn emits a high, fluting whistle, his fronds shaking furiously, but after a few moments he subsides and his shoulders sink. "There is little to say that isn't in any common telling of the legend," admits finally. "He had eight asteroids he used as bases; everyone knows this. Seven were hideaways, hollowed out, for the Beating Heart to scamper away to. The eighth was his own private hideaway which he never allowed his own crew to enter. My predecessor found one of them. It contained mundanities; living quarters for fifty or so people, which matches the legends. Maintenance equipment. Supplies long rotted. Nothing worth consideration. No treasures, no white holes. And there you have it. If you have no interest in mythopoeics, you have little need of my expertise; I can tell you no more of the mundane."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
The redhead smirks for a second as the Unlight goes back into the bag, and a small mirror comes out. A muttered phrase later is accompanied by a multicolor display, that leaves behind the Cheshire cat looking rather pleased with himself. There is a brief glance to Caitlin, a grateful expression to the one who had delivered him from the obligation of playing by the rules.

"Perhaps you may not, but the ghost of your predecessor just might. I find it very hard to think that he wouldn't have kept notes of his findings, including a meticulous note of the location. As the Princess has said, the sooner we have the information, the sooner the Doctor can practice her poetry elsewhere."

And then he grins.

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
"The next sentient who uses any type of phrase like 'common knowledge' or anything *close* to 'apocrypha' is going to get thrown into low orbit," Caitlin informs Lohhn through gritted teeth. "I want data. Hard factual data. Notes. You think I don't know academia? I want every iota of information you have," she informs him. "Dates, times, grid coordinates, locational information. Everything. I don't care how mundane it is."

She leans over the desk a bit more. "You've got ten minutes to get every intern and assistant you have here and turning over every *scrap* of information you have on Endovar and his travels. I don't completely have a handle on what this stupid 'fisk' thing is," she informs Lohhn, "but I know one thing for sure: how to tank an academic reputation. And I'll take both of yours with me when I leave this planet, unless you come up with what we want."

"Now."

Victor Stone has posed:
"Bored the /doctor/ senseless," Vic corrects Donna quietly. He raises his glass to Caitlin with a slight smirk, then sets it down on the table and forgets it exists. "Nothing wrong with mythopoeia, so long as you don't let yourself lose sight of, y'know, actual people," he says, eyeing Lohhn for a second before tapping out a little sequence of commands on his left arm's touchscreen. He'll be ready to record anything Lohhn gives them, hopefully in whatever form he provides it.

Donna Troy has posed:
    Lohnn flutes more, fronds waving in protest. "I do not keep my predecessors records!" he objects to Vorpal. "Ask his family! If they did not have the sense to burn them out of sheer embarrassment! The man was a fool, and his research of value only to fools! I answered your questions, now leave me alone!"

    Donna stands up, leans her hands on the desk and stares at Lohnn for a few moments. Then she straightens up and puts a hand gently on Caitlin's arm. "No. No, he really is that shallow. You know academia, but you aren't taking this idiot planet into account. Real data is too 'unrefined' for them, too lacking in style and panache. Isn't that right, Lohnn?"

    The alien starts to say something, but Donna's not finished. "Oh I see where you're coming from. You all decided that what drags a society down is undeserved credit. People who's standing comes from birth, or luck, or whatever, rather than their own achievements. So social standing comes from continually striving to prove yourselves and your achievments, and you've ritualized that so much that 'fisk' has become the ends instead of the means. Raw data is too dangerous, because it can disprove your hypothesis and damage your fisk. You're far more interested in abstractions discussed in the most inscrutable fashion you can come up with so that nobody can ever call you on your bullshit, and a better researcher can never damage your 'fisk'. Your society has lost any sense of the value of real knowledge, and is heading towards a decadent dead end. In short, you're all idiots."

    Lohhn bristles, then deflates. He makes a soft sussuration in his fronds. "That's unfair. You think in terms of the universe outside. This place is so limited, and there are so few of us. Perhaps it is true that fisk is a somewhat... self referential system. But it is a form of meritocracy, and it makes us happy. Nevertheless... perhaps there is truth in what you say, Engineer Victor. Perhaps we do lose sigh of 'actual people' as you put it."

    "Go. Please, go. Leave me. You have ruined my day. If you promise to go away and never seek me out again, I will do what I can to find any records that might be in some dusty corner and send them to your ship. Just leave me alone."

Terry O'Neil has posed:
"Oh, we are familiar with this type of self-referencing that leaves you quite happy at the end. But when they do it in public back home, they usually get arrested for indecent exposure." The Cheshire stands up, dusting himself off as if afraid that he would carry something away with him. "You have your deal, but the deal is on our terms. You have one day cycle to give us the information. Or we'll be back. And the Doctor might approach some of your colleagues in her inimitable style... saying, of course, that she was referenced to them by you."

He snaps his fingers, and a Rabbit Hole opens right then and there. There will be no need for cab rides. He gestures to his team-mates to step through.

"And as you can see, us using doors is merely an... academic courtesy."

Caitlin Fairchild has posed:
Caitlin straightens and gives Lohhn a look of supreme contempt. There's nothing haughty or superior about it. It's a withering condemnation of everything Lohhn stands for. "Look at you. Standing on the shoulders of giants for no better reason than making yourself look good. You're no scholar. You're all the worst parts of academia. Shame on you."

Caitlin slaps a palm down on the desk, one last expression of anger. "Shame!" The entire desk jump and rattles, sending bric-a-brac everywhere. With one more furious glare, she turns and strides through Terry's portal without another look back.

Victor Stone has posed:
"Fortunately, my day was already in the crapper," Vic answers with a shrug. "So this interaction didn't really have much of an effect. Still..." He inclines his head toward Caitlin and finishes, "Glad it didn't last any longer than it had to." He stands and moves toward the rabbit hole, although that misbehaving leg starts freezing again as he walks, leaving his gait a bit lopsided. Not quite the badass stride away from an explosion that one might have hoped for, but it'll do.