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“My dear, let me tell you how extremely sorry I am for all that happened to you. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure that this never happens again.”
Romon Xatier was an excellent liar, Y thought.
He was watching the interaction between the man and Ensign Peony Vale through a camera, one of many public cameras that lined most areas of the ship.
He often took time to watch through a few dozen cameras at the normal interactions and movements of people. For some time it had been essential research, learning how humans interacted in a naturalistic way. It helped him to act in a way that made them feel more at ease.
But it had become something he simply enjoyed.
He could not say he was pleased right now, however.
Ensign Vale was blushing slightly and looking downward. She seemed to believe the man, which he found disappointing.
But she did not know much about Xatier beyond this one meeting. And the man, while retaining something of his aloof, vaguely aristocratic bearing, certainly passed off his words as true.
Perhaps on some level he even believed them, and Y wondered if perhaps he was becoming a cynic. If asked to prove why he thought the man was lying, he could only have ascribed it down to a ‘feeling’. The biophysical signs existed to some degree, but were muted and muddled enough to render confidence low.
Hardly enough to write a report on.
“Thank you,” Vale told him. “I admit I’d never gone onto Gohhi, I’d heard some stories and this made them all seem true . . . but I’m glad to know there are decent people here.”
Smiling in a way that seemed at once intimate and casual, Romon leaned in, tapping his lips to her hand. “You flatter me,” he said.
A few moments later, after bidding a farewell to the smitten Ensign Vale, Xatier passed the two Response guards at the doorway and entered the brig.
“Good day to you, Romon Xatier,” Y said, not looking up. “Jan Holdur is presently asleep, but if you wish, I will rouse him for you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Xatier said. “I will simply wait.”
Y said nothing to that, merely offering a mechanical nod and continuing his work of monitoring Holdur’s restraint suit. Even in his sleep the man fought.
It did not require his full attention, but he was happy for the moment without distractions anyway.
He allowed himself a sense of glee. Romon Xatier had come back, as he had predicted.
“Would you perhaps like a refreshment while you wait?” he asked. “I imagine the Sapient Union’s chef machines will not compare to the fare you are used to, but they do make a very good Hetharian eel pate.”
Romon Xatier’s head tilted slightly. “Very well, machine. I am curious to try what your kind thinks passes as food.”
“For an appetizer we have Yangshan peaches – they may not be Norobian in taste, but I believe you will find them similar enough to be pleasing.”
This time, Romon stopped. “You seem to have a very good idea of what sort of meals I prefer, machine.”
“Yes, you frequent the restaurant Harth’s, one of the finest establishments on Gohhi, with some regularity, although only when the famed chef Haznar is present. He is famed for his Hetharian eel pate, after all.”
“My, it seems you have been paying attention. But I doubt Haznar has come onto your ship, so I do wonder if your chefs can even make the pate edible,” Xatier commented, smiling slightly.
“It is a difficult dish to make, by human standards, requiring just the right level of understanding of the eel’s biology and the chemistry of cooking to render the poisonous flesh safe to eat. This is why I had to program in the instructions myself, to my standards. I had never tried it before, but you can be certain it is safe, as I tested it repeatedly.”
He inclined his head to Xatier. “You have attempted the dish on at least three occasions, haven’t you? Though it seems you were unsatisfied with the results from the fact that the eel cannot be stored at home for more than six hours, and you ended up eating out those three nights.”
“Someone’s done their homework,” Xatier replied. “Do you truly find me that fascinating that you can devote so much time to my study?”
“Oh, you need not worry about my time being wasted,” Y replied. “This was a cursory glance of mine at the public databases. For as long as humanity has been in an information age, they still do not seem to quite grasp how informative the accumulation of such data can be.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. You believe yourself a recluse, but you do go for walks. You do look at things. You do make micro-expressions. Many things you purchase are through hidden channels, but many times their movement is open and publicly viewable. Are you ever curious how much cologne you use a day? Based on your frequency of buying your various kinds I can tell you. You used more today, as a matter of fact, and one of the kinds you use less often than others – you prefer it when meeting people you wish to manipulate, such as Ensign Vale outside. Do you feel it makes you more relatable? I am sure with your refined tastes you came to this conclusion not because you have been manipulated into that feeling but purely through your own high-class tastes.”
“So what is your point?” Romon asked him. “That we are all unwitting pawns? I find the idea that we are all aware – whether crafted indirectly, uncaringly by nature or by the calculated and thinking hands of a designer – to be the greatest lie we have ever told ourselves.”
Other Terrestrial 
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