Tales From the Terran Republic - Chapter 304: Chapter Humanity's Golden Rule

“Coals blaze and kettle boil…” a Fulth, his thick shell adorned with numerous multicolored and holographic staple-like bars as he peered at a round bottom flask connected to a fractional distillation column.

An oval doorway slid aside as a “proper” Fluth, his shell neatly lacquered and bearing the well-disguised ridges of decades of hard use, trundled in.

“How is that bizarre contraption working?” it asked the… um… “chemist”.

“Like a lullaby from the fog,” the chemist wearing the markings of a rather notorious street gang replied. “By the Fields, I love the Terrans.”

“And those… angular mating surfaces offer a sufficient seal?”

“With a little dab of grease… or sulfuric acid they…”

“Sulfuric acid?!?” the proper Fulth gurgled through his five nostriled nosemouth. “Now I know you are having sport with me.”

“I swear by the five rays of the morning,” the chemist replied. “The Terrans seal the joints with sulfuric acid at high temperatures. I tried it just to try it and it worked great.”

“Leave it to the Terrans,” the lacquered Fulth said as he extended his long tail and scratched at his broad, flat head. “So, how will it scale?”

“Oh, this is just lab equipment. It is sufficient for small quantities or research… or what I used to do…”

“(snort) used to…”

“Hey, with the Humans out of the picture, things are hard for a scuttle out there. That’s where we got all of our precursors for movealong, snot, and tippytap. The market is drying up hard, shoeshine.”

“You got the precursors from them?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I wasn’t with drug enforcement,” the shiny Fulth replied. “I only know about movealong from university, and once was enough I assure you. I thought I was going to die.”

“Quality was a lot worse before the Belters,” the chemist said as he looked at a temperature display. “Hopefully, these Terran toys will prevent that… or we can line up a new source of caffeine. I do not want to have to go back to how the revered gangsters did it back when your shell was new.”

“Hi guys!” an excited voice called as another lacquered Fulth with the smooth shell of a much younger adult scuttled into the room in a most indecorous fashion. “Ooo! What is that?”

“Just some basic chemical apparatus,” the chemist replied, his beak-like mouth parting slightly in a smirk.

“What are you doing with it? Making drugs?”

“Are you paying me to make drugs?” the chemist chuckled. “Actually, I am trying to distill Federation hull paint stripper into its various components and then using them to synthesize a few completely legitimate products.”

“Why?”

“Because it is a way to obtain some rather notable compounds cheaply, at a high volume, and most importantly, invisibly,” the older shineshell said with a slightly indulgent tone.

“We can get some very interesting stuff out of that hull wash,” the chemist replied, “We do something similar with… um… other things to get pure solvents, acids, and stuff like that under the scanner. It’s the same thing.”

“Neat!”

“Very,” the chemist replied distantly as he made a dissatisfied clicking sound and peeled back the metallic foil surrounding the distillation column and examined it unhappily.

“Problem?” the more senior shineshell asked.

“Temperature is rising, and our yield is…”

“Ooo! What is that?” the younger glossy Fulth asked as he gazed at the distillation column.

The chemist let out a long low snort, their version of a sigh.

“It’s a fractional distillation column.”

“I never saw anything like that in school, and I took chemistry!”

“That’s because it isn’t Fulthan. It’s Terran.”

“It’s Terran? Like the Terrans, Terrans?”

“There are others?” the older Fulth chuckled, “Fog cloak us.”

“That’s the ones,” the chemist replied.

“Did you get from Sol?” the young shiny asked and then his voice dropped to a whisper, “or the Forsaken?”

“Neither,” the chemist replied. “We made it here. We just got the designs and a very nice recipe for the glass from them.”

“You are in communication with the (whisper) Terrans?”

“It is a matter of utmost secrecy,” the older Fulth said quietly, “but, yes, we have made contact with them, and they are assisting us.”

“But we’re Federation,” the young shineshell replied, his black eyes gleaming with surprise. “I thought we were enemies.”

“They are enemies of the Federation,” the older Fulth said, “But assisting those in need, especially ones chafing under the burden of said enemy is a deeply held maxim of theirs.”

“They have maxims?”

“Of course, they do. Maxims are what define a people and are the foundation of a stable society. The Terrans have codes and rules that define them, many of them in fact.”

“They do?”

“Certainly. And one of their most important maxims involves what they call ‘underdogs,’ their term for sliptails. Have you not heard of how their people rushed to the Empire’s aid, unbidden and against their own government’s wishes? It is the stuff of legend, like the procession of flames from our own history.”

“Wow!”

“On their system’s internet, they have detailed records in accordance with this maxim, their thirty-fourth.”

“No way!”

The chemist started shaking slightly as he clamped his beak-like mouth firmly shut.

“Not only do they have records and files to aid us, they have even gone so far as to have already provided very valuable information on not only this ‘lab glass’ but many other things besides. They have gone as far as, completely unbidden by us, to have pre-assessed our race and have material specifically concerning us.”

“That is amazing!”

“You have no idea,” the older Fulth said smoothly, “See for yourself. Access a terminal and search the Terran web for ‘Fulth Rule 34’. You will find a truly astonishing amount of beak-dropping things… I truly could not believe what I beheld.”

“I’ll… I’ll do that right now!”

“You do that,” the old shineshell smiled warmly as if he was smiling at one of his own children.

With a delighted chirp, the young shineshell scuttled off.

The chemist burst into laughter.

“You are going to thirst for all eternity on the fields of sorrow for that.”

“And you shall dine on ash with me,” the old shineshell snorted. “You didn’t stop him.”

“You know what?” the chemist said, “I’m finally starting to like your glossy husk.”