Pylo was terribly bored.

It was an unfortunate fact of trade that every port ultimately had a collection of drudgery required to do business. Sometimes during uplifts Pylo tried to lay the groundwork for something different to surprise or at least distract her next time she came around.

But the needs of managing and reinforcing obligations, discussing exchanges and so much more were often shrouded in layers of bureaucracy and tedium.

The time for fun and interesting new stories and interpretations was over. Now it was the cortex ossifying labor of navigating the obligatory trials and challenges to her position.

It was not always so bad to visit this particular port. Sometimes there was a trial of physical prowess that really strained and challenged her to find a way to resolve it using clever applications of talking.

But by some idiosyncrasy they as often as not would settle into these laborious and completely unstimulating ‘challenges’ as the pattern of the procession.

It was a bit refreshing to let Quarti take up the tedium herself. Although not being all that adapted to talking as a siren, Pylo had to lay the groundwork and keep a fraction of her attention on making sure things did not go completely out of control.

The first few times visiting this port she had at least been entertained by the challenge of getting the audience to hear her better.

They were in their teeming billions far outside her actual range. But she had seen plenty of examples of their neuroanatomy for generations. In addition she had already finished digesting all their present languages.

Well except a few of the secret ones, known only to the higher ups of one specific Order, that had not yet passed in range, but anyone who knew one of those would use one of the more common ones as well.

Which made the application of this little trick comparative to child's play.

Well at least adolescent sport anyway.

It had been quite difficult the first time she tried to do it and the less said about how badly she had failed then the better.

First you had to appreciate that for all their individualism and variety across the many clans, guilds, ‘nations’ , kindred, brotherhoods, sisterhoods, orders, associations, companies, leagues, convents and such there was a standard of material manufacture to every one of the people’s song casters.

Maybe not in shape, not in fine detailing of the barrels, nor even in the traces of impurities that would be impregnated through the solid hulls for any number of applications.

But the crystalline lattice of every single song caster shared a uniformity across them that absolutely sang in resonance even to an amateur in the physics such as Pylo.

There was still the standard proximity variance which would eventually overwhelm any coherence.

But the degree that one song caster would deviate from that was knowable.

Not only knowable but with a clever application of the middle-long light that the casters could be recohered with one another. Using the mechanisms they themselves used to alternatively transmit and receive their language and also align and propel themselves against the greater background field of the spires.

So it was that a much younger pylo had come upon the idea of rhyming the light interaction of an inreach song caster with that of all the song casters that received a reinforcing rhythm.

Then using that to blur the resonance a little bit stronger with all the others, and from that emulate a fraction of a further vibration to carry the subtle tones into the bodies of those hands that touched and grasped them.

Carrying vibrations through chains of well known chemical cues and then converging and reinforcing again as words, meanings, knowledge.

It let her bring her voice within a decent approximation of her intent to every single listener attending the parade.

But the issue came that once you knew the trick and had ground its execution by rote into every single fiber of your cortices the entertainment value was lost.

What’s more there had not been any notable shift in the crystal composition of the bulk metal of song casters since she first figured the trick out.

So Pylo was long since bored, practically in a total fugue performing her role.

Always be slightly that much more competent seeming then the challengers brought before her. Essay their subtle insecurities and strengths and maneuver and redress them to prove her worth.

Quarti was doing alright for the first few layers of the hierarchy of whatever master competents.

But Pylo needed to step in and bail her out more and more often. The toil seemed to be straining even that absurd Terran endurance as they moved through the procession.

Sure Quarti had not even spent the energy reserves that Pylo drew to rattle the song casters for her opening stanza.

But for a mostly pure eukaryote it was a substantial expenditure.

Poor Quarti. The effort was great for a non-siren but it was inevitable how this would end.

The masters were going to get better and cleverer and stronger and fresher then her friend as they kept going.

The dialogues ever more complex, interwoven and nuanced.

They were about a third of the way through the trials that Pylo decided she needed to let the Quarti suffer a defeat and bow out. She had done extremely well for her niche and saved Pylo an enormous amount of tedium, if not strictly speaking the energy expenditure to broadcast the performance.

She gave the old terran a gentle whisper of a cue to let her know the defeat was coming, to understand her role in it and that she needed to stop and rest with the rest of them after this.

Then she let the defeat unfold, the masters have their victory at last.

There was a quiet.

An appropriate pause.

Pylo internally counted the divergences and genetic lineages of those present. She was still too low in the hierarchy to personally know anyone here, but there were hints some of those that she had challenged were descendants of a few she had met before.

She assessed her coolant, noting her capacity and checking it against the scheduled atmospheric soaking that was due to occur when they reached the halfway point.

The Meeting Chamber enfolding all around them was now closed and the traditional sealant checks were underway.

Obscuring her friend and vessel from view to their aft.

Wrapping the procession of ‘defeated’ leaders of the clans, Pylo and the Terrans in a cocoon of fabric big enough to fit Tunie several time over.

Shading and diffusing the flaring light of the repurposed mating displays from the dragons to shine through in colorful translucency.

Well it had been refreshing to not have to do all of the trials entirely by herself but it was time to put her attention back fully to the doldrum task.

She sang a barely modified stanza uplift cache variant with proper timing adjusted and contextual associates to claim her ‘victory’ in an appropriately awe inspiring manner.

Then with this batch of ‘masters’ properly cowed the procession moved on to the next and the losers moved to take their place in the procession.

Pylo was so utterly bored.