Tiera's Earth (Andromeda 9 Book 1)

by Ethan T. Marston

  The professor nodded.

  “Well, the process sounded incredibly interesting,” Tiera lied, “so I looked for it in the assigned readings and saw that it’s always the third Tuesday of the month, and I read about the screening process to petition. But I was surprised I couldn’t find any information on how citizens who live on planets other than Origin can petition Parliament.” Tiera was careful to keep herself separate from the petitioning process in this explanation—she didn’t want Professor Rasen to suspect this was anything other than an academic question. “If you, for example, wanted to raise a concern directly to Parliament, how would you do it?”

  “That’s a good question! Sometimes we just assume that every student knows these things, don’t we?” Professor Rasen scratched his facial hair before continuing—he was the only man Tiera had seen on this planet with mutton chops, so she was pretty sure it wasn’t a popular style. “You see, the other planets have to petition their local leadership, and serious concerns may be conveyed to Parliament, but it doesn’t often go that far.”

  “So there’s no way you, a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in the galaxy, could petition Parliament directly?” Tiera didn’t think she was laying it on too thick, but she second-guessed herself when the pasty white of Professor Rasen’s face flushed to a deep red.

  “Well,” he smiled, “of course I could get special permission—there are other routes for the affluent and prestigious after all.”

  “Special permission?”

  “Well, you need a sponsor from Origin—or even an influential politician or government official from your own planet will do in many cases—who is willing to put you through the screening process.” Professor Rasen got a misty look in his eyes. “I still remember my visit to Nov Nasim—Origin’s capital,” he added, looking down at Tiera. “I presented my research on adjustments that could be made to Zura’s political system to quell certain . . . disagreements among its leaders. Parliament ultimately decided against implementing my changes,” Professor Rasen admitted, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “But the visit was still marvelous. Simply marvelous.”

  “That’s great,” Tiera said with a smile. She was determined to make this conversation as short as possible. “Thanks for speaking with me—I need to go meet a friend for lunch now though, so I’ll see you next week!”

  “My pleasure. Have a good weekend!”

  Tiera ran up the stairs and past the rows of risers that filled the lecture hall, stepping through the patterns of shadow and sunlight that the tall windows formed on the crystalline cement. It was a little after noon—or just “12” as they said here—and she was supposed to meet Daven at a Rencinite restaurant called The Equator at 12:30. Tiera figured the car ride itself would take about 15 minutes, so she needed to hurry.

  During her first week of class, Tiera and Daven didn’t have a set time for their legally mandatory catching up, so she wound up seeing him at sporadic times and random places—and that just didn’t work for either of them. But since Tiera always had a free lunch hour and Daven loved buying her things so much, they just decided they’d eat lunch together every day. It had been about a month since they started that tradition, and so far it was working great.

  Taking long strides as she hailed a car on her smart glass, Tiera made her way through the university’s enclosed walkways and toward the large car port that the University of Humanities shared with the Technological University. It was a convenient three blocks away from her apartment at Dawning Court as well, so Tiera hardly ever had a car pick her up from home—she had never really timed it, but she felt like walking straight to the port was faster.

  Reaching the university’s eastern exit, Tiera held her smart glass up to her eyes and looked at the row of cars parked and waiting at the busy car port, and one near the end of row flashed blue. That’s mine! Tiera started jogging toward it, but she stopped when she saw a figure with a familiar cardigan and a wavy black bob.

  “Xana?”

  Xana turned around at the sound of her name. “Oh! Hi, Tiera. You aren’t headed home, are you? Getting a car would be pretty lazy considering we live so close.”

  Tiera laughed. “No, I’m headed downtown for lunch with Daven. We’re going to The Equator—the restaurant, not Faroa’s actual equator.” She added that last part quickly when she saw Xana’s confused look. “Where are you headed?”

  “Lunch. I haven’t decided where though.” Xana looked down at the smart glass in her hand.

  “Why don’t you come have lunch with me then? I already have a car and everything.” Tiera looked through her smart glass again to double check before pointing at the car she had hailed.

  “Okay. Daven probably won’t like that I’m there.” Xana said that more like it was a fact than an excuse not to go.

  “He’ll get over it,” Tiera said simply, and she led Xana to the waiting car.

  They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes late. So, after walking into the reception area, Tiera asked the maître d if Daven had already arrived.

  “Yes, he told me to expect you soon.” The woman smiled then turned her head to look at Xana. “But he only reserved a table for two. Did you have a reservation as well, ma’am?”

  Tiera noticed that the maître d actually had a full head of hair, though it was pulled back into a tight and ornamented black bun. Interesting. Is that a Rencin thing?

  “I’ll make one now—my name is Xana Seeli. Just put an extra chair at their table,” Xana said, nodding toward Tiera.

  “Seeli?” The woman raised her eyebrows. “Like Pit Seeli?”

  “That’s my father, so yes.”

  “Alright—right this way.” The maître d, her backless, scarlet dress swaying with every step, led them into the main part of the restaurant.

  Tiera couldn’t help but look around—many of the walls, which she expected to be white, were lit up with churning patterns of reds, oranges, and yellows. Palm ferns and other tropical-looking plants were interspersed among the bare-wood tables and chairs, so Tiera got the feeling she had just walked into some sort of volcanic sauna—but without the heat. All of the tables were filled as well, which made Tiera wonder how easy it should have been for Xana to just make a reservation like that.

  “Xana? How did she know your dad’s name?” Tiera asked in a low voice as they followed the maître d to the back of the restaurant.

  “He’s a public servant,” she said, shrugging and looking at the dangerously pink flowers that bloomed from the climbing vine that covered the wall they were currently passing.

  “I remember that much. But what kind of—?”

  “Here we are!” The maître d pulled an unused chair from their neighbors’ table, muttering an apologetic “excuse me” as she did so, and placed it at a small, round table with one occupant: Daven. “Your server will be right over with your place setting, ma’am,” the maître d told Xana, then she gave the three of them a gracious nod and hurried off.

  “Tiera!” Daven said with a smile, looking up from his smart glass. “And . . . Xana!” His enthusiasm for Xana was noticeably forced. “I had just started to look at the menu,” he said, waving his smart glass.

  “Sorry I’m—we’re—late. I had to stay after class for a few minutes to talk to my professor.” Tiera sat down and watched her smart glass connect automatically to the restaurant’s interface, displaying the menu. “I figured it would be okay to bring Xana, since you invite Darshy and Byrani pretty regularly.” Tiera knew this was different, of course. She considered Darshy and Byrani—well, mostly just Darshy—her own good friends at this point, and she knew for a fact that Daven disliked Xana. Tiera pretended not to notice that Daven was frowning and engrossed herself in the restaurant’s menu. From what she could tell, the dish descriptions seemed like a cross between Indian and Mexican cuisine. Xana scooted in and read the menu from Tiera’s smart glass as well.

  Daven cleared his throat, and Tiera took a deep breath, then looked up from
the menu—but Xana went right on reading. “Will I be—uh,” Daven attempted. “Will I be paying for you too, Xana?”

  “Are you offering?” Xana asked without taking her eyes off the menu.

  “Well—not exactly. I’ll be paying for Tiera, so I was just wondering if you needed me to pay for you as well, so I could—”

  “Why would you think I might need you to pay for me?” Xana finally looked up at Daven. Tiera could tell Xana’s question was a genuine one, but for someone who didn’t know her well it might have come off as abrasive.

  “I . . . well, I—” Daven stammered. “I thought that because you lived in subsidized housing, you might not have the—uh—the means to—”

  “Oh! No. I live at Dawning Court because I’m frugal, not because I’m poor,” Xana explained matter-of-factly, then looked back down at Tiera’s smart glass.

  Tiera let out a loud laugh—which she quickly tried to turn into a cough—when she saw how red Daven’s face was after Xana’s accidental diss.

  “Are you sick? I don’t want to get sick too.” Xana looked up again to study Tiera’s face, which made Tiera want to laugh even more.

  “I feel fine,” she said, her voice strained. “I just choked on some spit or something—don’t worry.” Tiera tried not to look at Daven’s face—she knew if she did she’d laugh again, and then Xana would insist she see a physician before they go home. Tiera returned her attention to the menu.

  Before long they had each placed their orders on their smart glasses, and soon after that they were all digging into their food. Tiera had chosen what looked like a chicken enchilada, but the sauce and spices were much more oriental—she was sure she could taste curry and cardamom. Daven and Xana had both gone with what looked like a burrito, but Tiera figured it couldn’t be as simple as that.

  “So Daven,” Tiera began, taking a drink of guava juice, “have you ever been to Nov Nasim? The capital of Origin? I was just talking about it with a professor today.”

  “There’s only one Nov Nasim, Tiera—you don’t have to clarify that it’s the capital,” Daven said with a smile.

  “Well I figured there might be more, considering we’re talking about eight planets,” Tiera defended herself. “I mean, there are at least half a dozen Springfields in the United States, and that’s not even an entire continent. Anyway,” Tiera shook her head as if it would clear Daven’s condescending comment from her thoughts, “have you been there or not?”

  “Not exactly.” Daven looked embarrassed at something as he shoved another bite of burrito into his mouth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Daven took a moment to swallow, “my mother has been plenty of times, but I never went personally.”

  “So no, you haven’t.” Why didn’t you just say that? Tiera thought it might be a cultural thing, but it seemed silly nonetheless.

  “Going to Origin is something of a status symbol here,” Xana chimed in, setting her fork on her plate. “So people from wealthy families don’t like to admit if they’ve never been.”

  Tiera was surprised that Xana was able to guess what she was thinking—she was usually so literal. I guess she’s talked to me every day for the past month though, so that probably helps. Tiera looked from Xana to Daven, who looked pretty irked that he had been called out like that. Then she had an idea.

  “You haven’t been to Nov Nasim, have you Xana?” Professor Rasen said that a politician or official could get you to Parliament, and if her dad’s a “public servant” . . . Tiera looked at Xana expectantly, and Daven sniffed.

  “I’ve been a few times, yeah. The people there are kind of dumb though—you probably wouldn’t like it.” Xana picked up her fork and took another bite.

  “What!” Daven got a few dirty looks from people at nearby tables, so he dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “How did you get in?!”

  “My dad has meetings there a lot, so he used to bring me before I didn’t want to go anymore.” Xana said it so casually that Tiera wondered if Daven’s head might explode.

  “Her dad is Pit Seeli,” Tiera told Daven, wondering if he would recognize the name.

  “You’re lying. This is a joke.” Daven sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, looking from Tiera to Xana and back. “Okay, you win. I’m a prude, I care about status, ha ha—let’s get back to lunch then.”

  “Why do you think we’re lying?” Tiera asked.

  “Are you serious? Or do you not know who Pit Seeli is?”

  Tiera rolled her eyes and matched his tone. “Do you not know who Barack Obama is?”

  “Barack—oh. That’s an Earth person. Touché.” Daven leaned forward. “Pit Seeli is a member of Faroa’s Planetary Council. He interacts with Origin officials on a daily basis. He’s also remarkably blond with a proud Zuran ancestry, and you,” Daven gestured at Xana, “are the epitome of all things Faroan—except for the haircut.”

  “So is my mother: his wife,” Xana said flatly. “Don’t they teach genetics in Fugonian schools? Or did you only get into the Technological University because of your family?”

  That sass was definitely intentional. Tiera had to admit she was surprised about Xana’s father too, but Daven seemed to be a lot angrier about it. “Hey guys, let’s calm it down, okay? Daven was just surprised, and I’m sure Xana has to deal with reactions like this more often than she likes, right?” Xana shrugged and scooped another forkful of burrito into her mouth, and Daven just stared sullenly at his plate.

  After a long and awkward moment of silence, Tiera sighed. “Don’t either of you want to know why I asked?”

  Daven’s eyes shot up, his eyebrows together, and Xana turned toward Tiera and asked through a half-chewed bite, “Why?”

  “I need someone to put me through the Parliament screening process.” Xana raised her eyebrows with interest, and Daven opened his mouth in protest, but Tiera kept going. “I’m going to petition Parliament to spare Earth.”

  Chapter 14

  Tiera sat on a bench just outside of Dr. Chis’s office, studying as she waited her turn to enter. At least, she was trying to study. She stared at her smart glass, which she had expanded to make reading easier, but she had stopped processing what she was reading a while ago.

  What will he say? Tiera wondered for the third time that minute. As soon as Tiera had divulged her plans yesterday, Xana had volunteered to ask her dad to put Tiera through the screening process. Xana was pretty confident he’d agree, but Tiera wasn’t so sure. And Daven didn’t exactly help in that regard.

  Daven’s comment played through her head again: Tiera, whether or not it’s your fault, you’re associated with insurrectionists now. I don’t think this is really possible—and not just because of security reasons. Even Yematoro ran into road blocks when it came to Parliament, and he’s—he was—pretty widely respected.

  Tiera sighed and rested her head against the wall behind her. I need to study. I only have a few more minutes before it’s my turn. She returned to her notes about Gemis, but it wasn’t long before she was thinking about the meeting with Leon that she had that evening. What if he won’t let me leave? I can’t exactly leave Faroa if he doesn’t remove my travel restrictions.

  A whisper of a breeze passed by Tiera as Dr. Chis’s door slid open, and a girl with wave patterns shaved into her seafoam green hair stepped out. Tiera had sat next to her in class once and they had talked about genetic hair dyes, since Tiera had to figure out how to keep the golden blond in her hair sooner or later. She couldn’t remember the girl’s name though.

  “Good luck,” the seafoam girl said with a smile.

  “Thanks!” Tiera smiled back, then gathered her things and entered Dr. Chis’s office.

  Her office was almost exactly the same as the office Tiera had lived in for three days as she mentally absorbed the Original language, except instead of maroon decorations and upholstery they were all cobalt. It seemed each university decorated all of its professors’ offices with their school color: the
Technological University’s was maroon, and the University of Humanities’s was cobalt.

  “Please, have a seat,” Dr. Chis told Tiera, gesturing to the seat opposite her desk without looking up from her tablet-sized smart glass. Dr. Chis’s hair was positively yellow—not blond—and apparently it was natural too. It topped her pointy face in a hairstyle that reminded Tiera of an acorn, but nobody seemed to think it was weird. They just marveled about how Dr. Chis was from Origin, and how she had lived between Origin and Faroa for most of her life. Tiera sat for a moment or two and watched as Dr. Chis made a few notes on her tablet before finally looking up.

  “Tiera Jasperson!” Dr. Chis said, looking up from her desk with a smile. “How are you?”

  “I’m pretty good—just a little nervous about this test.” Tiera smiled back.

  “Oh it’s not a test, sweetheart—it’s an oral examination. Nothing to worry about!”

  “Right.” Tiera nodded, but she didn’t really catch the distinction. Maybe “examination” means something different in Original.

  “Now,” Dr. Chis began, “considering your limited experience with our galaxy, I thought we’d go about this a bit differently than how I’m doing it with the others. I want to give you points for general knowledge about each of the planets in our government, as well as their roles in interplanetary trade. Please go over the planets in chronological order of discovery. Begin whenever you’re ready.” Dr. Chis never stopped smiling through all of this.

  “Alright,” Tiera said with a nod. “So Origin is first, obviously. It’s the governing planet—based on the Origin Right—so it coordinates trade and planetary specialization, and it houses major governmental agencies to do that. Its capital is Nov Nasim, it has a huge market for the arts and entertainment, and—uh,” Tiera tried to think of anything else she knew about Origin, but her mind went blank.

  “I’ll move on to the next one then: Faroa.” Tiera looked around—since she was on Faroa maybe it would give her clues. “Faroa was the first planet to be colonized by Origin, and unlike many of the other planets it was mostly inhospitable when the settlers got here. That’s why Faroa deals mostly in science, industry, and education—most of it wasn’t easily terraformed, so it was kind of useless for agriculture.” She tried to think of anything else she knew about Faroa. “Faroa doesn’t have a moon either.” Tiera winced, realizing that last part probably sounded dumb and childish, but Dr. Chis just kept smiling.