by Ann Christy
When I first got here, I saw one go through a portal. Do you create their portals, or do they do that themselves?
The ships are fully capable of creating portals. I do not control the ships in any way once they undock.
Hub, can I see an image of the Bluriani? I mean, if they have portal capability, they’re way more advanced than any of the others here, aren’t they? I’m curious to see such an advanced species. Also, did the Bluriani have portal technology before you met them? Or did you give that to them?
For the first time, I sense hesitation in Hub and I can’t imagine why. Is it checking with yet another higher form of machine than itself? Or is Hub checking with the Bluriani for permission?
Lysa, I’ll tell you what I can. The Bluriani are the oldest sentient life form I am familiar with. Long before we transferred the dinosaurs from your planet, the Bluriani were already almost a memory. They were capable of spaceflight before I existed, yet their limitations were profound. Like you, they originated on a planet that was dynamic, volatile, conducive to the development of life, but hard on the life that developed. In many ways, humans remind me of the Bluriani, though many other species do as well. And no, portal technology was developed long after I came into existence, but I did not receive that technology from them. It was developed jointly, though that is a difficult concept to convey and be truly accurate.
There’s a certain sadness threaded through Hub’s communication. A sense of longing, perhaps even pain. Hub is artificial, but all that I’ve learned tells me that Hub is emotional. And now, I can feel it through the implant. And it doesn’t escape me that Hub is using past tense either.
And an image of them? Is that possible, Hub?
Again, there’s a slight pause. Lysa, there is no image that would properly depict the Bluriani as they are now.
What about an image from before they couldn’t be imaged? Were they ever like that?
Yes, Lysa. They were once very like you. Because you’re curious, here is an image.
What populates my view reminds me of the way I saw the dinosaur planet, but even more realistic and vivid. Before the implant, I viewed the dinosaur planet with my eyes, though it felt immersive enough even then. Now, I’m there, totally and utterly there. The experience is so strange that it takes my breath away.
In the background is some sort of city. I’m sure of that much. Viewed from the perspective a little above the creatures being shown, it feels like I’m floating a few feet off the ground. I hardly know how to describe the creatures, and my brain races to place familiar names to the unfamiliar.
There are three individuals, two large and one very small, perhaps no bigger than a five-year-old child, though it’s hard to be sure if my scale is correct. The anatomy of the creatures is profoundly different, yet they’re clearly bilaterally symmetrical—a term I’ve learned to describe beings made up of mirror image halves, like humans and Earth life in general. They have limbs, but if I had to describe the impression of their body structure, I would say they were like kangaroos standing on hind legs in form, though their body texture is different.
Behind each of them are two tails, long and strong looking. From the narrow shoulders, two horn-like protrusions appear to curve out and down their backs, though I can’t see how far. Their arms are long and slender, necks not really necks at all, and their heads are so strange that I can’t decide if head is the correct word. I think it is though. I think the ridge that bisects the top and bottom halves of their heads borders eyes of a sort I could never have imagined. The eyes—if that’s what they are—are long and narrow ovals that would extend from the side of my nose to my ear if they were put into my head. They’re shiny and dark, but I see striations of color along the top and bottom as the creatures in the image move.
One of the larger creatures picks up the small one and deftly plops it over its shoulder so that the little one slides between the two horns on its back. The little one’s long, slender fingers grip the horns, but that’s all I can see of the small one anymore.
The two large ones stand close together and even though I don’t see anything that specifically conveys emotion, there’s something in the tilt of their bodies that speaks of family, of a bond as strong as any human one. It’s possible I’m getting that from Hub, but that’s the sense I get.
The large one with the child turns around, putting its back to me. It folds both arms up by its head, as if shielding those long eyes to look at something bright in the distance, something out of my view. The child—because I’m sure that’s the creature’s child—peers out from a pouch on the larger creature’s back. It has both hands on the horns that seem to protect the pouch, curving over it in a way that’s perfect for the burden nestled there.
The other large one turns now too, standing even closer to the other than before, their bodies touching. The large legs fold and the impression of a kangaroo is reinforced in the way that happens. The strong tails appear armored and splay behind it for support. That one has shorter horns and I see no evidence of a pouch on its back.
The brightness increases suddenly and then, the image is gone. I’m jolted back to the reality of my room, the strange planet gone.
I suck in a deep breath, my mind racing. I hardly know what to say. Those were Bluriani?
As they were, yes.
Again, that thread of sadness and longing is present in Hub’s communications. I’m not sure, but my gut is telling me that there’s more here, more to know. There is loss and somehow, that loss is personal to Hub.
And I have to wonder; how can a space station experience personal loss? I aim to find out.
Twenty-Seven
Over the next week, I try not to count the number of people who have lost their chance at transfer. I try not to count the numbers of replacements that have probably died. If I didn’t push that out of my mind, then I wouldn’t be able to focus on figuring out a way to fix it.
I’m here for a reason. I know it like I know my name, and that I miss my mother so much that it hurts. Here for a reason or not, I have to play along while I search for answers. I have to act like I’m not up to anything against the rules.
Hub and Jack have conveyed that I can have a job here, just like other suitable non-transfers. And there are a whole lot of very cool jobs. I’ll admit I was surprised to learn that there are two other planets being transferred right now. Again, I had the idea that Earth was special, but apparently when there are millions of planets with life—and I’m still not cleared to know the exact number yet—in just our little, unremarkable galaxy, there will always be catastrophes happening.
Of the two others going on now, one is for non-intelligent life…at least as I would define it. That would be sort of like our dinosaurs, I suppose. One is for intelligent, but non-technological life. My current offer is to act as transfer agent, which is what Rosa was doing when I came over. I can also apprentice for the planet with intelligent life, but that would be in the control rooms rather than interacting with them. Facilitation takes a long while to train for.
But that’s not even close to the end of my possibilities. I can be a Ranger, which Hub insists on calling by the totally unromantic label of Monitor. They go out and check in on planets, drop off drones, and conduct surveys. I sort of had this idea of Hub as almost omniscient. After all, it was able to personally assess every person on Earth.
It turns out that modeling a planet is very different than modeling and monitoring a whole galaxy. Hub can only process what it knows, so ships perform scans and take closer readings all the time.
I admit, being a Ranger sounds like more fun than I’m able to resist. The downside is that the crew of each ship has to be compatible in form. I wouldn’t likely be able to stay human if I joined a crew after finishing orientation and training. That makes me feel weird, because at this point, I’ve seen a few other species and none of them are particularly attractive from my point of view.
As another bonus,
I’m now effectively immortal. That’s right, immortal. Forevermore I can be replicated to any age I’ve reached. So, if I stay as I am until I’m thirty, I can be replicated to be anything between the age I was during my first replication to that age. Hub says that it’s rare to stay in the same body for that length of time, so I shouldn’t rush deciding what I want to do. Of course, I can always change back and let my human form age any time I want, so it’s not like I only get one shot.
What that means is that I can have all the jobs given enough time. Cool factor; exceedingly high.
That did bring up the question of Jack’s age. I was really surprised by the answer. Jack’s species lives only the equivalent of fifteen to sixteen Earth years, which is four years on their planet.
A measly four years of life.
Jack had only just passed his first year of life and was still shy of adulthood when he came over. Even weirder, that was three-hundred and fourteen Earth years ago. What this means is that I get a double dose of weird. Namely, I have to deal with the notion that my boyfriend—and I think he might be becoming that—is a one-year old baby, but also a very old man with a teen girlfriend.
Yeah, try putting all that together in your head. Not easy.
He laughed so hard I thought he might pee himself when I told him the problem. Then he did his best to explain why that didn’t matter, but there’s still that slightly weird feeling. I’m dealing, though.
Kissing helps.
Today I’m back to being very nervous, sort of like I was at the beginning. Jack can tell, and after he picks me up for our trip today, his fingers twine with mine for support.
“Are you sure you want to?” he asks.
Nodding with as much certainty as I can, I say, “Yes. I need to see it for myself.”
He shrugs as we turn toward the now-familiar elevator leading to the module for Earth transfers. “Okay, but there’s not much to see. It happens faster than we can follow.”
The countdown for the elevator starts and it’s like déjà vu, only backwards. “Hub said it will slow the process, so I can see it.”
Jack’s eyebrows rise, and he looks at me with a strange expression. “It will? Wow.”
“Is that odd?” I ask.
The elevator dings and we enter, the familiar silver control surface no longer the overlooked mystery it was when I first got here. Both Jack and I communicate our destination, then grin at each other when the commands bleed through to the other. My command was less precise than Jack’s and the poor elevator has to clear up the muddle.
Once we’re moving, I wait for the view. Jack answers my earlier question while we ride. “It’s not odd, but I never got such an offer. Of course, I didn’t ask for it either.”
The galaxy comes into view and as always, I hold my breath at it. The station is so very large, the stars so very bright. The sight is overwhelming, but I can’t look away. “That will never get old,” I whisper.
Jack seems as enthralled as I am. He takes my hand again, then says, “Never. And to think, I’d never seen the sky or the stars before I came here.”
That surprises me enough to make me look away. “Never?”
He shakes his head and catches that last look outside before the elevator shaft erases the view. Then he smiles at me. “Everyone is different, right? My kind of vision wouldn’t have let me see this even if I had been able to look at it.”
More mystery. Sheesh.
We step out when the elevator pings, and I ask, “Which color?”
Bumping my shoulder with his, Jack seems proud of me when he says, “You’re really getting this!”
It turns out the color is one I don’t even have a proper name for; somewhere between red-violet and full violet. Maybe violet-with-red-hints? Is that a proper color name?
The room we’ve been assigned is exactly like the one I came through. Goosebumps rise on my arms at the memory. Rosa smiles like she’s seeing a long-lost friend when the door slides open.
Holding out her arms, she exclaims, “Oh! Lysa, you look so well!”
It feels so nice to hug her that tears sting my eyes. I barely know her, but she’s so like a kind grandmother that her hug is like a balm spread onto scraped skin. I’ve spoken to her many times over the communications and interface, but I’ve not seen her since my first day here.
“Can I say that I’ve missed you?” I ask, not letting go even to wipe my eyes. She smells like flowers and happiness.
She laughs and breaks the hug to look at me. “Of course, you can. I’ve missed you too, but I’ve been so happy to see your progress. I’m very glad you’re here.” She’s interrupted by a soft ping and a pink light that flashes three times. “Almost time. Stand over here with me.”
We do as she says and stand almost at the same spot I saw her when I came through. That feeling of déjà vu rises again. I feel shivery, a lingering memory of the nausea causing my stomach to roll a little.
From another door that I didn’t know was a door strides a man. He seems blank, not looking at us or even registering that we’re here. He walks almost mechanically toward the center of the room, then stops to stand there like a lump.
“That’s the replacement?” I ask, though I know it is. I just didn’t realize they came from this room. I had this notion that they went through someplace else.
Rosa nods and says, “Yes. He’s in a sort of non-aware state right now. That blocks memory formation, which is very important.”
The portal pops into existence so suddenly that I jump. It seems large in this room, larger even than it was in my living room on Earth. The man doesn’t so much as flinch when it appears three feet in front of him. Almost immediately, he steps through and disappears from sight.
“Now the transfer portal,” Rosa says.
Another portal opens right in front of the first, a sinuous ring of pink and purple light joining the two portals together. Then we wait for what happens next.
I jump again when Hub says, “I’m adjusting the portal for you, Lysa. That will let you see the transfer. Rosa will let you know when you can approach.”
As if to reinforce that I should wait, Rosa reaches out to grip my arm. Her touch is gentle, but still a reminder that I should stay put. A strange vibrating sensation runs through me, and Rosa stiffens next to me. Suddenly, where there was nothing except portals, there is something more. There is a person.
Rosa lets go of my arm and says, “You can look now Lysa, but not too long. This is using a great deal of energy.”
That breaks me free and I take a few steps closer to the portal. The gap is very narrow, maybe an inch, but in that inch I see the palm of a hand raised up in defense, a hint of patterned clothing, the bend of a knee. The clothes I glimpse are the same as those the replacement was wearing.
“Can I go behind it?” I ask Rosa.
She nods, but adds, “Do hurry.”
She wouldn’t say that if it weren’t important, so I do as she says and quick-step behind the portal. I can see the person perfectly now. It’s the same man, his knees a little bent and his hands up in front of him. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth open in fear.
This is a terrible thing to see. Terrible. He’s frozen, while I gawp at him like a tourist.
I run back to Rosa, shouting, “Let him go through!”
Just like that, he and his portals are gone and the sensation of something being sucked out of the room goes with it.
“Is he safe? Did he make it?” I ask, my hands clenched together at my waist. My stomach actually hurts now.
Rosa’s eyes lose focus for the briefest of seconds, then she says, “Another safe arrival! All is well.”
I let out a hard breath, so relieved to hear good news. But I know the situation isn’t that simple. Right now, he’s probably puking his guts out and so afraid that he can’t see straight. I’m still not permitted to see what happens on New Earth…perhaps I never will be allowed to. All I can do is
hope there are people there to tell him everything is okay and to make sure it really is alright.
Also, I feel happy that whoever that man is, he will now have the chance so many have missed. I hope it wasn’t too awful when he saw his replacement.
Rosa and Jack chat, doing their best to include me, but I’m only partially present. I have to struggle to keep up with the conversation. The alarm bells in my head are still screaming that there must be a better way. There has to be a better method that doesn’t cause so much paralyzing or violence-inducing fear. Or religious fanaticism. Or any of the hundred other crazy things that are happening on my planet.
Suddenly, an idea comes to me like a flash of lightning. I switch on my implant so I can think-speak without making the others listen to the conversation.
Hub, can’t you send another replacement for my mom? If I put some sort of sign or something on it, she’ll know it’s okay.
No, Lysa. While it might be possible to send a second replacement, I cannot let you interfere with the process. That would be like my interfering in the process, which is not permitted. I cannot influence the planet more than I already have. You know this.
But I’ll be doing it. You won’t.
Lysa, you have told me, which means that if I permit it, it will be me interfering.
I shouldn’t have told you.
Perhaps. If you hadn’t told me, then it would have been an exercise of your free will that did not involve me. Nevertheless, I would have known you altered the replacement and I would have had to stop the transfer.
So, there’s no way for me to get past you with the transfers.
I fear not. Free will is yours, but my processes are my responsibility. I cannot be involved or facilitate such an exercise.
Jack and Rosa are looking at me, Jack with a confused expression. They can’t hear me, I don’t think, but my frustration must be evident on my face. I hold up a hand for patience.
Okay, Hub. Thank you for letting me see this.