by TylerRose.
“Straight ahead, on the right is our version of a post office. Mail is teleported to its destination, if the person has a receiver, or to the planet and then hand delivered from there,” he informed her.
“Is there no uniform level of technology? Share and share alike, that sort of thing?”
“No. The simple fact is that some planets cannot afford to purchase the technology. If they cannot purchase it for all their major societies, then they don’t allow anyone to have it except for receiving and sending galactic mail. Reality is that those with technology are greedy and want to be paid well for it. Those who cannot afford it are not often subsidized.”
“Ah. Doesn’t sound very fair. Isn’t this supposed to be the kinder, gentler outer space? Where people share the wealth?”
“If only,” he replied with a wistful sigh. “If only.”
Turning right, they cut across a short aisle of closed stalls to the perimeter.
“Cinema, restaurant, larger banqueting halls at the far end,” he pointed, and turned them left onto the next aisle. “Are you hungry?”
“I am, rather.”
“My favorite food stall is ahead.”
Four tiny tables in front, he seated her and went to the window to order.
“It will be out in a moment,” he said, sitting opposite her.
“I should be afraid,” she said. “I don’t do exotic foods.”
“Nor do I. In anticipation of your arrival, Julian suggested a few things on the Voranian menus that you would probably like. They also happen to be things I enjoy.”
“Well that’s convenient. What type of work will I be doing, do you think?” she asked, studying his features.
Just feline enough in the face. No sideways whiskers, but his nose and mouth came together in a decidedly feline way. His fingers were tipped with strong nails that were slightly pointed. His hair was more mane-like down the back and sides of his neck, but he kept it short. His velvety skin was spotted grey and peach
“I cannot say what you’ll end up doing; but tomorrow you will begin to read policy and procedure and probably start secretarial work.”
She dropped her chin to scowl at him out the top of her eye sockets, making her the most dangerous looking female he’d seen in a long time. Not to mention the most heart-stopping beautiful.
“I only answered the question,” he smiled, looking up as their plates were brought.
A platter in the middle, with a variety of foods, and two smaller plates for dishing out to themselves. He pointed around the plate, naming items.
“All foods are native to Voran. Mild sausages on this side. Spicier on the other. You can tell the difference on sight because the mild ones are darker. The spicier take on the orange hue of the prevalent spice. Three different kinds of cheese ranging in firmness. The soft goes well spread on the herb crackers in the middle. A slice of mild sausage on that, topped with a bit of braised greens,” which he compiled and put on her plate. “Thus you have what I would consider the perfect Voranian bite.”
She picked it up, looked at it, inhaled the combination of fragrances, and took a bite. The greens had a bit of a vinegary acid to them, which cut through the fatty richness of the sausage and soft cheese. The cheese was not salty but the meat and cracker were.
“So help yourself,” he gestured as she chewed, and took a little bit of everything onto his own plate for creating his own bites.
“I saw a target practice range. What weapons?” she asked, making her second cracker.
“Mostly energy weapons. There are also handball and other gaming courts on Level 29. The station has 73 levels total, but some of them are multiple stories tall. Some of the shuttle bays are three stories. The largest ones are ten stories tall. So the entire station is 120 or so levels top to bottom.”
“Do all the ambassadors and congressmen live here?” she asked.
“Some, like myself, travel back and forth as needed. Some live here because their home planets are too far away to travel more than once or twice a year. If that.”
“You are up early, Prince Shestna,” a more human humanoid paused at the table to say. “Or is it very late?”
“It is very late, Councilman Baener. May I introduce Tyler, from Earth,” Shestna gestured over the platter.
“A delight to make your acquaintance, Miss Tyler,” Baener said, reaching for her hand as she reached up.
His hands were smooth and soft…and his heart was good. He held none of the duplicity she expected of politicians. He made a point of being apart from all that.
“I expect to get to know you quite well, as Julian and I frequently work together on various diplomacies and you’ll start off in his office.”
“Seems everyone knows what I’ll be doing except me.”
“Your arrival has been much anticipated. It has been some time since Earth produced a telepath,” Baener told her. “We’re rather protective of you all because there are so few of you. If your governments knew what you can do, you would have no peace.”
“I’m sure.”
He released her hand and bid them good night, referring to Shestna as Prince.
“I thought you were the Congressman from Voran,” she said, making another cracker.
“I am. I’m also First Prince to my father, the Emperor.”
“First Prince? The heir?”
“No. That is not how it works on Voran III. Our Emperors live a very long time. I would be an old man myself by the time he passed on. So one of my younger siblings will be the next Emperor. Older brothers will be his advisors.”
“That would lead to a longer reign, rather than turning it over every twenty years,” she could see.
“Fifty or a hundred years would be more like it, but yes. You have the idea.”
“How long do you people live?” she asked.
“That is a complicated matter. The Emperor might live three hundred years, but it is because there is a tremendous crystal that is powered with energy and he draws from it. It sustains him much longer than the average Voranian. Someone who never touches the crystal might live one hundred to one hundred and twenty years.”
“I see. Humans must seem a fragile lot, to have an average life of only seventy or so years.”
“Not really. Those last twenty to thirty years can be very ugly. Much better to do away with them and perish early.”
She covered her mouth with her cloth, laughing at the joke that shouldn’t have been so funny.
Platter between them empty but for crumbs and scraps of gristle, he picked up the last two crackers. They walked to the front hub and rode went up to Level 7, the Arboretum. A room three stories tall with numerous trees, a few dozen varieties of bushes and flowering plants…and birds. She heard their calls, saw them flying from one tree to another. They landed in the path to pick at the cracker crumbs she and Shestna dropped for them.
“The keepers don’t like for us to bring food for the birds but I cannot help myself. The cat in my soul likes to play with birds,” he teased himself.
“You aren’t much like the princes or other nobility I’ve met on Earth,” she said as they walked.
“You’ve met many? I would think that odd.”
“My work kept me in the company of many powerful men.”
“What work is that?”
“I should lie and tell you I was a secretary, the truth being so shocking to some.”
“I’d rather hear the truth and you let me decide if I should be shocked,” he replied quietly, almost gently.
“I was a courtesan. A very well-paid one at that.”
“Courtesan. An expensive and talented female companion, if I remember my English correctly.”
“You do.”
“You left what must be an extremely lucrative occupation to come live on a boring space station and deal with politicians?” he questioned.
“Actually, I was beginning to find them boring. In the end, they just wanted me to predict what stocks were going to rise
and tell them who in their circles was lying to them.”
“You have those gifts? Prediction and the ability to see through a soul and determine its honesty?”
“Among other things I’m still discovering,” she said, reaching out to a bush to let a bird hop onto her finger.
He stared, blinking while she copied the whistle of the bird. They seemed to have a little conversation. The bird fluttered away.
“You talk to birds?” he said.
“The bird talked to me with his chirps. I spoke to him telepathically through positive imagery.”
“What did it say to you?”
“He thought I was a very pretty bird. He warned me that, while the cat man I walked with was generally amiable enough, and kind to feed them, he was still a cat.”
Shestna laughed hard at the unexpected answer. “It did not.”
“Yes, he did. He wanted to be sure I understood that you are feline.”
He laughed again.
“I’ll see you another day, then,” she said angrily, and turned away toward the hub.
He captured her wrist before she’d taken half a step. “No, Femina. Not in anger. I’m sorry I offended you. The notion that a bird should take it upon himself to be sure a newcomer realized I am of a feline species…that has to be the most darling thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“You’re not laughing because you don’t believe me?”
“Voranians are harder to read than many other species on this station. Especially a Voranian who is himself telepathic. I know you tell the truth as well as you know Baener told you the truth. In future, I will allow myself to be more open to you on that level. Let me walk you back to your room.”
“I can just take the elevator.”
“No, you cannot. You do not yet have your access card.”
“I can teleport.”
“Frowned upon within the station unless you are in a private room and go to your own room with the full knowledge of the resident of the first room.”
“Fuck, this place has some stupid rules,” she shook her head.
He stopped walking at the control pad, swiped his card, and turned to her with all seriousness.
“Let someone be assassinated in their own room, Femina, with no one having come and gone through the door, and you will be the first person they will question because you are already known for teleporting without proper protocols. That one thing will make you a suspect for every crime. Every theft. Every assault conducted in blind corners.”
She was silenced. “Okay, I got it.”
Furniture gone from the corridor, they stopped outside her room. He did not go in, but said good night in the corridor and backed away as her door opened for her to go in.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he said, remaining until the door closed between them.
She sat for a time on the sofa, thinking about the past couple hours. How pleasant it was to have conversation with a man without him wanting to get into her pants in the next five minutes.
Undressed and lying in bed, she eventually became aware of…silence. A deep, loud and profound state of no noise. Nothing outside the window. Nothing outside the door. No sirens. No alarms. No helicopters. No thoughts from anyone anywhere. The most odd feeling of sensory deprivation in this pitch black room.
“Turn on the light in bathroom.”
Nothing. She’d forgotten the name.
“Nimrod, turn on the light in the bathroom.”
“How bright would you like the light?” asked her computer assistant.
“I don’t know. Whatever a nightlight usually is.”
“Illuminating bathroom with the equivalent lumens of one candle.”
She waited for her eyes to adjust, finding it sufficient to light the room in case she got up. Lying back down, finding the comfortable position, she exhaled a burst of tension she’d not realized she’d been carrying all these weeks. She fell into a hard, dreamless coma of sleep that was uninterrupted until her doorbell was chiming.
“What time is it?” she asked.
Silence.
“Nimrod, what time is it?”
“It is nine in the morning, Sistarian time.”
“Who’s at the door?” she yawned.
“It’s Julian,” came Julian’s voice.
“Hold on,” she said.
Out of bed and into a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, she let him in herself rather than telling the computer to let him in.
“Come to carry me to the office?” she yawned, and went to the food machine. “Coffee.”
“What kind of coffee would you like?” the machine asked. “The station can provide over forty varieties.”
“Seriously?” she grumped at it.
“Ask for Sistarian Ice Mountain,” Julian said. “You’ll like it. Order a half gallon. Sugar and milk in separate containers. Two cups.”
“Is it hot?”
“Yes. The mountains are covered with ice is all.”
She repeated the description.
“Your coffee will arrive within ten minutes.”
She went into the bathroom to perform her morning routine, bringing her toiletry bag to her hands.
“Shestna tells me you have tasted your first Voranian delicacies, but he did not taste you.”
“He was a perfect gentleman,” she said, toothbrush in mouth.
“He always will be. It’s his royal protocols. Just be warned, if there’s a Voranian on this station, they’re probably brothers, uncles or nephews. Or maybe even his sons.”
“What about the women?”
“There are no Voranian women on the station unless they are a wife. Other than the Empress, women hold no official positions. You would call it a barefoot and pregnant society.”
“He didn’t act like it’s that male dominated.”
“No, he wouldn’t. It’s perfectly normal for them and a non-issue on the station. Each species is free to engage their own cultural norms within the privacy of their own rooms. Hitting is not permitted, of course. The wives stick to their own cultural norms when outside their rooms because punishment would be worse when they got back if they’d displeased their husband.”
“That sounds like a horrible society. They are allowed to hit their wives?”
“Many of them fight back and give just as good as they get. Theirs is a very primal species, only five thousand years removed from the Norav cats they evolved from.”
“How did that happen? They’re so advanced already?” she asked, coming out of the bathroom.
“The cats were already extremely intelligent. One of them found the crystal they now worship and touched it. A goddess allegedly turned him and all his pride, plus the neighboring prides, into humanoids. The first man was made first Emperor and the worship of the crystal began immediately. They built their palaces around it, starting with the first. It was more like a big house. Subsequent Emperors built onto it until it became what it is today. Huge and sprawling.”
“And women were kept in the home to dutifully produce babies,” she added on.
“There’s more to it, but he so enjoys telling the story that you should ask him why it’s so important for females to remain in the home and breed.”
“Okay, I will.”
The wall chimed.
“Coffee’s here,” he nodded.
She went to it, the most delicious aroma wafting out as soon as she opened the little door.
“Oh wow.”
“Wait until you taste it.”
A divine nectar it was, a different set of flavors on her tongue with each sip.
“Here, this is yours,” he said, putting a small electronic something on the table.
“Okay. What is it?”
“A data pad. It has the protocol manuals, station rules and stuff like that. Plus lists of planets and ambassadors, congressmen and their office employees. I come into contact with quite a number of them each day. That means you will too as my entry level secretary.”
“Secretary? Seriously? I could have stayed on Earth to be a secretary,” she complained.
“Yes, but then you wouldn’t see the Congressman from Balnaatrus and his tremendous dick that he tries very hard to conceal and never quite manages it.”
She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.
“It’s only for a few weeks, while you get used to life on the station and become accustomed to interacting with the different species. I was thinking to eventually put you onto the application evaluation team.”
“What’s that?” she asked, pouring her cup full again.
“You go to a planet that has submitted an application for admittance into the Celestial Congress. You live on the planet for a month or two, see if it is as the application claims. See what needs to be changed to fit into our Congress.”
“But I thought each planet was free to observe their customs,” she said.
“They are, to an extent. There can be no legal slavery and all of the people in the Congressional office need to speak the Language of the Landers. It’s the common language of the Congress and all business is conducted in it. Plus the planet needs to convert to the Ruds system of money, which also came from the Landers.”
“What are the Landers?”
“They used to be the interplanetary law enforcement body in Gamma quadrant. They had their own language among themselves, and their own currency since they were so far-flung. They became the security force of the Congress when the Congress was threatened by a radical group. The language and common currency were adopted by the Congress for business but they were made to drop the name. Their power was much curtailed since they had to answer to the Congress.”
“Ah. Sort of like Pinkertons who were given uniforms and employed by a single boss.”
“Rather like, yes. Finish your coffee and let’s go. I’ll show you the Congressional Hall before I leave you someplace to start reading.”
They went in on Level Three, which was the bottom of the three level tall meeting hall. Around it on all three levels were offices of the Congressmen and Ambassadors. A huge hall with center aisle and three seat boxes lined up on both sides from back nearly to front. The far end held a row for the Council, facing the body of the room.
It looked vaguely like a catholic cathedral.