by Gen LaGreca
I realized my hand was squeezing hers tightly. To make up for my awkward behavior, I eased my grip, stroked her hand softly for a moment, and then released it.
“Do you have a military on Earth, Kristin?”
“Of course. Just about every country has its own military. There’s also an alliance that most of Earth’s nations belong to, which was formed to defend our planet against an alien attack, but we’ve never had one.”
“Does the military not stop alien spacecraft that are entering Earth’s atmosphere?”
“Only if they’re armed. Our sensors can detect all known military weapons. If the ship has none of them, it’s free to come and go as it pleases. If aliens come in, they’re processed at the centers we have for that, and we help them find work.”
“What if the alien craft has no weapons but perhaps has spies? Would Earth’s military not want to stop it?”
“We haven’t had any wars in a hundred years, not since the Reckoning. Besides, we have the best forces in the galaxy. Nobody’s going to attack us.” Kristin waved her hand to dismiss the notion. “No one here worries about that.”
“What is the Reckoning?”
“Well”—she pursed her lips as she formed her answer—“it was a time in history when Earth took account of its ways. It marked the end of an old order and the beginning of a new one. We have an air show to celebrate it every year. I’m flying in this year’s show.”
Kristin turned her craft back toward the ocean, where the fireball that was the Earth’s sun hung near the horizon, with thin bands of gold-tinted clouds layering the sky.
“What does MAS mean?”
“How do you know about that?”
“This morning I saw those letters on your jacket.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “MAS stands for ‘Merrett Aerospace Systems.’ That’s the name of the company I work for. See?” she pointed to a sealed plastic water bottle fastened to the side of the plane that also had the letters MAS printed within the silver rocket.
“What do companies do here on Earth?”
“They provide useful things, like a certain kind of product or a service that they sell to others. That’s how they make money. We call that ‘doing business.’ ”
“How did MAS get permission to perform business on Earth?”
“Nobody needs permission.”
“Oh?”
“There are a lot of companies on Earth. MAS is a big company with different divisions. I work in Space Travel. We transport people and equipment to places beyond Earth. We take crews to space stations, or workers to industrial installations on other planets. Our group also deploys satellites and conducts space exploration. We also run a weekly shuttle to the lunar cities. I’m in training to become a space pilot.” Kristin spoke about being a pilot with an excitement that I could understand.
“Why does your company place its name on your jacket?”
“MAS puts its name on lots of things—shirts, jackets, hats, pens, you name it. Its logo is the initials in the silver rocket, which means its name is written in a way that’s unique to it and stands out. It’s like a signature, a special way of signing your name.”
As our bodies hung inverted at the top of Kristin’s perfect loop, I thought of how everyone on Asteron was forced to dress in gray to blend in equally with everyone else. Here it was not only the people that were unique but also the companies they formed. The companies also tried not to blend in but to stand out and be different.
“We give a lot of this stuff out to the public and to the people we do business with, our customers. They don’t have to deal with us, you know; they can go to other companies that do what we do. So it helps to get our name out. It’s good for business. That’s called ‘marketing.’ ”
Why would Feran curl his disgusting hand around a pen from this company? I wondered. “Does MAS do its business with other planets?”
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“A lot of them—most of them.” An angry edge suddenly sharpened her voice. “But not Asteron, of course.”
“Why not Asteron?”
“Most of Earth’s companies don’t trade with Asteron.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t approve of Asteron.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story, but they’re not like us.”
Why, I wondered, did the name Asteron drain the smile from Kristin’s face? “Do you know the ruler of Asteron?”
“No.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No.”
“Does he come here?”
“No.”
“Does anyone from Asteron come here?”
“No. They’re very secretive. They don’t let any refugees out, and very few escape, so we don’t know much about what goes on there.”
“Do you know anyone from there?”
“No, and I don’t want to. Well, only Mykroni, my boss, who escaped from there. But he’s been on Earth and working for our company for twenty-five years, and he’s my father’s close friend, so I don’t hate him.”
“But you hate Asteron? Why?”
Her smile vanished and her face tightened into a solemn look at what I thought could be a memory that disturbed her. “They do terrible things.”
“To you? Did Asteron do something to you, Kristin?”
“Hey, I thought we were having fun.” Her voice told me that this topic was finished. Her face held a sadness that I did not understand and that she would not explain.
“So how do you like this plane?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I like it indeed. Is it made by an Earthling company?”
“Yup. The company’s name is Taylor, see?”
She pointed to a name on the side of the instrument panel, a name I had seen before. I had flown crafts like Kristin’s in Asteron, although they were less sophisticated models that I was sure she would consider outdated. How does Feran get these planes?
“Kristin, could Asteron get Earth’s products anyway, even though you do not trade with them?”
“I suppose they could buy our stuff from other planets that we do trade with, sure, or else from the few companies here that deal with them.” She looked at me suspiciously. “Say, why do you ask? You said you were from Cosmona, didn’t you?”
I did not reply.
“But you couldn’t be from Asteron. You’d have no way to get here. I mean . . . Alexander, are you keeping something from me?”
I looked into light brown eyes that had the shadings of the Earth’s fertile soil, eyes that announced her feelings. I did not want to lie to such eyes, but I could not give out information about my past while Feran was pursuing me.
“Yes, Kristin, I am keeping something from you.”
“Hey, just what do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.
“I mean . . . I can fly.”
“Can you?” Her face brightened again.
“And I can fly this plane.”
“Really?”
“And I indeed would like to fly this plane.”
“Are you serious?”
“You will see that for yourself.”
“Go ahead, captain.” The plane had dual controls, so I began using mine as she released her hold on hers.
So Feran somehow managed to obtain planes and possibly other things manufactured by Earth’s companies, even though they did not want to deal with him. He probably was trying to buy something from MAS. Maybe he was at MAS, trying to convince someone to do what Kristin called business with him. Maybe he got one of the company’s pens and a folder and notepad. That was all. Surely he could not try to harm a company from a planet with a stronger military. Even he was not that stupid, I assured myself. And surely none of this posed any threat to Kristin. But then, what reason did she have for . . .
I could not think of such matters anymore, because I was feeling the superb sensitivity of a stick that seemed to move at the moment of a change in my intention, before it reach
ed the nerves in my wrist. I performed a few simple maneuvers, and then as I got used to the plane, I traced more complicated patterns. I did many of Kristin’s maneuvers, adding extra rolls and spins, increasing the speeds, pushing the maneuvers to the limits of my own imagination. When I was ready, I headed back to the mountains. I liked the landscape, especially as it became a liquid smear of climbs and dives, of stalls and spins, of cliffs and streams when I engaged in what Kristin had called playing. Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, I could feel her looking at me, stunned. I glanced at my speechless companion to be sure she was not blacking out from the maneuvers.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, staring at me, her eyes now unblinking.
Then I forgot Kristin, the Earth, and the universe, itself. I had no room in my awareness for anything more than the superb feel of the plane racing through the air with the life and will that I gave it.
My hands almost touched each other around Kristin’s slim waist as I helped her out of the cockpit and onto the grounds near her garden. When we sat on the grass, she spoke for the first time since I had taken the controls:
“Alex, my gosh! When you started flying, I tried to put your technique into words. I mean you were skillful, very skillful, but there was more to it. You have a style to your flying. When you performed my own maneuvers, I saw your style more clearly. Where I did one slow roll, you did two quick ones. Where I made a smooth turn, you made a sudden one. Where I pushed the stick easy, you pushed it hard. Where I descended smoothly, you dived faster and steeper. When I fly, it feels like dancing. But when you fly, it feels thrilling, aggressive, almost violent.”
“Your flying has superb rhythm and grace,” I said.
“And yours has . . . anger. Do you feel angry, Alex?”
“Yes.”
She waited, but I volunteered nothing further.
“Is that why you don’t smile or laugh?”
“I am not like Earthlings.”
“What do you mean? I know there are different species of humans that evolved on other planets, but they look different. You look like us. You’re Homo sapiens like us, aren’t you?”
I shrugged my shoulders in ignorance of what I was. I wondered about the knowledge Feran withheld from us, knowledge about our nature and that of other humanoids. Why was it that only certain Asteronians, like spies or doctors, received biological information, and only in secret? The rest of us were told merely that aliens differed from us in every fundamental way.
“But you feel things,” Kristin said, perplexed.
“Not the way you do.”
“In your flying there’s . . . passion.”
I thought of the untroubled smiles and easy laughter of the humans here. Their manner was completely foreign to me. “I do not have the same . . . mental . . . abilities . . . as Earthlings.”
“But you have incredible flying ability! Have you tried to find work through the Center for Alien Orientation?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll grab you up in a minute. Do you realize how valuable your skills are and how much money you can make? There are companies working with the alien center that’ll offer you a job as a domestic pilot to fly around Earth, which I think is kind of dull. My company is the only one around here that trains pilots for interplanetary travel. There you get to fly amazing spacecraft and go to exotic places. You encounter all kinds of terrain, atmosphere, weather, gravity, and other alien conditions. And there’s also the fun of maneuvering through zero g’s in space. Skillful pilots are in big demand at MAS.”
“And you said people here are paid for their work?”
“Oh, absolutely. MAS pays in gold, which you can use here as well as on the other planets you’ll travel to. You’d probably start with five dollars a week. That’s enough to get your own apartment and, after a while, a little house for yourself, something like the one my father and I live in, only smaller.” She pointed to her domicile.
“You and your father live in quarters without other citizens?” I asked incredulously.
“Of course.”
“And . . . and you live without guards watching you?”
“Of course, Alex.”
“I see. I think I see.”
“You’ll need to start off more modestly, but in a short time you’ll be able to buy or lease your own plane. You don’t understand how things work here, so I’ll tell you that all the things you buy will be yours, the way this plane is mine and this land is my father’s, and nobody can take your stuff away. You’ll like it here. You’ll be able to fly like crazy all the time. I don’t want another company to get you, Alexander. I want to speak to my manager, Mykroni, about giving you a job with us,” she said excitedly, her words tumbling into one another. “Right now I’m the best flier among the trainees, but if you join us, then you’ll be the best!” The thought pleased her.
Then she frowned. “MAS has been having financial problems recently. Our Product Development Division pulled out of a big project it was working on for two and a half years. The pullout was unexpected. The company had to let workers go. But the Space Travel Division is doing fine. We’ve got lots of contracts, so I think you have a good chance of getting hired. That is, if you want to come to work for us. Do you, Alex?”
Do I? Do I want to smell the flowers of many gardens, including my own? Do I want to see people consume an incredible abundance of food, no matter how grotesque what they eat may be? Do I want to live in a place where strangers grip my hand in theirs not to harm me but to welcome me? Do I want to do work that I have always yearned to do and be paid for it? Do I want to live in my own dwelling where I can sleep alone, without the unkempt bodies of three hundred others? Do I want to have things that no one can take away . . . including my own life? Do I want to join a primitive society corrupted with money, and obtain as much of it as I can to buy things for my own satisfaction?
It took a moment to steady my voice enough to reply: “Oh, yes.”
“There’s one more thing, Alex.”
“Yes?”
“MAS has had a policy for almost three years that’s strictly enforced and that I have no power to break, even if I wanted to. So before I can recommend you, I need to be sure I heard you right. You said you’re not from Asteron, right? MAS doesn’t hire anyone from Asteron.”
Chapter 10
An ocean breeze boosted my steps as I walked to meet Kristin at a place I had never been to before, a place that on Asteron was frequented by the rulers and aliens but was a luxury to most of the people: a restaurant. My spirit also felt lifted by the gust of activity that was moving my new life forward.
I had again checked my spaceship’s radio for messages and found none. Moreover, I had learned from Kristin that the field across the road from her residence was lying dormant while its owner, called a land developer, was building a village on Earth’s moon. This gave me hope that my ship’s hiding spot would remain undisturbed.
I also had another reason for feeling hopeful. After I had flown Kristin’s plane yesterday, she called her boss, Mykroni, and arranged for him to interview me for a space pilot’s job. Today I was to meet Kristin during her lunch break; then she was going to take me to see a native Asteronian who was supposed to believe I was a Cosmonan.
Can I get away with this? I wondered. With the ship’s remarkable alien medicine rapidly healing my wounds and with Feran’s Earthling-style clothes, I dared to believe that my appearance was unsuspicious—except for the scars on my neck from the iron chain I had worn so often on Asteron. I had applied the new medicine to these old scars, but without success. The neck marks were older and unresponsive to the ointment that had healed my fresh wounds so well. Would Kristin’s boss suspect the origin of these scars? How many planets put humans on a leash? To be safe, I had selected a shirt that best concealed the markings and buttoned it snugly at the top.
Earlier this morning, to prepare
for my job interview, I had set aside my fears of meeting Feran’s spies and had gone to the Center for Alien Orientation. From outside I saw a rack of printed materials labeled “Free pamphlets—help yourself,” and on it stood a booklet about Cosmona. I waited until the orientation center’s attendant was occupied, and then in a silent, catlike motion, I entered, took a copy, and left without speaking to anyone. In a section aimed at introducing Earthlings to Cosmonans, the booklet described how that planet was inhabited by humans of different species, with the educated speaking English. Some of the immigrants pictured in the pamphlet looked similar to me, so I figured I could pass for a Cosmonan.
I thought I had a chance of getting away with this, as I followed Kristin’s directions to a place called Big Eats. But I felt something dragging me down as well. As I observed the tidy little domiciles along my path, the children and pets playing, the colorful windows of the Earthlings’ businesses, the quiet contentment—and openness—of their lives, a pang of guilt gripped me. I did not want to deceive Kristin, but I reminded myself of the sleepless night I had just spent, excited at the prospect of having a job filled with space travel, discovery, and adventure. When Feran became convinced of my death and had gone on to new diversions, I would no longer have to hide my past. Then I would look into the eyes that had poured more understanding over me than I knew existed, and I would tell Kristin the truth about my origin, whatever the consequences might be. But right then, I had to pretend that I was a Cosmonan because I yearned to pilot a spacecraft and explore the shiny dots that sprinkled the black sky, dots that had lit my imagination in my childhood with visions of bright new worlds beyond the dim one that bound me.
I reached a building with a large sign in front that read “BIG EATS.” Earthlings engaged in lively conversations entered and left this busy institution, with a variety of food aromas escaping each time the door opened. With Kristin’s instructions to guide me, I entered and got a table. While I waited for her, I watched the incredible spectacle of Earthlings having their midday feeding.
A computer screen at my table displayed the word menu. I understood this word to mean options on a computer. But at Big Eats it meant something quite different. The restaurant’s menu described an astonishing array of foods of massive portions, displayed in colorful images. When I tapped on an item named hamburger, I saw three-dimensional flames dancing around the item on a grill, I heard sizzling noises, and I thought I detected a pleasing charcoal aroma emanating from the monitor. I tapped the screen repeatedly, and image after image of seemingly endless choices flashed before me.