Kharmic Rebound

by Yeager, Aaron

  “Next date? Wait...”

  Gerald was interrupted by not one, but five, waiters arriving at their table. One placed his menu before him, another affixed his velvety napkin. A third measured his fingers and laid out appropriately sized platinum cutlery, while yet another fixed Gerald’s hair. The table setting looked so expensive Gerald was afraid to even touch any of it.

  “Duchess, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to have you with us here again tonight,” the fifth waiter said with a deep formal bow. “The Altasbor family has not forgotten what your grandfather did for us.”

  Cha’Rolette raised up one hand. You have always shown great honor to the Ssykes family, and I appreciate it. However, as I am dining with a civilian this evening, I would rather not discuss family business. You understand, of course.

  “Of course.”

  Gerald caught himself staring for the second time that night. The waiter’s face was dominated by a large triangular nose, which began at the top of his head and ended just above his chin, almost completely hiding his mouth. It was as if someone had glued a boomerang to his face. He looked so much like a cartoon character to Gerald that he had to stifle a laugh, but then rebuked himself. He reminded himself that he had promised not to be the stereotypical xenophobic human... or at least not to show it.

  The other waiters polished Gerald’s shoes, sewed up a tear in his cassock, trimmed his fingernails, and washed his face. He felt like he was being yanked in a dozen directions, but Cha’Rolette basked in it all as they gave her a manicure and pedicure.

  “I shall have the chefs prepare your usual special dinner, Duchess. What may I get your guest?”

  They both looked at Gerald, and he realized too late that he should have been perusing the menu this whole time.

  “Um... do you have any of those little baby alligator things, the Kamanchhi?”

  The waiter cracked his eye open. “We do not serve junk food here, sir.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “I recommend the Daaplon, it is fresh from Dajer, and is simply exquisite. Like a cloud made out of butter on your lips.”

  “It does sound nice. I think I’ll have some lemons, please.”

  The waiter breathed in through his nose, making a tiny whistle. “Very well, my good monk. Perhaps I could also interest you in a glass of water, perhaps a crust of bread and a bowl of gruel for a main course?”

  Gerald turned to his date. “I like this guy. He’s got moxy.”

  “I’m not sure we have that, but I’m sure it can be replicated.”

  “No, I mean... uh, never mind, just the lemons.”

  Suddenly all five of the waiters stood beside one another, looking like a row of clones, then collapsed down into a single person and walked away.

  Gerald tried not to look surprised.

  Wow, you must really like lemons, Cha’Rolette commented as she levitated a piece of bread up to her mouth and took a tiny bite.

  Gerald chuckled. “Actually, I can’t stand them.”

  Then why do you eat them?

  “I eat them because I don’t like them.”

  Now it was her turn to look surprised. Is that a human thing?

  “Oh no. Humans are normally quite gluttonous. In fact, naturally I have quite a sweet tooth.”

  Yes, but... then why do you eat them?

  “Because it’s something my body wants, not something that I want. It’s part of my religion.”

  What your body wants, what you want, it’s the same thing, isn’t it?

  “So long as you only do what your body wants, there is no “you,” there is only a body.

  Seems like splitting hairs at best.

  “That’s because you’ve accepted your bondage. Try to go a week without food, and you will see how strong your chains are. Try to go a week without sleep, and you’ll see how your body can override your mind effortlessly when it tries to assert itself. Denying the body to strengthen the spirit is part of my religion. It’s the same reason I turned you down the first few times.”

  Her knife levitated up and spread some soft cheese onto a cracker. What do you mean?

  “Well, let’s not mince words, here. You are strikingly beautiful. Your whole body is basically designed to rob a man of his wits. That is extremely dangerous to me, you see.”

  The knife and cracker drifted back down to the table. You know, I’ve dated a lot of men, but that has to be the weirdest, most backhanded compliment I’ve ever heard.

  “I suppose it is.”

  Her eyes twinkled mischievously. But, at least it shows you are not completely immune.

  “How’s that?”

  Well, it was awkward, and round-about, but you did finally compliment me on my looks.

  He found he didn’t like this line of discussion, so he decided to change it.

  “I’m afraid I still don’t see the point of me being here. I stick out like a crate of sore thumbs.”

  Her wine glass floated up to her lips and she took a moment to savor the aroma before relaxing into a long luxurious sip. The point is for me to introduce you to my world. Let you see me in my natural environment. Broaden your horizons. That is the purpose of an education, is it not?

  “Well sure, if by education you mean getting a degree in learning about how wonderful you think you are.”

  She suppressed a chuckle, set her glass down, and then allowed herself a little giggle. My dear Dyson, I am a Ssykes. I don’t think I am wonderful. I know it.

  A blue-skinned man with slicked-back red hair walked up and bowed deeply. “Forgive my intrusion, Duchess, but I must ask for a minute of your time.”

  Cha’Rolette tucked a ringlet back behind her ear. “You know this is not the place for family business.”

  “I know, but this cannot wait. Pirates have attacked the hyperspace pulse station on Impe.”

  They’re becoming surprisingly bold, that’s the third attack near the core in as many months.

  The man nodded. The entire system is blacked out, we can’t get any waves in or out.

  So why come to me?

  The man lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I know of your father’s black-box network.”

  That rumor was debunked in court as I recall.

  “Please, I have family on Bespass. I need to know that they are safe. Could you use your private security to take them into one of your facilities, keep them protected until the crisis is over?”

  Isn’t there an army for things like that?

  “Please, your private security forces are far better equipped anyway, and these pirates are particularly dangerous. They are lead by Lyssandra Bal.”

  Gerald recognized the name. He remembered her fierce eyes, the empty feeling deep in his gut. A part of him truly believed he was going to die back on that starliner. It was something he tried not to think about.

  Cha’Rolette glanced over at Gerald, clearly not comfortable discussing this in front of him. Let’s examine the details privately.

  The man pulled out a portable link and set it down on the table. While Gerald watched, they each pulled out a cable and plugged it into the back of their necks. It only took a second, their closed eyes moving back and forth underneath their eyelids as if dreaming, then they unplugged and nodded to one another.

  The man placed his hand over his heart, gratitude in his eyes, nearly to tears. “Thank you, he said sincerely. “A thousand times thank you. My father and I are forever in your debt.”

  We are only too happy to help. Just remember, there may come a time when the Ssykes ask a favor of you, and when that time comes, you may not refuse. That is the condition.

  “Of course, Duchess.”

  As the man walked away, Gerald was impressed with the straight and proud way he strode. It seemed so at odds with the deference he had just shown to her, almost as if he became another person once he was out of her range.

  “Who was that?”

  You don’t know? I guess you wouldn’t, would you. That man is Ru
vator Wontwoon, son of Emperor Qetimong.

  “Emperor... wait, you mean, like, THE Emperor emperor? The Emperor of the whole Alliance?”

  Is there another kind?

  She leaned in close. A rather unnecessary gesture, since she spoke telepathically, but it had the effect of making him pay closer attention. Look, I understand how it must seem from your point of view. In your world, when someone boasts it is seen as a weakness of character, am I right? It indicates that they don’t seem to understand that somewhere out there, there is someone more powerful and wealthy than they are.

  Gerald nodded.

  But what you forget is that there does actually exist that one person who actually is the most wealthy, the most powerful. For that person, boasting would not be a weakness of character, but an objective fact. In this galaxy, that spot belongs to a handful of families like the Ssykes. So, when I say things like, ‘I don’t think, I know,’ it is not bravado. I am merely stating a fact of reality.

  Gerald took a sip of water. “I see what you are saying, I really do. But, to me, wealth and power are not the measure of a person’s value.”

  Tch, of course you think that way. That’s how all people without power think.

  Their waiter returned with two copies of himself and their food was displayed for them. Her dish was tiny, a little piece of meat barely bigger than a grape, while on his plate sat a single lemon.

  Gerald looked up in disappointment, and was about to speak, when he felt an invisible finger press against his lips.

  Wait for it.

  The suddenly the waiter tapped the top of the lemon and it unraveled itself into rings of rind and peel that expanded outwards in spinning circles. The wedges inside bloomed open like a flower, then each tip flowered yet again. When it was done, there was a miniature planet of rings and moons with a beautiful flower at its center.

  Gerald couldn’t believe his eyes. “That was... amazing.”

  The chefs here are the best. Cha’Rolette said as her ringlets glowed and her little piece of meat was sliced by an invisible knife into dozens of perfectly tiny cubes.

  The amazing part is that he did all that with only a lemon and a single knife. It’s called Essajabar, an ancient Uekemondoxian art form.

  “Like origami but with food.”

  Her translator opened up a little window before her with some pictures of origami so that she would know what the word he used referred to.

  Gerald looked at the artwork on his plate. “It’s so nice I don’t even want to eat it, I want to put it on a shelf somewhere and look at it forever.”

  “Oh, no no,” the waiter protested. “Art must be enjoyed not locked away. Please, eat, enjoy your meal. I will attend to my other tables. When you are done the Tauseer will come by with the check.”

  Cha’Rolette levitated one of the tiny cubes up to her mouth and she chewed on it very very slowly, savoring the experience. Though it was small, the scent coming from off of her plate was immensely impressive. A wonderful savory scent with notes of floral intertwined into it. For half a moment, he thought to ask her if he could try a bite, but he crushed that urge as soon as it appeared.

  I love coming here. They have the most complete selection of Nufol of anywhere on Central.

  Gerald thought it a little odd that she was talking while she chewed her food, but he quickly realized that since her people didn’t use their mouths to talk, it wouldn’t really be a faux pas for them like it was for others.

  Gerald hesitantly plucked a lemon wedge from his creation and put it in his mouth. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how do your tentacles work?”

  A little window appeared before her, displaying images of tentacles.

  She scoffed. They’re not tentacles. They’re a psychic organ called ta’atu.

  “Oh, sorry... I just... uh.” He could tell she was clearly offended.

  You thought they were tentacles?

  “Well... you know. They... ah.”

  You mean this whole time you thought I was like one of these octopus things or something?

  “No, I uh... oh boy...” He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. Despite trying so hard not to be a xenophobe, he had clearly stepped over the line here.

  He reached out for his glass but nervously knocked it over instead. The ice water spilled down into his lap and he jumped up to his feet, frantically yanking a spare napkin, and knocking over the floral arrangement in the process.

  Cha’Rolette smiled widely and began to laugh. She tried to demurely cover her mouth up with her hand, but she couldn’t suppress the sound. As he wiped his robes off, he realized that it was the first time he had seen her laugh. It was a smooth and silvery sound that came from deep within her throat, much different from the voice she projected with her ta’atu.

  You are a lot funnier than I thought you’d be, she chuckled.

  “Oh, monks are very funny. You have to be with what we’ve been through. When you are neck-deep in sick people every day, you learn to see the bright side of things.”

  Gerald got quiet for a moment as he thought about the people back home. He wondered if they were being taken care of. He wondered if they were making progress. He had been setting a goal with Mr. Riley to go outside for at least ten minutes a day. Of course, he hadn’t done it, but just the fact that it was a sticky-note up on the wall was promising. Absentmindedly, Gerald picked up the fork he had been using.

  “You know, just with the latinum in this place setting, I could feed everyone in my valley back home for decades,” he realized. “I feel a little guilty using it while my kin fight off starvation. This place is really impressive, don’t get me wrong. It all just seems so... wasteful.”

  For someone who attends Central Exeter, you have a rather dim view of the elite.

  He shrugged. “It’s simple mathematics. When one single person consumes enough resources to sustain millions, that person is taking more than their share.”

  Cha’Rolette snickered.

  “What?”

  You’re so funny. “Their share,” she teased, her voice in his head taking on a distinct nasally tone.

  “I do not sound like that.”

  Let me tell you about “these people.” She motioned around the room. Without these people there would be no shares to begin with. Just look over there, see Mr. Subeer Khakewish there?

  “The fat guy with the epaulettes?”

  No, the other fat one.

  “The one squeezing that woman’s ankles?”

  No, the other-other fat one.

  “Ah, okay.”

  He spent the last fifty cycles building up his company. He started with Sbatag, his own invention, and one employee. He worked himself ragged, seventy hours a week for most of his life. He created millions of jobs, built up his hometown from a disease-ridden swamp into the clean and thriving metropolis it is today.

  Gerald was impressed.

  Now, you’re telling me that after all he has done, he doesn’t deserve the fruits of his own labors? You’re telling me that he can’t enjoy a good steak at the end of the day? So, what do you propose? That we should take what he has earned from him and give it to people who refuse to even get out of bed in the morning? How dare you dash the cup from his lips! You have a serious problem, Dyson.

  “Well, the Ba’acta farms on this planet grow twice the amount of food necessary to feed the population, yet there are people starving here in the capital. So, yes, I’d say there is a problem.”

  Now, look over there, see Duke Hunxo there? He’s the former Chairman for the Venub Corporation. Last year he and his mistress had a really bad go at it. Like, bad bad. He came to work stressed, exhausted, and his job performance suffered. Because of his bad decisions, two hundred thousand employees had to be laid off.

  “That is a shame.”

  It is. You need to understand, the people in this room make decisions that affect trillions of people every day. They are captains of industry and leaders of worlds. They need to
be sharp, alert, relaxed, and focused, or everyone suffers. So, all of this opulence you turn your nose at, serves a very real purpose. Keeping the elite happy benefits everyone. In a very real sense, it is for the common good.

  “Wow. When you say it that way you make it sound so noble.”

  That’s because it is.

  Then a second voice appeared in his mind. Hey Cha’, it said. The pitch was a little deeper and huskier than Cha’Rolette’s.

  Cha’Rolette’s countenance fell and Gerald looked over at the couple approaching them. The woman was also from Issaguar, but unlike Cha’Rolette she wore her ta’atu in a braid that she draped over one shoulder. She was taller, and not quite as well-proportioned as Cha’Rolette, but they bore a distinct resemblance. Gerald couldn’t tell if they were related or if all their people just kind of looked alike, but after his snafu from earlier he dared not ask for fear of appearing even more xenophobic.

  What a wonderful escort you have, the woman gushed, pulling the elegantly dressed young man on her arm a little tighter into her. Slumming it with primates is so fashionable right now.

  Gerald Dyson please meet my cousin, Ka’Oppel Ssykes, Cha’Rolette said drearily.

  Distant cousin, she emphasized, before reaching out and grabbing a hold of Gerald’s sleeve. I love what your date is wearing. Is that real rat fur?

  “Raw wool actually,” Gerald spoke up.

  “It looks uncomfortable,” her date observed.

  “Oh, it is, but we learn not to complain about it. Father O’Theen had a rule that any neophyte caught complaining about his cassock received a worse one instead.”

  The man on Ka’Oppel’s arm chuckled, but the girls remained deadly serious.

  So, Ka’Oppel, which arm-candy did you decide to bring out of his cage today?

  May I present Phlodha Mana, the earl of Magol, she said smugly.

  Cha’Rolette yawned. Another royal? Really, Ka, your dates are so boringly predictable. Why do you even bother coming out at all if this is all you have to show for it?

  Ka’Oppel kept a smile on her face, but her hands dug into her date’s arm, eliciting a grunt of pain from him. Well, who are you with, then?