by Jen Greyson
human |hyoo-muh n|
noun
a near-extinct being, as distinguished from an animal, machine, or alien
adjective
of or characteristic of beings, particularly a showing of behaving susceptible to weakness or emotion
DRAFT VERSION
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Jen
CHAPTER 1
OVERHEAD, THE RED jeweled chandelier hung ominously, its tentacles grabbing for me now, the sharp ends pointed with deadly darts, the ruby jewels sparkling with mocking flashes. The expanse of blackness beyond the space station’s windows pressed in, threatening to suffocate me before I could start tonight’s presentation with Dirk, the pseudo-Samarian.
A coldness had claimed my insides at M’s confirmation that the human before me had indeed been christened tonight’s Samarian representative. Before when I’d had to endure a less than choice representative, I’d retreated to my dutiful side, using my training to get me through the presentation and spent the time studying the special intricacies of the representative himself, learning something about their galaxy to make me a better ruler. But Dirk—and the Samarians—had stripped that from me too, sending someone who was neither from their galaxy or worth studying. I knew everything about humans, had done my best to erase every trace I could from my own reactions. Until him. Whether because he was one, or simply knew how to incite mine, he brought out the worst in me, surging all my human to the surface where it didn’t belong.
I held my breath as we took the final steps into the center, where the presentation began.
He slid a chair away from the table’s thick slab of titanium and I withdrew my hand from his arm. Mere moments ago, the round table had been cozy and welcoming, the high-backed seats snugged together and set for an ideal evening of talking and enjoying the Samarian’s presentation.
A real Samarian.
I hadn’t come to grips with this. Not at all. I wanted to hail someone on Samaria and make them explain, make them face me and tell me what I’d done to offend them so badly for a retaliation so harsh. The bindings and thickness of my robes imprisoned me and I wanted to shed layers of them. What had been a loving tribute to the Mother Divine was nothing more than another slap across my face.
I turned to face Dirk, unsure if he knew the evening was now his to direct—had always been, really. I wondered again at his actions—his discomfort in the suit, the offering of the whisky, his fiddling with the controls to fix things—had they all been for the presentation? All attempts to put me at ease? To impress me in some real attempt to be my choice?
I sighed in defeat, realizing they must have been. The Samarians would have chosen his clothing with the same importance they’d given the Pearl’s years ago when it had been discussed and arranged with the scheduling for this meeting.
He touched the tie at his throat, shifted it slightly left to right like his attire was as strangling as mine. Was he as much a pawn in this as I was? From what little I knew of him, Dirk didn’t seem like the kind of guy who let himself get manipulated. There had to be a reason he’d played a role in this, but what? I frowned then let it go, not wanting my creased forehead to be on the transmission when the entire galaxy watched this later. I couldn’t get out of this, not for the next three days—one Samarian hour—so we’d might as well kick things off. Though, in truth, they’d started the moment I’d stepped onto the ship, everyone else aware of this little trick but me. “Let’s get this over with,” I muttered it under my breath, still unable to stash all my uproarious emotions.
“Look, I—um,” he ran a hand through his hair, blew out a harsh breath, and I wondered at his loss of attitude, like he wasn’t sure that proceeding as his cocky, brash self was the best way to represent the Samarians. “I made a simulation for tonight.”
I blinked.
“I can’t chat you up like the other Samarians since I don’t really know anything about their galaxy. I got creative. They helped.” He held out a hand. “Will you let me show it to you?”
I wasn’t sure what confused me more, that he’d made a sim or that he was asking permission. “You what?”
“A simulation. My presentation is a sim.”
I looked forlornly at the table, readied for talking and enduring. Sims during presentations wasn’t unusual, most included a short one, occasionally one that took half the time, but I’d never started with one. Maybe this would be better. I flashed to the sim I’d remembered in my dream last night. Maybe he’d made one like that, one that would make the time pass quickly. Either way, I couldn’t refuse him. Whatever he’d made was what we were about to spend the next three days doing. “Fine.”
He swept his arm in front of him. “Lead the way, Pearl.”
I took three steps, then stopped. This was an official presentation now, which meant I had to start it properly, or the Samarians could issue a formal protest that I’d disrespected them. I doubted they would, but I couldn’t have any issues, nothing that would create the possibility of having to do this over.
It had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t want to do the greeting. I’d done it with every other representative, eager to officiate the date and immerse myself in their presentations.
But they hadn’t been Dirk.
“What’s wrong?” he sneered, his own reactions and posturing rocketing back and forth like an unstable Mercev moon. “Having second thoughts already?”
I blew out a breath and tried to picture him as a Samarian and at least put my own reservations to rest. We had a lot of hours ahead of us pretending to like each other. “There’s an official greeting.”
He tipped his head and raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? I don’t watch a lot of these things.”
I snorted, unsurprised. Never, in all my dates, had I snorted or held such contempt for a representative, not even the LinnOw who’d been so very different from me.
I lifted my fingertips to my temple and pressed against the pounding that was starting in my head, not caring if I smudged the designs on either my face or my hands. Normally, I’d have taken great care with my appearance until the unveiling at the end. I quickly brushed that thought away and took a steadying breath to explain the greeting. “Sorry if I’m coming across wrong, I’m just—” I inhaled again and fought the sudden rush of emotion at missing out on spending this time with a real Samarian. The wave of disappointment threatened to drown me and I didn’t want to let him have that effect on me. I blinked away the tears and tamped my emotions, trying to get over my disappointment. “I’m having a hard time with all this.”
“With me?” He took a step closer and I stiffened, shuffling a few inches to the left. He dropped his hand. “I am sorry that I wasn’t who you wanted.” His voice was clipped like I’d offended him and he walked away, tossing a comment over his shoulder as he went. “I’ll be in the sim room. Join me if you want.”
I watched him leave, unsure how to fix this mess I’d made. As he’d always been the Samarian, all our time together since my arrival would be included in the tapes and I groaned, accepting how poorly I’d treated him when he’d been mostly nice except when I’d forced him to engage. I wasn’t being very kind.
Or a good pearl.
I exhaled and let go of the anger and frustration he incited in me, clearing my bias against him, flushing what I thought I knew about him, and com
mitted myself to treating him like a chosen representative, one chosen from the best of the best of his galaxy, releasing the expectations I’d had about the Samarian’s presentation so I could no longer endure the next three days, but enjoy them.
I trailed him through the ship, wandering the halls decorated with murals for each galaxy this station used to serve, past unused doors that lead to galleys and barracks, not in a hurry to catch up, taking the time to settle into what had to happen during the presentation according to the rules and procedures set in stone centuries ago with the very first pearl. We had much to cover over the next couple days and I’d already wasted too much time. Whatever the reasoning for the Samarian’s choice, the facts remained whether I liked them or not. Dirk was their choice, their representative and he deserved my respect. Sadly, he didn’t have to do a damn thing to earn it other than show up. I’d had worse presentations and I’d survived. I’d live through this one too, distressful as it might have seemed. I lifted my chin and inhaled, drawing a meditative breath through my nose and letting go of all the remaining bits of angst and disappointment. Thirty-six hours, I could do this. He was a Samarian, one chosen and anointed by the very Mother Divine I’d enjoyed. I had to believe she’d done this for a reason and not simply as a way to mock me. I closed my eyes and fought the welling of tears, promising this would be the last moment I ached for what I’d lost.
When I found him facing the sim doors, he didn’t turn, look at me, or acknowledge my presence with as much as an eyelash flutter, which didn’t surprise me given how I’d treated him to this point. I had some making up to do if we were going to have any sort of camaraderie during this forced meeting. It was up to me set him at ease and allow him to believe that I would afford him the attention to his presentation that the Samarians deserved and to make up for my attitude thus far. I stopped beside him, my body perpendicular to his, and offered my hands, palms up, fingers splayed with my pinkies touching in the proper placement for a greeting. “I’m honored to have you here.” My voice reverberated off the blank sim doors, echoing down the hall of the empty ship and ringing true. I did mean it and there was no mistaking the depth of the conviction in my statement. I was honored to have a Samarian here.
His head swiveled and he scrutinized my face, searched for the teasing bite that had laced every word since I’d stepped on board.
I bounced my hands once in the air and whispered loudly, “You’re supposed to put your hands on mine and return the greeting.”
His eyebrows lifted higher. “Are you sure?”
I breathed deep, drawing on every minute of training I’d been gifted over the last eleven years of my life and nodded. “I am.” I let the smile slip to my lips. “Both honored and sure.”
With a slow, steady grace, he turned toward me and took a step to close all the distance between us, bringing his hands level with mine. An inch of air separated our palms and I held his gaze, though I could have sworn that if I’d have looked, there would have been sizzling electric arcs flying between our palms.
CHAPTER 2
OF ALL THE things I’d expected her to say, her statement was lightyears away. I still wasn’t sure I believed her, but there was no mockery on her face. Her admission about struggling and not wanting me to be the representative stung more than I wanted to admit. Sure, I wasn’t a Samarian, but I was human. Wasn’t that better? The Samarians had thought so, searching endless galaxies until they’d found me—and with barely a minute to spare—pleading their case about how a human union was exactly what the universe needed.
And now here she was, disappointed and angry that they’d sent me instead of a Samarian. While I’d been rejected a handful of times, there’d always been a sound reason—her husband was coming home, we’d been mismatched species, I was only stationed for a moon—things that made sense. I guess I hadn’t expected that the pearl had a lot of opinions about who showed up; this whole process had seemed like a lot of pomp and positioning as an outsider who didn’t care or feel much impact from who ruled. Rules were meant to be broken and I’d never cared who’d made them or how they came to be in that position. Besides, far as I knew, the pearl had the final say anyway, so it had always seemed like the guy sitting next to her didn’t matter much, be it human or Samarian.
Guess I’d been wrong.
I’d expected her to be excited to have a presentation from a human. The Samarians had waxed on about it forever, so I’d assumed Lility would have felt the same. Her anger had surprised me and for a long moment, I’d expected her to refuse the presentation. That moment had stretched into a cold terror that pierced my guts. I hadn’t considered a back up plan if she did. The Samarian’s confidence had imbued me with my own, thinking this was going to be an easy walk through a sim that had consumed the budget and time of an entire galaxy. I hadn’t bothered to ask why they’d wanted to win this one so badly, assuming this was the norm for galaxies chosen to present.
When I’d agreed, I’d almost felt bad, knowing I had no intention of seeing the position through to the union.
Her beauty struck me again and I couldn’t help but look at her. Her every feature screamed her humanness and I wanted to drink my fill. While humans didn’t have unique coloring like a Mercev, or elongated necks like a Lyrica, there was something simplistically wonderful about staring into the eyes of my own species. I was suddenly nervous about the presentation, wanting her to like it. To like me?
The desire caught me off guard. Approval wasn’t something I craved from anyone, let alone another woman. I did things because I wanted to, made decisions with barely weighted outcomes, moved about the universe as I pleased.
Surely my need for her approval was due to the hours I’d spent getting ready for tonight; and the dedication to this project was simply because of the other consequences at a failure. I’d already stared that monster in the face, felt its sticky breath coat my skin, felt the pinprick of teeth ready to incinerate or enslave me. Yeah, that’s all this was.
I swallowed, focusing on the now and studied her again, seeking the hidden meaning behind her greeting that belied every action she’d had since stepping aboard, only to find nothing but a genuine offering.
The sim would immerse her in another world and if she trusted it, we’d leave the abrasions of each other and the situation, having, at worst, a nice couple of days hanging out. If she refused the simulations, we’d have a disjointed mess—kind of like the last hour.
After I’d run through the simulation to approve it, I’d asked for a few human modifications—thankful they hadn’t bothered to factcheck me, so desperate for her to pick their representative. And this time, her human match.
Then, I’d thought they’d be a nice touch, not knowing anything about her. Now, I second-guessed the changes, thinking she might find them silly or mundane. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d already be nearly the pearl, so steeped in tradition and the other galaxies. I’d overlooked the obvious, so desperate to seal the deal with the Samarians.
Her jewels sparkled in the soft light running the length of the hall overhead and for all that she was human, there was an otherworldliness about her too, like she was born for this destiny as universal ruler. I had no business muddling in such serious business.
Which made me wonder again at my human additions that she was about to see. How much of her heritage did she encounter on a daily basis and if she didn’t, was it something she craved? The worry crept in that she saw her humanness like I did, eager to purge all the humanity that held me captive in a world that changed faster than I could keep pace. I hoped there were parts—the good parts—of being human that she’d appreciate.
I couldn’t afford to fail.
CHAPTER 3
DIRK ENTERED THE code to deploy his sim and the gray doors blinked into an underwater scene, frothing waves threatening to spill over the tops of the doors, orange and yellow fish darting from one side to the other, a shadow in the distance of a great beast hanging suspended in the water, waiti
ng for us to join him, coppery coral stretching from the tips of our toes to beyond the doors, winking in the flickering light play of unseen suns far above the water’s surface.
He lifted his palm to the door and waited for me to do the same. I hadn’t been diving in a decade, giving it up for hours of training and then as the pearl. I wasn’t sure I remembered how or if I trusted Dirk to create a sim that wouldn’t drown me. I avoided his gaze and lifted a trembling hand, setting it on the panel in front of me.
The doors receded and we swam into the ocean like we’d dove off the back of a Foley ship—a real ship, not a space freighter. With a single stroke, my jūnhitoe transformed, encasing me from neck to toes in black neoprene, complete with a rebreather. Before I could fill my lungs with water, the simulation fitted me with a dive hood, stripping the mask of all the water, leaving nary a drop for me to accidentally inhale. Amber lighting clicked on, illuminating the blue waters around me. I acclimated quickly and rolled to my side, searching for Dirk.
He hung in the water beside me, a shorter wetsuit coming to his knees, identical dive mask in place, revealing his toothy grin. I smiled back, unable to contain my own joy at the prospect of a dive. “Where to?” I asked, trusting the helmets had headsets built in.
“This way,” he answered, his voice ringing clear in my hood, then he planed out and kicked his fins slowly, allowing me to catch up. Foley sea creatures mixed with Spiznwix, filling the simulated ocean with sparkling, impossible reds and yellows and brilliant blues everywhere I looked. Sounds became nothing more than my inhale and exhale.
Of all the sims he could have chosen to make, what made him choose this one? Why not one where he could impress me with his skills or talents? Maybe he didn’t have any beyond mechanicing, but even then, why not take me on a super-speed ship, or an expensive yacht? The simplicity of this was curious. The last free dive I’d done had been on the single spot on Samaria’s Quin planet, the only one with a sinkhole of nontoxic water. I was one of few people brave enough to dive it, and we didn’t have any sophisticated equipment like Dirk had given us.