by Jim Proctor
Made in the Stars
By Jim Proctor
Copyright 2014 Jim Proctor
All rights reserved
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Edited by Cynthia Shepp
www.cynthiashepp.com
Cover created by Rene Folsom
Phycel Designs Graphic Arts
www.phycel.com
Special thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Cassie Hoffman
abibliophobiaanonymous.blogspot.com
Keylann looked at herself in the mirror, turning back and forth. There was no denying it—she looked stunning. She walked down the steps and crossed the foyer into her living room. The retinal projector built into the frames of her eyeglasses displayed information from her Pocket Core, a powerful, pocket-sized computer, superimposed on her normal field of vision. With a few carefully practiced eye movements and blinks, she opened a link to Harmon Central Station, purchasing three seconds access to a receiving node on the main platform. Her personal wormhole generator hummed to life and, with a single stride, she stepped onto the Station’s platform eight kilometers away.
She turned around to make sure that the wormhole had closed. Of course it had. It was programmed to extinguish ten milliseconds after she stepped out on this end. Personal wormholes were fast and convenient if you needed to travel to a wormhole station. They had a range of about fifty kilometers, but they required a receiving node at the destination. You couldn’t generate a personal wormhole to just anywhere. The big wormhole generators at a central station could span tens of thousands of light-years, and that’s what she needed for her date.
She turned her attention to the large display hovering over the center of the platform. The wormhole to Cartise Gamma Station would open at gate seven. Having left herself just a few minutes to spare, she set off at a brisk walk. She wondered if she had delayed intentionally in hopes of missing the opening. Her last six dates had been complete disasters.
People were walking casually through the station. Some were being followed by luggage on grav-carts. Keylann always wondered how the gravity-wave repulsion units worked, but had never bothered to study the technology. It worked—that was all that she cared about. Whatever made the grav-carts float was the same technology that made grav-cars fly and, she was told, gave them their source of propulsion.
Arriving at gate seven, she found a queue of people waiting. She hadn’t missed the opening. Sighing, she readied herself for meeting another prospective mate. Torina, her Mate Technician, had assured her that this man would be a wonderful match. Of course, she had said the same about the six previous men. And yet, here she was, ready to try number seven. Perhaps, if this mate didn’t work out, it would be time to ask for a new Mate Tech. She smiled and shook her head. There was something about Torina that she found comforting, though she could never say exactly what it was. No, she would not ask for a new Tech—not yet, anyway.
A tone sounded and people in the queue stopped their idle chitchat, turning to face the gate. Keylann rushed over and stood at the end of the queue. A hum reverberated as the force field generator turned on. A shimmering, silver haze appeared across the gate—the force field that held back the massive rush of air that would result due to the difference in atmospheric pressure at each end of the wormhole. Suddenly, daylight streamed through the previously dark gate. Apparently, the platform at Cartise Gamma was either outdoors or under a transparent roof. Almost in unison, every member of the queue turned their face away and put up a hand to block the light. After their eyes adjusted, people began to step through the wormhole.
Keylann stepped onto the platform at Cartise Gamma Station. Her stomach felt like it was trying to turn over inside of her. Someone bumped into her from behind. He grumbled something about there being one in every queue who would step through the wormhole and stop to look around. She gave a rude hand gesture to his departing back. She wasn’t exactly a frequent interplanetary traveler, but she had stepped to other worlds a few times in her brief life. She hadn’t seen the man queue up behind her, or she would have stepped away from the gate upon arrival. The hum of the force field stopped, as the wormhole closed. For better or worse, she was here until the next scheduled opening back to Harmon.
The people from the queue were dispersing, going about their business. She looked for a sign or map to show her which way to go. Then she saw him—a very handsome man was standing about ten meters away, holding a sign that read, “Keylann Ascentia”. She smiled. She had been expecting to hire a grav-car to take her to the restaurant. It was sweet of him to meet her here. The man smiled as she approached.
“I’m Keylann Ascentia. You must be Jarman Cooper,” she said.
He nodded. “If I wasn’t a moment ago, I am now.”
Keylann smiled. Torina had showed her a hologram of Jarman yesterday. Asking was just a social formality. He was, she had to admit, even sexier in person.
“I guess your Mate Tech showed you a hologram of me?” she asked.
“No, actually, he didn’t. I like the element of surprise. It adds some excitement to the meeting.” He held up the sign again as further proof.
“Really? Wow. Then I’ll bet you would have hidden that sign and walked away if I had been hideous looking,” she said with a broad smile.
The smile left Jarman’s face. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, well, I just thought—”
“This isn’t some backwards planet,” he interrupted. “We have all the latest reconstructive nanotechnology available. If you turned out to be a really nice person, we could fix all of your physical flaws.”
“All of them? I see. So if I were a really nice person, you would suggest that I have my physical appearance changed to suit you?”
“Exactly,” he said as his smile returned. “But luckily, that won’t be necessary.”
She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or disgusted. She was sure of one thing—this guy was shallow. Unfortunately, in a universe where people routinely went through total body rejuvenation every twenty years or so, starting around their fortieth birthday, and had their bodies sculpted and enhanced in the process, his attitude was pretty common. She sighed. This guy was no different from most others she would meet. The fact that he was gorgeous was a plus. Suddenly, she wondered if this was his natural appearance, or if he had been sculpted. She had told Torina that she wanted a non-juve, someone who had not yet been through rejuvenation, but Torina had said that there were no guarantees. Clients lied about if they had, how many times they had, and about countless other details.
“I came here by personal wormhole,” Jarman explained. “I’ve hired a grav-car to take us to the restaurant. The platform is this way.” His arm swept around, and he pointed to the end of the station. “Follow me.” He turned and walked briskly away, without waiting for her to step up beside him.
She took several quick steps to try and catch up, but then gave up. She wasn’t going to play the eager puppy and scurry to catch up with him. In fact, she just might keep him waiting instead. She slowed her pace, allowing him to stretch his lead.
Jarman arrived at the grav-car platform and turned around. For the first time, he noticed that she was some distance behind. A look of impatience flashed across his face, but quickly softened when she smiled at him. He grinned back.
“Who’s the puppy now, jerk?” she asked under her breath.
A grav-car ap
proached and stopped, hovering at the edge of the platform. The door opened. To her surprise, Jarman waited for her to enter. She climbed in, and he stepped in after her. The door closed with a hiss, and the grav-car moved away from the station. Jarman pulled a small device from his pocket.
“I’ve programmed the destination into my Pocket Core. It’s relayed the information to the car’s core.”
“Yes, I know. We have grav-cars where I come from,” she said.
“Of course you do. How silly of me. It won’t take long—”
“We’ll arrive at Zerroe’s in four minutes and twelve seconds,” she interrupted. “Approximately, of course.”
Jarman tapped a few keys on his Pocket Core. “Yes, that’s about right,” he said.
Keylann’s retinal projector was showing her the course the grav-car would take, its velocity, altitude, time to destination, and the cost of the trip.
“Have you been here before?” Jarman asked.
“No, this is my first time on Cartise Gamma.” She smiled as his expression became more confused. Her projector was also showing Jarman’s heart and respiratory rates. Both were edging upward. He was flustered, she guessed.
The grav-car hovered at the third-floor platform of
