by Ava Louise
Claire personally found the ambassador to be quite attractive, but she would never say that to anyone. She felt he would be a wonderful candidate for the matchmaking program set up by the U.S. government and the Nordonians. She didn’t feel, however, that she was an appropriate candidate. At the age of 40, she had resigned herself to never having children. Having children this late in life would mean higher risks for complications and she did not think she was up to that responsibility. She was well aware that the Nordonians needed human women to continue their bloodlines.
A chemical warfare attack by one of their enemies had wiped out all of the females of their race. It was a terrifying attack that will prove fatal for all Nordonians if they did not find other races to breed with. While they were a long-lived race, they were not immortal. The ambassador himself was about 100 Earth years in age, but was considered middle-aged for his race. One hope of the U.S. government was that the children produced from these pairings would have extended lives, too. It is unknown if living among the Nordonians would extend the lives of the women; there was not enough data to make that determination.
This was where Claire, and others like her, came in. They operated Intergalactic Matchmaking Services in the hopes of finding likely candidates for the program. This business had been active for only about 18 months and so far there were only a handful of viable candidates who chose to stick with the program. Most of the women chose to return to Earth, with their memories wiped clean of the time they spent with the program, instead of giving up their Earth existence. For this reason, Claire looked for women who were without family that would tie them to this planet.
The few women that had accepted Nordo males as mates had moved on when the ships rotated out of service above Earth. In return for the human participation in this service, the Nordonians vowed to protect Earth from any other alien race that would wish humans harm. Claire still found it surprising that all of this could happen without the public finding out about it. With all the conspiracy theorists in this country, surely someone would figure it out eventually. Their cloaking technology, and the fact their battleship was parked behind the moon, were the only reasons they had not been detected to date. Claire felt surely any day now an amateur star-gazer would catch sight of a Nordonian space ship popping in or out of its cloak.
Until that time came, Claire would just continue as she was; searching for viable candidates for intergalactic travel and adventure.
☆★☆
The rest of the week passed uneventfully for Maggie. While the Snake gang members continued to watch her apartment, there were no further incidents of vandalism. As she drove into the doctor’s parking lot in Seattle on Saturday, she debated the wisdom of this trip. Did she really want to use a matchmaking service to find someone special to share her life? What if Claire was unable to find someone who was willing to accept Mamzell? She would not get rid of her cat like a disposable commodity just for a remote chance at romance. It was “Love Me, Love My Cat” all the way. But in this day and age, most men seemed to understand that women sometimes came with not only pets, but children, too. She felt it wasn’t asking too much of a guy to accept her cat along with herself. She only had to worry about whether a foreign country required long quarantine times, right? That shouldn’t be too difficult to deal with.
Maggie walked into the clinic and checked in with the receptionist, who was wearing pastel scrubs with zoo animals printed on them. “Hi, my name is Maggie Cline. Claire O’Donnell with IMS said she made an appointment for me to get a physical.”
“Hello, Ms. Cline. Yes, we have you down for ten o’clock. If you could please fill out this questionnaire, that would be great. You can have a seat in the lobby until we’re ready,” said the gray-haired receptionist.
Maggie took her clipboard and pen and went to find a seat in the lobby. This wasn’t too difficult considering there was no one else in the lobby. She would have thought any doctor’s office open on Saturday would be packed with patients.
The questionnaire was very thick and asked for a complete medical background along with many questions that Maggie felt were extremely personal. “Have you had any type of surgery before? If so, please list the type(s) and date(s). Have you ever been pregnant? If so, how many times? What form of birth control do you use?” Sheesh, thought Maggie, they sure don’t pull any punches on the questions.
“Ms. Cline? Dr. Vidortan is ready for you,” called a nurse.
Maggie rose and walked through the heavy door the woman held open for her. “Just this way to room two please. I will get your vital signs and your weight and height then the doctor will be in.” After getting this information written in a chart, the nurse then said, “If you could please undress completely, put this gown on and wrap this sheet around your waist, the doctor will be right in.” The nurse stepped out of the room without another word.
After Maggie followed those instructions, she climbed up onto the paper-draped exam table and waited for the doctor. It wasn’t long before a light tap sounded at the door and Maggie called out for the person to enter.
“Good morning, Ms. Cline, I’m Doctor Cody Vidortan, how are you today?” asked the man. He had a mega-watt smile and the brightest blue eyes Maggie had ever seen on a person. He was tall and looked to be in his late twenties. Maggie figured he hadn’t been a doctor a long time, not with those baby cheeks.
“I’m good, Doctor.”
“Good, good. Now we’ll just do a complete exam on you today and get you on your way.”
After the most thorough physical exam she had ever endured, which included a full set of x-rays, the nurse came in to ask for a urine sample and said she needed to draw blood. Maggie wasn’t fond of needles, but she realized this was part of the testing, so she gave up her four vials of blood.
“You can get dressed now, Ms. Cline. The test results should be available on Monday. They will be sent to IMS directly. Do you have any questions before you go?” asked the nurse, as she gathered up all of her samples.
“No. Thanks,” said Maggie.
After dressing, Maggie gathered her coat and purse, bid farewell to the receptionist and went to her truck. As a treat to herself for enduring all that poking and prodding, Maggie decided to visit Pike Place Market. She had only been once before, right after she moved to Washington. She loved the local arts and craft items that could be found among the numerous vendors. She would treat herself to a day of relaxing away from the eyes of the Snake gang members before heading home to her weekend house chores of laundry and cleaning.
CHAPTER 9
First thing Monday morning, Claire O’Donnell checked her email for Maggie Cline’s test results. She was happy to see that Dr. Vidortan had been fast in processing the tests. There were no indicators for health concerns, and there did not appear to be any reason why Maggie would have trouble conceiving a child under normal circumstances. Of course, mating with an alien did not, for most people, fall under “normal circumstances.” Some people may consider that quite abnormal. Maggie had no known (at least to human medicine) genetic markers for known diseases or defects. As far as Claire was concerned, this was excellent news. Her immediate task was to contact the ambassador for the Nordonians.
Using her laptop, Claire contacted the starship using the Voice Over program set up by the Nordonians. She let the communications officer know she would like to speak with the ambassador as soon as possible. A couple of hours later, Claire heard the door at the back of the office open and close. In walked Ambassador Pacer and another Nordonian in a similar uniform.
“Good morning, Claire, I would like to introduce you to Daxon of the Flame clan, our Security Chief aboard the Starrays.”
“Hello,” said Daxon. The male had a clan tattoo of stylized flames surrounding his blue-and-green mottled skull. The tattoo wrapped around the back and sides of his head with a large center flame coming across the top of his head to the center of his scalp.
“Nice to meet you, Daxon,” said Claire. She
was impressed with this new alien’s size; he was larger than even the ambassador. He wore what Claire recognized as a traditional Nordonian uniform—a black long-sleeved shirt covered by a tunic, with black pants and boots. She recalled that the red of the tunic indicated Security; the ambassador’s blue tunic indicated he was part of the Administrative personnel.
“Ambassador, I have Ms. Cline’s results back if you would like to go over them,” said Claire as she waved to the chairs in front of her desk. “May I get either of you something to drink before we sit?”
“No, thank you, we are fine. Go ahead and report on the tests results,” said the ambassador as he and the Security Chief took their seats. The very formal ambassador never was one for small talk, thought Claire. Still, she enjoyed his deep voice and formal speech patterns. Whatever language program the government used to teach the Nordonians English should be updated to a less formal English, thought Claire.
“Well, the medical tests show her to be a completely healthy woman in all aspects. There were no red flags for any genetic abnormalities or illnesses. Her personality test scores were all above the sixtieth percentile, indicating she handles most things in life with calm and decisiveness. I would have to agree with that considering the amount of fear she is living with at the moment.”
“At the moment?” asked Daxon.
“Yes, she is living under quite a bit of stress right now since she witnessed the murder of a store clerk. The gang that the shooter is associated with has been keeping a close eye on her. She has experienced a couple of acts of intimidation, but appears to be handling it pretty well, all things considered. In fact, that is one reason she contacted IMS; the flyer she received mentioned that the interested parties would need to be willing to relocate.”
“So, her sole reason for contacting you was seeking help in moving?” asked the ambassador with a frown. “We are not a moving company; we are looking for viable women to help us continue our race.”
“Of course, Ambassador. It was not the sole reason she contacted us. She indicated she had not spent much time seeking relationships, and is now ready to open herself to that possibility. After her parents died while she was in college, she focused on her education, then her career. There is no one close enough in her life right now that she feels comfortable helping her with the stress she is going through. I think she realizes just how isolated she has made herself.”
“What else does the Personality Test indicate?”
“Some of the highlights are ‘poised, honest, confident and clear-thinking,’ along with ‘does not enjoy confrontation, but will stand up for self.’ I think that would be an admirable trait for anyone agreeing to live in a completely strange environment,” the matchmaker said. “Her lowest marks came in under Aesthetic Sensitivity, most likely since she indicated she didn’t particularly enjoy art museums or live theater.”
“Do you have a photo of Ms. Cline in your file, Claire?” asked the ambassador.
Claire pulled Maggie’s school photo from the manila folder and slid it across the desk toward the alien males.
“She is quite attractive, is she not, Daxon,” the ambassador asked the Security Chief.
“I suppose so,” Daxon said softly. “You know I am not interested in taking part in this program, Pacer.”
The Ambassador smiled softly as he looked at his Security Chief. He felt the younger male would be an excellent candidate for the program. Daxon was one of the more serious individuals, sometimes too serious in Pacer’s opinion. Daxon was the best friend of Denot, the ambassador’s youngest son. He felt a bit responsible for the security chief, since Daxon’s father was killed in action during a fight with the Borenites, the alien race that wiped out the Nordonian females along with many of their children. If there was anyone that deserved happiness, he felt it was Daxon. He would do whatever he could to see that happen. He also knew it would take all his patience, which served him well as a diplomat.
“There is one issue I need to discuss with you, Ambassador, before I set up a meeting time with Ms. Cline,” Claire said nervously. She knew this next point was going to be a bit difficult for the Nordonians to understand. “Maggie has a cat, a small mammal that many humans keep as pets. She is very attached to the animal and will refuse to leave the animal behind if she were to choose to join you on the Starrays. House cats usually weigh between five to twelve pounds, on average. I’ve seen her cat and it is on the petite side. Would you be willing to allow her to bring the animal with her? Since she’s so fond of her cat, I believe it’s a good indicator of how strong her maternal instincts are.”
“Hmmm. None of the other candidates that have chosen to join us have had a pet. Are you sure she could not be convinced to leave it behind?”
“I’m pretty sure she will be quite adamant on this point, sir. She has had the animal for three years. If it helps you at all, the average life expectancy of this type of animal is approximately fifteen years. We could insist on a thorough physical checkup by a veterinarian, too, if you like. Also, there would be the matter of its hygiene needs,” Claire said with a slight cough.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, pets that are kept strictly indoors, like Maggie’s cat, need a place to … relieve themselves. The owner of a cat keeps a box called a litter box filled with either sand or clay. The owner then sifts out the solid matter and disposes of it daily. Hygienically speaking, cats are considered quite clean.” Claire couldn’t believe she was having to describe the potty habits of a cat to aliens, but that is what she was paid to do, navigate the choppy waters between the matchmaking candidates and the aliens.
“Surely she could be convinced to leave it behind,” said Daxon. He did not understand why this was even an issue; Nordonians didn’t keep pets. The concept of keeping animals as companions was absurd.
“I’m afraid not, gentlemen. Considering she’s a wonderful candidate for the program, I strongly recommend that she be allowed to keep her pet with her. It would also help with the transition from Earth to life onboard the starship.”
“I think on this matter we will have to defer to your judgment, Claire, but I would like to see this pet before giving my final permission.” The ambassador sounded quite dubious.
“Of course. I will contact Maggie today and set up an appointment to meet her on Wednesday at four o’clock if that is acceptable with her and with you.” The ambassador nodded his head at this. “Would you like to meet Maggie during this next meeting?”
“Yes, that would be best, and we could evaluate the situation with the pet at the same time. We will leave you to your work now. We must get back to the ship and perhaps do some research of our own about humans keeping pets,” concluded the ambassador in his rich, deep voice.
Ambassador Pacer and Daxon both rose and headed to the rear of the office. Claire was relieved the Nordonians were at least willing to consider allowing Maggie to keep her cat. She didn’t want to lose Maggie as a candidate for the program over the simple matter of a pet. As soon as they saw how clean the animal was, and how well Maggie took care of her, they should be more understanding.
Claire called Maggie right away and set up the meeting for Wednesday after school. She couldn’t wait to see Maggie’s expression when she saw the Nordonians for the first time. While they were attractive in their own ways, they were still different enough from humans that they could not pass as one. They had no hair on their bodies except for eyelashes which were usually quite pale. Their eyes were a bit larger than most human eyes, too, with less range of colors. She had only seen them with eyes of black, gray, dark blue, and dark brown. The vertical pupils were another way they stood out. Personally, she believed their pastel-hued skin was attractive. Their noses were flatter and broader than many humans, but were not unattractive, either. The first meeting between candidates and Nordonians was always interesting.
☆★☆
Daxon de-cloaked their small space vessel after looking around the alley to make sure no hu
mans were present. This was a point when things could go wrong; it would not be safe for them to be seen coming and going. The ambassador and Daxon quickly entered their vehicle, closing the side door and re-engaging the cloaking device.
As the ambassador took his seat, he said, “I wish you would give this program a chance, Daxon. I care for you like one of my own sons. I think this would be a great opportunity for you to find a mate.”
“I don’t want a human mate, Pacer, you know this. I have resigned myself to the fact that my family line will probably stop with me. I’ve watched enough human media to know these humans do not treat matings with the same reverence we Nordonians tend to.”
“And I have told you that you should not put so much stock in their media sources. I knew your parents. I understand the kind of relationship you think you want. But at least try to give the humans a chance to show their worthiness.”
Daxon only grunted in response. He was tired of talking about this with the ambassador. He had seen how his fellow Nordonians would get themselves anxious when a new human woman would visit the starship. He also saw how many of them were disappointed when the woman would decide she could not give up her life on Earth. Going through that himself held no appeal. Why put himself through it, he thought. Surely there are other races that value home and hearth as much as Nordonians.
Daxon remembered his parents fondly. Dizon and Binda were happily mated for 40 years; they were soul mates, made for each other and no one else. They had a strong relationship built on respect and faith in each other. When his mother, Binda, died after the chemical attack, his father was devastated. Dizon pulled himself together for Daxon’s sake, since he was only ten years old at the time.
The ambassador, however, was not willing to let Daxon get lost in his memories.
“You know how important this program is to our survival, Daxon. I am only asking that you give it a chance to succeed.”
