by S. J. Talbot
Doing her best to keep her mouth from hanging open, Tierney put this information on her list, noting to reach out to Director Willoughby and ask him to look into how having another moon-sized object so close would affect Earth.
They spent the next couple hours discussing the logistics of relocating an entire planet's population, including the limitations of the Relican conveyance technology, how the Relicans would coordinate the location of each conveyed group of humans so they wouldn't get in each other's way, what the humans would eat and drink, right down to management of human waste and shelter. The commander remained tense throughout the meeting, but Tierney felt much more relaxed than she had the day before. She was in her element. Not just in her office on Earth, but planning, organizing, thinking of potential issues and solutions -- this was where she excelled. This was why she was the right person for this job.
"Our world is quite fractured," Tierney said, staring at her copious notes so far. "Many groups are at war with each other, and not all of the fighting has stopped since your arrival. We're going to have to keep those sects apart from each other if we want to have a peaceful journey."
She noticed his metallic eyes staring at her lips, and realized she was chewing on the end of her braid. Tossing the wet hair over her shoulder, she said, "I guess I need to have breakfast."
"You haven't eaten today?" he asked in surprise.
His arched eyebrows and wide eyes again reminded her of how similar they were to humans. Even though she was looking right at him, it took her a moment to notice his gray skin color -- she'd grown so accustomed to it during the meeting.
"Somebody hijacked my morning," she said, typing a few more thoughts before she forgot them.
Commander Corwin stood abruptly. "Forgive me," he said, looking confused. "It was not my intention to --"
"I was kidding!" she said quickly, standing also.
Is this it? she thought in a panic. Did I just condemn humanity with a single sarcastic remark?
"It was just a joke," she reiterated, coming around the desk to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. This has been very productive and I truly appreciate your time. Breakfast can wait; humanity can't."
His expression remained stern, and she felt her heart racing. If Nelle were there, Tierney could bring the commander to see her and smooth things out, but the President had left overnight to begin a tour across the country. Americans seemed to be handling everything reasonably well overall, but Nelle had scheduled an exhaustive tour over the next two weeks, conducting as many town hall meetings as she could with the intent of convincing the country that she was acting in their best interests.
"Perhaps we should procure some food for you before continuing," he said.
"I'm fine, really," she said, but her stomach betrayed her, growling so loudly they probably heard it up on his ship.
She gave a defeated laugh and said, "Okay. I'll go grab something. You can wait here."
The commander started toward the couch, but then he asked, "Are you going somewhere public?"
"Umm, the cafeteria isn't public per se, but it's available for all White House staff."
"And they'll be there?" he asked, his face revealing some unknown internal struggle.
Where is this going?
"It's still a little on the early side," she said, "but there will likely be some others there, yeah."
Throwing his shoulders back, he pressed his silver lips firmly together. "I should accompany you then. Increased interaction between humans and Relicans increases interspecies tolerance and acceptance."
A rather clinical way of saying it, but Tierney had to agree -- although walking side by side with a Relican felt a bit deceptive, since she didn't fully trust them herself. But if Nelle was pushing herself to the limit to instill confidence in the Relicans' plan, Tierney could do her part.
The cafeteria was nearly empty, save for a handful of lone staffers, and a few interns crowded around a single small table and snickering among themselves. As soon as Tierney and Commander Corwin walked in, the little conversation there was fell silent, and all eyes were on the two of them. Tierney knew acting normal wouldn't cut it, so she met their fears and suspicions head on.
"Morning guys," she said. "You all know Commander Corwin, and that he and I will be meeting often to coordinate the evacuation."
The commander smiled at them, but it was a stiff, uncomfortable smile.
"I've already shared with him how proud I am of our staff here," Tierney continued, "and that our team comprises only the most professional, talented, and open-minded people our country has to offer. I hope he has the opportunity to see all of this firsthand in his interactions with you all." With a friendly nod indicating that she was done, she headed for the vending machine.
"What is that?" Commander Corwin asked, eyeing the cash she was pulling out of her purse. He kept his voice low, since the cafeteria was still quiet, and his translator somehow picked that up and whispered the question to her.
"This is a dollar," she explained, "the basis of American currency."
"You still have a currency-based economy?"
Feeding the dollar into the machine, she pressed the button for a breakfast bar. "You don't?"
He looked offended at the idea. "Not for a few hundred years."
"I'm not so crazy about it either, to be honest," she admitted, grabbing her breakfast from the bottom of the machine. "It's the source of about half of humanity's problems. But getting people to give up their money would be harder than... well, getting them to travel to a distant planet."
"Perhaps now is an opportunity for positive change."
At first she thought he was being condescending, but meeting his gaze, she was startled at his earnestness.
Can these guys be for real?
She shook away the thought, unwilling to shed her suspicion based on a single seemingly sincere comment. Turning around, she saw that the cafeteria was now empty.
"So much for my rousing speech," she muttered, taking a seat.
"I thought it was well done," said the commander, staying by the snack machines, "despite the slight fabrication."
"Yeah, sorry about that," she said between bites. "I couldn't come right out and tell them to be nice to you without sounding like an elementary school teacher, but it had to be said."
His gaze slid down to her mouth, and he stared with a dark, distant expression. Thinking she had something in her teeth, she brought her hand up. He glanced in alarm up at the ceiling, then slowly paced the perimeter of the room. She had finished her cereal bar by the time he'd made it back to the vending machines.
"That was your entire meal?" he asked as she got up to throw the wrapper away.
"It is today," she said, heading back in his direction and pulling out another dollar. "What do Relicans eat?"
He was standing in front of the drink machine, and when she came up beside him to buy a water he started to take a step back. Then something twitched in his jaw, and he stayed where he was.
"The names would mean nothing to you," he said.
She was so close to him that she thought she could smell the scent of his ship on him -- metallic, sharp. But where the smell had been at times oppressive on the ship, this was a subtle aroma, just enough to tickle her senses and remind her that this man was from another world.
"However," he continued, his rumbling voice becoming even lower, "in preparation for relocation, my Senior Medic studied the human diet extensively, and found that many of the nutrients you require are identical to those we consume: iron, zinc, copper, and more -- what you call metals. Only we require far more of these elements than you."
The lights above made the specks on his face shimmer, and a sudden realization struck Tierney. "Are you... metal?"
He nodded. When he spoke again, Tierney wished she could understand his language so that emotionless translator wasn't always talking over him. His voice was so soothing.
"Our bodies consist of approximately forty percen
t metals," he said, "with most in our epidermis."
Metal. Once again Tierney felt herself hypnotized by the Relican's glimmering skin. Her finger twitched with the urge to know if his cheek was as soft and smooth as it looked, but she remembered what First Arrat had said about how they didn't touch unless they were mates.
That's definitely not going to happen, she thought, for more reasons than I can count.
But right then, with his silver eyes boring deep into hers with some unspoken question, she found she couldn't think of a single one. All of the problems that she was responsible for solving fell away, leaving only him -- the shimmering, steel sculpture in front of her. A statue of the perfect man.
Even his lips sparkle...
"Tierney!"
A shrill voice rang through cafeteria. Tierney wondered how long her heart had been racing, and felt a warmth in her cheeks. Commander Corwin appeared equally flustered, taking more than a few steps back as he watched a woman practically running towards them, clutching some papers.
"Tierney!" she cried again. "You have to see this."
"What is it Donna?" Tierney asked, grabbing her bottle of water. She hastily downed several gulps, anxious to rid her face of the flush she could still feel.
Donna, a grandmotherly woman who was one of the few people here Tierney trusted, thrust the papers into Tierney's chest. "This is being circulated among the staff, and it's only a matter of time before someone on Grant's team leaks it."
Tierney skimmed the first handful of lines on the paper, disgust twisting her stomach. Hoping she was managing to keep her expression neutral, she turned on the commander.
"Have you or any of your people been in contact with Jonas Spade, the Vice President's Chief of Staff?" she asked.
"No." He eyed the paper in her hand with suspicion, but there was no way she was letting him see it.
"Good," she said, allowing herself to seethe now that she knew where to direct it. "If you'll excuse me, I need to take care of something."
10
Although she hadn't invited him, Tausson followed Miss Dawson as she marched out of the cafeteria and down the hall. His better sense told him to stay put, that the more time he spent with this woman meant a greater chance of losing control like he nearly had a moment ago, but like a Relican homa chasing flame, he couldn't resist her.
He'd known this would be an issue, and had privately asked Carterra to go in his stead, although he didn't say why. She had insisted -- rightly -- that as the highest ranking Relican available, he had an obligation to work in person with his counterpart on Earth as a sign of respect. According to the Culture Report, the United States was considered the most powerful country. The rest of the world's leaders were meeting virtually with a number of Relican representatives, including Carterra, Rasmus, and Elic.
Tausson would have been pleased to work with President Freeland, to get a better sense of whether she was a good candidate for him, but when they spoke last night she had said she would be traveling to quell the doubts of her people -- a noble thing for a leader to do, but that left him forced to spend hours in the company of Miss Dawson.
But even as he resigned himself to his fate, he couldn't help the thrill he had felt at the thought of seeing her again. Even now, moments after he had nearly endangered their mission by touching his flesh to hers, he still couldn't help imagining bending her over that couch in her office and finding relief. Luckily, the mechasuits had built-in shields for sensitive body parts to protect them during sparring, so no one was aware of how swollen his seed organ was. If they had known -- if Miss Dawson knew -- how much she affected him, he doubted he would be allowed anywhere near her.
Heads peered over cubicles as they passed through an open area with several desks towards Mr. Spade's office. The door was closed, but Miss Dawson didn't hesitate thrusting it open. The Vice President's Chief of Staff hardly flinched as she slammed the document on his desk.
"What the hell is this?!" she hissed, surprisingly quiet for how furious she clearly was.
Mr. Spade's amused expression didn't waver. With a nod to Tausson, he greeted them both. "Commander Corwin, Miss Dawson."
She spun around, surprised Tausson was still behind her. Her fierceness dimmed only a little, however, and he was reminded of when she was on the Irral, in the conference room, and how breathtaking she had been when she was upset. Her full lips pursed as she stared at him, apparently considering whether to continue her assault in front of the Relican delegate.
"What's this?" Mr. Spade asked, picking up the papers she'd brought. He obviously didn't have a problem with bickering in front of Tausson.
With narrowed eyes, Miss Dawson whirled back on Mr. Spade. "As if you don't know. This was sent to you! And how the hell did you get put in charge of the volunteers?"
"The Vice President wanted his best man on the job, although..." His face assumed a troubled look as he stood and slowly came around his desk to them. "... I'm afraid our President is a little too focused on this, and that she's confused her own personal fantasies with reality."
Even Tausson couldn't miss the flicker of victory in Mr. Spade's eyes as he handed the papers to him. Miss Dawson tried to object, but stopped short of snatching them out of Tausson's hand.
"Jonas!" she cried. "This is not the time for distracting lies. We need to be united!"
As they argued, Tausson looked at the papers Mr. Spade had given him. Scrolling his arm over them, his mechasuit translated and projected the words for him to read in Relican. The document appeared to be correspondence sent from President Freeland to Mr. Spade, with the subject heading, "Asteroid Mate Q&A."
Jonas,
I know you've been tasked with the process for screening potential volunteers who wish to mate with the Relicans. However, I've been pondering this subject overnight, and I have some suggestions on a questionnaire that could be utilized to ensure the Relicans are not wasting their time on women who don't meet their needs. Here are some questions I think should be required for the applicants:
Age, measurements, exercise habits, diet, health history
Sexual history, including # of partners and sexual preference
Ranking of preferred sexual positions
Willingness to try new sexual positions
Preferred duration of sexual intercourse
Average # of orgasms during sex
Willingness to have sex with multiple partners -- either one-on-one or at the same time...
The list went on, with a total of thirteen questions about the volunteers' preferences regarding a number of scenarios including visual stimuli, stimulative objects, and voyeurism.
Tausson was appalled. None of this had anything to do with what the volunteers would be doing. Breeding was a simple, straightforward act, with none of the trappings that these humans seemed to be obsessed with. Perhaps the President wouldn't make a good candidate after all. The more Tausson learned about this species, the more he wondered at their being classified advanced enough to warrant relocation.
Miss Dawson and Mr. Spade were still quarreling.
"As if these women aren't already being degraded enough," she said, "you want to put something like this in front of them? It's outrageous."
"I agree," said Mr. Spade. "President Freeland has really overstepped her bounds here."
Miss Dawson began to say something, but Tausson spoke first. "This is unacceptable." Both humans looked at him -- Miss Dawson with fear, Mr. Spade with conceit.
"We have no need of knowing any of this information," he continued. "I don't pretend to understand all of this, but it is clear based on your reactions that it could be considered offensive, and we have no wish to insult any of your people -- particularly potential Asteroid Mates. The women who wish to become Asteroid Mates are to be treated with only the utmost respect, and we will do everything we can to ensure their comfort and security."
He glanced again at the document, then handed it back to Mr. Spade. "If this is how your President
views her own people, as objects of lust to be leered at -- then perhaps she is not the leader we believed her to be."
"No, Commander Corwin --" began Miss Dawson, but Mr. Spade cut her off.
"I agree completely, Commander. Vice President Grant has been working tirelessly for years to cover up for the President and her sexual obsession, hoping to keep our country united, but this will be her undoing."
"What?" asked Miss Dawson, her eyes bright with horror. "Jonas, what have you done?"
Mr. Spade flipped his TV screen on to show the news broadcast. An image of the President's letter was being shown, with commentators discussing its lewd and perverted nature.
"Commander," Miss Dawson said, stepping between him and the screen, "this is a fabrication. I swear, President Freeland is not the source of this disgusting list. She would never subject anyone -- male or female -- to such degradation. This is an attempt to undermine her authority so the Vice President can assume control."
He believed her. How could he not? The sincerity in her luminous eyes was unmistakable, while the conniving of Mr. Spade was equally obvious. However, as much as he wanted to knock the smug smile off of the man's face, he couldn't get in the middle of this domestic squabble.
"The identity of your country's ruler is up to your people. I will continue to coordinate America's evacuation with you for as long as President Freeland is leader."
It was now Mr. Spade's turn to fume, while relief flooded Miss Dawson's face.
"Thank you," she said.
"However, that cannot be allowed to continue," he said, pointing at the correspondence and the TV screen. "The women of your world must be assured that this list does not represent the needs or desires of the Relican people."
"Of cour--"
A panicked cry from the main office space cut off Miss Dawson's reply. The three of them rushed out to see everyone running over to the windows.
"What's going on?" Miss Dawson asked the closest human.
"An eclipse!" the man said, chasing the crowd.
