by Lisa Eskra
When they reached the hospital, Nadine checked in at the front desk with a better handle on her psyche. Once again, Amii had grappled her mental demons and beat them into submission. As she rapped her nails on the counter and waited, she wondered why her mental image of Amii differed from reality. She projected the timid naïveté of a child. Was she sequestered in Xander's compound on Pisa, forbidden to venture into potential danger? Possible but not probable. No, she lost something with her memories…something vital.
A young nurse with long black hair approached the desk with a hateful smile. The nurses here all knew the reason for the second lady's visit, and their collective frowns indicated none approved of having her. Nadine's arrival meant she sought a euthanasia patient: someone on their death bed requesting a painless passing in order to ease their suffering in their final days. Euthanasia had long been legal in the UE, but the fact that a psion could administer the fatal end rubbed everyone the wrong way.
Without a word, the nurse gestured for the two of them to follow her. Her blue lab coat billowed out behind her due to her haughty stride. She led them down a series of sterile white corridors, each looking the same as the next, until they came to a room at the end. The nurse handed Dr. Reboitz a specialized biometrics scanner before casting a scornful glance at the second lady and leaving in silence.
The doctor glanced over the file on its small screen. "This is Grace Summers. Age eighty-one. She was in a hovermobile accident about a year ago…was in a coma and is now suffering from progressive organ failure. Are you ready?"
Nadine nodded and the two stepped into the small room.
The elderly woman lay in her bed with her arms resting across her stomach. Her long pink nightgown flattered her silver hair. Grace turned her head in acknowledgement of their presence and smiled like her prayers had been answered. "Nadine Taylor, by Astra…you're more beautiful than I thought you'd be."
As Dr. Reboitz strolled to the counter to prepare a mild sedative, the second lady grabbed a stool and rolled it up next to the woman's bed. "How are you doing today, Grace?"
"Better than I been in a long time," she said and took Nadine's hand, patting it before clenching it tightly. "They took out all those machines they had hooked up to me this morning. That was when I knew you'd be coming."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" the psion asked. "You can still change your mind."
Grace shook her head. "Should've died in that accident a year ago, but I got cheated out of it. There's no reason to sit around and wait. I been enough of a burden. My next journey is waiting. They asked me how I wanted to go, and I needed it to mean something. All them people hating on you—I don't know where their heads are. You're a real lady."
Nadine fought back tears as she stared into Grace's eyes. Taking the lives of good people this way tore up her heart. "Do you have any children?"
"Seven," she answered. "Plus nineteen grandchildren and five great grandchildren. They all live in Waring on New Ireland. A lot of people say it's just like Dublin back on Earth. I have five sisters, a few with more kids than me."
"Wow, sounds like an amazing family."
"We take a trip to the Black Cliffs every summer. It's a madhouse of a week but always worth seeing them all. What about you, hon? Don't you want to have kids? It's never too late to start."
"I'm not sure I'd want them to grow up in a society that hates psions so much."
"Times are changing," Grace said. "When I was a girl, I remember public hangings in the streets. Lynchings. And today, here in Chara, psions have the same rights as us normal people. Don't let old prejudices decide for you."
"You're a wise woman. Maybe someday I will."
Nadine forced a smile to hide her guilt. Never before had she wanted to back out of putting someone at peace. She reminded herself that the woman's days were already numbered and spent on the cusp of unbearable pain. How Grace stared into the eyes of death without pause epitomized courage. No resignation—only bravery. Her strength made the psion feel small by comparison.
Dr. Reboitz walked around the other side of the bed. "I'm ready whenever you are, Grace."
The old woman looked at Nadine one last time. "Thank you for freeing my pain. One day, I hope we meet again." With that, she nodded to the doctor to administer the shot.
She stuck the nebulization syringe to Grace's arm and emptied it. "Count backwards from ten for me."
She closed her eyes. "Ten…nine…"
After a few seconds, Nadine reluctantly stood and placed her hand on the crown of Grace's head. The warmth felt good against her cool fingers. Out of the corner of her eye, Dr. Reboitz winced; she hated this part.
"Goodbye, Grace," Nadine whispered. A single tear rolled down her face. "May you find happiness in your next life."
When the moment passed, she clenched her brow and dove into the woman's brain, seeking her life force with unbreakable concentration. A soft blue glow emanated from her hand, which radiated energy up through her arm into her mind. By all accounts, channeling gammamine painlessly required more effort than ripping every molecule out of them in pure agony. The process took a great deal more time, practice, and control.
A transparent sheen began to appear on Nadine's hand, an unusual side effect that scientists didn't understand. The compound was a complex molecule called gluene, revealed to be an accurate psionic fingerprint. The structure of gluene varied from psion to psion, loosely based on the DNA of the victim as well as DNA of the psion. Ten years ago, its discovery won a team of Altair scientists the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. Today, gluene was used to convict psions of mind crimes.
After about a minute, she released her grasp and sighed. With her urge to feed satiated, she glanced over at the doctor and blinked away the glow in her eyes. The two had had many discussions about this in the past so she knew Dr. Reboitz abhorred what she did to these people. Few doctors understood a patient's desire to die because they were so entrenched in saving them. After years under the microscope, Nadine sympathized with the plight of the suffering. No one should be forced to live against their will.
She walked over to the sink with her arm outstretched to keep the gluene off her clothes and washed it away vigorously. The film made her skin itch, and false sensations of touch tricked her mind until it was gone. When she offered the doctor a conciliatory smile, Dr. Reboitz narrowed her eyes and left her alone in the room. Oddly enough, Nadine found solitude a better companion. She'd done what she came to do and looked forward to returning to Northampton into the waiting arms of her husband.
St. Ives was pretty—no arguing that—but she didn't care to spend another minute in the ignorant place.
***
Amii had never seen a morning fog composed of nitrogen droplets until she set foot on Icelandia. Brutal did not begin to describe this part of New England, where venturing outside without a protective suit constituted immediate suicide. No one came in or left without expressed consent. In Icelandia, the environment held humanity hostage. Mammals didn't come within thousands of miles of the South Pole for a good reason—natural selection weeded out all the ones foolish enough to try. Humans, on the other hand, viewed it as a challenge, but this did not absolve them from also being idiots.
Icelandia Base had been originally conceived of as a maximum-security penitentiary. For all intents and purposes, it succeeded in that capacity. The extremely cold air temperature prohibited impulsive escape attempts. Walls made of cinder blocks imparted a sense of uniform despair. The structure had been triple insulated to contain heat, but Amii's nose and extremities never managed to warm up. Even inside, one layer of clothing did not suffice.
Of course, the frigidity went beyond the base's air temperature. From the moment they'd arrived, most of the personnel resented having the two of them around. They'd been barred from computer access and restricted to the civilian sector. Xander had no problem being a pariah, but the scientists disliked him with a furious passion, as if his presence affronted their profession.
Amii had not spoken to anyone other than Xander since their arrival; she already missed the Kearsarge and its eccentric cast of passengers.
She lounged in the cafeteria reading Razor's Edge, but today her mind strayed. A viewscreen lured her attention from the opposite wall. A live video feed from the AC Council displayed their continued debate on the Xuranian conundrum. The news served as her window to the outside world. At the same time she realized if she watched much more of it, she'd be as cynical as Xander.
News of human contact with the Xuranians spread like wildfire across Astra. For a week it was the only news anyone wanted to hear about. Feelings among the general public were mixed. Shades of cautious optimism dominated United Europe, while fear and xenophobia gripped the American Federation. Most wondered what the aliens wanted; few took their offer of peace at face value. That was how Xander felt, but she found herself curious about them and their rumored technological wonders.
A group of protesters sprung out of the woodwork almost overnight condemning friendly relations with the aliens. They dubbed themselves Centrists, symbolized by an orange flag with a stick diagram of the head of a bull. The Centrists motto of "humanity first and kill the rest" summarized their stance with poignant elitism. The same line of thinking led to the genocide of psions. With so many people mired in hate, perhaps humanity should let the aliens be. Nothing good could come from forcing an alliance.
Fifteen days had passed since Taylor met with the Xuranians on the surface of Coralag, and the Council seemed no closer to a resolution on how they wanted to deal with the Xuranians than they had been then. At Chairman Dodd's request discussion on the major issues at hand ensued. Federalists took a hardline against peaceful relations while progressives embraced the opportunity. The ramifications of either stance had been argued ad nauseum. The chamber could easily be mistaken for a theater, where the Council did nothing but pander to the Allied Confederacy and give their citizens the illusion their best interests were foremost.
Her eyes returned to the screen and she watched the proceedings. Right now, the initiative being tossed around was in support of continued diplomatic contact. Chairman Dodd tapped his gavel, but it barely evoked acknowledgement from the room. The voice of Councilman MacDonald from New Ireland droned on so smooth it lulled the chamber to sleep. "The gentleman's time has expired. The chair yields ten minutes to the gentlewoman from Monterey, Altair."
As Councilwoman Davis stepped up to the podium, her image replaced the chairman's on the screen. Amii wondered what garish outfit the woman would be wearing today, given her reputation for dressing inappropriately extravagant. She had on a low-cut white dress with a regular pattern of red dots; it cut across her chest at a flattering angle and only had one sleeve. While her clothes always succeeded in getting her noticed, few people ever took her seriously.
"Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I must say that my constituents have never been more concerned about the welfare of the Allied Confederacy as they are about it right now. I don't think anyone knows the true motives of the Xuranians. It wouldn't be the first time a group of people came under the guise of peace only to end up taking advantage of such kindness. I do not intend for that to happen here…"
While the councilwoman droned on about progressive policy being the root of all evil, Amii observed another disturbing fact about the Council: few people attended if there wasn't a vote or an emergency. In this day and age, the feed of the proceedings could be piped anywhere in Astra. A member could tune in and participate from the beach if they wanted to. But the overall turnout hovered at five percent and included just those individuals speaking in the next hour.
"The other day when everyone first found out about the Xuranians, my eight-year-old daughter came to me and asked, 'Mommy, what do the aliens want?' And I told her, 'I don't know, sweetie. We'll find out soon.' That was when she said, 'I'm scared, Mommy.' It broke my heart. The human race is still fragile. It will take many generations for most planets to reach the milestone of having a million citizens. If we don't protect our children from these aliens, we won't have any kind of future. Thank you, Mr. Chairman."
Before she could saunter away, the screen returned to Dodd. His bold, black-rimmed glasses complimented the shape of his face. Amii could hear the chairman's nasal voice in her mind before he even spoke. "The chair yields ten minutes to the gentleman from New England, Chara."
Whether he was for or against an issue on the table, Vice President Taylor always shared his thoughts with the rest of the Council. Many of the other council members considered it pompous, as though being heard all the time made his opinion more important than anyone else's. Amii felt the opposite. Despite his callous position toward Xander, he seemed to care about the people of the UE. As a moderate progressive, he sided with federalists on a number of issues. Like a smart politician, he realized compromise would win the day.
He stepped behind the podium next to him and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Human history is filled with tough choices, much like the one that sits in front of us today. When our ancestors made the decision to leave Earth over two centuries ago, all of them knew that there was the possibility we'd run into other sentient races. When their initial voyages didn't find any, most were relieved. Over the years, humans have grown complacent. It might surprise the council to know that first-contact protocols have been brought before this council twenty-eight times since the last version was drafted forty-three years ago, and all of them were either tabled or scrapped. And the reason is obvious: complacency.
"Too long has this Council sat by and done nothing. By now every one of us should have had the procedure memorized word-for-word instead of sticking our heads in the sand and hoping it would never happen. Planetary systems are much more common than we once thought possible. It was foolhardy to think we'd be the only sentient race and reckless to believe we'd never come across another one. Well, that day has arrived, Mr. Chairman! Despite the lack of preparation, I feel the meeting went extremely well, and I credit the latitude permitted to me by this Council for that success.
"It would be in our best interests to put forth a plan for a positive, meaningful relationship with the Xuranians. I have no doubt this is an advanced civilization, and I never got the impression their intentions are anything other than peaceful. A relationship with them could benefit us in ways we never thought imaginable, technology beyond our wildest dreams, and information about the galaxy that would take us centuries to acquire. We have little to lose and everything to gain.
"I know that many of us don't agree, but I ask this Council's members to put aside their usual partisan bickering for the good of all Astra. We cannot refuse a relationship with the Xuranians or water it down to little more than a tea party. Being overly cautious is not a forward-thinking policy, nor is it in our best interests. How long will it be before the Pan-Asian Union requests an audience with the Xuranians? If I had to guess, I'll bet they're discussing it at this very moment the same way we are, and I can guarantee they'll be eager to forge a lasting relationship. Instead of opposing it, we'd be much better served to be a part of it. I thank you, Mr. Chairman and yield back the balance of my time."
The screen cut to Councilwoman Davis glowering at him. When everything was said and done, none of their words mattered anyways. Both of them would vote the way their party's platform dictated, as would everyone else without variation, and the federalist majority would make the rules.
She felt a hand touch her shoulder and knew who it was without even looking. "What are you thinking as you stare at the sodding leaders who will bring death to us all?" Xander asked.
Amii turned toward him and raised her eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you're exaggerating or you actually mean that."
"Both, of course," he said with a quirky grin. "I'm sure we'll attack them and that will be the end of it. At least you're doing something of mild interest. All I've been doing is running around in circles trying to explain advanced robotics to neanderthals. I'm tempted to check if
these so-called scientists actually graduated from an institute of higher education because if they did, I have a few choice words for their advisors."
He picked up her book and scoffed at it when he read the title. "You're not done with this yet?"
"I've read it seven times."
"Good heavens, why?"
She shrugged. "It gives me something to do when Viva Vega is on."
He sat down beside her and propped his head on his fist. "What did you think of it?"
"I'm not sure I understand why anyone would enjoy it." The recent science fiction thriller by Steve Lawson envisioned the horrors of a malfunction that caused every household robot in existence to rise up and butcher their human masters as a collective consciousness in the most grotesque ways imaginable.
"I despise it, not so much the actual writing as Lawson's content. The two of us grew up together and we had a heated rivalry with one another. He was the hard-working one, and I was the smart one. He ended up valedictorian; I was salutorian and most likely to succeed. I skyrocketed to fame before he'd even outlined his first novel. The tides switched, of course, and now I'm the joke and he's enjoying stardom. He wrote that book as a slap in my face. I'm sure of it."
"I don't think the female protagonist is realistic at all."
"She's a lot like you, actually…but we've had this discussion before."
She made a mental note to read the book until she understood what he meant by that. To avoid rehashing the misfortune of her amnesia, she changed subjects. "Xander, tell me more about your past."
