Kharmic Rebound

by Yeager, Aaron

  Tomar walked up to the trio, trying unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness as he made polite conversation and prepared to offer Cha’Rolette a gift which he held behind his back. This would be the third such attempt made by a male student since lunch had begun. Gerald couldn’t hear what they were saying because of the distance and because he was looking through what he guessed was not actually glass but some kind of transparent stone. So, unable to hear their conversation, he supplied the voices and dialogue himself.

  “Hello Duchess, I am approaching you in a public and direct way to show you that I am bold and decisive; traits that make for a good and effective leader,” Gerald said, intentionally giving Tomar a gruff and deep voice.

  Cha’Rolette smiled and flicked her ringlets behind her ear. “My position and wealth make such traits unnecessary in a consort, but I am impressed nonetheless because I am programmed to respond to such displays,” Gerald said, giving her a high and whiney voice for no other reason than because it pleased him.

  Tomar held out the gift. “See what a good provider I will be. This box contains wealth, which will ensure a secure and stable environment for our children to be raised in. If you accept me as your mate, many more such gifts will be provided to you.”

  Cha’Rolette opened the box and showed its contents to her friends, who tittered and squeed at whatever it was. She then turned back towards Tomar.

  “Do you see how flawless my skin is? Do you see how symmetrical my face is? These are signals of health and fertility.”

  “I did notice those things.”

  “And do you notice how large my chest is? That means that I will provide plenty of sustenance for our offspring. Furthermore, my wide hips and narrow waist indicate that I will be far more likely to survive childbirth. A definite advantage when passing on your genes to viable offspring.”

  “Yes, in fact those are the very reasons I am here. Modern medicine has made those traits unnecessary for successful breeding for thousands of years, but my genes don’t know that, so I have come to you all the same.”

  Cha’Rolette placed her hand on Tomar’s shoulder. “Given the wealth and connections of the people here, I could easily choose you or any other male at random, and get everything I could ever want or need, but because my instincts tell me to hold out for a bigger, better deal, that is exactly what I am going to do. Most likely until my advantages of youth and health begin to decay, and then I’ll grow desperate and snatch up the first male I can.”

  Tomar turned away, dejected, and Gerald laughed at his own little private puppet show.

  * * *

  Beyond the waiting room, Director Nathers displayed no humor whatsoever as he spoke with a half dozen windows hovering in the air before him.

  “I’ve checked it a dozen times already,” Chief Engineer Valans explained, his voice growing hoarse. “The scholarship originated from within Central Core itself. No outside input created it.”

  “But that is impossible. Central Core doesn’t create anything, it only facilitates data storage and transfers,” another engineer argued.

  “Believe me I know that. Don’t you think I know that? But we’ve eliminated everything else. The only logical possibility left is that Central Core made a mistake.”

  “Central Core doesn’t make mistakes,” Director Nathers insisted. “And even if it did, it better sloggin’ be in someone else’s district. Central Core has operated flawlessly for hundreds of thousands of cycles. Every monetary transaction, every record, every document, they all go through Central Core.”

  “What if people found out?” Professor Weindurh realized fearfully.

  “They can’t find out, the entire economy would collapse.”

  “They’re not going to find out,” Nathers said coldly. “I’m placing all of you under a gag order. Any one of you so much breathes a word of this and I’ll have you operating the radar station of a deep space probe so quickly it’ll make your bladders freeze up.”

  “Yessir,” they said in unison.

  He tapped a few glowing runes, issuing the order in writing. “In the meantime, I’ve got the student in question outside my office. I’ll have him on a ship home within the hour.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” Professor Inters’ia pointed out as she smoothed her feathers.

  “Why is that, Kalt?”

  “If you expel him there will have to be an official tribunal for the records, and the question will have to be brought up as to why he was here in the first place.”

  “So we’ll skip the tribunal.”

  “Even if you do that, expulsions are extremely rare. The reporters will start digging almost immediately to find out why he was thrown out and why he was here.”

  “The media would have a field day,” Weindurh trembled.

  Director Nathers leaned back in his chair and rubbed his panther-like eyes. “So, what you’re saying is that I’ve got some human out there with a scholarship he doesn’t deserve, attending lectures he can’t even see or hear, and I can’t get rid of him?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Ms. Stubbs window pushed her way to the front, her slicked-back black hair rising up angrily. “But keeping him creates the same problem. He can’t even connect with Central. How am I supposed to teach my classes?”

  “That’s a good point,” Nathers granted. “The second one of these kids mentions to their parents that we’ve got an unqualified student coasting through and underperforming without a punitive response, we’re right back to being asked questions we can’t afford to answer and we can’t afford to leave unanswered. Dr. Klatta, is there any chance we could bring him up to speed somehow?”

  Klatta’s window moved up alongside Stubbs. “Well, when Earth joined the Alliance there was some talk about modifying existing crystronic implants for use in humans. The problem is that humans are carbon-based, so their synapses are completely incompatible with our systems. They’d need a really sophisticated buffer to prevent overload, and a conversion system that was built from the ground up. The closest anyone ever came was the psychic interface that Harec Toylines uses, and we all know how that turned out.”

  Everyone nodded solemnly. It was an embarrassment to the entire Alliance.

  “...Eventually it was deemed too costly to spend so much research just to bring humans up to galactic minimums when all of them were just ending up in ghettos and on welfare anyway, so it was all abandoned. I mean, they have such a short lifespan it is actually cheaper to just give them free food and housing until they die off.”

  “Why, how long do they live?”

  Klatta tapped a couple of buttons. “Average human lifespan is 85 terran years, or 16.2 standard cycles.”

  “That’s not even old enough to vote, “Ms. Stubbs noted.

  “Now you see why it lost funding.”

  Nathers clicked his mandibles together thoughtfully. “Do you think you might be able to do it yourself? Perhaps as a once-off prototype or something?”

  Klatta thought for a moment and drew in deeply from his cigar. “Well, sure, just give me about 60 million credits, a couple dozen human heads, and about five cycles and I might be able to give you something. Or I might just give you another mound of fried brains.”

  “What it is with you and mounds of dead brains?” Stubbs complained.

  “You can’t have progress without mounds of dead brains!”

  “Enough, you two,” Nathers said, silencing them. “I’ve got a dozen world leaders about to start sniffing into this and I need solutions, not bickering.”

  He leaned back and rubbed his temples. “We’re just going to have to mask this somehow. Make it look like something else until we find a permanent solution.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Stubbs asked. “He’s already nearly a month behind on top of everything else. How am I supposed to teach my classes with him in them?”

  Director Nathers lifted his mug to his lips and sipped on the creamy liquid. “Just do
it the old-fashioned way, with paper and a white board.”

  Ms. Stubbs’ face grew three times as large as she leaned forward into her camera. “I’ve got over twenty-five thousand case studies to cover before mid-terms, AND YOU EXPECT ME TO TEACH THEM ALL BY HAND?!”

  Director Nathers waved his hand and the windows all closed. He took a moment to calmly drink in the warm liquid, the steam rising up out from the holes in the back of his head.

  “Send him in.”

  The door whooshed open and the secretary walked out into the waiting room, only to find Gerald shouting in a high-pitched voice, his face pressed up against the window.

  “I don’t have the confidence to approach the alpha female, so instead I am here to initiate courtship with you, Tulda, because I don’t think I deserve anything better!”

  “Mr. Dyson, what are you doing?” the secretary asked indignantly.

  Gerald froze and slowly turned his head, his upturned nose slid slowly along the window. “Um... yes. I... ah. Ahem. Sorry about that.”

  His face was beet red. Attempting to conserve some of his dignity and failing, Gerald straightened his robes and came into the office. The guest chair reformed itself into the shape of a bicycle seat and he reluctantly sat down on it.

  “Mr. Dyson,” Director Nathers began, pulling the plug out from the back of his neck. “You’ve made quite an impression for your first day. You have thirty-three classmates whom you interacted with for three minutes. I now have thrity-one letters demanding your expulsion.”

  Gerald was unfazed. “It’s a fairly typical first impression for me, actually.”

  “You should not joke about this.”

  “I wish I was.”

  Nathers tapped a button on the wall and a case slid open, revealing a collection of exotic liquors of all types and colors. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “You realize I’m underage?”

  “More for me, then.”

  Slowly he began mixing a series of swirling liquids into a glass. “You know, there are many who believe it was a mistake to accept your world into the Alliance at all. Normally civilizations are not approached until they reach a... certain level of achievement and unity. Until then, they are kept in the dark.”

  He tapped in a drop of the final ingredient and the liquid all boiled away, leaving only a hanging mist in the glass.

  “A Tindorian ship crashed onto the seventeen-yard line during the Super Bowl,” Gerald recalled. “It was televised to the whole world. The cat was out of the bag at that point.”

  Nather’s translator displayed a small window in the air, showing pictures of cats.

  “Interesting, he said, taking a sip. “Do humans keep cats in bags?

  “Not normally, no.”

  He sipped thoughtfully at the mist in his cup. “Anyway, the events since then have only confirmed the theory that humans don’t belong in the Alliance. Technologically, culturally, economically, artistically, you are at least a thousand cycles behind everybody else.”

  “Boy, you don’t sugarcoat it, do you?”

  He set down his glass. “Please don’t take offense.”

  “How could I not take offense? It’s an offensive statement.”

  “But it is true.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Nathers sat down on the edge of his desk. “Which is why we brought you here. We believe that unless we proactively bring higher opportunities to the underprivileged humans in the Alliance, your people will never be able to get out of the rut you are in.”

  The tension in Gerald’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “So... I’m a charity project?”

  “I’m glad you understand. Even so, we have a reputation to maintain and if you underperform, it makes everybody look bad. You see what I mean?”

  “Indubitably.”

  “That is why I want you to work your very hardest. Show everybody that you humans can compete. Show them they are wrong about your people. Show them that all you need is the opportunity to succeed.”

  Gerald leaned forward. “So, you’re going to provide me with the crystronics I need to compete?”

  “No,” he laughed, picking up the glass again. “No... by taulorean’s gate, no. But I am going to give you all the moral support you need... from behind the scenes.”

  “How very generous of you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, finishing off the beverage and pumping his fist in the air. “I’ll be cheering you on. Now, go out there and win!”

  Gerald stood up and faked enthusiasm, throwing both arms in the air. “With you as my glee club, how can I fail?”

  Nathers slapped him on the back as the secretary showed him out. The smile faded from Nathers’ face and he grumbled under his breath, “Stupid cow-eater.”

  “You think you’re being subtle,” Gerald whispered to himself. “I know exactly what you are doing. You want me to quit on my own.”

  There was a crackle above Nathers, and then the windows of his desk filled with static. The seat Gerald had been sitting on fell over and melted into the floor.

  “What is this?” he asked, tapping the controls.

  * * *

  Gerald spent the rest of the afternoon presenting himself to the Soeck temple, then making rounds to the soup kitchens in town amid a cloudburst that somehow managed to overpower the local weather grids. Soaked clear through, he continued until his mending legs hurt too much for him to go on. By the time he finally reached the room in the dorms that had been assigned to him, he was so sore he could barely stand. He slid his I.D. card through the reader, which let off a tiny spark and then went dead.

  With a sigh, he laid down on the carpet in the hallway outside his room and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  In a landmark case, the Memory Group, who represented humans who had been abducted by aliens, successfully won their class action lawsuit against The Iberian Hunters Association, the group most responsible for said abductions, under Alliance Securities Law in the 5th District Western Quadrant Courts, by successfully arguing that the abduction of humans, while not illegal prior to Earth joining the Alliance, was fraudulent because the Hunters Association had failed to obtain the proper permits. Victims and their families were paid an undisclosed amount, and The National Enquirer was offered an official apology “for decades of defamatory treatment towards their investigative journalism.”

  -Court Records Synopsis, 5th District Western Quadrant Court, R23.08-J8721pp

  “Come on, move it!” Coach Bar-gheiis trumpeted through the horn growing up from his nose.

  Gerald could feel his heart pounding in his ears. His chest felt tight, his legs screamed in protest as he forced himself to run up the sand embankment for the ninth time that morning.

  “Better hurry up Dyson,” Ilrica teased as she effortlessly leapt past him. “The weak and the sick ones always get picked off first.”

  “I appreciate the tip,” Gerald huffed out, unable to catch his breath. “Is it just me or am I heavier when I am on this hill?”

  “Five times heavier, yes.”

  “Ah, good to know.”

  By the time he managed to drag himself to the top of the sand dune, the rest of the class was standing there in their gym uniforms, glaring at him.

  Coach Bar-gheiis shook his thickly armored head and entered some notes into his tablet. “Dyson, you’re holding up the rest of the class.”

  “Please, don’t wait for me,” Gerald gasped between breaths. His lungs burned within him. “Just let me know where you are headed and I’ll meet you there later.”

  Trahzi stepped up, the other students moving out of her way fearfully. Her black eyes were cold and remorseless. “Your weakness disgusts us.”

  “Don’t think of it that way,” Gerald gasped. “Instead, be grateful for what you have. You could have been born me instead.”

  She furrowed her brow in confusion.

  While the coach handed out scores that were instantly updated in everyone’s p
ersonal windows, Tulda leaned over. “Hey Kamanie, did you hear Broggon from class 5-B got hacked?”

  “No way,” she whispered back.

  “Yeah, someone sliced into his external memory and put in a viral charge. When he used his card for pay for lunch, the replicator sprayed pudding all over him.”

  “Oh, I wish I could have been there,” Kamanie pouted.

  “I’ll link you my memory file.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Tulda’s and Kamanie’s eyes flashed in unison, then Kamanie burst out laughing.

  “No wireless connections during class time, you know that,” the coach said without looking up.

  “Sorry, coach.”

  Tulda’s arms dropped down in a pout as a demerit appeared in her window.

  Bar-gheiis stomped his cloven foot and the ground behind him reformed itself into a tall pitted wall. About four stories tall, it blocked out two of the morning suns as Gerald looked up at it.

  “You’re up first, Dyson.”

  “No please, ladies first.”

  A true gentleman does not force others to do what he is unwilling to do. He takes the lead to show the way, Cha’Rolette corrected. Her minions nodded approvingly.

  “How convenient for you,” Gerald said.

  Bar-gheiis picked up Gerald by the scruff of his neck with two thick fingers as if he weighed nothing at all. He dangled there like a puppet before being tossed to the base of the wall.

  “Well, if you insist, I shall go first.” Gerald wiped the sweat off his hands onto his robes, then jumped up and grabbed onto one of the divits, pulling himself upwards as his feet scrambled about looking for a foothold. Finding one, he pulled himself up and reached up for a new handhold. He was actually feeling rather good about his progress when he realized that everyone was laughing at him.