Kharmic Rebound

by Yeager, Aaron

  Gerald dropped his chin and grumbled to himself. “I have to walk alongside her, or else I’ll start staring at her.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  Gerald dropped back and kept his eyes fixed forward. Even in his peripheral vision, the raw sensuality of her body was immediately distracting.

  “You must understand that normally only spouses walk side-by-side, so you will walk two feet behind her.”

  “Yes sir,” Gerald said, mocking a salute, his eyes flicking for an instant to Trahzi’s deliciously shaped backside.

  “Mr. Dyson, a gentleman does not ogle his lady companion.”

  Trahzi turned around. “And yet, you have not taken your eyes off my butt since we began.”

  Mister Dugger looked away. “Umm, well, I... err...”

  Trahzi turned back, giving Gerald a knowing glance. “At least Dyson has the courtesy to try and control his gaze.”

  Gerald cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. “But, yeah, since without you the puppy would not survive, it is assumed that you care enough about her to give her a good name.”

  “Care...” Trahzi repeated, looking intently at the puppy, her black eyes searching. “Yes,” she brightened up. “We do care for her. We do not wish any harm to come to it. And if it did, we would miss her greatly.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Forgetting himself, he gave her friendly slap on the shoulder.

  She looked at his hand.

  “Oh, sorry, he said, pulling it away.

  “Do not apologize,” she said, looking confused. “It’s just that...”

  “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

  She took her free hand and clutched it over her heart. “We are not sure.”

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “No, you did not hurt us.”

  “Yeah, I guess after the rifle thing that is kind of a dumb question.”

  Her eyes were wide. “This is... something else.”

  “What is it?”

  She became a little bashful. “When your hand touched us, we felt a tightness in our chest, and now our heart is beating very fast. There’s a funny little twinge in our tummy.”

  She looked up, confused. “What is this?”

  He reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “Um... well... I...”

  “DYSON!” Mister Dugger barked. “What did I tell you about grabbing your neck like that? Unless you’re a Zurinite or an Uzagto, it’s considered a clumsy gesture.”

  Gerald’s eyes went wide. “Zurinite... hey, what happened to Zurra?”

  * * *

  The sky dripped red like blood. The ground writhed like decaying flesh on top of dried cracking bones. Carrion creatures of black and blade whipped through the skies and prowled on the ground, circling in closer, always circling in closer. Their bodies covered with countless eyes, staring out menacingly, reflecting a soulless hunger. In the sky, instead of a sun, hung a gigantic black spider, as big as a planet.

  Zurra backed up against a rock, clutching a dried bone like a club. Cadbury was wrapped around her leg, squawking frightfully. Zurra threw her head back and screamed up at the sky.

  “Where the heck am I?!”

  * * *

  “But what about my rounds?” Gerald asked as he was lead into the orphanage by his staff.

  “Do not worry,” Enri said. Mister Dugger and Mr. Nurmeen will be delivering dinner to your shut-ins this evening. You have more important matters to attend to.”

  “What could be more important than my volunteer work?”

  Enri motioned to a jittery and sullen woman waiting for them in a finely tailored business suit. “The press.”

  “All right, let’s move all these frakkin kids out of here,” Ssdra Krint ordered to Priestess Urawa. “Get em in the kitchen, we’ll pick up some shots of them after the interview and splice it together.”

  She sat down sullenly as a chair grew up out of the floor to meet her. She let off a belch and scratched her armpit as her makeup was applied. Her assistant set down a stool for Gerald and setup the microphone and translators in front of him.

  “You’re a little different in real life,” Gerald said to himself.

  “Okay, this is going to be a very light, people story,” the producer explained. “Something to put at the tail of the broadcast, end on a high note, the retired community can’t get enough of crap like this. All right?”

  “Um, okay,” Gerald said as makeup was surprisingly applied to him as well.

  Suddenly a dozen floating holo imagers were on him from every angle. The lights became so bright he had to squint just to make the silhouette of the reporter

  The producer called action and everything changed. The holo imagers came to life, the microphones buzzed, the producer motioned for everyone to be silent. The air itself became tense.

  But nothing changed more than the reporter. Suddenly she was sunny, friendly, and accessible.

  “Hello Deen and Ti’in, this is Ssdra Krint, and I have had the privilege of spending the day here at the Cha’Rolette Ssykes Mission. It is the second of its kind here on Central, and a third is opening over on the east side.” She paused and nodded, as if she were being asked a question. Gerald realized that the newsroom side would be filmed later and she was operating from a script.

  “Absolutely Deen,” she said with a chuckle. Gerald was surprised at how truly sincere she sounded.

  “These kids are a delight, and I have with me here a special guest, this is one of the monks that volunteers with the orphans, a human from Eeeyarth, Gerald Dyson. How are you Gerald?”

  “A little nervous, Sadra.”

  “Ssdra.”

  “Ssdra.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to be,” she laughed, placing a friendly hand on his knee. Gerald looked at it as if he had been bitten.

  “So, tell me Gerald, what do you find to be the most rewarding part of your work?”

  Gerald leaned to the side so the microphone wouldn’t block his face, an unnecessary gesture, since the holo-imagers deleted themselves from the feed. “Well, I would say it’s the kids,” he began, then he noticed her expression. He had seen it a thousand times before since he came to Central. A distant thousand-yard stare as she used her crystronic link to wirelessly dive into the hypernet. Scrolling through conspiracy theory sites, watching live celebrity feeds, reading trashy romance novels, commenting on regional conflicts, basically doing everything except listening to his answer. She wasn’t even in the room, she was elsewhere, and she wouldn’t return until he stopped talking. And Gerald knew if she wasn’t interested, then the people at home would be even less so.

  “Words are cheap, Ssdra. Let me show you why I do what I do. He stood up, which shook her out of her stupor and bade her to follow him into the kitchen area.

  The kids looked up in surprised as he approached them, a dozen images hovering around him. Gerald knelt down next to the table, and little Yurawaa slid off her chair and onto his knee.

  “This is Yurawaa, she wants to be a doctor when she grows up.”

  “A brain doctor,” she added happily.

  “Think about it, Ssdra. Somewhere out there right now, one of your viewers could be the person to give this wonderful little girl a home, and be the parent of the doctor who cures implant sclerosis.”

  Yurawaa put her thumb in her mouth. “All I need is a staff, a grant, and a lab to work in.”

  Another kid jumped on Gerald from behind, wrapping his arms around his neck.

  “Ah, now this little guy is Exohae. He and I are learning how to play the Zadra.”

  “I’m way better,” Exohae boasted adorably.

  “Ssdra, how would you like to have a symphony named after you someday?”

  “I would be ecstatic,” Ssdra said from off screen.

  “Well, this little guy will do it someday. All of these kids have a seed of greatness inside of them, but they need a home
to plant it in. We can give them all the love in the world here at the orphanage, but it can never compare to the special care they can only get in a family, Ssdra. Your viewers can give them that.”

  Another young child reached up and swung from Gerald’s muscular arm. He had kids crawling all over him like he was an organic jungle gym.

  “And all of these wonderful little ones are up for adoption right now?”

  “Oh, they are busting at the seams. And you don’t have to be a super person. All these kids need is love and consistency. Anyone can give them that, and what a wonderful gift that is.”

  Another kid grabbed onto Gerald’s arm, and still another wrapped herself around his knee. “Here’s the amazing thing. These kids are like mirrors to their own experience. If we show them kindness, they will learn kindness. If we show them patience, they will learn patience.”

  Gerald looked right at one of the holo-recorders. “Your viewers out there, Ssdra, can imprint on these little ones every good thing within them, and pass it along to the next generation.”

  “What’s a generation?” Gralix asked, his missing tooth whistling.

  “Well, here, I’ll show you.” Gerald grabbed a handful of grapes from a plate.

  “Hey, those are mine!” Erupan complained.

  Gerald put Erupan in his lap and set down one on the edge of the table. “Now, let’s say this grape represents me. Now, when I die, everything I have learned will disappear with me. He set down a row of grapes. “But if I pass on what I have learned to the next generation, then that will stay long after I have gone. And they will pass it on to the next generation, and they will pass it along to the next.” Gerald drew in the kids closer to him. “In this way, a parent will live on forever.”

  J’h’por snapped up a grape with her tongue and ate it. “Grapes are yummy,” she gushed.

  “Hey, you just ate my grandson,” Gerald teased.

  The kids laughed.

  “Your grandson tastes like grapes,” J’h’por said happily.

  Everyone burst out laughing, even the adults.

  As Gerald tickled J’h’por, Ssdra walked up alongside Enri, and watched from outside the view of the recorders. “Oh, he’s good,” she commented. “How long have you been training him?”

  “This isn’t something that can be taught,” Enri said proudly. “This is the real deal.”

  “Tch, okay, whatever,” she scolded, assuming he was being coy.

  Eechol fell on Gerald’s neck, hugging him warmly. Seeing the kids laugh, and him laugh with them was so warm, so pure, that even the jaded producer couldn’t help but crack a smile.

  * * *

  Atop a nearby subspace tower, Trahzi stood looking down, her eyes fixed on Gerald through a window as he played with the children and spoke with reporter after reporter, into the late hours of the night. Absentmindedly her hand came up and clutched over her heart.

  “Something is wrong. This feeling is...”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Do you wish to be accepted for who you are? Do you wish to be loved without condition? Do you wish for people to welcome you, in spite of your flaws, in spite of your shortcomings, in spite of your mistakes?

  Then why do you insist on changing others?

  -Evening Prayer from the Holy Scrolls of Soeck, Eleventh Binding Third Stanza

  Enri slid open the door to Gerald’s room, startling Ilrica as she stood out in the hallway.

  “Good morning,” he sniffed. “Of what assistance may I be?”

  “Oh... hello,” she stammered, hiding something behind her back. “I’m sorry, I forgot to... never mind.”

  “Is that Ilrica?” Gerald called out from where he sat at his breakfast table with Cadbury. “Good morning,” he waved.

  “Um, hi,” she said sheepishly, waving back with one hand.

  “Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but I was under the impression that female students do not normally dally in the men’s dorm hallway.”

  Ilrica feigned surprise. “Oh, really? Oh, darn, I guess I should be going then.”

  Before Gerald could inquire further, she ran off, her face bright red.

  “That was weird,” Gerald said, choking down a bite of turnip. “By any chance was there another dead animal out there this morning?”

  “No sir, not this time.”

  “I wonder why...”

  Enri placed a metal cylinder against Gerald’s neck and a small needle pierced his skin with a hiss.

  “OUCH! Stop that!”

  * * *

  “Just make sure you are engaged by the end of the quadmester,” his mother snapped as the window closed before him.

  Cleylselle sighed and leaned back against the bench of living wood situated high up in the tree. “You make it sound so easy.”

  A shadow fell over him. He looked up and saw Trahzi standing over him ominously.

  “What do you want?” He asked, looking her over distastefully.

  Trahzi stepped closer, making them recoil. “We need to borrow your hands.”

  Cleylselle trembled in fear. “My what?”

  * * *

  “Nine hundred hours, examsmanship.”

  Doctor Ssandr jammed the shock stick into the base of Gerald’s spine, causing him to wince with pain. “Wrong!” she corrected sweetly. “The V’Zirinar revolution was won by the V’zestak in 43-202 C.E. Remember the little mnemonic song we made for you?” She lifted her fingers and swayed them like a metronome. “...V’Zirinar lost her way, what the hey, elites and nobles in the stew...”

  She bade him finish.

  “V’zestak conquered, forty-three, two and two,” Gerald groaned.

  Doctor Ssandr clapped her hands. “Now, you’ve got it!”

  She touched him with the shock stick, making a spark on his shoulder.

  “Ow! What was that one for?”

  “That one was a reward.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” Aryc struggled to free his armored hand from her grip, but she was too strong.

  “This will only take a second,” Trahzi said as she pulled him closer. “I need your hand.”

  Aryc gulped in fear.

  * * *

  “Ten hundred hours, dance instruction.”

  “Ouch, frakk!” Mistress Qeeshol placed her hands on her hips in frustration. “Master Dyson, if you step on my toes again I will smack you!”

  “Sorry.”

  * * *

  Tiboe could run no further. He was exhausted. He looked up at Trahzi with fearful eyes, her shadow falling over his furry face.

  * * *

  “Eleven hundred hours, music instruction.”

  Gerald checked his fingering and the Zadra gave off a flat tone. Gerald looked up, proud of his progress.

  “It’s not enough to simply play the note,” Mr. Nurmeen explained. “Kenth metal responds to your emotional state. It changes shape, hardness, and resonance. You have to feel the notes as you play them.”

  Gerald closed his eyes and tried again. He thought of a time in his life when he was sad. He remembered the day his mother kicked his father out of the house. The note came out somber, full of loneliness and depth. It was beautiful in a sad kind of way.

  “Much better,” the music instructor praised. “Now, this next staff requires passionate romantic feelings in order to be played properly.”

  He set down a device on the table which displayed a beautiful picture of Cha’Rolette, surrounded by roses, dressed in her finest gown. “I have been instructed to have you look at this while you play it.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  * * *

  Tomar’s orange eyes were alight as he opened the box, revealing a beautifully made meal within. Steamed ozar, sautéed wooreuer, and roasted abragyan.

  “You made me lunch!” he said happily.

  “I did,” Trajey smiled, grabbing his arm.

  Tomar’s ears flapped happily. “This is wonderful. I’ve never had a girl make me a lunch before.
”

  Trajey placed her hands on her hips, turned up her nose, and did her best impersonation of Cha’Rolette. “Well, then get on your knees and lick my toes to show your thanks. I am a Duchess, after all.”

  They both burst out laughing.

  As Tomar ate, Trajey looked on dreamily. A few nearby students ran away as Trahzi walked up to them.

  “Hi Trahzi,” Trajey greeted. Tomar ignored her until Trajey elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Ugh. Morning Trahzi,” he said reluctantly.

  “Trajey, may we borrow your boyfriend’s hand for a moment?”

  They both nearly panicked. “His hand?”

  “Yes, we need it for an experiment.”

  “Oh, I thought you were asking to cut it off or something.”

  Trahzi folded her arms. “Why does everyone keep making that assumption? We have never dismembered our food. Not once. It ruins the texture.”

  Tomar coughed on his bite of ozar, nearly choking himself.

  “What is the experiment?” Trajey asked.

  Trahzi held out her elbow. “We want him to touch us here.”

  They looked at her oddly. “Why? Is that like... an erogenous zone for your people?”

  “No, that is the point. It has no special meaning. But yesterday when we were touched there, this body experienced a profound physical reaction, and we do not understand why.”

  Tomar and Trajey looked at each other doubtfully. Finally, she shrugged, and Tomar reluctantly reached out and touched Trahzi’s elbow.

  Trahzi stepped back, displeased.

  “Anything?”

  “No, nothing. When Dyson touched us, our chest felt tight, and our heart began pounding. Since then we have had seventeen other men touch us there, but we have been unable to replicate the result.”

  “It sounds like you like him,” Trajey suggested.

  “Like?”

  “Yeah, like when you are close to him, do you feel like a little flutter in your tummy, like butterflies? Does your heart feel tingly?”

  Trahzi raised an eyebrow. “Why? Do you feel that way around Tomar?”

  The boldness of the question surprised her. Trajey dropped her head and tapped her fingertips together. It looked like she was going to deny it, but then nodded her head bashfully. “Yes, I do.”