by Doug Farren
“For the moment, yes.”
A server arrived and delivered Flothir’s food—a bowl filled to the brim with what appeared to be a large selection of plants. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat,” he said. “I’m very hungry.”
“Not at all,” Tom replied, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Have you come up with what you’re going to do once we reach Gwon-Go?” Flothir asked after chewing and swallowing his first bite.
“I was hoping you would find a way for us to detect the pathogen,” Tom replied. “We could at least test the Mowry and their environment to see if T11-N106 was there.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Flothir replied, being careful not to speak with food in his mouth. Stirring his salad, he said, “I asked the ship’s computer to pull up all known information concerning the Mowry. Did you know they’re not native to their planet?”
Tom almost spilled his coffee. Lashpa’s tail shot straight up into the air.
Seeing the reaction he had evoked, Flothir couldn’t help but smile. “We have a small team on Gwon-Go,” he explained. “One never knows what sort of medical breakthroughs you might find on a new world. As part of our standard protocol, a detailed genetic analysis of as many of the species as possible is performed on a newly discovered world. Just prior to leaving Earth orbit, the Churva received an update from the team on Gwon-Go. Mowry DNA indicates they did not originate from the world they now call home.”
Flothir speared a collection of chopped up plants and put it in his mouth.
“That’s not possible!” Tom said.
“Have you identified where they came from?” Lashpa asked.
The biomaster calmly chewed and swallowed before replying. “DNA does not lie. The Churva’s computer is currently going through its database of all known DNA in an attempt to find a match. That’s why the team on Gwon-Go contacted us. They don’t have the computing resources. So far, no match has been found. But we’re talking about trillions of DNA codes each involving thousands of permutations and billions of sequences. The search might take some time.”
“How is that possible?” Tom asked. “The Mowry are just starting to explore the uses of steam power. Other than what the Purists left behind, we saw no evidence of advanced technology.”
“We’re still gathering data,” Flothir replied. “The Mowry could have been moved centuries ago. The DNA will eventually give us a time-frame but there’s much work to be done before we can say for sure.”
“Is it possible that whoever brought the Mowry to Gwon-Go are still around?” Tom asked.
Flothir picked up a forkful of his food and contemplated it. “Anything is possible,” he said.
“You will, of course, inform us the moment you find a match,” Lashpa said.
Flothir took his time chewing his food. Trying to carry on a conversation with an Omel while they were eating, especially one as emotionally charged as this one, was getting on Tom’s nerves. After clearing his mouth of food, Flothir replied, “Of course. I’ve already instructed our computer to do so. This information has also been transmitted to the Alliance Science Council.”
“I’m getting hungry,” Lashpa said. “I’m going to have Captain Orflen drop out of stardrive so I can get something to eat.”
“See you at Gwon-Go,” Tom said as Lashpa turned to leave.
“Are you hungry as well?” Flothir asked Tom. “Our food is quite compatible with Terran physiology.”
“Sure,” Tom replied. “What would you suggest?”
“Are you in the mood for meat, seafood, or would you prefer a plant-based meal?”
“Meat.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Tom thought about everything he’d just learned while Flothir ordered him a meal at the counter. T11-N106 seemed to originate from Gwon-Go. The Mowry had apparently been brought there by another race. This pointed to the existence of an unknown space-faring race close to the Alliance. All these facts had to be connected.
Flothir returned and sat back down as Tom felt the Churva drop out of stardrive. “May I offer some friendly advice?” he asked.
“Of course,” Tom replied.
“I’ve lived among Terrans long enough to know that talking with food in your mouth is an accepted behavior,” he said. “Among my people, however, it’s considered an extreme insult and unsanitary.”
“I understand,” Tom replied. “Thank you. One of the reasons I decided to remain aboard is so I can learn more about your people.”
Flothir leaned back and looked at Tom. “An admirable trait for a peacekeeper and one I believe more Terrans should embrace.”
“Meaning?”
“My first encounter with Terrans was an embarrassing moment for me that colored my perception of your race for many years after. Having never ventured beyond my own planet’s atmosphere, I was shocked at how unsanitary other species were. The starliner I booked passage on was run by an Earth-based company and a large number of Terrans were on the ship. I went to the forward lounge to view the transition to stardrive. While there, I must have offended someone because a group of them began calling me names I’d never heard before.”
“They were probably drunk,” Tom explained.
“Undoubtedly. It was my first encounter with intoxicated individuals. A fellow Omel more familiar with Terran behavior than I intervened. I’m not sure what she told them, but they left me alone for the rest of the evening. They apologized the next time I encountered them. It took me a long time before I understood that their behavior was more-or-less normal for your species. Have you had much interaction with my people?”
“I had an Omel friend while at the peacekeeper academy. He was transgender and fit in quite well with our group. I believe he said his parents lived on a Shandarian world.”
“So he was familiar with non-Omel customs.”
“Oh yes.”
“Have you known any other Omel?”
“I also …” Tom hesitated, not knowing if it would be considered rude to discuss his intimate encounter on Glish.
“Go on,” Flothir prompted.
“I enjoyed the company of an Omel woman on Glish not long ago,” Tom said.
A server arrived and placed a steaming plate of well-cooked meat and some type of unidentifiable vegetable in front of Tom. It smelled very much like steak. A moment later, he almost committed an infraction by stating how good it was while still chewing. He kept quiet until his mouth was clear and said, “I don’t need to know what it is, but this is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Flothir replied, after finishing his own mouthful of food.
Tom enjoyed the rest of the meal with his new-found friend. In the process, he began to learn a little more about the Omel and a few of their customs. Afterward, Flothir said he wanted to get back to finishing his examination of Nathan’s body. A quick query of the Churva’s computer via the Orion identified the location of Tom’s assigned stateroom. Following his ship’s unerring guidance, he found his designated room. After performing a quick survey, it suddenly occurred to him that since he hadn’t originally planned to stay aboard the Churva, he’d failed to pack a single personal item.
Even though a good portion of his body was cybernetic, his biological components still required routine maintenance. Going almost a week without brushing his teeth would most certainly cause his Omel guests to think he had no concept of personal hygiene. Querying the Churva’s computer, Tom found the location of the ship’s store and 30 minutes later was happily brushing his teeth.
Although the bed looked comfortable, Tom was certain it was not designed to hold up under his greater weight. He positioned a more solid-looking chair near a wall and sat down. Opening a small storage area built into his chest-piece, he pulled out a small power cord. The power outlets throughout the Churva provided both Omel and Alliance standard connections. He plugged one end of the cord into the outlet and the other into a socket built into his right thigh. Satisfied, he closed his
eyes and a moment later drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 10
Tom received an unexpected surprise toward the end of his second day on the Churva. He was having dinner with Flothir when a young man approached their table. He was dressed in a gray pair of pants marking him as a member of the ship’s engineering crew. His white shirt meant he was off-duty and looking for social interaction but the wide yellow stripe encircling his chest indicated he was married. Colors, Tom had learned, were a very important part of Omel cultural expression.
Stopping a good meter away, the man stood and held his hands out in front of him, fingers spread wide, palms forward. “May I intrude?”
Both Tom and Flothir looked the man over. Although it had been uncomfortable at first, Tom was slowly getting used to this odd quirk of Omel personal interaction.
Flothir indicated one of the empty chairs and said, “Please join us.”
“I am Kilm Ortular,” the man introduced himself as he sat down in the indicated seat. Looking at Tom, he continued, “I’ve been told you’re a chess grandmaster, is this true?”
“I am,” Tom replied, being careful not to speak with any food in his mouth.
“I would like to challenge you to a game when you have the time,” Kilm said, locking eyes with Tom.
“Do you have a rating?” Tom asked.
“No,” Kilm replied without dropping his gaze. “I’ve been playing for six years and I have not lost a single game in over four months.”
“Challenge accepted,” Tom replied, picking up his fork. “I will have time in about an hour. Where shall we play?”
“Crew lounge, deck four,” Kilm said. Standing up, he took a step back from the table, held his hands up, palms inward, and said, “Thank you.”
Tom stabbed his fork into his salad, held it up, said, “You’re welcome,” and then put the fork into his mouth.
After Kilm left, Flothir leaned back in his chair and said, “Well executed! You learn fast.”
Tom chewed, swallowed, and said, “Thank you.
A few days ago, Tom would never have recognized the subtle, but very important customs that took place during the short conversation he had just concluded. Kilm’s stance, as well as the respectful distance, gave Tom and Flothir the chance to get a good look at the new arrival. Maintaining eye contact was a sign of respect. Making a show of continuing to eat after Kilm had excused himself indicated a level of trust that Kilm had not contaminated their food. These small bits of culture were carried out unconsciously by the Omel while Tom had to continually think back over what Flothir had been teaching him.
Subtle facial expressions, where one looks, tiny involuntary movements, and even the placement of certain body parts, all play a role in the silent and often overlooked but very important communications that continually pass between people. That odd feeling of being uncomfortable around someone could easily be the result of the silent signals being expressed and how they are interpreted or misinterpreted. Diplomats are quick learners of this silent language.
After finishing his meal, Tom met Kilm in the lounge. Although Kilm was a skilled player, Tom had no trouble beating him. But Tom did see the potential for him to become a far better player. After losing his second game, Kilm stood up and put his hand over his chest.
“It’s obvious that I’m not as good a player as I thought,” Kilm said. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to challenge you.”
Tom knew that Kilm was upset over the games. Like Terrans, Omel were quite competitive and didn’t like to lose, even to a grandmaster.
“Please,” Tom said, indicating the seat Kilm had just vacated.
Kilm looked at Tom for a moment, then sat back down.
“I’ve been playing chess since I was able to learn the rules,” Tom said. “I can see by your style that you’ve not had the opportunity to learn from someone who’s studied the game for years. I can also tell you have potential.”
Kilm’s eyes narrowed. “Do not mock me. You won both games and I could tell you did so quite easily. I’m ashamed I even challenged you.”
“Don’t be,” Tom replied. “The only way to improve your game is to play someone who’s better than you. Let’s go back over our last game and I’ll show you where you went wrong.”
“You can do that?”
Tom tapped the top of his metal skull. “My implants record everything I see and hear. Let’s go over the game move by move and then we’ll play another, but this time I’ll stop you if you make a mistake.”
“I would like that,” Kilm happily replied. He reached out and began the process of resetting the board then stopped, his hand hovering over a pawn. “You don’t use your implants while playing, do you?”
“No,” Tom replied, shaking his head. “That would be cheating and a grandmaster never cheats.”
Three hours later, Kilm had to excuse himself. “Although I would like to continue,” he said, “I must report for duty.”
“I understand,” Tom told him. “Feel free to join me for more lessons when you have time.”
Teaching chess and learning Omel customs made the time pass quickly. Two days before arriving at Gwon-Go, Tom received a request from Flothir to visit him in his stateroom. Tom’s nose immediately picked up the scent of fresh brewed coffee when Flothir opened the door in response to Tom’s knock
Inside the room, Tom saw that Flothir had set up a small table between two chairs. In the center of the table was a plate holding a lumpy pastry that reminded him of something his parents had called monkey bread.
“Have a seat,” Flothir told him, heading into the small kitchen.
A moment later, Flothir reappeared with two cups of steaming coffee. After setting the cups down, Flothir took a seat directly across from Tom.
Flothir waited while Tom took a sip of his coffee then said, “The Churva’s computer has scanned its entire database without finding a match for the Mowry. While doing so, it found something you might find very interesting.”
“Is that why we’re having this discussion in private?”
“Exactly,” Flothir replied, pulling a small piece off his end of the danish.
Tom hesitated, unsure if he should touch the same food that Flothir was now eating.
Flothir chewed, smiled, and said, “It’s called tahun, in Standard, it means friendship cake. I baked it myself. Try a piece.”
Tom pulled a small chunk off his side. It separated easily and had a spongy feel to it. Putting it in his mouth, he discovered it had a moist, nutty, spicy flavor. After swallowing, he said, “It’s very good!”
“Thank you. The act of sharing tahun is an indication among our people of extreme trust. To eat it properly, you begin as we did by taking a small piece from the side nearest you. The next piece must be from the other person’s side followed by one from your own side. The level of trust is indicated by how close the piece you select is to the piece removed by the other person.”
Flothir demonstrated by reaching over the plate and pulling a small piece from Tom’s side making sure to include a portion of where Tom’s piece had once been attached.
“What did you find?” Tom asked, reaching across the table and removing a similar piece from Flothir’s side.
“The analysis of the Mowry DNA indicates it might have been unnaturally altered.”
“You mean the Mowry were genetically engineered?”
“It’s one of several possibilities.”
“Are you certain of this?” Tom asked.
“There is an 88 percent chance of this being true,” Flothir explained after taking a sip of his coffee. “Without a sample of the original DNA however, we’ll never be certain.”
“And who in the Alliance would have that ability?” Tom asked.
“Several races have the technology, but DNA manipulation is tricky. Making what one might think is a beneficial change can result in unforeseen consequences. If the Mowry are the result of several small changes in their DNA, our computer would have be
en able to match it against other organisms found on Gwon-Go. A negative result means either the original stock DNA has been altered so much as to make it unrecognizable or the starting DNA is from an organism the Alliance has yet to encounter. Either way, it points to a source outside the Alliance.”
“You said there were several possibilities, what are the others?”
“There’s a very slight chance that the Mowry are actually from Gwon-Go but are the result of a vastly different genetic beginning than the rest of the planet.”
Tom broke off another piece of the tahun and examined it while he pondered what he’d just heard. “I get the impression you don’t believe that’s possible,” he said, before popping the morsel in his mouth.
“No,” Flothir replied. “We’ve never seen it before and the odds of it happening are vanishingly small. I still believe the Mowry originated from a species outside of the Alliance.”
“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. If the Mowry are genetically engineered, then who is responsible?”
While Tom waited for Flothir to reply, he noted that carrying on a conversation with an Omel over a shared tahun allowed the person who was talking to speak without being interrupted. This same courtesy was applied to all Omel conversations.
“Unfortunately,” Flothir replied, holding his cup of coffee between his hands and rolling it around, “that is the question you need to answer.”
Tom worried about the implications of this discovery until the day they arrived at Gwon-Go.
* * * * *
“You’ve been an exceptional guest aboard my ship,” Captain Orflen said, as they waited for the Orion to dock. “Our medical teams have already headed for the surface per your orders. The archeologists are waiting for the results of the planetary scans before deciding where best to begin. As agreed, I will provide you with a daily summary of our findings.”
The thud of a ship docking announced the arrival of the Orion.
“It’s been a pleasure getting to know your people better,” Tom replied. “Our main priority is to try to identify the source of T11-N106. If another race has been here, we need to know about it.”
