He seemed uninspired. He had a void in his soul that affected everything he did. His parents died when he was five, and his aunt had compassion enough to take him in. And she let him know it, too, not to mention the price of compassion. She did fail to mention the pension from his father, and the government assistance she got to help raise him properly. Nor did she make not of the nice profit she made by spending as little on him as possible. After all, she didn’t want to risk a child neglect charge.
His teachers were always exasperated with him. He showed so much promise. His tail was long, broad, and flexible, the potential of a great swimmer. He even got on the school swim team. Then his aunt would point out to him that he won’t amount to much and would probably lose in disgrace. So, the next day, he quite the team.
By the time he got to high school he stopped telling his aunt what he was doing. He didn’t have to, he knew she would be disappointed. So, why bother hearing it from her? Just as he was about to become completely lost, she did and left him to fend for himself.
He started to hang out with a small group of outcasts who, rather than kill themselves, choose to die their lives together, and explore their existence in triumph. The people in the group where cast out because their intellect tended to soar over others, making the average citizen nervous. So, Jordael applied himself to “fit in” with the misfits. To his surprise, he matched or exceeded the group … when he could quiet his aunt’s dooming words.
Jordael became particularly affectionate with one of the older fellows; he was taller, with a shorter tail, and ear flaps weighted with ornaments. Mikage was able to put Jordael’s aunt to rest … mostly. Just before graduation, Mikage acted as minister for the group, as they held a Last Rite for Miss Öptiq, silencing her spirit forever … for now.
Jordael was monitoring several communication consoles at the confederate’s listening post. He applied a lotion to his skin — the station’s environments were rather dry compared to Ginghak, his home world. He was considering his reply to a letter from home. Mikage and Daress would marry, and wanted him to be there. Jordael was happy for them, and wondered if he would get to be best man for Mikage, or maid of honor for Daress. They would have fine children, strong (from her) and smart (from him).
Jordael had chosen to enter the Confederate’s Martial District to best challenge his abilities. He felt the district was varied enough to challenge him, and he found the expectations to his liking. Tonight was less so, though he knew this was only fair, that he should bear his share of this responsibility.
He was adding some of his lotion under his cowl and ears when a little dot on the Four-Dimensional Graphic User Interface twinkled, demanding his attention. He pointed a finger at it, and said, “Focus; Enhance.” It was a tachyon electromagnetic signal from a small system some twenty parsecs away. He pointed at a larger dot, “Record; Analyze; Display.” A virtual console manifested itself just above the astrometric charts. Jordael stared at that wave form, now flashing in time with the signal’s structure, and tried to see the pattern.
It was a bit late, and he was tired. His relief was running late. Normally, Jordael wouldn’t mind so much. Tonight, he had a date with a discussion group where he continued the sort of activities he enjoyed in high school. The signal left a pattern on Jordael’s mind with little comment. Not to worry, I can let it stew for a bit. He was about to abandon the analysis and check on it later when another signal caught his attention about a kiloparsec away from the first. The computer quickly identified the signal as that of a Denlabby ship. His cowl lowered and his ears pressed against his head in a defensive posture. His heart sank into his groin. He pointed at the dot, “Record; Analyze; Send priority D1.”
Jordael became anxious. He did his duty, record and report. At this distance it would be hard to tell if they were moving, or to where. He was tired, and still needed to do some things before logging out. He would also be disappointed at missing that discussion group. Then, that voice that has left him out in the cold so often tried to remind him, you will only mess things up.
“Shush, auntie! When in doubt, seek advice.” He smiled a bit at a memory flash of Mikage’s irreverence at his aunt’s second funeral.
So, he grabbed his Portable Data Device, plugged it into a port, and saved a copy of the files. The PDD was just finishing when Ma’ass — probably the only Joveran not in engineering — showed up to take the watch.
They called up the translation protocol on their arm bands. Not that they needed it much. There were still some ideas that did not translate well, and the translator would help … most times.
“Sorry I was so late. You know how long calls home can last? Mother worries so much.”
Jordael stretched his arms behind and stretched his shoulders, “Fair enough, then mate. Nothing immediate came up, just the Big Pop and a couple of little moms, you know …”
They smiled. They had gone to the deBan Martial Arts Academy together. It never occurred to Jordael that Ma’ass was the only Joveran to ever attend deBan, so “What are you doing here” never got in the way of their friendship. They had been friends two years now, and some light hearted humor went far for them.
“Great, if that was all …” Ma’ass switched to his native language and addressed the computer. “This is Ma’ass, Journeyman Martial, reporting for duty. Arrange all protocols.” Ma’ass had reached for two thumb pads to confirm his identity with his upper left, and lower right hands. The Four-Dimensional Graphic User Interface changed its languages from Ginghak-Saras — Jordael’s Language — to Jover-Oóna for Ma’ass’.
As the displays morphed into Ma’ass’ preferences, he turned to Jordael and asked in the Confederate common, “Any on going issues to report?”
Jordael paused for a moment. When in doubt, do your duty. “Yes,” Jordael pointed at the first dot, “One anomalous signal pattern that seems artificial. I would like to keep monitoring that for a few hours.”
Jordael then took a deep breath, and tried to keep his heart in this chest. He pointed at the other dot, “Denlabby. Not sure what they are up to, yet.”
The only sign Ma’ass gave that this news disturbed him was a lowering of his torso, planting his lower hands squarely on the floor, and a quick ripple through his tail.
“I’ve already set the standard protocols in motion,” he continued. “I want to report this to the station’s martial, soon.”
“If you set the protocols in motion, the martial should have it already.”
“Yeah? You may have confidence in them, the computers. I’ve yet to know one that has better calculation power than a wingnam gas crab.”
“That Stinks.”
“And Boy, are they nasty!”
“So, are you up for a swim when I get off?” Ma’ass was one of the few Joverans who actually liked to swim, and did so as often as he could. Yet, stations rarely had the room for a pool large enough to matter to him, or to Jordael, for that matter.
“Sounds swell.”
“See you then.” They laughed at the way the discussion would drift. This game was a favorite of theirs, letting a conversation shift course until one of them got lost. It would confuse others, especially if any other Joverans were in ear shot. Ma’ass took a moment to pull his tail into the small (too small for his liking) monitor room, then coiled it for the long four hours of his watch. He then adjusted his uniform, pulled a Personal Data Device from a pocket, and began rereading a story he was writing.
“Did you want this door shut so you two can have privacy?” It was a romance novel Ma’ass was writing. Most unnatural, his Joveran liaison would tell him.
“Jordael, thank you, no. this room is small enough.”
Jordael tapped the wall to acknowledge the request. “Lunch in four hours, oy!” and took off down the hall as fast as station policy would allow.
Ma’ass considered the anomalous dot, for a moment. “Binary, eh?” He reached for the Four-Dimensional Graphic User Interface, called up the libraries, and employed a small program to analyze the signal for patterns. I bet Jordael tried this without the computer. Would be like him. May figure it out by morning.
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