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22

Safely back in the hangar, as we hopped out of our ship I noticed the force fields were still activated around us. “We were working in a toxic environment,” Xeelix said as a decontaminant boom was lowered into place above us, a larger version of the ones we used to sterilize our ambulance’s innards. “The Aegirans have evolved with a natural resistance to the caustic compounds in their upper atmosphere. We, of course, have not.”

The bay was soon awash with brilliant light. We stood with our legs spread and arms outstretched as beams of sterilizing energy reached into every nook and cranny. When the boom was finished with us, we took the extra step of shucking off our environment suits and stuffing them into a disposal bin to be incinerated. We were left standing in our coveralls when the force fields shut off.

Our crystals chirped in unison and Xeelix pulled his out of a hip pocket. “We are off duty for the next two hours. I believe the human term is a ‘lunch break.’”

I slapped my hands together, a little too enthusiastically, but it’d been at least six hours since my breakfast of dry toast and coffee. “That sounds awesome. Where do we go?”

“I intend to remain here with Needa. Our needs are minimal. But you are free to find sustenance wherever you wish, as long as you can return here on time.”

When he put it like that, it sounded like foraging. But I was also in the mood for a little foraging. “The last actual meal I had was over in Thuban territory. It was good, but they really like their ka’vaa’ma’loi.”

Xeelix looked at Bjorn, who arched an eyebrow. “You were with Thubans? In their sector?”

“Chonk took me to a neat little place in their corner of the dome. Can’t remember the full pronunciation, so I just call it Wayside. We hooked up with some of his buddies who were back from border patrol. It was fun.”

A flash of recognition crossed Bjorn’s face. He must have known the place. “I’m impressed. Thubans are a stern people. They aren’t known for welcoming outsiders. You no doubt made a good impression.”

“That’s all thanks to Chonk being a good host. If I’d wandered in there by myself it probably would’ve been a different story.” My Thuban friend was different from the rest, which was the whole reason he was training with us. I looked down and guiltily dug my toe into the decking. “I may have had a little too much fun for my own good.”

Bjorn laughed. “Of that, there is also no doubt.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I will take you somewhere less lively. Xeelix, I promise to have us back in plenty of time.”


We took a lift back up to the biodome and stepped out into a fragrant orchard. I recognized it right away as the Emissaries’ sector, though we appeared to be in a different corner than the one I’d briefly explored weeks ago. In the distance I recognized my own apartment block.

Paths of smooth stone wound their way among the orderly rows of meticulously pruned fruit trees. This end of the orchard was bounded by towering conifers, like something you’d find in northern California or Oregon. It was gorgeous, but at this point I was starving for real food. “I hate to sound ungrateful, but are we here just to pick fruit?”

Bjorn smiled knowingly, as if he’d been keeping a secret. “Not at all, though you are welcome to. It could make for a nice appetizer.” He pointed to a nearby tree, heavily laden with purplish peach-sized globes. I pulled one off its stem and turned it in my hands. It was firm and waxy, like a fresh plum. “What is this called?”

“In your English, the best translation is ‘sallawine.’ Which I know doesn’t mean anything, but it sounds appealing.”

Right now a withered pear would be appealing, so I took a bite. The flavor started out tart, like a lemon, then turned sweet. It was like a blend of plums and peaches finished off with a dash of cinnamon, all in one bite. My eyes popped. “Bjorn,” I said between munches, “this is fantastic. I’ve been dying for fresh fruit, and this is like every single one I love rolled into one.”

“I am pleased to hear that. These began as surviving species from our home world, and have been cultivated over many generations to produce the variety you see here.”

I looked up and down the lengths of the orchard. “Is everything here okay to pick?”

“As long as you only take what you can consume in one sitting, you are welcome to try any varieties we grow. As they are bred for our race, they are also compatible with human metabolism. You’ll find numerous varieties of fruits and nuts, perhaps comparable to what is grown in your California.”

I laughed. “California has plenty of fruits and nuts, all right. Just not the kind you’re thinking of.”

The joke almost went over his head. “That region can be rather . . . eccentric. Though it is quite scenic.” He paused. “Much like our home world.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a downer.”

“There’s no need to apologize. You will learn that over cosmic timescales, such events are inevitable. We were fortunate to have formed alliances with the Reticulans. It is their ingenuity which made all of this possible.” He looked up to the dome curving far above us, then ahead, deeper into the orchard. “Come, we have a place I believe you will enjoy.”

In the center of the Emissary’s grove was a round building that sparkled like polished chrome, encircled by large picture windows. It reminded me of a space-age diner. It was telling that all of the quaint little footpaths through their gardens seemed to end up here.

Inside, tables jutted out from the walls with chairs arranged neatly around them. And it smelled exactly like a good diner. Like the Thubans’ Wayside dive, they were doing actual cooking here. We took a seat at the nearest open table. There were plenty of those; apparently we were well past rush hour here. A single pair of Emissaries sat at the opposite end of the circular restaurant and waved at Bjorn.

“This looks great. Like something from back home. How come no one ever showed me this place before?”

“Your induction schedule was rather compressed and we didn’t want to overwhelm you. It was also feared that introducing you to anything too familiar would hamper your assimilation into our wider culture.” He studied me as I opened up the menu crystal embedded in the table. “However, I now see that may have been a mistake.”

I thought about my earlier wanderings and that night out with Chonk. “Maybe not. It did a lot of good to broaden my horizons. If I’d known about this place right away, I might’ve never made it out.” Admittedly, I could see spending a lot more time here after hours.

The menu looked even more human-friendly than I expected, but the translation was still kind of wonky. I pointed to one that looked tasty, though the description was disgusting. “‘Flesh and spawn’? What the hell is that?”

“It’s steak and eggs.”

That was more like it. “They have steak and eggs? Where do they come from?” I tapped in my selection, too excited to wait for an answer.

Bjorn ordered the same, then gestured toward a distant corner of the grove. “The eggs are collected from a hatchery in the eastern quadrant of our sector, from a species similar to your quail. We do not raise fowl for production; they are what you’d call ‘free range’ animals.”

“Even better,” I said. You could always taste the difference. I was never a fan of grocery store eggs, but the ones we used to collect on the farm were delicious. “What about the meat? You guys don’t raise cattle for slaughter.”

The corners of his mouth turned down at the thought. “We do not. The meat is replicated from bovine DNA and grown in vats.”

“You guys took samples from cows . . .” I wondered how they might have differed from ours when the realization hit me. “You stole them from us!”

Bjorn sounded embarrassed. “It was a very limited quantity, I assure you. Strictly for tissue sampling and DNA extraction. Early efforts were a bit messy, I’m afraid.”

“So all those wild stories of cattle mutilations . . .”

“All true, unfortunately. The tales you are familiar with were the result of misaligned collection fields. Those incidents occurred early in the project, by insufficiently vetted harvesters. The remaining cattle were returned safely.”

So the hyper-advanced Galactic Union occasionally made mistakes, too. It was one more bit of trivia that made them seem a little less Utopian and a little more accessible. It also made me even more wary of force fields.

It wasn’t long before our food arrived, which I enthusiastically wolfed down. It might’ve been unladylike, but it was also the most authentic taste of home I’d had since leaving Earth. However screwed up their little cattle-wrangling project had been, the results were yummy. I felt human again.


We had four and a half hours left on our shift when we stepped off the lift. One look told me the Med Corps was having a busy day, as nearly half of the ambulance bays were empty. Xeelix was waiting for us, sitting at a cluster of tables along the back wall of the hangar and sipping from a bottled nutrient drink. I plopped down across from him with a full tummy and happy heart.

“Better now?” he asked.

“Absolutely. A good meal can work wonders when you’re running low.”

He seemed a little displeased, once again fixing me with his black eyes. “Quite so, particularly for humanoid metabolism.”

I gave him a sideways look, and noticed Bjorn had turned away uncomfortably. “Is something wrong?”

He sat upright and pushed his bottle aside. “Your performance on our last run was . . . hesitant. I believe you were hampered by your escapades with the Thubans last night, though I am also willing to allow certain accommodations for the extreme environment.”

I sank in my chair, chastened. He was right on both counts. I hadn’t set out to get hammered, but that’s how it goes sometimes. I’d rationalized that the GU’s lengthy standard day would give me plenty of time to recover. It hadn’t helped that I was also terrified of heights, and hovering among the cloud tops of a massive planet that was nothing but clouds had nearly paralyzed me. “You’re right. No more drinking on work nights.”

Thankfully, Xeelix nodded in a gesture that signaled he was ready to move on. “That is wise. You would also be wise to remember that you are one of very few humans in the Union. You will not be able to metabolize most of the nutrients our component races thrive on, and I do not wish to see you harmed. In this case, you were lucky. Thuban diets are largely compatible with humans.”

There it was again—other humans. He’d come right out and said I wasn’t alone out here. Now that we’d addressed last night’s binge, I wasn’t going to let this go. I crossed my arms and leaned across the table. “Back up a second. You mentioned ‘very few’ humans.” I wagged a finger between him and Bjorn. “That’s not the first time you guys have hinted there might be others besides me. How many, and where are they?”

The two exchanged a glance, and Xeelix gestured for Bjorn to explain. My Nordic friend shifted uncomfortably. “As you know, we have been covertly observing your world for a very long time.”

“Not covertly enough,” I interjected, a little too tartly.

“The human mind, particularly its capacity for storing memories, is quite resilient. More so than many Union races, in fact.” Bjorn pursed his lips. “Memory suppression has been challenging.”

“I’d say so, judging by all the stories. Some of them go back decades.”

“Centuries, in fact. The last century in particular has been quite eventful, which of course means our survey craft are more likely to be detected. As time progresses, such events will be carefully ‘stage managed,’ as you might say.”

“Let me guess—a slow drip to prepare us for the Big Reveal when you think we’re ready?”

“Exactly. There have been some individual humans, however, who expressed interest in becoming Union residents after their encounters with us.” He paused, looking away as if he were embarrassed. “This was quite some time ago. We were not as discerning as we should have been. Some seemed grateful to be free of ‘Earthly’ concerns and happily lived out their days in the Union. A few found they could not cope and had to be confined to Med Corps sanitariums for their own well-being until we could safely return them. One in particular has thrived.”

“Who?”

“He goes by ‘Gideon,’ though I do not know his full name. He has managed to amass a great fortune and chooses to remain private.” Bjorn’s words were clipped, as if he could taste their bitterness.

I rolled my eyes. “Ah. One of those guys. I’m surprised you let him stay.”

My friend’s lips drew thin. “Gideon found a way to make himself essential, inserting himself into most aspects of commerce and administration. Apparently he was quite good at this on Earth.”

“And so found an opportunity to expand his sphere of influence,” I finished for him.

Xeelix interjected. “At first, Gideon proved himself to be quite valuable. He was particularly gifted at logistics—he could anticipate problems and visualize solutions in ways that eluded us. He also displayed an acute interest in developing mass-produced, modular energy sources; I suspect in order to eventually introduce to Earth.”

I could sense how this had played out. “Introduction” could turn to “exploitation” in short order. Vision and ingenuity can bring great wealth, which often translates to great power. Too many humans had shown themselves to be incapable of handling both without turning into complete assholes.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no commie. I’d rather live in a world that allows Scrooge McDuck levels of wealth instead of one that pretends they can control it without dragging everyone else down. No doubt some people accumulate too much for their own good, and most of the time they’re just gaudy. It’s when the super-rich leverage their wealth to keep others out of the game that I start having a problem. Judging by my companion’s reactions, the GU felt the same way.

I was about to ask where in the galaxy this Gideon person had set up shop, when the klaxon blared overhead: “Alert bay five, alert bay five. Prepare for immediate departure.”

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Framed