14
The Emissaries led me out of the exam area and through another oval door at the end of a long corridor, where we stepped into another small room. The door whispered shut behind us. Sven waved his hand across a panel nearby; for the first time I noticed they were both wearing rings identical to the one I’d been given. Soon after I could feel movement and realized we were in a garden-variety elevator. I felt the floor rising up beneath us; we were moving quickly.
When it came to a stop my stomach felt like it wanted to float up into my chest, like going over the top of a rollercoaster. It didn’t seem to fully settle. “It feels like there’s less gravity here.”
“There is,” Sven explained. “The farther we get from the station’s gravitational center, the lesser the effects. Standard gravity within the Union is approximately ninety percent of what you perceive on Earth. As we move farther out into the structure, you will feel less. At the outermost levels, it is roughly forty percent of your normal gravity.”
A great way of fooling myself into thinking I’d lost weight, a too-frequent obsession with us girls. If there were bathroom scales here, I wouldn’t be paying much attention to them. “I’m guessing each level is populated by different races, depending on their local gravity?”
“Exactly, though the base level targets a median gravitational force which is comfortable for all Union races.” He reached with his ringed finger to open the door, then paused. Before we could exit, he cautioned me. “We are now at the receiving level. Here we will complete your entrance process. You will be exposed to many more races which you have not encountered before. You may find it to be something of a ‘culture shock.’”
With no idea of what to expect, I could only think of my recent experience with the Grays. “It seemed like I got along fine with the docs downstairs. I’ll try to keep an open mind.” Just not so open that they could easily read it.
“That is wise,” Bjorn said. “Your interaction with Xeelix was more significant than you realize. The Reticulans are generally averse to social contact with other races. Did you sense a bond with him?”
“It’s hard to explain, but yes. I’m surprised that’s the case if they’re your survey drones.” I still didn’t like using that word for intelligent creatures.
“Their aversion is purely social. They are quite comfortable with contact in a clinical setting.”
Ah, yes. All that probing and scanning. They were what we’d call “process oriented.” My thoughts raced back to the UFO loonies and their abduction stories. No wonder the Grays suppressed their memories. I’d run out of reasons to discount the stories by now.
My escorts exchanged a look which I couldn’t discern, but it seemed like agreement. Sven swept his hand across the panel and the door swished open. Before us stood a female Emissary, wearing the same iridescent tunic as my companions, though she was different in ways which weren’t very subtle. She held up her hand in what looked like a formal greeting. “Welcome, Melanie Mooney. I will be your entry control officer.”
While she was obviously an Emissary, a few physical differences stood out. The eyes were the most striking—hers had no color; the irises were translucent, almost as white as her sclera, and her pupils were black pinpoints. It was a little unnerving. Where I’d first referred to my guys by their eye color, this one presented a challenge. “Whitey” was out for obvious reasons, so I settled on “Pearl.”
Her eyebrows were more prominent, and her cheekbones were especially high and sharp. Her features were a lot further removed from a human’s than either of my escorts. I was tempted to ask them for an explanation, but right now that seemed rude. Open mind, girl.
It occurred to me that I’d stood there staring like an idiot for far too long. They’d tried to warn me, hadn’t they? I raised my hand, mirroring her gesture. “A pleasure to meet you,” I finally replied, a little stiff. She answered with a crisp nod.
“Please follow me to Entry Control. We will have you on your way shortly.”
Extraterrestrial Customs. It was an enormous and busy facility, like an airport terminal, large enough that the floor curved away from us in either direction. I assumed this was still part of the central ring, and a glance at a nearby overhead screen confirmed it. It was a map of the station, and what must have been our level was highlighted with directions to each of the cylindrical buildings that sprouted outward from here.
That was when I first noticed the other beings scattered around the terminal, and the shock threatened to overwhelm me. I watched a group of Grays move past nearby, and behind them stood a cluster of crablike beings with elongated necks which bobbed up and down in what looked to be an animated conversation. It was like being dumped into the middle of an alien petting zoo.
I’d unconsciously gone into this with tunnel vision, focused on the more humanlike Emissaries instead of all the different races teeming around me. It was the chaotic mix of unfamiliar sounds—and smells—that had grabbed my attention. There was a faint odor of cucumber salad; the kind of scent copperheads give off when they’re startled.
I turned to my right and saw a family of reptilians heading for one of the entry control stations. Two of them stood tall above a gaggle of smaller ones, all having iridescent golden eyes with catlike slit pupils. Or snakelike. I preferred to think of them like cats because I hate snakes with a passion. Each adult had a scaly ridge protruding from above their eyes that met at the crowns of their heads at a sharp angle. It lent their brows a heavy, menacing appearance that again resembled snakes. I had to remind myself that if they were in the Union, they should at least be well-behaved.
At the end of lanky arms, their hands each had three fingers and what approximated an opposable thumb, which is kind of crucial if you’re going to build complex structures or need to work in fine detail. The thick claws at the ends of their digits had apparently been filed down, which made them look a little less menacing.
They walked gracefully in a hunched-over, birdlike fashion, on reverse-jointed legs which reminded me of a dinosaur’s. They were balanced by tails that were easily half their body length; when the female stood to her full height, she had to be at least seven feet tall. I’m assuming this was the female because it looked an awful lot like a mom corralling rambunctious kids, waving her gangly arms at them in a get your asses over here manner.
The little ones, three of them, acted like they were ready to bolt at every distraction. And there were a lot of distractions; I’m guessing this was their first time at a Union terminal as well. Maybe they were going to Galactic Disney World.
I stopped gaping at the reptilian family when another unexpected smell caught my attention—seawater. I turned left and saw my first hextopod scrabbling past nearby, heading in the opposite direction. It was colored with blotchy shades of gray and purple, and stood a bit taller than me. It seemed to be in a big hurry as it muscled its way toward the docks. It didn’t move like an octopus on land, flattened and pulling itself along. Instead it walked upright on its six tentacles, which was remarkably graceful in its own way. I marveled at how muscular they must have been; for an invertebrate to move like that required a lot of strength.
“That one is heading for the large transport we saw earlier,” Bjorn said. “The vessel contains an entire deck of seawater tanks. Their species can move about on dry land, but they are much more comfortable in aquatic environments.”
Made sense to me, and it was a reminder of how much there was to learn. I’d read all of this in the study materials, but to see these beings in person going about their lives was an entirely different matter. Textbooks couldn’t prepare me for the jolting sights of what amounted to intelligent dinosaurs and a walking octopus.
As the hextopod hurried for the docks, its colors began changing to placid hues of pink. “That’s how they communicate,” I said, remembering my brief study. I searched the terminal for more of their kind. “But there aren’t any more of them around.”
“It is expressing relief,” Bjorn told me. “It has probably been out of water too long for its comfort. It will be safe in its normal environment soon.”
I wondered how long they could hold their breath; I didn’t recall the study guides mentioning anything about them being amphibious.
My fascination with the walking octopus-like being was short-lived. A portal adjacent to the one he (or she) disappeared into opened up, and a swarm of pale white creatures emerged. My skin crawled instinctively, and my scalp tickled. It was a gut reaction which I was ashamed of; hopefully my escorts didn’t pick up on it.
They were insects. Enormous, ten-legged arthropods with eye stalks, antennas, and mandibles. I mentioned they appeared pale white; on closer inspection I could see their segmented exoskeletons were almost translucent. Each creature was about three feet long, which may not count as “enormous” in the usual term, but these were insects. They poured out of the opening, climbing up the walls and spilling into the terminal by the hundreds. I instinctively drew closer to my escorts.
They quickly organized themselves into a procession, three abreast, and began marching toward one of the other entry gates. Another Emissary, accompanied by three more of the insect’s own kind, waited for them. The floor beneath us vibrated with the patter of thousands of cuticles.
Sven placed a calming hand on my shoulder, no doubt sensing my reaction, if not expecting it. “As we cautioned you, this would be something of a culture shock. Many of our races evolved from species you may have a natural aversion toward.”
“Everybody has something that gives them the creeps. For me, it’s insects.” Growing up on a farm, there were lots of them, especially in the barn. A parade of giant bugs was like something out of a horror movie. I shook off my initial revulsion to dispassionately study the herd as it passed, like the vet student I used to be.
These creatures were disciplined. They moved of one accord, like a company of soldiers marching past. But I failed to see how they, or the giant walking octopus thing, would be able to manipulate their environment in a precise enough manner to harness the kinds of technology necessary to make it into space. “How are beings like this . . . what’s the word I’m looking for . . . spacefaring?”
“Not all Union races are natively capable of space travel, but that is only one of many qualities we screen for. Those who are found to have sufficient intelligence and suitable cultural characteristics are invited into the Union based on their civilization’s collective potential. If they choose to join, they are provided with interstellar transport by those races who can do so.” He nodded toward the mob skittering past us. “The Gliesans are particularly adept at what humans call ‘civil engineering.’”
“Did they build this place?”
Sven shook his head. “We constructed this outpost with the Reticulans. We did not make contact with the Gliesans until much later. You’ll find their designs to be more . . . organic. Rather artful, in fact.” He nodded at the swarm. “This is most likely a construction team en route to their next project.”
The Union gave them a lift when they needed it. Not a bad arrangement. It made me wonder again how far removed we humans were from having the kind of “collective potential” the Union looked for. It was a reminder of how much might be riding on my shoulders.
I’d delayed long enough, standing in the middle of the terminal atrium and gawking at the natives like the tourist I was. There were a few more Grays and a smattering of Emissaries, nearly all of whom had the same features as the one we were following. A quick glance back at my companions strongly suggested they’d been modified for duty on Earth, either through old-fashioned plastic surgery or genetic tweaking. My money was on the latter.
They led me to an open entry control point, which was staffed by another Emissary. This one was male, but looked an awful lot like Pearl with the same spooky eyes, prominent brow, and sharp cheekbones. They could have been twins, though I imagined there were distinctions that would be obvious to someone of their own race.
It was yet another lesson in the shortsightedness of Earthbound prejudices, so let’s get this ugly aspect of human nature out of the way: We tend to look for patterns in nature, so we become accustomed to the variants of people we are most frequently surrounded by. Those we don’t normally encounter fall outside of our internally defined patterns, which is why we tend to think “others” all look alike. It’s an age-old human trait that isn’t confined to cranky old white guys; they just get blamed for it the most. Spend enough time among population groups outside of your own and you’ll soon learn to spot the subtle distinctions between individuals. I’d had something of an immersion course in that as a medic.
I tried to identify those distinctions while this new Emissary processed my entry paperwork—not really “paperwork,” but that’s the gist. Trying not to look like I was staring, I searched his features for any differences. They weren’t easy to spot, but I could see a hardness to his features that the female didn’t have: brows a bit sharper, cheeks a bit hollower, with long hair so brilliantly blond as to be almost white.
Blondie exchanged some words with Pearl as she handed him my data crystal, then looked me over like I was a bug on a microscope slide. “Melanie Elizabeth Mooney,” he read dispassionately. “Terran, female, aged twenty-nine Earth years.” He raised one eyebrow, prompting me to answer.
“Um, yeah. That’s correct.”
He swiped at the crystal’s glowing text and glanced down at the duffel bag slung over my shoulder. “Those are your personal belongings?”
I was flummoxed for a second. Were they going to have a problem with my stuff? “Yes,” I finally said, and began to shrug off the bag. “Do you need to inspect my things?”
“That will not be necessary,” Blondie said. “It was scanned as you entered the terminal.” He glanced down at the crystal again. “I see you are here for admission to the Medical Corps. Unusual.” It was impossible to tell if he was perturbed, impressed, or was simply trying to rattle me. He gestured toward a slot in the podium between us. “Please insert your hand with your identification ring here.”
I did as he said, though it was impossible to tell that anything important was happening. Characters begin to blink on the crystal, and a polite smile crossed his face. “Excellent. Your physiological profile and biometric data are now accepted.” Moments passed as I stood there like a dummy with my hand still in the slot. “You may withdraw your hand now. Welcome to the Galactic Union.”
I turned to my escorts. “That’s it? I’m in?” I’d had more hassles from customs in my own country.
“You are,” Bjorn said pleasantly. He took the crystal back from Blondie and handed it to me. “Your personal data terminal is now connected to Union information services. Your ring will grant you access to whatever you need, within the parameters of your resident status. It must remain on your person at all times.”
I guessed that meant it limited me to whatever I was authorized to do here. I also guessed that meant I’d be royally screwed without it.