Astra: Synchronicity (18 page)

After about a minute, she released her grasp
and sighed. With her urge to feed satiated, she glanced over at the
doctor and blinked away the glow in her eyes. The two had had many
discussions about this in the past so she knew Dr. Reboitz abhorred
what she did to these people. Few doctors understood a patient's
desire to die because they were so entrenched in saving them. After
years under the microscope, Nadine sympathized with the plight of
the suffering. No one should be forced to live against their
will.

She walked over to the sink with her arm
outstretched to keep the gluene off her clothes and washed it away
vigorously. The film made her skin itch, and false sensations of
touch tricked her mind until it was gone. When she offered the
doctor a conciliatory smile, Dr. Reboitz narrowed her eyes and left
her alone in the room. Oddly enough, Nadine found solitude a better
companion. She'd done what she came to do and looked forward to
returning to Northampton into the waiting arms of her husband.

St. Ives was pretty—no arguing that—but she
didn't care to spend another minute in the ignorant place.

***

Amii had never seen a morning fog composed of
nitrogen droplets until she set foot on Icelandia. Brutal did not
begin to describe this part of New England, where venturing outside
without a protective suit constituted immediate suicide. No one
came in or left without expressed consent. In Icelandia, the
environment held humanity hostage. Mammals didn't come within
thousands of miles of the South Pole for a good reason—natural
selection weeded out all the ones foolish enough to try. Humans, on
the other hand, viewed it as a challenge, but this did not absolve
them from also being idiots.

Icelandia Base had been originally conceived
of as a maximum-security penitentiary. For all intents and
purposes, it succeeded in that capacity. The extremely cold air
temperature prohibited impulsive escape attempts. Walls made of
cinder blocks imparted a sense of uniform despair. The structure
had been triple insulated to contain heat, but Amii's nose and
extremities never managed to warm up. Even inside, one layer of
clothing did not suffice.

Of course, the frigidity went beyond the
base's air temperature. From the moment they'd arrived, most of the
personnel resented having the two of them around. They'd been
barred from computer access and restricted to the civilian sector.
Xander had no problem being a pariah, but the scientists disliked
him with a furious passion, as if his presence affronted their
profession. Amii had not spoken to anyone other than Xander since
their arrival; she already missed the
Kearsarge
and its
eccentric cast of passengers.

She lounged in the cafeteria reading
Razor's Edge
, but today her mind strayed. A viewscreen lured
her attention from the opposite wall. A live video feed from the AC
Council displayed their continued debate on the Xuranian conundrum.
The news served as her window to the outside world. At the same
time she realized if she watched much more of it, she'd be as
cynical as Xander.

News of human contact with the Xuranians
spread like wildfire across Astra. For a week it was the only news
anyone wanted to hear about. Feelings among the general public were
mixed. Shades of cautious optimism dominated United Europe, while
fear and xenophobia gripped the American Federation. Most wondered
what the aliens wanted; few took their offer of peace at face
value. That was how Xander felt, but she found herself curious
about them and their rumored technological wonders.

A group of protesters sprung out of the
woodwork almost overnight condemning friendly relations with the
aliens. They dubbed themselves Centrists, symbolized by an orange
flag with a stick diagram of the head of a bull. The Centrists
motto of "humanity first and kill the rest" summarized their stance
with poignant elitism. The same line of thinking led to the
genocide of psions. With so many people mired in hate, perhaps
humanity should let the aliens be. Nothing good could come from
forcing an alliance.

Fifteen days had passed since Taylor met with
the Xuranians on the surface of Coralag, and the Council seemed no
closer to a resolution on how they wanted to deal with the
Xuranians than they had been then. At Chairman Dodd's request
discussion on the major issues at hand ensued. Federalists took a
hardline against peaceful relations while progressives embraced the
opportunity. The ramifications of either stance had been argued ad
nauseum. The chamber could easily be mistaken for a theater, where
the Council did nothing but pander to the Allied Confederacy and
give their citizens the illusion their best interests were
foremost.

Her eyes returned to the screen and she
watched the proceedings. Right now, the initiative being tossed
around was in support of continued diplomatic contact. Chairman
Dodd tapped his gavel, but it barely evoked acknowledgement from
the room. The voice of Councilman MacDonald from New Ireland droned
on so smooth it lulled the chamber to sleep. "The gentleman's time
has expired. The chair yields ten minutes to the gentlewoman from
Monterey, Altair."

As Councilwoman Davis stepped up to the
podium, her image replaced the chairman's on the screen. Amii
wondered what garish outfit the woman would be wearing today, given
her reputation for dressing inappropriately extravagant. She had on
a low-cut white dress with a regular pattern of red dots; it cut
across her chest at a flattering angle and only had one sleeve.
While her clothes always succeeded in getting her noticed, few
people ever took her seriously.

"Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I must say that my
constituents have never been more concerned about the welfare of
the Allied Confederacy as they are about it right now. I don't
think anyone knows the true motives of the Xuranians. It wouldn't
be the first time a group of people came under the guise of peace
only to end up taking advantage of such kindness. I do not intend
for that to happen here…"

While the councilwoman droned on about
progressive policy being the root of all evil, Amii observed
another disturbing fact about the Council: few people attended if
there wasn't a vote or an emergency. In this day and age, the feed
of the proceedings could be piped anywhere in Astra. A member could
tune in and participate from the beach if they wanted to. But the
overall turnout hovered at five percent and included just those
individuals speaking in the next hour.

"The other day when everyone first found out
about the Xuranians, my eight-year-old daughter came to me and
asked, 'Mommy, what do the aliens want?' And I told her, 'I don't
know, sweetie. We'll find out soon.' That was when she said, 'I'm
scared, Mommy.' It broke my heart. The human race is still fragile.
It will take
many
generations for most planets to reach the
milestone of having a million citizens. If we don't protect our
children from these aliens, we won't have any kind of future. Thank
you, Mr. Chairman."

Before she could saunter away, the screen
returned to Dodd. His bold, black-rimmed glasses complimented the
shape of his face. Amii could hear the chairman's nasal voice in
her mind before he even spoke. "The chair yields ten minutes to the
gentleman from New England, Chara."

Whether he was for or against an issue on the
table, Vice President Taylor always shared his thoughts with the
rest of the Council. Many of the other council members considered
it pompous, as though being heard all the time made his opinion
more important than anyone else's. Amii felt the opposite. Despite
his callous position toward Xander, he seemed to care about the
people of the UE. As a moderate progressive, he sided with
federalists on a number of issues. Like a smart politician, he
realized compromise would win the day.

He stepped behind the podium next to him and
cleared his throat. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Human history is
filled with tough choices, much like the one that sits in front of
us today. When our ancestors made the decision to leave Earth over
two centuries ago, all of them knew that there was the possibility
we'd run into other sentient races. When their initial voyages
didn't find any, most were relieved. Over the years, humans have
grown complacent. It might surprise the council to know that
first-contact protocols have been brought before this council
twenty-eight times since the last version was drafted forty-three
years ago, and all of them were either tabled or scrapped. And the
reason is obvious: complacency.

"Too long has this Council sat by and done
nothing. By now every one of us should have had the procedure
memorized word-for-word instead of sticking our heads in the sand
and hoping it would never happen. Planetary systems are much more
common than we once thought possible. It was foolhardy to think
we'd be the only sentient race and reckless to believe we'd never
come across another one. Well, that day has arrived, Mr. Chairman!
Despite the lack of preparation, I feel the meeting went extremely
well, and I credit the latitude permitted to me by this Council for
that success.

"It would be in our best interests to put
forth a plan for a positive, meaningful relationship with the
Xuranians. I have no doubt this is an advanced civilization, and I
never got the impression their intentions are anything other than
peaceful. A relationship with them could benefit us in ways we
never thought imaginable, technology beyond our wildest dreams, and
information about the galaxy that would take us centuries to
acquire. We have little to lose and everything to gain.

"I know that many of us don't agree, but I
ask this Council's members to put aside their usual partisan
bickering for the good of all Astra. We cannot refuse a
relationship with the Xuranians or water it down to little more
than a tea party. Being overly cautious is not a forward-thinking
policy, nor is it in our best interests. How long will it be before
the Pan-Asian Union requests an audience with the Xuranians? If I
had to guess, I'll bet they're discussing it at this very moment
the same way we are, and I can guarantee they'll be eager to forge
a lasting relationship. Instead of opposing it, we'd be much better
served to be a part of it. I thank you, Mr. Chairman and yield back
the balance of my time."

The screen cut to Councilwoman Davis
glowering at him. When everything was said and done, none of their
words mattered anyways. Both of them would vote the way their
party's platform dictated, as would everyone else without
variation, and the federalist majority would make the rules.

She felt a hand touch her shoulder and knew
who it was without even looking. "What are you thinking as you
stare at the sodding leaders who will bring death to us all?"
Xander asked.

Amii turned toward him and raised her
eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you're exaggerating or you actually mean
that."

"Both, of course," he said with a quirky
grin. "I'm sure we'll attack them and that will be the end of it.
At least you're doing something of mild interest. All I've been
doing is running around in circles trying to explain advanced
robotics to neanderthals. I'm tempted to check if these so-called
scientists actually graduated from an institute of higher education
because if they did, I have a few choice words for their
advisors."

He picked up her book and scoffed at it when
he read the title. "You're not done with this yet?"

"I've read it seven times."

"Good heavens, why?"

She shrugged. "It gives me something to do
when
Viva Vega
is on."

He sat down beside her and propped his head
on his fist. "What did you think of it?"

"I'm not sure I understand why anyone would
enjoy it." The recent science fiction thriller by Steve Lawson
envisioned the horrors of a malfunction that caused every household
robot in existence to rise up and butcher their human masters as a
collective consciousness in the most grotesque ways imaginable.

"I despise it, not so much the actual writing
as Lawson's content. The two of us grew up together and we had a
heated rivalry with one another. He was the hard-working one, and I
was the smart one. He ended up valedictorian; I was salutorian and
most likely to succeed. I skyrocketed to fame before he'd even
outlined his first novel. The tides switched, of course, and now
I'm the joke and he's enjoying stardom. He wrote that book as a
slap in my face. I'm sure of it."

"I don't think the female protagonist is
realistic at all."

"She's a lot like you, actually…but we've had
this discussion before."

She made a mental note to read the book until
she understood what he meant by that. To avoid rehashing the
misfortune of her amnesia, she changed subjects. "Xander, tell me
more about your past."

He sighed. He avoided talking about himself
unless questioned. "What do you want to know?"

"What made you decide to become a
scientist?"

He glanced downward and smiled as though the
memory was fresh in his mind. "As strange as it might sound, I did
it for love."

"Love?" she repeated. "I've never thought of
you as the romantic type."

"I was…once upon a time in what seems like a
lifetime ago." He knitted his hands together and brushed his thumbs
against one another. "During my teenage years, I'd fallen in with a
rowdy bunch of lads and blew a promising future on hashish and
cheap vodka. Instead of bothering with college, I became a hobo,
doing as little as possible to survive the day and get high.

"I'll never forget the day it
happened—September 31
^st
. It was one of those amazing
autumn days I could live my whole life in. The leaves of all of the
trees on campus were bright red, and the coffee shop I worked at
began their seasonal offering of chai drinks that morning. About an
hour after the morning rush, she walked in: Lisara Martin. I'd
never laid eyes on a woman so stunning in all my life. She asked me
to make her a mocha cappuccino, and I did. Three times. If I hadn't
been so smitten, I would've been bloody pissed.