5 - The Trusci's Tale

"Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound."

-- William Congreve, in The mourning bride, 1697

"Music soothes the savage beast."

-- An amazingly popular misquotation of the above. 85% of all citations of this 17th century lyric are incorrect! But, this corrupt version works as well.

###

Chloe was deep into researching her next paper. She was due to get it published in the journal in the next three months. She had better get a move on! In the competitive university world, it was "publish or perish" when it came to getting grant money. The alternative was teaching in a classroom while someone else got to do the fun stuff. Chloe had a tendency to procrastinate. She would really rather be reading a trashy novel.

At least until some new and interesting fact caught her attention!

She had just read the paper, "The magical number 7 +/- 2: Some limits on our capacity to process information," by 20th century professor, George Miller, when she serendipitously recalled another 20th century article she read describing the effect of music on memory. It explain why children remember their ABC's, multiplication tables, or even nursery rhymes better when set to music.

Ask a child to remember their address and it was like pulling teeth. Nearly impossible. Ask a child to remember a spoken version of the poem "Mary had a Little Lamb" and the results were much better. Sing to them the song "Mary had a Little Lamb" and the results were off the charts.

There was a definite relationship between mental retention of information set to music and mental retention of information clustered into groups of 5 to 9 "packets." Chloe's quick scan of published research revealed that, to her amazement, no one has published anything about this amazing and curios pair of phenomena.

Now she was fired up. Her direction was set. Her next grant was a lock when she published this one. Alas, there would be no more trashy novels in her foreseeable future.

###

They recognize the signs. They measured the temperature changes of the chromosphere and photosphere. At this point, those changes were miniscule, but continuously increasing. They saw the increase in gaseous emissions. It was just a matter of time now, until Trusca's sun began to shed its outer layer, with catastrophic consequences for life on Trusca.

They knew the memories of the Progenitori Trusci could survive any stellar catastrophe. And, those memories tend to be protected at all costs. But, there would be no one to listen to their operatic refrains, to learn them, sing them, embellish them, as the Trusci have done for all remembered time. The evolution of Progenitori knowledge would end.

Would there be anyone, anywhere to sing the songs of Progenitori memory? Would there be anyone, anywhere to listen.

Something must be done. Soon.

It was unlikely that even the other planets in the nearby celestial neighborhood could be made habitable. First, sentient life would have to escape the ejection of the chromosphere. That was unlikely on any planets with a suitable combination of size and granity. Second, resources were limited. They could either invest in making a planet in the celestial neighborhood habitable, or travel unfathomable distances beyond their local star.

There was only one viable alternative. They must leave. They decided. They would.

They composed more stanzas of their history, describing these recent events, and sang them for the Progenitori, committing them to permanent storage.

In the Trusci mind, they had to work quickly. As humans reckon time, they had perhaps 500 to 1000 years. To an ancient civilization like the long-lived Trusci, who were natural long term thinkers and strategic planners, that was only one to three generations.

From the Trusci perspective, this was a rush job.

4 - Sydney's Tale

The place was desolate. There were miles of coarse, reddish sand punctuated by boulders, ringed by huge red rock mountains. The only inhabitants were scorpions and lizards congregating by the cacti, watching the tumbleweeds blow by.

Nearly a centuries ago the area was an archaeological dig. The place's ancient curiosities had long ago been collected, cataloged and hauled off to universities and museums, or, through the forces of nature, re-buried. This place wasn't visited much these days because the Great California Quake had its origins in shifting tectonic plates right here. This entire area had become geologically unstable. Universities, even private foundations, were loath to fund any more massive (and fatal) projects here.

Amateur fortune hunters in search of a long-lost archaeological artifact, adrenaline junkies, and the criminally inclined were the only ones who ventured out here. Well, and investigators chasing clues regarding the criminally inclined. Sydney was in the last category. Sydney was here because she knew there would be clues.

There wasn't something specific that she sought. Trace evidence ... a thread, a paint chip, a shard of broken glass, something had to be there. She was sure of it. Her partner Colin told her she was barking up the wrong tree. He wouldn't stop her from looking, but he would have no part of her quest. "Coward," she thought to herself, "what a wuss!"

###

A Masters degree, four years as an officer in the Marine Corps, and now this. She was ready to pack it all in. Sydney was disgusted, sick and tired. She was better than this, and here she was, slogging it out by herself. "What a stupid career," she thought, "Who said chasing the bad guys was glamorous, like on the holos." Oh, it was for some people, just not her.

She should have been running her own team by now. That wasn't going to happen until hell froze over. And maybe not then. Inspector Captain Jim Blake was long gone. But the damage he did to her career would last for years, maybe forever. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she was right, and outlasting that bastard.

Too bad being the last one standing didn't make the gritty red sand in her hair, ears and nose any more pleasurable.

###

That's when she saw it, a glimmer, a bright reflection about 20 feet away under a huge overhanging ledge. She could see it through the mirage that made the ground look like a pool of silvery mercury topped by hazy air that distorted her vision. A high desert mirage would fool the eyes. But the bright object in its center was no distortion of her vision or figment of her imagination. It certainly wasn't natural and definitely didn't belong there. As she drew closer, the mirage didn't vanish as they usually do.

She could see that the object was actually a tiny, rapidly blinking strobe light attached to a small box. She bent over to pick it up.

###

When she awoke, the nausea was acute, burning her throat. Her skin looked like an uneven sunburn. There were tiny little blood blisters spread over the exposed skin. She looked like hell and felt worse.

"Don't sit up too fast," said a female voice. "The vertigo will wear off in a minute. But, you'll look sunburned and have that rash for a couple days. I'm Dr. Montaigne, but you can call me Chloe," the mystery woman said as she knelt down and extended a hand to help Sydney sit up.

The place was desolate. There were miles of coarse, reddish sand punctuated by boulders, ringed by huge red rock mountains. The only inhabitants were scorpions and lizards congregating by the cacti, watching the tumbleweeds blow by.

Nearly a centuries ago the area was an archaeological dig. The place's ancient curiosities had long ago been collected, cataloged and hauled off to universities and museums, or, through the forces of nature, re-buried. This place wasn't visited much these days because the Great California Quake had its origins in shifting tectonic plates right here. This entire area had become geologically unstable. Universities, even private foundations, were loath to fund any more massive (and fatal) projects here.

Amateur fortune hunters in search of a long-lost archaeological artifact, adrenaline junkies, and the criminally inclined were the only ones who ventured out here. Well, and investigators chasing clues regarding the criminally inclined. Sydney was in the last category. Sydney was here because she knew there would be clues.

There wasn't something specific that she sought. Trace evidence ... a thread, a paint chip, a shard of broken glass, something had to be there. She was sure of it. Her partner Colin told her she was barking up the wrong tree. He wouldn't stop her from looking, but he would have no part of her quest. "Coward," she thought to herself, "what a wuss!"

###

A Masters degree, four years as an officer in the Marine Corps, and now this. She was ready to pack it all in. Sydney was disgusted, sick and tired. She was better than this, and here she was, slogging it out by herself. "What a stupid career," she thought, "Who said chasing the bad guys was glamorous, like on the holos." Oh, it was for some people, just not her.

She should have been running her own team by now. That wasn't going to happen until hell froze over. And maybe not then. Inspector Captain Jim Blake was long gone. But the damage he did to her career would last for years, maybe forever. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she was right, and outlasting that bastard.

Too bad being the last one standing didn't make the gritty red sand in her hair, ears and nose any more pleasurable.

###

That's when she saw it, a glimmer, a bright reflection about 20 feet away under a huge overhanging ledge. She could see it through the mirage that made the ground look like a pool of silvery mercury topped by hazy air that distorted her vision. A high desert mirage would fool the eyes. But the bright object in its center was no distortion of her vision or figment of her imagination. It certainly wasn't natural and definitely didn't belong there. As she drew closer, the mirage didn't vanish as they usually do.

She could see that the object was actually a tiny, rapidly blinking strobe light attached to a small box. She bent over to pick it up.

###

When she awoke, the nausea was acute, burning her throat. Her skin looked like an uneven sunburn. There were tiny little blood blisters spread over the exposed skin. She looked like hell and felt worse.

"Don't sit up too fast," said a female voice. "The vertigo will wear off in a minute. But, you'll look sunburned and have that rash for a couple days. I'm Dr. Montaigne, but you can call me Chloe," the mystery woman said as she knelt down and extended a hand to help Sydney sit up.

###

Sydney was indeed from the United States of America. She had even been stationed in Colorado. But, large portions of her California slid into the Pacific Ocean. Most of Colorado was tectonically unstable. George Herbert Walker, George W. and Jeb Bush had not been the 41st, 43rd and 46th presidents.

There were an amazing number of similarities. The language was almost identical except for a few colloquialisms. Sydney's USA and Chloe's USA were definitely not the same, just as Chloe had suspected. Nobody on Sydney's Earth, which Chloe dubbed "E2," had yet discovered the portals.

Sydney was indeed from the United States of America. She had even been stationed in Colorado. But, large portions of her California slid into the Pacific Ocean. Most of Colorado was tectonically unstable. George Herbert Walker, George W. and Jeb Bush had not been the 41st, 43rd and 47th presidents.

There were an amazing number of similarities. The language was almost identical except for a few colloquialisms. Sydney's USA and Chloe's USA were definitely not the same, just as Chloe had suspected. Nobody on Sydney's Earth, which Chloe dubbed "E2," had yet discovered the portals.

###

Not being one to dawdle, it didn't take Sydney long to make up her mind. Goodbye US Marshals Service, hello Nexus. Sydney was here for the duration -- whatever that might be.

2 - Hypatia's Tale

He flipped a 20 credit coin towards the pillow, not bothering to see where it landed as he walked out the port. He certainly didn't see her body spasm as the tear slid down her cheek. She hated this life, but property like her didn't get to choose.

###

It was late by her standards. She was bone tired, and everything hurt – even her hair. And she was hungry, starving. She felt like she could eat a quarex -- whole.

But right now, Hypatia's priority was avoiding Tarrat. He wanted her, and he was pissed. Tarrat angry was not a pretty sight. Veins bulged from his shaved head, his face contorted and turned purple with rage. She knew she had that effect on him, and didn’t give a damn. In fact, what little pleasure she had in life came from pissing him off.

She was so glad just to be away from him she hadn't given much thought to a destination. There were tales of runaways. They always managed to find a meal. So, anywhere that was away from him was fine. Starving to death was preferable to living with that twisted ogre.

###

Tarrat was an expert at delivering pain without leaving any marks. No point in damaging the merchandise. This time he might kill her, just because he invested so much time in her. It was starting to become a losing proposition. She might be getting close to the end of her usefulness. If he couldn't get her under control, if she wouldn't be compliant, there wasn't much point in even feeding her. He might just have his sadistic fun with her until she was no longer one of his expenses.

Through the Looking Glass

Tia was thinking about her present options when something entered the cave. She had seen pictures of creatures like that before, but never up close. In fact, she never saw one live. It was much bigger than she had expected. They were supposed to be friendly. She hopes so. It was blocking the only exit, and its face showed no emotion. She really didn't feel like being on the menu for dinner.

Tia didn't realize that the huge cat like being was about five times bigger than his brethren were in nature. So was his brain. Unlike his smaller cousins, he was quite intelligent, and bread to be a sentinel. Of course, Tia had no idea what a sentinel was. Yet.

Tia tensed with shock and a little fear as goosebumps rose upon her arms when this being addressed her with, "My lady. Please do not be afraid. I am called Neral. My associate Mordok waits just outside. We are portal Sentinels. May I first inquire, are you hurt?"

Was he talking to her? She thought she was hallucinating. But this seemed real enough.

Neral was used to people's first reaction. After a polite, but brief silence, Neral inquired again, "My lady, are you in any needed physical assistance?"

After a moment's hesitation, Tia realized that Neral had spoken to her. But Neral's mouth had not moved! She realized she was hearing him -- not with her ears, but in her head. To Tia it seemed like magic.

Neral's face was immobile, except for blinking, as though carved from stone. He was expressionless. But his eyes seemed friendly, not dangerous or threatening. After a couple seconds, Tia recovered her composure and replied, "I am well, I think , thank you. Just very hungry, and tired."

Neral was used to the strange looks, the fear and trepidation with which people greeted him the first time. That is why sentinels strive for politeness. Although they can be formidable opponents when provoked, they are friendly and particularly fond of humans. in spite of the pointy carnivore teeth, they are strictly vegetarian.

The first course of business was to get Tia out of danger. The second was to figure out how much she knew. The third was to decide whether to give her asylum, or to send her back to fend for herself. Neral suspected, based on her disheveled appearance, Tia was going to be a candidate for asylum.

There was also a near certainty that whoever, or whatever was tracking her would figure out where she had gone, and follow.

For now, Tia was safe.

Neral left to take Tia to food and safety. Mordok would stay and keep watch for the next arrival which was sure to follow.

###

Tarrat was furious. Tia hadn't been that far ahead of him, and he would find her. If she wasn't worth so much, he'd kill her. The more Tarrat search, the angrier he became. He decided. He would kill her anyway. She would pay for all the aggravation she had caused him.

Tarrat found the entrance to the cave. He could smell her musky odor. He could almost taste her. He would enjoy it immensely this time. He didn't have to worry about leaving marks. He knew how to inflict pain, how to prolong it. And if he didn't have to worry about scarring her...

Tarrat was at the entrance to the cave. He had her if there were no other exit. He didn't think so. There was little light and he could see the walls on the other side, dank and dripping with moisture. He went deeper inside, walking into the steamy, fog-like haze.

He was agitated. He was thinking about getting his hands on Tia, about how he would punish her, make her cringe and beg him to stop. He wanted to make her cry, feel pain, feel remorse for running away. This time he would sniff the perfume of her sweat mixed with blood. He didn't care any more. He became enraged. Dangerous. These sadistic thoughts were getting him aroused. He was thinking less clearly. He'd pleasure himself with her, then kill her. She wasn't worth the cost of food any more.

Crazed with rage and lust and violence, he was no longer rational.

He stepped into the fog. He was disoriented, dizzy, nauseous. But he wasn't going to let that deter him. Until he saw the shadow of Mordok. Tarrat could tell from the shadow that Mordok was large, and inhuman. Mordok was an imposing figure. Tarrat had heard legends of these creatures. He'd heard that they could talk directly to your mind. He thought they were merely children's bedtime tales.

The stories were true -- and unnerving.

"May I be of assistance? Sir, what business have you here? " Inquired Mordok, with unfailing politeness.

"Did you see a girl pass this way? I'm looking for her," said Tarrat, "I own her, and I just saw her run through here. I'll gladly pay a substantial reward for her return."

That was all that Mordok needed to hear. He knew Tarrat was telling the truth. Tia was a pleasure slave, prohibited on the Nexus. If a slave made its way to the Nexus, or a master came through with a slave, and the master was stupid enough to admit it, the Nexus government, such as it was, immediately offered the slave its freedom. Only in rare circumstances was that offer refused.

Mordok wasted no time. In a second Tarrat was unconscious and back through the portal. As Neral had suggested, Mordok warded the portal. It would be quite some time before anyone would go through there again. Mordok headed back to report to Neral, and check on the girl.

###

The Meeting

In years past, sentinels were considered little more than biological machines. They were able to react instinctively and communicate crudely. But one could have hardly considered the early sentinels sentient. That changed. Sentinels proved to be quite responsible. New sentinels were no longer sterile, and were considered to be the only true, natural citizens of the Nexus. They like humans of all sorts. With a few minor exceptions, the sentinels chose to live out by the portals. That was probably an artifact of their original mental programming.

At the briefing hour, Narral gave the update including Mordok 's closure of the portal. Narral suggested amnesty for Tia. As usual, the decision was unanimous. Tia would be offered to say on the Nexus or join any of the affiliated worlds.

Since Narral granted her asylum, he was responsible for indoctrination. That would likely take a couple of months or so. Then Tia would have some choices to make.

Tia was safe. For now.

The Agreement

Tia had been cleaned up and was enjoying a good, human meal. She certainly wasn't malnourished. The throgs, as Tarrat's race was known, fed her well, as in nutritiously, not as in enjoyable. She certainly seemed to be enjoying this meal. It was much more appetizing than the brown-gray paste that had sustained her all these years.

Narral let Tia finish her meal, and then joined her. She was finally comfortable around Narral's kind now. They certainly treated her, a total stranger, with much more kindness than Tarrat had, and he had known her almost all of her life.

Narral explained to Tia that something happened to her when she went into the cave. Somehow she had been transported from the world of Tarrat and his kind to a different place. To Tia, it seemed as if it was magic. "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," quipped Naral.

He explained to her that many humans lived here, and he would introduce her to them. Beings like Narral, he explained, lived in the outlands near the portals. They were guardians he told her. But theirs was a peaceful place, mostly, and he and the people lived in harmony. Slavery was not permitted. Killing was not permitted. Crulness to any living being was frowned upon. Tia like the sound of that.

Narral oversaw Tia's indoctrination in the ways of the Nexus over the next several weeks. Tia met quite a few people, humans, who came out to visit or do business with Narral's kind. After a while, it became plain to Narral that Tia was very intelligent, and grasped the ways of the Nexus quickly. She was an extraordinarily bright charge and soaked up knowledge like a sponge. It was time. Narral would take her to meet the headmaster.

The Education of Tia

Tia and Narral met Dr. Braylon in the court yard in front of the school's administration building. Dr. Braylon and Narral had known each other many years. Narral had provided Dr. Braylon with many a fine pupil.

After exchanging pleasantries and introductions, Darrell said his goodbyes to Tia, and promised to visit very soon. Dr. Braylon introduced Tia around the school, two other students and teachers. She settled into her new home in one of the dormitories, and set about the business of her studies.

Tia prove to be an exceptional student, surprising most of her teachers. She was quick of mind and exceptionally motivated. She went through the curriculum and became the youngest graduate candidate in the school's history. An unusual feat for a girl from one of the Nexus founding planets, all but impossible for an uneducated slave girl from an isolated world.

Final Exam.

The day of Tia’s final testing had arrived. She was repaired. She had studied, drilled, and was prepared as well as she could be. She breezed through the first parts of the exam. Now it was time for her orals. She stood before Dr. Braylon and her senior instructors.

They posed the problem.

Tia had an hour. She could ask questions of the instructors, make hypotheses, use whatever resources were available in the room. Most students did.

Tia stood in silence to the amazement of her instructors. Five minutes, 10 minutes, Tia stood, eyes closed, as if in a trance. Qianna, one of her senior instructors was tempted to ask her if she was all right. But, Dr. Braylon restrained her with a glance.

A few moments later, Tia opened her eyes and answered.

Everyone, including Dr. Braylon were amazed. Exceptional students passed the exam, sometimes on the second try. The average student took it three or more times. Absolutely never had anyone completed the final challenge in silence, without referencing any vids, or any help of any kind. And, no one had ever completed the final exam in under an hour. This was truly a momentous and historic occasion.

Narral Comes To Visit.

Narral came to visit the day after the exams. He had heard of her amazing prowess. He was both pleased, and proud. He knew great things were in store for Tia. There was a man traveling with Narral whom he introduced as Ayleon. After introductions and pleasant talk, Ayleon asked Tia if she had any plans, now that she had graduated. Tia informed him that she had several offers, but nothing was finalized. She had plenty of time to decide. Ayleon smiled. Narral would have, were it physically possible.

"You were an exceptional student Tia," said Ayleon. "Your prowess caught the attention of His Highness. He would like to know if you would consider an offer to join the Imperial staff in service to the Nexus, and also continue your studies." Tia realized this was a high honor. Not that many new positions vacated that often, or were opened to mere graduates. Tia looked at Narral, who just nodded. Being one to make up her mind quickly, Tia said yes.

At Court

Hypatia arrived at the Imperial residence, a euphemism for a fortified city that looks like it came out of some were in Europe in the days of knights and castles. The Imperial Palace was actually a midsize. walled city, a fortress. Upon her arrival, Tia was met by Sydney who was obviously a palace employee, and appeared to be approximately Tia's age.

After introductions and a few moments of polite banter, Sydney said. "Let me take you to your new residence. You can freshen up, and then we will go on a tour and introduce you to a few people."

As they walked, Tia observed Sydney's grace, her fluidity and economy of motion. Sydney moved with the suppleness and power of a prima ballerina. This caused Tia to re-evaluate her original estimate of Sydney's age. Tia now estimated her to be closer to 30 than 20.

They arrived. Although as one of the smaller residences, Tia found it lavish. A parlor, bedroom, study, dining room, kitchen. Far more lavish than her school accommodations and light years from where Tarrat kept her. It didn't take long to drop her bag, freshen up and meet Sydney in the parlor.

Tia lost count as to how many people Sydney introduced. She'd never remember all their names and faces. But Sydney told her not to worry. "You had many people to remember today, those you meet only have one -- you," Sydney said with a smile. Tia chuckled at that. Sydney was right.

Next stopped was Sydney's boss. "He's a good person to know, " said Sydney with a twinkle in her eye. To Tia's surprise, they walked into the Imperial residence. "He must be quite trusted," thought Tia. Just then, they walked through a large hall and into a small but elegantly decorated drawing room. There they met a handsome man of indistinguishable age (like so many people in the Nexus), simply but richly dressed, graying at the temples, tall, with smooth, tanned skin. He was really quite handsome thought Tia.

"Hypatia, allow me to present you to our boss - The Defender Of Truth and Ultimate Arbiter, His Majesty, Hadrian, Emperor of the Affiliated Worlds," said Sydney. Tia didn't know whether to shake hands, bow or curtsy. Protocol was not her strong suit.

"Oh, so ridiculously formal," chuckled his Majesty to Sydney. "If Tia to be part of the family, so to say, let's cut the crap. Call me Hadrian, unless we're in a formal setting, and then Sir will do. We reserve 'his Majesty' for only the most formal occasions." Hadrian laughed boisterously, put his arm around Tia's shoulders and walked over to the seating area where Sydney followed.

Hadrian sat on the oversized chair while Sydney chose a spot on the sofa. Tia took a chair that made the base of the U. After they sat, a servant entered and left the tray of cookies, cakes and drinks on the table. "Thank you, Rod," said Hadrian.

Much to her surprise, Tia learned that she was to be part of Hadrian's personal staff. More importantly, she was shocked to learn that Sydney was the head of the Secret Service, and Hadrian's nearly constant companion, guarding his safety, and his trusted advisor. She was shocked again to learn that Sydney wasn't in her 20s as she appeared, but had actually served as Hadrian's predecessor's security chief and constant companion as well. Obviously, Sydney had been around far longer than her appearance lead one to believe.

Hadrian, Tia and Sydney continued their visit for a little more than an hour. It was Sydney who reminded Hadrian of his next appointment. They all stood, and Hadrian kissed Tia on the back of her hand. She blushed ever so slightly. "So gallant," Tia thought. "Surely we will meet again shortly," declared Hadrian as he walked out the other door.

Sydney and Tia walked back to Tia's quarters. Tia was exhausted. "We'll meet again in the morning," said Sydney. "If you need anything, com me, or press the call button and one of the staff will fetch it for you."

###

Tia spent the next 11 years working with Sydney. Tia was one of about 20 such apprentices. However, many of them came and went. There were only three, counting Tia, who lasted this long.Tia went from new appointee to manage several areas. Sydney kept changing Tia's assignment every 18 months or so. In those 11 years, Tia had done, and in fact excelled at, just about every management job in the palace.

###

1 - Lee's Tale

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And God said, Let there be light ...she

-- The Bible, Genesis: 1

###

Pat’s was pretty busy. Lots of off worlders. Quite a few earthers. A couple of high grav guys the corner, a bunch of wogs chewing the fat. The talent was out in force. Blondes, brunettes, redheads tall, short and anything in between, male and female and some where you weren't sure -- anything you wanted. Pat's was pretty much an "anything goes" sort of place, as long as you didn't pester anybody. In Pat’s, go away meant go away.

The barkeep saw me coming and had my brew ready and waiting. Kelly is chief cook and bottle washer here, older than dirt, been here forever seems like. He's gruff, but he's got a kind heart and will help out anybody in a pinch. Just don't tell him I said so.

I recall one time when one of those tall, spindly guys came in from a low grav world ... I digress, that's another story.

###

I like to come to Pat's. It was a chance to just and thank, be alone with my thoughts while I enjoyed the pleasure of watching the interplay of humanity. It was better than a holo. Fiction just can't beat real life.

###

I got out my comm to take notes. I'd thumb-type, the old-fashioned way, because the soothing background hum of the humanity in Pat's, while relaxing, made it too loud to dictate. Besides, I always thought that someone sitting at a table with a drink in hand, talking to himself, looked a little odd.

The sound level in Pat's noticeably dropped. "Look...at...that," said an unfamiliar male voice at the next table, just above a whisper. You could tell that most, if not all newcomer male, and more than a few female eyes were cast in that direction... some showing jealousy, some showing less than innocent interest.

"Damn, that tomboy's hot," said a voice from the next table, as his gaze wandered to the leggy strawberry blonde whos electric-blue eyes scanned Pat's. You could tell she was leaving a pheromone trail behind as she walked past the tables.

"Come sit on my lap, baby," joked a friend of mine a couple of tables over as she came close. "I would," she purred, "but I think my guy would be jealous." She batted her long eyelashes at him. "Just tell him his doc is tutoring a slow student," he said. She laughed, and kissed him on the cheek before moving on.

"Hey, baby," she said. "Chloe! Surprised you're here," I said. "I thought you were tied up tonight. Let me grab you a chair." I reached over to pull one from the empty table behind. "Don't bother, I can't stay," she said, perching herself on my knee instead. "I was next door for a minute, and knew you were here. I thought I'd come in and say hi. I'll be late tonight, love. I've got to check the progress of those lab tests. My grad student is working late but I want to see the results myself. No need to rush home on my account." We chatted a few more minutes. She finished my drink, rose from my knee, and gave me a big, long, wet kiss. She blew me another kiss as she headed out the door.

I settled back to my thumb typing.

###

Genesis, Sort of.

In the beginning we didn’t have the equipment or the knowledge that we have today. There was no Institute; no Outfitter; no infrastructure. Jumpers were like the rough-and-tumble prospectors back on earth in the 1800s. They were a gruff bunch, unsuited to polite society. They weren't exactly the ''afternoon tea and finger sandwiches'' crowd. At least most of them. They generally kept to themselves, working in teams of two or three. Working hard and playing harder.

Sprains and broken bones were common. Some jumped and never came back. We fantasized that they found some great new world and didn't want to. We knew better. We didn’t talk about that much. Jinx you know.

Today, there are destinations for vacationers. Then, there are the research worlds. Industrial production isn’t usually practical. There’s just no way to move the volume of grain or lumber or widgets through a portal to make it economically feasible. It's just too much physical volume in too little time for the portal to stay stable.

There's always money in strange or unusual artifacts. Rare heavy metals like gold or compact and valuable products like diamonds or other rare gemstones, exotic spices and the like are good. Size matters. First of all, portal entrances are only so big. Some things just won't fit through the space. You can only go one way at a time. Once something is inside the portal, it just doesn't work again, in either direction, until whenever it is in transit exits. Also, portals are a little bit like batteries which work for a while, then need to be charged. Portals work for a predictable period of time before they must "recharge." Recharging time is relatively insignificant, minimal if one pays attention and keeps to the schedule. Move too much stuff through a portal into short a time, however, and the portal essentially shuts itself down -- for a long time.

Back then, the equipment for jumping was rudimentary. The jumpsuit was standard issue. It reminded me of a scuba diver's wet suit. It was skin tight and made out of a synthetic, foam rubber like fabric that was very pliable most of the time, but became as hard as titanium in milliseconds if something dinged it at high speed.

The jumpsuit had a position indicating transponder on the front.

The helmet was photo-sensitive plasteel and locked into the collar.

The air supply was a re-breather with auxiliary compressed air that fit into a canister about the size of your forearm.

The jumper's most expensive and most prized possession was the jolly and was standard issue. Jollies were named for Jolly Jumpers, a child's swing dating back to the 20th century that let babies, who weren't old enough to walk yet, stand up and bounce around in a doorway suspended by an elastic cord. Jollies were adaptations of the counter grav gear used by stevedores to haul pallets of cargo aboard freighters. They could easily lift a person and about 300 or 400 pounds of stuff -- or two people in an emergency. Counter gravity wasn't practical for really massive objects, like vehicles, but was practical and efficient for the mass of a person.

###

If I’m honest, in the early days, it was almost as easy to get rich jumping as it was to get killed. We just didn’t talk much about death. No need to be morbid! I know I don't look it, but I've been around a long time and know, first hand, what the early juncture like. Once in a while, one of the jumpers just and did up a grease spot on some foreign landscape.

We were thrill seekers with more guts than brains. Jumping was hazardous to your health. We’d find a fog bank that was visible only from one side, and jump off into the unknown. Generally we landed on solid ground instead of an ocean or the top of a cliff. There were certainly hazards. It didn't take too many people turning into grease spots for someone to figure out that they needed to attach a grav meter to the jolly so the jumper didn't become a pancake on a Jupiter mass world.

It was risky, some would say foolhardy. But the rush is incredible, addictive and the rewards called to us like a siren song.

###

Overall, I was a pretty lucky Jumper. Mostly, I ended up on solid ground somewhere. The atmosphere was usually breathable. The bumps and ruses of portal travel were mostly minor. The gravity was close to Earth -- normal, and no big bad monsters showed up to eat me (not that big bad monsters are all that common). I found a few odds and ends that made me a living.

It was my 21st or 22nd jump that set me up. There is some industry on nexus worlds. It has to be compact and easy to ship. You have to be able to fit it within the portal weight and, more importantly, volume limits. Portal disturbance cost money after all. So, heavy metals such as gold or platinum , and minerals such as diamond or uraniumwere still economically viable.

I ended up on a planet now known as DL 2046. It was earthlike – well, earthlike a billion years ago. The atmosphere was breathable but smelled worse than rotten eggs. You had to wear your rebreather, not because of the oxygen content, but because the stench was too much to bear. The average human could spend a day or two there but not much more.

There was still some occasional volcanic activity. Where I landed was a gold mine. Well, actually, a diamond mine. The surface was strewn with black industrial diamonds which are usually tiny. But these were enormous ... the size of ping pong balls. And they were nearly flawless. When the mining companies were done bidding for the mineral rights, and the Crown took his cut, it was still enough to keep be comfortable for long, long ... long time.

###

A jump can take 1 or 2 seconds of transit time, or as much as two or three hours. But it always seems nearly instantaneous to the jumper. Needless to say, jumping and be disorienting. People that jump always work in pairs or trios.

On the first jump, one jumps and one stays behind as a spotter. On first down, usually, I jumped and Chloe spotted. Being a spotter was the perfect job for a research professor like her. She could use the wait time to dictate her archaeological articles, review the work of her post-doctoral grad student assistants, or occasionally soak up one of those steamy, trashy Harlequin Romance novels that she loved.

It's another jump I want to talk about. It was quite a while after the Black Diamond jump.

The beeping told Chloe the first hour was up. I should be back in half an hour or less.

Another half hour passed. I still wasn’t back. I’d like to say, “Time to sound the alarm.” But, there was no alarm, and nobody to hear it anyhow. And, if I didn’t come back, there wasn’t much anyone could do anyhow. At least not back then. All Chloe could do was tell the next of kin, reported to the crown and have a drink in remembrance.

###

I suffered the usual 30 seconds or so of post-jump disorientation. Then I checked my gear and gauges. Everything was nominal. The air quality indicator on my wrist glowed green so I knew it was breathable. I tested it out by opening my helmet vents. It was musty smelling.

I was standing on some sort of artificial structure that might have been a building or something similar. I knew it was artificial because nature abhors right angles. There appeared to be a doorway of some sort ahead and I started moving towards it. as I got closer, I could see carvings that looked like a combination of ancient earth Egyptian hieroglyphics and oriental ideographs on either side. I took another step closer. Then the lights went out.

I didn't know how long I was out. I was groggy, lying down with a strange buzzing in my ears. Other than that, I appeared to be okay. Then I checked my suit's chrono. I was late, very late. Chloe would've been worried sick. I had to get back ASAP. There was no time to explore.

###

I returned, to Chloe's relief. I pulled off the helmet and passed it to her. The first thing she said was, "What's wrong with you?" She could see the dilated pupils and the greenish pallor to my skin. I explained it to her as I removed the rest of my jumpsuit. As I was talking, Chloe began fidgeting with something in the crevasses of my helmet.

"How odd" she noted, rather distractedly. In some of the cracks and creases she had found a very fine, grayish sand-like substance. The grains were tiny, almost microscopic and nearly individually invisible to the naked eye. What really bother her was that she had found it inside the helmet's air filtration. "You undoubtedly inhaled some of this stuff," she said. "The grains are so small it's no surprise you didn't see it. And isn't it peculiar that none of your suit's sensors detected it?" She swept the grains into a sample bag for later analysis.

Symphony of Dreams

Since that last jump, I had been handing very vivid dreams, every night. Sometimes they even woke me up. I always started to remember them.

Every time I closed my eyes and nodded off I heard it, a singing, alto voice with a sound that reminded me of Gregorian chants. But, it was something just out of range of my comprehension. It was rhythmic, entrancing, even beautiful. It was like taking a mind altering drug, a trip. Sometimes the dreams would wake me up. But, I always remembered the cadence, the tone, the music. Always.

Chloe was off at a conference on Xenobiology. I think she was giving a paper on something or other. I was fending for myself, which is a truly novel experience, and looks a lot like a fish out of water.

I began to have some flulike symptoms. My bones ached. My nose dripped like a leaky faucet. I had a sore throat. I took some aspirin, and spent the day in bed. After a few days, the symptoms passed, Chloe came home, but the dreams continued.

Fast Forward.

The dreaming was getting worse, waking me up at night at strange hours. It seemed like I could hardly sleep. The cacophony in my head was mentally deafening. I dreaded when morning came round. Why was I plagued with this sleeplessness? It was driving me insane.

But then, almost like a whisper, the singsong tones began to take form, to be recognizable.

Great. Now I was hearing voices. I was beginning to question my sanity.

"I am [unpronounceable]. We must [unpronounceable] before much longer. I cannot maintain the self's separateness indefinitely. I must share before I can no longer communicate." I heard the voice say in those lilting, singsong tones. I didn't know quite to make of it. I was momentarily mute. The message repeated itself mysteriously, as though the disembodied voice knew that I was listening. I remember thinking to myself, ''This is crazy.'' Amazingly, the voice answered, "Why is that so?"

I gave up. I might as well have a conversation with the disembodied voice. I was already beginning to question my sanity.

"[unpronounceable]. It has been difficult. I have tried many times to communicate. You do not speak or understand the language of my kind. That is very strange. Your experiences, your selfness is unfamiliar to us. But you are host self, and I must follow you," it said. "You are the last host. I was lucky to find you. There will be no more new hosts. It is with much sadness. But you will, you must, carry on our kind."

I had no idea what the voice meant.

With that, I heard a cacophony of sounds punctuated with bright lights, images in rapid succession, things I understood and things for which I had no reference. It seemed to go on for ever. But, in the end, it was only a few minutes. Silence descended, my head hurt, and my eyes felt filled with sand. At that moment, I wasn't quite sure what happened.

"Your selfness is not familiar. You are structurally different. I have decoded. It will take some time, possibly several passings. You will understand. I must go. I cannot hold integrity much longer."

With that, there was a deafening silence. The voice in my head was quiet. The music in my dreams was gone. It was silent, I realized, for the first time in a year. Suddenly, I felt utterly alone, like on a barren rock world at sunset.

The morning after

Chloe was back and ordered up breakfast. I wasn't moving very quickly. The sleepless, dreamfilled night had taken its toll on me. I felt like hell. I wasn't sure whether I was a. going crazy, b. having bad dreams, or c. really hearing alien voices in my head. I'm not sure which alternative is worse.

Chloe sensed something. She was good like that. She had the good grace to commit us to nothing more than small talk. She knew I would get around to telling her what was up, in time. A mug of kava, a couple poached eggs and some toast, and I felt much more human, although I was beginning to sense that feeling was less and less accurate.

Another cup of kava and I decided to tell Chloe. She listened, punctuating my narrative with insightful questions. At least she didn't say she thought I was crazy. Although, I've seen that quizzical look on her face before.

###

Chloe was totally engrossed in what she was reading. She didn't notice me walk into the room. I sat down. No response. I cleared my throat. No response. "Chloe," I said. That got a response. She jumped. "Oh good," she exclaimed, "get your com and read what I just sent you. The lab results are back. Fascinating."

The lab report was indeed fascinating! Tecnically, the substance was a sand -- or at least a silicate. But under magnification, those tiny grains were actually very complex. In some respects parts of their structure were reminiscent of the double helix structure of DNA. However, the molecular structure, among other differences, seemed to substitute silicon for carbon. Then there were other microscopic structures. It resembles a cross between a nanomachine and a one celled organism. Whatever it was, it baffled both the computers and the lab techs.

There was more. On a hunch, Chloe had sent a recent strand of hair or my hairbrush with a request for a DNA analysis. That is pretty standard and took only seconds. Then she also had her graduate assistant do a comparison of the new DNA sample with my existing DNA profile. They should have matched. My jaw dropped. They didn't! They were similar, but not exact. "How many times you run the tests?" I inquired. "A lot," she said "and on more than one machine. The results are conclusive accurate to about five decimal places." I was both stunned, and frankly, a little queasy.

I had morphed into a chymera! My DNA was now, apparently, a combination of two organisms.

There was more, revealed by subsequent tests. I seemed to produce a new type of component to my blood which functions similarly to a white cell. More accurately, it resemble a blood born virus that repairs naturally occurring DNA damage. It stopped me from aging physically.

Think about it. One celled animals, protozoa like the amoeba, are essentially immortal. They reproduce by mitosis, splitting in half, and then half again, over and over. As long as there is food and oxygen, the process continues indefinitely. The little critters eat, breathe, split in half forever. Every amoeba you see in a drop of pond water is billions of years old, the direct result of the continual splitting of some primordial cell, swimming around in pond scum billions of years ago.

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