Chapter 20
Homer was communicating with Ek-clar Station, coordinating docking procedures. They were near the docking port they had been assigned and were just connecting the magnetic anchors. The anchors came online and pulled the ambulance snugly into place. A small, green light over the hatch came on, letting them know docking procedures had finished and the hatch was now in an airtight fitting. Homer could open it as soon as he received authorization.
Chris had discovered the ambulance was equipped with a built in League translator. It seemed unusual the Saint Marie had one League translator, but having a second, portable translator strongly suggested regular contact with alien races. Why would a mining operation’s ambulance have have contact with other races?
Homer and Chris had discussed the situation, and agreed Homer, using his status as a League citizen, should request permission to dock. After, it would be up to Chris to explain the circumstances and convince the Belarians to extend their help in capturing Javis and recovering the corbinite. Homer could tap into the ship’s translator by radio, giving them both access to conversations with aliens.
A voice came over the speaker system, “Unit 1146, of Gredoria, my name is Lar Sesni. I am your official greeting representative. I will be collecting a parking fee of four hundred League credits, and will give you a brief orientation of the station and its guidelines. How would you like to proceed?”
Chris recognized Sesni as a term of respect among many of the League member races. Lar would be the individual’s name, though Chris didn’t know if it was a family name or the equivalent to a given name. He wondered if League words had become common place in the Belarian language.
“Lar Sesni, we shall open the hatch and come out to greet you, and to pay the docking fee. I am using the Terran name Homer while I am away from Gredoria. I and my associate plan to stay for a minimum of three days. May we pay for the three days in advance?”
“That would be acceptable, Homer.”
Just before opening the hatch, Chris grabbed the contents of his bag inserting the language translator in his ear and pocketing the rest. Stepping through the hatch with Homer in the lead, Chris saw their greeting representative. His skin was silver and seemed to be made of scales. He was about one and a half meters in height, standing on three legs, with two arms and a large hairless head with four eyes and a small mouth. There was a faint citrus smell in the air and Chris was certain it was emanating from Lar Sesni. Chris had no idea what alien race this person belonged to, but he didn’t look like a Belarian.
Lar Sesni strode up to Chris and Homer. “It is a pleasure to do business with Gredoria again. How may we help you?”
Homer responded, “Lar Sesni, this visit does not involve Gredorian transactions. I am assisting Christopher Black, a human, in recovering stolen corbinite. The corbinite is to arrive here in approximately three days and is to be transferred to an unknown receiver for purposes of building a bomb. We will be making a formal request for help from your station security staff. This is Christopher Black.” Homer gestured toward Chris.
Lar Sesni turned to Chris and extended a short arm, which ended in four small tentacles acting as of fingers. “How do you do, Christopher Black? Welcome to Ek-clar Station.”
Chris extended his hand and they shook. Lar Sesni had a firm, but cold handshake.
“How will you be paying?”
Chris reached inside his jacket and retrieved his wallet, which, thankfully, was still there. “Will this credit card be acceptable?” asked Chris, as he handed it to Lar Sesni.
Lar Sesni took the card and inserted it into a small device belted in around his waist.
“Yes, this will be fine.“ He handed the card back to Chris. “Your account has just been debited twelve hundred credits. “With the formalities over, would you like to walk toward the station’s commerce center while I explain our guidelines to you?”
“Yes, I would enjoy a walk,” Chris responded, happy to be out of the ambulance’s small space, and to have room to walk without immediately bumping into a wall. They headed down the wide corridor away from the ambulance.
“Did I shake hands correctly?” Lar Sesni asked.
“Yes,” answered Chris. “The timing and the amount of pressure were both acceptable. Where did you learn how to shake hands?” He noted the peculiar sensation of having his words translated into Standard League everytime he spoke.
“From a documentary. It was my first effort. You are the first Terran to visit our station.”
“Excuse me, Lar Sesni,” Homer said. “Chris is from the planet Mars, which has a separate government, as well as a separate treaty with the League.”
“My apologies. I didn’t know there was a distinction between Martian humans and Terrans. I have only heard people refer to the Terran system and assumed it included all humans. Are there any obvious physical characteristics allowing people to distinguish between the two?”
“Not really,” Chris answered. “The safest behavior would be to use the generic reference ‘human’ and then ask them what planet they’re from.”
“Humans have the ability to adapt both individually, and in groups, to different environments,” Homer added. “The developing customs and behavior patterns as they adjust, bond the individuals together and give them a sense of group identity.”
“The Belarians have similar adaptation skills, but they have never had an interest in colonizing other planets. This kind of schism has never had an opportunity to develop. Does this kind of behavior create complications?”
“Yes!” Chris and Homer agreed simultaneously.
Chris smiled and said, “A human’s loyalties can change over time. Not always, but sometimes. For example if I worked on this station for a few years I might come to identify with the people here more strongly than with my home world of Mars. Or, if I never came to feel comfortable here, I would continue to feel a sense of loyalty to Mars.”
“The Belarians behave in a very similar fashion. Although I have lived and worked on this station for six and a half years, such flexibility is still an amazing concept,” stated Lar Sesni. “It would never occur to me to shift my loyalties from my home world to my associates on this station. Such flexibility on the individual level must require a high tolerance for chaos within human culture,” Lar Sesni said tactfully.
“It helps to keep people from making assumptions. What is the name of your home . world, Lar Sesni?” Chris asked, as they continued down the corridor.
“I am from Jenarra, which is a League planet.”
“How is it you came to work here?”
“It is a custom on our planet, as with many League cultures, to spend several years working on an alien planet or, in my case, on an alien space station. This experience broadens our minds and allows the ideas of other cultures to cross-reference with concepts familiar to us. In this way new ideas and perceptions can evolve and keep our peoples from stagnating.”
“That sounds like a very intelligent way of doing things,” Chris said thoughtfully. “Homer, your anthropology study of humans is based on the same premise, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chris. The intent is the same. We continue to evolve by studying the ideas and concepts of other cultures.”
“Do you think it might be worthwhile for a few Gredorians to be sent out in the same way Jenarrans are? To live and work for a period of time with peoples of other cultures?”
“It seems a very unfocused way for Gredorians to spend time and energy, but, based on my experiences with you, there may be unforeseen benefits. I will ask the question when I return to Gredoria.”
“We are nearing the station’s center, which has several shops and business establishments. I should inform you of the station’s basic rules and guidelines,” Lar Sesni stated. “First, there will be no violence. The punishments for violent actions range from financial retribution and being banned from using the station to being turned over to Belarian authorities. Theft and deception may require a Belarian police response, depending on the nature of the crime. Finally, we ask you be respectful of the people and races interacting in this station. There are many different races aboard and we would like everyone to get along as smoothly as possible. Certain areas are marked with this signal,” he pointed to a sign making a quiet, repetitive noise, “which means station personnel only. Do not enter these areas. Do you have any questions about the station’s guidelines?”
“No, they make perfect sense.” Chris responded.
“Good. This handlink is tied into the station’s guest information system. It will provide you with a map of the station and answer a variety of questions you may have about the station.”
Stopping at an intersection going off to the left of the main corridor, Lar Sesni continued. “I shall inform the chief of security of your business here. She will be contacting you shortly. In closing, I would like to welcome you aboard. If you have questions the handlink is not able to answer, please feel free to use it to contact me, and perhaps I will be able to help. If you continue down this corridor you will come to the station’s center. There are a number of shops and entertainment services available there. Please feel free to use the facilities.”
“Thank you, Lar Sesni, for your time and hospitality. You have been most helpful,” Chris responded formally, and bowed to show his respect.
“You are welcome, Chris. Goodbye. And goodbye to you, Homer.” Lar Sesni turned and went down the smaller corridor.
Chris and Homer continued along the main corridor. Chris suspected the language translator gave simplified versions of what was being said.
As they entered the station’s center, Chris felt a sense of awe. It was essentially a standard business mall with hundreds of aliens and a smattering of green skinned Belarians strolling and transacting business. The variety of alien races alone would have impressed Chris, but the architecture and art work were of a nature he had never seen before. Much of the art work seemed to be an intricate form of beadwork and the architecture seemed to involve delicate looking cones and spheres. There was a smell of fresh air and plant life.
Chris felt a need to stop and adjust to this new environment of wonder. They came to a small beverage shop with outside tables and stood at one, watching the flow of traffic.
The station had a kind of organic feel to it. There was plant life everywhere. None of the walls or fixtures had hard edges or corners. The mall seemed to be fifty percent tropical forest mixed with a combination of function and esthetics.
A small, yellow-skinned triped with four eyes and four arms approached. “What may I serve you?” it asked.
“Do you have bisno?” Chris asked knowing it was a standard League drink safe for human consumption.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have one mug, please.”
After the waitperson delivered his drink and left, Chris smiled at himself. He had almost asked Homer if it would be possible to get a replacement Gredorian, one who had more knowledge of other races and could act as a tour guide. The smile reflected Chris’ constant concern for the robot’s feelings.
“Here’s a behavioral observation for you, Homer. I keep projecting human characteristics on to you.”
“I have noticed you seem to use polite phrasings and terminology when a single word or short statement would have sufficed. It is unnecessary to be concerned about my feeling or emotions. Nor should you be concerned about asking my permission to perform certain activities. I have no feelings or emotions to offend.”
“It may be true, but I don’t plan to stop being polite. I’ve noticed you’re polite to me as well.”“Yes. Humans require polite behavior or they become hostile. It is a part of my base communications program.”
“What a surprise. It’s a part of my base communications program, too. I guess we’ll have to go on being polite to each other,” Chris said mischievously.
“I do not understand why you would project human emotions on to me?”
“Behavioral habits? You’re a sentient being I have conversations with and interact with. A large number of people do it with pets. I even have a few friends who talk to their computers as tho they were human. It’s not an unusual characteristic. Besides, I’m habitually polite to people in general and you fall into my definition of a person.
“Homer, I’m curious about your communications program, because it gives you a perceptual framework to see the world thru. Do you have both English and Standard League in your memory?”
“I have only the English language programmed into my base memory.”
“That makes a fair amount of sense. Then your understanding of human behavior would be closer to a human’s. If Standard League were your primary language, you would think like a Leaguer, but I’m still surprised Standard League isn’t incorporated into your base program.”
“Traveling with a human as he attempted to recover stolen corbinite was not foreseen as a part of my studies.”
The explanation of Homer’s programming confused Chris. Some of his decisions had obviously been based on a moral structure. If something like good manners had been incorporated into his English language program, where was his moral structure located. It seemed unlikely the Central Computer had loaded Homer with human morals. It might effect his loyalties. “What about a moral structure? Isn’t there something similar included in your programming?” he asked.
“Yes,” Homer replied. “There is a deep-seated subroutine with Gredorian principles and League guidelines. Only under extreme circumstances would I be allowed to deviate from them.”
“Do you mean like a human subconscious?”
“The analogy would work. Yes.”
“Were League guidelines required, as part of Gredoria’s agreement in joining the League?” Chris asked.
“Yes. It is similar in nature to what the League has asked the Martian and Terran peoples to initiate, so they, too, can join the League. With Gredoria there was no conflict of interests. League guidelines are very similar to Gredorian principles. The changes made were minor and well worth the gains in knowledge and protection we have received.”
Chris became thoughtful. There were a few people on Mars who actively promoted making the genetic changes the League insisted on for membership. He wasn’t one of them. There were many reasons and arguments against such an extreme alteration of human genetics, but for Chris the bottom line was humans had a rich emotional life, and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice it to make the changes the League needed as their admission fee.
For the human race, the League’s price of admission was five specific changes to human genetics. The first and most important one involved integrating a genetic predisposition towards an understanding of Standard League language and customs. The remaining four involved lowering the sex drive, lowering of emotional intensity (especially anger), increasing the understanding of mathematics and physics, and, last but not least, eliminating all genes causing physical and psychological illnesses.
The League had offered its help in making the modifications, if the human race should ever choose to join. It was highly unlikely the offer would be accepted anytime in the near future.
The first prerequisite of League language and customs required a lot of space in terms of DNA sequencing. League geneticists had suggested replacing the more base animal behaviors (such as sex and emotions) with the necessary coding, killing two birds with one stone.
Most Martians viewed the idea of embracing League language and customs, on a genetic level, as nothing short of cultural brainwashing. To be born with a predisposition towards understanding the League language and customs would eliminate the need to learn a traditional human culture. Babies born to this kind of inheritance would see reality through the eyes of a League citizen and their loyalties would most likely be to the League.
As for the last two requirements, an increased understanding of mathematics and physics and the elimination of genetic diseases, Chris believed this was a direction the human race was already taking, particularly on Mars, where parents had such a wide selection of genetic options available to them.
His recently acquired memories had shown a large portion of his identity was based on genetic predispositions.
He wouldn’t willingly make those kinds of changes in himself, nor would he consider diminishing the quality of life for his children. He suspected most people felt this way.
One of Casey’s memories surfaced. He had been involved with a discussion group, one of several sponsored by the U.S. Federal government. The purpose of the group was to discuss the morality of deliberately eliminating genetic defects through egg selection. A practice now a common on Mars, was a major moral issue for those groups.
Casey favored the right to choose and eliminate genetic diseases. Most of the people had been in favor of the right to choose. A few had felt the need to defend the genetic defects. Some argued only God had the right to make the selection. Others stated those with the defects had as much right to life as those who didn’t have defects.
Although Casey had tried to respect their opinions, he had been unable to understand their positions. His belief structure was quite different from theirs. In the wild, the babies of both animals and humans died quickly if they had genetic defects. Extending their lives artificially seemed unnatural in Casey’s mind. Better to let them die and never reproduce. Technology was offering a third option he found acceptable. As for the argument it was God’s choice, Casey suspected those people were afraid of making decisions and preferred to let a religious system make the decisions for them.
Something in the memories was nagging at Chris. He found it. One night, the subject had turned to human cloning. (Something clicked in Chris’ mind. Part of his nightmare had been based on this memory.)
The U.S. President, Bill Clinton, had made a special request this subject be discussed, because the issue of cloning was becoming a reality. Casey had been astonished to find most of the people in the group favored human cloning. He soon discovered many people in the group felt cloned humans would have no souls, making them available as a source of spare body parts.
This memory had an odd impact on Chris. I do have a soul, and those people were full of shit! he thought. He made an effort to calm himself. Those people were all dead now and there was no point in getting upset about something from three hundred years ago. With current regeneration techniques, spare parts weren’t an issue. I wonder how many times the soul has changed locations? I know it was once thought to be in the heart, then it moved to the brain. Most New Age Friends now believe it’s in the solar plexus.