The first power is one that most of you are most familiar with. Technology. But what is that? Isn’t a stone adze technology? Aren’t all tools Technology? The answer to that is no. The Technology that we refer to is within the electrical transmission and quantum levels that allow computers to exist. Yes, Allow. But this is a fundamental part of our Reality, you say. Why yes, it is. It is part of the physical laws of Erde and many other Realities. However, it is not always the RULE. The basis of our physics, which allows electrically sparked internal combustion engines and anything more reliant on electricity than something mechanically powered by steam, is a lack of interference by something else. That interference is from the second power called Magic.
Magic replaces and interferes with electrical quantum action within nonliving entities. This is a fundamental distinction because, as your biology professors have taught you, all living beings’ brains and nervous systems run on electricity. This is true, but magic does not interfere with living organisms. On the contrary, it can be very beneficial to them and detrimental in some instances. However, when something designed to run on electricity is placed in an area of high magic, the conflict between the two types of powers can cause the system to simply not work or break down spectacularly.
This also happens when you bring something from an area of high magic to a site of low magic. The lack of background energy can cause the effects to be significantly diminished or even to go haywire. Plus, there is no reliable way to recharge any nonliving device, which brings us to the topics of programs and spells. They’re the same damn thing. Oh, I see you are all upset at that. Programs run only on a computer, and you can do things that affect the physical world with spells. Tsk, tsk. Both are instruction sets commanding the physical laws to do something. Both fail in the opposite environment. A robot will stop working, a laser rifle will not fire correctly, and bombs may not work correctly if their detonation devices are electrically powered. A spell may go haywire and blow up in a caster’s face, do something it wasn’t designed to do, or fail.
You point and say, “What of the Mechanese with their cybernetics? They work!” Ah, but their systems are entirely internal, and they would die without their integration. Their computer systems are also quasi-organic. That is, they are partially living organisms. We also have magicians who focus on their bodies, and their spells work fine. The healing arts work, and the gate spells work as well. In the former case, magic can function because two living organisms are touching one another. In the latter, we still don’t understand exactly what the Sky Hurricane is.
There is also the question of ArkaMakina. This new field blends both science and magic to make small items that function under most circumstances. Most of its applications are military and for police work. They use bioengineered organisms to provide the life force for the magic. They have blended cybernetics and quasi-organic circuitry to have their functions work. There is a reason you have to fill it with a unique solution every week or so. That’s its food . Your new ‘works anywhere’ Network Device can die if you leave it in your closet for two weeks. It’s a pet, not an appliance. Unethical… unethical…
Ahem, I’m off-topic. The third Power is the least understood, and its function is not impaired by either Magic’s or Technology’s mere presence. This is the power of the mind that we call Psionics. It is powered by the individual will of the user. Still, it can be thwarted by another person with a higher will or by certain electrical or magical screening types. It interacts with the life force around a person users call an aura, unseen but can be felt. At extremely high levels of skill, it can be used to interfere with memories, remove bad experiences, change pathways inside the mind, and in certain weak-willed people, control them. This is like the magical charm effect many of you try to apply to your love interests…
Lecture by Johan Vollmuller
Introduction to Inter-Reality Relations
University of Minas Gerais
Reality of Erde
1 August 2172 Erde Standard Calendar
----------------------------------------
Intensive Psionics Ward
Our Lady of Mercy Hospital
Los Angeles, California
United States of America
Reality of NewHome
February 4, 2187, Erde Standard Calendar (ESC)
Doctor Aliaroo Kalante sat at her desk, nibbling at small pieces of raw meat while finishing her paperwork. The Celari yawned, showing rows of tiny sharp teeth. It had been a while since she had last slept, and the psionic surgery she had performed today had left her far more tired than usual. Then, a knock at the door startled her, making her drop a morsel. “C..come in!” she said.
A human orderly in a blue-green smock came in, shutting the thin door behind him. “The reports you requested, Doc,” he said with a slight smile. He glanced at the pile of bloody meat sitting on the bone-white china plate. “Doc, that’s disgusting. Especially in a hospital.”
The alien humanoid fox/cat gave a yip of amusement. “Not half as disgusting as cooked meat. Hamburger, ugh,” she said in her reedy voice. “Now, shoo.” The orderly smiled back as he exited the room, closing the door. Now, back to this case, she thought.
Until now, the Celari had been the first and so far, only extraterrestrial species to contact Earth. They had fled their star system in generation ships more than a thousand years before when their star went nova. Discovering Earth had been a lucky break; it seemed that every other star system was devoid of life. Distrustful at first, the humans had accepted the Celari into their communities when the Celari had given them the technology to heal their dying world. That had been more than a hundred years ago. Now the Celari were partners with the humans in almost every way possible. They had placed colonies on Mars and Luna. They had begun to turn Jupiter into a star using gravitics to give the outer planets a jump-start on terraforming.
Then, five years ago, something extraordinary happened. In a flash of green light, a spray of water, and a very loud pop, three men, a woman, and a huge humanoid bear appeared in downtown Berlin. Wearing a weird mix of flamboyant business suits and pseudo-military uniforms, they surrendered to the local authorities and asked to see the community leaders. They told a fantastic story of alternate earths and could have been called liars. Still, the presence of the bear-like Kondarrian precluded that. Instead, a flurry of activity had occurred, and the visitors were flown to New York to address the United Nations.
They claimed they were from an alternate Earth; they called it a divergent Reality, Erde. Their history had differed from ours in the late nineteenth century and had mutated further. There had been no second world war, and now the world was divided between the Internationale Sozialistische Gemeindebehhrde (The International-Socialist Limited Liability Corporation aka the GmbH), Imperial Japan, and The Republic of Texico. Their nation, the GmbH, was investigating other Realities with business relations in mind. They had even thoughtfully brought several items for the perusal of the joint human/Celari world, including some magic trinkets that cleaned people better than any bath and cybernetic interface computers.
Arriving via a Gate between Realities, the GmbH representatives would be more than happy to arrange the purchase of several Gate engines if the joint human/Celari government joined the UN of the Realities: The Storm League. NewHome had joined the Storm League and owned five Gate engines for a modest fee within three months. NewHome had entered their interdimensional revolution.
One of the products of the revolution was in this hospital. Aliaroo picked up a file: Patient #35p; Storm League Security Forces, Technical Sergeant Althea Ventricorum d’Argus. She was a Biofem from the Reality of Mechanon, an Earth of bioengineered soldiers and cybernetics. They were post-singularity people who had entirely merged with their technology. Biology and inorganics were interweaved at a molecular level. Their Reality was invaded almost two hundred years ago by a psychic entity they called Lî Chasse.
To fight it, they had placed themselves under the control of an artificially intelligent computer named Mechanon and bioengineered themselves into soldiers. Men and women were separate species now; men were giant sterile apelike beings and served as the grunt soldiers. Women had been made into officers to command the units of men and functioned as reconnaissance units. Even after Lî Chasse had been eradicated on their Reality, they searched all Realities for any sign of their bogey man. They hated and feared psionics with a passion. Celari, with their high psionic talents, were suspect as Lî Chasse’s collaborators.
Mechanon’s world was sterile and disciplined, a perfect environment for soldiers who lived, breathed, ate, and slept the military, but there was no proper social interaction. It would drive most people mad. On the other hand, Mechanese were often confused and overwhelmed by conventional society. A life without direction was seen as anathema to them. Sometimes they went insane. That had happened to Althea.
Althea was a veteran of the last inter Reality war, the Sidhe War, as a behind the lines scout and hunter. Most people from Mechanon didn’t have last names. That had thrown Aliaroo for a while until she figured out that the added words were a battle designation. A medal of sorts; the Heartsblood of Argus, but that hadn’t brought her here. No, it was what happened after that had given her the trouble.
The poor girl, she thought before stopping herself. Althea was sixty-four years old, no matter that she looked eighteen or twenty. Hoo, they live a long time, she thought, looking at the genetic codes. Close to human, but not quite, eight percent difference. Honestly, she’s closer than we are. But humans are just distant relatives to her. Bones are flanged for greater leverage, increased reflexes, organic silicone-filled bursae sacks between joints, liquid semi-organic computer interweaved in her nervous system, chemical factories in tiny organelles, eyes that can see in the dark, carbon fibers to support muscles, auto hardening calcium layer under the skin that acts as a bullet shield. Oh yeah, her people are built for combat. That computer’s one hell of a geneticist. She’ll live to be three hundred or more, barring accidents like this one.
Althea had been transferred to the Storm League Security Forces on the Reality of Erde as part of a Mechanese social reform program. The reports had said that she’d been unable to cope with the sudden change in cultures and went catatonic. She’d been shipped here last month when the GmbH psychiatrists had failed to help the woman stuck in her fetal position talking about ghosts everywhere.
Aliaroo closed the folder with a snap and turned her chair around to face an odd-looking flat-screen television. A GmbH Network terminal. She pulled out a small touchpad keyboard and began tapping the keyboard with careful precision. Soon the screen lit up, the GmbH double-eagle clutching an iron cross appeared briefly before being replaced by a sign in German: Inter Reality communications link being established. Considering that the GmbH had set up the Storm League, it was understandable that the lingua franca of the League was their own choppy, hard-edged dialect of German. The screen flashed twice before LINK ESTABLISHED ran across the screen then abruptly faded to black.
A man in the light grey uniform of the Storm League Security Forces slowly faded in. The inter Reality communications gear of the hospital was first-rate. Still, it usually depended on the dimensional instabilities that nasty weather caused. It’s sunny here. They must be rerouting it through Thailand, she thought.
The human was in his early thirties, very dark skin, close-cropped black hair atop a thin face, the look of a soldier. The plain grey walls of his office showed behind him, a glow came from the ceiling. It was the night where he was in Afrika. ”Honored Doctor,” he said in the GmbH dialect of clipped German.
“Captain Hollis,” Aliaroo responded in the same language.
“What about her? Can I get her back soon? Is her illness cured?” he said nervously.
Aliaroo leaned back in her chair. “Well, Captain, she was pretty bad off. Her mind tried to shut down completely. It was hard pulling her out of it.”
He brightened. “She’s alright then? When can I have her back?”
“Well...” she paused.
“‘Well’ what?!” he snapped at the alien.
Aliaroo flinched. These military types always gave her the jitters. “Did you know she was psionically active?” she asked.
“No. What does that have to do with this?” he snapped. “I thought it was a Culture Shock. That should be simple to cure.”
Aliaroo sighed. “Apparently everything , Captain,” she said peevishly. “She has an untrained talent: receptive telepathic clairvoyance. ”
“ ‘Receptive telepathic clairvoyance’?” he repeated, puzzled.
“She sees and hears people that aren’t there. Sometimes she can talk to them, but no one else can see or hear them. It’s similar to schizophrenia.” She paused and sipped some tea. Continuing, “Unlike schizophrenia, it’s externally induced. Meaning those people really exist somewhere in one reality or another and are being projected into her mind.” Aliaroo clarified.
“Oh,” he said blandly. “What did that do to her?”
“Well,” Aliaroo began. “Psionics is suppressed on Mechanon because their bogeyman the Lî Chasse uses psionics. She kept her talent submerged while she was around her people or fighting. When she transferred to your unit six months ago, she relaxed, and her ability turned on. She saw and heard people every waking moment and couldn’t cope.”
“I see...” he grumbled. “Did you fix it?”
Aliaroo made a grimace of distaste. “Yes, but I had to short circuit some of the psionic parts of her brain. Bizarre architecture in there, more like a computer than a human.” She smiled foxily. “Did you know that her caste is what we would consider gay?”
He blushed. “No.”
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Of course, you didn’t know, Aliaroo mused. She had come across several of his clumsy attempts at seduction in Althea’s memory. The beauty didn’t quite know what to make of his advances, and they had increased her downward spiral. You bastard, she thought and continued. “Cultural bias, no fertile men in her caste. It's a tripartite caste system with scientists, warriors and normal people. She's what they call a Defender and what we call a soldier. Physical intimacy between the females in her caste is more stress relief than anything we consider sexual. They even call it “techuu,” their word for recreation. Unfortunately for her, she's a bit of a prude and rather easily embarrassed. She only plays with girls, and then only the ones she's familiar with."
"A prude?" he interrupted. "Easily embarrassed? I've never seen a hint of emotion from any Mechanese. They're famous for it."
Shrugging, Aliaroo replied, "I've been in her head to see her memories and I'm an empath, Captain. That means that I can see beyond her stony exterior to the full human range of emotions in there." She tapped her head. "Mechanese are people just like you and I and have emotions. They just don't show it on their faces like you humans do. Their scientist caste are worse. The commoners much less so."
He looked at her skeptically. "I've never heard of a caste system among the Mechanese, they're all the same. And as for emotions. I'm certain one of our psychics would have mentioned it in the hundred years we've been in contact with them. You've had her for a month and a half and have found out things our people never knew?" He scoffed, "I'm sorry, but I'm inclined to believe them instead of you."
Nonplussed, she continued, "I'm only telling you what I found out, you can believe it or not, it's all in my medical reports. Anyway, I fixed the problems and placed a few mental blocks. She should be fine, although I’d advise against subjecting her to any real mental trauma for a while. Adjustment should be faster now.”
“Good,” he looked relieved. “If it got out that someone in my command went crazy... It could have serious consequences on my career. I can’t have that.”
You weasel! ”I’ll send her back in a week or so. I want to observe her for a while to make sure everything sticks. Oh, keep her away from any psionic Navigators. Hearing voices again could be detrimental to her health,” she paused in thought. “I don’t think that she wants to come back here.”
“Yes, Doctor. Thank you,” he cut the connection.
Aliaroo turned off her terminal. “ Stupid desk pilot! He doesn’t even give a shit about her, just his career,” she snarled, baring her fangs and flattening her ears.
----------------------------------------
Althea sat on her hospital bed, holding a pile of fluff that was once her pillow. She’d been kneading her claws on it because she was bored. Hospitals were boring. They stank of misery and fear too. I just want to go back to my unit, she thought. The woman was Amazonian in appearance, a little under 2 meters in height, weighing 95 kilos, most of that dense bone. Her skin was pretty standard for a Caucasian, pale with ruddy highlights. She wore a typical hospital gown in light sea green that didn’t do much for her modesty. Under the smock, hard muscle, like steel, moved under the skin, slightly hidden by a very thin layer of fat used for food in times of need. Athletic, like an Olympic gymnast, but not to the point where she had no breasts. Her white hair with lavender highlights was tied back in a ponytail. Two large pointed ears stuck out from her hair. They moved every time there was an unfamiliar sound.
She tossed the fluff into the air and slapped it full strength. Quarter-inch fingernail claws popped out at the moment of impact to cut the pile in two. So dull , she thought as she lay back on her bed. I’m a biofem, she thought bitterly. I’m made for combat, not sitting idle. Memories floated back to her to ease the boredom.
Seven years earlier. The smells and sights, animals moving through the thick verdant jungle. Colors of frogs and birds flashing by, sounds of monkeys and cries of parrots. Different sounds, human.... no, elven voices. The mewling dialect of Chinese they spoke, laughter, scrapes of metal on metal. The insectile power armor moved with her body like a second skin.
Powerful and quick, Mechanese power armor had been the best during the Sidhe War . Although a thermograph would give its general position away, camouflage screens made it almost invisible to the naked eye. Psionic screens did double duty to deflect magical interference. Extra cybernetic eyes came online to scan the area as she moved through the underbrush. Four of them, remnants of the defeated Sidhe army; one probably a mage, their transport. They were cleaning heavy automatic rifles, GmbH issue, probably stolen.
She crept up close, scenting them as she went. Male, confident, and magic. They don’t know I’m here. In modern warfare, surprise and speed are the best weapons. But I like hands-on work. She snuck up on the one at the edge of the clearing. Only the target stunk of magic. Lucky break, she thought. Experience had shown her that killing the mage would make this easier. There will be no elf-shot, fireballs, or lightning bolts in my back today!
Her arm shot out, green mottling on grey armor, sharp talons tore the head from his shoulders. A fountain of blood erupted from his corpse as it flopped about, a scent of copper and shit heavy in the air. Somersaulting, Althea flipped into the clearing, seven feet of grayish-green insectile power armor. A clawed foot killed the next target with a roundhouse. More blood on her. Twisting lightning-quick, she sighted the next target and tore its heart out.
Crack. Feeling the pain of impact, but not penetration, she lurched forward. One of the targets had managed to get off a shot. It had punctured her thinner back armor, but the slowed bullet had stopped when her skin had hardened in response to the kinetic energy. When she removed the armor later, her skin would be hard and brittle at the point of impact. A white star of armor would flake away and be replaced with new skin in a day.
Flipping her body to stand on her left hand, Althea aimed her built-in maser to fire at the last target. The smell of cooked meat filled the air as the microwave energy turned the water in his body to steam, making him swell and explode like overripe fruit. MISSION COMPLETED flashed inside her head. Happiness flooded her. ” Assignments must be completed. It’s my duty,” she thought.
She was basking in her happy thoughts when Aliaroo walked in. Quickly, fear crowded into her musings. Althea’s skin changed color from its average rosy Caucasian to the tawny yellow, black spots, and the white throat and torso of leopard patterning that it always did during times of high emotion, a legacy of her bioengineered heritage. Cuttlefish genes, to be specific. Dammit, it’s like having to deal with a huge, scared kitten. I have to remember that she's just a young woman in a very deadly body.
“Althea,” Aliaroo said softly. She kept her natural psionics dampened to avoid scaring her even more.
Althea had scrambled to the back of her bed. ”Mitsa, mitsa,” she whispered, her face expressionless. ”You’ll get back in my head, you Chasse spawn.”
“Althea, you’re being dramatic,” Aliaroo said softly as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Come sit here.” She patted a spot on the bed next to her.
“Mitsa! No!” Althea whined, backing into a corner while shaking her head. Her face had started to show emotions. “You’ll get back in my head. Change me.”
Aliaroo sighed in frustration. “I’m getting you sent back to your unit on Friday. Would you like that?”
Althea looked up at the Celari. “Yes,” she said in a small quiet voice.
“Good. Then sit next to me, and we’ll discuss it.” Aliaroo said, patting the bed again.
Althea moved slowly with more grace than any human or Celari, Aliaroo had ever seen. Then, warily, she sat next to the Celari, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Amazing, Aliaroo thought. She could kill me without breaking a sweat, yet she’s afraid of me.
Aliaroo looked at Althea, her skin still leopard patterned from fright. She was being stared at by Althea. Rare periwinkle-colored eyes stared back at her with intensity. Althea’s pretty, almost girlish face was framed her white hair, small pointed elvish ears finishing the look. The woman’s lips were pulled back in a slight snarl. Yep, there are her fangs. Pretty for a human, exotic-looking if you were into that, Aliaroo thought. No wonder Hollis had wanted her.
“Althea.” She flinched when Aliaroo spoke. “Althea,” Aliaroo said more softly. “I won’t go into your mind anymore. There won’t be any more voices or people that only you can see or hear, either.” The five sessions that had fixed the “problem” had been horrible for both. Althea had had to be strapped down to a table, kicking and screaming throughout, while Aliaroo fought her minor psychic defenses, giving them both headaches.
“No more voices. No more people,” Althea mumbled to herself in relief. “If...if they begin again?”
“I’ll help you again,” Aliaroo said, patting Althea’s hand.
Althea’s leopard patterning became more distinct. Never! she thought. Before you crawl around in my head again, I’ll kill you first!
----------------------------------------
Friday had come on extremely slowly for Althea. She had just wanted out of the hospital and away from the mind-searing pain of the Celari doctor. Still, she had to admit to herself that not having multiple hallucinatory people talking to her in weird dialects every single day was an improvement over before. The orders had come nonchalantly through a hospital orderly who had just given her uniform bundle back, clean and pressed with a small paper on it. The human had been friendly enough even talking to her in the flat version of Texican they spoke on this part of NewHome. Ah, paper orders. The ever-present InterReality computer system called The Network wasn’t installed on NewHome yet. Her built-in Datasphere systems weren’t very compatible with the ones here. She could connect, but it was all primitive, with only text, pictures, video, and minor VR environments, primarily games.
She got dressed slowly as she looked out the window and went over her itinerary. Typical military-grade issue from the League and its GmbH sponsors. A white shirt, black tie, dark grey slacks, lighter grey blazer, rank tabs on the collar, and shoulder boards with white border and chevron of her rank. The bottom of the shoulder board had the dark green of Special Forces. A metal version of the insignia of the Storm League (a cloud over the globe of Earth) hung from her left breast suit pocket. Her ribbons were over her left breast pocket showing the commando ribbon, the twenty-year service ribbon, a gold wound badge, a Gate Assault ribbon, and a gold pipped jump ribbon. A purple and silver striped medal of valor from which she had received her title.
Last were the campaign ribbons. They showed she had been in the battles of Blau Ein, Sakura, Dyaitig , Qluhm, Ihub, Suth, Wrats, Falling Sky, Ebon Terminal, and finally at the conquering of Shénzhōu. Attached to her right shoulder and crossing to under the right lapel was a silver braided lanyard with a golden marksmanship shield with the storm cloud insignia of the Storm League. Braiding her hair into a long queue mechanically, she read the orders. Local flight from Los Angeles to Seattle, then on a skyship through the interdimensional nowhere called The Sky Hurricane to Erde. Once having cleared customs, she would go back to her unit via high-speed rail to her home base on the border of the Republic of Texico, Annasheim. She would report back into Captain Hollis and rejoin the squad.
Essentially ending up back where I am, she thought and let herself have a slight emotion of annoyance. All this to avoid having to use the Gate because of the expense. Well, I am not worth much in the grand scheme. I’m obsolete and not suitable for service to Mechanon any longer unless I get upgraded through gene therapy. She grabbed her red beret with its Security Forces gate badge in her hand. She put her orders in a jacket pocket for easy retrieval. Then she headed out of the room to check out of the hospital and begin her return.
Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in a bus on the way to the airport. The weather was balmy, new construction could be seen everywhere. Two and three-story typical boxy bungalows with flat or red tile roofs they favored in this version of Annasheim they called Los Angeles were ever-present. Her fellow passengers, mixed humans, and Celari looked at her with frank curiosity. The military was not a common sight here, and she was from Off Reality, making her doubly strange with her ears, hair, and rare eye color sealing the deal. The driver had done a double-take when she had gotten on, speaking to him in Mechanese accented Texican asking him to inform her of the best route to the airport. She had removed her beret, gotten her directions, and promptly sat down in an open seat.
The ride was mostly uneventful save for a few males asking her number. She had stared at each one blankly and shot them down in her native tongue. She would have shot them down even if they had more pleasing feminine forms. They were in public and there was no time to head off to a hotel. “Ba Elketsro gi ne abima tsi. Ke ka pidemu. Reni be toh ka techuu talni baze tsesi.” Which roughly meant, “My leader would not appreciate it. I have Orders. Please, ask to have recreation with someone else.” After a few of those with the same response, she was left alone aside from the ever-present flatscreen video recorders the people all seemed to carry. Occasionally, her skin changed to leopard patterning upon seeing something interesting like a bright green Macaw eating out of a palm tree. After that, the whispers and picture taking would reach a fever pitch.
Thankfully, she left that bus and connected this time along the beach. Fewer people were on this one, but many were in less clothing. She watched the sea, ignored the locals, and saw older-style planes taking off regularly from the Airport to the south after an hour or so. Finally, the traffic began to build and eventually stopped. Asking the driver the time, she wondered how long it would be before they arrived. At the shrug from the human woman, she got directions and asked to be let off at the next stop having determined from the fuss made that the locals didn’t like it when you got off mid-stop.
Twenty minutes later, she held her beret to her head and swiftly ran towards the airport through the neighborhood that eventually turned to crowded commercial districts, then hotels. Bright signs above her in local language touted cheap food, quick communication, expensive vehicles, far away trips, inebriety, and recreation. Meanwhile, she ran through dirty, trash-filled streets, leaping over the occasional destitute person that was sleeping outside. Erde was mildly different in its treatment of their roads. They were clean, quiet avenues that had ever-present but orderly advertisements. At night robots came out and pressure washed the day’s remains into the gutter. After a thorough background investigation, any homeless people rounded up were forcibly resettled into a colony needing their job skills. She was glad she wasn’t going to work on Erde permanently.
She ran down towards the final street approaching the airport and saw the check-in gates and people handling baggage. People in cars were honking at her and cursing as she ran past, but she ignored them. Arriving at the gate, she let out a huge breath causing several people to stare at her and let passengers out of their cars. Finally, a man in a blue local security uniform approached her and asked in concern, “Ma’am, are you alright? Are you running from anything?”
Taking in a large breath, she held it for a moment, and let it out slowly. Then, she straightened up and smoothed her uniform with her hands. “Ke ne tseme , lasî ke? Er I ahm naht late, ahm I?” she asked and presented the man with her orders.
Looking them over he said, “No, you aren’t late.” He handed her the paper back. “Offworlder then?” he asked with a bit of a smile.
She nodded, “Sa, ware is mai aerline gate?” Her accent had gotten a bit thicker from the exhaustion of running a little over 15 kilometers in the last twenty minutes. At his quizzical look, she tried again, “Yes, I am from Mekanon Reality. Please give me directions to my gate?”
He nodded and smiled at this and pointed her in the right direction. Thanking him, she moved at a brisk walk and spent a while in queue among the locals and checking in with her boarding codes. The airline clerk looked at her and asked why she didn’t just use a digislate like everyone else, and she just shook her head. “The system is different at home, will not work. When The Network gets here, you will switch to that.” The woman looked at her incredulously but gave her a boarding pass and directions.
The security check had been a hassle. First, the metal detector went off like a siren then several Celari and humans had surrounded her. She was then ushered into a small inspection room, where she had been released after ten minutes answering questions and producing her identity plate after a phone call had come in. Her skin had flushed extremely leopardlike as she left in annoyance. The food court was fascinating, but the foods on display were too exotic for her. The only thing they had that was even slightly familiar was a place called MacD’s. It looked like a knock-off of the more familiar Fess-T-Burger, but it didn’t have the curry flavoring that had made Fess-T’s a household name. She finished the Big MC, but their special sauce was missing the large bacon bits that she was used to at Fess-T’s. Others in her unit called it “scab sauce” due to its look, but she just liked it.
She passed other restaurants, electronics stores, and gift shops full of useless trinkets that she had no need for. There was still some photo taking of her, but much less than in public. She saw several military officers of this world in their light blue uniforms. She gave them a smart salute in passing. She had been instructed to be very polite to other militaries on this world. The salutes were returned, but their expressions were mildly confused at her uniform and appearance. Boarding was effortless as she had only a carry-on. She found her seat and closed her eyes to block out the many people staring at her.
The plane had arrived at the Seattle Tacoma airport several hours later, the aircraft buffeted by atmospheric disturbances. Althea had slept through most of it and only opened her eyes upon hearing that the plane had landed. Exiting with the rest of the passengers, they had made way for her when she just stared at them with her cold bluish-purple eyes and expressionless face. Althea didn’t understand why people thought her intriguing or scary, just that it happened at odd times. Now she had begun to see more familiar sights. There was even a Fess-T-Burger, making her unhappy she had spent her local money at that knock-off place. Signs advertising vacations at various untouched Realities were in the GmbH’s German and the local dialect. Other touches were familiar. Cleaning robots that looked like boxes on wheels that slowly moved around. Another GmbH invention was the ever-present small floating camera drones with miniaturized maglev drives. They repulsed off plates hidden in the terminal concourse but were cheats and not the proper gravitic technology used in the Gates.
She headed towards the special new wing toward her connecting flight. The architecture here was different, more fanciful, looking a bit like the interior of a giant Airship. There was faux wooden ribbing holding up the transparent roof. Fake sunset-colored clouds were projected onto the walls, giving the passengers an idea of their trip. Before she saw them, she smelled them, Kondarrians, the GmbH’s most staunch allies. Humans would likely only have smelled them within grabbing range, but they were rank and musky to her nose.
She turned the corner to see two of the nine-foot-tall humanoid bears standing guard near one of the terminal gates. They were stuffed into uniforms rather like hers but with GmbH markings on their Black berets, unlike the red one she wore. Several humans and Celari from this reality took photos of the two. They were probably minor celebrities among the tourists that took trips. She looked at their rank tabs: Private First Class and a Corporal, lower ranks than her Technical Sergeant but still worthy of respect. She nodded to them as she passed, their brown eyes bugging out as they gazed upon her service ribbons. She flushed with self-satisfaction, her leopard patterning growing prominent on her skin.