Earthbound, DM Arnold [free children's ebooks pdf TXT] 📗

“That hardly helps.”

Nyk flipped the screen to the Roman characters and read a paragraph in the original Esperanto. He translated the passage -- one in which Koichi lamented the loss of his wife Sarah the year before. “Koichi wrote that about twenty years after PlanetFall. Such pathos. Do you see what a sensitive journalist he was? And, Esperanto wasn't his first language -- English was.”

“You know, Nyk, if you had applied yourself toward your studies with half the diligence as learning Esperanto, you might have that Food Service position today.”

“That job was nothing but data pushing. Estimate this, plan for that, measure productivity, invent lame slogans for incentive programs. I have no interest in that sort of work, and you know it.”

“You'll need some sort of career.” She headed from the study. “I'm going to get dressed.”

Nyk laced his fingers behind his head and regarded the screen of Esperanto. He had read some of the other material dating from the founding of his world. The Floran's log was preserved and translated, as were shipboard diaries kept by Captain Ty Davis and other crewmates. Nyk knew of the mission, launched in the opening years of Earth's twenty-third century. It was that world's first attempt to form a colony on a planet orbiting Beta Centauri, a star so close as a stone's throw in interstellar terms.

Something went wrong when the Floran's warp coil was triggered. The vessel was thrown two hundred lightyears off course and five thousand Earth years into the past. It was Koichi Kyhana who discovered the colonists' only chance for survival -- the planet they named after their vessel. It was the world Nyk and a billion and a half others now called home. Nyk touched the vidisplay and brought up a photoimage.

“Is that Koichi?” he heard Senta ask from behind him as she laced her sandals.

“Yes.”

“He looks nothing like anyone on this world.”

“Our family originated in an Earth region called Japan. Koich's features are typically Japanese. Note his black hair, the shape of his eyes and his yellow-brown complexion. You can see a trace of his features in my eyes.”

Senta looked at him and laughed, “Think what you want, Nykkyo, but your eyes look like everyone else's.”

“Exactly. Interbreeding in the early years eliminated the racial diversity of the original settlers. Now, Florans come only in shades of blond. You're a bit of an oddity with your red hair. Floran eyes retain a hint of Asian influence and your eyes have it, too.” He leaned back. “Oh, how I wish I could experience Earth as Koichi describes it. It's two hundred years yet before his time.” Nyk returned his attention to the vidisplay. “I would give anything now for a bowl of my mother's miso soup,” he translated. “I wonder what miso is.”

“Nyk, I'm headed to the lab,” Senta said from the living room. “My skimmer will be here any moment. Don't forget the drugs for tonight's party.”

He stepped from the study. “Of course not.”

“Here's the list.” She handed him a datacel. “I loaded your spending account with ample credits, so don't skimp. Make sure you get everything on the list.”

“Oh, I won't...” Senta shot him a stern look. “...skimp, that is.”

She regarded him, her arms folded. “Here I am, giving you spending credits. I STILL can't believe you spent two full years in Agency training without pay. They offered you no stipend at all.”

He rolled his eyes. “We've gone over this, Senta. I was enrolled on a provisional acceptance, and they don't pay stipends to provisional trainees.”

“That's right -- I imagine they were as astounded as I was that you actually completed the program.”

“That wasn't called for.”

“Oh, don't pout. I AM happy to see you succeed, Nykkyo ... at anything.”

“Why should you care? You're earning more than enough for both of us. The living allowance for this apartment alone must be several times an ordinary worker's stipend.”

“There's no shame in holding responsibility and being well compensated for it.”

“I'll have a good enough income once I start my assignment,” Nyk protested. “I'll receive a stipend in work credits ... and, I'll also receive a living allowance in Earth currency. It's as if I were being paid twice.”

“What good is Earth currency, here?” she asked.

“About as good as Floran credits there,” he replied. Nyk saw the skimmer approach and hover adjacent to their balcony. He glanced at the Food Service emblem on its side -- a stylized agridome within a wreath of wheat stalks. A wide door swung upward and a stairway dropped to the balcony floor. The pilot stepped out and stood by the open door.

Senta headed toward the balcony. “Just make sure you get everything on that list,” she called to him over her shoulder.

Nyk followed his wife to the balcony. “Good morning, Dr Kyhana,” the pilot said. He nodded at Nyk. “Mr Kyhana.”

“Rez, I'll be coming home early,” she said to the pilot, “It'll make a short day for you.”

“Thank you ma'm,” he replied as he helped Senta into the skimmer. He gave Nyk the two-finger Floran salute, climbed aboard and shut the door. Nyk watched as the skimmer disappeared into the distance.

Nyk returned to his study and worked on the journal until he began to feel hungry. He selected a sweet bean paste and rice cake and opened a bottle of an effervescent blue liquid. The time on the vidisplay caught his eye -- if Senta returned and he hadn't procured those drugs, there would be trouble. He washed down the last of the rice cake and deposited the empty packages into the waste reprocessor.

The lift took him to tubecar platform on the 100th level and he approached a kiosk. He pressed his right wrist to the scanpad. It chirped as it read his personal identification code from a microchip implanted in his metacarpal bone. “Good afternoon, Nykkyo Kyhana,” a synthesized voice came from the kiosk. “Where do you want to go today?” A list of destinations appeared on a vidisplay.

“Arcade, two-fifty-seventh street.” The vidisplay showed an image of the mall. “Confirmed.”

The fare for the ride was computed and deducted from his Central Admin spending account. “We apologize for the delay in our service,” said the voice from the kiosk. “Have a good day.”

He paced around the platform. Overhead, the sky was a deep, lapis lazuli blue and constellations of brighter stars were visible in broad daylight. The bullet-shaped vehicle rolled onto the platform and its transparent cowl slid back.

Nyk climbed in and settled into his seat. “Car, go,” he commanded. The cowl slid forward and the car accelerated into a transparent tube suspended high above street level. It slid, propelled by its inertial sink, along the tube. The vehicle slowed and veered into a two-lane tube, then accelerated. The car joined others in a ballet choreographed by Central Admin transportation computers.

The tubecar arrived at the mall. Nyk climbed out and walked into the drug store. He reviewed Senta's list on a handheld vidisplay he carried tucked in his xarpa. He began selecting items from the array of intoxicants on sale in the government-run shop.

The shop attendant called to him, “Have you seen this? It's brand new. This will double a woman's endurance.” Nyk picked up a few of the new product. He gathered a collection of inhibition-relaxant and euphoriant inhalers, psychedelic tabs and some injectibles. He paid for his purchase with a press of his wrist to the scanpad.

Nyk proceeded down the mall concourse to the food store and began selecting refreshments. He reviewed the list and loaded a polymer shopping bag with packs of beverages. On his way toward the self-service checkout he picked up a package of snack wafers.

He decided to walk home. His mind wandered to his Agency training. He recalled the intensity of it. His trainers were given two years to instill flawless facility in the language and to teach Earth customs and practices. The instruction had been augmented with subliminal induction and mind-expanding drugs.

Nyk remembered the language training. Actually, he remembered none of the training proper. He had lain in a coma for ten days as the subliminal inducer programmed the neurons in his brain. He remembered vividly awakening from the coma -- the crippling headaches and debilitating nausea. It was three days before he could keep food down. But, he emerged from subliminal sleep with a native-born American's fluency.

One lesson in particular had been drummed into his head. “Above all, we must avoid temporal interference,” an instructor had lectured. “The act of placing Agents on Earth puts us at risk of creating a temporal paradox. Our civilization grew from the failed Centauri mission, five thousand Earth years in our past. However, the mission is yet two hundred years in that planet's future.

“If those on Earth were to learn of the upcoming fate of the Floran, the mission might not be launched. Without that mission the Floran hegemony -- twenty-four billion men, women and children -- would cease to exist. This is the risk of an Agency assignment. Tread carefully on Earth. Think of the lives, the cities, the colony planets and the civilization we've built over six thousand Floran years. Think of your own life. Tread carefully...”

Nyk headed down a side street. At about mid-block, he was approached by a gaunt man several years older than he, barefoot and wearing a stained and tattered tunic without a xarpa. His beard showed several days' worth of growth. An orange triangle tattooed onto the man's forehead marked him as an incorrigible. Nyk realized he had no way to escape an encounter.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man said, “I see you've been to the food store. Could you spare a miserable felon a bite to eat? I've exhausted my food credits for the period and I haven't eaten in two days.”

Nyk reached into the shopping sack and retrieved the package of snack wafers. He handed it to the man, who ripped it open and began devouring them.

“You're looking at what becomes of a criminal,” he said between bites. “Economic incarceration, it's called.” He held up his right wrist. “My ID's been marked. I cannot purchase anything, save subsistence food. I must travel on foot. Even use of the vidphones is denied me. I must sleep in a shelter. I'm a prisoner on the streets of this city.” He muttered as he ate.

“I committed no crime. I was convicted of homicide, of murdering my amfin in a crime of passion. I did not do that, I could never do that. I loved her. I was convicted on circumstantial evidence ... They called me a societopath ... I volunteered for truth drug interrogation, but Internal Affairs convinced the magistrates even that testimony couldn't be trusted.” He looked into Nyk's eyes. “I ask you, does this look like the face of a societopath?”

Nyk thought it might.

“In fact, they've no proof she's dead. They never found the body! I've lost everything, my home, my livelihood and my family.” Nyk's gaze strayed to the man's right arm. It bore a solid black circle where the wedding crest would be. “I've served half a fifteen-year sentence. In two years, my sentence is up for review. I might be granted parole. I'll go down to Tinam and do some crop tending. Or maybe to one of the colonies. I'll enter a mining camp on T-Delta and start over, there...”

The man finished the pack of wafers. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for taking pity on this wretch.” He crumpled the empty package and began to toss it on the sidewalk.

“I'll take that.” Nyk took the wrapper. The felon gave him the two- finger Floran salute and walked away. Nyk hurried toward his apartment building. He tossed the empty package into the waste reprocessor at the entrance and rode the lift to the 353rd floor. A press of his wrist against the scanpad opened the door. Senta was at the lab, but he expected her shortly. He set the drugs and groceries on the kitchen counter and headed for