Introduction by Jernard Kydenan Transport Stragerband November 2nd, 2300 “How long until they reach the station?” a reporter asked. Her interpreter sounded nervous when he repeated the question. “Seven minutes,” I replied. The interpreter hesitated then rounded to ten. “I can speak slower if it will help.” “Sorry,” he said in Hannarian. “I’m a student. My father thought this would be good experience.” “Did he teach you?” I asked, impressed I could at least understand him. “You’re already better than most so-called professionals.” “I taught myself,” he replied in an excited tone. “I watched old interviews and—“ “Care to bring the rest of us into the conversation?” Representative Verin sounded more irritated than usual. The audio feed from Earth fell silent while someone adjusted his mic. I used the opportunity to zoom and refocus our ship’s exterior cameras. At our current angle, Destiny was silhouetted against the bright orange planet it orbited called Usped. “The thing looks like an ugly metal sub,” Verin said once the audio reconnected. “Tell him I meant the sandwich, not the underwater craft.” I resisted the urge to reply in English. My language ability ranged about seventy feet in person but didn’t work over video streams. I knew some Earth languages from experience, and I hated to lose the advantage of knowing what was said compared to what I was told. “I don’t know their word for sandwich,” the interpreter replied then switched to Hannarian again. “Ambassador, can you hear us? We had a minor problem here, but it’s fixed.” “Verin is a pain, but even we draw the line at neutering,” I said. The kid didn’t respond, and I wasn’t sure if he understood. “What happened?” “We have four of your feeds, but something is interfering with the fifth. Can you see us?” I checked my monitors. Their morning show studio set barely fit two reporters, Adam Verin, and the interpreter. The kid sounded high school age, but he was smaller than I expected. “How old are you? Twelve?” “I’m sixteen,” he replied. He straightened his posture and walked toward one of the cameras. “How old are you? A thousand?” “Zach, we’ll handle the questions, all right?” the male reporter said. The kid sighed and returned to his chair. “We’re live in ten minutes. Be ready.” Zach relayed the countdown while my pilot Ashner positioned our ship between Destiny and the planet. I gave commands to activate the station’s auxiliary power and exterior lights. Now that Verin had said it, I couldn’t help but see it. The station’s buns separated, revealing what would have been the ham and toppings—our nested solar panel array. The arms and panels unfolded, forming triangular extensions spanning the length of the main hull. Soft blue and white lights pulsed from the center of the ship outward, creating an illusion of the station breathing. “Wow,” Verin said then looked at Zach. “Don’t translate that.” “I won’t,” he replied then whispered. “He’s impressed.” The reporter I assumed was Zach’s father glanced at his notes then took a deep breath. “This is Grant Hastings with GBN along with Portia Roberts and Representative Adam Verin. Hannaria’s Ambassador is joining us via DMR stream. After a quarter-century of debate, a decade of construction, and ten trillion dollars spent, how does it feel to see Destiny on the verge of final completion?” Zach began to translate but was interrupted. “Terrifying,” Verin answered. Then he droned on about how Destiny was yet another step to us enslaving humanity and bringing Earth to apocalyptic ruin. I started paying attention again when Zach repeated the question. “I’m proud of the project team,” I replied. “Destiny is our largest undertaking with anyone outside our system. I look forward to it becoming as popular as your lunar stations.” “How will you determine the first round of visitors from Earth, Ambassador?” Portia Roberts asked. “I assume Senator Wallace and his daughter will be at the top of the list.” She was implying we’d named the station after Wallace’s daughter to gain his vote on the project. She was right, but the translation delay allowed me time to think of how to change the subject. “Both sides have agreed to select from scientific and cultural candidates first—not political,” I replied. “We’ve also received requests from Earth business owners. Not to dampen anyone’s hopes, but it could be another decade before we sort out trade regulations.” “The Hannarians have created a major economic boom on Earth with this project,” Hastings said. Verin frowned, considering most reporters never said anything positive about us. “In international polling, we’re seeing shifts in support from demographics traditionally aligned with the EIP. Are you seeing this reflected in actual policy in the U.S.?” “It’s becoming difficult to hold our ground,” Verin admitted then looked at the active camera. “With respect to my Hannarian colleague, I voted against Destiny on the grounds of it becoming a security risk. Yes, it’s almost completed, but it will take billions to maintain and defend. Regardless of its claimed noble purposes, we can’t allow it to bankrupt Earth.” “Last time I checked, your politicians do an excellent job of that without our help,” I mumbled. Zach started to repeat it in English. “Zach, stop a second. I don’t want that to go out.” “Excellent job of what?” Verin asked, staring at the kid then back at a camera. “What did he just say?” “I-I got confused,” Zach stammered. “He said we do an excellent job with our budgets and that this is important enough to find a way to make it work.” “Nice save,” I said. Zach smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. “If GBN doesn’t hire you when you graduate, contact my office.” The rest of the interview was uneventful. After it ended, I asked Ashner to return to the station. The panel array retracted, and the station defaulted to what I’d designate as “sandwich mode” as long as Verin wasn’t around. The station’s security director, Andrew Fynn, met us at the main entrance. “Ambassador, I need to speak with you in private,” he said. I glanced around, considering it was just us and Ashner. “It’s about Charlie Miller.” “What happened?” I asked, concerned by his expression. We’d both known Charlie for decades, and I’d hired him to help with the station’s construction. “Was there an accident?” Fynn shook his head. “He’s missing.” --------------------------------------------------- Hi! I made this book free for a local event in Knoxville, and I thought Id share it on a few Facebook groups, too. This story is a prequel to my novel series and doesnt contain any spoilers, so its a good starter to see if you like my writing style or not. Thanks for checking it out, and have a wonderful night! Patricia Gilliam amazon/Hannaria-Destiny-Patricia-Gilliam-ebook/dp/B00IQZN3MS
Posted on: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 04:37:34 +0000
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