"Could this day get any worse?" lamented Krasi, the Quextil, next to him. They and a blue skinned Reltoan and a tan and white furred Kaylin were in the back of an armored vehicle. Findlon noted this vehicle, while smaller than most open street vehicles, was larger than the normal electric carts one would see in an underground city. The back was cramped with 8 people inside the octagonal shell. On one side were Findlon, Krasi, the Kaylin, Quinlan, and the Reltoan. All four wore bulky, light blue binders around their wrists. Not by choice. Opposite them were Marsport police in their black protection gear. Each of the officers had a pistol out and pointed at the other four.
"Worse?" quipped Findlon. "Yeah, it can always get worse."
***
"Findlon's my given name," the barrel chested Thrassian said almost unaccented Galactic. His grey hair was cropped short, in military fashion, which made his brow ridge seem even more prominent. He was standing at a small kiosk with his right hand resting on the waist high counter, a coat draped over his left forearm, and grasping a small travel bag in his left hand. His attire was simple, neat, and a few seasons out of fashion.
"Sorry?" the Human customer service representative of Red Sky Star Lines asked. Their perplexity made them stand oddly and crinkle their red and black uniform. Their cocked head made the green hair fall slightly to the right side of their head.
"You called me Mr. Findlon. That's my given, uh, first name. Those of us that grew up in the Parliament of clans have our clan, or family name, first followed by our given names. So in your custom, meaning that of the Solar Alliance, it would be Mr. Amdifynir," lectured Findolin to the now bewildered Human. He regretted it almost as soon as the words left his lips, but it was hard to break the habit. After all, he spent his days giving lectures on galactic history.
"Thank… you? Mr. Amdee fine nor?" The humans Findlon had encountered on this trip had yet to get the name right.
"Am dih fihn ir, but that was close enough." Findlon corrected as he took his boarding pass and travel papers back from the representative.
"Well, have an excellent journey with us." They replied automatically.
"Thanks," Findlon replied almost as mechanically since he was already stepping away from the counter. He only got a few meters away before he looked up and took in his surroundings. He was in the oldest and still main space station for Kaylin Tor: Keeangir Ata which translated into Sky home One.
For a thousand years this had been in service. This is the first and last place any visitor went when visiting the Kaylin Mu system. It orbited the evolutionary home of the Kaylin race, Kaylin Tor, which for most of the station's existence did not have large space ports or heavy industry on its surface. This only heightened the importance of Keeangir Ata as it was the main hub of goods, commerce, and industry for the system as well as a nice place to have a layover.
Findlon took in the concourse he was on. It was large and open spanning half of the largest section of the space station. On the outside were lounges from which one could stare out the large viewports into space and occasionally catch a glimpse of Kaylin Tor or one of its moons, Taq and Kanga. Opposite the lounges were the gates that led to the commercial shuttles. Near the gates were kiosks for the various travel companies. Just like the one Findlon had been at moments ago.
Everything looked not new, but up-to-date. If you knew where to look or were observant, like he was, you could spot the signs that this was an aging space station. Just little things like on the floor you could see where older seats had been removed and new ones, of different specifications had been added. Panels that were worn on the edges from where they were pried off so that maintenance could be done. Panels that didn't quite match the older superstructure.
Findlon found it reassuring. Where some might see frailty he saw little signs that showed the station's endurance. It was nice that old things still had use. That they still had a purpose and significance. Maybe it meant his time wasn't over yet.
As he took in his surroundings he moved towards an empty seat near his gate. He had almost two hours to wait until the next leg of his journey. Maneuvering to his seat he narrowly escaped a Council of Elders welcoming committee. The committees had formed from the Kaylin habit of spontaneous and enthusiastic hugging. They would hug to welcome friends old and new, family, and even strangers. The Humans had taken to calling it "hug bombing."
The Kaylins were smallish canids and easy to avoid. However the modern Council of Elders was a mix of species and it took talent with a large dose of luck to avoid a modern welcoming party. FIndlon feared he had used all of his luck to dodge the welcome committee and grab the seat.
Now he sat there and wondered if he had done the right thing. Ex-solider and current lecturer in Galactic history now on a sabbatical to travel about visiting spots that were important to the Galactic past. He left his classes, his home, and the familiar to be itinerant for the next year. Would this turn into retirement? Should it?
Findlon had no family to spend time with. He had never managed romantic relationships well and thus had lived the bachelor life for decades. His clan were just people who shared a heritage and a name. There were no close relations among them.
Findlon wasn't usually so melancholic. Something about this trip visiting old sites that were still of great importance and witnessing old things, like this space station, still having use had made him wonder what use, what relevance he still had.What had he achieved?
For his first 20 years he had grown up in the capital city of the Parliament of Clans, Balenlan. During these formative years and in spite of the self centeredness of youth he learned the importance of his clan. The next 20 were spent as a Difyn Awr Mor in the Thrassian Defense Force working on communications gear. While being of service to the Parliament, he learned there were so many more worlds beyond his clan and that one's clan can include more than blood relations. These past 22 years He had chosen to help educate the youth. He went to school and gained a higher degree in Galactic history. Now he taught the willing and unwilling about the importance of remembering where you had come from. Taught them to remember and analyze the past in order to make a better future.
Has any of it made a difference? He spent hours every week in front of bored gazes and more than a few snores. Were his lectures, his effort, getting through? Did it matter?
Lost in self introspection Findlon barely noticed the Kaylin who sat down next to them. They were dressed in black baggy clothes with heavy boots. They had a hood up over their head as if they were hiding.
"Fucking welcome committee," they cursed in Galactic. "Fuckin' hug bombing twats!" That last part was in English. Findlon wasn't sure if he should respond. He decided that if they wanted to be ignored they wouldn't have sat next to him, or anyone, and would not have spoken out loud.
"Are you from the Council of Elders?"
"No!" they exclaimed, almost shouting."I ain't no Corey bitch. I grew up free." From what he could see of their face, they looked almost disgusted at the suggestion of growing up in a Core government. A sentiment Findlon had run into a few times during his years teaching. Fringers could be fiercely proud of their origin.
Given the tone the Kaylin had used, FInlon thought it was best to remain quiet. This seemed to suit his fellow traveler as they pulled the hood around their head. Their face was now completely in shadow, their knees were up against their chest, and their feet were in the seat. They were a little ball which obviously no longer wanted to interact with an aging traveler or anyone else.
Findlon settled in to wait for a few hours and pulled out his handheld. He began to read the most recent journal on Galactic history. This was largely self servicing as the journal had published his latest paper on the socioeconomic fallout of the Purge. He was truly interested in the other articles, but did want to see if they edited anything out of his and how well it was presented.
Findlon was engrossed in an article comparing and contrasting the effects of the Created war with the Unification war when his seat mate spoke again.
"Hey! Old one!" they said with some impatience.
"Yes?" he said, assuming they were speaking to him since no one else was in their immediate area. He turned to look at them only to see faint traces of white fur peeking out from the hood.
"Sorry about my outburst earlier." Their voice a little quieter than it had been.
"Thank you for the apology, it isn't needed. I can understand and empathize with the pride of those who grew up in the Fringe feel." Findlon answered. "'Understanding is best between friends and family' said Teluma Gynt." His seatmate tilted their head with confusion."It means.. Well never mind what it means. My name is Amdifynir Findlon." He extended his hand in the universal sign of greetings and peace.
A tan furred hand reached out from inside the hooded shirt and hesitantly shook his. "Quinlan Joy, they them," they said.
"He him" Findlon said as his right hand touched his chest.
"So now that we know each other's name we can be friendly and reach understanding," they stated knowingly.
"Yes. You do understand," Findlon said with a smile on his lips and surprise in his voice. "Forgive me. As an Old One and lecturer I have grown accustomed to others not knowing what I am talking about." He said with a slight bow of the head. A slight chuckle emerged from underneath Quinlan's hood.
"Can I ask," Quinlan queried without pausing for an answer, "do the humans ever get your name right?" It was Findlon's turn to chuckle.
"Rarely. Which makes no sense considering they themselves have cultures with similar name construction." He answered.
"Thought not. The twats," they almost spit out the last word. "So we're heading to the same place, Marsport." This caused Findlon to raise an eyebrow out of curiosity.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"Simple deduction. We're both sitting near the same gate. While you could be waiting where you last debarked, statistically most people wait near their departure, not arrival gate," they said confidently. "Also I spiked into the reservation system and found your information."
"Ah, that would do it," Findlon said, very much amused and only slightly annoyed. "Isn't that a little risky?"
"For most people," Quinlan said proudly. "Ya know, I do not know why I told you that. Nevermind." And their hood once again enclosed their face hiding all traces of their identity. The conversion ended as soon as it had begun. "Fuck!" they said under their breath.
It took Findlon a few minutes to get back to the article he had been reading. Partly because he didn't want to get engrossed if the conversation wasn't over. He also pondered if he should alert authorities about the illicit access to the information systems. Years, decades of training had left him with a strong moral compass and an almost compulsion to tell authorities about wrong doing. However, he decided that it may not be worth troubling the authorities about.
When it was time, Findlon boarded the shuttle that would take him to the starliner Eye of Sol. Quinlan got to the gate before him and boarded the shuttle first. The Kaylin seemed to be avoiding him and he was content to let them do so. After a brief ride in the intrasystem shuttle they board the Eye of Sol. Pride of the Red Sky Star Lines.
In a ten-day and half Quinlon would be at the site of one of the main command stations of the Lunar Martian Independence War. Now all he had to do was relax and enjoy himself.
***
With the time it takes to get to another starsystem, even via the marvel of the wave drive, starliners were the only way to travel unless you could afford your own ship and the crew to run it. Thousands of people packed together in a vessel 500 meters long and half that tall. Casinos, pools, several stages, and other kinds of entertainment, Findlon was sure to be a fun and exciting time for most people. He found it tolerable at best.
In ways being on the ship, in an enclosed space, reminded him of his time with the Thrassian Defense force and vaguely of underground cities of Na Oth. The main shopping deck was tens of meters tall and made to resemble a small market place. Above the shops were the balconies of cabins that looked out onto the avenue like in small terrestrial towns. It reminded him of the Sabhir district in Balenla; the market area people went to for the latest fashion and most expensive items. All together it added to a sense of nostalgia that made him smile and feel oddly at home.
The viewing deck was a large poolside area under a transparent dome with a protective covering. When the covering was stowed you could see the streaks of stars go by as the vessel's wave drive was engaged. After the wave drive was disengaged, and the ship was traveling in normal space time, the viewing deck became a popular place to stargaze and view whichever star system they were traveling through. Findlon found it was one of his favorite places on the ship.
He spent most of the ten-day and a half reading the journals and books he had downloaded before boarding the Eye of Sol. He read in his room, on the viewing deck, the gym, and would even take his tablet to one of the many dining rooms during meals and read there. Despite himself he felt relaxed. It didn't last long.
***
The cruise itself was fun, relaxing, and invigorating for Findlon. The sights from the viewing deck were spectacular during the next day of deceleration towards mars. He found he didn't want to read as he took in the view of ice and gas giants shooting by. The crowds at disembarkation didn't even bother him. He almost relished the closeness of his fellow beings.
Now, as he stood on the main concourse of the space station, Mars One, it seemed as if all the joy of the past 15 days had simply evaporated. Findlon found himself at another kiosk on another concourse talking to another Human. This one had short black hair and brown skin. They had their first finger up to indicate they were on a private call. After a few moments and a deepening look of confusion, the agent re-approached the counter to address Findlon.
"I am sorry for the mix up. You have been given a complimentary upgrade to a first class shuttle." The human now had a blank, but pleasant expression on. They were speaking a little too mechanically.
"Is there any way I can deny this special upgrade?" He asked in as polite a manner he could muster. When he had arrived at the station he had received a message telling to come to the kiosk about his itinerary. This had the unfortunate side effect of making him miss his flight down to Marsport. Even though he was on sabbatical he did have appointments to keep.
"I am sorry but the change is final. I assure you will get to Marsport well within your original arrival window. If you could just go to gate B5 your shuttle will be leaving within the hour. " The customer service agent's smile had long since become annoying, but now looked like it was beginning to cause physical harm.The tone and pacing were also off somehow.
Looking around Findlon noticed a lounge next to the mentioned gate. "That gate? Next to the lounge?" He received a nod in response. Frustrated, he decided not to fight this change in plans and try to accept it as good fortune. As he left the line at the kiosk he noticed a grey feathered quextil get in line.
The lounge area was currently empty so he picked a seat at random. A few minutes later the grey feathered Quextil took a seat a few down from him. They looked as frustrated as he felt.
"Special upgrade?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"Yes," they answered flatly.
"As the Humans say, 'this is bullshit!'" This earned a curt nod from the quextil. After that the conversation died. Soon they were joined by a kaylin in black, baggy clothes with their hood up.
"Quinlan Joy? Did you get the special upgrade as well?" All FIndlon got in response was a rude hand gesture. He chuckled and let the conversation remain dead.
Next to join them was a Reltoan, blue skin and white haired. He did notice that they wore a high collar which had a small device clipped to it. The device was small and made to look fashionable, but FIndlon knew it was an assistive device. The wearer could not use their voice and relied on hand gestures to communicate. The device they were wearing connected to their handheld and would translate the gestures for others. Findlon simply waved a welcome to them since he was unsure if they were unable to hear.
During the next quarter hour Findlon once again passed the time reading another history journal. When it was time to board the tram to the shuttle, he let the Reltoan and Quinlan go first. The Quextil paused for him to go before them so he obliged and boarded third.
The tram was not an ordinary tram. Six plush swiveling seats greeted them. The interior was actually upholstered instead of molded composite. Never before had he experienced this kind of luxury on a tram. Unfortunately the four of them did not have time to enjoy the experience. As soon as they sat down they were standing leaving the tram, escorted through the docking bay, and boarding the shuttle.
The tan and white interior of the shuttle was even more luxurious. Six large seats greeted them. Wood panels and more upholstery enclosed them as they took seats. Part of Findlon was relieved and felt that they deserved this after the delay they had suffered. The rest of Findlon felt suspicious. They had done nothing to receive this upgrade. Why them? Why private shuttle service?
Findlon was pondering their good fortune as the shuttle dove towards the martian surface. He was still lost in reviewing events over the past 25-day when it landed and taxied to the large lift that would take them down to the docking bays at Mangal Spaceport. He was broken out of his thoughts when the others started to shift in anticipation of debarking the shuttle.
Down the tub they went in the same order they had left the gate on the station; Quinlan, the Reltoan, Findlon, and the Quextil last. Everything was eerily quiet. When Quinlan reached the gate it was slammed open. The silence shattered as rough, urgent voices began shouting in English and Galactic. Within seconds Quinlan was bodily removed from the open gate door.
Persons in black protective gear swarmed into the tube and shouted at all of them to get down.
"No!" protested Findlon. "I am a citizen of the Galactic Republic of Civilizations. I demand you tell me what this is about, " he said defiantly. He was now surrounded by three individuals who were pointing weapons at him and shouting. One of them put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off as forcibly as he could. Next thing he knew he was face down on the floor. A crackle of energy. The smell of ozone. Findlon passed out from being stunned. He regained consciousness as the doors to the vehicle were shut and found he had binders on his wrists.