The Prophecy On the Planet Chapter Three

The office in the Executive suite was hot and stuffy. It reminded Kaleem so much of the health centre at home where Maria was presumably still almost imprisoned. He suddenly felt homesick for Terrestra. Razjosh had forbidden him all contact with his old life. He would be more able to integrate into the new one if he was cut off completely from his home planet. The Elder had, however promised Kaleem that the moment there was any deterioration in his mother, he would be informed at once. Kaleem had heard nothing, so he assumed all must be well.

The Executive of Language and Story was staring out of the window at a holoscene of natural sunflowers.

‘It’s so clever what they are doing with the holo technology,’ he said. ‘That’s what I now want to bring to the world of words. Create atmospheres taken from elsewhere.’

The Prophecy, On the Planet, Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Kaleem looked at the other people who had joined the special meet of the City Executives. All of the young Zandrian entrepreneurs considered to have made a significant contribution to society were waiting for their awards. Several of his students had put Kaleem’s name forward.

‘You deserve it,’ said Alistare Rogerin. ‘You’ve really got us all speaking so many other languages. Speaking them well, at that, in such a short time.’

‘Oh,’ said Kaleem. ‘Languages aren’t difficult really. Just hard work.’

That was so true. He didn’t, feel though, that he could go into a discussion of what really mattered. It was making the move towards the other that really counted. That was easier here on Zandra. They didn’t seem to have the Terrestran  unjustified fear of strangers.

Kaleem sipped his modified frega juice. It didn’t have quite the kick that his first glass had had, all those weeks ago. Yet it was still mildly pleasant. Perhaps he was getting used to it. It could be, of course, that they had watered it down so that people stayed in control.

It was some place, the Executive Palace. A great sweeping staircase led up to the landing where the Executives would later sit. There were holoscreens showing mirrors which reflected mirrors in the screens opposite. There were holograms of candles. The lights danced and reflected back and forth in the false mirrors. The floors looked as if they were made of genuine marble, but Alistare had assured him that they were only hololayers.

Everyone was dressed in formal Zandrian tunics. Kaleem had thought his own stylish enough. Here, though, there were so many more that were even more sophisticated. He didn’t feel uncomfortable, though, in the stiff, dark blue silky material. The formal wear here was so much more comfortable than back at home. On the few occasions that he had worn it on Terrestra, Kaleem had felt that he could not move. Here, the clothes were a smooth fit. He could move with ease. He knew, too, that he looked very good.

‘So, who are all these people?’ he asked Alistare.

‘Oh, just clever so-and-sos, who like yourself, have done something extraordinary in their area.’

But I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary, thought Kaleem. I’ve just put into practice what all those months of training that Razjosh taught me.

Suddenly, a group of droid musicians began to play an entrance march. Everybody turned and looked as the tall doors on the upper floor opened, and the Executives walked in slowly to take their seats upon the balcony. They were wearing the normal Zandrian formal tunic, but a cape of contrasting colours hung from their shoulders.

‘Each colour represents a different discipline,’ whispered Alistare. ‘That deep crimson is your area - languages and story.’

Kaleem looked closely at the Languages and Story Executive as he passed. He was a tall man, with dark hair and pale skin which could have almost been Terrestran.

‘I expect he’ll come and talk to you afterwards,’ said Alistare.

The Executives were now almost all up on the balcony. Suddenly, there seemed to be a disturbance by the doorway. Most people turned round to see what was going on. Kaleem blushed deeply when he saw who it was.

‘Look, it’s Tulla Watkins,’ whispered Alistare.

You don’t need to tell me that, thought Kaleem. I know who she is. Only too well.

Kaleem watched Tulla make her way into the room. She looked as gorgeous as ever. Her hair was soft and shiny. The rich chocolate brown silky tunic really showed it off well.

‘She’s quite a looker, isn’t she?’ said Alistare.

Oh yes, she’s that all right, thought Kaleem. ‘Not bad,’ he said, turning away from Alistare, conscious that he was blushing again.

‘She’s one of the diplomatic workers,’ he said. ‘It’s her job to negotiate deals with other planets, so that we can obtain the ingredients we need for our medicines. She’s just come back from a mission to Zendan. She had to learn Intel Flemish to speak to them. Pity she wasn’t one of your students.’

Kaleem did not answer his friend. This was all so stupid. If he’d only known that, she would have been the perfect person to work with. There was no reason why he shouldn’t have known. He could have so easily looked up her profile. But the Black Tulpen incident had made him panic so much then. He didn’t dare get involved with a girl - not until the Peace Child mission was over. Goodness knows when that would be.

Tulla caught his eye. She blushed and looked away. Kaleem watched her disappear into a crowd of people who were standing near the doorway.

‘Hey,’ whispered Alistare. ‘I think she fancies you. Did you see that? She was staring at you and then when she saw you looking at her, she couldn’t get away fast enough. You’re in with a chance there, I would say.’

Kaleem grunted.

‘Look they’re nearly there now,’ he said, nodding towards the Executives, the last of whom were now taking their seats on the balcony.

A final fanfare sounded and the Executives bowed to the Chief Executive. The crowds in the hall below clapped. The Chief Executive made a speech. Fortunately, it did not go on for too long. Kaleem watched the other young entrepreneurs go up to receive their awards. One by one, they floated on a hoverpad up to the balcony and a gold coloured badge was fused to their tunics. The Chief Executive shook their hand and managed to ask each one a question.

Kaleem did not enjoy floating up on the hoverpad. It felt so unstable as it wobbled through the air. He was sure he was going to fall off at any second. He hated the way everyone was staring at him. At last, though, he reached the Chief Executive.

‘I hear that you are most proficient at languages and can even get others to learn quickly,’ he said to Kaleem. ‘What is your secret?’

‘I think I was trained well myself,’ mumbled Kaleem.

For a split second, the Executive seemed to stare at him.

He doesn’t believe me, thought Kaleem.

The older man smiled. ‘Well, you must have had a very good teacher that’s all I can say.’

Seconds later, Kaleem was floating back down.

‘You were a long time,’ said Alistare. ‘What in Zandra were you talking to him about?’

‘Oh, he just wanted to know about language learning,’ muttered Kaleem.

‘Perhaps you’ve got a new customer, then,’ said Alistare.

The presentation ceremony drew to a close shortly afterwards. The Executives came down from the balcony, moving this time informally and without music. The robot waiters came around with trays of food and drink, and despite the mellow music playing in the background, the volume of the talking got louder and louder. Soon, it was very difficult to hear or make yourself heard.

Kaleem felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped, and then turned round to see the Executive with the crimson robe, only now the robe was no longer pinned to his shoulders, but was draped over his arm. A robot waiter came up to them. The Executive handed his robe to the machine and waved it away.

‘Well Detran Malthus,’ said the Executive. ‘I hear you have done great things.’

Kaleem did not reply. Even though this name had been used just a half an hour ago, he still could not get used to it. He knew Razjosh had been right to insist. Kaleem Malkendy was just too Terrestran.

‘Marek Ransen, by the way,’ said the Executive. He held his hand out ready to receive the Zandrian handshake. Kaleem pushed his hand forward, a gap between his ring finger and his middle finger. Marek Ransen slotted his hand into the space.

‘I really have been most impressed with what I have heard so far. You must come by to the Executive Office Suite some time and tell me all about it. In fact, I’ll send an official invite.’

‘Thank you,’ Kaleem managed to mutter.

‘You know how important he is,’ Alistare mouthed to Kaleem. ‘Get a grip. Say something clever.’

‘Ah’ said Ransen. ‘Here comes my son. I’m sure you’d like to meet him. He’s about your age.’

A young man with reddish hair and a face covered with freckles was making his way towards them. He was about the same height as Kaleem and Kaleem guessed about the same age. He was grinning widely.

‘Petro Ransen, Detran Malthus,’ said Marek Ransen.

Petro held out his hand, finger spread apart, ready to receive Kaleem’s palm.

‘I hope my Dad’s not boring you,’ he said.

‘Of course I’m not,’ said Marek. ‘And to avoid any danger of doing so, I’ll leave you young people to your own devices. I’m sorry, I don’t know you name…?’ He turned towards Alistare.

‘Alistare Rogerin, number corps,’ replied Alistare.

‘Well, a good mixture then - mathematician, a health specialist and a language expert,’ said Marek. He waved and made his way through the crowd.

‘Hey, these olds just can’t take the pace, can they?’ said Petro. ‘Do you fancy going on to a frega dive later?’

‘Good idea!’ said Alistare, grinning.

‘I don’t know…,’ said Kaleem. He was tired. Keeping up this new identity,  constantly speaking a language which was not his own, and having to be careful all the time was wearing him out. A couple of hours in a frega dive would be another two hours of strain, two hours less sleep and he was busy the next day.

On the other hand, Petro would be a useful contact. He worked for the health authorities. He was so friendly and easygoing, too. He was just the sort of person Razjosh had said he should try to make a good connection with.

Petro’s face suddenly clouded over.

‘Oh, oh,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten. I’d promised to see my girlfriend after this do. She’s just got back from a mission. Sorry folks, we’ll have to make it another time.’

Petro grinned again.

‘You’re something else, though,’ he said, looking at Kaleem. ‘Tu’ sure could have done with your help. I’ll have to get her to get in touch. She has to learn new languages all the time - the translators just aren’t diplomatic enough. I’ll be in touch. I will, honest.’

He waved and set off towards the doors.

Kaleem watched him pause in front of the tall doors. Petro’s face lit up. Someone in a chocolate coloured silk tunic was pushing her way through the crowd. Kaleem’s heart skipped a beat as he saw who it was. Petro hugged her and then planted a kiss firmly on her lips. They went though the double doors, arms around each other’s waists. Of course, Tu’ - Tulla.

That could have been him. If only he didn’t have this important job to do. Why couldn’t he be doing normal things? At his age he should be getting to know members of the opposite sex - and he should be getting to know them quite well. It was just so annoying.

‘Hey, executive entrepreneur,’ said Alistare. ‘Why so sad? This is supposed to be a day for celebration.’

If only you knew, thought Kaleem.

It was just so unfair. Still, at least, he supposed, it solved one problem.  There would be no more wishing or hoping. He could just get on with what he was meant to do. At least now he had got a good contact with the health workers. He’d done it without actually seeking anyone out, just like Razjosh had told him to. Besides, if he hadn’t had to do this important job, he would have never even seen her in the first place.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m just tired. I’m going home. See you soon’

He turned and made his way to the doors.

‘Couple of party-poopers,’ he heard Alistare mumble. Even so, he and Alistare walked out of the exit portal together

The Prophecy, On the Planet, Chapter One

Kaleem stared at the kitchen. There was something that didn’t look quite right. The he remembered from the briefing that it worked in a totally different way from the ones on Terrestra. There was so much to remember. At least all the information was on the strange-looking dataserve that Razjosh had given him. He had become quite used to how that worked. Now he was hungry, though, and didn’t want to go back and work on the machine.

Ah, that was the problem. There was apparently no device for cooking the food, nor for keeping it cold. The cupboards were similar enough to Terrestran ones. He touched one of the bright red doors. It didn’t feel any different from the ones back home in the apartment he used to share with Marijam.

But here there was no house robot pottering about. The machines on Zandra were all built in. How was this kitchen going to produce food?

He found the switch. There was a second dial next to the light control. He turned it and a dataserve screen opened in the nearest cupboard.

‘Ready-made or self-prepare?’ asked an electronic voice.

Kaleem wondered how it would be possible to prepare food without somewhere to cook. He’d go for the ready-made this time.

A screen with five pictures came up.

‘Meat, fish, artificial protein, vegan or vegetarian?’ asked the dataserve.

Kaleem looked at the pictures.

Yeah, I fancy meat, he thought.

The screen immediately changed to a picture of five different meat dishes.

‘Rabbit, bull, piglet, watercat or mountain hog,’ offered the machine.

Kaleem smiled to himself.

Watercat, no thanks! he thought. He did want to try something new, though. He settled on the mountain hog. Perhaps it would be a bit like pork.

Before he had time to speak, the whole kitchen started to vibrate. Within seconds, there was the smell of food cooking.

Kaleem used the waiting time to take a look at the rest of the kitchen. He opened some of the drawers and found items that were near enough the same as the ones he used on Terrestra. He even found some dishes and plates, though they did look a little odd. They were completely square and rather shallow. Nowhere, though, was there anything in which or on which to cook.

One of the drawers suddenly slid open. It contained one of the strange square dishes filled with some sort of meat in a red sauce and white bits of something else. There were two grips either side of the plate. Although Kaleem could feel the heat of the  food, the handles were quite cool.

He carried the dish into the small living area. He would look up more about food preparation while he was eating. He sat in the one and only chair - something which was a little like a comfisessel, but was not as good at moulding itself around you as the ones he was used to.

The food was still too hot to eat at first. Kaleem started loading up files, using voice command to start with. Soon, though, file after file came up just as he thought of it.

How does it do that? he asked. Something else the Terrestrans are missing out on.

‘Would you like to access the history of machine and mind integration?’ asked the machine.

‘Stick with the cookery lesson,’ said Kaleem, out loud this time. He could see he was going to have to keep this in check.

So that was it. You ordered up the ingredients you wanted and prepared the food as you wished. Every item you needed was delivered into that special drawer. The only exception was the knives, because everybody had their own preference about what to use for cutting food.

I don’t think I’ll bother though, thought Kaleem. Mountain hog was something he would certainly have again. It was a little like pork, but it had more taste, and it was very, very tender. The little lumps of white material he had noticed were a cross between mashed potato and pasta. They were beautifully light.

‘Would you like to see the full range of dishes for this month?’ asked the dataserve.

‘No thank you!’ shouted Kaleem, ‘But what’s for …?’

Before he could finish the question a picture of five different desserts had appeared on the screen. He was just about to remark that the one with the red swirls looked nice and ask whether it was raspberry or strawberry or some other fruit peculiar to Zandra, and a movie clip of how the logan fruit was cultivated was just beginning to load, when an icon appeared in the corner of the screen, informing him that he had an important message coming through.

He ought to look at it, he supposed. No sooner had he thought that than the movie message loaded.

‘Tulla Watkins,’ said the young Zandrian. ‘I wish to be mentored through the Level 2, Intel Flemish course. I would also like to arrange a physical meet as soon as possible.’

Suddenly Kaleem’s appetite for desert had completely gone. This was serious now. He really had to take up this new identity of language mentor. Already somebody wanted to meet him.

Two hours later, he was sitting in the Zandrian version of a comfisessel at the Ambassador Club. It was a strange place. It had been decorated in the style of the 21^st century Earth, with laminate flooring, shiny black tiles and stainless steel. Kaleem doubted that the materials were real. He knew that Zandra lacked the rich resources of Terrestra, and even there, artificial things were more common than real ones. The holoscreens, dataserves, chairs which only attempted to mould themselves to you, and robots were a bit of a giveaway as well. Yet it was comfortable and elegant.

Tulla had not yet arrived. He kept his eye on the doorway. The robot waiters hovered around him.

‘Is sir ready to order?’ one croaked in an electronic voice that was even more irritating than those of the Terrestran models.

Kaleem just shook his head. He didn’t want to speak Zandrian to them. They would probably notice the small oddities in his voice more easily than a human. On the other hand, it might have been good to practice on a machine before trying out the real thing. His results with the holoprogrammes had been excellent - he had gained 100% on every test - but somehow now that he was actually here…

He didn’t have to wait much longer. He recognised the golden blond hair of Tulla Watkins as soon as she came through the doorway. She had replaced the dull moss-coloured ripon tunic she had been wearing earlier with one of a bright, silky blue material. Her face looked slightly less pointed than it had on the dataserve screen. In fact, she was rather gorgeous.

She hesitated before she walked right into the room.

Kaleem stood up. His heart was beating fast now. It wasn’t just because he was worried about his Zandrian, though. She was lovely and even had hair and skin just like his own. She looked quite good on the screen – but just another well-kept female. Here in the flesh … he could hardly breath. How was he going to be able to concentrate on working with her?

Tulla spotted him a few seconds later. She grinned and waved.

‘I was so impressed by your CV,’ she said, as she sat down. ‘So many languages and so proficient at them.’

Another waiter robot was hovering nearby.

‘Frega juice,’ she said.

‘Sir?’ asked the robot.

Kaleem signalled with his hand that he would have the same.

‘Two frega juices?’ asked the robot. ‘Which account?’

Kaleem nodded.

‘So, how did you get so good at them?’ asked Tulla.

Kaleem shrugged, still dreading the moment he would have to speak.

‘I really must improve my Intel Flemish as soon as possible,’ said Tulla. ‘When can we start?’

Kaleem swallowed. He just could not speak. She was so sexy, for one thing. Also, there was a very strong chance that he might give the game away as soon as he opened his mouth.

‘I mean,’ continued Tulla. ‘Are you very busy at the moment? Could we start tomorrow?’

Kaleem put his hand together in front of his mouth, the tips of his middle fingers touching his nose, and nodded gently. The body language was easier, somehow.

The robot arrived with frega juice. Kaleem fixed on the electronic eye of the robot.

‘Iris imprint successful,’ said the robot.

Kaleem held his glass of frega juice up to Tulla. She touched his glass with hers.

‘Zandra’s joy in our work together,’ she said.

Kaleem gave the Zandrian bow.

He took a sip of the frega juice. This was the real thing. It seemed to be ten times more powerful than what the holoprogrammes had produced. He could feel the fire burning his gullet and stomach as the juice went down. His brain seemed as if it was going to explode.

‘How about two hours per day for a Zandrian month?’ he asked, suddenly knowing that his Zandrian was going to be completely flawless. ‘Then we’ll review it.’

‘Great,’ said Tulla, grinning.

Kaleem did not want to stop talking to this fantastic creature. There was no problem with his Zandrian now. She, too, made no move to go home.

‘Well, it’s all great,’ she said eventually. ‘I’m really looking forward to starting.’

‘I’ll start work on your programme as soon as I get back to my place,’ he said. ‘I think we should be able to start in a couple of days time.’

She did not offer him the normal Zandrian hand shake, but touched him lightly on the way out.

Kaleem sat for a few moments absolutely dazed.

She actually understood me all right, he thought. And I think she likes me.

He decided not to take the direct route home, but found a rather complicated route back to his apartment on the Zandrian transporter system.

It was noisier on the capsule that it was on the Terrestran equivalent. It seemed also to be the done thing to chat to one’s neighbour.

‘I’ve not seen you on this route before,’ a young man next to him said.

‘New post,’ said Kaleem. ‘Actually, I’ve just started working as an independent language expert.’

‘Wow!’ said the young man. ‘That’s a hard one. Good luck with that.’

By the end of the journey, they had become friends, and each had entered the other’s call signs into their wrist communicators. It looked as if Alistare Rogerin was going to become a good friend and even a possible customer.

Things were looking good. He had arrived. He could talk to the people on this planet.

Then he was back in his apartment, putting together a learning programme for Tulla. Their first assignment looked as if it was going to be easy. His first student would surely get good results fast. She was certainly eager to learn, and the little bit of Intel Flemish he had heard from her had been excellent. He wasn’t really all that sure why she needed coaching. She seemed capable of sorting it all out for herself.

Never mind that, though. It was going to be worth working with her to keep looking at those cool blue eyes and that amazing smile. It was such a relief, too, to not have anyone thinking your hair was a strange colour. Yes, this was going to work. At some time, of course, he would need to be in touch with the health authorities. He would need to reveal who he really was eventually. For the moment, though, he was in the phase of building up trust. Razjosh would give him the signal when he needed to move. That was likely to be a long way off yet. He could just enjoy this for the moment.

A communication message appeared on the dataserve screen. He ought to see what that was. The message opened at once. Apparently, there was a messenger robot outside with a delivery. He should see what it wanted. The robot appeared on the screen.

‘Special delivery from Tulla Watkins,’ said the robot.

Interesting. What would she be sending him?

That was okay. The security door of the apartment opened and the machine trundled in.

‘One consignment of Black Tulpen,’ said the robot. ‘Miss Tulla Watkins sends them in recognition of her pleasure at the work you are doing for her.’

Kaleem stared at the velvety tulip-like flowers. He knew exactly what they meant and he also knew that they must have cost Tulla a week’s credits. He just couldn’t accept these. Apart from the expense of them, the implication was enormous. He just couldn’t get into anything like that, not this soon.

It was common enough for Zandrian girls to do the chasing. Zandrian men were just as happy as women to accept gifts of flowers. Tulpen, anyway, were a symbol of love or lust. Black ones spelled it out. That girl wanted him. The flowers said that she really, really wanted him. She wanted to kiss him all over. He closed his eyes for a few minutes and tried to imagine what it would feel like to have her hands stroking his bare skin. That would be wonderful. He daren’t do it though, he just did not dare.

It wasn’t that he didn’t fancy her. Goodness, that had been obvious enough at the Ambassador Bar. The frega juice had probably had its effect too. It had been almost embarrassing, and he was sure she had noticed.  Perhaps that was why she had dared to send Black Tulpen. Even now, as he looked at the suggestive flowers and thought of what her message probably meant … He blushed. Oh, for goodness’ sake, why was he getting embarrassed in front of a robot?

The machine was standing there, whirring gently, and blinking its electronic eyes.

‘Accept gift?’ it said suddenly.

Kaleem did not know what to do. Should he offend his first customer, and probably lose her as well? Perhaps he had misunderstood Zandrian ways. Perhaps a female offering a male Black Tulpen was not so serious after all.

The robot continued blinking.

‘Answer required,’ its electronic voice whined.

It was no good. He would have to decline. Perhaps he could send the Tulpen back, and then get in contact with her and explain that for the moment, he only wanted to be her teacher. That would not be easy, especially as it was actually not true.

Kaleem sighed.

‘I do not accept,’ he said. He guessed that Zandrian messenger robots were as adept as the ones on Terrestra at understanding human voices.

The robot continued to blink and whirr. The note changed now and then, as if it was computing something.

‘Dismissed,’ said Kaleem. ‘Return to sender.’

‘Answer required in Zandrian General,’ replied the machine.

That was in Zandrian General , thought Kaleem. Now what do I do?

He tried again.

‘I do not accept. Dismissed. Return to sender,’ he repeated.

The little machine chuntered to itself, a little louder this time.

‘Message not understood,’ it said suddenly. ‘Message not understood. Message not understood,’ it cried, its little voice getting louder and higher-pitched each time.

Oh heck. Help me! thought Kaleem.

The screen of the main dataserve in the apartment lit up.

‘Client does not wish to accept gift,’ it said to the robot. Its voice was very similar to the robot’s, yet it seemed so much more intelligent. ‘Return to sender.’

‘Understood,’ said the robot and turned. It started wheeling away from the front door. ‘Gift not accepted. Return to sender,’ it mumbled to itself.

‘Thank you,’ said Kaleem to the large screen. I’m cracking, he thought. I’m actually thanking a dataserve.

‘Pleased to be of service,’ said the loudspeaker. The screen then switched itself off.

Kaleem drew a deep breath. This was not easy. He hadn’t really expected it to be. Yet earlier it had seemed to work. The kitchen had been a surprise, even though he had actually been instructed about what it would do. He had been terrified of his first encounter with real Zandrians, even with real Zandrian robots. Yet that had been all right in the end. In fact he’d done rather well, in communicating at least.

Now, though, there was this whole sticky problem between him and Tulla. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t also been his first customer.

Then, as well, it was such a pain to have not been able to make a simple messenger robot understand. The waiters in the Ambassador had understood him in the end. What was different?

Kaleem suddenly wished he could contact Razjosh. The Elder, was, after all on the planet. That, however, was strictly forbidden. He was only to contact his mentor in a dire emergency. He couldn’t simply call him up because he was finding life a little difficult, because he had got into a bit of a tangle with a girl and because a simple droid had not understood him.

He suddenly remembered the story of the tower. He shivered. They had built it because they thought they were equal to God, and then they found out that they were not and they could not even understand each other.