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CHAPTER 49

December 27, 2099 (Earth timeline)

Proxima b, aka Fintidier

The tour of the complex was going well. The secretary general made pleasantries with all of the humans from Earth and then they all spread out and went back to the work they needed to be doing. The soldiers chatted with soldiers, shared stories, and showed each other their weapons. The scientists spoke with the women and the pilots. But, mostly, Charles had asked them all to get “back to work” and “look busy” so he could show the Secretary General around. Everywhere they went, the two younger women and the two men in black dress suits followed closely behind.

“We’ve had ten of your years, Ambassador.” The old Fintidierian woman smiled. Charles noted that they must not have invented dental braces yet as her teeth were very misaligned. “We all have studied your culture and language. We teach your English in our schools now in our primary education system.”

“Madam Secretary, we are mostly humbled, and honored by such actions. And believe me, many of us have learned much about your culture. But mostly, we’ve been studying your dilemma,” Charles said. “That and building a means to travel here to you to offer our help.”

“Yes, we received your messages that you were coming to help with our problem. And even that you have sent a second ship to be here sometime in the not-too-distant future.” Secretary General Balfine Arctinier’s eyes raised a bit when Charles realized his expressions were giving him away. They had yet to be able to reestablish communications from home and weren’t certain if the Emissary had left Earth or not. There were so many data dumps lumped in on top of each other and, as it turned out, Gaines had left them another present: about the last three or so years’ worth of communications had been scrambled by some encryption algorithm that they’d yet to crack. The Samaritan had no up-to-date data that was much newer than their midpoint physicals.

“We had, some, uh, technical difficulties, and have yet to be able to reestablish communications from home,” Charles explained. “We are working the issue and hope to have that fixed within the next week or so.”

The old woman paused a moment and counted silently on her fingers. Charles guessed that she was interpreting a week into some Proximan time unit. Then she nodded knowingly.

“I am sorry to hear that. If there is anything my people can do to help, then please ask,” she said.

“I’ll pass that along to the scientists. I have no idea if they need anything we don’t have or not. Thank you, Madam Secretary.” Charles led the ambassador around the control center of their headquarters building showing her some of their amazing “magical” technologies. He found her questions very interesting and with some of them he realized that he also didn’t really understand exactly how the technology actually did what it did. There was nothing like having to explain something to help you realize whether you really understand it—or not.

“About our problem, as you have perceived it?” the secretary general asked. “How do you think you can help us?”

“That is a good question. Our understanding, our science and technology, of medicine, diseases, and the human makeup is probably a century or more ahead of yours. Perhaps, with our technologies and advanced knowledge, we can find the culprit of your gender disparities,” Charles offered. “Would you allow for our scientists and medical teams to conduct physical examinations of a sampling of your people?”

“Of course. We have volunteers available.”

“Great. When can we go see them?”

“For the meantime, we’d prefer it if you stayed here on this isolated location while we bring them here.” The secretary general turned and faced him squarely. She was much shorter than Charles, her skin was very pale as if it never had seen sunlight, and her face was far less wrinkled than he had expected it would be. “Ambassador Jesus, your people might be dangerous to ours. We do not know what ailments you may have brought with you. And trust builds slowly.”

“For how long?” Charles asked.

“Until enough time has passed for our experts to be comfortable with you leaving this location. I’m afraid I cannot give you an exact date. You know how difficult politics, and politicians, can be. I don’t anticipate it will be too much longer,” she replied.

“I understand, ma’am,” Charles agreed. “I understand completely.”

“Good.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, Madam Secretary, I’ve noticed that you have a slight limp to your left side as you walk.” Charles had noticed an obvious medical issue as she walked down the steps of the aircraft. He’d hoped that could be one of the inroads to take with her. “A sports injury perhaps?”

“You are quite disarming,” she laughed. “I’m afraid it is geriatric. At my age, sports are quite the thing of the past.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, how old are you?”

“Well, I had a suspicion you’d ask that question, so I have already converted it to your time.” She smiled at him with her crooked teeth again. “I am sixty-eight of your years old.”

“I see. Would you mind letting one of our medical experts take a look at you?” Charles couldn’t believe how young the “old woman” was. “I believe you will be amazed at some of the treatment options we have available for all sorts of ailments.”

“An excellent idea, Mr. Ambassador. Perhaps I can be the first test subject for you, although my birthing years are much a thing of the past.” They both chuckled together briefly and then Charles decided to bring in the doctor.

“Excuse me just a second,” Charles said. Then he reached up in front of him and moved an icon around until he found Dr. Thomaskutty. She was five buildings down in the medical center. He switched open an audio channel and connected to her. “Sindi, this is Charles, do you copy me?”

“Loud and clear, Charles. How can I help you?” The Fintidierians looked at Charles as if they were trying to find the transmitter. He turned his head forward and pulled his earlobe down and then showed them the tattoo there. “A transmitter here . . . Sindi, I’m going to bring the secretary general down there now for a physical examination.”

“Wonderful, Charles. I can’t wait to see her,” Dr. Thomaskutty replied.

“Your technology is so amazing,” the secretary general said. “You mean that mark behind your ear is actually a communication device? That small?”

“Yes.” Charles nodded.

“And why do all of you wave your hands about in the air? I’ve noticed this.”

“Ah, I should have thought about that. Those motions are commonplace for our culture now. You see, not only do we have systems like this tattoo behind my ear that is microscopic technology, but we also have lenses that we put in our eyes. They act like movie screens we can see through. In my vision right now as I look at you, there is information in front of me that I can see which you cannot. I can move the information around like books on a shelf. But they are not real books, of course, they are movies. I can show you with glasses we have if you would like to experience it?”

“Very much, please.”

* * *

“Her limp is gone,” Charles noted. Dr. Thomaskutty stood next to him, waving goodbye to her as she walked up the aircraft stairs without any help from her guards.

“She had a bacterial infection in her joints. It used to be quite common in the elderly on Earth even fifty years ago or so,” Thomaskutty explained. “I gave her an anti-inflammatory, the right antibiotic, and a female hormone stimulant. Her endocrine system had basically shut itself down. I turned it back on.”

“Wasn’t that a bit premature? We haven’t yet done a complete physical workup on them yet. What if she has some sort of reaction? Accidentally killing their ambassador in our first meeting would not be a good way to begin establishing relations,” said Charles.

“That’s what I said. After the exam, she asked me what I found, so I told her. She then asked me if there was a treatment and I wasn’t going to lie, so I told her that too. It was at that point that she specifically asked if I could administer the antibiotic and the hormone stimulant. I warned her of the risks, but she insisted,” she replied.

“You should have asked me,” Charles said.

“Sorry about that, but when I have a patient I can help and they ask me to do so, I have a difficult time saying no. I did insist that one of her protectors witness her treatment request and I recorded it—just in case. I will send you a copy. Besides, there’s always patient-to-doctor privilege. I probably shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“She already looks like she feels better.”

“Wait until tomorrow when she starts menstruating again.”

* * *

As promised, a steady and recurring stream of volunteers began visiting the basecamp for their medical screenings. As would be expected, there was roughly a fifty-fifty split in the genders, with the average age of the female Fintidierian volunteers being much older than the male. Over the next ten days, the Earth humans had poked, prodded, scanned, and taken samples from well over three hundred individuals. All of the volunteers spoke at least rudimentary English and, without exception, they were polite and completely cooperative, showing absolutely no modesty during the exams, which were sometimes quite intrusive and lengthy.



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