(MSDWC) GPA 4.0

GPA 4.0

He had been on this planet for an estimated 33 years.

Studying, processing and recording aspects of the dominant life forms and their culture, and now he was tired. Just plain homesick. The red light that infused his small room helped to recreate the feel of his natural Home World somewhat, but it was a small consolation.

The laptop he had purchased was almost filled to capacity, as well as several external hard-drives of what he felt were the most redeeming contributions the human species had to offer. The database was filled with a comprehensive collection of recorded music throughout the ages, from every nationality and culture throughout their history as well as literary considerations and several terabytes of artistic renditions spanning everything from cave paintings to anime.

Included within the laptop ( bought exclusively because of it’s small size and portability) was a collection of journal entries of his time on Earth, his own memories and reflections on his Home World - tucked away in a folder entitled “fiction and prose” - as well as the daily diary of observations, experience and thoughts on this New World around him.

He checked his watch, the cool luminescence of the aqua blue digital display calmed him somewhat.

Of all the various cultural artifacts he had accumulated over the years, the watch was by far his favorite. On his home world, such an ethereal aqua blue color was inconceivable, unknown to his kind. Back home, the color scheme was rich reds and oranges, the occasional rare tinge of purple in a landscape predominated by rust colored earth tones. He had chanced upon the watch one evening while exploring a popular center of commerce and for a small exchange of bits and bytes of binary information via his government issued ID, he had gotten the device.

Time, of course, was an abstract concept to his People, and back home it would have been little more than a novelty and conversation piece amongst his friends. But he didn’t mind. He liked it too much to care.

He was more active at night now that the time of his departure was growing near. The weather patterns of the small planet he had called home for thirty-three terrestrial years had begun to shift, and sadly, it was not in his favor. The heat during the summer months has rendered him almost dormant, and, as was the pattern of his people, he had been sleeping a lot as of late to conserve his body’s water. Perspiration and dehydration was almost always fatal to his kind, and even in his humanoid form, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Fortunately, visitations to this New World had been going on for nearly a quarter of a millennium, and those who had come before him were kind enough to leave behind various consumer goods and services for those who might need special considerations in regards to their original metabolisms.

Soda was one of his favorites, particularly the icy “frozen cokes” from the nearest convenience store. The beverage, a sugary sweet concoction infused with caffeine and carbon dioxide bubbles, provided not only the nutritional requirements needed, but also added the bonus treat of a small dose of the carbon dioxide his bloodstream depended so heavily upon for optimum efficiency.

Indeed, he had trained his new body to breathe at a slower rate to preserve the high CO2 content he required to maintain optimum brain functioning for his Kind. If it weren’t for the techniques of the Buddhist monks, he would have forgotten his origins long ago, overwhelmed by the influx of information he had experienced from his lifetime on the New World.

The most recent insight into his Cultural Studies had lead him to a sectional forum on the World Wide Web where no topic was forbidden for discussion, and he felt relatively at ease discussing and reading up on the mass of information regarding humanities opinions on “other races” as well as speculations as to the various Galactic Agendas that were underway.

Most of the time, he bit his tongue on some issues, knowing full well he did not have the proper clearance to reveal certain factoids to the populace, but he did his best to alleviate fear and suspicion whenever possible.

So many stereotypes, so many false flags.

His first encounter with information regarding his People had come as somewhat of a shock - pages upon pages of slander and the verbal abuse of his Elders - the majority of which were nothing more than wild speculation.

With a little digging and some telepathic astral conversations with his Superiors, he had found out that the authors of said works were little more than outcasts from his Home World who had been sent to this particular world for the crime of heresy.

Even though he himself was born underground on Mars (a planet he still considered his true home) he had never visited the planet of his Ancestors. Maybe one day he would be ready. There were still many cultural differences between the ways of the inner colonies and the original Home World, and it was widely rumored that one had to pass a series of initiation rituals before being allowed to return home.

He still did not look favorably on the final ritual that demanded the sacrifice of his own father before being given entitlements, and had come to the conclusion that Mars was more than enough for him. Besides, besting his own father in competition to the death would have been an insult to the achievements his father had accomplished over the course of his lifespan.

Honoring his family took precedence to honoring the Past Ways of his People, but not all of their ways were infused with bloody rituals of this nature.

For example, they also took their genetic engineering to a high art, and they did not create life forms indiscriminately.

True, while there were variations in design to allow for a varied populace - laborers, intellectuals, artisans and the like - the reason for such variations were not malicious in the slightest. In fact, studies had proven that such genetic specialization was necessary for a civilization to grow, prosper and maintain itself.

The majority of negative press being levied upon the Elders was coming from those outcast souls who had not had the luxury of being reborn into the physical caste of their liking (most were reduced to a labor force as punishment for misuse of their previous bodies) and who still harbored resentment for this treatment.

Reflecting upon his own position, he could understand why so many were so angry, but still could not understand why they had not merely accepted their punishment and tried to learn from their mistakes.

Even though on his home world he was considered royalty, complete with all the physical characteristics that accompanied such a position - regal height, the elegant tail, full, strong wings, and gold tinged scales that shone brilliantly in the firelight of the cavernous temples of home - here, on this New World - he was barely pushing 5’6.

Quite short by even human standards.

But still, he understood. Some of what was written was quite true concerning some individuals on his own world. Very few of the species in the Intergalactic Community were altogether perfect in every respect.

Stripped of his ceremonial robes shortly before he prepared himself for the soul transfer into a the newborn of a suitable host family, he remembered the look of disdain in the eyes of one of the palace guards who had attended the ceremony.

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As the royal cloak was removed from his regal shoulders, the guard had eyed him dispassionately and almost with contempt. Sadly, the warrior caste of his people were notorious in their love and lust of medals, trophies and symbols of position and status. While he understood the complexities of the ritual he was about to undergo, and the symbolic leaving of his previous role behind, the Palace Guard had not been educated in such matters, seeing as his destiny and caste required brute force and skills in battle - such refinements were reserved almost exclusively for the Nobles and their attendant courts.

But such a ritual was necessary, were he to show himself in his true form on the New World, he would have been led in an entirely different path by Those Who Had Gone Before and were still on assignment there.

Such a thing would have completely corrupted his ability to move about unnoticed by the majority of the Draconian Enforcers still present, and he would have been given preferential treatment that would have completely voided the reason for his transfer to the New World.

It was a rather covert operation, one that was known only to Nobles and their Kin. Every new generation of nobility was required to undergo such a test in secrecy, to move about on the New World in disguise and evaluate the performance of Those Who Had Gone Before - mostly warrior caste designed to keep the populace under control and aid in education, protect visiting Dignitaries from several star systems and Nobility during these visitations.

Still, his life on the terrestrial new planet hadn’t been easy.

For starters, he had chosen to be born into a body that still retained the golden green eyes that his real body possessed. It wasn’t so much an oversight as it was a reminder of where he came from. He knew that if he began to question himself and his true origins after a time, he could always look into a mirror and remind himself with a few meditation techniques that were ingrained into the reptilian cortex of his new mammalian brain.

The Elders had not missed a beat when they had created the Human Race. Knowing full well there would be visitors interested in experiencing a terrestrial intermingling with other species on solid ground, the Elders had instructed their finest geneticists to make sure the brains of the predominant life form were able to function with just about every species in the Universe that was known to exist.

The color of his eyes had been the first giveaway for some of the other soul transfer children on the military base where they were raised, and his first reason for isolation as a young child.

Like the cool aqua blue of his watch display, any variation of that color was highly coveted, and usually the first choice for the warrior caste when they chose their new bodies. He remembered somewhat coldly the treatment he had received on the schoolyard at the hands of his peers, the mocking, the insults and refusals to play with him because he wasn’t bearing the right shade of eye color.

At the time, it was a painful experience, but as he had grown and matured, he realized it was for the best. Aft

He remembered his training and sought out souls from different Home Worlds, and in the process of doing so, amassed a much larger and varied friendship base than those of his warrior counterparts.

It was rare he ever pulled rank on his peers and new friends, but when he did, his eyes would flash a brilliant deep silver blue-gray. He never understood the physiological reason for this, but it tended to get his point across better than the common language of the New World.

He chuckled to himself at this reflection, and had bust into full laughter when he had realized that everywhere in the Universe, almost all species were still primarily dominated by their visual senses.

Of course, the Elders had known this for millennia, and that was one reason this New World was created.

Whereas the heretics proclaimed it to be a “prison planet” (which was in a sense true) it was first and foremost - a School and Commercial Trade Center. On this new world, species from all over the Universe could learn to overcome their personal prejudices towards other species, unbothered by the radical differences in physical appearance and form, their souls encased in similar and for the most part, almost identical physical housings.

Two arms, two hands with five digits each, two legs, one torso and a symmetrical face. The most effective design for the work and studies to be done on the New World. Plus, considering the physiology was constant throughout the higher sentient beings of this New World, there was only need for one atmosphere, rich in oxygen and trace amounts of various other gases.

But this was something even the most naïve elementary student knew on most planets peppered throughout the Universe, it was no cosmic mystery why the design had been implemented so.

Still, there were still several varied complaints from several factions of the Universal Community, and prejudice and misunderstanding still widely circulated against his peoples. Some races were notoriously demanding of certain consumer goods and tended to revile anything that did not bear the logo and design of their species particular belief structures.

The Universal Committee had set up several terrestrial Universities to help educate these beings on ways to create their own technology and designs independent of the Masters, but many refused to do any work towards their own evolution and instead continued their cyclic patterns of mental enslavement by demanding that the Masters create the products, goods and services the other races so desired.

When what was demanded was disregarded or not placed into production ( usually because such technological designs would violate the Universal Treaties that mandated or flat out forbid such things to be built ) there was almost always a uproar, and malicious gossip tended to fly at every angle.

Even though the New World was widely known for being neutral ground, there were still factions striving for world dominance. Such it was, and such it will always be. Sometimes you can’t breed out certain traits, no matter how skilled the work of the geneticist.

Only time and constructive discourse and education could solve such issues, and sometimes the prejudices and dominant instincts of some species took several reincarnations and lifetimes to manifest in order for the lessons to really sink in and effect change with some individuals.

Hence, the reason for the “prison planet’ mentality.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, he wondered to himself if he was balanced and impartial enough to pass the class requirements, and he would sit for hours in silent repose and meditation aligning himself with Higher Universal Thought and training his mind to accommodate these new ways of thinking and acting.

It wasn’t always easy. He was still known to sometimes let slip a few of his cultural preferences out in mixed company, must to the horror and revulsion of other sensibilities.

But things were getting better as generations passed. His peers would laugh at the veiled references, but he new better than to let slip in front of an Elder. Some of them still retained the Old Ways, and the slightest mention of personal customs and ritual was strictly frowned upon.

His watch beeped and broke him out of his reflections.

Sighing, he plugged his guitar into the amplifier and donned his headphones.

The amp was cranked to what most would consider and unsavory volume, but such levels were required in order to properly hear the harmonics embedded in the crude matrix of this method of musical composition.

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Back home, there was no need for an instrument outside of the voice. Telepathy was the primary method of communications, and the vocal chords were used for nothing outside of song. The vocal chords of the humanoid form he now had could not even come close to mimicking the varied tonalities of his previous body, which undoubtedly lie motionless in stasis waiting for his soul to return home to the Temples.

He picked up the 1974 Fender Telecaster gingerly, and set his effects processor to the special setting he had programmed in that most closely resembled his natural voice.

He strummed one powerful chord, and the resultant barrage of noise flooded into his ears.

To the inhabitants of this planet he currently occupied, it would have been a commercial failure, widely written off as “unmistakable” and “horrendous”. Indeed, there were no life forms he knew of in the Universe who could tolerate much of the music of his people. Rough and discordant, challenging and militant, it was widely regarded as a sign of aggression to even intone the most simple melody around mixed company.

But to him, it was the Music of the Spheres, and he blessed his humanoid form for not neglecting in it’s design the ability to aurally pick up on such a broad array of frequencies and tones - for there, underneath and dancing above the harsh cacophony, lay some of the most beautiful harmonies imagined throughout the Universe.

It was just a shame so few could hear them.

He played his personal anthem one last time, with every ounce of love for his home world, with every ounce of pain he had ever felt watching the people of his current world and knowing he was forbidden to help them.

He cried as the chords told stories of love and loss, victory and defeat - even the color of the skies and flowers he had grown to love so much on this planet.

Notes rose and fell, swept and soared, advanced and retreated, and he was so enraptured at the stories he told himself, that he didn’t even notice the loud banging of the disturbed next door neighbor on the wall beside him, nor the shouts to turn down that “dang blasted noise.”

The song subsided eventually, and he turned off the equipment, removed the headphones and packed the guitar away in it’s travel case.

He checked his watch again and sat in silent meditation for some time, the echoes of his song ringing in his partially deafened eardrums.

Almost time.

He walked over to his neatly packed collection of memories and souvenirs, and pulled out a small battered brown leather journal with his personal identification symbol embossed on it cover. He had made it five years prior while taking some classes at the local community college, and he had been ecstatic to see that even in the age of information and technology, there were still classes teaching the art of book binding.

He had, of course, fibbed about what the symbol meant to the other students, but the eyes of his teacher conveyed that he, too, was on this planet from abroad. It was a humbling moment, and the small journal he had crafted with his own hands was as precious to him as the cool aqua blue color of his watch display.

He held the book in his hand a moment and felt the weight of it before opening the front cover with a slight air of solemn ritual.

Within the creamy inlaid pages, lay the script and geometric symbols of his people. Thick, heavy, and meticulous - without a single error. He had taken his time, much like a monk translating an ancient text, and written all he remembered of his home world in as much detail as possible.

He stared at the page.

As opposed to reading left to right, as he had trained himself to do for his cultural studies, he simply stared at the center of each page until the script and symbols began forming elaborate moving pictures, and his inner voice began recounting the tale.

“Welcome to the Remembering….”

He sat there for sometime in trance and meditation, and when he finally blinked, he shut the book with the same care and consideration with which he had opened it. Home was clearer in his mind than when he had left.

His watch began to beep, the cool aqua blue light flashing on and off, and he grabbed his meticulously packed rucksack and guitar and stepped outside in the cool night.

The small town he had inhabited for the last few classes was silent, except for the occasional passing of other species en route for their own studies and self enrichment, the occasional human on his way to the 24/7 corner store, and the local cars of law enforcement - but he didn’t notice any of these - his eyes were trained on the stars.

Right on schedule, the Perseid Meteor showers began. While the rest of humanity was witnessing what they thought were mere meteoroids passing through the atmosphere and burning up, he and others like him were waiting outsides for their parents to pick them up from school.

His parents would be happy he had completed his pre-requisites for the Academy. His 33 year assignment was a mere trifle of what classes were to come, but at least now he had a solid foundation in Mankind.

He looked at his watch one last time, the cool aqua blue digits glowing serenely in the cool night air.

Quite a wonderful read GE. Yours is going to be hard to beat.


I wish you luck fellow writer.

GE.....what a wonderful entry.

Coke Slurpees....not just for humans anymore!

Wow, thanks guys!

I've been in a bit fo a dry spell the last couple of years, and was worried I might be a bit rusty at giving the ol' storytelling a go.

Thanks for the kind words!

And yes - frozen coke slurpees most definitely rock, sdp333. If they aren't on the Mothership, I'm not going anywhere!

Can't wait to read your contribution Void!

Excellent story my favorite so far! It could easily be made into a full length book! Thank you for your enlightening, passionate and honest tale. Or should I say tail? Bravo!

[edit on 16-8-2007 by antar]

Thanks Antar!

(*I can't find the "blushing several shades of red right now" emoticon)

reply to post by GENERAL EYES


General Eyes you are a gifted writer. I think you have the seeds of an epic story like DUNE.

Great story. I hope you write a book someday. I would buy it.