Somebody Else's Space Program
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Chapter Four "Well, that part was never big with me either."
The envelope was heavy paper, almost cardstock. The address was in an elegant, flowing hand, but there was somthing about it -- it looked "drawn" more than "written", as if someone were copying shapes instead of writing letters.
The hand inside was the same, the message short.
"Unto you, my friend, greetings,
I ask that you join me at Kientigres Raceway on Saturday morning. I understand that you have chores -- come as soon as you may.
Eagerly awaiting you,
Jheraind"
The phrasing was odd, but Jheraind was a foreigner. Ross put the letter back in its envelope and tucked the envelope inside one of his mechanical drawing books.
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At the Kientigres race track. "Jheraind asked me to meet him here?"
The gate guard picked up his clipboard. "Name? And who did you say you were here to see?"
"Ross Colburn. And I'm not sure what his full name. Jheraind something." Ross almost added, "He's hruss," but stopped.
This time Ross must have said it right -- the guard looked startled and turned to a page at the bottom of the stack. He scanned it quickly. His eyebrow rose. "Yes. We're not only to admit you, but have someone escort you to his garage immediately." A moment's hesitation, then, "If there's any trouble, come back here immediately."
Ross's brow wrinkled. "What kind of trouble?"
The guard hesitated again, then shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Just remember." The guard raised his voice. "Sam, take Ross here down to Jerry's garage."
Sam was a man in his thirties dressed in a mechanic's stained coveralls. "Yes, sir."
Ross walked alongside the mechanic through a maze of machine shops and tow trailers. "What's... the problem with Jheraind?"
The mechanic stopped. He turned and looked Ross up and down. "You don't know. Man, if he lays a hand on you... tell someone, and he'll get bounced out of here so fast that..."
Ross's fists clenched -- he was fighting the urge to grab Sam's shoulders and shake the information out of him. "_What_ are you _talking_ about?" Then he remembered what Drum had told him about some of the hruss. And he flushed.
"_Oho!_ Remember now, do you? I'm not saying he will bother you, but... be careful. And don't let him talk you into anything. Or going alone with him anywhere."
Ross wanted to shout at Sam "He's not like that!" but held his tongue. He had met the man once.
---
The garage was immaculate. Ross wondered if any work got done on site at all until he saw the coveralls -- they were not filthy, but well-stained. Then someone dropped a tool. Immediately, an otherwise not terribly conspicuous guard swooped down, picked up the tool, and cleaned the spill.
Jheraind's voice from the other side of the garage. "Grigor, get Ross a coverall. Ross, I have some figures I want you to look at -- some new fuel mixtures."
Ross nodded, and Grigor tossed him a new -- pressed! -- coverall. The weather was still cool -- the boy slipped it on over his street clothes. Jheraind was talking to one of the mechanics, motioned Ross over. "This man," Jheraind pointed with his chin, "takes care of acquiring fuel for my cars. You're going to work with him. He has a years on you of dealing with petrochemicals and other mixtures. Medlen, Ross builds and fuels model rockets. He's been reading all the reports of other hobbyists in the field, and might just know some combination a pro would never be so foolish as to try. That might work anyway. Show him your records."
Medlen nodded curtly, "Right away. Ross, with me."
---
An hour and a half later, there was a series of bells ringing. Medlen finished his sentence, and closed the notebook he had been consulting. "That's lunch."
Ross protested, "I'd rather stay here and go over some more figures..."
"No. We are expected at lunch. A team that is hungry and exhausted makes mistakes. We don't do that here."
Ross looked mournfully at the shelf of notebooks he had barely started to sift through. Then he sighed, almost theatrically, "I don't imagine I could finish them off in half an hour, anyway."
Medlen grinned. "Not half an hour. Not an hour. Not this week or the next. But if Jerry doesn't have any other use for you, _I_ want you for _my_ assistant. Do you think your folks would let you come out here days after school?"
Ross was fairly sure his aunt wouldn't approve, but his uncle might be worked around. "Let me talk to them," he said. Then he thought of a factor that might change reluctant minds. "Do I get paid?"
"Certainly. Depending on your hours and how useful you make yourself."
His aunt had been complaining -- thinking Ross was out of earshot -- about how hard it was to feed and clothe him, now that he was nearly grown. A pay envelope was a definite plus in the chances of getting out here every day.
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Lunch was not sandwiches, or even other finger food. The serving stations looked a lot like the local church dinners -- you took your plate, served yourself, and went back for seconds after everyone had had a crack at first servings. some of the food was what Ross might have seen on his aunt's dinner table. Other dishes held food in strange shapes, with unusual aromas -- intriguing, but foreign.
Ross was hungry enough, and curious enough, to fill most of his plate with "normal" food,and then add some more exotic selections. By the time he was ready to find an eating space, the only empty chairs were at the table with Jheraind, who was talking animatedly with the senior mechanic and neglecting half a plate of food in front of him.
Ross took a seat near him and listened as he ate. A major race in three days... Jheraind was the driver? The shape in the main bay was still draped with protective cloth, allowing easy access only to the engine compartment. A different car from the one on the beach, lower, a bit longer and narrower.
"Hey, kid -- "
"Ross."
"--Ross, could you scoot over a bit so my bud here can sit next to me?"
"Sure." Ross moved his chair... found himself sitting only a couple of spans away from Jheraind, who was finished with the mechanic and was working on his meal again. Ross nodded, shortly, politely, "Jheraind."
Jheraind studied the young man for a moment. "How old are you, Ross?"
"Sixteen."
A slow nod. "If you were one of my people, you would be considered a man, and not have to ask leave of your parents. But your people still hold you as a child." A strange, wistful smile. "And that is a pity." Jheraind pushed his plate away from him, unfinished. He stood. "Ross, with me, please."
Ross was startled -- his plate was barely started. But he pushed away from the table and stood up -- there was certainly no reason to start off being a spoiled child.
Medlen was waiting in the office for them. "Report?"
Medlen looked over at Ross and smiled. "Do what you have to do to keep him. He has some rough edges,and a massive set of holes in his information, but he's a fast learner." Jheraind said something in his own language, possibly a question from the inflection. Medlen answered, "I don't think so. But possibly he doesn't know yet."
"Very well. Ross, are you done with school? You'll get more technical training -- are you done with reporting in every morning to a droning lecture and screaming children?"
Was that even _possible_? "I don't see how I can get out of it. I'd love to, though."
Jheraind turned to Medlen, "You have your instructions. Go." Medlen nodded curtly, raising his hand in a faint imitation of a salute Ross had seen one of the guards use, and left the room. The door closed behind him, leaving Ross and Jheraind alone.
Jheraind settled down onto the edge of his desk. "Sixteen. Such a pity."
"Excuse me?"
Jheraind shook his head, smiling gently. "You honestly have no idea."
Ross remembered suddenly what Drum had tried to tell him... he flushed. Then, to his horror, he heard himself, say, "What are you intending to do to me?" But not in indignation -- the tone was almost plaintive.
"Nothing at all, my young friend. In spite of the signals you keep sending me." Light laughter, "The women do not point with the hand. That is for a man to do. But a man who gestures as a woman would..."
Ross turned even redder. "I didn't mean anything by that. I was just trying to be polite."
"Be not uneasy. You are a child by your laws, and were I to touch you, even were you eager... it would be well if I fled this land." A smile, "And I do not choose to do that, especially not with a race close upon us."
Ross caught his breath. He started to protest that he didn't understand how a man could not want women, that wasn't the proper order of things... dark eyes. Smooth, dark hair. And a low voice that didn't grate on his nerves like the voices of the girls his own age -- or his aunt's, when she went on a rampage. Women's voices stayed shrill, at least when they were angry at their menfolk.
"Golden hair," Ross heard. "I'm still surprised every time I see it." And a hand under his chin, shifting his face just a little. "And blue eyes. That is not so rare among us as the golden hair, but... The combination is striking." Jheraind sighed. "Two years. By then, you will know what you want." His voice dropped -- Ross could barely hear him. "I would take great joy in teaching you."
Ross felt his hands trembling. The spicy scent that had been mild in the open air was very strong in the confined area, and the hand under his chin was warm and gentle. Nervously, he laughed. "Let's just... not discuss that. Tell me what's happening with my schooling."
"Ah. My lawyer has drawn up papers of apprenticeship for you. In return for your services, and a small fee paid to your guardians, I will undertake your education myself, to a reputable trade." A faint twinkle in Jheraind's eye -- were there disreputable trades he had considered? Never mind. "When you become eighteen, you may choose to continue until you are twenty one. Or you may sever our relationship." That word was strangely dry in Ross's ears. Did it mean something different in Jheraind's language that had nothing to do with what Jheraind wanted to "teach" him?
"If I don't like the way I'm treated, I'll leave," Ross warned. "and go to the authorities, if I need to."
"Agreed. Although complaints of being told to do your homework will get you little sympathy with those authorities." Jheraind stood. "Go. Finish your meal. Ask Tarpeian to step in here."
Ross nodded, tried the salute that Medlen had used. Jheraind shook his head and smiled. "Don't do that."
"Ah... another 'girl' signal?"
"Not... precisely. There is something among us called a 'life vow', a vow of service. I do not have time to explain it to you now -- just... don't use that salute."
"Understood."
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