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Chapter Six

Tap, taptatap, tappa, tatatap...

Alone at a data-recorder terminal, a young woman intently sits typing out her journal of the day’s events.

Day 167 of the Standard Chandrillan Year 8790
Morning Meal: Nerf Nausage and Aviata Eggs (Thank you Xaxan)
Afternoon Meal: Chandrillan Fruit Plate (Cafeterium)
Evening Meal: Fried Esgonna Leaves & Erryl Figs (Elomin Breeze Restaurant)

Lecture Schedule: Trade in an Insterstellar Universe
Hyperspace Astro-Navigation Systems
Philosophy of Galactic Governments
Laboratory: Xenobiology II
Financial Accounting: Pan-Galactic Exchange Rates

Notes: We had a disturbance today during my Philosophy lecture. Two suspected criminals attempted to hide among the students of the Universite today. I got my first real glimpse at Commander Orian since his new assignment. He hasn’t changed much since he last visited us on Commenor (maybe grayer and a little thicker). His team quickly dispatched the miscreants, but not before Her Highness was forced to cancel the rest of today’s lecture.

I took evening meal with a few friends from the Xenobiology department and we had a wonderful time. There was a wonderful trio of minstrels at the restaurant and they played a Commenorian Folk Song for me. It made me think of Father, and how he would sing during evening meal.

The young woman stops her typing at the console, reads through what she has written and exclaims, “There, that should be enough for Xaxan for today.”

She sends the journal entry through the comm-station and stands up from her desk. Crossing the room to her pallet, her lithe form reaches into the bed table and withdraws a small datapad. Gracefully lowering herself onto the pallet, she switches the datapad on and brushes a stray wisp of flaxen hair from her face. She scoots across the pallet until she is centered, enabling her to rest upon the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. Straightening her pale yellow sleeping gown across her legs, she reaches behind her, taking one of the firmer pillows and placing it on her lap to provide her with an impromptu desk for her personal datapad.

“Now, for the things that I cannot tell, Dear Brother Xaxan...” A mischievous smile crosses her delicate face, causing a very subtle blush to hit her otherwise creamy complexion. Bringing a finger to her chin as she slightly bites down on her lower lip, and struggles for the proper opening for tonight’s personal journal entry.

Day 167 of the Standard Chandrillan Year 8790.

The day seemed to be like any other this week. That was until the Interstellar Navy Commander came into the Grand Lecture Hall, the galaxy came crashing down around me once again. There were some suspected criminals hiding in the Universite today. It seems that smuggling is becoming a terribly brazen practice in these times. I had so hoped to be able to hide from its ugliness for a while longer.

Dear Brother Xaxan has always tried to keep Yorel and myself from the horrible realities of his business, but it is becoming a greater reality for us everyday. Yorel is away preparing for his military career and hopes to be selected to join the Chandrillan Interstellar Navy (under Dear Uncle Silvas – though he would never use him as a reference, or even tell him he was applying to be assigned under his command). And I am studying under the hopes that I might be of some assistance to Xaxan and his business interests. Though Dear Brother Xaxan tells me that I should chose my own path and steer clear of the world of commerce. He worries about me so much that I dare not tell him all that happens to me here at the Universite of Knowledge.

Dear Uncle Silvas was quite dashing when he arrived on the scene this morning. It almost reminded me of his visits when we were children in Mother and Father’s family estate. I have so few memories of Father, that I always adored Dear Uncle Silvas’ visits, for the stories he would tell of Mother and how Father has stolen her away from him and what kind of man Father was to him. Dear Uncle Silvas could always tell such wonderful stories, but I have wondered how much of them were true and how much was embellishment.

Her Excellency recognized me in lecture today, and I became quite embarrassed by her praise of my questions. She always seems to recognize me during lecture now. I have begun to receive ill comments from some of the other students because of it. I do hope that she will not call on me at next lecture period. There are many other students with insightful questions and intriguing ideas on the nature of government in these ever-changing times. However, it does give me a wonderful feeling of elation when she remarks favorably to my questions and insights.

I took evening meal with a few of the Xenobiology students tonight, but I think they were attempting to match-make tonight. Though very attractive and intelligent, he would never hold up to the scrutiny of Xaxan and Yorel, so I let him off early.

We ate at an Elomin restaurant, since most of them are vegetarians. They had the most wonderful minstrel trio playing there tonight. I asked them if they knew any Commenorian Folk Songs and they did. I almost cried when they began to play “Gray Sky Tears.” It was the one song that I can remember Father singing to us during evening meal. I can remember him saying that “good music was good for the digestion,” and Mother would always counter with, “then what is that good for, indigestion.” It was their little ritual, and one of the few memories I have of them together.

It is strange that I should remember anything about Father, since I was not even two standard years old when he passed from the Tralusan Wasting Fever epidemic that spread through the Core Worlds. We were safely visiting with Mother and her friends on Chandrila when the epidemic hit Commenor, and Father. Mother always said that my mind and my memories were my special gifts from Father, whom she always claimed was the most intelligent man she had ever known. I find it hard to believe that anyone could be more intelligent than Xaxan, but he is after all the eldest son of the same man. Perhaps the erryl fig really does not fall far from the tree.

The delicately framed young woman begins to list her head to the side, as she is about to fall asleep right in the middle of her task. With a jerk, she sits straight up and closes down her datapad. Returning it to the bed table as she tries to fight a deepening yawn and begins to stretch from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, somewhat resembling a felinoid house pet. Shutting off the glow-lamp on the bed table, she releases her flowing, golden hair from its tie and snuggles down into the fluffy quilt, burying her head deeply into the mountain of pillows. Letting out a very contented sigh, Xana Tryashoenu drifts off into a pleasant slumber.

Creator: PtrsonsZOO (Jennifer)

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