Zach Hughes: The Legend of Miaree

"And fight bumper to bumper traffic as the home-bound government employees are released," she said. "The Western Circle, then Lonwee Avenue."

"It’s your credit, Lady."

Her own dwelling was on the outskirts to the north, in the residential complex around Research Quad. Just off the Western Circle, the new route finished only years in the past, was the home of her Chosen Mother, where she had learned and where she had grown. There were the schools, the parks, the playgrounds.

Near the port, the industrial complexes towered cleanly over the even elevation of the Nirrar Plateau, a site chosen for the capital city of the Northern Continent, a site picked after two centuries of unplanned city development proved to be disastrous for the newly settled planet. Nirrar was new, and yet it was old. In the Nirrar Hall of Wonders she had stood, with youthful awe, before the ancient and battered driver which, two thousand years ago, had first orbited New World. The Hall, itself, was of neo-silk construction and bore a date, over its ornate entrance panel, which established it as one of the first constructions of New Nirrar, following the first two centuries of planetary exploitation which had almost devoided New World of its native flora and fauna.

She loved the city, had roamed its avenues and byways, knew the secrets of its hidden, small dining halls, its tiny, out of the way shops where the exotic products of the five-planet system were on display. She had taken University at The School of the Artonuee, New World, in Nirrar Gardens, to the south of the main complex. Between her fourteenth and fifteenth years, she had served her mandatory aideship in the Hall of Government, starting as a mere clerk and, in one short year, had established a rank which had, to a young girl just out of University, seemed exalted. As assistant to the Charge Advisor in the government of Mother Aglee, she had appeared before the Planetary Legislature to testify on the negative results of the work of government scientists. She had been complimented by Mother Aglee herself on the clarity of her report on the ill-fated expedition to the sunside of First Planet. At the end of her year, she was offered permanent tenure and stood in line to be Charge Advisor when Lady Jonea, who was aging, should hear the call home. Her rank, when she reluctantly refused the permanent appointment, opting to pursue her chosen career in research, was awarded on a nonpension basis, but that rank, she knew, would assure her an audience with the Mother.

"Lady," the roller driver said, as he cruised Lonwee Avenue in ideal conditions, "I bow to you."

She accepted the compliment. He had the accent of the cold outworld,

Five. "Just in?" she asked.

"A year, just shy," he said. "It would have taken a half-hour longer my way."

Since no vehicles were allowed in the Government Quad, she stepped out of the roller at the Southern Gate, had her credit stamped, joined a throng of sightseers on the public conveyors as they moved into the building complex past the impressive neo-silk and metal monuments to past Artonuee heroines. She soon branched into lesser-used paths, entering, at last, an executive conveyor, after showing her pass of permanent rank, and was whisked into the heart of the Quad. The Palace of the Mother towered over all in shining beauty, tall, many-viewered, guarded more out of ancient ceremony than of necessity, by the brightly uniformed Home Squad, tall, young men of seemingly equal attractiveness.

"I am Miaree, Rank Three, former assistant to Charge Advisor Jonea. I would see the Mother." She stood at respectful attention before the appointment clerk, which in itself was not a small feat, having required an hour of rank-pulling and demands.

"Your purpose?" asked the clerk.

"A matter of security," said Miaree. "Pass my name. Tell the Mother that I, Miaree, assure her of the urgency of my business. This I pledge."

The clerk looked at papers. "Could it have to do with a charge of intoxication while flying?"

Miaree’s eyes changed from blue to an imperial purple, flashing anger. "Don’t talk like a male fool."

To the female clerk, it was the ultimate insult. Her honey-colored neck fur undulated as she swallowed her furious reply, for the rude female was Rank Three, permanent.

"I will not accept the responsibility." the clerk said, her thoughts colored with fire.

"Will you pass the responsibility, then?" Her tone told the clerk she had best do it.

"Wait, Lady." The title was delivered in a surge of sarcasm. The clerk disappeared into her inner office. Miaree put her carry baggage on the floor and waited impatiently. "Lady Jonea will see you," the clerk said, after an interminable period of time.

"I know the way," Miaree said, picking up her carry luggage and walking, back straight, rear tucked arrogantly, past the clerk’s desk into the great hall.

Lady Jonea rose, extended both arms, embraced her. "Ah, the charginess of you," she said.

"I came in great haste, Lady," Miaree said. "Forgive my spacecloth."

"The smell of you takes me back to my youth," Jonea said. She was gray. The look of her shocked Miaree. She had a flash of old Beafly. Now he was carrion on The World. "You come directly from flying?"

"Yes, Lady. I—"

"Good soar? Tell me." Jonea had embraced her, released her, regained her seat behind the huge desk with a sigh of weariness. "I have not flown." She let her eyes lid, dreaming of it.

"Lady, I must see the Mother on a matter of utmost urgency."

"She will see you, of course."

"It grieves me to rush," Miaree said.

"I understand." The instrument on her desk was a direct link. It accomplished the results within seconds.

"Come with me," Miaree requested, "for the information I have is directly related to your work. Our work." And there were three of them in the surprisingly small office when Miaree began her report by playing back the in-flight recordings of her warning message to the driver pounding into the belt.

Lady Jonea was stiffly upright in her chair. Mother Aglee, younger than Jonea, but showing tired lines around her mobile lips, rested her chin in her hand.

Miaree waited comment. There was none. Jonea looked at her, face drawn in thought. "Ladies," Miaree said, "it was not an Artonuee driver."

"No," Mother Aglee said simply.

"I beg your pardon?" Miaree asked, surprised by the lack of reaction.

"A tragedy," Mother Aglee said, shaking her handsome head. "A tragedy."

"Mother, please, do you understand?" Miaree was leaning forward in her intensity. "It was not an Artonuee driver. It used as power a source which gave the same radiations as the sun, though not so intense, of course."

Mother Aglee rose, ran a delicate hand down the front of her robe of state. She opened a drawer, withdrew a carefully protected packet, motioned toward Miaree. Miaree rose, accepted the packet, looked at Mother Aglee questioningly. "Open it," Mother Aglee said.

The pictures were on duppaper, slick, indistinct in image. "We received these three years ago," Lady Jonea said. "There are many more. These were the first and came from a great distance."

The pictures were simple drawings, reproduced in dots on the duppaper. There were scars and slashes of static, but the images were discernible. A planet circled a sun, a rim sun, position indicated by a superimposed drawing of the galactic wheel. Picture two was three figures. Biped. Different, yet near the Artonuee form. A larger figure, naked, male genitalia evident. A medium-sized figure, the male identification absent. A small figure with smaller male genitalia.

Stunned, Miaree looked up. Mother Aglee smiled encouragingly. "Life," she said. "Intelligent life."

Miaree turned the next image. Stylized stars in collision, an arrow locating the planet. So near. Strange figures along the arrow.