C13 The worst glee club

The door whooshed open and the secretary walked out into the waiting room, only to find Gerald shouting in a high-pitched voice, his face pressed up against the window.

“I don’t have the confidence to approach the alpha female, so instead I am here to initiate courtship with you, Tulda, because I don’t think I deserve anything better!”

“Mr. Dyson, what are you doing?” the secretary asked indignantly.

Gerald froze and slowly turned his head, his upturned nose slid slowly along the window. “Um... yes. I... ah. Ahem. Sorry about that.”

His face was beet red. Attempting to conserve some of his dignity and failing, Gerald straightened his robes and came into the office. The guest chair reformed itself into the shape of a bicycle seat and he reluctantly sat down on it.

“Mr. Dyson,” Director Nathers began, pulling the plug out from the back of his neck. “You’ve made quite an impression for your first day. You have thirty-three classmates whom you interacted with for three minutes. I now have thrity-one letters demanding your expulsion.”

Gerald was unfazed. “It’s a fairly typical first impression for me, actually.”

“You should not joke about this.”

“I wish I was.”

Nathers tapped a button on the wall and a case slid open, revealing a collection of exotic liquors of all types and colors. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“You realize I’m underage?”

“More for me, then.”

Slowly he began mixing a series of swirling liquids into a glass. “You know, there are many who believe it was a mistake to accept your world into the Alliance at all. Normally civilizations are not approached until they reach a... certain level of achievement and unity. Until then, they are kept in the dark.”

He tapped in a drop of the final ingredient and the liquid all boiled away, leaving only a hanging mist in the glass.

“A Tindorian ship crashed onto the seventeen-yard line during the Super Bowl,” Gerald recalled. “It was televised to the whole world. The cat was out of the bag at that point.”

Nather’s translator displayed a small window in the air, showing pictures of cats.

“Interesting, he said, taking a sip. “Do humans keep cats in bags?

“Not normally, no.”

He sipped thoughtfully at the mist in his cup. “Anyway, the events since then have only confirmed the theory that humans don’t belong in the Alliance. Technologically, culturally, economically, artistically, you are at least a thousand cycles behind everybody else.”

“Boy, you don’t sugarcoat it, do you?”

He set down his glass. “Please don’t take offense.”

“How could I not take offense? It’s an offensive statement.”

“But it is true.”

“Yes, it is.”

Nathers sat down on the edge of his desk. “Which is why we brought you here. We believe that unless we proactively bring higher opportunities to the underprivileged humans in the Alliance, your people will never be able to get out of the rut you are in.”

The tension in Gerald’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “So... I’m a charity project?”

“I’m glad you understand. Even so, we have a reputation to maintain and if you underperform, it makes everybody look bad. You see what I mean?”

“Indubitably.”

“That is why I want you to work your very hardest. Show everybody that you humans can compete. Show them they are wrong about your people. Show them that all you need is the opportunity to succeed.”

Gerald leaned forward. “So, you’re going to provide me with the crystronics I need to compete?”

“No,” he laughed, picking up the glass again. “No... by taulorean’s gate, no. But I am going to give you all the moral support you need... from behind the scenes.”

“How very generous of you.”

“Thank you,” he said, finishing off the beverage and pumping his fist in the air. “I’ll be cheering you on. Now, go out there and win!”

Gerald stood up and faked enthusiasm, throwing both arms in the air. “With you as my glee club, how can I fail?”

Nathers slapped him on the back as the secretary showed him out. The smile faded from Nathers’ face and he grumbled under his breath, “Stupid cow-eater.”

“You think you’re being subtle,” Gerald whispered to himself. “I know exactly what you are doing. You want me to quit on my own.”

There was a crackle above Nathers, and then the windows of his desk filled with static. The seat Gerald had been sitting on fell over and melted into the floor.

“What is this?” he asked, tapping the controls.

* * *

Gerald spent the rest of the afternoon presenting himself to the Soeck temple, then making rounds to the soup kitchens in town amid a cloudburst that somehow managed to overpower the local weather grids. Soaked clear through, he continued until his mending legs hurt too much for him to go on. By the time he finally reached the room in the dorms that had been assigned to him, he was so sore he could barely stand. He slid his I.D. card through the reader, which let off a tiny spark and then went dead.

With a sigh, he laid down on the carpet in the hallway outside his room and drifted off to sleep.