Touchstone 1 - Stray

Notra. I guess I’ll keep glancing at the files, but I’ve lost my initial enthusiasm.
    On other fronts, more getting drunk in the morning to no visible benefit. They rather over-exposed me, and I passed out mid-session. There is a complete lack of fun in getting drunk while a bunch of serious people watch you and take notes.
    I did better swimming today: I’m starting to feel that exercise isn’t a thing of horror. I sent an email to Zan telling her that if she’s ever bored, or not exhausted, and wants more swimming practice to come join me and she replied with “I’ll do that.” But since she’s on a different shift, I guess the chances are pretty low.
    Sunday, March 9
    Not Clint Eastwood
    This morning Tsur Selkie came to watch me be drunk. After observing through a viewing window, unenhanced and then enhanced, he had some poor junior greysuit stand next to me while they gassed us both. The greysuit was this short, very pretty guy who sweated and gritted his teeth even before the aether was piped in, and then shot me these outraged looks when I just lay there being bored while it was obviously hurting him plenty. He passed out fairly quickly.
    Then Tsur Selkie had them pipe just a puff of aether over his own hand and my hand, watching with those flinty black eyes. He continues to remind me of Clint Eastwood, even though he doesn’t look at all like him.
    “Is same reaction, but reversed,” I said helpfully, while Tsur Selkie was watching our hands. “Both lose fine motor control, reaction time slow, plus judgment, plus pass out. Is just way feel different. And healing or dying, guess. Are there any famous actor this world that people say you look like?”
    That made him look up. I suppose it’ll go in the mission log file. I can only be glad, since they’d decided to try out Sight Sight, that they hadn’t used Ruuel for it. Who knows what I might have said to him?
    “The difference is not in your reaction,” Selkie said, after a moment. “But in the behaviour of the aether. It is attacking me.”
    That made me stare. “Is alive? Or more nanotech?”
    “Possibly. The Nurans claim that we made Muina itself our enemy. The next question is why it recognises you as a friend.”
    “Everyone like Australians,” I said, with a short laugh, but then sobered a little. “People from Earth, not good for own planet. Don’t see why another would like.”
    He just turned away, signalling for them to open the doors.
    “Wait.” I reached out and grabbed his wrist, trying not to look too embarrassed about it. “Try test again.”
    Clint Eastwood’s not the sort of guy you go about grabbing. And Tsur Selkie definitely isn’t. But after a moment’s thought he told them to try again, and stood there without changing expression as the jet of aether gusted out to cover his hand. Then he said: “Increase the amount.”
    I wasn’t in the channel where most of the discussion was happening, so lay there working on the retention of minor shreds of dignity while watching Tsur Selkie get squiffy. He handled it well, but you could see the change, the gradual unfocusing of his eyes, the line of concentration appearing between the brows. Prime target for a random breath test.
    By then I was finding most everything amusing, so I piped up with: “Drunk on duty. Ten demerit points.” And laughed at the way he frowned at me, but sneakily went on: “Going pass out soon. Can stop?”
    First he had to test what happens when he was no longer in contact with me: an instant return of all the negative effects. I didn’t even trust myself to stand up, and let myself go to sleep again. Waste of half the day and now I’m too wired to sleep.
    Monday, March 10
    Sacrifice
    The parents of Setari candidates give up their children to the government. There’s lots of movies here about that. About families who are like soccer moms, who want the prestige of their kid being taken into the Setari program, no matter what. About others who try and hide that their kids have strong psychic abilities, who do everything they can to discourage them from excelling. I watched a sad story a few days ago, about the sister of a girl who was taken into the Setari program, who had to fight to have anyone acknowledge her as anything more than that girl’s sister. She killed herself in the end.
    I spent today thinking about Sixth Squad, about the guy called Ammas who died, and how his parents must have felt when they were told. Were they angry?