James
Rumpel
The human passengers of the "Mayflower" were grateful to
the native Quarians when they landed on the planet
Quarian -- until they discovered what they had to do to
survive.
James Rumpel is a recently retired high school math
teacher who has always enjoyed reading and writing. He
has taken advantage of his increased free-time to put
some of the many stories rattling around his brain into
words. We are the better for his efforts.
The
Games Aliens Play
by James Rumpel
Of all
the humans who worked at the factory, Jaron was the
fastest power orb assembler. He could piece together the
multitude of tiny components in under five minutes. He
was so fast, in fact, that he was the only human
assigned to work on the same assembly line as Quarian
workers. His native workmates, however, were not
impressed with his level of efficiency.
Having
learned their language and mastered the art of
interpreting their facial expressions, Jaron understood
that their constant ribbing was of the good-natured
variety. They did not mind that he performed his job at
a noticeably slower pace. After all, they were being
paid on piecework scale. Too much efficiency could cause
the company to lower the rate.
“You
are so slow, Jaron. I could assemble an orb faster than
you with one arm tied behind my back,” taunted Orien
from his seat on the opposite side of the assembly belt.
“Well,
of course, you could,” laughed Jaron. “Even with one
tied behind your back, you still have more arms than I
do.”
“Good
point. But one of my most recent batch of children could
do it quicker than you, and they can’t even walk.”
Orien’s loose-fitting grey skin tightened around his
mouth as he flashed the Quarian equivalent of a smile.
“When
you have a batch of ten kids every year, they have to be
quick. I can’t imagine what your dinner table is like.”
Orien
guffawed, “I know one thing. You are so slow that if you
ever came to my home for a meal, you would be lucky to
get the last tiny bit of Lister bone.” After a short
pause, during which Orien tossed a completed orb into
the appropriate bin, he added. “You know, I like you,
Jaron. Humans aren’t that bad.”
“Well,” replied Jaron, getting serious for a moment. “We
are so grateful to your people. When the “Mayflower”
landed on this planet, we didn’t expect the altruistic
welcome that we received. The way you accepted us into
your world saved us and, perhaps, our entire race.”
“We
are happy to have you. We have an abundance, thanks to
the protection and gifts of Unyar. As long as your
people continue to follow the three prime conditions,
you will thrive here.”
Jaron
nodded, his focus shifting to an intricate connection he
needed to complete in order to properly finish an orb.
During the momentary silence, he recalled the day,
nearly nine months earlier, when the ship of colonists
from a doomed Earth landed on this planet, the only
haven they could safely reach. The Quarians had welcomed
the six hundred humans with open arms; a gesture that is
even more impressive when you note that the Quarians
have four.
As
Jaron finished the device he was constructing and placed
it in the bin, Orien also added a completed orb to the
collection. Orien shook his head, laughing. “You are so
slow.”
###
That
evening, Jaron had a satisfying meal with the rest of
the colonists. The humans all resided in a comfortable
compound in a suburb of a large city. Jaron was
continually amazed that there was never a shortage of
food on this heavily populated planet. The typical
Quarian family had upwards of fifty children; an
extended family could number in the thousands. After the
meal and some quality time with his wife and son, Jaron
reported to a nearby field for Borton practice.
The
negotiations with the Quarian leadership had been very
succinct and uncomplicated. The leader had simply stated
that humans could stay and be integrated into the
population as long as they followed three simple
requirements. First, they had to be productive members
of society. Second, they had to never disparage the
Quarian god, Unyar. Finally, they had to enter a team in
the annual Borton tournament. The humans had readily
agreed; they had no other options for survival.
As
Jaron prepared to begin a scrimmage against a team of
Quarians, he surveyed the playing field. The large field
was decorated with sixteen colored circles,
approximately one meter in diameter. The circles served
as the game’s goals. There were four white circles. The
other twelve were divided evenly between red and green.
Jaron and his eight comrades each held a green disk,
called a toroc. The light-weight saucer was very similar
to Earth’s frisbee. The opposition possessed red torocs.
A horn
sounded to begin the practice game. Each competitor
raced to place their toroc in an appropriately colored
circle. Only one toroc was allowed in each goal. The
white circles could receive either color of toroc. Jaron
sprinted to the nearest green goal and flipped his toroc
within. Having deposited his playing piece, he was now
allowed to play defense by preventing opposition team
members from placing their disks. Moving quickly, he
intercepted the path of a Quarian who was racing to set
his toroc inside one of the white circles.
The
rules allowed for tackling, but Jaron found the endeavor
quite difficult when facing a Quarian opponent. They
were not much larger or stronger than humans, but they
were very adept at using their extra appendages to stave
off opponents. This particular alien was tall for his
race; his elliptical head stretched nearly a foot above
Jaron’s.
Hoping
to take advantage of the Quarian’s height, Jaron dove at
his adversary’s legs, latching on tightly. Unable to
escape the grasp, Jaron’s captive flung the disk towards
the goal and cackled joyously as it skidded to a halt
clearly inside the ivory-hued circle.
The
Quarian team eventually earned victory by having all
nine torocs concurrently placed in appropriately colored
goals.
After
the game, the player who Jaron had attempted to impede
sought him out in order to offer support. “Your team is
definitely improving. You might want to spend more time
practicing the art of using your toroc to knock others
out of the goal. By the way, I liked your strategy of
going for my legs. I got very lucky on that throw.”
“Thanks for the advice. We only have about two weeks
before the tournament. I hope we can improve enough to
be competitive.”
“You
should. Remember, you don’t have to win all your games.
It’s really only important that you finish in the top
half. The prizes are awarded to the highest placing
thirty-two teams.”
Jaron
smiled, “We really aren’t that concerned about winning
prizes. We’re just following the requirements.”
“That’s your choice, but you really must make winning an
award your priority,” advised the Quarian. The confused
look on his oblong face clearly demonstrated that he did
not understand Jaron’s lack of competitiveness.
###
The
first day of the tournament arrived much too quickly for
the human team’s liking. Sixty-four teams were to
compete in the double-elimination event. Each of the
Quarian teams represented a specific family line.
As
Jaron waited for the start of their first-round
competition, he noticed Orien approaching with a solemn
expression on his face. “Good luck, my friend. I really
hope you are victorious. You need to win one of your
first two games in order to receive a pass.”
“A
pass, what do you mean a pass?”
Orien’s face transformed from serious to shocked. “You
mean you haven’t been told the consequences?”
“What
consequences?”
Orien
took a deep breath before beginning. “There is a reason
we live content lives. Unyar provides greatly for us,
but we also provide for Unyar. Each year we must
sacrifice hundreds of our own to our wonderous god.”
Jaron
quickly understood the direction this explanation was
taking, but he could not find the will or the strength
to interrupt.
“Each
of the thirty-two family teams that finish in the bottom
half of the tournament must provide two-hundred members
of their family for the sacrifice. It is a miserable
feeling to have to give up so many of a family’s young.”
Orien shook his head sadly. “We have many children and
it is still difficult. I can’t imagine how hard it would
be for your people to decide who will be sacrificed.”
The
Quarian started to say more, but upon reading the
human’s expression, he paused. After a short period of
awkward silence, he simply reached out to touch Jaron’s
shoulder before turning and walking away.
Jaron
could not move. He wanted to go tell everyone what he
had just learned. Maybe they already knew. The human
leaders surely were aware. There was nothing that could
be done. If the humans refused to partake in the games,
they would be violating two of the conditions of
colonization. The Quarians had been gracious hosts, but
they would not accept insurrection. The games at least
gave some hope, as minuscule as it might be.
A horn
sounded, indicating the conclusion of the current game.
Cheers of joy and groans of anguish emanated from two
distinct portions of the stadium. The reason behind the
magnitude of the reactions was, now, very clear to Jaron.
Sighing deeply. Jaron went to look for his wife and
child. He desperately needed to give them a hug before
reporting to the playing field.
End
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