Taylor

Taylor III, part I

Machtre Yolle

I don't like it. It isn't right, it isn't natural, and it isn't productive. I'm sitting in my office looking at these two "lovebirds"...if that's what you want to call them, walking across the campus and holding hands. I'm just looking out the window, struggling to continue reading this book report that I have to grade in a stack of reports that I should get to before day's end. But...I just can't tear my eyes away from this...travesty. They're of an entirely different genotype and there is a reason...a flipping reason...that they are not meant to mix. By God, I don't understand how any commonsensical, competent, sentient, Kloss-fearing individual could ever comingle in such a way. It is outrageous, blasphemous, and directly disrespectful to the power highest in the Universe. We may have been meant to meet, but there is no reason for mixing genetics in such a manner. They are playing God. And God does not approve.

I receive a knock on the door, which breaks my concentration on the abomination strolling across the courtyard. "Come in," I call in return, shaking my head and looking toward the door. A student comes in. She is a fair-skinned, frizzy-haired, spectacled Earthen girl wearing a backpack that must be heavier than she is. "Hello, machtre," she greets me, reaching to shake my hand. I gladly extend mine to do the same. I have no problem with the Earthen in general. They were kind enough to welcome my people to their planet; they obviously bear us no general ill will. But mixing with them...this is another matter entirely.

"How are you?" I ask, waiting for her name and reason for visit.

"I'm Jessa Schmidt, I'm in your morning lecture on Thursdays. I wanted to submit an application to be your initiate this year. I have a double-major in psychology and Lokan religious studies. I really think that being an initiate will help me accomplish early graduation and maybe even eventually qualify me for a voyage to Loki itself."

Oh, how cute. My initiates have always been Lokanese. Never had an Earthen one before—this will be interesting. This girl seems genuinely interested in the understanding of what my people know to be God. She did seek me out, after all. To be honest, I'm quite impressed, as I rarely see Earthens—especially Americans—reach out so avidly for knowledge and education. The Lokanese students here are the real overachievers, but that is to be expected in a society based largely upon wants and desires and psychological warfare. I've come to witness that they are far more about what they are told to want than actually wanting it, and are far more feelings-oriented than goal-oriented. And I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing; they have come this far with it. Interstellar research, space travel, big TV's that tell you what to think and where to spend your money...it's amazing for a society broiling in its own accomplishments to have gotten this far.

"Well then," I say with a welcome smile, reaching into my desk drawer for the very full stack of initiate applications, "I'll get you one right now. Do you speak any Cassian?"

"Nil soo leymah," she slowly pronounces, telling me that she doesn't speak much, "iuut i pletue. Csu moh akk t'keschen." She indicates that she only speaks a little bit, but would like to learn more.

"You are aware that initiate must take a Lokanese oath of obedience to the machtre and of loyalty to the church, correct?"

"Yes, sir," she chimes, seemingly very eager to get this process underway. I hand her the application packet and get back to reading through the papers. The only sound that can be heard in the office is the ticking of my desk clock. It's soothing, really. I enjoy sharing time with students of an enthusiastic mind toward scholarly activities. She is scribbling away on her application as I read down the first page of something that is clearly plagiarized. I roll my eyes and scratch a big, fat "F" at the top and move on to the next one.