Taria laughed. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “Just be yourself. I’ll learn to read your natural—”
“Oh, good! Hello!” he interrupted.
Puzzled, she sat back down, debating whether she should push the red button beside her.
After another longish pause, Ragomonak said, “Do go on. Don’t be confused by the delay in transmission. Didn’t they warn you about that in your training?”
“Oh yes!” Taria replied. “I’d gotten used to it while I was observing the conversations of others, but I forgot about it when going solo. I’m really sorry. This is my first time.”
Several minutes later, he replied, “It’s fine. I’ve worked with many Holo newbies before. You’ll get used to it, and the delay will almost cease to exist for you. After a while, anyway.”
“I’ll try to settle in quickly,” she said.
Just before she finished speaking, he asked, “So, I understand you speak many languages? Does your race have a unifying planetary language?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “We do tend to use English for business, but the way it’s used from place to place varies dramatically. My own home, Singapore, developed a regional English that was looked down upon in its early days, though it later came to be viewed as something of a prototype for how the language could be used by a variety of races and cultures in many different, yet equally ‘valid’ or ‘correct’ ways. It took some time, but many of us feel now that Singlish was a real breakthrough for spoken English. The written language has remained more uniform across cultures, evolving with technology. It became more standardised as the spoken language became less so.”
This time, when Ragomonak’s voice started before she finished speaking, she was prepared. She reached to the controls on the table beside her and rewound to hear his comments from the beginning.
“This is how most planetary languages form,” he said. “Like the notion of a planetary race—as opposed to different races within a single species—it usually takes a long time to start, but then catches on quite quickly once it gets a certain amount of traction.”
“Yes, it was like that on Earth. I’m still new enough to the idea that I go back and forth, sometimes thinking of different races of humans, and sometimes remembering that, in the HoloNet, there’s only one Earthling race.”
“Yes, it’s always hardest for the first generation.”
“So you’ve heard of others experiencing these same feelings before?”
“Oh yes, of course. It’s been the subject of many studies here on our planet. Nearly every race—by which I mean every planetary race, of course—has to evolve in this way. It helps that the HoloNet only recognises a single race per planet. Otherwise, interstellar trade and diplomacy would be a disaster. Imagine the different peoples of Earth each trying to represent their narrow interests to the galaxy at large. It would be impossible to know who to trust. It always takes some time for a planet’s peoples to realise this fact and overcome their minor differences when they first develop the technology to tap into the IHN, but people always come around, eventually. I have an early text on the subject here. Let me find it.”
The figure in the hologram turned and walked to her left, but she could not see what he was looking at, since it was not part of the projection. She watched his movements. She had expected a lumbering, awkward gait, but it was not like that at all. His three lower limbs moved in an intricate, coordinated pattern. As she looked at him, she noticed that he was not as stout as he’d first looked to her. Instead, the three limbs were trim and well-toned. The fact that there were three of them gave him a broader base, but it wasn’t a stocky, unwieldy form at all.
As he turned back to her, she automatically looked away, embarrassed at having been caught looking. She feared the reaction that might come, after the delay it would take him to see her embarrassment and then another for his response to be transmitted.
“Here it is. This was written three hundred years ago, when the HoloNet was first set up. It details the psychology of moving from an ethnocentric worldview to a planetary worldview, and finally to a galactic worldview. The final chapter projects a hope for the development of a truly universal worldview, though I think even the book’s author would be the first to admit that we are far from achieving that goal, even today—were she alive to see it now, I mean.”
As he continued talking about the text and the early history of the HoloNet it recorded, Taria forgot all about her momentary embarrassment. It was only later that evening, when she was showering at home in her quarters, that she remembered it. If Ragomonak had noticed anything unusual at all, he did not let on.
It was dark on Terminus, an artificial night regulated to the rhythms of atomic time. The difference between day and night outside the space station was not at all noticeable, this far from the sun. Taria had grown so used to the rhythms of Terminus over the past year that it did not feel artificial or forced at all. She slept when the lights went out, and rose when they came on. In many ways, it was better than the light’s changes with each season on planets nearer the sun. The space station’s lighting was synched to the regularity of sunrise and sunset in Earth’s equatorial regions, a change of no more than an hour between midyear and year-end.
But tonight sleep did not come easily. Night had fallen hours ago, and still she was sitting next to the window in her quarters, watching for comets. She held a mug of coffee in one hand, balanced between her knees, propped up in front of her on the sofa. She did not drink from the steamy mug, but its warmth and aroma were comforting.
The reason for her insomnia was no mystery. Ragomonak. Their conversation today had taken a turn she had not expected, nor even imagined.
Still, it was not completely uncharted territory in her own musings. She had surprised herself several months earlier when her mind wandered to unexpected places when she thought of Ragomonak. When she was honest with herself, she could only put one name to those thoughts—desire. She had started thinking of him in terms that certainly were not professional—though, she reminded herself, this wasn’t a professional connection, strictly speaking. She was here as a volunteer at her own expense and, really, was little more than a lab rat on Terminus. And the nature of her work was, fundamentally, to socialise.
All the same, that didn’t make her feel any better about her inclinations. And so, she had suppressed those thoughts, hiding them from everyone, especially Ragomonak. And, as was typical of his behaviour, he had never shown the slightest indication that he’d even noticed.
Until today.
Today, they had read Dante’s Inferno together. When they came to the story of Francesca and Paolo, she recited the line, “They read no more that day.”
Ragomonak’s voice started speaking over hers several lines later. She stopped reading and rewound to the beginning of his question. “Why did they stop reading? Is this a way of saying they got distracted by…coupling?”
She had laughed. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what it means.”
“Your planet is not unusual in its obsession with coupling,” he said. “It’s a necessity in all races on every planet, being that it is vital for the survival of any species, so it shows up in every race’s literature at a high rate of frequency. But—I hope you don’t mind me saying this—you Earthlings seem to have an inordinate love for euphemisms when speaking of this union. Why is that?”
He stared at her without blinking as he waited for her answer. She had come to recognise the expression he wore now as one of warmth and concern. A familiar blue tint came to his scales as he stared.
She was not quite sure what to say. “Well,” she stalled, but did not continue.
Ragomonak tilted his head to the right—the equivalent of a frown for him. “Have I offended you? Perhaps I should not have asked so direct a question on a subject that your race clearly considers sensitive—even taboo.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “Times have changed, and we are much more open about such topics
today than we were when this text was written. It’s just that… Well, I think ‘coupling’ is just something that we consider highly personal and private. And yet, as you’ve said, it is both universal and of vital importance to the race, so there’s a conflicting set of impulses. On the one hand, we like to guard our privacy, but on the other, we need to speak about an issue that is so fundamental to who we are. And so we opt for euphemism, humour and circumlocution.”
For the first time in months, the pause required for transmission seemed a torturously long period to wait.
“Ah,” he said, “I see you are limited by your anatomy, then.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, wondering how much he might know about Earthling anatomy. She suddenly realised that she was rather ignorant on the subject of how a Kepleran was meant to function in its “coupling”.
“I mean,” he said, “that you only offered two options. ‘On the one hand… But on the other…’ Perhaps if you were a triped, or tri-eyed, you would have another angle from which to view the issue, and thus a third option for addressing the two competing impulses that create your inner conflict in this situation.”
She nodded. “That’s probably true. Unfortunately, I’m a biped. But, you’ve got a third hand and eye. Do you see a third possibility?”
“Yes,” he said. “You could just as easily speak directly about a universally acknowledged situation, but only speak of it in terms appropriate to the privacy level of the setting, being more open with trusted companions who had a need or right to speak of the issue with you.”
“Yes, of course. In daily life, that is definitely what most people today would agree is the healthiest approach. But long-standing convention has put all sorts of taboos on the topic, and we too often end up resorting to less healthy modes of speech and behaviour. I’m not even sure it is possible for us to speak openly and without euphemism, except in the most clinical of situations.”
“But you’re doing just fine, now, with me.”
She blushed, cursing herself inside as she felt the heat rising from her neck to her ears and cheeks.
“Oh, I’ve embarrassed you,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Consider it a product of my culture. As I said, aside from the most clinical situations, direct speech on this issue is hard for many Earthlings. It doesn’t mean we believe those taboos are good, though. I know I don’t.”
“Why is it different in clinical situations, for your race?”
“Well, for some Earthlings, even that is taboo. But many are like me—the clinical aspect is just biology, the rest of the process is more complicated.”
“Ah, I see. The emotions. I had gathered from our readings that your race is one of those that sees emotional attachment as a prerequisite for coupling.”
She thought for a second. “Not exactly. I mean, emotional attachment as a part of coupling is more of an ideal. In reality, it’s often not a part of the process at all, and many Earthlings don’t see it as important.”
“Even worse then,” he said, laughing. “An idealistic race that values emotional attachment in the coupling process. No wonder you have so many taboos.”
“You mean your race doesn’t value emotional attachment in that situation?”
“Actually, we do. But we are not particularly idealistic about it. There are three requirements for us: physical compatibility, emotional attachment and the ability to care for the offspring together once it is born. If those three things are present, we establish an understanding, and coupling can commence.”
“So coupling is always for reproduction on your planet? It’s not here. Not in most cultures.”
“Not always,” he said. “But it’s clearly one likely outcome, so we do take it into consideration, and choose our partners accordingly. We are a strictly monogamous race.”
“That surprises me a little,” Taria said.
“Why?”
“Because of your biology.”
“Taria, you don’t think…”
She laughed. “No. I mean your tripedal nature, and the ability it gives you to consider things from more perspectives than a biped like me can.”
Ragomonak shook his head. “Maybe it works the other way. Maybe we have a broad enough perspective to see that—what was the phrase? Oh, that the grass is not really greener on the other side. Or, even on either side.”
“So, infidelity must be rare among Keplerans.”
“It is. Most of us know what we want in our domestic life. If we don’t know, we wait for certainty before we act. Compared to what I’ve encountered among other planetary races, I notice that we Keplerans aren’t in much of a hurry, where such things are concerned. We tend to guard our hearts, rather than rush into commitments we can’t keep.”
“Because you value emotional attachments.”
“Yes. But also because we don’t idealise them.”
“I guess that means your…um, courting rituals are quite simple and straightforward.”
“They can be protracted,” he said, “but yes, rather straightforward.”
“That must be refreshing,” she said dryly.
“I must admit, the Earthling approach seems uncomfortably and unnecessarily complicated to me.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that,” Taria replied.
“Hm,” he said. “It’s unfortunate we can never be in the same place, Taria. I think we could be very happy together.”
As she thought back on his words, she wondered for the thousandth time that night how this had happened. Certainly she had never thought of flirting with an alien, much less expected to develop real feelings for one. But she had to admit she had certainly done the latter.
“I thought I should tell you, in the interest of full disclosure and all,” she said, cursing herself inwardly for the blush that coloured her cheeks as she spoke.
“I am glad you did, even though you really weren’t obligated to,” Dr Trajan replied.
“So you don’t mind?” Taria asked.
“Who am I to mind? It’s really none of my business, is it? I mean, other than in the capacity of a friend.”
“I was afraid some might frown on it.”
“There will always be some who frown on it, whatever the ‘it’ in question is. I am not one of those, though. Not in this instance. In fact, I am quite pleased.”
“So it’s no violation of what I agreed to come here to do?”
“You came here to get to know another person on a close level. Frankly, I think the feelings you’ve developed shouldn’t be surprising. I am a little chagrined that I never thought of the possibility before. Perhaps I’m getting old. Now that it has happened, it seems I should have seen it coming. After all, you’ve been spending time every day with Ragomonak for nine months or so now, haven’t you?”
“About a year.”
“Well,” Dr Trajan said, smiling, “there you have it. About a year. And here I thought it had only been nine months. It seems to me you’ve been even more prudent than I’d realised.”
She laughed. “So, you see no ethical dilemma to worry over?”
“Not in the least.”
“Even though he’s an…alien?”
Dr Trajan sighed and leaned back in his chair. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Taria, that sort of thinking is just what you were brought here to debunk. The goal of the programme you volunteered for is to break down barriers between races and learn to understand one another better. There are other, more official, avenues that pursue this same goal on a planetary level. You came here to do it on the individual level. It seems to me that you’ve done a very good job.”
They remained silent for several minutes, each considering the issue from several different angles.
Finally, she said, “Thank you. This has been a big help.”
He stood and walked her to the door. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came to me. Do let me know if I can help in any other way.”
In the following we
eks, the topic of their growing mutual regard did not drop from Ragomonak and Taria’s conversations as easily as she had hoped—or perhaps feared—it would. Ragomonak was frankly persistent, though never pushy. Together, they read many love poems from both Kepler-186f and Earth, and they found a surprising resonance between the two worlds, a resonance perhaps facilitated by the connection that had formed between the two of them.
Their discussions also explored the question of biology. Taria realised that the term “animal” that had entered her mind (albeit against her will) when she first saw Ragomonak’s image had now faded from her thoughts completely. He was no animal. He was a person, just like she was. This was driven home in a totally different way when they discussed the biologies of their respective races. Keplerans and Earthlings had the same DNA structure that had been found to be a common thread between the various planetary races that had proved to have the sensory capacity to access the IHN—a double helix structure with two antiparallel strands carrying the genetic code. (“I would’ve expected you to have a triple-helixed DNA,” she said, making Ragomonak laugh.) Current popular theory on the HoloNet was that only races so structured were attuned to this particular field of communication. It was accepted wisdom, at this point in the HoloNet’s history, but a theory that was always half waiting to be disproved.
“Do you think our genes could be combined?” Ragomonak asked her one day.
“It would be hard, being separated by so many light years. We’d both turn to dust before we even had our first date, much less found a way to combine DNA,” she replied.
“True. But I’m thinking theoretically. Could Kepleran and Earthling DNA be fused? Say, in a test tube.”
“I guess that depends on how similar the DNA structure is, doesn’t it?”
“It’s extremely close, they say. On Earth, even your plant and animal DNA share more features than most people realise. The basic genetic mechanism, overall cellular structure, most biochemical reactions and the removal of introns during gene splicing are all common features. For your race and mine, the similarities are even greater. Virtually identical.”
Launch Pad Page 14
