Delightfully Twisted Tales: The Worst of Both Worlds (Volume Eight)

by Nicky Drayden

  The tension in the room doubled as Gianna’s name rolled off Breva’s lips--pronounced with a light gurgle around the “Gee” that made her knees buckle and her ears tingle. Head to toe, she’d never felt more alive. He thanked her for her message, spoken with such flourish. He was impressed with how quickly someone so young had excelled. She held her laughter inside. She was hardly young, turned thirty-one this past April. Gianna had heard that sSuryn were protective of revealing their own age, but it was suspected that the sSuryn ship had been adrift for a century, and Breva claimed to have been aboard when it launched.

  Breva flicked his tongue out, curling upwards, and sticking against his eye. The whole motion lasted less than half a second, but it meant he was apprehensive about something.

  “However,” he said in sSuryn, “I think I would be remiss if I didn’t point out an error in your phrasing. What you meant to express was that it was a long-time dream for you to communicate directly with me. The fifth syllable is meant to hold a sustained stress with more moistness behind it. Otherwise it signifies a rather vulgar sex-act, one that would involve coiling your tongue around my--”

  Gianna wanted to throw up. She cast her eyes up at Dr. Ramirez, the most respected of The Three. Dr. Ramirez’s fingers flexed, like they wished to be wrapped around Gianna’s throat. A decade had passed without an incident of this magnitude, but Gianna had decided to throw caution to the wind, to stray from the stock words and delve into those wetter ones that were more difficult for the human mouth to pronounce.

  Gianna bent her head down and continued scribbling strange little symbols onto the screen, her stylus falling in sync with those of her classmates. But all she could think about was how she’d ruined her career with the mispronunciation of one damned syllable.

  “--until a final forceful release,” Breva continued. “So as you can see, it is a very painful yet pleasurable act. Or so I’ve heard. In any case, it is a common mistake--a play on words often used in literature--”

  Snickering came from behind her as her cohort caught up on the translation. Gianna wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. The snickering soon grew to all-out laughter, and The Three cast spiteful looks at one another until Dr. Ramirez finally stepped forward and said, “Students! Show some professionalism, please.”

  The class slowly calmed itself, but Gianna eyed Breva’s projection with a quiet bitterness. Was this merely a game to him? He had the whole world bending backwards and jumping through hoops for access to a steady trickle of alien technology. He’d shown little interest in Earth culture beyond a flimsy attempt to learn a few English phrases. He was arrogant. Pompous. Self-important. Gianna wanted so badly to be mad at him, and yet his was the only face in the room that didn’t feed her humiliation. It was then that she noticed a slight bulge in his throat and an odd, silvery glow beneath his pale skin. Gianna got a strange feeling that maybe there was something on Earth that interested him.

  She heard someone mutter that Gianna had just set a Guinness World Record for a long-distance phone sex call, and laughter erupted again. Dr. Ramirez shut Breva’s projection off mid-sentence.

  It was the only sSuryn broadcast that SETI decided not to release an official translation for, but any fool with the right equipment could snag the signal and post their own hack-job subtitles. By the end of the day, the message had gone viral on the net, and Gianna had single-handedly spurred a whole new genre of animated sSuryn porn. Gianna wanted off this planet, wanted to be with Breva on his ship, where she’d tell him that Earth was a crappy excuse for a planet anyway, and maybe they should just look for somewhere else to call home.

  Dr. Ramirez called her into her office the next morning. Gianna expected to be told that she’d been officially expelled from the program, and though the tone of Dr. Ramirez’s voice conveyed as much, her words spoke otherwise. “We’ve had a chance to review the end of Breva’s message. He wants you to know that despite your snafu ...”

  Gianna could almost taste the bitterness on Dr. Ramirez’s lips. She knew the word choice was not her own. Her eyes read monumental screw-up.

  “... your message captured the essence of the sSuryn language. Breva sees great potential in you, and wants you to speak for him. He has asked that you join The Three.”

  Gianna tried to speak, but her words got tangled up in her head, and what came out was a bastard mix of English, French, Japanese, sSuryn.

  Dr. Ramirez cut her off with a cold glare. “We think it is best if you tell him in your own words that you cannot agree to this. That you do not yet have the skill to perform such a task.”

  Of The Three that had been chosen to speak for Breva, Gianna feared Dr. Ramirez the most. But looking into those steely eyes, Gianna realized that Dr. Ramirez was scared too. The Three were three because they all possessed specialized talents--translation, pronunciation, mannerisms. Maybe Dr. Ramirez saw what Breva saw. She knew that The Three would become The Four, and if Gianna continued to progress as she was, they would soon need only The One.

  Gianna smiled while allowing saliva to pool in the back of her mouth. “I think that you will find, my most cherished and honorable teacher,” Gianna said in infallible sSuryn, her sarcasm surviving nicely through the translation, “that my skills will prove to be more than sufficient.”

  * * * * *

  Fifty-eight

  Mark Johansson led the way into a dark corridor of the sSuryn mothership, pointing his flashlight at the walls that had fractured under the forced coupling with their cruiser. Cracks as thick as Gianna’s arm ran across the algae-slickened bulkheads. She pressed her hand against one of the deep fissures, feeling a pang of inadequacy. It was her interpretations of the sSuryn schematics that the engineers had built the ship from. She felt some relief that algae coated the inner surface of the crack as well.

  “They have artificial gravity,” Mark said, simultaneously annoyed and intrigued. He’d always suspected that the sSuryn had been holding back. His official capacity on this mission was to aid the stranded sSuryn with any engineering needs, but it was an unspoken truth that his primary objective was to gather information on their technology.

  Dr. Reynard scanned Mark, tapping at the medical console embedded into the sleeve of her pressure suit. A holo-projection of a cross-section of spongy bone appeared. “Bone density should hold up for a few hours at least. If you start to feel achy, rest for a while.”

  Mark brushed her off. “Worry about her.” He nodded in Gianna’s direction. “She blows an aneurism and we’re screwed.” Mark spoke like a man who’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed by about a billion miles.

  “Her heartbeat’s irregular,” Dr. Reynard said as she scanned Gianna. “Blood pressure is through the roof.”

  “Damn it,” Mark grunted.

  “I’m fine,” Gianna said, though her insides felt like a freezer burnt mess after six years in a cryo-chamber. “It’s just nerves. We’re making first contact with an alien race. Can’t I be a little excited?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Dr. Nero.” His voice crackled over the speaker in her helmet. “This very well may be a salvage mission. Minimal air, subfreezing temps. Doesn’t look good.”

  “Maybe this section was abandoned,” Gianna said, hanging on to hope. “Some of these fissures look like they’ve been here for a while.” She removed her hand from the cracked bulkhead, and a phosphorescent print remained. It pulsed, once, twice, then faded back into blackness.

  Mark grunted then aimed his light deeper into the corridor. Another airlock stood at the end. As they neared, Gianna thought she heard knocking. It took all three of them to pry open the door. The hiss of venting atmosphere greeted them along with gray-green light, and small hands that pulled them quickly through the opening. It all happened so fast. The weak tug of gravity was just enough for her to fall slowly to the ground. sSuryn hands packed black sludge against the opening in the airlock.

  Though the force was slight, a fourth of a gee at most, it m
ade her bones ache, or what was left of them. Two sets of sSuryn hands helped her up to her feet.

  “Awatle gwo icham so salle sutch em ichtle,” said one of them, his puckered hand pressed against her chest. “Aknew ack.” He blinked his globular eyes, much larger and yellower than Breva’s. His build was slight, and even though he only came up to Gianna’s shoulders, Gianna got the feeling that this was not a sSuryn to cross. She pressed the button for her external speaker.

  “Pardon?” she rasped politely in sSuryn, her mind still racing.

  He cocked his head, then repeated himself. The words slipped past Gianna’s ears, sounds familiar, but none of them coalesced into words she knew.

  “What is he saying?” asked Mark, who now stood hunched over next to her. His helmet grazed the ceiling.

  “I--” Gianna paused to catch her breath within the tight confines of her pressure suit. Even the slightest movement made her lightheaded. The sound of blood rushing through her veins drowned out her thoughts. “I’m not sure. It’s like he’s speaking some sort of pidgin dialect. But I think he said something about their leader.” Gianna wasn’t even sure of that, but she didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of her crewmates.

  Three figures approached with long, purposeful gaits. Gianna tried to moisten her mouth with saliva, but her tongue remained dry as parchment. It would make for difficult speaking, but she’d still be able to convey the formal gestures that sSuryn etiquette demanded.

  The pallid light wasn’t intense enough to reveal the figures’ faces until they were almost upon them. Gianna held her hands together, palms facing in, bowed forward slightly, and kept her chin tucked. It was a greeting she and Breva had performed countless times over the past decades, and it felt as comfortable as a handshake.

  Only the sSuryn standing before her wasn’t Breva.

  He threw up a half-hearted gesture that Gianna wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  “Akuotraaam sur dekpth Fevcha,” Gianna said without missing a beat. She tried not to think of what Breva’s absence meant. “I am the one called Gianna,” she added in sSuryn.

  “And a wealth of good tidings to you, newly endeared friends. I am the one called Metlath,” the sSuryn returned the greeting--such a mash of words that Gianna wouldn’t have been able to make it out if she hadn’t been expecting it. “We give many jultha le us and all no thanks for you and all traveling fravadthe. We could not unsend for you and all ichadt mekthe leimp. No thanks for you and all, but there must be leaving umptha.”

  A small head peeked over the sSuyrn’s shoulder, glanced at Gianna, then made a tiny squeak before hiding again.

  “What the hell is he saying?” came Mark’s voice over her private channel.

  “I’m not sure,” Gianna admitted. “I couldn’t catch it all, but I think he wants us to leave.”

  “Get him to change his mind,” Mark said. “We didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

  Gianna tried to explain their situation, to figure out what’d happened, and why they hadn’t received further messages since the one asking to send help. Metlath’s words were barely intelligible, and frustration began to mount on both sides. From what Gianna could gather, they’d lost functioning of several of their systems, including communications, but when she offered up Mark’s technical expertise, the sSuryn’s posture became more hostile.

  A padded hand grasped Metlath's shoulder, and the small head poked up and whispered something into his ear. He relaxed some, but still looked as if he wanted Gianna and her crewmates off his ship.

  “Who is this much honored fond one?” Gianna asked, using the highest honorific for someone of unknown status. The small sSuryn’s eyes brightened at the compliment, then she shied away like a timid housecat.

  “This honored one is Chailem,” the sSuryn said, his voice softened ever so slightly. “She is my fondest keppta.”

  Gianna did not know the word, but the pride was unmistakable in any language. His child then. Chailem crawled over her father’s shoulder, and onto his chest, her padded hands too large in proportion to her body, but they allowed her to cling to him. Her tongue shot up and whipped wetly against his eyeball. The sSuryn didn’t blink--a sign of trust and affection. Chailem then leapt through the air, legs and arms spread wide. She landed on Gianna’s faceplate, puckered fingertips suctioned against the glass.

  “Chailem!” Metlath called.

  Gianna peeled Chailem from her helmet and cradled her in her arms. Chailem was plump through the abdomen with long, thin limbs--not much bigger than a human infant, though from the look in her eyes, her mind was as nimble as she was. Gianna noticed a rash that took up most of Chailem’s abdomen, discolored and raised, like a bad case of ringworm.

  “Dr. Reynard,” Gianna said quickly as Metlath approached. “Can you cure this?”

  Dr. Reynard did a simple scan, then nodded.

  “Our most honored host,” Gianna said, holding Chailem outstretched so Metlath wouldn’t get any ideas about her intent. “Our doctor has a cure for this fungus. I am sorry if I have said something to dishonor you and your keppta, but we only wish to help.”

  The sSuryn stopped cold, then stared at Dr. Reynard. “You are a doctor?”

  “She knows more about sSuryn biology than any other human.” Which maybe wasn’t saying a whole lot, but it was certainly true.

  The sSuryn cussed, expelled gas, then pressed Chailem back into Gianna’s arms. “This tplelm tegghe rampant and is jaagroseth deadly. Teach ontou to cure it and we will be stkimth grateful.”

  Metlath traced his finger over the wall and the algae lit up beneath his touch. A series of symbols pulsed, then condensed into a single point of light that sped down the corridor and disappeared around a corner. Minutes later, a crowd converged, dozens of rambunctious sSuryn plagued with the fungal growth. Two small sSuryn perched on each of Dr. Reynard’s shoulders, watching attentively as she ran a subdermal wand over Chailem’s chest. The blistering receded until all that remained was a scaly discoloration.

  Chailem leapt into Metlath’s arms and their tongues entwined. Gianna began to suspect that keppta meant something different than what she’d originally thought. The sSuryn cheered, cussed, spat, and farted as they saw that Chailem was cured. They were rowdy, almost primitive, bearing no resemblance to the sophisticated culture Breva had described.

  “Nero, get your head in this,” came Mark’s voice. “This is our chance. Tell them that we’ll cure all of those in need if they teach us how they create gravity.”

  Gianna shook her head. She’d known that there’d be surprises with sSuryn customs here and there, but she didn’t understand how she could have gotten everything so horribly wrong. She needed to speak with Breva. Breva would explain it all.

  Mark nodded her towards Metlath. “Ask him.”

  Gianna stepped forward. “Our most honored and noble host,” Gianna said, the disgust of his lack of manners making her mouth slick at least. “We would like to propose an exchange of knowledge ...”

  Metlath licked each of his eyes and grunted. Gianna could tell he didn’t like where this conversation was going.

  “We will aid you in curing this rash. And in exchange ...” This was all wrong. She’d given up so many years of her life and had sacrificed her body to the perils of space for one thing only. She had to know. More than anything she had to know. “... and in exchange, I wish for you to tell me what has happened to Breva.”

  “Hasuktch le gosa Breva metche,” Metlath hissed. Breva is deading to us.

  “How? When?” Gianna stumbled backwards, as if his words had collided with her chest. sSuryn hands shoved her, and more hissing ensued.

  Mark grabbed her by the arm. “You think I’m an idiot? You realize you’re risking humanity’s future on your little crush. You’re a waste of oxygen, Nero. Go back to the ship.” Mark tapped the display and the holo-projection application came up.

  “You can’t use that thing," Gianna pleaded. "Their
language, their culture ... none of this has been programmed for! You need a real person, not a bunch of half-assed algorithms. Just give me some time with them. I can figure this out. The sSuryn have been my whole life.”

  “A whole hell of a lot that’s done for us so far. The projection couldn’t possibly do any worse.” Mark pushed Gianna aside, then said to Dr. Reynard. “Heal them. We’ll deal with the business end later.”

  Gianna backed away from the clamor. It didn’t make sense. The sSuryn had given them the specs for so much technology, and yet they couldn’t even manage to cure a simple fungal disease? Sadness overwhelmed her. Her eyes strained to produce tears, but there were none to be had. She glanced up, just in time to see Chailem sailing through the air towards her. The small sSuryn landed on her shoulder with a soft thump.

  “I thank you for curing me,” she said in the delicately articulated sSuryn that Gianna was used to. Chailem’s tongue flicked against Gianna’s faceplate.

  “You speak differently than Metlath.”

  “Metlath is stubborn. He refuses to learn the language of the Old Ones. They are all stubborn. But I am not. I have learned. Breva has taught me.”

  “Breva?” Gianna said with a wheeze.

  “I know where he is.”

  A scream came from the crowd. A human scream. The mass of ornery sSuryn heaved forward, arms flailing, something like madness in their eyes. It was all too much for Gianna to process at once, and suddenly the enormity of the situation caught up with her.

  Chailem stood upon Gianna’s shoulder like a captain at the helm of her ship. She pointed. “This way.” Gianna rounded the corner, into relative safety. Dr. Reynard ran past with a pack of sSuryn on her heels. She reached the airlock and began scraping away at the black muck with her laser scalpel. Mark tried to hold the crowd at bay. He glanced at Gianna, close enough that she saw the worry etched on his face.

  “Come on, Nero. We’re getting out of here. The projection spooked them. Things are getting hostile.” A wad of black sludge smacked against his faceplate. “Shit!” he said, trying futilely to wipe it off. Half blinded, he became more vulnerable to their attacks. The sSuryn hacked up more sludge from their throats and packed it around his leg until it was immobilized.