She wished them the best of it. She wouldn’t be here to see it through.
“And that is why,” Porblump concluded proudly, “even considering all the myriad peoples with their disparate tastes who will be gathered to this glorious spectacle, the Vilzmix is still considered by many to be among the most beautiful of creatures.”
“Although toxic,” said HwoTzip.
“Irrelevant to its beauty! Observe, HwoTzip, how its tendrils sweep in never-ending display! Curling upon themselves, intertwining, unfolding in vivid and startling patterns of—”
“Radioactivity.”
Porblump flattened into a darker globe to intimidate her co-host. Unfortunately, as HwoTzip was a Sprighter Fly, she was unsure he even noticed the effect. There he went, buzzing over projections of the various beasts who were to entertain the impressive dignitaries of the Twelfth InterGalactic Speechathon—really a misnomer as most of the visitors spent their time trying to adapt themselves to a tenuously common environment and “conversing” as it were, through a multi-species voice adapter, the universe’s equivalent of singing underwater while air was pumped in through a valve at one’s throat.
No matter. The Speechathon played an important part in maintaining interstellar amity, and one of the most exciting aspects of Porblump’s part of that part was showing off a selection of the remarkable creatures who lurked nearly everywhere, defying whatever inhospitable terrain or bizarre confluence of environmental factors suggested they shouldn’t exist. Beauty emerged triumphant, and it was Porblump’s delight to show off these wonders of the universe to as many beings as possible (and perhaps subtly influence the attendees to think twice before beginning an aggressive action that might harm these collective treasures; one could always hope).
However, Porblump’s intentions sometimes exceeded the technology, as HwoTzip, with his high-pitched whir, was now pointing out. “The seals are leaking,” he whined, circling over the relevant readouts. “The Vilzmix’s enclosure will fail entirely half a moonstrobe before the Twelfth Session can even convene. Do you mean to promote interstellar amity through mass annihilation?”
Porblump paused. “We shall build a new enclosure.”
HwoTzip’s pitch increased so it was almost painful to listen to. “There isn’t time! We haven’t the talent, or the expertise, assembled here.”
“We have humans.”
For a moment Porblump thought she was alone. Then she realized her statement had literally made HwoTzip fall out of the air. There he was now, clinging to the control panel with eight of his sticklike limbs, while his antennae waved confusedly.
“Humans,” HwoTzip repeated.
“The full delegation,” said Porblump.
“Here.”
“At the conference, at this moment.”
“Where they are, no doubt, dying to begin a massive last-minute project.”
“Time must hang heavy on their hands.”
HwoTzip’s iridescent wings flickered. “You realize that direct contact with the Vilzmix will kill them.”
Porblump had already considered the logistics. “There will be no direct contact.”
“But they can’t even see it! The entire beauty of the Vilzmix unfolds in the ultraviolet spectrum which, if memory serves, humans aren’t equipped to see.”
“Not natively, no.”
“Then why would these creatures help us?”
“Because,” Porblump announced with her best practiced pomp, “we shall make building the new enclosure … a game.”
The wings stilled. “A game.”
“A competition, as it were.”
“And the humans will compete in this game because …”
“They like to compete.”
HwoTzip zipped back into the air, where his shimmery wings assumed a slower and, to Porblump, more thoughtful vibration. “You think humans will build this thing, for a species that would kill them upon contact, which they can’t even see with their own eyes, simply because … they’ll enjoy it?”
“They will find the game enjoyable. They will further enjoy competing for a cause. ‘A fix for the Vilzmix’ has a nice ring. Humans love to be of use.”
“Won’t they be occupied with their Session duties?”
“Oh, humans always find time for the things they enjoy. They will gain great satisfaction from squeezing in such an altruistic project, as it were, in the margins.”
“There is nothing marginal about the requirements. They will need special gear for construction, access to materials, a design plan—who knows what else?”
“We will provide them with the proper resources in the proper context.”
“Which is?”
“Challenges. These are what make a game compelling, as I understand it. I propose we award humans points for solving the various problems, which naturally they will want to solve before their fellows. The greater the challenge, the greater the reward.”
HwoTzip settled tentatively onto the control panel. “If you are certain the humans will take this bait, my honored friend, you have my support.”
“I’ve never been more convinced of anything in my life. We, my dear HwoTzip, are about to witness a free-for-all. Come, my conspirator. Let us contrive an irresistible lure.”
Two moonstrobes later, Porblump sagged flatter than ever as she reviewed the humans’ progress. HwoTzip settled on her dorsal hump to survey the results, the miniscule tremor vaguely soothing against her external coating.
“At this rate,” he commented, “humans will have evolved sufficiently to view ultraviolet with their own eyes before the enclosure for the Vilzmix is built.”
“I don’t understand!” Porblump glared at the progress indicator, clearly stuck in the “pathetic” range. “I created the perfect conditions for capturing human interest. A clever slogan”—she pulled forth an image of the Fix the ’Mix banner, with a lovely representation of a Vilzmix rendered into the human-accessible visual range— “a leaderboard.” She drew forth a display of human-identity indicators, arranged with the most productive players at the top. Even the most active showed little engagement. Depressingly, most of the entries displayed no progress at all.
“Not many leaders on this board,” HwoTzip observed.
“All of it delivered in easily consumable form to the gadgets humans continually clutch in their ever-active paws.”
“Perhaps they are not consulting the gadgets.”
Porblump snorted, the blast nearly dislodging HwoTzip from her back. “Your naiveté astounds, oh Flighty One. From what I can observe, most human communication transpires through the medium of their gadgets. Clearly, they are aware of the challenge. Chatter about it has shown up on their ‘social media.’ They are simply not engaging with it.”
“Perhaps your game needs work.”
“How so? The rules are intricate and challenging. Double points for new activities, triple points for completing a task ahead of your opponents. I have even inserted several Easter Eggs.”
“Easter …”
“Pardon me. Ancient Earth mythology: If you solve a puzzle, a hairy beast will bring you a brightly colored embryo.”
HwoTzip quivered. “What do they do with these embryos?”
“I have no idea.” Porblump surveyed the standings despondently. “What I really need is for this thing to go viral. And it’s just not happening.”
HwoTzip’s tiny foot-tips shifted. “Perhaps … we should consider additional motivation.”
“Such as?”
“Money.”
Wincing, Porblump sank flatter and browner than ever.
“I hear they’re quite fond of it,” HwoTzip continued encouragingly.
Porblump sighed. “Money is simply another form of points. Humans determine each other’s social status by assessing how much or how little other members of their particular clan possess. Money units are the same as points, for our purposes.”
HwoTzip vibrated. “I’m not certain your reading is entirely acc
urate.”
“It doesn’t matter. I haven’t any money to give to the humans, and I’m not certain it would provide sufficient impetus if I did. Not all humans are interested in collecting money. Even among those that are, money is, as I understand it, a ‘short-term’ motivator.”
“Then what do we do?”
Porblump flattened further with defeat. “We must consult Zalphin.”
HwoTzip shot into the air. “That conceited gasbag? You are desperate, my friend.”
“We have only seven short moonstrobes to complete the project. At this juncture, I will try anything.”
Zalphin hovered within its enormous chamber, the clear globular membrane of its body stretching many times Porblump’s length in every direction. Stars from the inky background glimmered through its vast body. Communication was accomplished through fluctuations of the diaphanous skin, translated into frequencies that Porblump and HwoTzip could process.
“I know humans,” Zalphin’s voice sighed from the air.
“Knows everything, it does,” HwoTzip whispered.
“I have seen your game,” Zalphin continued. “I have pondered it.”
“And?” Porblump prompted anxiously.
“The foundation is sound.”
“Arrogant, but smart,” HwoTzip amended.
“Engagement is good; the humans are supportive of the cause.”
“But not following through,” Porblump said.
“A common human failing.”
“How can I turn it around?”
The gauzy film billowed, sending a breeze through the chamber. “Recognition.”
Porblump rippled with irritation. “I have included a leaderboard, Zalphin.”
“Insufficient. To make humans truly compete, you must raise some above the others. Pick a daily champion, and then feature that human in a special transmission to the paw-units.”
HwoTzip thrummed. “I see! The humans will see one of their fellows lifted above the others—”
“And go out of their collective skulls,” finished Zalphin.
Porblump was less happy. “But, this project is too large to be conducted by a subset. We need all the humans to cooperate with one another. If some of them should become jealous, and try to sabotage the others—”
“They will not.”
“I fail to see how acknowledging some of the humans for their efforts at the expense of others will not undermine amity—which, I remind you, is the theme of this whole conference.”
“Amity is not a concern. Humans are capable of competing with one another and cheering each other on at the same time.”
Porblump paused. “They compete and support? Simultaneously?”
“Even so.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It is how humans operate. I have studied an ancient screed from their home planet. It states: It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.”
“Playing!” cried HwoTzip. “I understand. The game itself is a pleasure. The recognition only increases the pleasure!”
“Even so.”
Porblump volunteered, “I, too, have studied ancient Earth screeds.”
“Yes?” The whisper tinkled like ice pellets over glass.
“There is one that states: Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing.”
For a moment, silence hung in the air much like Zalphin’s enormous bulk. “I like my screed better,” it breathed. “Go forth now, and recognize.”
“Yes, Zalphin.”
“Thank you, Zalphin.”
“Zalphin’s an idiot,” Porblump fumed. “Ancient Earth screeds! As if these are of any relevance when humans now ping and bleep and do whatever else they do with those ghastly ubiquitous paw-gadgets of theirs.”
HwoTzip shivered his wings. “Zalphin has helped us this much: the leaderboard now shows nearly universal participation. Not only the younger humans, but all within the delegation are engaged.”
“At a miserably substandard pace! Five moonstrobes! That is all the time that remains to complete the project. If we do not finish within that interval, the Vilzmix may have to be destroyed.”
HwoTzip’s antennae drooped. “The humans would not want that. They are becoming invested in its survival. They have generated cartoons, memes—”
“None of which is getting that new enclosure built.” Porblump melted into a puddle. “There’s no hope for it. I must ask Grargle.”
HwoTzip paused. “If Zalphin is an idiot, Grargle is the sub-idiot who aspires to his level.”
“Nevertheless. Too few of us have studied humans deeply. We like them because they are bouncy and cute and make nice noises with their mouths, but I need someone who can tell me why, with the interval melting away, these humans fail to accomplish the tasks they have already agreed they want to do.”
“It is a mystery,” Grargle rasped, when Porblump relayed the problem to him via vidlink.
Unlike Zalphin, there was no visiting Grargle personally. From her monitor, Porblump could see the steams and vapors of his acrid swamp spiraling into the fetid air. Grargle himself floated in the bubbling pool as a kind of molten oil slick infused with gravel. Noxious in person and personality, a visit to Grargle could literally melt one’s face.
Porblump’s urgency made her curt. “I have sufficient mysteries, dear Grargle. What I need is answers. How do I make these humans, who want to save the Vilzmix, and intend to save the Vilzmix, but aren’t acting to save the Vilzmix, actually save the Vilzmix?”
“Give them a deadline.”
“They have a deadline! It was in the original game parameters.”
“Did you provide a countdown timer?”
Porblump briefly considered throwing herself into Grargle’s swamp and simply ending it. “The conference will commence in five moonstrobes. The game ends in five moonstrobes. The game displays how much of the project—the majority, I might add—remains to be completed in those five moonstrobes. How much more of a deadline do the humans need?”
“A clearly dire one. If your banner is not shouting, Five moonstrobes until the Vilzmix die! you are not emphasizing the timetable sufficiently.”
“It’s an emotional appeal, then,” Porblump grumbled.
“It’s evolutionary. For whatever reason, humans are incapable of calculating much in advance of the present. Five moonstrobes might as well be five hundred, for humans are simply ill equipped to feel the immediacy of an event until it is staring them in the face.”
“So, I need a screaming headline.”
“And a visual display. A captivating timeline demonstrating the progress to either completion or utter devastation can work wonders in focusing humans on a task.”
“A colorful display,” Porblump murmured.
“With tick marks and a void labeled This much left to complete. I can forward you several examples from one of their gadgets that I keep in an acid-proof bag. These gizmos are really quite addicting, once you start using them.”
The following day, Porblump settled into her algae bath and reviewed all she knew, or thought she knew, about human behavior.
Humans need acknowledgement, even when they’re doing what they want to do.
Humans often don’t do things they actually want to do. That was a puzzler.
Humans enjoy cheering each other on, even though they are competing with one another.
How could one make sense of this mass of contradictions? The Pffvolt simply point their cloven toes in the proper direction, and off they go. Of course, they aren’t innovative. Projects that require imagination are not their forte. At the other end of the spectrum, the Dangotz were so creatively flighty that they made HwoTzip look leaden, but they didn’t follow through. The satisfaction for them came with simply crystalizing the thought; execution was irrelevant. And the ZzzzBzzzz would as soon fire a Vilzmix into the nearest sun as try to save it. No sense of public duty in that species at all.
Porblump rolled over, wallowing in the nutrient
gel while contemplating her options. No, the answer to her problem had to be humans. Exasperating as they could be, this minor species appeared to have the right mix … to fix … the Vilzmix. But how to make it work?
“You might try asking them,” HwoTzip suggested. With a whir of wings, he settled on the rim of the feeding pool.
“Ask a human personally?”
“They’re not nearly as tricky as some species. Air breathers, projecting sound waves—it will be trivial.”
“But I’m already interacting with them through the game.”
“I believe it is a mistake to rely solely on gadget communication. Come, call one of these humans … on its … phone. Its sound gadget thing.”
Porblump dispiritedly blew a few bubbles, then bobbed closer to the rim, sloshing a wave of green slime over the edge. “Fine. Will you do the honors?”
HwoTzip’s wings turned to a blur as he zipped upward. With a few aerial spirals, he had activated the communication unit that was never far from Porblump’s side.
“The leader is Wang Li,” Porblump suggested helpfully.
“The leaders are engaged in conversation at present,” said HwoTzip, observing the activity graph. “I am selecting a human from farther down the list who appears to be solitary at the moment. After all, we do not want to interrupt human interactions that may be helping us to accomplish our goal.”
“Reasonable.”
HwoTzip completed the call. Porblump flinched as a raucous noise erupted from the speakers.
“Is that its voice?” she cried, horrified.
“It’s a musical ring tone.” HwoTzip settled his wings. “Are you sure you’ve extensively studied humans?”
Then they fell silent, because the automatic translator kicked in: “Kip here.”
The console displayed a bipedal creature floating within a giant mesh matrix. Other bipedal creatures behind it jetted to and from various points within the structure, guiding or securing massive beams to various struts.
Humans Wanted Page 14
