Exigency

by Michael Siemsen

  The crowd laughed again, though Aether had no clue what triggered them. She assumed Livetrans had an incorrect translation in there somewhere.

  “This one Aether?” an unamused Eeahso asked, and Skinny confirmed. “They look same. How tell apart?”

  Skinny peered at the pair once more before concluding that “Aether is bigger of these.”

  Eeahso turned to face Skinny and grabbed her with both arms. “Listen now. We not have days to spend with these … and watch copy Threck words. We have imick at dusk. Distraction only, these, unless they have helping. How you know these not new Threck?”

  “This is what I wish to learn,” Skinny said. “All of this.” And Eeahso stomped off, large globs of mud flinging in every direction, much of it landing on heads and even eyes, but with no one appearing to notice or care.

  Skinny turned to Aether and raised a single arm toward her. Aether must have recoiled without realizing it. The club hung in mid-air, strings of silver palm cilia slowly waving side to side, like a stadium full of enthusiastic fans.

  “Is it respectful that I touch Aether?”

  This was an important moment—not only for the potential precedent her response might establish, but for the fact that Skinny had asked. To be concerned with what is respectful, to view “Orange People” as people with customs or preferences, and to care what those are, these were indications of a highly advanced, civilized people. Aether was beginning to see what Minnie loved about them. They might’ve been as far along technologically as the early Romans, but this regard for strangers—not even of the same species—she wondered how the average human would have behaved during the equivalent era.

  Aether reviewed her response, previewed Howard the Threck’s associated gesture guide, and played the translation.

  “Orange People do exchange limited touches between friends—extremities only. I understand that Seekapock may not appreciate touching of head and especially mouth. This is same with Orange People. May I demonstrate customary greeting?”

  Skinny was silent and still for a moment, thinking. Her eyes hid and reappeared twice before, “This I want more than any other thing at this time.”

  Aether extended her gloved hand in front of her to shake. Skinny ogled it, glanced up to Aether’s eyes, then down once more. Skinny’s arm twisted counterclockwise so that the cilia-covered palm area faced out, extending it before her in a mirror of Aether’s stance. Aether leaned gently forward, easing her hand to Skinny’s pad until contact was made. Aether wrapped her thumb softly over the club, but did not squeeze. She didn’t know if it would be painful, or even appropriate. As soon as her thumb touched down, several strands of cilia stretched up from the pad and wrapped around the digit, embracing it. Gently, though. It didn’t hurt—more like a hundred little thumb hugs.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Aether said.

  “This is pleasure, truly,” Skinny agreed.

  Aether released, Skinny followed her lead, and the shake was done.

  “Come and follow,” Skinny said, and the crowd of onlookers stepped backward, opening a path. “You will eat what I give you.”

  Whereas Livetrans excelled with its verbal interpretation, it could use some help with deducing inflection and inference. She chuckled internally upon reading the last sentence, and walked after Skinny.

  “I capt pics and vid,” Qin’s voice in her ear as the pair exited the crowd of onlookers. “That was history right there.”

  “Thanks. Though I suspect Tom has already performed the official first contact. If you’re able to maintain link with the EV, and they’re in range, please check in and inform them of our situation.”

  From the crest of a well-trodden dune, Skinny motioned them to follow her inland.

  LIVETRANS: [impatience] Come now!

  2.4

  Dowfwoss Amoss led Tom and Angela into the farmers’ domicile—a dugout section of ground, like a basement. Above, a roof sloped a dozen or so degrees, fashioned of large, overlapping cones with saucer-sized holes in each. At first glance, Tom thought the lampshadesque shells belonged to some ocean mollusk the Threck consumed. Upon closer inspection, they were Threck shells or, perhaps more accurately, their skulls.

  Tom and Minnie had spent weeks mapping Threck evolution. While the team had devoted relatively little time to Epsy oceanography, it had been necessary to shed light on the planet’s most intelligent lifeforms. Threck, as it turned out, were closely related to most of the dominant ocean species, including their domesticated work animals. From the immense afvrik they used for net fishing and sea travel, to the horse-sized minnit, they had all branched off from a single, still-present species, the starclam (named by Tom, with great pride). All of their skulls bore this same basic design.

  Minnie had imagery of Country Threck domiciles, including internal layout, but as far as Tom knew, she’d never identified the building material as the remains of their dead.

  Stepping carefully down the wide stairs, Tom closed his bio eye while it adjusted to the darkness. His fone automatically adapted and he observed the new surroundings.

  “Out, out with you!” the Threck shouted and waved away the scurrying farmers and their young, like shooing vermin.

  Ten or more startled occupants brushed past Tom and Angela on the stairs, forced out into the heat.

  One of the farmers protested the rush, if not the eviction. “Need garb. You wait.”

  “Hurry then!” one of the Threck barked.

  ANGELA: Is it just me or are these guys major holes?

  TOM: They sure don’t seem to think much of the Country Threck. Classism, maybe racism? Might be multiple ethnicities we don’t know about.

  ANGELA: Disliking our supposed hosts already.

  Once the domicile’s presumptive owners were gone, the five City Threck appeared somewhat more relaxed. They spent the next few minutes rooting through containers while Tom recorded vid and snapped pics.

  “Disgusting,” Amoss said as she examined the muddy floor. She turned to Tom and Angela. “Apologies for the unsuitable meeting place.”

  Another Threck now spoke to Tom for the first time. “Do your people excrete within your shelters?”

  Tom wasn’t sure how to answer.

  Technically, yes?

  Amoss, fortunately, raised an arm and laughed.

  “No answer, no answer. This is not how we wish to begin our splendid exchange of feeling and ideas. If you are able to forgive the unforgivable odors, perhaps Syons People would enjoy bathing with us?” She gestured toward another carved stairway that led to a recessed loft area.

  The other Threck began shedding their cloaks, hanging them over one of the roof support beams, then climbed the stairs in turn. Despite a thorough familiarity with their anatomy, Tom was both fascinated and disturbed by the nude Threck. Only after seeing the way their bodies moved up the steps, legs bending and twisting with seemingly unnatural rotations, did reality smack Tom square in the forehead.

  This was an alien house.

  He was conversing with alien beings on an alien planet and the aliens wanted to bathe with him and to know if his people crapped in their homes. What would he say? How to behave without giving the Threck a bad impression of humankind? The stakes of this encounter were far too high. Wasn’t there some clever way he could get out of this? An indefinite deferral? Just run?

  If only.

  Amoss stood before him, awaiting an answer.

  ANGELA: Are we supposed to follow them up there? I don’t know if salt-water and the suits would play nice together.

  Right, salt-water, Tom thought.

  The Threck had built aqueducts in both directions: fresh-water from the mountains to feed the crops, and salt-water from the ocean to the floodplains for drinking and bathing. The farmers’ roofs extended over the salt-water channel, providing an ever-flowing in-house bath.

  “It is clean and warm,” Amoss said. “Constant current. All feces from first farms diluted to nothing.”

  Ah, To
m thought. So you’re supposed to crap in the drinking water. Not on the floor, which is gross.

  ANGELA: What are we doing? Say something to her!

  Tom quickly composed his response to Amoss. “We would be honored to bathe with you.”

  And then sent an M to Angela:

  TOM: We’re taking a bath. Strip.

  Tom removed his helmet and began opening the suit. Amoss laughed heartily and removed her cloak, tossing it over the beam with the others, but all the while watching Tom and Angela disrobe.

  ANGELA: You’re lucky I’m an exhibitionist. If Zees were here she’d be filing a harassment suit against you and the entire Threck population.

  As Tom set his suit, boots, and helmet on the entrance stairs, away from the mud, he realized they were giving up their MWs, too. The Threck didn’t have any weapons in the water, but they didn’t need any to be a threat.

  Angela handed her things to Tom and he stole a quick look at her bare body. She wore a dubious expression that may have been due to the peculiar situation, unexpected skinny dipping, or the pungent scent. Powerfully pungent. Tom was doing his best to conceal his gag heaves.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he whispered and gagged. “Just a quick bath among new friends.”

  Angela appeared to be handling the aroma commendably. “If I feel anybody trying to play footsie up there, I’m out.”

  Tom glanced back and saw Amoss with an arm held out. “Come now, come now.”

  And then it suddenly occurred to Tom that he’d made a huge mistake. Without the suit, he had no PA system to relay the translations of his input. He was completely on his own to try and speak the complex Threck consonants—sounds best uttered by compressed whipped cream cans and Donald Duck. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to speak in the water. Maybe they’d all just relax and enjoy each other’s naked company.

  “Is that a male reproductive organ?” one of the Threck in the water asked as Tom arched a leg over the craggy rock wall and slipped into the warm salt water.

  It was surprisingly deep. Tom found himself touching bottom with the surface at his shoulders. The current was slow but strong. He had to cling to the porous basalt to keep from drifting. At her height, Angela wouldn’t be able to stand at all.

  Tom turned to her. “It’s very deep. You need to hold on.”

  Angela scowled at him as she slid in, scratching her backside against the rock and grimacing with pain. Tom caught her and curled a hand around her waist. The Threck were saying things, but without looking at them, Tom’s Livetrans only captured the vocalizations.

  “They grow hairs.”

  “… moist skin.”

  “Differing anatomy …”

  Angela whispered, “I think my ass cheek is bleeding. And the water stings.”

  “Do you require assistance?” Amoss—or the Threck Tom thought was Amoss—asked Angela.

  Tom put a leg up for Angela to sit on, and they were finally able to settle into a stable position against the wall. Angela apparently noticed their new acquaintances ogling her chest and crossed an arm in front of her.

  “What is the purpose of those appendages?” One of the Threck reached across the stream and pointed directly at Angela’s breasts. “Did it always have four appendages?”

  “An amputation perhaps? Observe the sub-appendages, too.”

  “Are they talking about my boobs?” Angela whispered, then her eyes opened wide. “Wait … how are you going to talk to them?”

  “I know,” Tom sighed, defeated. “I don’t know.”

  The room was quiet for what seemed a long while. Only the soothing sounds of flowing water echoed in the air, like some romantic grotto. The Threcks’ giant eyes rolled around as they studied Tom and Angela. The water appeared to relax them, their eyes slow blinking, hiding and unhiding, heads dunking beneath the water then back up, exposing only their eyes and the tops of their domes. They didn’t seem to care if their siphon holes were in, out, or half-submerged in the water. Tom tried to match their behaviors, blinking slowly and dipping his head beneath the surface. Awkwardness aside, he could get used to this ritual. There was even a nice, fresh airstream flowing from the thin space between water and roof at Tom’s left, to the river’s exit at his right—a welcome respite from the noxious odors behind him.

  Amoss finally broke the silence, her smooth, deep voice reverberating in the cave-like space.

  “Syons People are smarter than Threck. This is fascinating and shocking revelation. Our people have never in our history encountered beings more advanced than us. The Thinkers will be outraged and jubilant. They should like to speak with you at great length.”

  Amoss stopped speaking and awaited a response. It would be rude to not answer. He needed something short. Something simple. He tried out several brief replies, listening to the synth vocalizations.

  Intimidated by pretty much everything he wanted to say, he finally settled on: Pleasing.

  “Kwadth tem,” he said.

  Tom felt Angela’s hand tighten on his waist and he peripherally saw her head turning slowly toward him.

  ANGELA: Pleasing? Wow.

  TOM: Hey, if you want to try talking to them, jump in here any time.

  ANGELA: They’re staring at us. Don’t be a wuss.

  Tom recalled a guest speaker from the requisite diplomacy training back on Earth. She had said that, despite one’s every instinct, in nearly every diplomatic engagement, honesty was invariably the best approach. Skeptical students had challenged her with hypotheticals that she’d deftly swatted away with real-world examples in which an honest dialogue had deescalated a touchy circumstance or secured a desired outcome.

  Tom reverted to his original reply and listened once more to Howard the Threck’s synth. He inhaled a deep breath and began:

  “Ja-ahshkeh pladtip vrrish …” but he stopped, thought quickly, revised the text. A new response played in his ear. He spoke the words slowly, purposefully, one at a time, as the phonetics flashed before him, and Howard demonstrated the associated gestures. In Threck, he attempted, “Our speaking parts are different from Threck. While we understand your words, it is difficult to say many. The voice you heard earlier, this is from our garb, which contains technology. They aid us in speaking your words. Without that help, though, this is how I sound. My apologies.”

  The Threck regarded one another for a moment.

  “What is ‘building voice?’” one asked another.

  “Is it ‘speaking tools?’” another said. “‘Tools wearing garb?’ What does it say?”

  Tom pointed to the steps to the entrance. “My garb helps. Makes voice. Speaks words.”

  Amoss suddenly got it. “Its garb spoke the words before! This now is real Syons People voice! I do not understand, but I understand.” She turned to her comrades and explained.

  “Yes,” Tom labored on. “My Threck words will sound silly, but we want you to know that we will enjoy speaking with the Thinkers, though I am not sure that my people can live up to your flattering assessment of our intelligence.”

  “Why not sure?” Amoss replied. “Is it not obvious? Syons People speak our language, but we do not speak yours. You have created technology that allows you to float in the sky as if it were ocean. Even your garb, as you say, can speak words like a real Threck and has been fashioned and assembled with precision and skill that our people cannot comprehend. Not only are Syons People smarter than Threck, Syons People garb is smarter than Threck! The list of questions I have for you grows with each passing second, and I can foresee no end to them. I think, perhaps, that to Syons People, we are the farmers, and Syons People, Threck.”

  “You are very kind,” Tom said.

  Angela rubbed his side just as an M from her popped up.

  ANGELA: You’re doing so good! Proud of you. (And it’s very attractive)

  TOM: I’m sure our friends would love for us to demonstrate how Science People reproduce …

  ANGELA: Sicko. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist.


  * * *

  Tom and Angela sat (floated) through nearly an hour of questions, from anatomy to the prickly subject of human technology. While the Threck had no reference point for breastfeeding (Epsy’s relatively few lactating species lived in Hynka Country—the Hynka themselves among them, though not through a nipple), they seemed to finally understand that Angela’s strange torso had neither befallen some tragic accident that had robbed her of a third and fourth arm, nor was there cause for tumor concern.

  “Apparently, the entire galaxy is obsessed,” Angela quietly observed.

  Tom, too, had obtained answers to some of Minnie’s top questions. Threck City’s population? 36,077 as of yesterday’s hatch. Minnie’s most recent estimation had been fairly close at 34,500. Reproduction? Fertile individuals could lay 2-3 eggs up to twice a year. Who’s in charge? An ever-changing group of individuals comprised of the seniormost members of each city group: Fishing, Farming, Thinkers, Makers, Materials, Nursery, Education, Waters & Sanitation, Exploration, and Expansion.

  “You are all with the farming group?” Tom asked.

  “Not precisely,” Amoss demurred, and emerged from the water. “Let us check on the harvest loading and take our leave if complete.” She raised one of her legs, planted it on the wall beside Angela, and then nimbly pushed off the rear wall with the other leg.

  Angela turned to Tom. “Let’s wait for the rest of them to disembark, shall we?”

  “What?” Tom smirked. “Tired of anatomical discussions?”

  As it was desirable to remain wet as long as possible, the Threck weren’t familiar with towels. In fact, they each dipped their robes into the river to saturate before putting them back on, while Tom and Angela struggled to slide their wet bodies into their clothes and suits.

  The Threck resumed bemoaning the place. “A shame there is no unbefouled mud to apply.”

  “Filthy hynka,” another agreed, and Tom noted the term for “savage” describing something other than Ish’s beloved civilization.

  Outside, throngs of Threck loaded the final baskets of harvested crops onto their filling carts. Amoss and friends—their names were Tatsis, Eskip, Mestthish, and Oose, though each time Tom thought he had a name pegged to a body, he had it wrong (“Once again, I am Eskip, not Tatsis. Are we so indistinct to Syons People?”)—spoke to their workers before Amoss and possibly Eskip returned to the domicile entrance.