by S MacDonald
Things did calm down, though, with a welcome change of focus later that evening. It was Mindful night, with the usual talk being given in the gym. It was always popular, but was even better attended than usual today. It had been made clear that watching this talk and reading the article would be required study for anyone wanting to apply for groundside duties. Since there was nobody on the ship who didn’t want to go groundside the first opportunity they got, everyone who could get in the gym packed themselves in there, while everyone else whose duties allowed was watching it live over comms.
It was Buzz who gave the talk. The title of it was given as ‘How cute is that?’, though the academic sub-title was very much longer.
Buzz began with the outcome of research he’d conducted a couple of days before. Volunteers had been asked for to participate in an experiment – it required only two minutes, and involved nothing more than popping into the VR room he was using, there to carry out a simple task. They would, he’d explained, meet an interactive VR character there, and their task would be nothing more than to introduce themselves and ask for its name.
Participation had been a hundred per cent, even the passengers eager to take part. For one thing, it was understood that Buzz would not be carrying out such research at such a time unless it was operationally relevant, and for another, they wanted to know what it was about. They’d all been hoping for some dramatic interaction, and they’d all been disappointed. All of them had encountered the same VR character, with one variant. The character was one which sociologists called ‘Norm’, an absolute dead average of all human features across all their genomes. It was androgynous, devoid of anything like individual characteristics, with a flat voice comprising an averaging out of all League dialects and accents. It looked and sounded like a particularly dull robot. It had had nothing to say for itself, either, other than ‘I’m Norm, thank you for taking part in this research.’ It had been a bit of a let-down, really, with everyone who’d taken part assuming that they’d been one of the unlucky control group and that others had had a very much livelier encounter.
As Buzz told them then, though, they had all met variants of Norm – three variants, in fact. One had been the standard-issue Norm, a second had been Norm at a scale twenty per cent smaller – inevitably, Little Norm – while the other was on a scale twenty per cent larger, Big Norm. What he had been analysing, there, was their body language in that encounter, their choice of vocabulary and their tone of voice. It was a very thorough analysis, as would be expected in an academic study at publication level. It analysed the study group itself, before it even looked at the data, and even took into account the fact that they were used to taking part in ethnographic studies and that many of them would have recognised Norm for what it was.
It was the data he’d collected, though, which told the story. People who had talked to Little Norm had shown significantly more indicators of adult-to-child behaviour, vocabulary and tone than those who’d met the standard, control-group Norm. There was, however, no corresponding change to subordinate manner when encountering Big Norm, just momentary surprise in a minority of cases and immediate acceptance. This held true across all ethnographic considerations of rank, gender and age, with only a small factor identified as relevant, that of relative height of the participant in relation to that of Little Norm.
‘Essentially,’ Buzz said, ‘the smaller Little Norm seems in relation to us, the more likely we are to slip into,’ he adopted a kindly, fatherly manner, ‘Hello, my name is Buzz, and what’s your name?’
There was some wincing amongst the audience, at that, who recognised themselves, while the crewwoman who’d made the ‘How cute is that?’ remark several days earlier turned brick-red and slid downwards in her seat.
‘Understand,’ said Buzz, with a smile, ‘that this is no criticism of any of you. It’s a study of how biological imperatives and cultural influence can impact on us all subconsciously, and all the more surprising in its results because it is studying an extraordinarily cosmopolitan, open-minded group. So, briefly…’ as was usual in Mindful talks, the article with its detailed supporting analysis was on screen as he spoke, but the talk itself gave the key points in a conversational, accessible way.
‘Taking the biological imperative first,’ Buzz said, ‘we are genetically programmed to be nurturing with children, an imperative reinforced by every aspect of our culture relating to their welfare and our duty of care as adults. So when we meet people who resemble children in our eyes, there is an instinctive and culture-learned pressure towards being kind and looking after them. This pressure is not something we can do anything about, however much we know intellectually that the little people aren’t children, however strongly we may feel, ethically and morally, that it is wrong to treat them as anything other than adults of equal status. However emphatic you are in your views about that – and I believe we all are – we all have to fight that ‘nurture the little ones’ instinct that is prompting us to be parental even when we know that it is not appropriate.’ He looked around and saw that his audience was with him, not liking what he was telling them because most of them would have liked to say that they did not experience even a subconscious kind of prejudice, but accepting.
‘Then,’ Buzz said, ‘there’s the cultural influence. I only have to say the words ‘little people’ and it brings up associations we all learned as children. Virtually every world in the League has a culture about ‘little people’, fairy tale dwarves, pixies, fairies, and we’ve all absorbed lord knows how many images, stories, movies and so on which depict the little people as cute. Little people are cute, in our culture; they live in sweet little houses and have cute little cups and plates. Come on, now, honestly, how many of you remember playing tea-parties in such places as fantasy venues with mushroom play-houses, acorn cups and the like? Or have taken your own children to them?’
Hands went up – a few, then more, then nearly all, the few refuseniks tending to fold their arms and look stubborn, clearly prepared to defend their dignity on that one.
‘Right,’ said Buzz. ‘And even though of course we know that is just fantasy, all that experience is an influence towards us being condescending. And just consider our use of language in that context, that we say we are ‘talking down’ to someone if we’re being patronising, and ‘condescending’, too, an idiom founded in the fundamental assumption that tallness equates with status and authority. So we have, you see, these biological and cultural factors which push us towards seeing little people as A, childlike and B, cute. And that, clearly, is of major importance as we move towards the point of physical encounters between ourselves and Carrearranians.’ He smiled as the interest and focus in the gym kicked up perceptibly.
‘That hasn’t been an issue, so far,’ he said. ‘We know they are a lot smaller than we are but we’re dealing with them exclusively through comms, almost always in head-shot which compensates for size anyway. It is a factor, too, that we are seeing them in their world, in which everything – even trees and other natural features – are on their scale, not ours. Our one experience of having a conscious Carrearranian aboard our ship was enlightening, of course, but how many of us smiled, feeling some kind of ahhh, at the sight of Davie kneeling down to hug him? And how many of us, walking into the Carrearranian training suite, have laughed? Not at them, not at them and with no offensive intention whatsoever, but simply because it looks so little and cute and reminds us of Woodland Folk tea parties.’
He was referring, there, to the several recreations of Carrearranian venues which had been made for the gym, for training purposes. The one everyone wanted to get some time in was the house interior. It was no hologram, but a physical reproduction of everything in a typical island home, right down to the gourd cups. All of it was siliplas, manufactured on board by their own siliplas extrusion plant, programmed to produce reproduction articles as authentic as they could be from the data collected by drones. The first training session involved allowing small groups to visi
t, to familiarise themselves with the setting and carry out a risk assessment for themselves. It had been in this room that the crewwoman, picking up a cup which sat in the palm of her hand, had exclaimed in unthinking delight, How cute is that?
‘So,’ Buzz said, ‘my research, establishing that however cosmopolitan we believe ourselves to be – and are, in comparison with the general population – we are all, to some degree, influenced in our thinking by those biological and cultural factors. And the next question is, obviously, what can we do about that? Because it clearly is not appropriate for us to go to Carrearranis with any attitude of condescension or finding their lifestyle amusing. We can’t eliminate the fact that we are going to experience those pressures, but we can – with resolve and commitment – reorient our thinking using counter-pressure influences. It is my intention to provide us all with four such counter-pressures, things that we can remember and which will act to push back against any tendency there may be to regard Carrearranians as child-like or cute.’ He smiled.
‘So…’ he put up a giant word CUTE on the board behind him, set vertically. ‘C,’ he said, ‘is for Carnivorous. We have all, I daresay, had our moments of revulsion at the realisation that the Carrearranians kill and eat fish and shellfish. For most of us, coping with that has meant putting it to the back of our minds and avoiding anything that makes us feel squeamish. Well, sorry about that, but…’ he pulled up images, brief holos which played in a stream. There was an immediate rustle, people fidgeting uncomfortably, a few little choking noises and an audible errrgh. ‘This one,’ Buzz paused the flow, ‘is the reality of what ‘eating shellfish’ actually means – these are a kind of conch, commonly found in shallow lagoons. This young woman is about to snack on one. I would like you to take particular note of how casually she picks it up, uses a hook to rip it out of its shell and eats it alive.’
This time there were many errrrghs and several gagging noises.
‘I am not,’ said Buzz, ‘going to show you the footage of fishermen biting the heads off fish while they are still wriggling, because I don’t want half of you making a rush for the lavatories. But I want you to remember that,’ he replayed the footage of the woman swallowing the live shellfish with a casual gulp, ‘any time that you are in any way inclined to view Carrearranians as sweet little people. So… U.
‘U is for Uber. Carrearranians are uber-people, and we all need to bear that in mind. They have uber-strong immune systems and uber-strong physiology, perfectly adapted not only for survival on this planet but as a survival species in the wider sense. Carrearranians can survive on our worlds better than we can ourselves, and they can survive and thrive in environments which would be too challenging for any other human genome. Basically, in evolutionary terms, they are an apex genome. So just bear that in mind, too, when you’re talking with them, remember that they are a better genetic design than we are. Which brings us to T, Tough.
‘Carrearranians are tough, and I can’t stress that one highly enough. Whatever you do, do not get into any kind of fist fight with them, even in fun. We’ve all seen this kind of…’ he brought up an image of a group of young men, fooling around, exchanging playful punches. ‘Our bones,’ said Buzz, ‘would shatter under this impact. Just for example…’
He brought up a simulation showing the impact of a Carrearranian fist into a human-average ribcage, and there was more flinching and exclamations from around the gym. ‘You are looking,’ Buzz informed them helpfully, ‘at broken ribs and internal injuries. We are so fragile in comparison with them that every contact will have to be very careful. And we won’t, in fact, be going groundside without the protection of survival suits until we are assured that the people we’re meeting do understand how fragile we are. And that,’ he smiled again, ‘brings me to E.
‘E is for Everyone. It is vital to understand that these things I’ve been saying don’t just apply to the alpha men and women, but to all Carrearranians. That sweet little toddler you’re tickling…’
An image came up on the screen, a child of perhaps a year old laying in a bed, and a figure in Fourth’s uniform reaching to play a tickle-game. Gurgling, the child grabbed at the tickling fingers, as babies always did, and in the next moment there was an outburst of wincing exclamations from the audience, as the baby pulled at the fingers and snapped one of them backwards, ‘and that dear frail old lady.’ An image came up of an elderly woman sitting by a fire and tending a stew pot. Apprehension mounted. ‘I’m sure most of you have seen incidents of elderly women slapping other people, notably the youth of the village, and I daresay that most of us have had a grin at the sight of granny giving some beefy guy a clip around the ear. But do be aware that if granny gives you a clip round the ear she’s likely to knock you out cold and you’ll be lucky to get away with concussion.’ He let that hang for a moment and then said, with emphasis, ‘Do not mess with the grannies.’
That broke the tension and he paused for the laughter, grinning but clearly not done yet. ‘As for kids…’ he showed footage of children running about, playing, as kids did on any world. ‘If they run into you, they will knock you flying. A typical Carrearranian ten year old weighs more than I do, so being hit by one at speed will be like being taken out by a full-on sports tackle. And you must be aware, always, of the dangers of horseplay.’ He brought up another image. ‘These kids are playing – the ones up the tree are gathering hardnuts, a common task for kids as the trees are considered easy to climb. They’re throwing the nuts down and the kids below are gathering them into the baskets. But being kids, obviously, they make a game of anything they’re doing, so the ones in the trees are trying to hit the ones on the ground, like a game of dodgeball. You can see it isn’t hurting them, and you might even be tempted to join in, have a bit of fun and help to gather food for the community. But do just be aware that those hardnuts, though small, have the density of a concrete baseball and at the speed they pitch them… well, fractured skull, broken bones, ruptured organs, basically, anywhere it hits you it will do serious damage. So just be aware, okay, that everyone on that planet could do you serious injury even without intending to. Learning to do real-time risk assessments will involve a good deal more than identifying trip hazards and pollutants. And if you do find yourself inclined, at any time, towards any sensation of oh, how cute is that…’ he brought up the mnemonic CUTE again, ‘just remember what that actually means.’
Buzz got solid applause for his talk, and it was a lively audience which dispersed afterwards. They could feel it, now – the build, the final steps to be taken before they could set foot groundside. There were another four weeks before they’d hear back from Chartsey on the homo sapiens issue, but already, they could taste that Carrearranian air.
Twenty
They could taste it for real, next morning, as Alex chose that day to make a change to the shipboard routine. Like all Fleet ships, the Heron carried out a full-ship clean through early in the working day, with all hands taking part. It was a custom as much about ritual and team spirit as it was about ensuring that the ship was thoroughly cleaned, and important, too, because the time spent doing it and the standards achieved were one of the criteria the Fleet used in rating a ship for its operational efficiency. On the Heron, as on all progressive ships, the clean through was combined with freefall exercise, a quarter of an hour every morning when the ship routinely went into freefall.
It was not so next morning, nor any of the mornings after that. From then until they ended the mission, the Fourth switched to groundside exercise conditions instead. Gravity was set to Carrearranian standard, and so was the composition of the atmosphere. For realism, Rangi had created aromatherapy pods which came as near possible the scents which would be experienced on the islands.
For once, the clean-through was shockingly slow, at least by Heron standards. People were just too enthralled by the experience of breathing something like Carrearranian air and stumping around in the heavier gravity while wafts of rich green and floral scents e
nveloped and entranced. It needed a nudge from Buzz to get the clean-through accomplished within the time specified by the Fleet as acceptable for a ship of this class. It had been much enjoyed though, not just for itself but for what it represented, another step forward in their preparation for landing on the planet.
They took another step again, later that day, when the first batch of twenty trainees went for environmental safety training. This was being provided by Rangi, and in this particular session the topic was food.
‘All of you,’ he observed, with a look around at the trainees who were seated at tables in the gym, ‘have said that you’re willing to eat organic food on groundside visits. Some of you have even said you’ll eat fish.’ He looked at Alex, who gazed back placidly. However revolting it might be to him personally to contemplate eating the flesh of a dead creature, he would endure a lot worse than that in the interests of forging this relationship. ‘Which, okay, I consider abhorrent but have to accept,’ said Rangi. ‘What you do need to understand, though, is the reality of what eating Carrearranian food will actually involve – and I don’t just mean the yuck factor of eating fish corpses. We have samples of the food and drink the Carrearranians eat, and I have to tell you that even if you want to eat it, you won’t be able to. Physically, I mean.’ He looked at Alex again. ‘Even though the Carrearranians are technically human, that does not change the medical reality that they have a very different physiology. Their teeth, jaws and digestive systems are significantly stronger than ours, and I mean, significantly. Even some of the fruit they eat might risk you breaking teeth and as for nuts, well, you might as well try to chew lumps of cement. Anything you can chew sufficiently to swallow is liable to pass through your system undigested, causing indigestion and constipation. So if diplomacy obliges you to eat anything at all, eat only the softest fruit they have, eat as little as possible and chew it very thoroughly indeed. Not,’ he went straight on, with a grin, ‘that I think that eating as little as possible will be much of an issue. Turns out that they have a very different palate from ours, too, in terms of what they consider to be tasty. The liquid which we see them brewing and adding to just about all their food and drink is actually a type of vinegar – very strong, acidic vinegar. And those little dark corms we see them adding to a lot of their food as a seasoning, too, turns out they’re of a similar family to chilli peppers. Their pungency – their heat – is equivalent to that of the joloki – the third hottest known to culinary science and the hottest certified as safe for consumption on many of our worlds. However much you think you like spicy food, trust me, one of those corms would pretty much blow your head off. And the Carrearranians toss them into stews by the handful. So unless you feel that the diplomatic relationship will be enhanced in any way by you rolling around on the floor in agony, do not eat the stew. And just in case,’ he went straight on again, seeing a certain discontent amongst the trainees, ‘you think that I am exaggerating, do, please, observe the kits which I have placed on your tables.’
