The Twiller

by David Derrico

  Ian reached the back of the store and entered the small room, which turned out to be an elevator. A really, stupendously fast elevator that seemed to work more on teleportation than conventional physics. Before Ian even had time to think about any of that, he arrived on one of the upper levels of the tower.

  All around him were bookshelves lined with books of all shapes and forms. Huge tomes larger than Ian himself, all the way down to banks of tiny books no bigger than Ian’s fingernail. Old, leather-bound volumes with gold foil pages and satin bookmarks, and electronic tablets with glowing displays. Interspersed among them were globes, maps, computer terminals, holographic projections, and dozens of things Ian could not even begin to name, let alone understand their purpose. He thought he even saw a sextant mounted on the wall, but then he realized he had no idea what a sextant actually looked like. But it was clearly what he imagined a sextant to be.

  In the center of the room was an old, wizened alien. He conveyed his great age and wisdom by the fit of his clothing, the look on his deeply lined face, and some indescribable manner of his demeanor. Also, when he greeted Ian, he proclaimed: “I am very old, and very damn wise. Now what the heck do you want?”

  Ian was taken aback. He had little doubt why the “And Sundries” part of the business seemed to be the more popular part.

  “Wise one,” Ian began, performing an awkward bow. “I am here to seek answers and your counsel.”

  This seemed to mollify the cranky oracle. He relaxed a bit, and said, “I can answer any question you may have, as I am the Great Oracle of the Ivory Tower. My name,” he said with a flourish, “is Mister Mark Matthew, but you can call me Sir Mark Matthew.”

  “Great,” said Ian. “I have so many questions.”

  “Very good,” said the oracle, in a tone that made it quite clear that it wasn’t.

  “Well, maybe just a couple of questions, then.” Ian stammered. In a fit of bravery, Ian decided to test the oracle, just a bit. After all, hardly anyone he had met on his travels had even heard of humans or Earth before. “Do you know what I am?”

  The oracle scoffed. “Do I know what you are? Do you?”

  Ian wasn’t really ready for that. “Well, of course—”

  “No, no,” he cut Ian off. “I know what you think you are.” He sighed, looking Ian over with a look that bordered on contempt. To be truthful, the look did not actually “border” on contempt. If “contempt” were a country on a map, the look that the alien bestowed upon Ian would be the capital of that country, a huge city right smack dab in the middle of it with a large red star.

  Ian slumped dejectedly. “I guess I’m really not sure what I am anymore.”

  The oracle brightened, seeing an opportunity to be rid of Ian. “You’re a human. A hairless ape from the fringes of the Nowhere Quadrant of space.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Thank you for visiting the Great Oracle of the Ivory Tower. That will be two million bucks.”

  “W–wait,” Ian stammered. “I’m not finished. I mean, I already knew I was human, of course. But what does it mean to be human? And why is it that you and everyone else I’ve met look at me like some lower form of life? Like some pest? Like a rat?”

  The oracle suppressed a laugh. “A rat, you say?”

  “Yeah,” Ian agreed. “Like a rat. You do have rats here, don’t you?”

  The alien chuckled disconcertingly. “Oh no, no. Well, not anymore. There are no more rats on a lovely planet like this.”

  “What happened to them then? Did you eradicate them?”

  “No, that turned out to be impossible, even with our technologies.” The oracle waved his hand. “Eventually we just decided to pay the rats to go away.”

  “I’m sorry, you ... ?”

  “Yeah, you know, we just paid them off. Gave them all a huge chunk of cash and free transit to wherever they wanted to go to. We believe they went off to some faraway blue-green planet with lots of water.”

  “A b–blue-green planet?” Ian had a sinking feeling. “And what happened to them there?”

  “No one knows for sure,” the alien said. “I think they might have evolved.” He looked Ian over disapprovingly. “Or perhaps not,” he concluded with a completely superfluous sneer.

  Just when Ian was beginning to think visiting this oracle wasn’t such a hot idea, a voice carried in from another room. “Mark,” it called, “Mark Matthew, you stop being rude to that young man this instant!” A plump but friendly-looking alien waddled into the room. She looked at Ian kindly. “Don’t listen to him. That’s just a theory.”

  “The prevailing theory,” the oracle shot back petulantly.

  “Go on,” the new oracle told the old oracle, “get going. I told you never to speak with the customers.”

  “Fine by me,” the old oracle grumbled, and shuffled off.

  Ian was left a bit speechless by his previous oracle’s proclamation, and more so by the sudden turn of events. He looked hopefully to the new oracle.

  “Now don’t get all depressed over that old codger,” she said. “He’s just been cooped up in this tower too long is all, he forgot all his manners. My name is Delphi, I’m the head advice-dispensing oracle. Mark back there is really more of a research oracle.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Not much of a people person, you know?”

  Ian nodded. “Wait, your name is Delphi?”

  The alien oracle blushed, her bluish hue darkening to purple. “I see you’ve heard of me. I do make it a point to do some outreach work from time to time.” She raised her voice for Sir Mark’s benefit. “It’s good to get out of the tower sometimes!”

  Mark replied with a grumpy “Hrumph” from the other room.

  “So,” Ian asked, “I take it you’ve been to Earth?”

  “Earth?” The oracle appeared lost in thought. “Ah, yes, that is what the people there called it. That was a very long time ago. I visited there when I was just starting out in the oracle business.” She flashed an embarrassed glance at Ian. “None of the civilized worlds wanted to bring me in to oracle for them,” she confessed. “It’s hard to build up a reputation in this business. No one will listen to your advice unless you’ve already given some good advice to people who have famously followed your advice and achieved great wealth or power. It’s a bit of a vicious circle, I’m afraid.”

  Ian nodded in understanding. “So, is what Sir Mark said true? About the rats?”

  “Oh, probably not,” she said reassuringly. “That’s just an old wives’ tale. The truth is, no one really knows where those rats ended up or what became of them. It wasn’t your planet.” There was a short pause. “I’m almost certain it wasn’t your planet.” She looked down at her feet. “Fairly certain,” she added.

  “That’s … a relief,” Ian said, with little conviction.

  “But it is true that, over time, species tend to evolve to develop larger, more complex brains, bodies more suitable for modern worlds and technologies, and, of course, the hyperneuron center of the brain, which is the basic prerequisite to be considered …” Her voice trailed off.

  “The hyper what?” Ian asked lamely. The Twiller made a point of averting its eyes, looking at a random spot on the ceiling.

  “Ah, never mind, never mind, forget I said anything. The point is, the longer a species has been around, the more time evolution has to work and confer various advantages on it. Like the globulons of Ryjaxian Prime. Some consider them the highest possible stage of evolution.”

  “Really?” said Ian. “What do they look like?”

  “Oh, they’re marvelous. Their entire body is a single, large brain—with a huge hyperneuron center, of course—that directly interfaces into powerful, networked computers. Not one cell on their body is wasted on anything but brain functions. Of course, they require complex machines hooked up to them at all times to handle mundane functions like nutrition, respiration, and circulation.”

  “That sounds hideous,” Ian countered.

  “Well,”
the oracle paused. “I don’t suppose they’re much to look at. But the point is, they have evolved to succeed in their current technological age. And the longer a species has been exposed to technology, the more they are able to adapt and evolve. And the more other species look up to them.”

  “We’re evolved,” Ian said half-heartedly, secretly jealous of the gross brain-things.

  “Twill,” said the Twiller in support.

  “Of course,” the kindly oracle said reassuringly. “Let me guess, your race evolved over millennia—first from primordial goo and protoplasmic slime, into single-celled organisms, to larger life forms and fish, then mammals, and monkeys, which then evolved into you.”

  “Yes … ah!” The recognition washed over Ian’s face. “So that’s why everyone I’ve met on my travels has been so mean to me, and looked down on me so much. They look at me like I would look at a monkey!”

  The old alien shook her wizened head sadly. “No, my poor, lost friend. They look at you as the slime.”

  . . . . .

  Ian walked out of the Ivory Tower Oracle (and Sundries) feeling a bit dejected, although the nicer oracle did give him a lovely T-shirt that read, “We see an oracle in your future!” But that didn’t cheer him up (much), and it didn’t resolve any of Ian’s questions or his sense of not belonging. He slumped down on the grass and said, to no one in particular, “What am I doing here?”

  Just then, a pigeon fluttered down and landed by Ian’s feet. It strutted around for a moment, then turned back and seemed to notice Ian for the first time. It looked at him with a clearly relaxed expression.

  “Do you have the answers?” Ian asked it with a chuckle.

  “Shoots, brah,” it replied, to Ian’s amazement. “What kine question izzat?”

  Ian looked to the Twiller, who just shrugged, clearly unsurprised by a talking pigeon. It seemed to give Ian a look that said, What’s the big deal? That’s hardly the strangest thing you’ve seen today. Ian had to admit it had a point.

  “I–I don’t know,” Ian stammered, steadfastly ignoring the small part of his brain that insisted he was going mad. “I’ve just been kinda lost lately, looking for some meaning. Some way to get my bearings.”

  “Crazy haole. You try ask the akamai Kahuna in there?” It gestured to the tower with a wing.

  “Yeah, I just came from there. No luck.”

  The pigeon shrugged. “Chill, bruddah. You tried any pakalolo?”

  Ian gave the pigeon a confused look.

  “You know, pakalolo. Maui Wowie.”

  Ian looked around and leaned in a little closer, apparently now completely at ease with the idea of a talking pigeon. “You mean marijuana?”

  “Yeah, brah. Dat’s the stuff. When I be feelin’ confused, a little pakalolo clears my head right up.”

  “Does that help you figure out who you are, what your purpose is, that sort of thing?” suggested Ian.

  “Shoot no. Makes me forget all dem useless questions, though. Makes me think about the important stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, where can I get some ono kine grinds.” Ian stared at the pigeon blankly. “You know, where’s the closest Taco Bell?”

  “Ah,” Ian said, finally understanding.

  “Dat reminds me,” said the pigeon, “I’m meeting some of my ohana at the car wash. My braddahs and aunties be waiting.” It flexed its wings, preparing to take off.

  “You guys meet at a car wash?” asked Ian.

  “Yeah, we poop on the cars. Summa them people drop their sandwiches to chase us away.”

  That seemed to make sense to Ian. “Hey,” he asked, a sudden thought popping into his head. “What do you know about rats?”

  “Rats?” repeated the pigeon. “Nasty things. They’re like pigeons without wings.”

  With that, it flew off.

  . . . . .

  Ian dejectedly wandered around the beaches of Huh? Why E? for a while. He walked aimlessly, applying a healthy coat of the sunscreen he had bought from the … And Sundries part of the oracle tower to protect his pale skin from the rays of the setting sun. Not even the spectacular sunset view or the soothing sound of waves crashing to shore could lift his spirits. He felt lost, confused, depressed, and utterly insignificant. At least, back on Earth, he rarely left his house and therefore wasn’t normally lost.

  The ocean was teeming with dozens of aliens surfing on gentle waves carrying them to shore. The beach was crowded by normal standards, but Ian had been to El Leigh, so he would never have “normal” standards again. There did appear to be several groups of people (using the term “people” loosely) clustered together on beach towels and chairs. Actually, as Ian scanned the beach, it seemed to actually be one large gathering, as if each group of aliens knew their neighbors, chatting with them and exchanging food from small BBQ grills and coolers. Either everyone on this beach was related or knew each other, or they were just the friendliest aliens Ian had ever met. Ian stood and watched them for a few moments, only a few feet away from the nearest group, but clearly not included in the beach-wide feeling of camaraderie.

  Ian felt very much alone.

  Ian walked past the throngs of happy beach-goers and consulted the map given to him by the helpful hotel receptionist. He found the nearest bus stop and walked a block or so to a comfortable bench with an illuminated sign that informed him the next bus would arrive in exactly eight minutes. Ian sat next to a thin green alien and sighed. The alien coughed and turned toward Ian. “Are you okay?” it asked.

  “Yes, I’m–I’m fine,” Ian stammered, staring at the ground. “Just a bit down, I suppose.” He looked up at the alien, and realized with a bit of a start that green was not the alien’s natural color. While Ian was hardly a xenobiologist, or even a regular biologist, or even a doctor, or even particularly good at science, somehow he knew the alien was quite ill. “Hey,” he asked, “are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right,” the alien replied, steam rising from its forehead. “Just as soon as I get off Huh? Why E?” It mopped its brow with a handkerchief. “Island fever, you know.”

  Ian nodded. “Island fever. No, wait, I actually don’t know. What is that?”

  “Oh, lots of us get it,” the alien shrugged. “If you spend too much time here.”

  Ian instinctively covered his mouth. He wasn’t a xenobiologist, or even a regular biologist, or even a doctor, or even particularly good at science, and therefore had no idea if alien germs or bacteria or viruses could infect humans or not. “What causes it?” Ian asked, trying to subtly inch away from the poor creature.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” The alien managed a laugh that quickly degenerated into a fit of coughing that caused the Twiller to hide behind Ian for protection. “It’s not contagious or anything. It just develops when you live on Huh? Why E? too long. You see,” the alien explained, “while this is a lovely planet, with picturesque beaches and great food and all that, it’s missing a lot of stuff that’s necessary for a healthy life.”

  Ian, not being a xenobiologist, or even—you get the picture—Ian completely mistook the alien’s meaning. “So, are there certain foods or nutrients you can’t get here? Something in the air that’s missing? Oh, I know, not enough Vitamin D from the perpetually-setting sun?” Ian thought himself quite brilliant for thinking of that last bit. Hyperneuron clusters be damned, he thought.

  “Uh, no, that’s not it at all,” said the alien mildly. “You see, there aren’t any real sports teams on this planet. Can you imagine? And when I try to watch the Fleur Ida Gate Tors—galactic champions two out of the last three years—either I can’t watch the games at all, or the transmission lag means I’m up at 5 AM just to watch games that took place three weeks ago.”

  Ian goggled at the alien, but it was just getting started.

  “And not even one MaxiGalactic Emporium on the whole planet—where am I supposed to buy stuff? Little overpriced tourist shops? Hmph! I think not.” The alien seemed to be feeling a bit
better, gaining strength as it continued its diatribe. “And don’t even get me started on how few concerts ever make it out here or how the next major planet is three shuttle flights away ….”

  Ian patiently listened to the alien’s tirade. Fortunately, he had no intention of sticking around long enough to develop island fever.

  Thankfully, the alien’s complaints were interrupted by a smooth mustard-colored bus that hovered to a stop in front of the bench, only ten minutes late (the alien explained that the bus ran on “Huh? Why E? Time,” whatever that meant). Ian stood and boarded the bus with the Twiller and his new green alien friend. The bus driver waved casually to the sickly creature, greeting him with a “Hey, uncle.” Several people on the bus also greeted the green alien; in some astounding coincidence they all appeared to be members of its extended family. Ian followed it toward the back of the bus and sat down on a seat never meant for human behinds, but still more comfortable than any he had used on Earth, and settled in for the ride.

  The bus floated slowly away, a neon sign across the top of the rear window flashing its destination: “ALOHA SPACEPORT.”

  . . . . .

  The Huh? Why E? spaceport was one of the least efficient ones Ian had seen. While Ian was sure that countless aliens visited the planet, he couldn’t imagine why a little more thought didn’t go into the spaceport’s design. Then again, if Ian were a spaceport architect on Huh? Why E?, he would probably be surfing by the beach and smoking a little pakalolo instead of fussing over silly things like spaceport layouts. He shrugged and walked the distance between the bus stop and the terminal, managing to find his way only be steadfastly ignoring the numerous, bright yellow spaceport signs, which were not only unclear but actively unhelpful and misleading.

  Ian finally made it to the ticket counter, settling in at the end of a good-sized line. While Ian had started to get used to the vast array of colors and shapes (and smells) of the various aliens encountered on his travels, it suddenly struck him that the majority of the aliens ahead of him in line were red. Well, actually, as Ian turned to look behind him, it appeared that only their backs were red. Their backs, the back of their necks, and the backside of their arms and legs and tentacles and various other appendages that Ian—lacking any xenobiological skills at all, as we’ve already made pretty clear—could not even begin to guess the purpose of. Suppressing a chuckle, Ian finally realized that many of the poor aliens were simply sunburned. I wonder how many of them have big ol’ hyperneuron centers in their brains, Ian thought contentedly, fingering the tube of sunscreen in his pocket that he had been smart enough to purchase.