Space Rocks!

by Tom O'Donnell

  Becky sighed. Then I tried, in vain, to somehow translate “rocketchick0825” into Xotonian. If the Council were ever to gain access to something called “the Internet,” Becky’s personal profile might be mined for useful intelligence.

  The humans had been answering questions for hours. All except Hollins, who had refused to answer anything at all. When he was called, he stood at the podium respectfully but said nothing. He kept a neutral expression on his face, though sometimes I caught him glaring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Evidently, he still blamed me for their capture.

  To my knowledge, the other three had answered truthfully. No, the asteroid-mining mission was not a military invasion. Yes, their parents planned to return in three days to rescue them. No, humans did not possess blaster-weapon technology. Yes, Commander Hollins did say they were coming back with soldiers. No, Commander Hollins did not say how many soldiers. Yes, they did have a general awareness of the leadership structure of the Nolan-Amaral Corporation. No, they did not know who the current CEO was. And so on.

  By now, their interrogators were just going in circles, repeating themselves and fixating on the insignificant. At one point the Council even forced Nicki to explain to them in great detail how internal combustion heat engines work and how these engines can be attached to a spacecraft to allow said spacecraft to achieve escape velocity for a planet’s—or an asteroid’s—gravitational field.

  “So,” Glyac had said, startling everyone by speaking for the first time, “how quickly could you build one of these human spacecraft for us?” I translated.

  “By myself?” said Nicki, doing some quick mental math. “Maybe seventy years? But I’d need all the parts in advance.”

  The Council wasn’t getting the answers it wanted. And as time dragged on, nearly everyone—human and Xotonian alike—had become frustrated and irritable. Kalac and Hollins remained calm, however. My originator asked the occasional question but nothing more. Hollins kept his mouth shut.

  “We’re getting nowhere. The big one—‘Hah-lens,’ or however you say it—why won’t he answer our inquiries?” sniffed Dyves, tears beginning to well in its eyes. This was approximately the fifteenth time the same question had been posed.

  “As I said, he believes he’s a prisoner of war. And under the ‘Geneva Conventions,’ he says he can refuse to answer your questions.” I didn’t fully understand his position myself, and I hadn’t gotten it directly from Hollins. Nicki had tried to explain it to me at the beginning of the interrogation.

  “So he’s declaring war on us?” asked Loghoz.

  “What?” snorted Glyac, suddenly waking up.

  “No, he’s not declaring war,” I said.

  “I think the big one’s hiding something,” said Dyves.

  “I swear by Jalasu Jhuk that he’s not!” I said. “The others have told you everything that he knows. You’re just wasting your breath now.”

  “Chorkle may be right,” said Sheln. “Perhaps there has been too much talking and not enough action. Maybe this big one, Hah-lens, needs a little . . . persuasion.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Let me put it this way: I never agreed to anything called the ‘Juh-nee-vuh Con-ven-shuns,’” said Sheln, mangling the human words. “So maybe a little pain would help this one to find his voice.”

  “You—you want to torture them?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. I turned to Kalac. My originator was silent, unreadable.

  “Call it what you will,” said Sheln. “If he won’t speak, then maybe he’ll scream. . . . All of them will.”

  “We’ve tried everything else,” said Loghoz.

  “I simply can’t bear the thought of it,” said Dyves. “But if we must, we must. . . .”

  Glyac merely grunted in assent.

  I looked to the humans now. The tenor of the Xotonian conversation had changed. They could tell something was different, and they were afraid.

  “Chorkle, what are they saying?” asked Little Gus.

  “What’s going on?” said Becky.

  Somehow I had known Sheln would try something like this. Its blind hatred of all humans was too great.

  “I propose that we proceed with . . . harsher interrogation techniques,” said Sheln. “All those on the Council in favor—”

  “No!” I cried before anyone could raise a thol’graz. “You listen to me very carefully, Sheln. These humans are my responsibility. If you want to torture them, you have to get through me. I’ll die before I let you hurt them.”

  “Kalac, your offspring is here to translate, not to—”

  “I will put this situation in very simple terms,” I said. “You have four human children, including the son of the commander of the mining expedition, here in your custody. If you deliver them safely to their parents, a war may be averted. If you harm them instead, I guarantee you that the rest of the humans will stop at nothing—nothing—to get their revenge. Just imagine how you would feel if you were in their position. If humans mistreated your offspring, Zenyk.” I was shaking with anger now.

  “So no,” I said, “you will not torture them. Not while I’m still breathing.”

  “Then that makes you an enemy as well,” cried Sheln. “I say let the hoo-mins come! Let them try to invade our tunnels. We can hold them off forever. We have blasters! We have seventeen personal shields!”

  “You almost sound like you want a war,” I said.

  “So what if I do?” cried Sheln. “Why shouldn’t we crush them? Why shouldn’t we prove our strength in fire and blood! We could be legends, like Jalasu Jhuk and the rest of them!”

  Sheln was raving. The rest of the Council members were staring at it now.

  “Why should Xotonians always have to hide?” said Sheln.

  “Chorkle is right,” said Kalac. “We do not torture. These young humans have nothing more to tell us. It’s foolish to assume that they would know anything useful about human military operations.”

  Kalac was staring at me now. There was a hint of something in its eyes, something new.

  “Tell the humans they may go,” said my originator.

  “But you can’t do—wait, what?” I said.

  “They are still prisoners, but they will not be harmed. They may move about freely within Core-of-Rock,” said Kalac, “if they promise not to attempt escape.”

  “You can’t be serious?” cried Sheln. But everyone ignored it.

  I translated Kalac’s offer to the humans. In turn, each of them nodded in agreement to the promise. Last came Hollins. He nodded too. He didn’t look angry anymore.

  “Hey, Chorkle,” he said quietly, “I don’t speak your language, but I’m pretty sure you just went to bat for us. Thanks.”

  I shrugged.

  “The Council still has much to discuss and decide,” said Kalac. “Chorkle, your translation services are no longer needed. Please take the humans and leave. They can stay at our dwelling for the time being.”

  “Thank you, Kal—er, Chief of the Council,” I said. I recognized the look in Kalac’s eyes now. It was respect.

  “You were right on another point,” said Kalac. “For better or worse: These humans are here because of you. They are your responsibility now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “This,” said Nicki, holding up the hologram device. “This is mine. I can’t believe you had it the whole time, Chorkle. My parents were furious at me for losing it.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “When I, er, borrowed it, I still thought you were just a gross space alien.”

  Nicki scowled.

  “That was a wonderful time,” said Becky, clapping Nicki on the back. “Losing that Tunstall 24x Holodrive was the first thing Nicki has ever done wrong in her life. Took some of the heat off ol’ Becky. Ma and Pa García got so mad they started yelling en español.”

 
“What’s español?” I asked.

  “Spanish,” said Becky. “It’s the language that everybody speaks where our parents come from.”

  “Wait,” I said, “you’re telling me that there’s more than one human language?”

  “There are approximately seven thousand human languages,” said Nicki. My is’pog sank. So far, I’d felt rather proud of my human-ese fluency. Apparently, I still had a lot to learn.

  We were together in my dwelling, the humans’ temporary new home. They had been exhausted from their long march through the tunnels and the subsequent interrogation. Immediately after we had arrived, all of them had crashed. They had slept for hours, wherever they had sat or lain.

  Kalac had not yet returned home. Apparently, the Council was still debating an appropriate course of action.

  Now everyone was awake (it had taken all of us to rouse Becky) and rested. I whipped up a pretty standard Xotonian breakfast of rild-sauce over cold svur-noodles. The humans were polite, if not enthusiastic, about eating it.

  Postbreakfast, we relaxed in the living chamber. Hudka observed us quietly from its chair in the corner.

  “Chorkle, what are they talking about?” whispered Hudka as it watched Nicki handling the holodrive. “She doesn’t want to take the hologram computer thingy back, does she? Tell her she can’t have it! I’m so, so close to saving the princess that the reptile king abducted.”

  “I think we can keep it for now,” I said.

  “Yo, Chorkle, how old is Hudka anyway?” asked Little Gus as he played with Pizza on the floor. “It looks like a walking Craisin. No offense.”

  “I don’t really know,” I said. “A few hundred years?”

  “What did that little red-furred one say?” said Hudka. “I heard ‘Hudka.’”

  I translated Little Gus’s comment accurately. I even explained that—according to Nicki—“Craisin” was a proprietary (yet widely used) term for the dehydrated version of an Eo fruit known as a “cranberry.”

  “So he’s saying I’m wrinkled?” said Hudka after absorbing all of this.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said.

  Hudka considered it for a while and then laughed suddenly, startling the humans. Again, Xotonian laughter is a loud metallic honking sound. And Hudka’s laughter is louder than most.

  “Tell him that his head-fur is the same color as a cave-ape’s butt,” said Hudka. I translated this into human.

  “Then cave-apes must have beautiful, lustrous butts,” said Little Gus. I translated this back into Xotonian. Hudka laughed again.

  And so a friendship between Hudka and Little Gus was born. Though my grand-originator didn’t speak much of their language—Hudka’s “linguistic hyperaptitude” seemed to be a little less “hyper” than mine, perhaps due to advanced age—it certainly enjoyed human company. Most especially because it meant that, with two holodrives, we could now play our favorite games in four-player mode.

  Hudka, Nicki, Little Gus, and I spent the morning blasting legions of virtual flying saucers. Little Gus wasn’t as quick on the holographic draw as the rest of us, but he got particularly upset when he lost. And Hudka found this hilarious.

  Another quirk of human video games: As fun as they are to play, they are exactly that boring to watch. Perhaps even more so. Becky and Hollins were mostly relegated to sitting around the house while the rest of us played. Soon they became restless.

  “Say, Chorkle,” said Hollins, standing and stretching, “what if we took a walk or something? I mean, Kalac said it was okay, and Kalac’s in charge, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Becky, “I know you guys want to win the war on pixels, but I’m starting to lose my mind. Your asteroid really needs Internet.”

  “Oh really? That’s very interesting,” I said to Becky. I wasn’t really listening. My focus lay squarely with the hologram game.

  At last, Hollins and Becky dragged us from the holodrives, and we all prepared to venture out into the city.

  “Hudka should come with us,” said Little Gus. “I’m loving your ‘grand-originator.’ It’s like one of those hairless cats for people with allergies. But it can talk.”

  I translated for Hudka.

  “These kids want to go outside instead of playing video games?” said Hudka, shaking its head scornfully. “Life’s too short for that.” And my grand-originator switched Xenostryfe III to one-player mode.

  Kalac had officially decreed that the humans were allowed to move around Core-of-Rock freely. Still, I worried about their safety. Wherever we went, they were bound to arouse curiosity, at best. At worst: outright hostility. I wasn’t eager to confront another angry mob, as I had outside the Hall of Wonok.

  My originator was Chief of the Council, and its word protected the humans. I just hoped that would be enough.

  Pizza stayed behind with Hudka—I reckoned the city was even more dangerous for a thyss-cat than a human—and we walked out my front door and down the steps.

  Sure enough, about a dozen Xotonians were milling around outside, all trying to look casual. By now, everyone in Core-of-Rock must have known that this is where the humans were staying.

  “We come in peace,” said Hollins, holding one hand up.

  “Very original,” said Becky.

  “Why mess with a classic?” said Hollins.

  I translated Hollins’s statement into Xotonian. The Xotonians looked at one another and laughed nervously. Perhaps they expected something more impressive than these four undersized humans.

  “I am the king of Earth,” said Little Gus, “and I bestow upon you my many magic blessings.” I did not translate this.

  “Hey! Don’t you all have anything better to do?” I yelled at them in Xotonian. The Xotonian gawkers gave a collective shrug and began to slowly disperse.

  “It’s okay, Chorkle,” said Becky, fluffing her hair. “We’re the ‘kids in space,’ remember. We’re used to being in the public eye.”

  “Some of us even enjoy it,” said Nicki, rolling her eyes.

  “So,” I said, “where would you like to go?” So far, we hadn’t gotten farther than my dwelling’s tiny lichen front lawn.

  “Do you guys have Wendy’s?” asked Little Gus.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “How about we go . . . there?” asked Nicky. She was pointing to Dynusk’s Column, a massive building that reached all the way up to the ceiling of the giant chamber that contained the city. It was easily the most impressive structure we had, visible from every quarter of Core-of-Rock.

  “That’s Dynusk’s Column,” I said. “I don’t think humans are allowed inside. The elders would probably call that a security risk. Sorry.”

  “What’s it for?” asked Nicki.

  “Surveillance. Inside the Column, the Observers constantly monitor outer space and the rest of Gelo. They use telescopes and radio scanners and stuff. We can keep three eyes on things from way down here because—”

  “The Column is wired to sensors that are hidden somewhere on the surface,” said Nicki. “That’s why it has to go all the way to the roof of the chamber.”

  “Exactly,” I said. She certainly was a quick one.

  “Hidden on the surface?” said Hollins. “Everything is always hidden with you guys. Why is that? What are the Xotonians so afraid of?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just our way of life.”

  “If you ask me, humankind could use a little more Xotonian subtlety,” said Nicki. “Everything we do, we always have to brag about.”

  “C’mon. We’re the best braggers of all time,” said Little Gus proudly. “We’re totally awesome at it.”

  “Hiding is just one of many things we do because we believe that Jalasu Jhuk decreed it a long time ago,” I said, shrugging.

  “Jalasu Jhuk . . . You mean that hologram Xotonian we saw earlier?” asked
Becky.

  “Yup. To tell you the truth, everybody thought watching space from Dynusk’s Column was just another useless tradition too. Until recently.”

  “When a bunch of two-eyed aliens landed on Gelo?” laughed Hollins.

  “Then it didn’t seem so useless anymore,” I said. “The Observers secretly monitored all your mothership’s communications with Eo, you know. Not that they understood what anybody was saying.”

  “I’m sure most of what you missed was just my mom yelling at the Nolan-Amaral accounting department back home,” said Hollins. “They were really tight with the mission budget.”

  “Well, if Dynusk’s Column is off-limits,” said Nicki, “maybe there’s a biology library or a museum of advanced mathematics we could—”

  “I’m starving,” said Becky. “How about we try some local cuisine?”

  “We could have some more svur-noodles and rild-sauce!” I said, starting back toward the door of my dwelling. “I made extra. We can bring it with us in a moist bag.”

  “You know, that—that stuff was great,” said Becky. “Almost as good as Little Gus Stew. But maybe we should try something different for lunch.”

  “Hmm. I think I know just the place,” I said.

  Soon we were standing at Sertor’s stall in the middle of the bustling Xotonian marketplace. I ordered five stuffed cave slugs, fully loaded. Sertor was nervous about serving humans at first, but in the end, money was money. Or, more accurately, x’yzoth crystals were money (at least on Gelo).

  Again, we had attracted a large crowd of onlookers. They jostled each other for a better view, but they left a bubble of space directly around us. It was as though they thought the humans might turn and bite them at any moment.

  “Cer’em,” said Hollins, attempting a friendly smile. He’d remembered the Xotonian word for “hello.”

  The crowd shuddered and began to whisper among themselves. As one might expect, a terrified few began to sob.

  We took the slugs to Ryzz Plaza and sat on the stone benches to eat them. Several Xotonians followed us and continued to gape at a distance.