by Jenn Thorson
The Seers mouths twisted into narrow little smiles.
Warily, the kidnapper said, “What?”
“We find your thin attempt at persuasion amusing, Rolliam Tsmorlood,” said Kravsmin. “And unnecessary. You see, today is the day we left the door unbarredddd. Todayyyy, the only confinement you faced was your ownnnn.”
“The only punishment you endured was self-imposedddd,” said Kaenmoor.
“The only torment—”
“Yes, it’s irony, I get it,” the captain said. “What of the charges?”
“Soon you will rejoin Universal societyyy, once again partaking of freedom and all its manyyy—”
“I could’ve partaken of Freedom and All Its Many without picking up your Tryfling Takeaway for you,” he interrupted. “The charges. What of the charges?”
Kaenmoor laughed, high, hearty and fully-entertained.
“You think I’m joking?” the kidnapper asked, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “I could have vanished, conveniently forgetting all about Seers, and confinement cells, and crawlies in the Rhobux-7 personal facilities the size of well-fed progeny. But then I remembered: my infraction archive is still wide open. And so, on good faith, I did your little A to B. Now I expect you to hold up your end of our deal.”
“Your archive will be blanked of all charges, Rolliam Tsmorlood,” assured Kaenmoor.
He nodded. “That’s more like it. Stellar.”
“Just as soon as you complete …”
“Oh, here it comes.”
“… An errandddd for us!”
“An erranddd!” said Kravsmin and Glyddon joyously.
“An errand,” Rolliam Tsmorlood said darkly. “You want me to run another errand for you.” Bertram was a little concerned about the tone of the man’s voice. It had become entirely too quiet and smooth to be reassuring. It sounded like a frozen lake just before it cracks, dumping half the Currier and Ives landscape into the drink. “You do remember, I just did from A to B?”
“The errand,” the Seers tittered. “The errandddd.”
“That’s it.” By now he’d visibly tensed, hands clenched, back straight. “I am not running a fragging transport service here. I gave you the Tryfling, held up my half. Now you.”
“After the errand,” whispered the Seers, like little kids on Christmas morning. “The errannnndd.”
“Think of it as a final gesture of goodwill between friendssss,” said Kravsmin.
Bertram took a step back as the captain’s eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching, hovering over the laser grip at his side. “Funny, then, me having another gesture in mind.”
“We don’t need to blank your archive, Rolliam Tsmorlood,” Kaenmoor reminded him. “We don’t need to suspend your sentence. Quite franklyyyy, your departure from the colony will inconvenience us even more than your presencccce has. With your absence in KP, the prisoners will no longer enjoy cleverly dressed-up rationssss. It doesn’t take a Seer to predict some serious backlashhhhh.”
“Protestsss,” agreed Kravsmin.
“Beans on toastttttt,” sighed Glyddon.
“In the interest of colonial harmony, we could quite easily ensure you stay indefinitelyyyyy.”
“Indeffff—”
Glyddon interrupted, “Um, but since right now you’re thinking of shooting us and making a run for the doorrrrr—”
The kidnapper gave a slow nod.
“—In that case, we might remind you that we haven’t blanked your charges yet. So if anything unfortunate happens to us between now and the completion of our little errandddd, you’ll be carrying that hefty archive of yours along wherever you goooo.”
“As we understand it,” Kravsmin continued, “given the charges against you, if you so much as litter, the Hyphiz Deltan RegForce will have no choice but to send you for a brief but exciting stay at a certain placccce I know we need not mentionnnnn?”
“Altair-5,” said Kaenmoor, mentioning.
“Funnnnnn,” wheezed all the Seers.
The prisoner winced.
“Of course, it is your choicccce,” said Glyddon.
“Choiccccccce.”
After a moment, the captain’s hand moved slowly from the weapon. “Choice,” he grumbled. “To think it sounded so much like blackmail, I almost didn’t recognize it.”
And Bertram asked, “What’s the errand?”
Kaenmoor pointed to a pale blue line tangled in the blueprint of lights before them. “See this line? This is youuuu, Bertram Ludlow. And the lines of Fate say the journey to save your world begins herrrreeee.” The Seer pointed to a place on the grid. “Podunk-17.”
“Podunk-17? Seriously?” The captain laughed. Yet at the solemn faces around him, the laughter fell away. He shook his head in bewildered acquiescence. “Even great journeys begin with small steps, I guess.”
“What’s Podunk-17?” Bertram asked.
“Rolliam Tsmorlood,” said Kravsmin, “you will take Bertram Ludlow to the capital city of Podunk-17.”
“Well, I’d have to, wouldn’t I? That’s all there is, really, the one city. Unless you’re keen on flatlands and Podunkian livestock.” He shook his head again. “And what of it once we get there?”
“You will go,” said the Seer, “for a drink.”
“For a drinkkkkk,” they cheered.
Chapter 2
“A drink,” muttered the kidnapper. “Take him for a fragging drink,’ they say. ‘On Podunk-17,’ they say. ‘Establishment of your choice,’ they say. ‘Then you’re clear.” In the captain’s seat of the spacecraft, Rolliam Tsmorlood yanked down on a lever like it was somebody’s neck. “‘Give me a reason to believe you,’ I say, and what’s the Seer answer? ‘Truth lies always with the one unchained.’ Classic example, standard issue, first-class Seer excrement.”
Watching from the co-pilot’s seat as Rhobux-7 grew distant, Bertram Ludlow reflected on the possibilities of his situation. If he could claw his way back from insanity, with the market these days, he’d be right in line to whip out a major self-help book. The analysis of his own hallucination’s logic patterns, perhaps in combination with the co-writing of an expert in abnormal psychology, would offer all the potential for an NYT best-seller. Around the Bend and Back: One Man’s Journey from Madness.
It was only a working title.
Granted, he could expect a certain amount of stigma involved in baring his current psychological challenges to the world. But that was small sacrifice for becoming a forerunner in the field. Only a handful of cognitive psychology researchers could expect to make the big bucks, anyway.
Frankly, Bertram hadn’t felt this energized about something since he began the doctoral program.
The pilot however, Bertram noticed, was still grumbling. “Backspace life-forms : so extraordinary on their own jerkwater little worlds, but got to be shuttled round space like half-wit progeny. Just my luck, I get to play the fragging ambassador to the Greater Communicating Universe.” The captain scanned the controls before him and turned a dial, shaking his head in disgust.
Fumbling open one of the many cases on his belt, the kidnapper fished out a small, metal cylinder printed in bright colors and covered in unfamiliar symbols. “Here.”
Bertram dubiously eyed both cylinder and pilot. “What is it?”
“Gum.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” Bertram said. What about Stress: The Final Frontier? Too pop culture, maybe. Or how about Lift-Off of the Mind: The Bertram Ludlow Story? Bertram jumped as the gum cylinder cuffed him off a rib. “Hey!”
“They won’t know your language, Ludlow,” Rolliam Tsmorlood said.
“What? Who won’t?”
The alien gave the slightest shrug of a shoulder. “Anyone. I’d be very surprised if anyone did.”
Bertram scowled. “The Seers did. That receptionist did. You do.”
“Yes.” He tapped a gauge. “I do.”
“Well, how do you, then?” Bertram had been under the impression that everyone sp
oke English in his mind.
But the alien figment just flashed an unpleasant smile and continued to evaluate the control board.
Bertram pushed at a temple. Yep, with every conversation, it seemed he was falling, drifting down deeper into madness. “What does gum have to do with any of this?”
The captain checked an overhead monitor. “It’s Translachew®. That’s what it does, translate.”
“Translates what into what?”
“Most into others.” He rose from the chair. “If you’d stop flapping your gums and started, er, flapping your gums, you’d see.”
“But the receptionist,” said Bertram.
“Vocal translational interpretative projection device.”
“The Seers?” Bertram queried.
“Relative omniscience and a lot of blasted time on their hands.” His amber eyes narrowed in a scowl, as he vanished into another room. “Look, just chew the gum, Ludlow.”
So Bertram cracked open the cylinder and a ball of gum tumbled into his palm. It was so smooth, round, and compellingly blue, Bertram instantly mistrusted it. It was a Grimm reminder of a hundred childhood fables with candy and curiosity at the sour center. Unmerciful tales where no one ever made it out of the woods quite the same. It would change him somehow, wouldn’t it? This tiny violet bomb, this crazed Wonkafied wonder, that rolled and Roald in Bertram’s hand as his mind went from Dahl to Dali?
From the doorway, the captain cleared his throat. “You do know it’s not osmotic?”
Bertram nodded, eyes still on the confection that silently seemed to threaten more than tooth decay. He gathered his bearings and looked up hopefully. “It won’t taste anything like that gunk I drank earlier, will it?”
“Doesn’t compare,” said the captain, waving it away. “This is a prototype. This stuff is nasty.”
Excerpt from:
How To Gain Pals and Sway Life-forms in Cosmic Commerce
Chapter Two
With permission from the
Eddisun Center for Ideas, Interceptive Marketing and Cliché Prevention
How To Talk to Anyone, Anywhere, in the Greater Communicating Universe
Overview
Want to discover new forms of life at a party on Zarquon-9? Need to make anti-matter matter at your next big meeting on Marglenia? Hoping to charm the astro-togs off that hottie at the Vos Laegos bar? The key to these and other successful intergalactic relations is good communication.
Yet anyone who’s been around the Greater Communicating Universe (GCU) a time or two recalls the awkward moments and unexpected challenges of inter-species chit-chat. Experts predict that “within the next five Universal Years, there will be over 200 billion different discourse communities in the GCU market; and of those, only 3% are expected to have the slightest clue what their neighbors have been yammering about,” (Eddisun Center, “The New Uni-Market,” Reference Point: 2312).
Add to this, the hundreds of cultures, and thousands of unique customs for every world, star system, and Quadrant across the CGU, and things get really sticky. The only thing you can truly count on is that what’s simple courtesy to one group will offend the gravity boots off another. So how do you understand and be understood without looking down the business end of one of the more popular hand-lasers?
Simple: you either connect with an organic or non-organic translator, or you select an oral translational product. Let’s talk about these exciting options!
Organic Translators: Your Discourse Manager On-the-Go
Organic translators are paid specialists in certain languages and customs, hired to initiate smooth inter-cultural relations. These life-forms will translate your communications, make recommendations for polite conduct, and help you avoid those embarrassing social blunders that historians sometimes preface with “Battle of.”
Organic translators can be hired for as little as an hour, and as long as you keep paying them. During the T’Pow/Teedle merger, for example, holding partners, the T’Pow Royal Family and Parr Teedle, CEO of Teedle ICV Manufacturing, used the same organic translators over a ten U-year period to successfully negotiate their choice of the right corporate-branded mug cozy. Experts estimate the transaction would have taken more than 30 U-years, if not for the tireless efforts of translators on both sides. (Eddisun Center. “The New Uninet.” RPs: 1529-1640.)
Yet organic translators do have their disadvantages. One is their capacity for error. Even the most well-trained organic translator’s knowledge is limited by personal experience, temperament, biases, and the ability to stay awake in negotiations that can last upwards of ten Universal-years.
Also, organic translators aren’t always practical for simple pan-galactic tourism. Their presence raises travel, food and lodging costs, and they tend to order quite a lot from the mini-bar. (Eddisun Center. “Stress and the Organic Translator.” RP: 140.)
Non-Organic Translators: Your Plugged-in Pal for Palaver
Non-organic translators come in two types: Non-Organic Simulants and vocal projection devices. Both are electronic options with scripted programming. And each offers a level of consistency not guaranteed with their organic counterparts.
For corporate translational needs, a Non-Organic Simulant can be a wise selection. Combining translational skills with other support functions, these stylized, life-like robots function much like in-house staff, while remaining a comfort barrier between organic executives and any actual responsibility for failed negotiations (Eddisun Center. “Today’s Non-Organic Translator Sales, Cumulative.”)
But for the GCU tourist on a budget, a vocal projection device may be a better fit. Here, the user speaks into the compact technology, and the sound that projects is a digitized version of the user’s own voice, instantly translated into an array of pre-programmed languages. The patented audio-wave technology process filters the right translation for the right listener, so multi-language discussions feel virtually seamless. Murminn Corp. and Kinesynn Ltd. both offer lines of affordable vocal projection devices in a wide range of models and fashion colors.
Note that both Non-Organic Simulants and vocal projection devices are limited by the quality and thoroughness of their programming. Also keep in mind, better-made Non-Organic translators may not be the most expensive models. For example, Neo-Natelle Manufacturing offers the CR-29, a low-cost, adaptable Simulant with proven reliability. (SimmiWorld e-mag rates it four out of five golden gears!)
Oral Translational Products: Fast, Friendly and Fun!
Oral translational products offer some of the fastest and most economic ways to communicate with life-forms around the GCU. Among the most popular is Translachew® gum, a candy that helps the consumer participate in free, comprehensive conversation with virtually any sentient species.
The gum, like oral translational wafers or soft drinks, works by releasing strings of language-oriented chemical coding into the bloodstream and on to the brain. Chewing discharges pre-programmed information for practical everyday inter-galactic expressions such as, “Where is the nearest vis-u console?” and “No, I can’t spare a couple of yoonies, get a job,” in over fourteen billion of the most prevalent cosmic languages. Less necessary communicative terms follow, until the gum loses its flavor and all of the coding has been released.
Refresher chews are necessary every two to six U-months, varying by species. Though there are other translational gums, soft drinks and wafers on the market, Translachew® is the brand we recommend, because of its strong track record and wider base of phraseology.
Note: all oral translational products can have difficulty deciphering tone, some local slang and certain humor, such as sarcasm. If you operate a product like Translachew gum, remember anything you say will be translated literally, so choose those words carefully!
Translachew gum and other translational products can be found in most convenience stores and intergalactic transit ports.
While currently there is only one major type of Translachew gum available on the market, DiversiDine Ente
rtainment Systems and Aeroponics is expanding the product line to target more specialized needs. A new novelty form of the gum, in trials now, offers all the capabilities of regular Translachew, but adds the phraseology of three billion archaic, obscure or “backspace” languages. The gum is expected to reduce the time it takes to analyze ancient historical documents and understand less-evolved public transit systems, by eliminating the painful chore of learning new languages.
DiversiDine executives predict this version will be popular at top universities, major research labs or anywhere users might need a unique pick-up line.
Though the gum has been well-received for its functionality and convenience, test groups have complained about the taste, which is commonly described as having “a metallic tang, if that metal stewed for months at the bottom of a barrel of well-fed, tri-bladder hamsters from the planet Erk.”
DiversiDine flavor engineers are now working to create a more universally-palatable taste. The product should be available to the public in the next U-year.
Chapter 3
It was like biting deep into a nine-volt battery that had spent years in the bottom of a gerbil tank. Gagging, Bertram Ludlow spit out the half-chewed gum, wondering how to get rid of it without being caught. In haste, he tacked it under the co-pilot’s chair and dropped the cylinder into his shirt pocket.
Sensory detail. He would have to discuss sensory detail in his book, with a special section dedicated toward flavor as represented within the confines of his hallucinatory state and, specifically, how it sucked. He thought it would be interesting to attack the topic in light of positive and negative reinforcement, self-reward and self-punishment. He’d worry what the Freudians would choose to misinterpret later.
With the ship stabilized, Rolliam Tsmorlood had left the pilot’s station for the inner cabin, tossing both his attention and himself toward a modest computer console that jutted from the wall. The click of a single switch sent the systems grinding to life, shrieking and groaning a mechanized tirade that extended from the terminal to roll along the very innards of the craft. Walls shook. A panel popped open and rained alien clutter. The overhead lights winked and threatened to go out. All the while, the screeching grew louder … louder … rattling like a runaway locomotive. Bertram cradled his head in his arms and prayed for a merciful end.
