Michael Siemsen - Exigency

“Tom,” Angela said, and he glanced back at her.

She was standing on her skimmer, hands on the control bars, but concerned eyes pointed behind him. She cocked her head for him to turn around.

Tom peered back and spotted them: a caravan of City Threck emerging from the shaded road beside the farm’s domicile. They marched in two, wide-spaced columns with bright red shades, each held aloft by four tall poles at the corners. As the caravan turned in front of the domicile, the two hiding Country Threck stood up and faced the new arrivals.

“We need to hurry,” Tom said. “Pablo? We have to go!” He stepped up onto his own skimmer and Zisa did the same.

“I’m coming!” Pablo’s muffled voice from inside the EV. “What’s happening?”

“More company!” Angela shouted. “Move your ass!”

The columns of City Threck continued their march in front of the structure, revealing more and more of them, some pushing or pulling stone-wheeled carts for the harvest. Tom estimated at least thirty so far, all covered by the canvas shades, a red hue cast upon the Threck and ground.

“Crapshake,” Angela said.

Tom saw it, too: the Country Threck pointed back at them and a group of curious City Threck stretched out higher to see. “Pablo!”

“Just sealing the door! Ten seconds!”

“Too late,” Tom said quietly as eight City Threck bounded across the crop rows. Strides of seven to eight meters required little effort from their long legs. Each held up their robes like a Renaissance lady lifting a dress to scale a flight of stairs or cross a puddle.

“I’m on,” Pablo shouted from the skimmer behind Angela. “Let’s go!”

But the first of the Threck had already stopped a short distance from Tom, its arms held out to its sides. “Peaceful greetings,” it said in crisp City dialect. “I am Dowfwoss Amoss .” Its voice was mesmerizing—similar to the thousands of recordings he’d heard over the years, but so much more dimension. The Threck voice box was buried deep inside the head (the equivalent of humans vocalizing from the chest) and soundwaves traveled up through two widening tubes to their siphon holes, amplified and emitted as if through a short horn. On the station, Tom hadn’t given much thought to the harmonics, focusing strictly on the words and gestures during Minnie’s often abbreviated lessons. In person, the voice was smooth and deep, like an old-fashioned radio announcer. At least, that was the case with this Dowfwoss Amoss .

Tom scrambled to bring up his Livetrans app.

Dowfwoss? Some sort of honorary? C’mon, c’mon!

“Pleasure for all,” Amoss went on, though Tom had no idea how much of the message he was interpreting correctly. “Do return home… group animal life. So much pleasure. With Threck words? Feel them? Now you.”

The app had finished loading, but Tom had yet to resync his fone and suit. PA speakers finally activated, Tom stepped down from the skimmer platform, faced the Threck, and pointed his hands out to his sides. This was the moment he’d dreaded for days—an encounter he thought he could delay or even avoid all together.

“Peaceful greetings.” Minnie’s synth Threck voice worked perfectly as it read the lines Tom had entered. Tom didn’t know if he could say the same for his associated gestures and expressions. “I am Tom. My people have different words than Threck, but I know some of yours. Please speak slowly, so that I may understand all of your words. We are peaceful people from faraway place.”

Tom watched as all of the Threck behind Amoss leaned to each other and chattered quietly amongst themselves.

“Your words are like moist song I wish to dance,” Amoss may have said… Tom checked Livetrans as the Threck went on:

LIVETRANS: [Your] words flow like beautiful music that could inspire dancing. To speak is to think, [I] think, and Tom speaks Threck words. [Is it] respectful that [I may] call [you] Tom? [Do your] companions know how to speak words? From which winds [is your] faraway land? [Do you] cooperate? [Now you.]

Thank you, Livetrans! Thank you, Minnie!

Minnie had mentioned that Threck could be very “flowery” with their speech. “But,” she’d warned, “on the off chance we ever end up down there, don’t try to make up your own flourishes. They shouldn’t consider it rude—only uneducated, which is understandable for a foreigner, but not worth the risk.”

Tom wasn’t sure if he was supposed to acknowledge the compliment, and then recalled another of Minnie’s tips: “Err on the side of not talking.” Now, this was mostly due to her assumption that she’d be on the scene in short time—that Tom would only have to stumble along for a moment or two until the real emissary arrived. Regretfully, Tom had expected the same.

“Please do call me Tom. My companions speak only in my language. The north winds come from our land. We do cooperate with each other, if that is your meaning. We are friends and team. We would like to be friends with Threck. How do I respectfully address you?”

Tom rushed out an M to Pablo and Angela.

TOM: Hey guys. Sticking to M’s while talking to these folks. If you don’t already have Livetrans up, you can listen in on this conversation and learn something. Tell Zisa, too. No DC with her.

ANGELA: Already up. You’re doing great! I can’t believe this is happening!

PABLO: Will do.

ANGELA: FYI no pressure, but unless something happened elsewhere in the past few years that we don’t know about yet, YOU are the first human being to communicate with an alien lifeform.

Angela added an ecstatic emoji to the M.

TOM: It’s because I’m suuuper qualified.

Tom inserted a terrified emoji.

Amoss’s response began appearing and self-correcting in Tom’s fone.

LIVETRANS: To know and speak with Tom is like bathing in warm mud. [You may] address me as Amoss. Dowfwoss… this is [unknown] for achievement, like winner. Does this have meaning for you? [We have] language Tom speaks with talent, but [we have] no such expertise to speak Tom’s language. Tom’s people [are more] smart than Threck. Such pleasure surges through ourselves at this significant event. The day is dry and hot. May both peoples retreat into [unknown] and continue pleasuring each other with words.

ANGELA: He wants us to pleasure each other.

TOM: You caught that, eh? So should we go with them?

ANGELA: I don’t think we’ve much choice. But my LT couldn’t figure out where he’s saying he wants us to go, and I’m not bathing in any warm mud, just so you know.

TOM: Mine either. And they’re technically all she. Ask Pablo and Zisa what they think we should do and see if you can reach Aether while I stall.

“My people would very much enjoy pleasure of more words with Threck people,” the synth voice played as Tom swung his arms around and mimed inhales and exhales. Talking to Threck, he determined, was more like performance art than conversation. “We would first like to move our belongings from the farmer field, and setup respectful temporary campsite on Threck land, if acceptable to Threck people.”

Amoss emitted an operatic sound Tom recognized. “It’s their laughter!” Minnie had gushed when playing the recording during an early mission meeting.

LIVETRANS: [laughter] [You and your] people are merrily considerate… What are Tom people called? And [you need] never worry about farmer wants. [They are not] Threck. Leave your belongings where you wish, and take what you desire from farmers. [We will] use their [unknown] for respite from dry and hot. Let us go now as there can be no pleasure in this [unknown]. Come along, if you would. [Our] enjoyment of you cannot cease at this time.