Michael Siemsen - Exigency

“This one Aether?” an unamused Eeahso asked, and Skinny confirmed. “They look same. How tell apart?”

Skinny peered at the pair once more before concluding that “Aether is bigger of these.”

Eeahso turned to face Skinny and grabbed her with both arms. “Listen now. We not have days to spend with these… and watch copy Threck words. We have imick at dusk. Distraction only, these, unless they have helping. How you know these not new Threck?”

“This is what I wish to learn,” Skinny said. “All of this.” And Eeahso stomped off, large globs of mud flinging in every direction, much of it landing on heads and even eyes, but with no one appearing to notice or care.

Skinny turned to Aether and raised a single arm toward her. Aether must have recoiled without realizing it. The club hung in mid-air, strings of silver palm cilia slowly waving side to side, like a stadium full of enthusiastic fans.

“Is it respectful that I touch Aether?”

This was an important moment—not only for the potential precedent her response might establish, but for the fact that Skinny had asked. To be concerned with what is respectful, to view “Orange People” as people with customs or preferences, and to care what those are, these were indications of a highly advanced, civilized people. Aether was beginning to see what Minnie loved about them. They might’ve been as far along technologically as the early Romans, but this regard for strangers—not even of the same species—she wondered how the average human would have behaved during the equivalent era.

Aether reviewed her response, previewed Howard the Threck’s associated gesture guide, and played the translation.

“Orange People do exchange limited touches between friends—extremities only. I understand that Seekapock may not appreciate touching of head and especially mouth. This is same with Orange People. May I demonstrate customary greeting?”

Skinny was silent and still for a moment, thinking. Her eyes hid and reappeared twice before, “This I want more than any other thing at this time.”

Aether extended her gloved hand in front of her to shake. Skinny ogled it, glanced up to Aether’s eyes, then down once more. Skinny’s arm twisted counterclockwise so that the cilia-covered palm area faced out, extending it before her in a mirror of Aether’s stance. Aether leaned gently forward, easing her hand to Skinny’s pad until contact was made. Aether wrapped her thumb softly over the club, but did not squeeze. She didn’t know if it would be painful, or even appropriate. As soon as her thumb touched down, several strands of cilia stretched up from the pad and wrapped around the digit, embracing it. Gently, though. It didn’t hurt—more like a hundred little thumb hugs.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Aether said.

“This is pleasure, truly,” Skinny agreed.

Aether released, Skinny followed her lead, and the shake was done.

“Come and follow,” Skinny said, and the crowd of onlookers stepped backward, opening a path. “You will eat what I give you.”

Whereas Livetrans excelled with its verbal interpretation, it could use some help with deducing inflection and inference. She chuckled internally upon reading the last sentence, and walked after Skinny.

“I capt pics and vid,” Qin’s voice in her ear as the pair exited the crowd of onlookers. “That was history right there.”

“Thanks. Though I suspect Tom has already performed the official first contact. If you’re able to maintain link with the EV, and they’re in range, please check in and inform them of our situation.”

From the crest of a well-trodden dune, Skinny motioned them to follow her inland.

LIVETRANS: [impatience] Come now!

Dowfwoss Amoss led Tom and Angela into the farmers’ domicile—a dugout section of ground, like a basement. Above, a roof sloped a dozen or so degrees, fashioned of large, overlapping cones with saucer-sized holes in each. At first glance, Tom thought the lampshadesque shells belonged to some ocean mollusk the Threck consumed. Upon closer inspection, they were Threck shells or, perhaps more accurately, their skulls.

Tom and Minnie had spent weeks mapping Threck evolution. While the team had devoted relatively little time to Epsy oceanography, it had been necessary to shed light on the planet’s most intelligent lifeforms. Threck, as it turned out, were closely related to most of the dominant ocean species, including their domesticated work animals. From the immense afvrik they used for net fishing and sea travel, to the horse-sized minnit, they had all branched off from a single, still-present species, the starclam (named by Tom, with great pride). All of their skulls bore this same basic design.

Minnie had imagery of Country Threck domiciles, including internal layout, but as far as Tom knew, she’d never identified the building material as the remains of their dead.

Stepping carefully down the wide stairs, Tom closed his bio eye while it adjusted to the darkness. His fone automatically adapted and he observed the new surroundings.

“Out, out with you!” the Threck shouted and waved away the scurrying farmers and their young, like shooing vermin.

Ten or more startled occupants brushed past Tom and Angela on the stairs, forced out into the heat.

One of the farmers protested the rush, if not the eviction. “Need garb. You wait.”

“Hurry then!” one of the Threck barked.

ANGELA: Is it just me or are these guys major holes?

TOM: They sure don’t seem to think much of the Country Threck. Classism, maybe racism? Might be multiple ethnicities we don’t know about.

ANGELA: Disliking our supposed hosts already.

Once the domicile’s presumptive owners were gone, the five City Threck appeared somewhat more relaxed. They spent the next few minutes rooting through containers while Tom recorded vid and snapped pics.

“Disgusting,” Amoss said as she examined the muddy floor. She turned to Tom and Angela. “Apologies for the unsuitable meeting place.”

Another Threck now spoke to Tom for the first time. “Do your people excrete within your shelters?”

Tom wasn’t sure how to answer.

Technically, yes?

Amoss, fortunately, raised an arm and laughed.

“No answer, no answer. This is not how we wish to begin our splendid exchange of feeling and ideas. If you are able to forgive the unforgivable odors, perhaps Syons People would enjoy bathing with us?” She gestured toward another carved stairway that led to a recessed loft area.

The other Threck began shedding their cloaks, hanging them over one of the roof support beams, then climbed the stairs in turn. Despite a thorough familiarity with their anatomy, Tom was both fascinated and disturbed by the nude Threck. Only after seeing the way their bodies moved up the steps, legs bending and twisting with seemingly unnatural rotations, did reality smack Tom square in the forehead.

This was an alien house .

He was conversing with alien beings on an alien planet and the aliens wanted to bathe with him and to know if his people crapped in their homes. What would he say? How to behave without giving the Threck a bad impression of humankind? The stakes of this encounter were far too high. Wasn’t there some clever way he could get out of this? An indefinite deferral? Just run?

If only.

Amoss stood before him, awaiting an answer.

ANGELA: Are we supposed to follow them up there? I don’t know if salt-water and the suits would play nice together.

Right, salt-water, Tom thought.

The Threck had built aqueducts in both directions: fresh-water from the mountains to feed the crops, and salt-water from the ocean to the floodplains for drinking and bathing. The farmers’ roofs extended over the salt-water channel, providing an ever-flowing in-house bath.