Michael Siemsen - Exigency

“It is clean and warm,” Amoss said. “Constant current. All feces from first farms diluted to nothing.”

Ah, Tom thought. So you’re supposed to crap in the drinking water. Not on the floor, which is gross.

ANGELA: What are we doing? Say something to her!

Tom quickly composed his response to Amoss. “We would be honored to bathe with you.”

And then sent an M to Angela:

TOM: We’re taking a bath. Strip.

Tom removed his helmet and began opening the suit. Amoss laughed heartily and removed her cloak, tossing it over the beam with the others, but all the while watching Tom and Angela disrobe.

ANGELA: You’re lucky I’m an exhibitionist. If Zees were here she’d be filing a harassment suit against you and the entire Threck population.

As Tom set his suit, boots, and helmet on the entrance stairs, away from the mud, he realized they were giving up their MWs, too. The Threck didn’t have any weapons in the water, but they didn’t need any to be a threat.

Angela handed her things to Tom and he stole a quick look at her bare body. She wore a dubious expression that may have been due to the peculiar situation, unexpected skinny dipping, or the pungent scent. Powerfully pungent. Tom was doing his best to conceal his gag heaves.

“It’s going to be fine,” he whispered and gagged. “Just a quick bath among new friends.”

Angela appeared to be handling the aroma commendably. “If I feel anybody trying to play footsie up there, I’m out.”

Tom glanced back and saw Amoss with an arm held out. “Come now, come now.”

And then it suddenly occurred to Tom that he’d made a huge mistake. Without the suit, he had no PA system to relay the translations of his input. He was completely on his own to try and speak the complex Threck consonants—sounds best uttered by compressed whipped cream cans and Donald Duck. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to speak in the water. Maybe they’d all just relax and enjoy each other’s naked company.

“Is that a male reproductive organ?” one of the Threck in the water asked as Tom arched a leg over the craggy rock wall and slipped into the warm salt water.

It was surprisingly deep. Tom found himself touching bottom with the surface at his shoulders. The current was slow but strong. He had to cling to the porous basalt to keep from drifting. At her height, Angela wouldn’t be able to stand at all.

Tom turned to her. “It’s very deep. You need to hold on.”

Angela scowled at him as she slid in, scratching her backside against the rock and grimacing with pain. Tom caught her and curled a hand around her waist. The Threck were saying things, but without looking at them, Tom’s Livetrans only captured the vocalizations.

“They grow hairs.”

“…moist skin.”

“Differing anatomy…”

Angela whispered, “I think my ass cheek is bleeding. And the water stings.”

“Do you require assistance?” Amoss—or the Threck Tom thought was Amoss—asked Angela.

Tom put a leg up for Angela to sit on, and they were finally able to settle into a stable position against the wall. Angela apparently noticed their new acquaintances ogling her chest and crossed an arm in front of her.

“What is the purpose of those appendages?” One of the Threck reached across the stream and pointed directly at Angela’s breasts. “Did it always have four appendages?”

“An amputation perhaps? Observe the sub-appendages, too.”

“Are they talking about my boobs?” Angela whispered, then her eyes opened wide. “Wait… how are you going to talk to them?”

“I know,” Tom sighed, defeated. “I don’t know.”

The room was quiet for what seemed a long while. Only the soothing sounds of flowing water echoed in the air, like some romantic grotto. The Threcks’ giant eyes rolled around as they studied Tom and Angela. The water appeared to relax them, their eyes slow blinking, hiding and unhiding, heads dunking beneath the water then back up, exposing only their eyes and the tops of their domes. They didn’t seem to care if their siphon holes were in, out, or half-submerged in the water. Tom tried to match their behaviors, blinking slowly and dipping his head beneath the surface. Awkwardness aside, he could get used to this ritual. There was even a nice, fresh airstream flowing from the thin space between water and roof at Tom’s left, to the river’s exit at his right—a welcome respite from the noxious odors behind him.

Amoss finally broke the silence, her smooth, deep voice reverberating in the cave-like space.

“Syons People are smarter than Threck. This is fascinating and shocking revelation. Our people have never in our history encountered beings more advanced than us. The Thinkers will be outraged and jubilant. They should like to speak with you at great length.”

Amoss stopped speaking and awaited a response. It would be rude to not answer. He needed something short. Something simple. He tried out several brief replies, listening to the synth vocalizations.

Intimidated by pretty much everything he wanted to say, he finally settled on: Pleasing.

“Kwadth tem,” he said.

Tom felt Angela’s hand tighten on his waist and he peripherally saw her head turning slowly toward him.

ANGELA: Pleasing? Wow.

TOM: Hey, if you want to try talking to them, jump in here any time.

ANGELA: They’re staring at us. Don’t be a wuss.

Tom recalled a guest speaker from the requisite diplomacy training back on Earth. She had said that, despite one’s every instinct, in nearly every diplomatic engagement, honesty was invariably the best approach. Skeptical students had challenged her with hypotheticals that she’d deftly swatted away with real-world examples in which an honest dialogue had deescalated a touchy circumstance or secured a desired outcome.

Tom reverted to his original reply and listened once more to Howard the Threck’s synth. He inhaled a deep breath and began:

“ Ja-ahshkeh pladtip vrrish… ” but he stopped, thought quickly, revised the text. A new response played in his ear. He spoke the words slowly, purposefully, one at a time, as the phonetics flashed before him, and Howard demonstrated the associated gestures. In Threck, he attempted, “Our speaking parts are different from Threck. While we understand your words, it is difficult to say many. The voice you heard earlier, this is from our garb, which contains technology. They aid us in speaking your words. Without that help, though, this is how I sound. My apologies.”

The Threck regarded one another for a moment.

“What is ‘building voice?’” one asked another.

“Is it ‘speaking tools?’” another said. “‘Tools wearing garb?’ What does it say?”

Tom pointed to the steps to the entrance. “My garb helps. Makes voice. Speaks words.”

Amoss suddenly got it. “Its garb spoke the words before! This now is real Syons People voice! I do not understand, but I understand.” She turned to her comrades and explained.

“Yes,” Tom labored on. “My Threck words will sound silly, but we want you to know that we will enjoy speaking with the Thinkers, though I am not sure that my people can live up to your flattering assessment of our intelligence.”

“Why not sure?” Amoss replied. “Is it not obvious? Syons People speak our language, but we do not speak yours. You have created technology that allows you to float in the sky as if it were ocean. Even your garb, as you say, can speak words like a real Threck and has been fashioned and assembled with precision and skill that our people cannot comprehend. Not only are Syons People smarter than Threck, Syons People garb is smarter than Threck! The list of questions I have for you grows with each passing second, and I can foresee no end to them. I think, perhaps, that to Syons People, we are the farmers, and Syons People, Threck.”