Michael Siemsen - Exigency

“You are very kind,” Tom said.

Angela rubbed his side just as an M from her popped up.

ANGELA: You’re doing so good! Proud of you. (And it’s very attractive)

TOM: I’m sure our friends would love for us to demonstrate how Science People reproduce…

ANGELA: Sicko. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist.

Tom and Angela sat (floated) through nearly an hour of questions, from anatomy to the prickly subject of human technology. While the Threck had no reference point for breastfeeding (Epsy’s relatively few lactating species lived in Hynka Country—the Hynka themselves among them, though not through a nipple), they seemed to finally understand that Angela’s strange torso had neither befallen some tragic accident that had robbed her of a third and fourth arm, nor was there cause for tumor concern.

“Apparently, the entire galaxy is obsessed,” Angela quietly observed.

Tom, too, had obtained answers to some of Minnie’s top questions. Threck City’s population? 36,077 as of yesterday’s hatch. Minnie’s most recent estimation had been fairly close at 34,500. Reproduction? Fertile individuals could lay 2-3 eggs up to twice a year. Who’s in charge? An ever-changing group of individuals comprised of the seniormost members of each city group: Fishing, Farming, Thinkers, Makers, Materials, Nursery, Education, Waters & Sanitation, Exploration, and Expansion.

“You are all with the farming group?” Tom asked.

“Not precisely,” Amoss demurred, and emerged from the water. “Let us check on the harvest loading and take our leave if complete.” She raised one of her legs, planted it on the wall beside Angela, and then nimbly pushed off the rear wall with the other leg.

Angela turned to Tom. “Let’s wait for the rest of them to disembark, shall we?”

“What?” Tom smirked. “Tired of anatomical discussions?”

As it was desirable to remain wet as long as possible, the Threck weren’t familiar with towels. In fact, they each dipped their robes into the river to saturate before putting them back on, while Tom and Angela struggled to slide their wet bodies into their clothes and suits.

The Threck resumed bemoaning the place. “A shame there is no unbefouled mud to apply.”

“Filthy hynka,” another agreed, and Tom noted the term for “savage” describing something other than Ish’s beloved civilization.

Outside, throngs of Threck loaded the final baskets of harvested crops onto their filling carts. Amoss and friends—their names were Tatsis, Eskip, Mestthish, and Oose, though each time Tom thought he had a name pegged to a body, he had it wrong (“Once again, I am Eskip, not Tatsis. Are we so indistinct to Syons People?”)—spoke to their workers before Amoss and possibly Eskip returned to the domicile entrance.

Relieved by the return of his modern technology, Tom had the PA resume speaking for him. “It was so pleasurable to bathe and speak with you all. We hope that we can one day visit your city and speak with more of your wonderful people.”

Both Threck laughed and Amoss replied, “Ah, the sweet perfection of your garb’s voice again! Indeed, it is elegant and contenting, but I almost prefer the strange pitch of your true voice. As to your moistening desires, your wish is ours to bestow! Let us be off to the city.”

Oh no.

Tom considered his response, searching through Minnie’s list of formalities for an inoffensive decline.

ANGELA: As fun as moistening desires sounds, please, no, my stomach is killing me. We need to take our reinitiation meds and get some calorie bars in us. As nice as possible, as firm as necessary, tell them we’re not going to the city right now.

Three hours later…

Amoss pointed to the towering steeple. “Welcome, Syons People, Tom and Angela, to Threck City!”

The Sea Threck, or Seekapock, as they preferred to be called, enjoyed three things: eating, rolling in mud, and talking. Their seemingly calm demeanor and relative silence upon first meeting Aether and Qin had been wholly uncharacteristic.

Away from the beach, beyond a sand berm, Skinny had led the group to a vast area shaded entirely by enormous, table-shaped fungi called wects . These “trees” were endemic in southern Threck Country, and from orbit appeared as some strange pink snow or ground cover. It was only after sending a probe to investigate that Angela had discovered their true nature and form.

Aether gazed up at the caps’ undersides 10-15 meters overhead. The wects’ gills hung like fuzzy icicles atop dense, trunk-like stalks above the real ground: a swampy marsh where mudworms thrived—a perfect symbiosis in which falling spores fed the worms whose excrement, in turn, nourished the fungi. It had been an ah-hah moment for the mission. The Threck had clearly evolved from a 100% aquatic species, but what had brought their ancestors—like humankind’s fin-walking forebears—out of the water? Even now, millions of years later, the Threck struggled daily with life on land. It was here, Angela had theorized—or a place much like it—that early Threck found an evolution-fostering sanctuary. Frequent rains and storms kept the fertile soil moist, and the pink wects supplied perpetual shade as primitive Threck gorged themselves on mudworms. Minnie believed that the tall trunks had inspired Threck City’s Romanesque columns.

Aether labored through the knee-deep mire, her boots sticking with each step. Behind her, Qin was experiencing the same frustration, as evidenced by the groans and his breath streaming through their open channel into her ear. She lowered the volume. Qin’s struggles were now replaced by the buzzing drone of a hundred chattering Seekapock. Flopping around in the sludge like fish washed ashore by a rogue wave, the masses seemed to be in the throes of food-bingeing ecstasy.

Aether’s Livetrans app couldn’t keep up, rapidly framing the heads of the talkers, one after another, as Aether read the words.

LIVETRANS: So good… more… never stop… delicious… great satisfaction… more.

Treading carefully through the mob, Aether was sure she was stepping on tentacles, but no one seemed to mind. Bodies grazed her legs as she tried to keep up with Skinny, who, cognizant of her guests’ slow progress, would take two broad strides, then turn and wait.

“Just over here,” Skinny assured. “Easier if you move faster.”

Aether trudged on without responding. She sent an M to Qin.

AETHER: Were you able to get through to any of the others?

QIN: Yes. Zisa. They’re at the rally point.

AETHER: Everyone?

QIN: Sorry, no. Z and P at rally point. T and A went off with Threck.

AETHER: Any other details on that last bit?

QIN: That’s it.

Finally, they arrived at a drier area, like the bank of a mud lake, where a few less-animated Seekapock sat draped over stumps and rocks, nibbling on fish from a basket. They, too, wore the usual mud-soaked cloaks.

“You, Orange People,” one of them said as she grabbed a thin, white, pancake-shaped fish and stuffed it up between her leg tentacles like a feeding elephant. “Skinny tells you live in egg and travel ocean.” Before Aether could finish composing a reply, the eater went on, “And you think us all Threck. You Threck friend?” She turned to Skinny. “Why it no answer? You say it speak.”

“Orange People take time before speak. I think maybe they slow think.”

When they both appeared to pause, Aether activated her synth. “Peaceful greetings to you. We use egg for travel only. We are from—” Aether’s response went on, but the seated Seekapock interrupted, addressing the others.