Michael Siemsen - Exigency

Tom’s Livetrans picked up a barely audible shout from beyond the narrow doorway. “If they are ready!”

“If you are ready,” the Threck standing before them echoed. Tom noticed this one wearing the same sort of pressed, unmuddied cloak as the previous Threck, but was much taller. “Is there anything you require prior to meeting the council? I am Setkee.”

“We are fine, thank you,” Tom replied, and then took the opportunity. “Excuse my limited knowledge of your beautiful language, but what does this word ‘Setkee’ mean?”

The Threck pulled a quick eye hide and said, “It is the word which describes our status: Threckee, but not Threck.”

Tom glanced at Angela, who he noticed was wearing the same polite smile. “And what is the difference?”

Another shout from the room. “Are they coming?”

“One is what we are, the other is to be,” the Setkee clarified.

“I see,” Tom said, and gestured toward the doorway. “Great. Let’s go in.”

The council’s floor of the tower—just above the city’s voluminous water reservoir and only two levels below the observation post—boasted a vaulted ceiling atop a wide circle of support columns and a substantial center pillar. Otherwise, the room was essentially empty.

As they were led across the smooth marble floor, Tom noticed at once a dozen Threck standing tall in a wide oval. In silence, all eyes tracked Tom and Angela’s progress. Upon passing the center pillar, the Setkee guiding them stopped, rotated, and left. Tom froze as well, unsure of protocol. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see half of the council members as they were blocked by those standing closer.

But are they standing? Tom wondered.

Presumably, one of these people was Fetz, whom he’d met earlier, and who stood about Angela’s height, several centimeters shorter than Tom. This group, however, were all significantly taller than Tom. They had to have been standing on the ends of their leg tentacles, like some sort of Threck ballerina stance.

“Continue on,” one of the Threck in front said. “We would all like to see you.”

“Yes, come forward Syons People!” An arm appeared and waved from the far side of the assembly. “So that I may introduce you to the rest of the leaders.”

Ah-hah. Good. At least we know which one is Fetz.

Tom stepped forward and felt Angela grasp his hand as she followed. There was no discernible area where visitors were meant to stand, and the space between each council member looked a bit awkward for the pair to ease into. If he moved into the space between two Threck, his shoulders would practically graze their cloaks. So then, were they intended to stand in the middle of this group, surrounded, spinning round to hear or address any particular individual?

Tom halted just outside the circle. “Peaceful greetings, wise leaders.”

A flurry of translations scrolled up Tom’s fone as the thin source frame bounced from person to person, linking individuals to their respective comments

“It’s true!”

“I still can’t see them.”

“Remarkable.”

“Where are these from?”

“Can’t see. Make them come into middle.”

“No, Packte!” Fetz shouted. “These are delightful guests, not savage prisoners to answer questions and be punished. Apologies, Syons People, the council does not by habit receive guests. The chamber is not exactly suited for more than the twelve.”

“As I mentioned, I have bathed with these people.” Tom realized the new speaker was Dowfwoss Amoss. “And it was beyond fulfilling. Shall we all descend to the tower bath?”

ANGELA: We bathe well with others.

TOM: Yeah. Any useful thoughts here? What do we do?

ANGELA: Don’t get snippy with me, mister. Just let them sort it out.

“There is plenty of space in here,” someone said, and Tom watched as this Threck’s apparently dangling legs curled backward, revealing some sort of thin stand beneath the hanging cloak, then she planted her knee-bends onto a connected block behind the stand, and lifted her body up and back. Once she’d stepped off the raised block, taking the cloak with her, Tom finally observed why they’d all appeared so tall: they were actually seated—or rather, draped over tall pedestals that supported their full weight, legs dangling just above the floor. None of this had been visible, of course, because their cloaks hung from “shoulder” height, all the way to the floor, presenting each council member as well over 2m tall.

“True Thinker,” Fetz quipped, as explained by Livetrans.

LIVETRANS: True Thinker. [Quip]

Fetz stood up from her seat, too, and the others followed. The group moved to a wide open area near the curved wall and spread out in a semicircle, leaving a large space by the room’s center pillar for Tom and Angela.

“Much better.”

“Let them say more.”

“I have many questions.”

“Silence, please,” Fetz said, waving an arm before her. “Allow me to express proper introduction… you still understand all we say, Tom and Angela?”

Tom took a deep breath, readying himself for what would surely amount to a Threck body language workout session for his weary body. “We do, yes. Peaceful greetings to all of you.”

Impressed, satisfied, confused, curious, and other reactions scrolled by in Livetrans.

Fetz introduced each council member by city group, along with sometimes interesting, often incomprehensible anecdotes, such as, “… And here stands Massoss Pakte, overseer of fish accumulation, storage, and dispersal, and patient tolerator of indecisive currents, insolent mains, and visitors both expected and not.”

There was Massoss Symee in charge of the Expansion group, Dowfwoss Towtzaw from the Nursery, Massoss this, Dowfwoss that (more Massosses than Dowfwosses, Tom observed), ending with the uniquely-adorned Dowfwoss ʔnkte , representing the Thinkers, whose cloak edges were embellished with purple-dyed trim around the head slit, sleeves, and bottom.

Fetz’s introduction of her was conspicuously brief, and ʔnkte (pronounced from deep down—an “unh” sound, as if one were just punched in the chest, followed by –nkte), said only “Hello” as her sleepy, half-open eyes gazed at Tom and Angela. Specially designed cloak aside, ʔnkte’s demeanor stood out among her peers, suggesting that Thinkers may literally think at a higher level than others. And ʔnkte was their leader.

Disgruntled by Livetrans’ use of the glottal stop symbol ʔ representing this sound, Tom made a quick replacement. “ Unhkte ” didn’t look much better, but he’d deal with it.

Next came the onslaught of questions, civilly from right to left, and, in the beginning, paired with extravagant compliments. Tom answered many of the same basic curiosities he’d provided back in the farmers’ domicile. Then came a new line of questioning.

“Having never experienced the pleasure of another wise creature,” Massoss Fact from Waters & Sanitation began, “I beg forgiveness for looking upon you with excessively enamored eyes. For my first question, I wish to know if, in Syons People land, with so few inhabitants, if sanitation is of primary concern.”

“Sanitation, as in keeping things clean?” Tom asked.

Fact elaborated. “As in disposal of excretions. We are aware that one of you excreted near the feshoosh orchards. It is not of concern—Setkee collected the droppings; I believe we now have them down in Sanitation—but we wonder if this is common practice for Syons People, and if so, has there been any hazards associated with large accumulations.”