Mike Resnick - I, Alien

“Does that include John Palmer?”

The comers of his mouth turned up. “Ah, yes, John Palmer.”

“He seems reticent to learn.”

“More like a pain in the ass.”

I pulled my head back. “We do not refer to our race’s offspring in that manner.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t hear me say something like that in public either.” He clasped his hands together. “Look. John Palmer is a troublesome kid. He’s a lot to handle.”

“Perhaps it would be best to give me a class without ‘troublesome’ kids.”

Greenberger barked out a grating laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

His comment puzzled me. “I am an educator of my race, Mr. Greenberger. I do not make jokes about my profession.”

He leaned back. “Yeah, well. We don’t have that sort of choice around here. If I do that for you, I’d have to do that for everyone.”

“Would it not be rational to give me a class without ‘troublesome’ students, given my new status at your school, combined with the fact that I am Tenjant and not human?”

He expelled air. “Yes, it would be rational. But it’s not going to work that way.” He plugged my computer into his desk, tapped a few keys, then unplugged it and handed it back. “I’ve just given you a booklet of tips on how to deal with kids with special needs. See if that helps.”

My brief training had dealt with the generalities of Earth children, but never once had our readings indicated the existence of “troublesome” kids. Perhaps this indicated just how desperate the humans were for good science teachers. I thanked Mr. Greenberger for the document and left the room.

I soon found out that teaching science meant running an occasional laboratory session. Tenjant children, of course, did all their practical work in virtual environments, but the humans had not yet developed that technology.

Before the class began, I set up the lab tables with beakers of water, digital scales, small plastic canisters with caps, and round tablets of sodium bicarbonate. As the children filed in, some of them started playing with the equipment on their desks. I requested that they stop doing so, and with the exception of John Palmer, they all did.

“Children, I have sent instructions to each of your computers regarding how to perform this activity, along with the name of your partner for today. You will see how sodium bicarbonate, when placed in water, releases carbon dioxide gas. The scales will allow you to measure the mass of the gas released. Please read your directions and let me know if you have any questions. Only then should you begin working with the materials.”

I began to walk around the room, checking on the progress of the students with the instructions. Most of them understood what to do, and I told them to begin work.

Then I got to John Palmer, who was assigned to work with Eileen. Instead of reading the screen on his computer, John was standing on his desk.

“John? What are you doing?”

John began to jump up and down and swing his arms. “Ook ook ook!”

“John? This is not the proper behavior for a human child.”

“I’m not a child! I’m a gorilla!”

“A gorilla?” I asked.

A student named Gerald who sat two desks over answered my question. “It’s an animal, a primate. John’s pretending to be one of them.”

I recalled my basic studies of Earth. “Ah, yes. Gorillas.” I grabbed John by the waist and gently lowered him to the floor. “Please work.”

“You know about gorillas?” Gerald asked.

I walked over to his desk. “Yes. Humans evolved from them.”

Gerald frowned. “I don’t think so,” he said, but I was already rushing back to stop John from pouring a beaker of water over Eileen’s head.

I grabbed his arm before he had a chance to spill a drop of water. “John, this behavior is inappropriate. Please go to Mr. Greenberger’s office.”

He stuck out his tongue at me. “No.”

I was unprepared for this disobedience. “No?”

He stuck out his tongue again and crossed his eyes. The room fell silent; I could tell that all of the other students were wondering what I would do next.

I was wondering that myself. Finally, I made a decision. “Class,” I said, “please do not continue with the experiment until I return.” I placed my hands under John’s arms, lifted him up, and carried him out of the room to the principal’s office. All the while, he made sounds such as “Wooo!”

When I got to the office, I dropped him off with Greenberger’s assistant, whose mouth opened up as I brought the child in and remained open as I left. I returned to the classroom to see the students still in the position in which I had left them.

Mr. Greenberger had not been pleased at my attempt to control John Palmer’s behavior. So, at his strong suggestion, I had .arranged for a phone conference among John’s parents and myself. At the scheduled time, a split image appeared on the screenboard in my classroom. John’s parents were in two different locations, and I recalled that Mr. Greenberger had said something about a “divorce,” in which the parents no longer resided in the same domicile.

I began by detailing the specific behaviors that I had witnessed. I began by telling them about John interrupting me and wandering .around, and I finished by telling them about his pretense of being a gorilla and his defiance of my authority.

When I finished, the two of them sat there, staring. Finally, Mrs. Palmer said, “So?”

Unsure that I had heard her correctly, I said, “Excuse me?”

“What gives you the right to pick up my son? Do you know the humiliation you caused him?”

Flummoxed, I said, “Actually, he seemed to enjoy the ride.”

“That’s not the point,” Mr. Palmer interjected. “The point is that you had no right to do what you did.”

I tried to recast my argument. “Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, I do not think you understand. Your child is disruptive. He is unable to focus his attention long enough to learn properly.” I paused, thinking of a phrase I had been taught to use in these situations. “Perhaps,” I said, “he needs to be tested.”

The Palmers recoiled, and the corners of Mrs. Palmer’s mouth turned down. “How dare you even suggest such a thing! You’re not a licensed psychologist! Hell, you’re not even human!”

“I do not think that my race has anything to do with your son and his issues.”

Mr. Palmer spoke. “This has nothing to do with our son and his ‘issues,’ as you put it. This has to do with your ability to teach our child.”

“It is hard to get him to learn,” I admitted.

“Well,” Mrs. Palmer said, “get him to learn. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“My job,” I said as evenly as I could, “is to get all of the students to learn.”

Mr. Palmer expelled air and rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know why they hired an alien to be the teacher. You better watch yourself, Mr. Fromlilo, or I’ll tell Earth to send you back where you came from.”

That would be the greatest favor you could do for me, I thought.

But aloud, I said, “I will endeavor to be more careful in the future.”

The next day, Mr. Greenberger called me back into his office. The Palmers had left him a rather irate e-mail.

“They tell me that you’re not doing your job,” he said.

“They told me that it was my job was to teach their child.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Mr. Greenberger asked.

“I don’t understand. Among the Tenjant, education is a joint effort, among all the people.”

“Look, some parents are more involved than others. Some take an active interest in their child’s education, every step of the way. And some—”