Angry Young Spaceman (7 page)

I reached out my hand and pushed the metallic rubber, gently at first, and then pushing all the way to the wrist. The surface enveloped it, warm, yielding, and when I stopped pushing it ejected my fist. I looked over at the stone tentacle closer to the Line and wondered what would happen if I stood up there. Would it stretch to accommodate my whole body to the waist? Would I be able to see the sun, the surface — nothing but water? Or would the Line press against my eyeballs and blind them?

“Is it bloring to you?” said Mr. Oool. “Too bloring, I think,” he said to Mr. Zik.

“No, it’s not boring, it’s very interesting,” I said, in a daze. What would happen if I broke through? Found myself on the other side? Could I get back? Would I be stranded?

“Is interesting to children. Keeds,” Mr. Oool said.

I touched the Line again, slid my fingertips across it and watched the lethargic ripples. “On Octavia,” I said. “I am a child.”

four

“So the cool thing is that Mr. Zik apologized for them.” I had just recounted the story of the fork-curious police.

“So he knew how gross it was?” said Matthew from the vidphone.

“Yeah. ‘His tentacles were not clean.’ I didn’t expect it. But then, Mr. Zik’s a rare gem. No evil drunk like the guy you have for a co-teacher.”

“He’s not evil. He’s just real irritating. He’s kind of sweet. And he
really
wants me to like him.”

I went to sit down on the couch — way down, since most Octavian furniture was close to the ground. Matthew looked around the room, or as much as he could from the vidphone. “So as you see,” I said, sweeping my arm across my boxes, “I haven’t had enough time to unpack any boxes. We left on our fantastic voyage twenty minutes after they arrived, and got back...” I checked my watch, “forty minutes ago.”

“That’s all I’ve had energy for,” said Matthew. “Unpacking. I haven’t even seen the town yet. Well, a little at night.”

“Oh — I almost forgot,” I said. “How have you found the whole see-through-walls thing?”

“Not too bad. I had kind of psyched myself up for it. They actually stare a lot less than you’d think — when it’s part of the culture to be so open, people really respect privacy in a strange way.”

“Huh. So you don’t feel like you’re in a zoo?”

Matthew adjusted the pillow he was sitting on. “Not really. Because I can look at any Squidollian in their home, too. And they really only
stare
when I’m on the toilet or eating. Especially eating, which they’ve got an endless fascination for.”

“So have you got a normal toilet?”

Matthew arched his eyebrows. “Yes, I got an
Earth-style
toilet. It’s very
ab
normal for Squidollia —”

“Yeah yeah whatever,” I said, embarrassed at my faux pas. “We’ll see how you talk if you gotta crap in one of them sideways johns.”

Matthew looked pained. “Already have. We were in the goddamned bar till seven in the fuckin’ morning!”

“Drinking the whole time?!”

“Yeah.”

“Both nights?”

“No. I begged off at three last night, after learning the joys of ralphing into a sideways toilet. Through liquid atmosphere.”

I laughed. “Nice!”

“I don’t find it a big deal at all. The liquid air thing. I’m used to it already.” Matthew ran his hand through the atmosphere quickly and left a trail.

“Same here,” I said.

“So tell me about this trip you went on,” Matthew said.

“Naw,” I said. “It’ll take too long. I’ll tell you when we get together. I’m... still kind of absorbing it all now.”

Matthew yawned. “OK. Man, I can’t believe I’m yawning. I got up four hours ago.”

“You’re screwed. Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”

Matthew smiled. “Nope. Triumph Over the Hurtful Days.”

“What?”

“It’s a school holiday to commemorate the long Squidollian struggle for freedom.”

I rolled my eyes at his pious tone.

“I feel very strongly about it, especially since it means I get to sleep in —”

“Bastard!” I looked at my watch. “No wonder you’re so damn chatty. I have to get my work clothes ready for tomorrow. They’re probably all wrinkly.”

“All right,” Matthew said. “I’ll get in touch with the other guys and we’ll meet soon.”

“See ya.”

Matthew nodded and the screen winked out.

I started pulling boxes open, looking for my clothes.

***

I was tricked out in a suit and tie, my hair slick from the shower. I looked at myself in the mirror. I tried to convince myself I looked like a Venusian gangster, but I didn’t buy it.

Checked the time. Still ten minutes until Mr. Zik was supposed to arrive. I would have liked to leave right away, to be swept along with the constant demands and distractions that come with the first day of anything new. Instead I found myself getting reflective in front of my reflection.

My genetically bestowed square jaw and heavy eyebrows gave me an authority I despised. My broad shoulders made me look good in a suit, and I hated it. It wasn’t the first time I had donned the uniform of the ruling class — but it was the first time I had done it voluntarily.

I knew it would drive Mom crazy if she knew. She had made some fairly big concessions in an effort to keep me on Earth.

She even went offline while she discussed it with me. I was used to talking to her as she scanned the net retinally, watching the light flicker in her eyes and the rapid blinking as I talked about the political demonstration I went to or the band I saw the night before. She would frown and her voice would sharpen if I mentioned anything that may have threatened my profile graph — she knew nothing about my pug scraps, until the end — but usually she would respond with a vaguely positive murmur.

“Samuel,” she said, a few days before I left. I was trying to get a sandwich together in the kitchen before I met up with Skaggs in Paris, so my head was in the fridge. I could tell it was serious, though, from the tone of her voice.

“I’d like to make you a final counteroffer.” Her arms were folded, and that’s when I noticed she was offline.

The last counteroffer, through her assistant, had also warned me that it was the
final
one but I didn’t bother pointing that out. I did try, you know. “OK, let’s hear it,” I said as I cut the bun open in my hand.

“Use the cutting board for that, hon,” she said, distractedly. “There’s an entry level position in the media conglom. Low stress. No physical presence needed. Fifty hours a week, but most of that just on call.”

“No suit or anything, huh?” I said, chomping into the bun, holding my hand under it to catch the crumbs.

“Just for the prelims.”

I scowled a bit, pretended that really disturbed me. Mom rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”

She shook her head. “Open file, recruit: Breen, Samuel.” Light danced across her eyes as she accessed my file, adding to the angry sparks there. “Mark it closed. Erase file.”

I smiled. That was dramatic, since she could have done it by blinking rather than voice. “How are you doing with the new school crop?” I said pleasantly.

“Better than ever,” she snapped, still online. “Who in their right minds would turn down a conglom job?”

“This Urasan spread is just delicious,” I said, my mouth half-full.

“And you know that... offworld job doesn’t qualify you for any of the trust fund—”

“Oh, I know. Why don’t you do something with it?”

“I can’t invest frozen money, Samuel. The market is
so good
right now. There would be four or five investments that would be just
perfect.
”

The look on her face was frustrated misery. It was a look that wouldn’t have been out of place when Jane left, or Grandpa died, but it hadn’t been there in either of these cases.

I decided to cut to the chase. “You know I don’t want it,” I snapped.

“You don’t want to be out of debt?”

“I don’t want money that was made from planetary renovations. The slave planets —”

“Oh, stop that — that neo-abolitionist nonsense was fine for your university days, but they’re over now.”

I had finished my sandwich and walked out, saving my rage for the scrap that night.

In front of the mirror, waiting for Mr. Zik, I wondered how much the Urasan spread cost on Octavia. Or if the green delicacy was even available. And if my mom would ever get worked up about anything other than a missed business opportunity.

I saw Mr. Zik’s saucer pull up, and I went out to meet him.

“You look very handsome,” he said, his tentacles rippling with pleasure.

“Thanks,” I said.

***

I nodded and smiled, trying not to wince every time the old guy looked at me. His eyes were traced with red and white cracks. He said something, and I was sure he was asking about my translator.

“Supervisor Lok would like you to be very welcome,” translated Mr. Zik.

Supervisor Lok was sipping his tea, unfortunately opening his mouth to do so. I thanked him in Octavian.

He nodded, looking out the roof. There was a dome window that looked quite expensive. I looked up at it again. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I glanced over at Mr. Zik, who was incredibly nervous. He kept smoothing his headcrest down, and glancing between the two of us. I felt a little sorry for him, and tried to answer the ugly little man’s questions properly.

I sipped at the tea. It was woody with an unpleasant sweetness.

The office of the supervisor was plushly furnished, and didn’t look like a lot of work got done in it. I looked over at the supervisor, who was calmly drinking his tea, and felt a surge of dislike for him for the anxiety he caused Mr. Zik. He wasn’t doing anything to encourage it, from what I could see, but neither did he try to lessen it.

The supervisor said something else, holding forth for a few sentences, a tentacle poised in the air.

“He said that you are an important part in Octavia’s... desire to become more galactic,” Mr. Zik told me.

I nodded, and waited for the rest. Nothing. Was he a redundant blowhard, or was Mr. Zik choosing what to tell me? Not that I necessarily wanted the long version — I had heard the party line already. To remain/become competitive, planets had to learn the tongue of trade: English. Only a few could afford the expensive English-translators, and most Earthlings were contemptuous of non-English speakers anyway, so the solution most planets gravitated towards was a.... blah blah blah. Allum Allum Allum.

Mr. Zik was staring at me, his tentacles bunching and unbunching. For his sake I delivered the appropriate response.

“Teaching English to your citizens will give your planet a commercial advantage. It’s a good investment.”

Mr. Zik translated, making it two or three sentences long.

Mr. Lok stood, offering a withered tentacle to me to shake. I did. He said something to me.

“You are a very handsomebloy, he said.”

I smiled at Mr. Lok, who fixed those awful eyes on me, and tried to reciprocate. Honestly. “Your... office is very comfortable.”

“Good-bye,” Mr. Lok said.

After we left, Mr. Zik said, “I didn’t tell him what you said ablout the office.”

“That’s OK,” I said, smiling at a person with files that we were passing. “It was pretty meaningless, anyway.”

Mr. Zik looked thoughtful.

“It was unimportant.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. “Ssss-sss-ss.”

We walked out of the school board building and I almost asked him why he’d been nervous, but it felt like I would be implying that he was stupid or cowardly for being so. So we got into his saucer in silence.

Soon the gates of the school came into sight. My stomach leapt, and I was surprised by my own nervousness. The building was white, with glints of windows.

“Is that it?” I asked.

Mr. Zik nodded.

We parked and passed through the gates. There were children around the entrance who moved aside to let us through. They had brooms and bags.

“Zik oewiru, eoit fljnt fadntr he?” one called.

“Kllletnroj fldaj rnui Sam Breen, English oewiru,” Mr. Zik said brusquely.

I looked back at them and smiled. That started everyone talking at once.

“Hello!” someone said.

I looked back and said hello.

This prompted a few squeals and a couple of follow-up hellos. I didn’t respond, since we were almost out of earshot. One of them said something that made Mr. Zik’s head swivel.

He didn’t respond to it, but to me he said, “They are the blad students. They must clean up the ground.”

I looked back at the bad students and they looked like they were already talking about something else. Ahead, a few windows went up and curious heads stuck out, their tentacles sticking out over the windowsill.

Mr. Zik walked smoothly and calmly through the halls. I followed, feeling clumsy with my two-legged gait. The groups of students twined their front tentacles and bowed to him, and some of them even made this polite greeting to me. He said something that sounded friendly without being chummy. Was this the same Mr. Zik who had been shaking with terror twenty minutes ago?

He turned into the staff room and glanced back to make sure I was there. I straightened my tie, yanked on my cuffs, donned a blinding smile, and walked into the room.

five

Hi Lisa,

“Welcome to Plangyo. Are you a criminal?”

So yesterday I’m going about my business. Not doing anything out of the ordinary, except I’m taking a little more time than usual to buy my vegetables since they have physical currency here (5 Beeds = 1 Intergalactic Credit, I feel rich!) and I can’t read the signs and I’ve never seen a double-barrelled cucumber...

No, I’m
not
complaining. Just explaining why I was holding up the line. I had to put everything on the counter to pull out a handful of beeds and for some reason people thought that was really funny — Octavians don’t often run out of hands, I suppose. I was probably blushing to beat the band (archaic English idiom I’m using to make you feel dumb) and when I did get a handful of their damnable (though admittedly quite lovely) spherical currency out of my pocket two dropped to the ground.