Becoming Alien (19 page)

Near the end—Mica, posthumously promoted to cadet. Third from the end, Xenon.

Like the Vietnam Memorial, I realized, suddenly numb.
All these names are of cadets who died in service.

Nine dead between Mica and the bird. And two dead after the bird—I stared back and forth from Mica’s name to the bird’s, suddenly feeling even more prisoner-like.
Cadets sure die a lot.

Walking backward, I came to a huge cluster of names three hundred years earlier. Some big attack? And heat so intense that the walls melted?

I walked slowly back to Mica’s name, reading names, clusters of dates. “Oh, Mica,” I said, leaning my forehead against those gold inlaid characters, “why did you want this for me?” When I got back to my room, Gypsum was out, and Granite had tucked himself up high. Transliterating as best I could, I asked the computer for the file on Yauntry. The machine printed back
Species, first contact; Species, language; Species, continuing observations: Species, biology
…
I chopped it and asked for a 250-word first-contact file.

First contact with Yauntry was initiated by linguistics study team 189123, Karst I, following disappearance of a satellite recovery team. The linguistics team approached Yauntry ships in space, retreated as per standard maneuver. Yauntry ships made no aggressive displays, but followed Academy ships into a protected gravity net massing in excess of 100,000 unit masses. Academy ships exceeding the number of Yauntry ships pulled out of presumed detection range. Linguistics study team members attempted to contact the Yauntry ships by video. Earlier research indicated the Yauntry broadcast in horizontal double sweep and reverse lines set at 512 lines per visual unit, indicating a possible base 8 numerical system. Broadcasts in this visual format were sent and received. Typical contact films opened communications. Once communications were opened, queries about the missing search team survivors led to quick release of Cadet Officer Rhyodolite 10 and Sub-Cadet Red Clay 3. Cadet Xenon 7 had been accidentally fatally injured in initial contact confusion.

Yauntry people are moderately xenophobic and have demonstrated theoretical knowledge of space drive, although they had not built space-driven vessels or worked out near-star geometries at the time of initial contact. They accepted a study team and are possible candidates for admission into the Federation.

See also Biology, Behavior, Language…

Oh, I thought, I wasn’t a very significant part of that. I wiped the text, not bothering to print it. Then I transliterated 
“Earth.”

Flies not available to this terminal.

Okay.
Instead, I asked for a 20,000-word printout on sapient biology, introduction. Cadets died for this, I thought as I fumbled with the fanfold paper. Gypsum came in, giggled, and showed me how to bind sheets with the console. “Insert here,” he said, shoving the paper into a slot in the console’s lower left side. The machine spat the sheets back bound and trimmed.

“I tried to get material on my own planet but they told me the files weren’t available on this computer,” I said.

“I can get around those system locks,” Gypsum said.

The bird’s bed whispered down the wall rails. “Perhaps you could help me?” the bird asked hoarsely. “I need to find out who manipulates who here.”

Granite and Gypsum bent large craniums over Granite’s computer while I read that indeed intelligence probably developed to protect awkward, large-skulled animals.

By sunset, both Granite and I seemed mildly confused, and I went out to eat. Our table display had a note for me—Black Amber would see me that night in my room.

Before Black Amber arrived, skinny bear-stock guys took our furniture orders. I asked for a wall lamp over my bed, cushioned chairs, and a table for my alcove area. They suggested a desk and two storage chests. And shelves.

“What will the cost be?” I asked.

“Free, need any decorations?”

“Yeah, a huge blown-up photo of Earth showing North America in the center.” Surely they could get that.

Granite Grit ordered hard cushions, elbow leaning pads, and a low table—bird furniture. A full-length mirror for his wall. And a partition for his alcove.

“No partitions. When you’ve gotten to know each other, you should talk about the central area.”

“What about a music disc system with earphones and room speakers?” Gypsum said quickly.

We agreed to the music system.

Black Amber stood in the doorway with a little oo on her muzzle. “Red Clay (come). If you’ve finished.” I thanked the furniture guys and followed her out.

We walked under building lights and the stars, with her headed for something, not just walking. After about a quarter mile, I realized we were near the memorial walls. “I saw Mica’s name on a granite slab.”

She stopped and turned toward me, her huge eyes looking oiled in Karst’s dusky night. An eddy of air ruffled her head hair, which seemed puffed up. “Ah, Cadet,” she said. We sat down on stones that looked glazed in patches. When I fingered the glaze, she said, “Attack on Karst eight hundred years ago. Easier then.”

“So you lose cadets now in ones and twos, rather than by hundreds?”

She leaned against me—bat-sapients have no social distance. “Red-Clay-with-flecks-of-Mica. One of mine.”

I couldn’t be a Gwyng, I thought. My body stiffened. She said, “Oh,” and stood to stretch slightly. “You were concerned about Rhyodolite when the others held you?”

“Yes, very,” I answered.

“The Academy tested him with a bird (I can’t explain, sounds/seems xenophobic). I don’t want Rhyodolite to be demoted. I lost Mica, but you tried to help, against your own.” She touched my chin with the back of her knuckles and oo’ed faintly. We walked on to the memorial walls. With her left hand, she traced Mica’s name, each finger writhing as though scorched by the gold.

Sapience requires an excess of 10 to the 10th neurons per 70 kg. of body weight,
I read. Putting the printout aside, I checked my messages. Rhyodolite left word that I could skip dinner since I was invited to a First Contact Party.
Dress in best blacks, be very good for ape eating ape. Rhyodolite 10.

How am I supposed to behave?
Granite Grit, muttering in bird, was soldering his own chips to the console motherboard. When Gypsum came in, I told him about the party.

“You’re not socially ready for that,” Gypsum said.

“My friend said, ‘Be very good for ape-eating-ape,’” I told the Ewit before heading out the door to a sapient-behavior discussion.

After flunking the chemistry placement test for Cosmic Geophysics and Chemistry, I went down to the physical activities building. Being a cadet got you a choice of bathing suits: brief-like, tights-like, or a whole body suit. I chose briefs, wondering what had worn that pair before me, and
belly-flopped with the rest of my new de-haired crazy gang.

When I came back, balls half chafed raw, to my room, Granite Grit, perched high, was quizzing Rhyodolite about the computers. Rhyodolite, one leg twisting anxiously, stood in the common square. Both bird and bat were being fantastically polite. I noticed Rhyo’s feet were booted in what looked like Gwyng-fit European bully marching boots.

“The boots, Rhyodolite? They look like Earth boots.”

“Yes/but heel re-done. You like?”

“Weird. What is this party, anyway?” I noticed his dark blue sash with medals and badges.

“Terribly important people come to see the first-contact people and new aliens. You’ll start your banner,” he said, touching his sash. “Hurry, change.”

I winced and held my legs apart. He looked at me and tore up a sheet, making me a little loincloth pouch for my genitals. “Hurry. Didn’t someone/Tesseract tell you to watch naked skin against skin?”

“No,” I said, trying to tie another strip of sheet around my waist.

“Dust.” He went into my toilet cubicle and came out with a powder, which helped.

As I put on my dress blacks and shoes, I asked, “So this party’s for those who didn’t end up on the memorial walls?”

“Red-Clay-fool, don’t. Forget Mortuary Walls.” He looked at me and sniffed. “Your web glands stink.”

“How do I get deodorant around here?”

“Ah (don’t worry about that now).” He glanced at the bird. “Show no teeth in facial gesture—can be misunderstood by drunks. Don’t discuss senior guests afterward.”

We scurried out, Rhyodolite chattering almost too fast for my skull computer to transform, about drugs. Drugs?

“You know,” I said, “Black Amber almost wants to adopt me now.”

He stopped short and blinked at me from his wrinkled face, with his own oiled eyes—suddenly very alien. “She is very Gwyng-minded—Gwyng-planet-raised (unlike me/Cadmium). She is allied to live things, against death.”

We climbed into Rhyodolite’s three-wheeled electric plastic egg and drove up to a two-story stone and timber building with much glass—both plain and crystal cut—the Rector’s lodge, on a hill just inside the Academy grounds.

This alien party, I realized, wasn’t going to be anything close to a bunch of drunks with a string band.

Under the main porte cochere a small servant alien took the car away while a terribly nervous pre-cadet checked us off on a terminal.

A Barcon, only furred in patches but thoroughly groomed, took us through a velvet tubular hall into a large room. He pointed to the food tables. “Any guest can eat these, although they might not digest all the proteins.” The Barcon put a finger up to its ear, listening to a plastic speaker in its ear tube, then left us, saying, “Recreational drugs come in key-out boxes—explain to Red Clay, Rhyodolite.”

Weird alien sitting instruments filled the room—upholstered body gloves, loft seats with attached ladders, pillows, straw mats on low daises, and couches. Around these, on these, moved crested, naked-skinned, furred, feathered, or wrinkled aliens.

“Rhyodolite, I don’t know these people. Stay with me.” 

“Wonderful,” Rhyo said, putting a thing like a brown pancake on a plate. “Cadmium and surprises will be here.”

“What are you eating?” I asked as Rhyo fitted his fingers with tongs like artificial nails. He gave me a taste off the fingertip tongs.
Cooked meat juice.
My mind went
oh. 
“Fried blood?”

“Good?” Rhyo asked. He began clapping fried blood cake mouthward.

I wondered if any aliens used forks and found a short curved knife—shorter blade than a butter knife, with a slight spoon to the blade. The fried blood hadn’t been bad, so I dished up some for myself.

Black Amber and Cadmium walked in, bumping each other gently. She wore a green and gold tunic top with bloomer shorts, and soft slippers. Rhyodolite grabbed her shoulder and sniffed her. Black Amber thumped Rhyo’s right thumb. I had no idea of what sniffing and thumping meant, so, lips pursed into an embarrassed oo, I looked down.

Black Amber pushed my head up with her knuckles. I thanked her formally for sponsoring me. “Since I’m not used to this kind of party,” I added, “I’d welcome advice. I know no one here except three Gwyngs.”

“More acquaintances here than you expect,” she replied. “You called up the Yauntry contact account. Perhaps not flattering to rate only a line.” She dropped her hands from my head. “A smile for you.” Her fingers pulled up her mouth comers. “Mechanical, but up-lips for us means something different. But your test was awful.”

“I knew I flunked it. How did you find out so soon?”

“Computer.”

Boy, those computers. I hadn’t realized how closely the computer let her monitor me—what I read, tests, reports from lecture leaders, gym.

“The Yauntra report was scandalous,” she said, handing me a grayish brown sash. “But you must give him (Yauntry) this as he gives you yours.”

“What?” My bowels lurched as two Barcons marched up with a Yauntry between them.

Edwir Hargun.

He stood gray-faced with a black sash in his hands, dressed in brown Academy-style clothes. I raised his sash while he looked down and moved his arms stiffly so I could fit it over his shoulder.

“Your Federation knew only one Yauntry,” he said in stumbling Karst I, “to call out by name. Our
Encorals,
leaders, made me go.”

I bowed my head and let him put the black sash over my shoulder. Then Hargun turned to Black Amber and the other Gwyngs. “I was brought to Karst. A hostage, perhaps?” he half asked. “I am terribly sorry about Xenon.”

I looked away from all of them, as I thought about Xenon trying to be friends with Rhyodolite. Why was Rhyo so rude? Because birds with wings ate bats once, I said slowly, “We feared you would shoot us, also,’ and looked up at Hargun.

He caught my eyes then for a second. I looked at his round jaw and short blobby nose, almost like a cartoon character’s face, but I couldn’t remember the cartoon. Then I had to look away.
He’s so afraid.

Hargun found a plate and one of the short knives and dabbled up bits of alien food. Standing beside me, he groped for vocabulary. “You seemed…so angry.” He rubbed small folds at the outsides of his eyes.
Ah, that’s what makes his eyes look so round.
Obviously wanting to say more, he said, “No one here really knows my language.”