“…moist skin.”
“Differing anatomy…”
Angela whispered, “I think my ass cheek is bleeding. And the water stings.”
“Do you require assistance?” Amoss—or the Threck Tom thought was Amoss—asked Angela.
Tom put a leg up for Angela to sit on, and they were finally able to settle into a stable position against the wall. Angela apparently noticed their new acquaintances ogling her chest and crossed an arm in front of her.
“What is the purpose of those appendages?” One of the Threck reached across the stream and pointed directly at Angela’s breasts. “Did it always have four appendages?”
“An amputation perhaps? Observe the sub-appendages, too.”
“Are they talking about my boobs?” Angela whispered, then her eyes opened wide. “Wait… how are you going to talk to them?”
“I know,” Tom sighed, defeated. “I don’t know.”
The room was quiet for what seemed a long while. Only the soothing sounds of flowing water echoed in the air, like some romantic grotto. The Threcks’ giant eyes rolled around as they studied Tom and Angela. The water appeared to relax them, their eyes slow blinking, hiding and unhiding, heads dunking beneath the water then back up, exposing only their eyes and the tops of their domes. They didn’t seem to care if their siphon holes were in, out, or half-submerged in the water. Tom tried to match their behaviors, blinking slowly and dipping his head beneath the surface. Awkwardness aside, he could get used to this ritual. There was even a nice, fresh airstream flowing from the thin space between water and roof at Tom’s left, to the river’s exit at his right—a welcome respite from the noxious odors behind him.
Amoss finally broke the silence, her smooth, deep voice reverberating in the cave-like space.
“Syons People are smarter than Threck. This is fascinating and shocking revelation. Our people have never in our history encountered beings more advanced than us. The Thinkers will be outraged and jubilant. They should like to speak with you at great length.”
Amoss stopped speaking and awaited a response. It would be rude to not answer. He needed something short. Something simple. He tried out several brief replies, listening to the synth vocalizations.
Intimidated by pretty much everything he wanted to say, he finally settled on: Pleasing.
“Kwadth tem,” he said.
Tom felt Angela’s hand tighten on his waist and he peripherally saw her head turning slowly toward him.
ANGELA: Pleasing? Wow.
TOM: Hey, if you want to try talking to them, jump in here any time.
ANGELA: They’re staring at us. Don’t be a wuss.
Tom recalled a guest speaker from the requisite diplomacy training back on Earth. She had said that, despite one’s every instinct, in nearly every diplomatic engagement, honesty was invariably the best approach. Skeptical students had challenged her with hypotheticals that she’d deftly swatted away with real-world examples in which an honest dialogue had deescalated a touchy circumstance or secured a desired outcome.
Tom reverted to his original reply and listened once more to Howard the Threck’s synth. He inhaled a deep breath and began:
“Ja-ahshkeh pladtip vrrish…” but he stopped, thought quickly, revised the text. A new response played in his ear. He spoke the words slowly, purposefully, one at a time, as the phonetics flashed before him, and Howard demonstrated the associated gestures. In Threck, he attempted, “Our speaking parts are different from Threck. While we understand your words, it is difficult to say many. The voice you heard earlier, this is from our garb, which contains technology. They aid us in speaking your words. Without that help, though, this is how I sound. My apologies.”
The Threck regarded one another for a moment.
“What is ‘building voice?’” one asked another.
“Is it ‘speaking tools?’” another said. “‘Tools wearing garb?’ What does it say?”
Tom pointed to the steps to the entrance. “My garb helps. Makes voice. Speaks words.”
Amoss suddenly got it. “Its garb spoke the words before! This now is real Syons People voice! I do not understand, but I understand.” She turned to her comrades and explained.
“Yes,” Tom labored on. “My Threck words will sound silly, but we want you to know that we will enjoy speaking with the Thinkers, though I am not sure that my people can live up to your flattering assessment of our intelligence.”
“Why not sure?” Amoss replied. “Is it not obvious? Syons People speak our language, but we do not speak yours. You have created technology that allows you to float in the sky as if it were ocean. Even your garb, as you say, can speak words like a real Threck and has been fashioned and assembled with precision and skill that our people cannot comprehend. Not only are Syons People smarter than Threck, Syons People garb is smarter than Threck! The list of questions I have for you grows with each passing second, and I can foresee no end to them. I think, perhaps, that to Syons People, we are the farmers, and Syons People, Threck.”
“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.