by Ann Christy
In general terms, the smarter and more aware a species becomes, the more likely they are to make decisions that are optimal for everyone. They’re more likely to consider the least harmful path to be the best one. Long term consequences become serious considerations when making decisions. In short, the more advanced, the more likely a species is to be reasonable.
Usually. Humans are a notable exception.
This information is also very useful, because I have no indication that Hub knows what I’m up to. Perhaps I’m being as unpredictable as one might expect a human up to no good to be. Taking reasonable courses of action probably precludes choosing sneaky ones meant to deceive as well.
Jack is ever-present and every day I look forward to seeing him more than the day before. The fact that he’s something other than human fades into unimportant background noise. I’m beginning to realize that it doesn’t matter. He’s human now. Entirely human. And if he changes into something else, well, I’ll deal with that when I need to.
The door pings right on time on my thirty-seventh morning at the station—over a month already!—and Jack’s smiling face greets me. He’s wearing his ComicCon tee again and he looks divine. I find it really shocking how good he looks all the time. I think he’s even had a haircut. It has that freshly trimmed look. Sharp at the edges, no fraying ends.
He strolls in and goes right to the dining table, which has become something of a habit with us. On the surface are all the pictures I’ve done, including the two I did last night.
“Oh, I like this,” he says, bending to look at one with a scene from the dinosaur planet. It shows the elephant-butt ones in the clearing doing that snout-on-shoulder thing. “They really are interesting looking, aren’t they?”
I’m thinking that’s polite alien speak for hideous, but I’m not entirely sure. “That they are. I did one of the avian creatures too.”
He finds it amongst the spread of pictures and peers at it for a long moment. “They have beautiful eyes. I like that orange. Is that really what they look like?”
“You should go and find out for yourself. It’s an amazing place.”
He shrugs and looks at the picture on my easel. This piece is barely sketched out, but the outlines of the medical bay are obvious. “Maybe I will someday. There are so many, you can never view them all.”
“Really? How many?” That surprises me. I had thought there must be a limited number. I mean, how many planets have catastrophes?
“Hundreds of thousands, I’m sure.” He turns to look at me with a grin. “We’re very busy here.” He notices the environment suit on my bed and points at it. “What’s that for?”
I try to sound casual. “I was sort of thinking I’d like to go into the dock. You know, where the Kassa are. Can we?”
He seems surprised, but also pleased. “You want to meet them? Face to face, so to speak?”
I’m not even lying a little bit when I say, “Very much. Is that okay?”
He grins, comes close, and grips my upper arms. “It should be fine. I’m so glad. You want me to clear it for you?”
“Yes, I would,” I say, grinning right along with him.
A short while later, the door pings with a suit delivery for Jack. I stuff mine into the bag it came in and then we’re off. When the quasi-subway car comes this time, I get the viewscreen up without any help. It feels like we’re in a car with walls made halfway out of glass. I’m somewhat surprised when we shift rails between traffic and shoot down a dark side corridor on the transport level.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to see something in the dark beyond our car.
“We have to go down to the floor level to enter. There’s no door on the viewing level where we were. That wouldn’t be very safe. I don’t know of many species that could survive a fall that far.”
“Oh,” I say, but I’m disappointed. The distance between that level and the floor wasn’t trivial. How am I supposed to get up to the hatch from down there?
Before I get too down in the dumps about this new barrier, we pop out into a shaft and shoot downward for a moment, then return to horizontal travel along another dark tunnel. We stop after less than a minute and the car pings. I’m not communicating with the car, so I look to Jack for information. Maybe it’s just my guilty conscience, but I’m still reluctant to use my implant all the time. I’ve calmed down enough to use it some, just not casually.
No one reads your thoughts exactly, but it’s very easy to communicate more than I might want to. Less risk is better.
“What are we waiting for?” I ask. The area around us is empty. No rails and no cars.
“This isn’t a transport line. We’re waiting for another type of transport. And here it is.”
As promised, a tiny car zips up and slides up against the door of our bigger car. Only the bottom part of the door opens, and Jack grabs my hand with a grin. He’s so clearly excited that I catch it from him like a summer cold. While I have ulterior motives for this adventure, the idea of meeting another species is starting to resonate inside me, bringing with it the thrill of the unknown.
Inside the smaller car, there’s a flat bench across the middle and we both sit. The windows in this car are real windows, so we watch this level zip by.
“This car is for places not serviced by the rail. I like them. They’re perfect for humans and a whole lot of other species. Sitting or crouching is pretty common.”
I can only shake my head at the things I learn by accident. The car is quick and the hum from below is very nice, almost soothing. I half-expect to hear elevator music. I know immediately when we’re close because everything outside our car changes, growing almost industrial in appearance. More gray and less beige.
“What’s all this stuff?” I ask, pointing to a bunch of metal bits stacked up neatly.
“Hub is constantly rebuilding itself. Artificial constructs like the station don’t last forever. Actually, if you want, you can watch a replay of the last time Hub reproduced itself.”
“Reproduced? You mean like having a baby?” I ask, completely shocked.
He laughs at that. “What a thought! No, but sort of yes. Hub recreates its core now and then and puts itself into the new core. Afterwards, the old one is recycled. I have heard that there’s a standby Hub core around somewhere in case something happens.”
I hadn’t ever thought about wear and tear, but this makes sense. It’s also very high in cool factor.
When the car stops, Jack picks up his bag and says, “Okay, suit up! Do you know how?”
I unzip my bag and pull out the suit. “I practiced and got instructions. Implants are handy for that stuff.”
He nods and kicks off his shoes. “That they are.”
The suits aren’t exactly like space suits, but they’re more substantial than a suit you might see on Earth to keep contaminants out. They’re a bit puffy, but wearing clothes underneath is fine—except for shoes—and they seal up in the front almost by themselves. The helmet is comfortable and not too huge. It seals with a hiss as soon as it touches the suit.
Earth could seriously use this kind of tech. Imagine how much more comfortable our astronauts would be.
“I’m ready. Let’s see if you are,” Jack says, tapping my shoulder. The pink light on my suit is lit—it turns blue if things aren’t right—and so is his. We’re good.
I’m super nervous all the sudden. I’ve seen a few other species now, but this will be the first time I interact with another species physically. I mean, everyone is another species, but they look human now, so it’s not the same.
The industrial area ends just ahead near the huge walls of glass leading to the work area. Jack taps my shoulder and says, “Hey, you’re going to have to communicate via your implant in there. They won’t understand you and it’s considered rude to go through translations only.”
“How will I understand them?” I ask, because really, how like my thoughts can theirs be.
>
“It still translates, but it’s different. You’ll see.”
I turn on my communications and send Jack, I’m nervous.
I can’t tell. You’re keeping your emotions out of it. Is that on purpose?
Yes. I don’t want to make a mistake. What if I react like I did before?
He nods, then smiles, sending me reassurance along with his words. I understand. It’s no problem. Once you get comfortable, you can always add that in.
There’s a short tunnel of sorts leading up to the entrance. The area ahead is glassed in and very spacious, which I’ve learned is common because every species is differently sized. Humans are somewhere on the shorter spectrum of average.
The glass wall flashes a big warning in blue. Environment unsuitable for Earth species. Suits must remain sealed.
After a moment, the door still doesn’t open, and Jack looks at me. You have to acknowledge you understand before it will open.
Safety first, apparently. I do acknowledge and then hear the ping as the first door opens. Once we’re inside the tunnel with both doors closed, there’s a hiss and our suits ripple. Finally, the inner door opens, and we step into the biggest space I have ever experienced. I mean, it’s ridiculous. If the ship looked big before, it seems even larger now. We’re still at least a quarter-mile from it, but it looms over us in a way that makes me flinch.
“Wow, that’s really unsettling,” I say, totally understating my feelings.
Jack laughs and I’m glad to hear it with my ears instead of just in my head. “It is that. Try working in here with that over you. I was constantly thinking it would fall through the glass and squash me. It just feels like that, doesn’t it?”
I nod, because that’s exactly what it feels like.
As we walk away from the entrance, something I hadn’t noticed from the window comes into view. There’s a ladder of sorts, leading from the work floor where we are up to the raised walkways that lead to the ship. I can’t imagine climbing it, but at least I have one possible avenue to the ship.
Before we do much more, one of the Kassa scurries over at high speed from the cluster of machinery a few hundred feet away. Several other Kassa stop what they’re doing, and I can tell they’re looking at us.
Welcome, Lysa. I’m happy for your visit today.
What’s even weirder than meeting another being that reminds me—though less now that I’m close—of a cockroach, is that I hear what it says in more than one way. I hear a series of clicks and hisses with my ears, a literal translation in my head, and a colloquial translation a little above that in intensity. Those layers should be confusing, but they’re not. And my name is apparently, click, hiss, different hiss in Kassa language.
I wave and smile, trying not to stare too hard. Hello, I’m very happy to meet you. What’s your name?
Again, I get the layers, but I smile when the name comes through as Drives Too Hard. That’s freaking hilarious. I love it.
You want to see the new ship, yes? It asks me, some of those fuzzy looking antennae all over its head unfurling like that’s a super exciting notion.
I’d love to. It’s a marvel. I’m incredibly impressed at your skill.
Apparently, that was the right thing to say, because Jack smiles and Drives Too Hard does one of those little jumps. It’s freaking cute.
Am I really thinking cute and bug person? Yes. Yes, I am.
Drives Too Hard isn’t bug-like at all now that I’m close and having a conversation. Yes, it’s armored and it has a big, oval body. Yes, it has more appendages than me and antennae, but the Kassa is also expressive and obviously very much an individual. The head is a head, though the neck is long and comes forward, thrusting the head out at least a foot from the body. The eyes are black and very bright. I can’t see a mouth, but when it speaks, I see vibrations along its neck.
Also, it’s wearing two tool belts like bandoliers and has two of its arms tucked into little pockets on them like a plumber on a home improvement show. Have I mentioned how cute that is?
The little antennae do a wave and the neck vibrates again. Very complicated. Very good to do. Feels good. Come see!
Jack and I follow as best we can, but the suits are somewhat cumbersome and eventually, Drives Too Hard slows down for us. I don’t think that comes naturally, because it bounces forward and back like it’s stuck in high gear. It waves at various things and says what they do, but honestly, I have zero idea what any of it is. I get the idea that most of the machinery is for fabrication and finishing.
As we get closer to a group of working Kassa, Drives Too Hard stops speaking to us and says something to one of them with a sharp wave. The translation isn’t one I can easily figure out either. You’re like a pile of stuff. How are you not a silent brother? I love you anyway.
I’m pretty sure they’re teasing each other. I may not know the inside jokes, but I can tell a tease when I hear one. The waves and antennae furling practically telegraph humor and familiarity. I look at Jack for clarification and he makes a face, as if to say, I’ll tell you later.
The funny thing is, I’m enjoying myself so much that my nervousness about finding out all that I can fades. I’m still clamped down on my implant, but the truth is, I feel like I can do what I need to do. My head is on straight. All these beings are good people and I can do this. As we walk toward another large opening in the far away glass wall that leads to the ship dock, I look up at the ship and wonder how well she handles in a turn.
Thirty-One
At first, I think Drives Too Hard is going to take us out into the vacuum of space to see the ships, but it turns out that there’s a long tunnel that leads through this dock to the next one. When I say long, I mean at least a mile. There are loads of side tunnels along it that lead back toward the station, but generally, it feels like standing on a platform outside the station. The glass is so clear that the illusion is almost complete.
You want to go up? I want to go up. Let’s go up. Drives Too Hard is nothing if not excited.
I’d love to. Can we go inside? Jack gives me a look at that question, which means the answer is going to be no.
No, no. These are finished. No more work, Drives Too Hard sends, its mental voice sounding disappointed. These two are ready to go. All clear. We’re working on the next dock over. See?
I look where the Kassa points and sure enough, there’s a skeletal ship looming over the station on that side. This time, I know what to look for and see the giant cross braces that signify another glass wall. That’s good, because it means these two finished ships are not sharing space with the unfinished ones. There’s an empty parking spot—if I can use such a term—between the two areas.
Just to be certain, I send, No one is working in here?
Drives Too Hard stops in front of a control surface and I realize it’s an elevator. Its antennae furl inward as it answers. No, all clear. Crews coming soon.
I have to concentrate to keep my excitement from bleeding over, yet even as I do, Jack gives me an odd look, like he knows something is up. I try to cover the best I can by sending, I’m thinking about joining a crew.
His face falls at that news. I had hoped you’d want to stay here.
Drives Too Hard’s eyes dart from Jack to me and then back again. The literal translation that comes through is, Are you squishing? The colloquial comes through as, Are you mating?
I’m pretty sure my face goes as beet red as Jack’s. I have zero clue how to respond to that, but luckily, Jack does. That’s not a nice question for humans.
Drives Too Hard hops again, but the elevator arrives before we can get any further down that particular rabbit hole. We zip upward until we’re about level with the platform where we stood before, only this time we’re directly behind the ships.
This new alien acquaintance rattles off parameters, stats, and everything else it can while we walk down the tunnel back the way we came, except much higher up. It ends where the work-
floor begins, leaving us on a sort of enclosed balcony. I understand why spaces are divided like this. The atmosphere occasionally has to be changed in places without changing it everywhere, but all these corridors, walkways, and spaces make getting around confusing.
Even so, this is amazing. What a view!
I wish I could paint this. I mean, I’d like to put my easel up right here.
Jack smiles and I feel his glove run down my back through the puffy suit. Maybe you can sometime, he sends.
Maybe.
Drives Too Hard must not understand the translation, because it twists its head from one side to the other, then I hear, No need to cover the ship in pigment. The surface has color already.
Jack laughs and after a second, I get it too and laugh with him.
Lysa, show him what you mean by painting.
How?
Just bring it up like you would bring up anything you’ve viewed.
I try, but at first I bring up only a messy image of all the various layers of paint. I shrug, and Jack kindly takes over, bringing up a perfect image of my finished painting of the ship’s back half.
Drives Too Hard hops, all his antennae popping up to full extension. After a few seconds, the entire image gets populated with dozens of annotations in glyphs I can’t understand.
What are you doing?
Is very nice, but very incomplete. We can’t build a ship from that, it sends me.
I’m guessing that means art doesn’t exactly mean the same thing to them. Before it can disappear, I ask Jack how to save it just as it is.
Just think it. The implant will know.
I do, and I think I might have gotten a little unexpected bonus. There was a lot of material written on that painting. Now, I just need to figure out how to read it.
For now, I need to get back to business. How does the crew get on the ship?
Drives Too Hard and Jack both point in the same direction, toward the place where we stood the first time I saw the ship.