by John Scalzi
A:It’s not just exploding instrument panels. Let’s not forget the evil robots.
QEven with the evil robots it seems like a lot.
A:It’s an opening number. What we’re hoping is that it will get the Universal Union’s attention and that it will settle out of court for a reasonable alternative.
Q:If 37 quadrillion is your definition of “fair,” what is your definition of a “reasonable alternative”?
A:We’d like a planet.
Q:A planet.
A:Yes.
Q:A whole planet.
A:Yes. A planet where the shell-shocked victims of the Universal Union’s campaign of neglect and abuse and their families can spend their remaining years in comfort and quiet, bucolic surroundings.
Q:And you need a whole planet for that.
A:It’s a large class action suit. And the firm will need its 40% for representation. Which in this case will come to a couple of continents.
Q:What will a law firm do with two continents?
A:Storage. Our archives are quite extensive.
Q:This implies that you have selected a planet you wish to have.
A:We do. It’s a planet called Cygnus Seventeen.
Q:It sounds vaguely familiar.
A:Well, it was in the news recently.
Q:Wait. Cygnus Seventeen, aka “The Death Planet of Hell”?
A:We’re not comfortable with that nickname, but yes.
Q:The planet where thirty thousand colonists were recently consumed alive by ravenous man-sized bats?
A:Those bats all got sick and died from eating humans, so they’re not a problem anymore.
Q:But there’s still the issue of the constant earthquakes.
A:Yes.
Q:And the lava flows.
A:Yes.
Q:And the moon in an unstable orbit, spiraling down toward the planet and cracking as it does so, dropping city-sized meteorites onto the planet surface.
A:Well, look—
Q:And the fact that scientists estimate that the star it is orbiting is likely to go supernova at any time, bathing the planet in flesh-searing gamma rays before the exploding surface of the star vaporizes everything in the inner solar system.
A:I’m not saying it’s not a fixer-upper. But fixing it up will be exactly the sort of constructive, rehabilitative work that will help these shell-shocked crew members abused by the Universal Union to get back on their feet and lead happy, productive lives.
Q:It seems like a lot of work.
A:They won’t have to do it alone. We’ve recently gotten a very good deal on some obsolete but still useful robots, to assist and support our clients as they start their new world.
Q:Let me guess: You got them from Antares Seven.
A:That’s right. There’s a switch on the back that turns them from brain-harvesting cyborg killers to helpful and compliant android servants. There is nothing that could possibly go wrong with this plan. Simply nothing at all.
Q:Brandon Smith, good luck to you and your suit.
A:Thank you.
I do an immense amount of travel—no one ever told me that being a reasonably successful writer would mean traveling as much as I do—and when I’m on flights, I get bored. When I get bored on a flight and have wifi and Twitter open, this is what happens.
How I Keep Myself
Amused on Long Flights:
A Twitter Tale
Flight update: Gremlin on the wing. Not unusual. Gremlin on the wing holding a placard. Slightly more unusual. 2:07 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Reading the placard now. One side says: “ON STRIKE GREMLINS LOCAL 323” Other side: “NO DESTROYED PLANES UNTIL PAY RAISE.” 2:09 PM - 19 Apr 2013
I did not know being a gremlin was a union gig. Is there an apprenticeship? Are there good job bennies? Affiliated with Teamsters? 2:10 PM - 19 Apr 2013
The gremlin is now sitting on the wing, legs dangling, placard askew, eating lunch and ignoring airline rep yelling at him. 2:13 PM - 19 Apr 2013
This suggests that the airlines hire the gremlins. Well, I suppose that makes some sort of twisted sense. Wait, it doesn’t. Confused now. 2:14 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Airline rep is now trying to bring in a scab worker. Looks like a boggart or maybe a troll of some kind. Wait—troll. Definitely troll. 2:16 PM - 19 Apr 2013
I’m not gonna lie. This boggart/troll/whatever is doing a really terrible job of trying to destroy the wing. It really IS a skill. 2:18 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Airline rep now yelling at troll. Troll has picked him up and tossed him into the jet engine. FINALLY some actual damage to the wing! 2:19 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Now the troll and gremlin are talking. Gremlin hands the troll a flyer about the strike. Troll eats it. Gremlin explains it is not food. 2:22 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Gremlin and troll have pulled out guitars and are now singing Woodie Guthrie songs. Want to know where exactly the guitars were pulled from. 2:24 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Gremlin and troll gone, placard left behind. Concerned that getting on the plane meant I crossed a picket line. Must consult gremlin local. 2:30 PM - 19 Apr 2013
I feel like we’ve all learned something today about gremlins, trolls and organized labor. Let me explain it in a song. (pulls out guitar) 2:37 PM - 19 Apr 2013
(pauses to consider that he doesn’t know where he pulled the guitar from, frowns, rings for the attendant to ask around for a doctor) 2:38 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Captain has just come on the intercom, saying that the cabin has been underpressurized for the last half hour. This…explains much. 2:39 PM - 19 Apr 2013
I can’t handle any of this any more. If any of you need me, I’ll be out on the wing. (opens emergency exit, leaves) 2:41 PM - 19 Apr 2013
Another flight, more boredom, access to wifi.
How I Keep Myself
Amused on Long Flights,
Part II: The Gremlining
I am now being flung into sky in the westerly direction. I hope not to overshoot and land in the Pacific. 10:23 AM - 10 Apr 2014
For those asking, yes, there is a gremlin on the wing. He’s a trainee! He’s kind of nervous so we’re all trying to be encouraging. 10:35 AM - 10 Apr 2014
The gremlin’s supervisor is here. That’s gotta make him nervous. 10:36 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Uh-oh. Trainee gremlin apparently tearing up the wing all wrong. Supervisor shaking its head, writing something on a clipboard. 10:45 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Now the gremlin has gone to a window to scare a passenger. The passenger in question: a small baby. I think that’s cheating. 10:50 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Small child is delighted and says “puppy” over and over. The trainee gremlin bursts into tears. This is a hard gig, man. 10:53 AM - 10 Apr 2014
The supervisor gremlin is making the trainee gremlin stand in the corner of the wing. Oh, my. This isn’t going well at all. 11:00 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Supervisor gremlin on the phone now. Appears to be calling in an experienced backup gremlin. I’m feeling bad for the trainee gremlin now. 11:04 AM - 10 Apr 2014
I mean, yes. The trainee gremlin is trying to destroy our plane and send us all screaming to our deaths. But a gig is a gig is a gig. 11:07 AM - 10 Apr 2014
You try getting a job as a gremlin on this economy. It’s either destroying planes or being garden statuary for ironic suburbanites. 11:08 AM - 10 Apr 2014
So, yes, I have sympathy for this trainee gremlin—wait. Trainee gremlin has just pushed supervisor gremlin off the wing. Bold strategy! 11:11 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Huh. Apparently, supervisor gremlin had wings. Hovering over trainee, glaring. Trainee gremlin looks frustrated by this plot twist. 11:15 AM - 10 Apr 2014
But as it turns out, attempting to murder your supervisor is an accepted work strategy amongst gremlins! Trainee gremlin passes the exam! 11:18 AM - 10 Apr 2014
The whole plane is cheering! Trainee gremlin takes an awkward bow, and then tries to dislodge an engine. Adorable! 11:19 AM - 10 Apr 2014
> And as we plummet out of the sky, we can die happy, assured the American gremlin industry is still tops in the world. USA! USA! U(thud) 11:22 AM - 10 Apr 2014
Subterranean Press has a newsletter it sends out to its customers and every once in a while it would put original fiction in it. I thought it would be fun to make a fake advice column on how to deal with aliens and their quirks, again from the point of view that aliens weren’t, like, something amazing, but just part of everyday life. This is a recurring theme in my very short fiction. This one is from 2008.
Life on Earth:
Human-Alien Relations
By Sam Mossby
As most of you know, this column deals with the day-to-day trials and tribulations of living with all the various alien species that are now calling the Washington, DC area their home. But just to mix things up this week, we’re going to focus on the aliens in the office, and how to get along with the extraterrestrial in the cubicle next to you.
Dear Sam:
One of my co-workers is a Fusmy. We get along great, and he’s a great guy, but about a week ago I started noticing a rash on his face and neck. I didn’t want to say anything about it, but it’s kept getting worse, and now he’s got all these pussy whiteheads all over his head. It’s just really gross, and the whole office is talking about it, but he doesn’t seem to think anything’s wrong. Some of us have talked about putting a tube of Clearasil on his desk before he comes in, or maybe just some bar soap. Is this an alien thing, or just a hygiene thing?
—Grossed Out in Sterling
It’s an alien thing, and what an alien thing it is. And naturally it relates to sex (how could it not?). Here on earth, the females of a lot of animal species go into estrus a few times a year; if you’ve ever had an unspayed female cat you know what that’s about. With the Fumsy (and with other species from their home planet) it’s the males who are on a sexual cycle, not the women—and part of that cycle is what you’re seeing now. Those aren’t zits you’re seeing, those are pheremonal reservoirs: the white heads are exuding a scent that humans can’t smell but which Fusmy women find almost insanely irresistible. If he were back home, he couldn’t go out of his house without being hit on seven times between his door and the curb.
So while your friend looks like a mess to you, to a Fusmy woman, he’s the most attractive he’s ever been—until the next cycle, which, depending on various genetic and environmental factors, will be anywhere from fifteen to thirty months from now. Which is a long time between hookups. Slipping your friend some Clearasil won’t do any good, and they’ll be gone in about another week anyway. But if you want to make him feel good, tell him he looks hot. Because to the Fusmy, he really does.
My office mate is a Ghudmat, and recently she’s started doing something weird: about once an hour or so she’ll excuse herself, go to the restroom in the office, and start wailing and thrashing and—excuse the term—explosively farting in one of the stalls for minutes at a time. Then she’ll come out like nothing has happened and just pick up whatever she was doing or saying. It’s beginning to freak us out, and also we’re scared to go into the restroom. What gives? And is there anything we can do to help? She’s freaking us out, but we also like her. We’re worried for her.
—Concerned in DC
The problem here seems like it’s physical, but it’s not—according to Hugk Norviz, cultural attaché for the Ghudmat embassy, your friend is in mourning.
“It sounds like she’s performing the ha’azmat, the ritual for the departed,” said Norviz. “In the ha’azmat, after someone has died, friends and family will once a siz (the Ghudmat equivalent of an hour, which is actually closer to seventy-six minutes) call to the deceased and encourage them onward into the path of rebirth. This goes on for four or five days, depending on religious sect.” Your co-worker is probably performing the ha’azmat in the restroom because it offers her a little privacy, and she wants to be polite.
Oh, and about that explosive farting: It’s not farting at all, but the expulsion of air from special bladders the Ghudmat use at home to regulate their buoyancy in aquatic surroundings (at home, the Ghudmat are amphibious). The noise is believed to get the attention of the deceased, who, being dead, need a little extra something thrown at them in order to get their attention. Norviz says that while humans might find the noise alarming, as long as the Ghudmat in question is healthy, there should be no extraneous smell involved. So feel free to use the restroom afterward, no air freshener required.
As for what you can do for your friend—“On our home world, one might offer to join in with the ha’azmat, but that it would be inappropriate for a human,” says Norviz, explaining that the expulsion of air through the bladders is actually a necessary part of the ritual, and to do the ritual incorrectly would be to invite doom to the departed soul. “So instead, they should just offer her their sympathies and possibly a symbolic gift of commiseration.”
Like what? “Well, a bundt cake would be nice.”
My boss is Ridpaz and is generally easy to get along with—a stickler for rules, but otherwise fine. But when we have a meeting, whenever I or anyone else disagrees with her, she growls at us, all through whatever we say, even if when we’re done she says “That’s an excellent point, thanks for bringing that up.” You’ve seen Ridpaz. They have all those teeth. It’s getting so none of us ever want to say anything at meetings anymore.
—Intimidated in Fairfax
Relax. Your boss isn’t going to rip your throat out. What you’re experiencing is a basic, formal Ridpaz dominance display—sort of an instinctual carryover from the Ridpaz’s carnivorous and pack-oriented past. While Ridpaz as a general rule are open and inviting to suggestions and even disagreements from underlings, they’re also sensitive to the need to make sure everyone understands where they stand in the hierarchy. So while listening to underlings, many Ridpaz will quietly (or not-so-quietly) let their underlings know who is boss by growling while they speak. It’s such a common thing with the Ridpaz that your boss might not even be aware she’s doing it. Not every Ridpaz will do it, but some do, especially if they’ve not been on earth for a long time, or if they’ve not been told that it disturbs their human underlings.
If you really think it’s having an effect on office morale, you might speak to your boss privately, or even better, have her immediate boss speak to her about it (as you might expect, Ridpaz are generally deferential to suggestions from higher up). But otherwise don’t worry too much about it. From your point of view, it’s perfectly harmless. That is, unless you challenge her dominance formally, by established (and fairly complicated) Ridpazian rituals. Which we don’t suggest you do. Remember those teeth.
My friends Wil Wheaton, Adam Savage, Paul Sabourin and Storm DiCostanzo have a kind of geek vaudeville show called w00tstock, which I appear at occasionally. This is the skit I wrote for my first appearance at w00tstock, in 2010, in Minneapolis. If you were at the show, you will recognize some of the names of the fellow faculty as performers at the show. This is this story’s first appearance in print.
Morning Announcementsat the Lucas Interspecies School for Troubled Youth
Uh…hello, children, I’m, uh, Mr. Scalzi. Some of you here at the Lucas Interspecies School for Troubled Youth may recognize me as the ninth grade English composition teacher and school yearbook advisor. But in light of Mr. Sabourin’s situation, I’ve been promoted to acting assistant principal.
As you know, Mr. Sabourin recently contracted a Borogian worm infestation, which required an emergency surgery and reproductive tract fumigation. He wants me to let you all know that he holds no ill will against those of you who put the Borogian worm eggs into his coffee, and that he hopes that when he returns we can put this all behind us and start fresh. He’ll be back in a few days, or whenever it is that his testicles, uh, deflate to manageable size. Hmmm, I probably shouldn’t have told you that last part.
Anyway, let’s continue on with this morning’s school announcements, shall we.
>
First, it’s June 7, which makes it the 158th day of the year. Notable events that occurred on this date include the Siege of Jerusalem in 1099 and the landing of Greg Wheaton, the first man on Ganymede, in 2089, who was of course met by the first Snardg on Ganymede, who landed six hours before he did, and, uh, ate him.
Which reminds me that the Snardg Cultural Club is having its annual astronaut jerky fundraiser. It says here “it’s not really made from astronauts, but only NASA can tell.” So there’s that. The jerky comes in plain, honey mustard and teriyaki flavors, the latter in honor of Hiro Takada, who was briefly the second man on Ganymede.
All this talk of astronaut jerky is making me hungry, so I’m happy to say here’s today’s lunch menu, from lunchroom supervisor Ms. DiCostanzo. For the human children, it’s taco day, with a side of rice and a strawberry cupcake. For our obligate carnivore students, Ms. DiCostanzo says there’s a mix and match plate of various rodent species, including squirrels, gerbils and voles, and a nice blood pudding on the side.
As you know, school rules no longer allow us to let you chase your own food after some of you got a little excited at lunch last week and tried to run down Ms. DiCostanzo in a pack. Yes, I’m looking at you, Mr. S-s-s-f-f-t-s-s and friends. That just wasn’t appropriate behavior, and I think you know that. Just because you’re an obligate carnivore doesn’t mean you can eat anyone you want. Let’s try to remember that.
Oh, and for the geovores, by request, you’re getting the nacho cheese gravel.
I have a note here from Mrs. Lewis, the eleventh grade physics teacher: “Will whichever student or students who put that cat into the physics lab phase shifter please tell me which frequency you used so we can get it out. The cat keeps manifesting during classes and its meowing is really becoming distracting. Also the last three times it was vibrating when it manifested, and we all know what that means. No disciplinary action will be sought, we just want to bring that poor animal back into phase before it explodes.”