by Karmon Kuhn
“Yes. I would like that very much,” I answered, feeling quite pleased with my incredible luck.
"Well, that's great!” she said, smiling wide with all of her teeth. “Do you want my number or should I get yours or . . . ?" Her cheeks reddened.
I stared at her. Number? What sort of number was she referring to? The tsez̈ø had given me a name, but no number. Penny gestured to the electronic device that still sat in my open palm.
"How about I just send myself a message?" she asked.
I handed it to her, confused. I'd only used simulations of these devices and was glad to have a little help getting started.
She tapped through a few things, swiped, tapped, and pressed. Then, handed it back to me, saying, "There. I got it started up for you and sent myself a little hello. You should probably make a passcode for your screen by the way. I'd better go, but we'll get in touch to set something up, okay?"
"Yes," I answered, observing her.
Her cheeks were a feverish crimson as she stood up from the side of the bed. She looked at her phone and waved it at me, "Got your message, ha."
I smiled, unsure of what to say. She seemed like she was going but then didn’t. It was confusing.
"Oh gosh," she said, "Look at me giving a Midwest Goodbye." And then started backing toward the door until her plump rear end bounced against the door frame.
"Goodbye, Penny," I said, smiling and trying my best not to laugh at the awkward display.
She scrunched up her face, evidently regretting exiting like this and just mumbled, "Mhm," as she disappeared out the door.
Chapter 2
A
fter my “chat” with Penny, I rested for a while and met with the doctor again, who examined me more thoroughly for injuries. I performed better in this discussion. She smiled often and didn’t wait for me to continue speaking after I’d finished.
Afterward, she had me write my name on a few documents. I struggled a bit with the pencil, and she kindly picked it up off the floor each time I dropped it. It was unwieldy compared to the smooth transcription machine that I could click in my study room of the tsez̈ø.
I was ushered out into a busy hallway to a desk with several women and a single man behind it. One of the women had even more documents for me to write on, and my handling of the pencil was even worse due to my frustration. When I thought I’d finished, I pushed the papers forward and stepped back to leave.
“I still need your insurance card!” said the woman behind the desk.
“Insurance card?”
“Do you have health insurance?”
I stared at her blankly.
“Well, then you have two options. We can bill you directly and set up a payment plan, or you can apply for support through our charity foundation.”
People were expected to pay for care here? Did all humans require currency be traded for their health?
“What is the cost?” I asked.
“Let me get somebody over here to calculate the out-of-pocket for you.”
After quite some time, another woman approached me with a thick stack of papers covered in lists and numbers. I flipped through the pages without the faintest idea what I could do with these.
“What is the cost?” I asked again.
“For the room, tests, physician visits, and treatment, you’re looking at $1,265.97.”
I dug the folded green bills from the pocket in my backpack and peeled them apart revealing the number on a few of them. The highest denomination was one hundred. I counted out the five hundred and then moved onto the six fifties, then to twenty twenties, and a five. By the time I’d gathered all of these, my previous tall stack of bills was barely as thick as a finger.
The woman behind the counter tapped her foot as I counted and snatched the money as soon as it touched the desk in front of me. I purposefully picked the coins out of my pouch slowly and placed them one by one on the counter.
“This is only $.67.” she said when I’d finished. And out of spite, I took even longer choosing the next few coins.
“Alright. You’re all paid up. Glad you’re feeling better.” She strode away with most of the money I’d been given for my land trials.
Unsure of where to go, I turned around and scanned the area. I saw a white sign emblazoned with the word “exit” in red and strode down the hallway toward it. Before I reached it, my nostrils flared, and I felt a rolling tightness in my abdomen. It was a strange sensation, but I soon understood why. There was a wafting, slightly familiar aroma that I couldn’t quite place, and I began to salivate. My innards contracted and gurgled again. I was hungry, but what smell had alerted my body to the fact?
I followed the aroma to an open space with tables and seating. Tucked against the back wall was a counter whose attendant asked me cheerfully, “What’ll it be, honey?”
I simply pointed at a plated item where the smell originated.
“Tuna fish on white, comin’ up! Anythin’ else, dear?” She asked.
“No, thank you,” I said smiling back.
“$5.50,” she said.
“Of course,” I answered. Apparently humans paid for everything instead of sharing. It took me a moment to remember which tokens were correct, but I handed her the two that she’d requested.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get it. My husband moved to the states from the Ukraine, and it took him a while to acclimate. Especially to the money. He still tries to barter every time he drops a dime. You take care now.” She handed me the plate.
What about me was similar to this husband? Perhaps, my lack of confidence in counting the money made me appear foreign. Or, my accent may have given me away as it had with Penny.
I shoved the first bite of food into my mouth. Sensory experiences overloaded my system. My nostrils flared again, my mouth watered, and I chewed slowly to get the full effect. Human food lived up to its reputation as being delicious. I recognized the fish as an ingredient, but so much enveloped it. The salt, like that of the ocean, was tantalizing.
I’m unsure how long I sat at the table with my eyes closed, noshing slowly, mindfully, but when I’d finished, the attendant behind the counter had been replaced by someone else. So far, I was enjoying my human senses. While my sense of smell seemed to be detrimentally altered, this sense of taste that was so vastly expanded was truly incredible.
I left the eating area and followed the red and white sign again until I reached the exit. An explosion of noise and lights and smells bombarded me as soon as I opened the door. The food was not the only incredible stimulus.
Each new thing, no matter how small, spiked my curiosity. I was like a little osh again, exploring a child center or being taken on my first fishing trip with the mass of community members. Just as I once puzzled over common-place species of fish or communal areas with training games, I now puzzled about the objects and spaces that the people around me seemed completely acclimated to. It was slightly frightening but also thrilling to regain my youth in this way. I was truly alive.
***
Outside of the hospital, I walked slowly, again trying to acclimate myself to all of the stimuli. In a single day, I’d gone from a sea-floor tsez̈ø through miles of ocean, to a human-populated beachy coastline covered in sand, to a human care center for the sick and injured, and now to the overwhelming expanses of an urban human settlement.
In every direction but down were structures, vehicles, and other sights. I’d seen pictures and read extensively about the human experience in my preparations for land trials. However, nothing had truly prepared me for this bustling and booming culture shock.
The chaos was at once lovely and awful. At many points, I jumped or had to cover my ears for the noise, and I often stopped to gaze at the land flora and fauna. Such mysteries. Once, an angry-looking creature stopped to sniff me, and I nearly bolted until the human leading it laughed and instructed me to pat the creature. As hesitant as I was, I soon relaxed, my f
ingers relishing the lush feel of the creature's hair.
When the creature and human walked on, my mind spilled over with a vivid image of the first domesticated animal I’d ever met. I flinched a little at the thought. It was a shark used for hunting and protection. I’d always been afraid of them in theory, and in reality, they were absolutely terrifying. The creature I met was mammoth in comparison to my small frame, and I’d been encouraged to pat it as well. But, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Once the handler realized that I wasn’t interested in befriending the monster, he flung an injured fish through the water in front of it, and in a second, the prey was consumed by the predator. I swam as fast as I could until it was out of sight and signal. What of the land creatures? How many of them were as monstrous as the shark, the swordfish, and the jellyfish?
After walking the streets without purpose, I refocused on my goals and the true reason for my visit. I was not a tourist after all. I needed to choose my lodging and rest up for my next bonding opportunity with Penny or any other potential tsùges̈sss.
I searched through my satchel for the communication device as I stood next to a building away from the heavy flow of foot traffic. It was still powered on as Penny had left it, and the screen had a few pictures indicating its different functions. For a moment, I simply stared at it. While I’d studied this technology, I’d had so little practice. I padded my fingertips against a few of the images, but each showed nothing useful.
My brows squished together in the middle of my face, and my face grew hotter. This infantile excuse for communication technology would not make a fool of me! I tapped and then pounded my finger until the screen read, “How can I help?”
I looked around and then whispered at the device, “I need lodging.”
The screen changed to a list format that extended far beyond what the small screen could show at once. Already frustrated, I chose the first one, MacMillan Suites, and pressed a picture titled, “directions.” I took several wrong turns at its suggestion, but I eventually arrived at an enormous stone structure.
***
Inside, the lodging was lavish with fine fabrics on the walls and floors, a water feature in the entryway, and people gathered from wall-to-wall. I had never seen a structure that was so open. I gawked until I was overtaken by the passersby and nearly fell down.
After recovering from the invasion of my space, I approached a desk. A cheery, young attendant sped over and sang, “Hello! How can I help you today?”
“What is the cost of lodging?” I asked.
“$150 a night starting price, but it depends on the length of your stay and how much space you need.” From nowhere, he pulled a glossy, folded paper covered in pictures of different sleeping arrangements.
My eyes searched the photos and then the attendant’s face. In answer, he said, “Well, why don’t we talk about how long you’ll be staying with us first?”
“Yes. I need lodging until further notice,” I said.
“Our extended stay rooms with sitting area and kitchenette will be great for you!”
“Yes.” I bowed my head and then asked, “How much do I pay?”
“We’ll just need a credit card to put on file!”
“Credit card?” I asked, unsure of what that could mean. I took out the wad of bills to show him and said, “I have money, but I have no card.”
“Oh. I see.” His tone changed, and the brightness of his smile faltered. “You ought to check out the Inamorata Inn down the street then. They take cash payments.”
Without another word, he turned on his heels and the false positivity melted from his face. I looked around, but no one had noticed. They were all too absorbed in their devices or conversations.
With my head down, I turned to go and bumped into more people. I used the touch to initiate contact. “Do you know where the Inamorata Inn is?”
“Look it up on Google,” one of the faces told me and then left me there as well.
“What is Google?” I asked.
No one answered, but I heard the same voice mutter “towel head” as he stared at me from the other side of the walkway. What in oceans did that mean?
Thoroughly disappointed and frustrated, I stomped out of the lodging and scanned the street. Luckily, the Inamorata Inn was close enough that I could read the sign and didn’t need to use the wretched device again or ask for more directions.
***
The building was much smaller and lacked the air and ambience of the first. It was covered in external doors which made it appear low and squat. Inside, it was even less appealing with its dark color scheme, visible stains, and detectable odor. I approached the counter and was given the gruff option of hourly, daily, or weekly rooms from an attendant who didn’t even look up from his profane reading material.
“Weekly,” I said.
“$500 for the full seven. No candles, the sheets get washed once a week, and be careful with the microwave. Most of them spark.”
I pulled the bills from my pack again and peeled apart the last of the twenties and all of my tens to pay this bill. Now, I had barely enough money left to buy my next meal.
The attendant snatched the cash from my hand and replaced it with a small, plastic card. I looked at the card and then back to the attendant.
“What is this?”
“It’s the key for your room,” he answered with scrunched features. Then, he demonstrated a sweeping up and down motion in the air and pointed to an arrow on the card. Rather than draw more attention to myself I decided to leave.
As I walked away, the attendant grumbled, “Turn right outside the front door and take the stairs up!”
I faced right when I exited and was confronted with what must have been the staircase, a set of steep steps up to a higher floor. It took great patience to work my way up to the top, and once I’d arrived, I planted my back against the wall. Why in oceans would these creatures have open space this high off the ground?
I slid across the wall and peered at the door numbers. A few doors to the right of the stairs was room, two hundred seven. With my back still stuck to the wall, I mimicked the motions that the attendant had shown me and a little green light flickered as something in the door shifted audibly. I pressed the door handle down and pushed in to reveal my living space. It was certainly not home as I was used to.
Inside was a single room attached to a washing area. It included an enormous square bed with tables beside it and electric lamps on top of them. At first, the shape of the bedding confused me, and then I laughed to myself. Humans were barely flexible enough to touch their toes, so they would hardly need a round sleeping area to roll up in.
The bath area was small, but I could make do for now. There was also a waste receptacle which was less funny than the bed. The idea of using precious fresh water to flush out waste was quite irritating.
The number of surfaces, technology, furniture, and other odds and ends was dizzying. Rather than investigate them, I gave in to the overwhelming urge to rest and collapsed on the bed.
Chapter 3
I
woke with a start and nearly screamed when I saw a figure clinging to the ceiling above me. Clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise, I rolled off the bed, stumbled over to the window, and threw open the shades. With the morning light spilling in, I could see that there was a mirror above the bed. I was literally afraid of my own reflection. What was this mission doing to me?
I walked around the bed, trying to avoid looking up, and once I reached the wash area, I fiddled with the tap and splashed some water on my face. As soon as the water hit my face, there was a jolt in my chest. I forgot to check in with my zhoṣuṣùs! I stood and saw my eyes dilate. The gray irises barely registered before they were blurred by the all black pupil.
I ran into the other room for my pack and then straight out the door, slamming it behind me. But then, I froze. I was too close to the edge. With ginger steps, I backe
d up to the wall and carefully, slowly worked my way down the staircase.
As soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I sprinted down the sidewalk and did my best not to knock anyone over. Of course, this was not polite practice, but there was no time for niceties.
My chest was hollow and sharp and my breathing was rapid by the time I arrived at the beach down the street. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been running, but it was clear that my human form was not trained for such activity. I leaned forward and gasped for more air. When I felt my lungs filling, I trudged slowly toward the water’s edge and willed my legs to go faster.
Even though it was morning and the sun was high, there were no swimmers out because of the cold December winds, but I was still careful to pick a spot with a bit of shelter. I dug the device from my pack and tapped on the screen and then on the one icon that meant something to me. It was a simplified picture of sound waves.
Once activated, the device became a beacon. I waded slightly into the water and held the device on the surface as waves rolled over it. The screen showed the pictograph for my people’s word zhoth or “wait,” and I did as instructed. Now that I was not rushed, there was a sting of raised bumps on my skin and a nauseous nervousness in my stomach, afraid of whatever punishment might await me.
After a few seconds, I could see a face forming at the center of the device. The familiar yellow and black reptilian skin and fangs of my instructor’s face stared back at me, clearly displeased.
“What is your status?” she asked coldly.
“Zhoṣuṣùssss,” my lazy human tongue faltered over the pronunciation of her honorific title, “I have secured lodging for several days and met a potential tsùges̈ss. However, I fell ill after my modification and traded much of my money for treatment. May I request another ration and credentials for the educational center called Pacific U?”