I, Alien

FIRST CONTRACT by Linda J. Dunn

MY NAME IS TWEEN dy Kula Niiam and I can justify my existence. I am a Tween. I facilitate communication. I have years of experience and adapt quickly to new situations.

I repeat these words every morning while facing the judgment wall and wait to learn if I continue my duties or expire. I stand still and calm, keeping my skin color a reverent shade of pale blue, and oozing the sweet scent of dedication. When the wall flashes life colors, I bow three times and back out of the room.

I have performed this sacred ritual every morning of my life. The difference now is that I know I will not die as long as I am assigned to the negotiating team on Earth. Our work is important. We cannot pause to wait for our home world to send a replacement.

Once the contract is signed, a new team will arrive to oversee the construction of the three factories and sublight delivery systems. They will hire humans at a fraction of what we pay our lowest caste laborers on any of our colony worlds.

Then I shall return home and once again face the possibility that the judgment wall will find me no longer useful.

This will not happen, though. Not to me. I am efficient, meticulous, and highly useful. I shall merit at least one life extension for my work on Earth, and I would not be surprised to be granted immortality. Such a reward is rare, but I have done very well.

I was thinking about this when the shuttle arrived to take us to our meeting with the humans. I sat down in the first seat behind our human escorts and turned a happy shade of blue. Vaaishya dy Muwa Feerow sat down beside me and emitted the pleasant odor of success.

“Today, we will sign the contracts and our work here will be done.” He punctuated his statement with the rich aroma of satisfaction.

“I pity the vaaishya who must stay behind to assist the new team overseeing construction and management.” I turned a sickly shade of yellow to convey my thoughts about that particular task.

“Pray it will not fall upon my shoulders.” Feerow turned a matching shade of yellow and the richness faded into the tangy scent of concern.

“They are all idiot savants,” Feerow added, “except for those who are not. Some are merely idiots.”

We flashed laughing shades of purple and filled the shuttle with the thick aroma of humor. Our Earth escorts at the front and back of the shuttle stood watching, deaf to most of our conversation.

Poor idiots. They lacked two of the basic components of language. Their bodies could turn only one color and that was a reddish tone that indicated embarrassment. As for scents, they could only emit one and that was a most unpleasant odor that none of us wished to encounter again.

How tragic that the first oxygen-breathing, intelligent life-form we encountered was two-thirds mute!

The first Tween to encounter humans was terminated by the judgment wall. So were the next three Tween representatives to Earth. I was warned that all had gone mad from their efforts to learn so many different languages, each of which were splintered into numerous dialects.

I am the fourth Tween, but I do not fear insanity. After the deaths of the other Tweens, the Earth representatives selected their best communicators. They speak one common language clearly, consistently, and without any of the neurological problems that afflicted the first group of human negotiators.

Those humans, according to the notes left behind by my predecessors, were subject to fits that caused their faces to twist in odds ways and their limbs to flail about while they were speaking.

Feerow must have been thinking along the same lines. He said, “Have you ever paused to think about the problems our brethren will face after we sign this contract? The humans have so many strange customs and they only expect to work five days out of every seven. I cannot comprehend a species that can set aside their work like it is something other than part of themselves.”

He turned yellow-almost-green and added, “I would rather expire than live among these people. I pray I will not be selected.”

“Blessed is our judgment wall,” I said, “and perfect in its choices.”

Feerow turned blue again and emitted the scent of contentness. “Yes. Thank you for reassuring me. Perfect is our system, unlike the chaos of Earth.”

I nodded and then the impossible happened. I heard the screeching of the shuttlels brakes, the crunch of metal hitting metal, and a loud whooshing sound that I could not identify. Airbags exploded and we struggled to free ourselves and see what had happened.

I smelled smoke. When I escaped the airbag and stood up, I saw fire at the front of the bus. Our human escorts rushed forward into the flames and I, being wiser than they, ran toward the emergency exit at the back of the shuttle.

My fellow team members all did the same and I feared I would be the last to escape, if I escaped at all.

“The window!” Feerow shouted. I was closer to the window than he was and thus I stood on the seat and pushed my body through the shattered window while he faced the approaching flames.

I fell and hit my head. I could hear people screaming, and over all the noise someone shouted, “Get them away from here!”

Rough, human hands grabbed me and I saw blurry images that I knew were not our guards. They dragged me toward soft grass. A moment later, I saw someone carrying Feerow and, as they reached the grass, the shuttle exploded.

People screamed and I heard a man’s voice clearly, “A bomb! Get the hell out of here. There may be another one.”

Hands touched me again and I was too groggy and confused to respond.

“I don’t think we should—” Whatever the woman was going to say was interrupted by a different man’s voice.

“It’s a gift. Fate. We’ve got to take them.”

“We’ll never get away with this,” a woman said. “The police will think we did it.”

“Shut up, Amy, and follow me,” the first one said.

They pulled me upright and I heard someone ask, “Where are you taking them?”

“To a hospital,” the man said. “She’s a nurse. Clear a path for us, please.”

So I was safe. I thought I would wake up in a hospital and all would be well.

Except they didn’t take us to a hospital. I barely remembered the jostling ride down unfamiliar streets into a part of the city that must have been undergoing major construction. I could think of no other reason why the building’s doors and windows would be covered with wood.

I lost consciousness sometime during the ride, and I woke up in a small, dimly lit room.

“About time you came around.” A male human of dark complexion loomed over me. “It’s been an hour. You are our prisoner and you will remain here until your government agrees to go away and leave Earth alone.”

I struggled to sit upright and realized that I was injured. My head ached and my extremities burned like I was still inside the fiery shuttle. I looked around and saw three other Earthlings and one other of my race.

Feerow. He was stretched out on the floor beside me. His body was a sickening shade of green that was far too dark.

“He is dying,” I said.

“Then you had better hope your world meets our demands quickly,” the man replied.

“You said you were taking us to a hospital.” I could not comprehend saying one thing and doing another.

“I lied.” The man’s mouth opened wide to expose his teeth. They were not clean, white, and beautiful like those of each human I’d met thus far. These were grayish-yellow and there was a gap between two lower teeth. I could smell his breath and it was not pleasant.

Then I realized that I stank as well. My hands were charred from the fire and blood encrusted. My tunic was ruined and heavy with sweat.

“We both need medical treatment and the room’s temperature needs to be decreased for our comfort.”

The pale-skinned woman beside me made an odd noise in her lower throat and spit on me. Me! A Tween! The spittle ran down the left side of my face and when I tried to wipe it away, I realized that my upper limbs were tied fast to my sides and I could not reach that high. I had to sit there, wearing this female human’s body waste.

She smiled and said, “It’s different when the shoe is on the other foot, isn’t it?”

I glanced down at my feet. Both shoes were there and they were correct.

“He doesn’t understand, Glory,” the dark-skinned male said. His arms moved up, like he was attempting to toss something into the air.

“Of course he does, Bill,” Glory’s voice was loud and she squished her face tight so her eyelids narrowed into tiny slits. The effect would have been comical had I not felt my life imperiled. These people had bombed our shuttle!

Glory stood up and moved closer to Bill.

“He’s the Tween! Just look at his cloak.”

Her arm moved to point at me in a straight line. For a moment, I considered the possibility that it was not a neurological problem, but an intentional action, that caused her to point in my direction.

Not possible! I could not have overlooked anything that might facilitate communication.

“We hit the jackpot,” Glory pulled her arm back and now both arms were waving in Bill’s direction. “Not only did these two fall into our hands like gold falling off a Brinks truck, but we got the one member of their group who can speak our language.”

She glanced in Feerow’s direction and grinned in a way that made be feel cold despite the heat of the room. “The contract’s not signed yet, and if he dies, that’ll scare them off.”

“Feerow is a vaaishya,” I said, scarcely believing that even humans could set themselves up as judgment walls. “He is important and needed.”

The light-skinned male made a snorting sound. “Hey, Bill, maybe this Feerow guy can get you a record contract.”

“Shut up, Trey.”

A record contract. So this was another musician. What was rare on our world was common and cheaply available on theirs.

“There will be many opportunities when our factories are completed,” I said.

“I don’t want a frigging factory job!” Bill hit the wall with his fist and I could no longer deny that these seemingly random limb-wavings, which I’d attributed to some neurological problem, were actually controlled and deliberate. In fact, they were a method of communication.

The earlier Tweens had not gone mad. They had learned that humans were not the mutes we had thought. The idea was so bizarre that the judgment wall must had thought them insane.

And would think me insane as well, should I live to report it.

“I am an artist!” Bill’s voice nearly broke on the last word. I could clearly see the pattern now.

“I am not a hack.” His face was redder than any I’d seen before and I could not reconcile his words with embarrassment. Years of training and experience led me to believe he was angry, although I hadn’t a clue why I thought that.

Hack meant a cab driver. A writer. A computer coder. All of these were jobs that no longer existed in Earth’s society. Ah! There was another definition that might apply. Art without imagination and originality.

Feerow was growing darker by the moment. I was not a vaaishya and I could think of only one thing to say that might persuade them to take us to a hospital.

“I am certain that I can arrange job interviews for each of you in return for Feerow’s life.”

Bill kicked me. In my face. I fell backward and when I finally managed to open my eyes again, the dark-skinned woman was leaning over me and wiping my face with a rough cloth. My face hurt. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt so huge and numb that I couldn’t form words.

I panicked. Never in my life had I been unable to speak in any one of the three forms until now.

The room filled with my smells and I could see my limbs cycling through one color after another. I would die. If the judgment wall was here, I would be judged useless and die immediately.

Feerow lay mostly dead a few feet away from me and he reeked of pity. He was dying and he pitied me. I fell back and turned the darkest shade of green that I could imagine. This was worse than death.

“Nice going, Bill,” the dark-skinned woman said. “He can’t speak.”

“Shut up, Amy,” Bill muttered. “It’s an improvement. Damn lying alien. Trying to rape our culture. Turn us into slaves. Ought to slit them open and drop them at the UN’s doorstep. That’d convince them to go away and leave our world alone.”

“What we need to do,” Trey said, “is get out of here. The police have to be looking for us. That woman who asked where we were taking them probably gave the police a description of our car. The hell with saving Earth from little green men. Let’s save ourselves.”

“He’s too sick to move.” Amy pointed toward Feerow.

“Leave him behind.” Trey shrugged his shoulders. “They’ll find him.”

“He’ll be dead when they find him!” Amy put her hands on her hips and thrust her face forward. How odd. In a strange kind of way, this reminded me of the ballet that had been presented for us during one of our initial meetings.

“Let him die.” Bill muttered. “Look what they’re doing to us.”

“I won’t be an accomplice to murder,” Amy screamed. “Besides, it’ll kill the cause, not help it. Those idiots who bombed them probably undid everything we’ve managed to accomplish.”

So someone else did this. It was logical. These four humans were too disorganized to have planned anything successfully.

While they argued, I glanced around the room and began easing toward the door. I didn’t know what these people wanted, but I knew I couldn’t give it to them and Feerow was dying. If I escaped, I might be able to find help in time to save him.

They weren’t looking in my direction. They were too occupied with their internal dispute.

I reached the door and struggled to turn the doorknob with my upper limb’s digits. The door creaked when I opened it. I glanced quickly toward the humans, but they were too busy shouting at one another and waving their arms about to notice the small noise.

I ran, screaming fear in the strongest scent that I could possibly release. I felt like I’d run 100 kilometers, but they told me later that I had only gone a single kilometer before a hovercraft descended and six huge Earthlings dropped to the ground around me.

“We’re from the government,” the first one said, “and we’re here to help you. Just let me fasten my harness around you.”

The next thing I knew, I was being pulled off the ground into the hovercraft.

“You’ll be fine in a few days,” the doctor told me.

I opened my mouth and strange gurgling noises were all I could manage.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s no indication of any permanent damage. The swelling will gradually subside and you’ll be talking normally again in no time.”

I struggled to find some way to communicate and remembered the way my captors had gestured with their hands. If my theory was right, I might be able to convey a question with the right motions.

I rolled all but two digits into my upper limb. There had been two of us. He stared and I could see his eyebrows furrow together. I wish I understood what that meant.

His eyes widened and he asked, “You want to know about your friend?”

He looked away and said, “His injuries are much more severe than yours. I’m afraid I don’t have much hope for recovery.” He looked back at me and added, “I’m sorry.”

I stood there, unmoving, hoping for more. One of the human escorts moved forward and said, “They arrested the people who held you. The people who bombed your shuttle died, but they belonged to a fringe organization. Authorities don’t believe they acted alone. They’re investigating.”

If I lived forever, I would never understand humans. Their actions were insane. I bowed slightly to the doctor and followed my escorts out of the hospital.

I said little to the others when the humans returned me to our lodgings. They apparently assumed I felt ashamed because I had lost one third of my speaking ability.

They were half right. I felt shame, but I felt that emotion because I had made some horrible misinterpretations which no Tween should ever have made.

I stood before the judgment wall the next morning and struggled to form the words to the best of my ability. The wall blinked puzzlement. I knew death would come, as it had to my predecessors, and I waited, half-longing for the end so I would no longer feel shame for my earlier failure.

The wall told me to step forward and place my digits against it. I did, and waited to feel the softness of death.

Instead, I felt a sharp tingling sensation that traveled through my digits to my upper limbs, and then up my body until it reached my jaw.

The pain was almost as intense as the original injury. I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against the wall. I would not scream. I would die with dignity.

The vibrations stopped and the wall exploded with the colors of life.

“I don’t understand,” I said in a perfect tirade of spoken words, smells, and color. With that speech came full understanding.

The wall had cured me. It had performed a cost analysis and had determined it would prove more cost effective to cure me.

I was blessed. If few had been injured, even fewer had ever been cured.

I bowed low and thanked the wall profusely. The wall, as always, remained cold and nonfunctional after dispensing its verdict. I would never know why it had gifted me with healing and life, but I accepted this blessing as an opportunity to correct my errors of omission.

We had not yet signed a contract. My fellow teammates had decided to withhold even the three site names while they contemplated this latest development. By the time I arrived for our private meeting, they were considering abandoning Earth and forfeiting our option payment.

“It’s bad enough that they are idiots,” Vaaishya dy Keem Briice said. “But they attempted to kill us. If they had planned better, we would all be dead.”

“What if they wait until all our factories are built and then destroy them?” Vaiishya dy Baase Roitz asked. “The potential losses could be devastating.”

“They are not idiots,” Vaaishya dy Ziam Toolan oozed the scent of repulsion. “They are madmen. We could never trust them.”

Toolan turned to me. “Why didn’t you recognize this? It is your duty to facilitate communication. Should you not have led them to reveal their insanity?”

I waited for the sound and scent to die down before speaking. “I have had a learning experience,” I said. “I spent some short time as their captive and I learned that some of our original beliefs about their communication were incorrect.”

The room filled with silence louder than any I had ever experienced in my life. “I confessed my failing to the wall just a short time ago and waited for termination. Instead, the wall healed me so I could stand before you now, able to communicate normally. The wall would not have spared me if I didn’t still have something to contribute.”

“The wall spared you because it would take too long to send another Tween!” Roitz said. He turned yellow and emitted the scent of contempt.

No one else said a word. They all sat there with their smooth faces and perfectly still limbs, secreting scents of dissatisfaction and turning yellow with displeasure. They all agreed with Briice.

“We should meet with the humans tomorrow and discuss our concerns,” I said. “I will facilitate the conversation.”

With that statement, I left the room and did not return. I spent the rest of the day and most of the night using the Earth viewing machines to study everything I could find about humans… with the sound off.

I saw patterns.

The humans sat stone-faced and motionless at our table the next morning. They said all the right words. They disclosed all the right details. They performed all the proper rituals.

But I was not fooled. Not anymore.

I saw patterns. Layers and layers of patterns.

The woman beside me wore a silk suit that fit her perfectly and shoes made of fine leather. The man across from me wore an equally well-fitting suit and shoes made of crocodile skin. Behind us, the escorts wore ill-fitting uniforms made of inferior cloth and their shoes were identical, black, and of inferior quality when compared to those shoes around me.

Even their clothing was a form of communication! It shouted their caste standing.

The human representatives sat stone-faced, without any of the gestures I’d seen during captivity, and I realized then that this was more for their benefit than our own. Without gestures and expressions, it was easier to lie.

They were sorry to announce Feerow’s death, which they all felt deeply. They had arrested my captors and they would be punished. They were still looking for those who had bombed our shuttle and would not stop until they, too, were punished. Nothing like this could ever happen again. The factories would be secure. There was no reason to deviate from our original plans.

My brethren looked to me for guidance and I led them, brilliantly, to a conclusion in which Earth government agreed to compensate us for any damage that might occur at any of the factories due to similar events in the future. They also agreed to provide their own security forces to guard our plants for the next fifty of their cycles.

Briice named the three sites. Siberia. China. Pakistan. All three offered isolated areas and a population eager and willing to work seven days out of seven.

I noticed the tightness of shoulders among the losing representatives and the relaxed limbs of those humans who represented the three sites selected. I also recognized, for the first time, the difference between polite smiles and genuine smiles of joy.

At the end of the day, I gathered with my brethren in blueness and pleasant scents while we congratulated one another upon overcoming the impossible.

“You facilitated well,” Briice said. “I had not expected to change my mind.”

“The humans were willing to sacrifice much for this,” I replied.

“How could you tell?” Tooland asked.

By the jaw muscles that twitched on one representative, and the way two of them flinched when various counterproposals were offered,

“Body language.” I turned a deeper shade of blue and emitted the scent of satisfaction. “I learned that their language is far richer than we’d ever imagined.”

Roitz flashed purple. “The muties? Well, you are the Tween. If you say they are rich, then they must be so. I do not see it.”

Because they did not wish you to see it.

In the morning, I stood in front of the wall of judgment and I could not stop myself from turning a rich shade of blue. I had done well. I had learned much. Surely the wall would recognize my value and reward me with a new position whose duties would occupy me for many years to come.

My name is Tween dy Kula Niiam and I can justify my existence. lam a Tween. I facilitate communication. I have years of experience and adapt quickly to new situations.

The wall flashed life colors, as I had expected, and rewarded me with the immortality that I had always wanted so very much. I thought my life was perfect. But then it gave me my new assignment, which was to last until completed. It would take longer than eternity to complete this task.

I turned dark green and almost brown. I could not restrain myself. This time, the always-silent wall broke its usual silence about assignments and offered me insight.

The reward for a job well done is more challenging work.

An old proverb. One I should have remembered.

I watched most of my brethren leave. Soon, a new crew would arrive to construct the factories and hire employees. Another crew would arrive not long thereafter to provide continual oversight.

I would not be at those factories. I was to walk among the humans and convert them to the way of truth, light, and profit margins.

I will live forever and I must spend that eternity among the heathen humans, attempting to save them from themselves.

How I envy Feerow!