(This is part of the Brejcha Personal and Disability Resource Site, and after reading this page you can Click here for a Menu .
This story is a little risque and written just for fun, but while every editor I sent it to wrote back with appreciative and chuckling comments, they ultimately passed on it. Personally I was a little miffed. It isn't that off-color. But it fits perfectly here because of the main character's disability, and as an immigrant, it gives me a chance to ask some questions of my own about the origins of some uniquely American... expressions. I hope you won't find that little touch of humor offensive... The story also gave me a chance to poke fun at myself for an editorial comment Stan Schmidt made after reading the first draft of "Defect?" (_Analog Science Fiction and Fact_, June, 1991). My characters were being too apologetic -- and it wasn't the only story where I had to tone that down -- and Stan did appreciate my willingness to acknowledge it. So, take this story in the spirit it was intended: for fun...
©F. Alexander Brejcha
"Yeach!" Debbie ducked around behind my wheelchair and I reached back to stroke her head and whispered: "Shh, honey. Don't be rude." Then I looked back up at my visitor. Personally I agreed with my daughter's assessment, but considering I was facing the first alien to make contact, that was hardly a diplomatic greeting. I swallowed and tried a slightly different approach.
"I'm sorry, my daughter doesn't mean--"
"Yes I do," she piped up from behind me. "And he smells bad, too." She was standing on her tip-toes and peeking over my shoulder, wrinkling her nose. She was right. The alien had a sour smell, like a cross between spoiled milk and rotted bananas.
The alien slumped slightly. "Don't apologize for her, please," he said immediately. "I should apologize. I had neglected to consider your olfactory sensitivities, and I realize that our appearance may be a bit disturbing to some. Unfortunately, I am unable to do anything about that and I should have found another way of approaching you. I am so sorry."
Maybe he was a little 'disturbing', but he sure had my interest. He looked like something cobbled together for a low-budget horror movie by a special effects shop. Naked, except for metallic boxer shorts and slippers, he stood about six feet tall and weighed in at no more than a hundred pounds. He looked like a dark green, animated skeleton -- a slimy, animated skeleton... with fangs and fur, sort of. I was almost glad he wore large goggles over his eyes. Who knew what they looked like?
"It's your air, you see," he went on. "While our biochemistries are basically compatible, the excessive pollutant levels in your atmosphere are extremely disturbing and my skin is working over-time to secrete a protective coating. Annoying, but protective clothing is even more... disturbing, to our skin and we prefer not to wear it unless absolutely necessary."
I looked out over the Colorado mountain-side with its crystal clear air and shook my head: 'excessive pollutant levels'? Maybe to him. After all, Denver was only... about fifty miles away.
I took a guess. "Is your skin also a sensory extension?"
He ducked briefly. "Very good. I knew I made the correct choice in seeking out a speculative fiction writer for my first contact. You are correct. Our skin incorporates olfactory, auditory and various other sensory receptors." He bent sideways in a painful-looking way and looked at Debbie. "I could say that you and your father also 'smell' bad..." He stopped abruptly and shivered. "Oh dear, I did it again. I'm terribly sorry. I did not mean to insult you, Mr. Rogers." He straightened and looked back at me.
"That's quite all right. And call me Tony." I had to laugh. Boy! Apologetic aliens -- what next? I forgot about the smell. "If you will forgive my daughter's rudeness," I reached back and gave her a little light tap on her behind as warning, "I certainly won't be offended by little things like that."
"Thank you. You are very gracious."
Unfortunately Debbie wasn't. She stuck out her tongue at the alien and then ducked back behind me.
I cringed. "I'm sorry! She didn't..." Oops, now I was doing it.
"It is all right, I said."
"Thanks!" I leaned back and studied my visitor a little closer. I had to ask.
"Tell me something: why are you so apologetic?"
"Well, as I said earlier, I have been studying your world for some time, and in addition to the rich linguistic database, one of the aspects that have been fascinating is your world's speculative fiction. Including your own."
"Oh damn! She was right!"
The odd head cocked. "I beg your pardon? Who was right, about what?"
I shook my head, trying not to laugh. "Wait till Vanessa hears this... she's my wife. She's at work right now. Anyway, she always proofs my manuscripts for me, and one of the things she always ribbed me about with my early work was that I had my characters falling over themselves saying 'sorry' this and 'sorry' that. My editors commented, too, but a lot of it still wound up in print. Vanessa warned me it was going to come back to haunt me one of these days."
I wondered about how to work that into a story as I asked: "So, from reading my stories, you built up your impression of how to approach me?"
"It seemed logical. Was I wrong?"
He had me there. "I guess not. At least I think you've finally cured me of that particular fault." I shifted in my seat since I was getting a numb ass and then looked back up. "Look, this is real interesting, but why are you here? Why me?"
He didn't answer right away and his color shifted to an interesting new shade of green, sort of halfway between turquoise and emerald. But gradually it changed back.
"I am here because... I need help. There is a problem with my ship and I need some parts--"
"Can't you call for help? Call your own version of the local galactic AAA?"
He sort of hunched silently for a moment -- trying to figure out what I meant, probably -- and then straightened.
"That is not practical. Interstellar travel itself is very rapid, but to get far enough from a system to activate the drive system takes a good deal of time and then there is a delicate problem--"
"You're not supposed to be here?" I guessed.
"Ah, yes. Precisely. Your world is not slated for contact, yet. Since your species was discovered, it has been under surveillance and monitoring, but--"
"-- we're not grown up enough to contact, yet. I know the scenario. It's been used, over and over till it's a cliché."
"Well, it happens to be true." He actually sounded defensive. "Other than some younger anthropology students periodically sneaking in as a prank, we have kept you fairly isolated. An electronic shield is in place around your system that screens out any of our communications signals so that your SETI projects do not intercept them. It is not foolproof, but at least it scrambles our own signals so they are not readily detectible. Unfortunately, it has also caused a few minor errors to creep into some of your radio-astronomical observations, but the shield has been continuously improved to minimize such problems--"
"Oh shit! So that's why we're striking out..." I stopped myself as I remembered Debbie lurking behind me, and realized my visitor was bent towards me with his head cocked back at a painful-looking angle again.
"Please," he asked. "May I interrupt?" I nodded. "Your expletives bring up a linguistic point of interest. May I ask some questions?"
"Ahh.. sure." I had a feeling I was going to regret it, but I was curious.
He leaned forward. "As it happens, linguistics and etymology are hobbies of mine. In fact, that is why I can not call for help: I have been observing too closely, for too long, and without authorization. In my studies, particularly of the English language, I have encountered a number of puzzling idiomatic inconsistencies I can not find any explanations for. Would you help me?"
"Probably not... I mean, not that I wouldn't, but I probably can't. But go ahead. What's bugging you?"
"Well, not that one. That has logical roots, at least. But there are a few in particular. Interestingly enough, many having to do with excretory or copulatory functioning--"
"Excuse me!" I wheeled myself around. "Debbie, why don't you go inside and--"
"I know. Adult talk. I'm going." She sighed and made a big production of stalking, slowly, back towards the house, glancing back from time to time to see if I'd relent and let her stay. She even stopped as she opened the screen door and just stood a moment looking back at us, big blue eyes pleading. I shook my head.
"Sorry, honey. But you can take an ice cream cone from the freezer. One!" That did it. She was gone.
I turned and wheeled back towards the picnic table and chairs I had set up by the side of the house. From there, there was a beautiful view down the side of the mountain.
"Would you like to sit down?" I felt totally weird, going through social graces with someone who would have made George Romero turn green with cinematic lust.
He shivered slightly. "Thank you."
Miss Manners would have approved of him, too.
Very carefully, he seated himself on one of the cedar chairs and, almost immediately, he started moaning. I leaned forward, worried.
"Are you all right?"
"Oh.. yesss! Yes..." He was virtually glowing with greenness. "Sorry. It is just that this is a very aromatic wood and it... feels very good. I think I will stand..." He got up, looking down wistfully at the chair. "Can I bring some of this wood back to my ship?"
I had to bite my lip to keep a straight face, but I finally managed to nod. "Sure. In fact, you can take the whole chair." I could see the dark, moist stain from where he had sat down and I had a feeling neither Vanessa or Debbie would really want to sit in that particular chair now. I had more.
"Thank you so much!" He stood staring at it raptly for a moment more and then turned reluctantly back to me.
"As I was starting to say, there are some strange expressions that puzzle me."
Go ahead." Would Carl Sagan believe this?
"Regarding excretory functions: why is it that when one is angry, one is 'pissed off', and when angry at someone, one is 'pissed off at them'? Logic would hold that being 'pissed on' would be far more aggravating. Assuming urinary functioning is what is referred to. And then there is the shit phenomenon. When caring about someone, one 'gives a shit'. Why? Would it not be kinder to take it? Especially considering the illogical statement that when having, actually, disposing of, a bowel movement, one 'takes a shit'. One is leaving it, not making an acquisition."
I lost it. I couldn't help it. The confronting image of a pedantic alien visitor calmly discussing the rationale of "shit" and "piss" was too much. My eyes were running, I was laughing so hard. My visitor just stood there patiently waiting for me to calm down. When I finally wiped my eyes and settled down, he did it to me again.
"And another problem I have is with the expressions associated with the word 'fuck'. 'Fuck off', 'get fucked', 'fuck you' are all used as angry expletives, and yet, these refer to an extremely pleasurable activity for your species. One would think such statements would be complements or well-wishing greetings. Why the disparity?"
It took me a little longer to compose myself that time, but fortunately my visitor was patient.
"Okay... I'm, all right." I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes with the neck of my turtleneck before folding it back down and forcing a serious expression onto my face. "Okay. Yes. Well, like I warned you, I can't explain any of that. These are among the oddities that have been a part of our language for so long that they're taken for granted. That doesn't help much, I know, but it's the best I can do. Sorry..." I gritted my teeth and told myself to stop that!
I cleared my throat and looked back up at him after taking a few deep breaths. "It's my turn. I've got a question for you... Wait a minute. First of all, before we go any further, if we're going to be this informal, I want your name. You obviously know mine since you came out here to the boonies to find me, but what's yours?"
"I neglected to introduce myself?"
I nodded.
"Oh dear. I am terribly sorr--" He made a grating sound from somewhere as he stopped himself. "Habits! My name, in it's closest Earth approximation would be... Fred. That is it. Fred."
"Fred?" I spluttered.
"Do you have a problem with that?" He straightened and grew about six inches. "It is a very honorable name."
"Ah, no." I stopped, trying not to laugh again.
Fred moved in and sank lower and we were face to face. For some reason I wasn't worried and it just made me start laughing again. After a moment, a strange bubbling sound came from a hole somewhere on Fred's chest and I managed to ask: "Laughter?"
He bobbed, the bubbling growing stronger for a moment. "That is an affirmative gesture," he managed to get out.
It took a couple of minutes, but finally we composed ourselves and he straightened.
"You were about to ask a question, I believe."
"Ahh..." It took me a second to remember. "Oh, yes. Whyare you here? You said you were having trouble with your ship. So what do you need? Obviously you can't just take a run by NASA and pick up spare parts--"
"Well, actually, what I need is more likely to be found in a drug store." He was brilliant emerald green again.
I leaned forward. "A... drug store?"
He bobbed silently.
"What is it you need?" I pressed.
A long pause, then: "Condoms."
I stared. "CONDOMS?"
"Please! This is very difficult and embarrassing. My bond-mate... wife, and I came here together as usual in our off-season, but we were so fascinated by your culture that we lost track of time and all the sudden we realized that she is entering her breeding cycle. We can not afford the time or expense of another litter right now and we need birth control. There is nothing on board we can use--"
"I hate to be crass, but abstention or withdrawal are options--"
"For humans. Not for our species. Our biological drives are extremely powerful and neither option is possible. During the actual mating process, our intellectual functioning is severely impaired."
"Sounds like a familiar excuse." I was gritting my teeth because Fred was obviously very serious and worried, but this whole situation was bordering on the ridiculous. I tried to be rational and asked: "Will human condoms work?"
He bobbed. "Oh yes, if they are large ones. I have seen advertisements for a new, larger size condom by one manufacturer and from my calculations, they should be adequate, with the addition of some adhesive to hold them in place. In terms of mating, our species are not all that dissimilar anatomically." He moved a little closer, sinking down a little. "Please, could you help us?" He was actually starting to pace. "It is getting... very close, now. I have to stay out of the ship as much as possible or I risk loosing control, even with the air-recyclers on maximum."
Poor guy. He really was hurting and I gave him a thumbs up. "You got it!" There's a drugstore just a few miles down the road. I can be down there and back in about a half hour." I turned to the house to yell: "Debbie! Come on honey, Daddy's got to run an errand." I looked back at Fred. "She's only six. I don't want to leave her alone while I'm gone."
Fred bobbed. "I know what you mean. I have twelve of them myself. They are grown, now, but I remember."
Debbie came running down the steps, her mouth dirty with chocolate ice cream and I sighed and held out my hands. "Uh uh. Back inside and wash your face!"
I wheeled over towards my van and dropped the lift, turning back to Fred as I backed onto the lift. Poor guy was just walking around in a tight circle. I felt sorry for him. For his wife, too.
Debbie took no time to clean up and was climbing in just as I locked my wheelchair in the driver's position. I leaned out the window towards Fred.
"Relax until I get back. Take a load off your feet. Why don't you take off the cushion and stretch out on that nice cedar lounger over there till I get back."
What the hell? We could always get another one.
-end-