WORK IN PROGRESS sci-fi short story: Podmates
Translation note: This localization attempts to convert a bilingual account of events from Shard Standard and Paroldanco into [ERROR: LOCAL LANGUAGE UNKNOWN]. Spelling and pronunciation is approximate. Please consult a technician or maljuna vortisto if further clarification is required.
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It wasn’t always easy being the only non-Human in the room. They might be the minority in this particular district of Hotspot, but my three new podmates had been very upfront and even apologetic when I’d first taken a look around: having a Skriako moving in would take some adjusting for everyone. The past few months had certainly proved them right, and not just because of their smell.
Skriakoj don’t usually have individual sleeping rooms, despite liking spacious homes; we just wiggle deeper into a big pile of cushions and blankets in the central room of the pod, which is also by far the biggest and ideally includes plenty of robe or grippable surfaces to enable a truly vertical space, including a sort of round and deep hammock where the bedding can be suspended securely. While it’s simplest to call it a living room or a lounge, and the literal translation of “rekonĉambro” is “meeting room”, that doesn’t convey the spirit of the term. I was the only one in our pod who tended to sleep here, but the Humans did still enjoy it as a meeting place. Even our pod, with three human occupants who each maintained their own room, was built around its rekonĉambro.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Frederick sighed. He was tall for an Earther, so about two thirds my height, though he ate more every day than I did in an average week. “I’ve never really thought about it before, and now it’s all happening so fast.”
My tail carved slow, thoughtful waves. The daily torpor hadn’t quite worn off yet, so I was wrapped in a blanket with a heatpack against my chest until my brain finished defrosting.
“I’m sorry,” said the speaker on my wrist as I typed the words out. “I’m not sure I understand. Don’t you like him?”
“Of course I do, sister.”
Frederick’s scent remained unknowable, like Humans’s always did. It was the single biggest hurdle for Skriakoj, since odor was a constant source of information between us, yet Humans had both weak noses and simplistic scents. I didn’t think I’d ever stop noticing, just as Humans found Skriakoj faces unreadable.
“Sure he likes me,” Frederick continued. “He’s always been downright flirty with me, in fact, and I like that about him. I just didn’t ever really think about taking things further than that until it started happening last night...” He smiled despite still seeming to be sad.
“Oh.” I hoped my robotic voice sounded like it understood more than I actually did. “Is this because he’s a male? Or something.”
“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. It doesn’t make complete sense to me either, so don’t worry. It's nice of you to hear me out.”
I reached out a sympathetic claw and he took hold of it gratefully. I’d wanted to offer it much sooner, but Humans had arcane rules about physical contact so I played it safe. It was oddly reassuring that Frederick was struggling with Human interactions as well, despite having all the elaborate face muscles and lips that his species relied on to communicate. His hands radiated heat.
“I’m always happy to listen, Frederick. But I probably know the least about men. Especially Human ones.”
His smile became more sincere. “Yeah, maybe we’re both surrounded here; you by Humans, and me by ladies.”
I narrowly stopped myself from typing something like, “I wish I was surrounded by ladies more often.”
Speaking of, Rebecca strode in with her immaculate work uniform and gave me one of her drive-by feather-ruffles. I never complained about being preened, and actually would’ve preferred a longer session over these fleeting contacts.
“I’m late for the crèche, folks,” she said, dropping a half-full cup messily into the receptacle. “Or I’d offer a big hug to at least one of you.”
Even though Rebecca had worked with Human children previously, apparently it was still a big adjustment to look after Skriakaj hatchlings. My scent grew tinged with amusement at the image of this tiny Human woman realizing too late that even very young Skriakoj could be half her height from horn to talon. True to her word, she promptly bundled up in a thick coat and was in the communal hallway leading to the burrow's exit.
“Anyway,” I said, shaking my head to tidy my red feathers again. “It seems simple to me. You like women. So you’ve dated women. You might just like men too?”
Frederick looked ready to bury his head in the cushions. “I wish it was as easy as that, Ŝtel.”
He had to get ready for the day, which would hopefully be a welcome distraction from the maelstrom of his thoughts, so he went to change out of his pyjamas and I managed to wrench myself into the kitchen and put the dishes in the machine as a way to get all five of my limbs awake. I was never the one creating all the dirty plates and bowls, but I didn’t mind; the Earthers were patient with my alien ways, too.
“Bonan matenon, amiko!” said a synthesized voice from behind me.
I chittered and looked up, knowing who it was both because of her scent and the fact only she tended to greet me in Langlingvo (tongue-speech).
Alexandra was, in her own words, “a jolly fat bitch”. It made sense to me to have as much insulation against Shard’s perpetual cold as possible, and I didn’t have the advantage of warm blood like Humans did.
“Was that Frederick you were talking to just now?” Alexandra was unusually fluent in Skriakaj language and customs, so she would easily swap between type-talking to me and mouth-talking to the Humans. Nobody of her species could match all the vocal and physical components of Paroldanco (speech-dance), but she absolutely tried and she knew the effort was appreciated.
A devious chuckle interrupted Alexandra’s attempt to sip her coffee. “So it’s getting pretty serious, huh?”
“Frost's sake. It’s not like that.” I snapped my jaws in her direction, knowing she wouldn’t take it seriously. “If you must know.”
Mischief was plastered all over Alexandra’s face by this point. I didn’t mind. She walked up to where I was standing in the kitchen area and casually accepted a hug. She liked long hugs and I was happy to oblige. Humans were rarely so casual in their affections, from my experience; I was habitually nervous about not comprehending some unwritten Earther rule. Alexandra was the only Human who I felt confident initiating routine physical contact with, and her Human heat made it particularly pleasant for me, even without any romantic or lustful feelings between us.
It made it harder to wake up, though.
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It’s an old joke that when somebody asks you how you’re doing, you tell them that it’s cold outside. The joke being, of course, that it’s always fucking cold on Shard.
It wasn’t strictly necessary to leave the carefully controlled climate of the burrow most days, but some instinct drove me to brave the surface regardless. It just seemed the thing to do if I wanted to fully appreciate daily luxuries. The airlocks at each of the burrow’s entrance made the transition as painless as possible. Even so, I still braced beneath my heavy coat and awkward mask.
The familiar talons of deathly cold began to scratch insistently against my clothes, hunting for the slightest weakness in my defences. As much as I knew rationally that I was safe so long as my heatpack lasted, that wasn’t enough to make the experience remotely pleasant. It was like a vaccination for a deadly disease with no cure, and that needed regular boosters. Nature had molded Skriakoj for a very different world, and it was only through sheer collective will that we were still here.
There were a few other concealed figures, most of them striding with brisk purpose. Most would take public transport to cross any significant distance, which was certainly wise. Recent years had seen growing expansion of the underground rail system, an enormous undertaking, and one that needed a degree of cooperation with the central city government bureaucracy. I’d rather be digging tunnels with my bare claws than go through that. No, my current calling was much less stressful.
I’d partnered with Glav shortly after moving into burrow. Xe had needed help to run Xir shop and I’d needed some useful to do, so the rest wrote itself. It was humble place, piled high with freeze-dried meats, basic medical supplies and other basic necessities, and Glav always kept a scentmaker humming away on a low, unassuming background coziness. As the airlock cycled me inside, I could see Glav behind the counter talking casually with what looked like a young Skriakaj family. It felt slightly odd to see someone before smelling them, even though airlocks made that a daily occurence.
“-Won’t be a problem, tree-sibling,” xe was saying with xir mouth. “Accidents happen.”
The carer smelled anxious, but she placed a hand on Glav’s chest in thanks. “Thank you, I’m sure you get this all the time but I’m still so embarrassed.” One of the five hatchlings on her person (whom I could smell and hear) had clearly escaped his cozy pouch inside her coat and seemed to be loving all the attention. While he had very similar proportions as an average adult Skriako, he was barely as long as my forearm and his scent was utterly chaotic in the way pre-adolescents usually smelled. His carer was making an effort to calm him down and might have succeeded if he hadn’t immediately sniffed a new person entering the room.
I’ve never been any good with hatchlings, if you ask me. Motherly instincts must have skipped a generation, because all I knew to do in this moment was squeak and freeze in panic as my tiny new friend leapt onto my shoulder and began to scrape his talons against my scales experimentally. Not unexpected behavior in general for someone so young, but still startling when I’ve only just removed my outdoor garb.
“Frost!” His carer spat out a curse and gently retrieved her wayward offspring while Glav struggled to stop xir mirth from filling the air. Keeping an extra firm hold on the hatchling, the carer exuded a burst of humiliation and placed her pale brown throat atop my head: a gesture of sincere apology or submission.
“It’s fine,” I assured her, dabbing my tongue momentarily against her throat to complete the sentiment. “He’s a flighty one, huh? What’s his hatchname?”
Proks, as he was apparently called until he was old enough to name himself, clearly saw passers-by as new friends to introduce himself to. His struggles against his carer’s claws lessened when I rubbed one of his taloned feet; even I knew that much about hatchlings. His hatchmates returned to either snoring or contently chitting to each other within the depths of the specialized coat.
“I can’t imagine how Rebecca manages to care for those all day,” I said to Glav once we were alone in the shop. “Hatchlings are trouble enough even when you’re not small yourself.”
“Who?” Glav licked xir eyelids thoughtfully. “Oh, one of your Earthers. I’m not going to even pretend I can say her name.”
I flicked my tail in mirth, though I felt bad about it. “Don’t talk like that next time one of them comes in here, Glav. I’m serious; Humans can be very sensitive.”
“Yeah, Ŝtel, I *know*. It just slipped out.” Xe did smell a bit regretful, and ran a claw through my feathers to lighten the mood. “She must be brave, anyway. Hatchlings will have no idea what to make of her, so she must spend a lot of time either hiding from or wrangling them.”
We quickly moved on to business matters, thankfully. Glav was moving slowly at the moment; xir crimson scales were visibly getting frail and due to be shed, so I tried to do most of the lifting while xe focused on spreadsheets. Moulting wasn’t always super predictable, but we were both still young enough that we’d have a few days to plan our schedules around each other once one of us showed warning signs.
Neither of us were wearing clothes while we worked.I only even thought about that fact consciously because I lived with Humans, who were much more likely to wear clothes indoors. Earthers were often squeamish about nudity, presumably because their skin was so delicate, and their bodies constantly churned out heat, so they were far less dependent on environmental temperature. This was an obvious advantage in the brutal cold outside, but seemed more trouble than it was worth indoors. For some reason they insisted on building skyscrapers, too, rather than dig into the natural shelter of the soil and especially the priceless geothermal pockets Hotspot was named for.
The Shard Reclamation Government in the central district of Hotspot was causing tension with its taxes again. Just another reason to priortize local suppliers who were more immune to those antics, of course, but Nestejo was a geographically small district and didn’t have ample supplies of the raw materials needed for many electronics, so it was a poorly kept secret that the Skriakaj unions relied heavily on strategic bribes to keep the Human authorities happy. Calling them Skriakaj and Human organizations wasn’t entirely accurate, I knew, it just functionally worked put that way.
“Just as well the union here helps keep costs low,” Glav said after explaining the impact on our business. “I might worry otherwise.”
“Yeah. I was explaining this kind of thing to my podmates when I first got here, but there’s still a bit of a language barrier. Nuances get lost because they have those useless little noses, poor things.”
Glav lapped up some steaming-hot tea from xir cup. “They’re sure odd people, aren’t they. Did you know their eyes can adjust to low-light conditions? They seem so clumsy on their spindly legs, but they could outrun any of us in the dark.”
“No, actually. It’s never really come up.”
“Well, the last time me and the ladies got together, one of them said she’d been with a Human and he’d talked about it.”
I paused while unpacking a box of lab-grown root vegetables; it was hard to follow Glav’s anecdote with so many people mentioned in succession. “I’m not sure I needed to know that. About the sex, I mean.”
Glav squealed in such a way that even a Human might recognize it as laughter. “I didn’t think you were embarrassed about that kind of thing, Ŝtel.”
I bounced a bag of shedding ointment off xir head. “I’m not. I mean...not really. You know about as much about my body as I do. Humans just don’t always enjoy being gossiped about.”
“You’ll be telling me you wear clothes in your own home, next.”
The snap of my jaws I responded with was only half-sarcastic. “You’re lucky you’re about to shed, or I might be less merciful. Anyway, I think we both deserve another tea.”
Glav was hungry today, as expected but I just needed fluids. As jovial as xe still was, I wouldn’t let xim work another day before starting xir shedding leave; it was obvious how tired xe was despite not doing much actual physical labor. Xe accepted my tentative tail-hug as we breathed in the steaming-hot tea and meat. I was glad; as annoying as Glav could be some days, I’d still miss xim until xe returned with glorious new scales next week. I hadn’t worked here by myself before and the thought was slightly daunting.
“You’ll be fine,” Glav insisted. Xe nuzzled my shoulder for extra reassurance. “I’d swap cycles with you if I could! Nothing that goes on here is as stressful as moulting.”
“I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet for once,” I lied. “Save me a feather, by the way.”
“Oh sure, you can eat my old scales too, if you like.”
The joke had gone too far. I hissed disgustedly. Glav reeked of triumph.
Soon enough, Shard’s pathetic excuse for sunlight began to dim, and we locked up for the night. Luckily, we could build suns of our own these days.
What to do when your planet becomes frozen and barren? Build a garden underground, of course. One of many community facilities in our burrow, maintained by a rotation of residents, the garden was a large dome with room enough for several small groups to play, relax, or even get as intimate as decency allowed. As many old plant species as was feasible were lovingly arranged absolutely everywhere, resulting in a truly powerful airborne melange, almost overwhelming until you got used to it.
Despite the lush grass floor, most visitors preferred the elaborate series of nets and pillows suspended from trees in a loose circle. It was essentially a massive rekonĉambro, with ample room and strength for any number of dozers. I recognized a few people by smell, though not by name. I’d never noticed any Earthers here except for my podmates. There were a few loose groups of Skriakoj here at the moment, maybe 20 individuals total. A gaggle of adolescents with only half-grown quills instead of head or tail feathers were politely bother and licking each other. An older couple with grey eyes were keeping some hatchlings occupied as best as their old bones could. Someone with a luxurious fresh coat of scales was delicately plucking a stringed instrument, their claws cut at varying lengths for optimal control.
I closed both sets of eyelids so I could point my snout directly at the enormous heat lamp in the ceiling that served as a fake sun. A glimpse of what an average day on Shard would have been like, countless years and lives ago. Life went on, and so did the stars, though the former had more reason to change.
I’d decided I needed this peace and quiet today. And there was nothing as relaxing as lying naked under a heat lamp, breathing in the lush air, then lying down in the shade with a head full of dreams. Humans were often squeamish about nudity, presumably because their skin was so delicate, and their bodies constantly churned out heat, so they were far less dependent on environmental temperature. This was an obvious advantage in the brutal cold outside, but seemed more trouble than it was worth indoors. For some reason they insisted on building skyscrapers, too, rather than dig into the natural shelter of the soil and especially a priceless geothermal pockets Hotspot was named for.
My nose registered a new smell in the room: a new person had walked in. Nothing odd or suspicious in itself, of course; I recognized far more people’s scents than faces, or names, or any other characteristic of theirs. I could be reasonably sure even with all the background smells that this person was Skriaka (definitely), a young adult (probably) and female (presumably). None of this would be worth opening my eyes for in itself. However...there was something undeniably strange in the fine details. She smelled chaotic, unrefined, distracted... like a hatchling might before eventually learning more control over their glands, as part of being fluent in Paroldanco. This was unmistakably an adult, though, meaning she must be ill or something if her body was struggling to control itself so much.
I couldn’t resist glancing over. Which just raised further questions.
Halfway across the grass and far below my spot in the netting between the branches, an uncertain green figure was creeping along with furtive looks to her left and right. Was she trying to sneak through without leaving so much as a ripple in the air? Unlikely even in such an odorally noisy place as the garden. Less immediately strange but still notable was the amount of clothes she was wearing. Personal preference of temperature and modesty was a factor even in post-calamity Skriakaj society, of course; I didn’t fault anyone for that alone. Still, we were deep in the Nestejo (“nesting place”) district of the city and there weren’t many Humans around in general, so I wouldn’t expect a Skriako to be dressed in much at all unless they were braving the snow and ice.
I could smell that others nearby were having similar thoughts. Maybe one of them knew this woman, or might even recognize whatever illness she had? I was feeling judgmental and presumptuous at this point. As the minutes dragged on and nobody else took any action, though, I began to feel obligation and even a little rage. I was no expert, but if someone was sick and needed help, then I was going to at least check. We needed to be especially careful about viruses, since our indoor and artificially heated lifestyles made outbreaks potentially fast and deadly.
There wasn’t a concept of wind direction indoors, so I made do by radiating helpful concern as much as I could, and even let out a short bark as a vocal announcement. The stranger only turned to look at me after hearing the sound, which probably meant (as suspected) that she was struggling to separate individual smells in this place. Poor thing. She even, quite shockingly, started to smell quite afraid. Was I so intimidating? I decided not to walk within tail’s reach, out of consideration for her, and it seemed sensible if she did indeed turn out to be carrying something.
“Pardonon, arbfrato,” I said with my mouth. “Ĉu vi eble ne bonsatas?”
There was no immediate response. Before I started to worry that her hearing was the issue, though, she reached to her wrist and began text-to-speech in the Human language: “I’m sorry, I can’t understand much Speechdance. Can you speak Shard Standard?”
I blinked both sets of eyelids a few times. She was fortunate in that I was thoroughly accustomed to speaking with Humans after moving to my current pod, but I wasn’t sure I’d never heard a Skriako tell another they couldn’t understand Paroldanco. Was it just Langlingvo (tongue-language) specifically, as well as her obvious issued with Odorlingvo (smell-language)?
“That’s okay, tree-sibling,” I answered, my typing reflexes finally kicking in. “It’s not a problem. I only come because you seem unwell?”
“I do?” She shook her head left and right. In this context I could only interpret as a Human gesture of disagreement or disbelief. “I’m perfectly well, I swear. I’m just new.”
Her mouth made odd, discordant grumbling sounds. Exactly like a hatchling might react to being told to stop scratching during a shed. “Yes, but it’s a long story on top of that, I’m afraid. And I’ve had to explain it a few times today.”
My mind was reeling at this point. Still, I felt bad and she must have a genetic ailment or something, so I wanted to move closer and make amends.
“I’m sorry,” I said, walking forwards and raising my head in a submissive display. Before I could touch my throat to the top of her head, however, she darted away as if dodging an attack.
More confused than ever, I lurched back again and reverted to another human gesture: holding my palms out disarmingly. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I did.”
“It’s my fault-tt, pleas-ze, I’m s-sorry.” As her scent became more wild than ever, she began to physically struggle with her communicator.
Frost, what a mess I was making. Even with good intentions, I couldn’t help feel responsible. The others who’d been passively curious before were smelling more concerned and confused now, which was certainly relatable.
“You’re fine, friend.” I was trying think of a new plan as I went along. “I won’t do anything to you. Be warm and well.” Then, scrambling to think how I’d had to comfort Humans or hatchlings on occasion, I tried making a soft, barely-audible, murmuring trill. It couldn’t hurt, at least. “My name is Ŝtel. you don’t have to try and say it.”
My awkward new companion’s scent stopped swirling as much. “I’m called Scraps. You don’t have to try and spell it.”
Scraps? I consciously had to stop my tail twitching in amusement. With a name like that, no wonder she was having problems.
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