The Oreanians Speak
At that moment, the doors swooshed open and the diplomatic team headed by Ambassador Gillis came onto the bridge and assembled behind the captain’s chair. Joanni turned away from the screen and stepped back to join them. After she turned forward again, she glanced at the captain; they caught each other’s eyes for a second before the transmission started and smiled at each other. Chipman gave her the most subtle of winks that only she picked up.
Once orbit was established, communications were opened. After a few moments, a logo appeared on the forward viewer screen: a badge of sorts composed of Oreanian characters and spiral shapes. The logo remained on screen without audio for several minutes, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level for Joanni.
The simultaneous translation program switched on, and a brief musical passage reminiscent of swirling birdsong rung out, then a melodic woman’s voice: “A new day emerges from the eons of sadness with the return of the eighth original treasure of Oreana, and the welcome of the celestial alien Joanni N.” The Oreanians pronounced her name as “jo’an-knee.” The visuals were activated, and three figures emerged from the dissolving logo like swimmers surfacing above water.
With the palest of pale sky blue skin, black iris-less pupils, and a small, round, toothless mouth, the main speaker came across as piscine or amphibian-like, but still somehow pretty. Her dark hair was bundled up under a multi-pointed crown crusted with jewels and hanging pendants that lit up when she spoke. Looking at that crown, Joanni heard her mother’s voice in her head saying, ‘You could take out an eye with that.’ She could see the vestigial wing bulges on the speaker’s back as she turned right or left on the screen.
Three of these beings stood in front of a small gathering of onlookers, all evidently female. The lead Oreanian, who did not deem it necessary to give her name, introduced the representative on her right as Ganhokeet, Joanni’s contact, then continued. “Welcome members of the governing nations of ISEA. Also appreciation to crew of the ship Eridanus for your service to us in transport.”
Captain Chipman introduced himself and Ambassador Gillis. Gillis, in turn, introduced his delegation, including Joanni, then turned the lead back to the captain.
“The Eridanus will continue in orbit for two days to calibrate and ascertain any additional environmental conditions and safety concerns of visitation. Dr. Pissario will make dilation contacts and fit them and make dilation eye drops . . .” Tom started.
“Why? State the facts. Electricity is constant here.”
“True,’’ he continued, ignoring the rudeness of the Oreanian’s interruption. “However, the surface will still be dark and dim for our eyesight, so everyone will . . .”
“Everyone! Chipman, we only wish the celestial being, Joanni N., to come down and exchange the clesig and be honored. Gillis comes down when it’s time to sign. The rest stay on the ship.”
Chipman started to speak, but the Oreanian interrupted again.
“How does she get down to this surface, as you call it?”
“By shuttlecra . . . “
“We will send a scout vessel to rendezvous with your shuttlecraft. That’s how it will be. No need for it to land.”
She turned to Joanni and her voice softened, “We will have a covering for your mouth opening available when you arrive, so as not to offend our people.”
“Why?” Joanni asked, politely, although she thought, ‘two can play this game’.
“Your mouth protuberances are too big. Everyone’s are too big; they disturb us. You will wear a covering over your mouth when in front of the audience.”
“Even when performing?”
“Yes, even then, always in public.” The speaker only refrained from calling them horse teeth, Joanni thought to herself, because there was no reference; they didn’t have large animals on Oreana, only small weasel-like creatures, which some kept as pets. Not out of any sense of civility. Indeed, knowing the Oreanian language as well as she did, Joanni began to suspect they were putting their speech through a politeness filter as well as a translation device, and guessed their actual words, if it could be believed, were even more derisive. She asked, once again politely, that the simultaneous translating application be turned off for a few moments—she wanted to speak to the Oreanians directly. The Oreanians agreed.
Joanni took a deep breath and said (in Oreanian), “Captain Chipman is a man greatly honored among our people, one of the premier commanders of one of the greatest galaxyships in ISEA. I would wish for you to speak of him, to him, with more respect.” Silence. “He is important to me, to everyone.” Brennan, who understood some of what Joanni was saying, widened her eyes in surprise at her friend’s boldness.
The Oreanian answered in her native tongue, “Is he a husband? Is he a husband of you?” You do his bidding?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you smarter than him?”
“No. He is very smart.”
“A man’s very smart?”
“Yes.”
“Is he a warrior? A lover? Do you sit on his lap?” Each word dripped with derision and contempt. “We outgrew these afflictions eons ago. But . . . we will accommodate your request to the edge of our discomfort.”
Joanni took a half step forward, and in a tone as nonbelligerent as she could make it, asked, “Has there ever been a version of your society that embraced male worthiness, self . . .”
“Society has a name for this, but not a function.” The translator was switched back on. “This is not what we are here to speak about; you are here to return what was stolen from us.” There followed a period of silence that began to grow awkward. “That’s enough; we are tired. We will contact you at the next designated time.” The screen went black.
Chipman sighed and slapped both his hands down on his chair arms. “Deck 7 briefing room, gentlemen, in fifteen.” Gillis nodded in the affirmative and waved his team out ahead of him. Joanni turned and walked to the lift without speaking, fighting dissatisfaction on all fronts. She was a disassociated being now, an orphan both literally and figuratively. The unnamed Oreanian’s speech, as self-serving as it was, had nevertheless planted unwelcome thoughts in Joanni’s mind, notions of a sisterhood of supremacy that she couldn’t fully dismiss, clinging there like dirt that was unable to be swept out the door, separating her from her captain and her past. She belonged fully to no one; not to Earth, not to this new planet. The captain belonged to the thrill of exploration, to the future, and she was a fellow traveler; normally, they would go together, but not to this new place—that was for her alone. She had no cohort, as she was always saying to herself; she was the stranger in a strange land, the lone traveler; but . . . she was also coming home.
Image: Some among others. Source: “Specimens of Fancy Turning Executed on the Hand or Foot Lathe” by Edward J. Woolsey, 1869. Philadelphia Museum of Art. The Public Domain Review. Edited by J. Weigley