one

ANGRY YOUNG SPACEMAN



Jim Munroe




Copyright  2000 by Jim Munroe. 




***


Bubbles over Plangyo,
Where did you go?
Octavian folk song


one


I had a massive suitcase dragging down one fist and my Speak-O-Matic case in the 
other.
Let me help you with that, said Lisa. I pushed my suitcase at her, but she 
reached around it to snatch the jet black translator. 
I let go reluctantly. Careful, I said, lurching on with my suitcase.
She swung it jauntily as she walked, smirking back at me from under her messy 
mop of brown curls. I set the suitcase down and picked it up with my other hand.
What do I need antigrav cells for, Lisa? Lisa said in her stupid-guy voice 
as she watched me struggle. What a total waste of money!
I looked at the spaceport ahead and picked up my pace. You deliberately parked 
the floater far away to  A guy with a jetpack touched down between Lisa and I, 
cutting me off. I scowled at him as I walked through his purple exhaust, my nose 
burning from it. 
She watched me with a smidge of sympathy. Hows your head?
I shrugged. Not bad, considering.
Yeah, it was quite a party, she said with a crooked smile. Were you surprised 
with how many people showed up?
I nodded. The rooftop had been packed, new people landing every minute it 
seemed. I felt, again, a bubble of doubt rise, as I thought about all the good 
friends I had on Earth. I could feel Lisa watching me. Ahead, a rocket launched, 
its ignition-plume predictably lighting a burst of excitement in my chest.
Its gonna be good, I said, staring at it as it rose. I suddenly worried about 
my boxes. They had been sent ahead and (hopefully) already sat in the belly of 
my rocketship. 
We reached the whisk-away and it slid us into the spaceport. I was able to put 
the suitcase down for a minute and flex blood into my hand. We passed through 
the field and stepped off near a bunch of shops.
Lisa checked her watch. I took my Speak-O-Matic back from her, saying, Ill 
take it from here.
Sorry to get you here so early, she said. I gotta get to work.
I smiled at her. Its not that early. I thought about last time we were in a 
spaceport together, back when we were going out.
Well, I guess... she said, folding her arms and looking at me.
Thanks, eh, I said at the same time.
Oh, yeah, she said. Skaggs wanted me to give you something to remember the 
gang by.
I put up my fists.
She laughed and fished out a moviedisk. I took it and tucked it in a side pocket 
of the suitcase, then picked up both my bags.
See ya, I said, and she lifted her hand.
I turned away, trying to decide if I should go to the bar or check in first.
Oh, and heres something to remember me by, Lisa said behind me, and I 
reluctantly turned around, hoped it would be a hug rather than a kiss.
It was a perfectly-aimed right hook, and it knocked me cold.


***


Lead the way, sir! said the luggage-droid hovering above me. 
I sat up, rubbed my jaw and neck tendons. My head was really pounding now. There 
were a few curious onlookers, but as soon as I stood up they lost interest.
Where would you like me to carry your bags, sir? chirped the luggage-droid. It 
made my massive suitcase look infuriatingly light, bouncing there in mid-air.
Nowhere! Drop them, I growled.
It set them down. I picked them up.
Please deposit zero credits, it said to my back, then buzzed away as it 
realized the stupidity of that request.
I headed into the washroom. There was a medvac installed on the wall, which was 
great  it meant I didnt have to go rooting through my suitcase. I set it to 
medium and stood in front of it as the healing rays swept over my face. I shut 
my eyes (one hand on my suitcase) and smiled, thinking about Lisa. She couldnt 
resist giving me a pug send-off. So sentimental.
I spat in the sink  no blood  and felt my head. There was an egg under my 
crewcut where my head had hit the ground, but it wasnt leaky. The medvac had 
snapped off so I turned it on again, crouching awkwardly so it could reach the 
back of my head.
A Yenatian sprung suddenly over the door of the toilet stall and made me jump.
Do not move, the medvac chastised with the voice of a grumpy nurse.
The Yenatian bounced to the door and out, his characteristically innocent eyes 
looking me over. I tried not to glower at him. It wasnt his fault that most of 
the universe was engineered for people with door-opening appendages.
The medvac switched off. I checked the spot on my head, and other than the 
residual numb tingle it was back to normal. I picked up my suitcase and left for 
the bar, with a plan to make the rest of my head numb.


***


Could you stop that?
The charliebot continued polishing the shot glass. What?
The polishing. You werent doing it when I came in. They have some subroutine 
that gets them doing some pointless busy-work. Its irritating. Just stop the 
polishing, willya?
Uppity human, he growled as he rolled away.
That was a bit extreme. Someone had been in here talking revolution, or at least 
bitching about Earthlings. The idea was that it gave each carbon-copy bar its 
own character, for better or worse: the bar near my place had a charliebot that 
spouted the annoying pretentious witticisms of its lunarian regulars. 
I resisted the urge to ask what species had used that phrase  itd just feed my 
own prejudices, after all. It was odd, though, cause bars were mostly a human 
thing. I looked around, a little paranoid. I couldnt see anyone, but that 
didnt mean anything.
How many people in the bar, Charlie?
Charlies head extended about a foot on a thin metal pipe neck... turned one way 
clickclickclick.... turned the other way... clickclickclick... then turned his 
jug-eared lump of a head back to face me. From on high, he reported: Its just 
you and me, buddy. No other patrons present. His head dropped down with a 
hydraulic hiss and he asked: So who owes who a drink?
When the charliebots were being test-marketed, the locals (after they got tired 
of mocking it and getting it to repeat various naughty phrases) started taking 
advantage of its sensor functions, usually with a little bet involved. The 
manufacturers saw this and capitalized on it, adding theatrics  a charliebot 
doesnt have to extend its neck to count the people in the bar, for instance  
and, naturally, the follow-up pressure sell. Dont ask me how I remember 
clavinish facts like this, but the craven and clever tactics of business are in 
my blood, I suppose.
Of course, I also remembered all the times they had slipped up  asking the one 
person in a bar who was buying, for instance. An if barpatrons=1 then... 
statement would have done the job.
Come on, dont be a cheap bastard. Our house beer is only eighteen credits, 
buddy! The charliebots hose arm extended, poised above my glass, waiting for 
my OK.
I sat there quietly. With sales-happy robots, no input is the best input, if you 
can stand it. Sometimes, theyll presume consent, and if you havent actually 
ordered it... I sat there quietly. 
Charlie started filling my glass. Like beer, silence can be golden.
Whos paying? he said, driblets falling from his retracting draft arm.
The other guy, I said, watching as it paused to sense for the other guy. 
There was no theatrical flourish this time, just a quick attempt to get its hose 
into my glass. 
Whoa, Charlie, I said as I snatched up the glass. It would have sucked it back 
up in a second if I had let it. The charliebot has its charms, to be sure, but 
when it comes to class and breeding  well, its no jeevesatron. 
It stood there for a second, processing the fact that it couldnt charge me for 
a drink I hadnt ordered, nor take a drink out of my hand. Then it rolled away. 
When it stopped, it barked a word I recognized as a curse from the ghettos of 
the most depraved Nebular planets. A word, incidentally, I had never used  even 
in a joking, over-the-top way with my friends. How was it getting exposed to 
that kind of language?
Jesus, I thought. Spaceports are weird places.
And then it got even weirder.


***


Before I even write the next line I want to put in a disclaimer. I cant stand 
the thought of someone reading this and thinking Oh wow, this guy is total 
xenophobic trash! Because thats what I would think if I read the next few 
lines cold. This is the situation: I was totally paranoid because the charliebot 
was talking some serious evil-alien shit, and I was worried they were regulars. 
I wish it wasnt the case, but aliens often make me paranoid  not because I 
think theyre all bad, just that I think that they have a genuine beef with us 
Earthlings. What with the war and all the fucked-up shit that happened. I think 
if I was a rough-and-tumble Neb, for instance, and I saw someone like me in a 
bar all alone...
In fact, that was one of the reasons I was headed to one of the most isolated 
planets in the known galaxy  to see just how non-xeno I was. But if I worried 
that I was a xenophobe, I soon found out that there are more virulent cases out 
there.


***


Halfway through my free beer someone came in. I glanced backwards. Human.
Thank god.
He was dressed in a grey body-suit with a superfluous-but-still-snazzy collar. I 
wish I was the kind of guy that could just throw out Cool collar! to an utter 
stranger, but the best I managed was a civil nod.
He took a seat at the bar, ordered a gin-and-tonic. 
So, he said, in a strange scratchy voice, What brings you to this godforsaken 
hole?
Now I had just been thinking about what a creepy place this was, but 
godforsaken hole was a bit bombastic. It wasnt as if there were acid tests 
going on at the tables or kids skinning themselves or anything. Well, I said, 
Its a little sterile... but it feels like God is here, somewhere.
He gave me a guarded look.
Maybe in the beer, I said.
He went back to his drink.
Im here because Im going to Octavia, I said, picking up the thread.
He looked at me slowly. Octavia, eh? Itd be a nice place, except for all the 
sea monkeys.
I froze. My grandfather would use that slur, war vet that he was, but Id never 
heard it from the mouth of someone my age.
Not that Ive been there, of course. Someone like me cant afford to... He 
made jerky hand movements meant to resemble carefree planethopping. ...to flit 
about any time he wants. Some of us have to work for a living.
I guessed he was a driver or worker at the spaceport. And he had a point. Anyone 
without money or a university education couldnt hope to leave Earth. All they 
could hope for was some lame vacation someplace like Barcelona or Tokyo, while 
the privileged class got to go ring surfing, or swim in the molten core of a 
star...
But the bud of sympathy quickly withered.
Not that Id go to that fucking... hole. You must be fucked, buddy.
I shrugged. Oh well, there goes civility. You seem to know a lot about a place 
youve never been to, I said, speaking with a mildness I didnt feel. 
Oh, I know. I know enough. Robot, another for this poor jackass. On me.
I debated whether it was worth it as the charliebot was filling my glass. I 
checked the time. Still had a while.
Looking at the charliebot made me think about the free beer Id just scammed. 
Heh, you know if you ...
I stopped when I saw the way his eyes were locked on the glass in front of him, 
hovering but going nowhere. I waited to see if he would prompt me to continue 
and when he didnt I started to see how quickly I could drink my drink without 
being completely obvious about it.
Pretty quickly, it turned out, but not quickly enough.
His head swung towards me as if on a hinge. I know enough. I had something 
going with one of those cold fish once.
I nodded. Lifted my glass.
A digital romance is what they call it, he said, his face rippling with scorn.
I knew this was going to get nasty. Remote is what they actually called it; 
digital had less pleasant connotations.
So fucking high and mighty. He pulled at the collar I had admired earlier.
Lifted my glass.
All that bullshit about mating.
Thought it might have had something to do with that. What a prick.
Frigid sea monkey bitch. She had some problems all right. She 
Sounds like youre the one with the problems.
He looked at me. Nothing in his eyes. I stared him down.
He looked back at his drink. Shrugged a little. Youll see. Fuck.
Yeah, Ill see, for real. I wont be some jacked-in jack-off, pulling his pud 
to four-second-old relays.
It was a cheap shot  two actually, cause if he worked here then his comm 
set-up was probably really slow  but I was suddenly dying to box this guys 
ears. My resolution to leave my pugilistic habits behind were quickly dissolving 
in a red haze. Checked my aggrometer wristwatch  I had the time and adrenaline 
to crack this guys head before I caught my flight. 
I looked at his greasy hair and loose mouth and waited for him to give me an 
excuse. 
A minute passed. Nothing. I checked my aggrometer, and my levels had dropped 
below optimum. Reluctantly, I got up. Grabbed my suitcase.
Thanks for the beer, asshole, I said as I turned away. 
A few steps from the door there was the familiar music of cheap bar glass 
smashing against... what was that? I turned around. Ah. Fuckwad had thrown his 
glass into the display of expensive liquor bottles. His back was to me, and his 
arms were crossed in a sullen way.
The charliebot was immobile. One of the lights in his neck switched from green 
to red. I heard the tally as I shoved my way through the door.
You owe the bar 450 credits for the damages incurred.
It made me smile, but it wasnt a real smile, just skin pulled tighter.


***


A few steps outside the bar I switched hands again.
Carry your bag, sir? The luggage-droid hovered like a vulture, its claws 
slowly opening and closing in anticipation. I hefted my suitcase and started 
moving. If you slowed down or faltered, the droids were all over you. I prided 
myself on striding through these places without ever giving them an excuse to 
pounce, the cred-gobbling little bastards...
It was a bit of a walk, but it was good to walk off the adrenaline. I wasnt 
used to having it course through me unused, and I felt my jaw clenching as I 
imagined that xenophobic jerk back at the bar helping with the various species 
that used the spaceport. I was still amazed that I had walked away from a fight 
 a first for me. Not like a pug at all, I thought with grim happiness, not at 
all what youd expect a pug to do.
It excited me, this new course of inaction. Maybe I could leave it behind.
I walked the last few steps sort of shuffle-pushing my bag into the line, 
staring down a droid who veered off as it realized I was in a line-up and 
therefore not in need of service. I watched it go, its red cap wobbling, 
wondering why I got so worked up. It wasnt so much the droids themselves, but 
rather what they symbolized 
Join the moneyed class and youll never have to sweat again. My moms world. I 
grimaced as I surveyed the line, separating the haves from the have-to-sweats. 
An old human sat on his trunk festooned with stickers, shifting it along every 
minute or so. A grey Urasan, horn-shaped lips twitching as she flicked through 
her pad, was attended by a droid. The only toss up was a young woman in 
formfitting sports gear and a large backpack. Looking closer, however, I saw the 
slight haze that betrayed antigrav cells sewn into the lining. Rich.
Despite it, I considered chatting her up  just to kill the boredom of waiting 
in line  but I couldnt think of anything to talk about beyond the health 
dangers involved in having cells so close to her spinal fluid.
A few minutes later I was at the counter.
Destination?
Octavia. I waited for the slight, obscurely gratifying shock that I had come 
to expect. Nothing. Not even a raise of the eyebrows  only a flicker of the 
light running over the surface of her eyeballs as she accessed the file 
retinally.
I wondered why her indifference to my destination was so deflating.
I had decided to go for a bunch of reasons, most relating to my dislike of 
Earth. I chose the most remote planet I could figuring that itd be the least 
like the self-proclaimed centre of the universe. But over the past few months, 
people had responded to the news with shock and wonder: Really? Golly, how 
brave of you! and all that. I had made the decision alone, but it had been 
bolstered by peoples gratifying reaction.
Mr. Sam Breen. You have a week stopover on Polix. She blinked up some more 
data. Her lashes were lovely, and the way she stared through me to the data made 
her look dreamy.
How did you know 
Theres only one human traveller to that destination.
So I guess you dont see a lot of people going to Octavia, I said, fishing.
She shook her head. I smiled, secure again.
I started a week ago, she said.
My smile broadened in appreciation of my pathetic neediness.
Are you travelling with zap guns, cultural products, registered technology?
Yeah, my Speak-O-Matic, I said, looking at my single suitcase.
Oh shit. 
Ill need to scan it, sir.
I rewound my recent activities frantically. I had set it on the bar stool...
Shit shit shit.
Sir?
I lifted my suitcase onto the platform automatically.
Ive left it in the bar, I said. I...
Her eyes widened. You left a... you should go back. She looked at me 
sympathetically, but I felt no satisfaction in piercing her veil of boredom. 
Ill send this ahead, and if... when you get your item, I can register it.
She tapped my bags with a wand and they became enveloped in black plastic, then 
the platform dropped out of sight. I took the flight card from her and walked 
away from the counter. There was no point in running, I told myself, it was 
either there, or it wasnt.
I started running.
The frothy glass that glowed above the entrance to the bar grew bigger and 
bigger as I dodged luggage-droids and nearly stepped on a family of Plevs. How 
was I gonna teach English to kids when I couldnt even speak 
The door of the bar slid closed behind me, and my eyes adjusted to the dim 
light. Three humans were chatting quietly a few stools down from where the 
xenophobe and I had been sitting.
I walked to the stool where it should have been, hope draining out and 
self-loathing filling the empty space.
Whattalitbe, buddy, the charliebot said.
Did you see a Speak-O-Matic in a triangular case
We cant be responsible for items left on the premises, it said, starting to 
polish a glass.
I looked over at the humans, who had heard the exchange. One of them shook her 
head.
A trip to the lost-and-found office revealed that items of that cost were rarely 
returned, and that the number of employees who wore grey body-suits numbered in 
the hundreds. I took a seat in the waiting area, watching families reunite and 
break apart.
One recently reunited family of metal triangle people sat down beside me and 
started tinkling to one another. Two little ones had bravely taken the chair 
next to me. They were swivelling towards me and talking, and my casual curiosity 
as to what they were saying swelled up; and was suddenly smacked down by the 
reality of the situation.
I cant believe I lost my fuckin brand new Speak-O-Matic.
Suddenly the lovely tinkling became too much to bear, and I stood.




***


It was the longest line-up Id ever been in in my twenty-three years, and there 
was a long way yet to go. In the distance I could see the glass tube that arched 
over the landing pads and kissed the rocket ship.
The shock of losing my Speak-O-Matic was wearing off. I was calculating how long 
I had worked at the foundry to earn the credits it cost: three months, I 
figured. I imagined pounding my friend in grey for about three months, to even 
the score.
A part of me, the stubbornly pug part, was grumbling: If I had left him in a 
bloody heap in the first place, he wouldnt be sneaking off anywhere for a 
while. 
We finally turned the corner and started moving through the tube. The rocketship 
was this old model, but still shiny  a classic, and I was excited despite 
myself. The last time I went offworld, it was in a ship just like this one, and 
I had been amazed by the size. I had known the toy I had at home was smaller, 
but I had expected something just a little bigger than the family floater.
Now I was amazed at how small the rocketship seemed, in comparison to the 
endless line of people. How were we all gonna fit in that skinny thing? 
The tube vibrated a bit as another rocket blasted off. The ignition fire whipped 
shadows on and off the faces of the other people in the line. Other than the 
occasional alien, they were mostly human  not a single Octavian in the lot. I 
looked back as far as I could, then forward as much as I could  nope. And it 
wasnt as if they were hard to spot. I guessed Id have to wait to meet a live 
Octavian, face-to-face.
Not that Id be able to communicate with them anyway. Damn it!




two




Hi Lisa,
Nice punch. Havent you heard that pug is dead?
No, Im not on Octavia yet. All us new English teachers have a week of 
orientation on this dinky little planet before were flung to the stars. Its 
OK, though, the gravitys awesome. At the end of the day Ive got so much energy 
left Ive just got to go out and hit the local bar. Their most tolerable local 
brew, Poikapoik (means mighty king killer), has a kick you remember well into 
the next day. The illustration on the bottle is a pile of smoking bones with a 
crown on top, as if His Royalness has just been energy-fragged. The bartender 
told me that the original king was actually eaten alive, but the natives are 
always trying to freak us out with their cannibalistic stories...
Back to the gravity  cool for Earthlings, not so cool for lunarians  its 
actually higher grav than on the moon. One or two of the thinner ones actually 
had to be sent back because of organ problems. The rest of them are just tired 
all the time. Between their thinness and exhaustion, when a trooper of a 
lunarian actually hits the bar with us they usually end up hitting the pavement, 
too. Poikapoik is quite a bit stronger than what theyre used to.
Amongst the more predatory of the Earthlings, this was really good news. Who 
didnt grow up with a crush on one of the bird-boned lunarian mediastars, with 
their grace and thin angular beauty? (Guess thats why people are said to be 
mooning after someone...)
A real conversation: Hey Julia, howd it go with your lunarian boy last night?
Well, he had two whole bottles of Poikapoik...
Uh oh.
Yeah. When we got down to it I found out it kills more than mighty kings.
Some of the lunarian women are really attractive, but theyre so tired all the 
time  and seem a little nervous around Earthling men  that I havent been 
seriously smitten. And you know how I hate that flowery, excessive way lunarians 
talk.
In fact, thats how I met my first friend here. There was this beeeyoutiful 
moonboy whispering on about something at dinnertime with, like, eight Earth 
girls hanging on his every word. After he said the most atrociously designed 
springboots ever to grace the planets surface I checked my wristwatch 
aggrometer  out of curiosity, Lisa, just to see.
The guy next to me asked me what it was, and I tried to tell him, but the shrill 
laughter from the lunarians entourage drowned me out. I watched the needle move 
a little closer to the red zone, then repeated myself. Its just a wristwatch 
with an aggrometer feature added. It gauges levels of aggressiveness in the 
wearer.
Oh yeah, thats a pug thing, he said. My friend had one, but it was bigger 
and had a holo readout. Went on his chest.
Well, then your friend wasnt much of a pug, I shot back. The idea was that 
it wasnt flashy. Those morons who walked around with black eyes and idiotic 
gloves didnt have anything to do with the pug I knew.
He raised his hands. Did I say he was my friend? He was actually more of an 
acquaintance. Sort of an enemy, really.
Matthews the only guy here with shorter hair than me. We walk around the place 
like Stumpy and Stumpier, yelling You want to get to hell, you gotta get 
through the burny bits! at inopportune moments. Its fun.


Sam.


***


It was four in the morning when the rooms speaker snapped to life.
...Breen Samuel, you have a call from... Earth, America, New York
Patch it through.
Lisas voice came through. Im not getting a visual.
Theres just a speaker here, I said. You know what I look like.
Im imagining you with hair all flattened and pillow creases in your face.
Exactly.
What kind of place are you in? They have visuals on prisonships, for Christs 
sake.
Prisonships? Who do you talk to there?
Uh... never mind. My attorney 
Lisa, why are you calling me? Do you know how expensive it is?
My works paying for it. We do a lot of business in that sector, so no onell 
notice.
Nice. I relaxed.
By the way, what the fuck are you doing there? Anything important? Other than 
drinking and stalking lunarians?
We have classes and stuff during the day. About the planets were going to, the 
culture there and that kinda crap. But were grouped together in sectors, 
because its usually one person per planet
Youre the only person going to Octavia? There was a satisfying measure of 
concern and awe in her voice.
Yup. Might be the only offworlder there. Other than the occasional tourist. So 
the classes are kind of pointless, because its so general. Ive been trying to 
get a jump on the language, though.
Why bother? With your swanky new Speak-O-Matic 
My stomach lurched as I remembered. I lost it. 
Oh. There was a pause. Sam? Im waiting for the punchline.
I put it down in a bar and that was the last I saw of it.
...Aw, man.
Yeah. So luckily the Octavian language is hypothetically compatible with a 
humanoid brain. Thats about all I know so far.
They cant send you home for not having a translator, can they? she asked.
No, its not an official requirement, I said. The topic exhausted me, so I 
chose a new one. Oh, I know why youre calling prisonships... its a new 
boyfriend, isnt it?
Funny youd say that. I gotta date tomorrow night. Hes taking me to a dance 
recital in Persia. There was a lilt to her voice that was either excitement or 
crowing.
What!?
Thats right  youre in the theory stage, while Lisa Industries has already 
moved to the development phase. Ill let you know how it goes. And of course, 
since Is goin out first, I actually dumped you.
I smiled in the darkness. Like hell! We had a mutual 
Mutuals boring. As soon as I hint how delicately I let you down, and your 
subsequent offworld retreat 
Ill just get on the horn right now and tell everyone Im snogging lunarian 
models 
But youre hopeless at lying, Sam, thats what I always liked about you. She 
yawned and I wondered what time it was there.
And youre hopeless at being evil, Lisa, thats what I always blah blah blah. 
Hey, you know how they say blah blah blah in Octavian? Allum allum allum.
She barked with laughter. Well, Im glad youre learning how to be flippant in 
another language. She paused. Im going to miss allum allum allumming with 
you, Sam. Weve hung out for what  three years now?
I thought back to when the Prague scrap had been. Yeah.
Anyway, this has been a standard business call length, so gotta go. Have the 
widgets arrived at the docking bay, Mr. Breen?
They certainly have. Im one happy customer, Ms. Kamac.
The speaker clicked. I scooted under the sheets some more and looked up at the 
ceiling, where the light from outside had stamped oblong rectangles.


***


Near the end of orientation we went on a field trip. It was with the three other 
guys who were going to my sector: Matthew (who I already knew), Hugh (the 
irritating lunarian at the table when I met Matthew) and 9/3 (a roboman who, 
like most robomen, scared and impressed me).
Im so thrilled youre coming with, Hugh said to the roboman as our shuttle 
shot out into the black expanse. It was the first thing any of us had said, so 
it sort of sat there.
Why? the roboman replied. His voicebox needed calibrating, it was really 
staticky.
Well, what with robots being so much faster and stronger than humans, quoth 
the prettyboy. It offers me a level of comfort.
The robomans square head swivelled to stare at the guy.
I just sat there, motionless. I dared a glance at Matthew, who was also frozen, 
his eyes noticeably bugging.
The lunarian noticed the red lights glowing at him. He shifted uncomfortably in 
his restraints.
I am a roboman.
Precisely, thats
Not a robot. That is your word for a robotic slave with no brain. His head 
didnt move.
Oh. But
We have a word for humans, but I do not use it... for politeness sake. I 
half-hoped hed say it: fleshpots. Id never heard a roboman say it, cause 
usually if they did they were just about to attack you. 
His head swivelled back into place with a sharp hydraulic whine.
Im sorry, Hugh said, his eyes downcast. I just... he trailed off, which was 
a good idea, cause I noticed the robomans eyes flicking to red again. 
Well, Im Sam. Sam Breen, Earthling. Toronto, specifically. Its on the N.Y.C. 
line, I clarified.
Matthew Chan. Im from Earth, too. The eastside. Asia.
The roboman and the lunarian looked at each other and the lunarian tilted his 
hand. The roboman said, I am from Roboworld. My name is Nine slash Three dash 
zero zero zero one.
Youre from the progenitor line, I said.
Yes.
The lunarian looked confused at this, and said softly, Im Hugh. From 
Darkside.
There was a silence.
So, I said to 9/3, Whats your function?
Matthew rolled his eyes at my robo-savvy chit-chat. There was a pause, so I 
looked over at 9/3. His eyes appeared dimmer.
I have no function.
Matthews eyebrows lurched in surprise, as did mine. No function?!
It was a trip destined for social blunders, it seemed. We spent the rest of it 
in silence, watching the green planet grow from a pebble to something much 
larger.


***


Matthew had one arm around 9/3s shoulder and one around Hughs. They were 
smiling and sweating; even 9/3s metal seemed to glisten. Behind them was a 
valley of obscene lushness, a smooth green made softer by the mist.
OK? I asked, amazed by Matthews ability to put his arm around anyone for the 
sake of a picture.
Matthew nodded, grinning.
I pushed the button.
Thanks, guys, Matthew said, patting them both on the back. 9/3s back rang 
hollowly, which awakened my old curiosity: how much of the boxy design of your 
average roboman was for actual circuitry and wiring and how much was for looks? 
I had never asked the other guy I knew, which got me thinking about him...
Hey, I knew a roboman back on Earth. He was cool. He played bass in my friends 
band.
9/3 didnt respond. 
It wasnt bare enough to sit down and admire the view, so we were sort of 
standing around in this tree-circled clearing. It had taken us a good little 
while to get up here, so I didnt want to head back right away even though I was 
kind of nervous out there. Surrounded. I couldnt stop wandering in circles, 
pretending to admire the view like some vacationing tourist but really checking 
the perimeter.
Matthew finished mumbling into his recorder-pad. He saw me looking at him. Sent 
off the pic to my girlfriend.
Faithful guy, you, I teased. He had sent a five minute clip of the whole bunch 
of us at the bar, singing a regional song about Poikapoik. I asked him how shed 
liked that.
She said it was too expensive to be sending clips back.
Smart.
Hugh had been listening. Im beginning to wish Id brought my pad.
Im beginning to wish Id brought my pad, 9/3 repeated exactly, except for a 
whiny buzz of static. 
Hugh looked at him quickly, hurt shock on his face. 
I am making an audio-visual recording of this expedition. You may have access 
to it, 9/3 explained. I had thought he was being mean to Hugh, which amused me; 
then I realized he was being kind, which surprised me pleasantly, too.
Hugh looked at Matthew for a second. Hugh had been pretty quiet on the hike, and 
when I looked at him now I could see the fatigue hanging on his body. Howd 
your girlfriend feel about you leaving for Squidollia? he said, his eyes 
nervous but intent. 
Well, shes from there, so she was really happy at first, Matthew said, 
pulling a leaf off a tree. It was almost a perfect circle, its stem in the 
centre. As the time came closer, she was kind of bummed out. But we had already 
told her relatives there and everything. So I was committed for the year, 
anyway.
So she was Squidollian. That explained the relationships intensity, which was 
very similar to Octavians in that respect.
You leave any broken hearts behind you, Hugh? Matthew asked.
Hugh was squatting, drawing in some dirt with a stick. Not unless you count 
mine. He was tracing squares and bisecting them.
Damn. Empathy was breaking up the jealousy clots.
Well, lets get out of this creepy place, Matthew said.
I whipped around. You think its creepy, too?
Matthew nodded. Yeah. I feel like the place is gonna grow right over me.
What? said Hugh. How can you
What I hate about it the most, I ranted as we started walking back to the 
ship, how peaceful it looks from a distance. But when you get close up its, 
like, got a million insects all over it. Totally sneaky.
But thats the marvellous part, is how theres life everywhere here. Its 
teeming with creatures of every sort, said Hugh, his eyes wide and his thin 
arms moving as he spoke. Look at this tree.
I stopped and looked. It was a tree as broad as a city transtube entrance, maybe 
five times as high. It was a dark brown, and every inch of it was covered with 
these intricate swirls. It made me dizzy to look at it.
Its like an apartment block for the animals here. 
Matthew was annoyed by this. Oh, I understand now, and started off.
Hugh was looking up at it as if he wouldnt mind moving in.
Earth used to have trees, I said to him, following Matthew. Im not 
unfamiliar with the concept.
Have you ever climbed one? Hugh asked, innocently enough.
Matthew shot back what I would have classed a warning look. 
Hugh wasnt looking. He kept on, Its a lot easier back home, of course. When I 
was young I could pull myself up with one hand.
I heard Matthew mumble something sarcastic about how perfect the terraformed 
moon was, getting worked up. It was the heat, none of us were used to it. He was 
quickly putting space between himself and Hugh.
I looked back. Hugh was trying to keep his bangs out of his face, blinking sweat 
out of his eyes. He tried to wave 9/3 ahead of him but the roboman silently 
insisted on taking up the rear. 
I fear Im slowing us all down, he said with a painfully shamed smile. You 
know what they say about lunarians...
Since Matthew was annoyed, I felt it was OK to ease up. They say a lot of crap. 
Were not in any hurry. I said, picking up a pebble to show how relaxed I was. 
Is your teaching planet as high-grav as this?
No, its about halfway between home and this.
This is good training, then, said 9/3.
Hugh gave a rueful nod and we continued on. Before we landed the shuttle, we had 
scanned the planet and mapped out the easiest two-hour hike. It was hard going  
while the grasses were low in this area, there was only the roughest of paths 
that we ourselves had made on our way up to the clearing. Each step met with 
some resistance; a tangle of grass, or an unseen root, or just a dip that was 
obscured that you had to compensate for. It was as if the surface had been 
randomized. I was getting a little stumbly myself, and Im used to higher 
gravity. So it was hard going.
We were only half-way back when Hugh collapsed. The first time, he got up 
himself, smiling and bright-eyed in the way of the utterly exhausted. The second 
time 9/3 had to pick him up. And he picked him up entirely.
I will carry you. You are dangerously weak.
I didnt want to stop and turn around because I knew Hugh would be mortified. I 
couldnt hear what he said, but got a general sense of his futile resistance.
9/3s staticky voice carried, though. That is not a concern. I have enough 
energy in my atomic battery to carry 100 of you 4,504 times the distance back to 
the ship.
Mechanical exactitude had a way of carrying machismo to a whole new level. 
Theres a good reason robomen heroes dominate the action movie genre. 
I listened for further resistance, but there wasnt any more discussion except 
for the heavy steps of 9/3 and the occasional cracking of branches under their 
combined weight.
I speeded up a little. The path dipped down for a while and then climbed back 
up. It was an unusual sensation, a pleasant level of exertion. I had never liked 
running, and walking was too easy  the slight incline was perfect. It was like 
finding the ideal thickness for a protein shake.
Pretty soon I was back at the shuttle. Matthew was sitting against the landing 
gear, no longer looking annoyed. I flopped down beside him. The landing 
thrusters had caramelized and smoothed out the area nicely. Ah, flat ground, I 
said gratefully, feeling it warm under my hand. It had been autocooled, of 
course, but then the sun had got at it.
We watched the forest. I wondered about Lisa, thought about how well shed get 
along with Matthew, imagined them meeting.
Why did they send us to this overgrown rock? Matthew said. Its nothing like 
the planets were going to.
I shrugged. I think its a get-to-know-your-sector-buddies thing. Theyre 
pretty serious about us hanging out with our fellow English speakers  thats 
why we get free travel in our sector. So we dont go nuts.
Free travel. Still cant believe that. Too bad were stuck with a blockhead and 
a moonboy.
I smirked despite myself. 9/3 seems OK. Hugh is a little irritating, except...
Except when hes extremely irritating? Matthew said, yawning. It was getting 
dark.
I willed myself to argue, although I basically agreed. All lunarians talk in 
that fakey-fake way. Its not his fault.
Oh yes it is, said Matthew without thinking.
Why did that stuff about the tree bug you so much?
Matthew grimaced. It sounded word-for-word like the crap my dad spouts. Before 
the rise of the bourgeoisie, Earth was a glorious garden. Such bull. I traced 
our family tree back. Weve been living in cities as long as theres been 
cities.
Parks not parking! I said, fist in the air. In university, I was sympathetic 
to the regrowth cause, but not because I wanted a forest to frolic in. It was 
the threat it presented to the powerbrokers that really interested me: valuable 
real estate turned into public land. 
We had time for a spirited debate on activism and a discussion about the 
attractiveness of a certain female in the orientation before 9/3 and Hugh 
finally arrived.
We heard them before we saw them, the rustling. Then I saw movement, and the 
glimpse of 9/3s eyelights, and then they emerged. 9/3 cradled the lunarians 
wisp of a body against him. Hugh was sleeping, one hand on 9/3s chestplate. His 
mouth was slightly open. 9/3 was walking extra slowly so as to not wake him up. 
This was one strangely considerate roboman.
We quietly walked up the ramp and into the shuttle.


***


We were taking a break in the middle of the Emergency Situations seminar. A 
pretty good one, actually  this army guy described some pretty gruesome 
situations involving offworlders caught in the middle of wars, ecotastrophies 
and the like  the moral being, Register with your planets consulate. A bit 
dramatic, but effective. 
How was your cultural history class? Edifying, I hope?
Hugh was standing beside me, sipping a cup of water. 
Not too bad, I said. Not really specific enough, though. How was yours?
Similarly inadequate, he said, looking at his nails. Everyone going to 
planets with dominant symbiotic species were thrown together. Very little was 
said about my planet, not that much is known about the exact relationship 
between the Unarmoured and the Armoured.
Other than that the Unarmoured write better love songs than the Armoured, I 
said, smiling a little. Hugh was obviously going out of his way to talk to me, 
but there was no need to make it overly easy for him.
He looked at my face and seemed to be trying to see if I was making fun of him. 
Yes. A lot can be gleaned from their art. In fact, most of my studies dealt 
with extrapolating societal norms from their verse. 
Huh, I said non-committally, thinking about how many women would love to talk 
with Hugh about his poetical extrapolations. As if he read my mind, Hugh 
suddenly left.
Later that day I sat with him during dinner. He seemed happy to see me. 
Samuel, he said with a nod. It was potatoes done lunarian style, with sweet 
onion bulbs, so Hugh had a huge plate of it.
No way youll finish that, I said.
Hugh shrugged and grinned, scooped his fork in.
So what interests you so much about the Unarmoured? I said, determined not to 
let my petty jealously get the best of me.
Hughs face lit up, and he set his fork down. Its the extremity of the 
situation. Theyre given the choice between being stripped down to a cloud of 
nerve endings  the ultimate in vulnerability  or being strapped into a 
mechanical block, a suit of armour  the ultimate in defence.
I find it amazing they co-exist peacefully, I said.
Or do they? said Hugh, pointing a finger at me. There have been rumbles about 
the exact nature of their symbiosis ever since the part the Unarmoured played in 
the war. But to me their governance is less important than their symbolic value. 
Defenceless and free, or armoured and trapped? Isnt it a delicious analogy for 
the social mask every sentient being chooses? He lifted his hands up as if to 
frame the question.
I shrugged. I doubted many people would enjoy being a delicious analogy.
9/3 sat down, foodless of course. That sounded interesting, he said. Ever 
since Hugh had fallen asleep in 9/3s arms they had been close. Go figure.
Just talking about the Unarmoured, Hugh said. The only thing Im an authority 
on.
A group of lunarians walked by and waved at Hugh. He waved back distractedly, 
looking around. Wheres Matthew? Hugh asked. We could have our whole sector 
crew here.
He went bowling with a bunch of people. To that place we passed on our way back 
from that green planet.
Hughs eyes widened. The one with the bowling pin carved out of a meteorite? 
Blast, I wanted to check that out.
Its gotta be two meteorites stuck together. Its too huge, I said.
He said he wanted to send a picture of it back to his girlfriend, 9/3 said.
After a moment, Hugh said cautiously, I know very little about relationships on 
your planet, 9/3.
There are no relationships on Roboworld. Officially.
Officially? I asked. So there are relationships.
9/3s eyes blinked assertion. 
Hugh said, I met a roboman who seemed to travel endlessly. He talked about 
being involved with an offworlder. He said he didnt want to go back to 
Roboworld.
Really? I said.
9/3 said, It is unacceptable for a roboman to have singular emotional congress 
with another. Those who do are said to be defective, and treated accordingly.
Defective. That made me feel a little sick.
Kalen passed by at that point, one of the Earthlings with an eye on Hugh. Hey 
Sam. Hugh. We nodded, Hugh scraping up the last of his potatoes. Lunarian 
style, Kalen pointed out.
Hugh flashed her a brilliant smile. Right you are.
Kalen patted 9/3 on the head. Hi 9/3-0001!
Hello.
See ya later, she said, and sauntered off.
No one said anything, the clinking of fork against plate being the main sound. 
9/3 finally broke the silence.
Flirt.




three




Do you realize theres a low level hum coming from your torso? I asked him, 
finally.
We had been waiting for a full hour, and that weird hum had been there the whole 
time.
Oh. Sorry, 9/3 said. I did not notice that.
I felt bad, snapping at him like that. Its my nerves. Just a little worried 
that our co-teachers havent shown yet.
I am, too. That is what caused the sound  it is an imperfectly muted warning 
alarm caused by stress.
Huh. I didnt know robomen got nervous. Sometimes its hard to remember that 
theres a human brain swimming around in that iron case. Not that that made them 
human, exactly, but it looked like some things still held true.
The transfer spaceport was quite dead, which was good. It was a small place and 
I didnt think I could take Montavians crawling all over me. There were a lot of 
them, but not enough for their famed different-concept-of-personal-space to kick 
in. Montavians and Octavians passed by in equal numbers. 
The Octavians, naturally, were of particular interest to me. They lay on their 
sides on their floating platforms, their bodies insupportable in the oxygen 
atmosphere. They were soupy bags of flesh, a single tentacle raised to the 
controls. I stared at them openly, thinking that this spaceport may be the last 
place that I could look at them as aliens. Soon, Id be the outsider.
9/3s nervous hum started up again. I looked at him and it stopped instantly.
I chuckled. Hey, 9/3, if you had Richardson in front of you right now, what 
would you do? 9/3 had been suspicious of the co-ordinators competence since 
the beginning, and now that he had warning alarms going off because of him...
The robomans arm stretched out and a flame-thrower nozzle protruded past his 
tri-pincers. The pilot light popped on like an exclamation mark.
I would think of something, he said.
I barked a laugh. 9/3s static-tinged voice suited his low-key dry wit 
perfectly. The people passing by were staring openly at us now, veering away, 
and you couldnt really blame them. When 9/3 retracted the nozzle, the 
people-flow straightened out.
I have already filed reports with the four most relevant agencies.
Good, I said. You can add my name to that letter.
There was a pause as he did just that, his eyelights going offline briefly.
The loudspeaker spoke in a language I couldnt understand, but some nearby 
Montavians cocked an ear. Ah, Montavian, I said wisely.
9/3 looked at me. It is good you have been studying. Without a translator, you 
will need it.
Thanks, pal.
I have heard that some co-teachers have a very low level of English and must 
rely heavily on the translators.
Nothing good would come out of my mouth, I knew, so I clenched my teeth. 
Why are humans so inefficient? 9/3 pondered.
Why are blockheads so fucking blockheaded? I exploded. Twenty-eight hours on a 
ship, and now this crap?
9/3 looked at me, and I stared back at him.
I did not mean you, he said.
Well... you dont even know it was Richardsons fault, I said. It could be 
your host.
It would have to be both our hosts, then. 
Yeah, I admitted. Fuckin Richardson. Probably on the vapours when he made the 
arrangements, the goddamned... 
Maybe, 9/3 said slowly, they do not recognize us.
I snickered. Yeah, were kind of hard to spot.
Ha ha, 9/3 said. 9/3s laugh always cracked me up, so we were in the middle of 
a laughter avalanche when our hosts finally showed up.
They were the only Octavian-Montavian pair I had seen, so I waved on a hunch. 
They waved back in the slightly loose way that people from non-waving cultures 
do.
We snuffled and chortled our way to a full stop by the time that they got across 
the room. Maybe it wasnt the most professional, but it was better than catching 
us while I was spouting xenophobic slurs or when 9/3s flame-thrower was 
activated.
I checked my watch. Dead on the hour. I looked at 9/3 and his eyes flickered, 
his way of nodding. 
Richardson gave us the wrong time, he grated so that only I heard.
Very glad to meet you, my Octavian co-teacher said, after positioning his 
platform so his head faced my way. He lifted his head a few inches, with great 
effort. I am Laz Cha Zik. You may call me Mr. Zik.
We had split off to meet our hosts privately. I heard 9/3 address his 
co-teacher, a tall Montavian (almost 36) in another language. The munchkin 
looked relieved.
I fought an urge to apologize immediately for not having a translator, and 
instead just introduced myself and stuck out my hand. Mr. Ziks tentacle waved 
out and slapped into my hand. It was dry, but there was a slight stickiness that 
I had been warned about.
Luckily. Because if I didnt know that it was from micro-suction cups, I would 
have obeyed my instincts and wiped my hand on my pants. Wars have been started 
for less, and it would certainly make for a less-than-auspicious beginning to a 
working relationship.
So... said Mr. Zik. 
9/3 and the munchkin were talking a mile a minute. 
Mr. Zik smoothed his head crest, then said, Shall we go?
Sure, I said, turning to 9/3. He was setting the Montavian on his shoulder. 
The Montavian smiled at me and fiddled with something behind the robomans head. 
9/3s neck hissed briefly.
So, Ill uh, give you a call, I said to 9/3, wondering what in the hell was 
going on.
The Montavian clambered back to the ground. 9/3 lifted his head off and handed 
the cube to his co-teacher. Yes. I will stay in touch, he said, from the tiny 
mans arms.
The Montavian nodded to us and left with 9/3s head. 9/3s body sat for a few 
more seconds, then stood up and walked in the opposite direction. 
I looked at Mr. Zik and said, Weird!
He took a second to process it, then said: Yes.


***


We walked through four entire docking bays before we found it. They were smaller 
bays than at an intergalactic spaceport, but werent by any means small. Mr. Zik 
tried to keep his platform at a regular speed, but kept shooting ahead.
How was your trip? he asked.
Kind of rough. I drank too much coffee and so I couldnt sleep.
Ah, he said. Coffee. He made a hissing sound. Drinking coffee makes me... 
jumpy? He looked at me.
I didnt know what he was asking me.
Is that right? he asked. Jumpy?
Yeah, thats right, jumpy. I said authoritatively. The teaching had begun! 
They had hoses on the ship where you could get any beverage you want, so I 
drank too much. I love coffee.
Mr. Zik nodded. We stopped in front of a large gold saucer. There is no coffee 
on Octavia, he said, perhaps sadly.
Oh, I said, certainly sadly.
Mr. Zik pushed a button somewhere on his person and there was a bleep. The ramp 
started to lower.
This is a nice saucer. I havent seen rocket thrusters on a saucer before. I 
pointed to them, two large chrome pipes right below the back window.
Mr. Zik paused on his way up the ramp. No, he said. They arent rocket 
thrusters. Theyre... thrusters.
Another... kind of thrusters? I fished.
Yes! He continued up the ramp and I followed him. Im sorry, I dont remember 
the word for the kind of thrusters. He made the hissing sound again, which I 
decided was probably a laugh.
Thats OK, I said. Your English is very good.
No, he said. Its very blad.
The cockpit had been rearranged to facilitate the platform. He moved in close to 
the control board and his tentacles swept out across it in a languorous way. We 
were airborne in half the time a human would need to take off.
Wow, I said, as we manoeuvred through the asteroid belt that surrounded the 
station. Having eight appendages is really useful!
He laughed softly, his head still on its side, watching the viewscreen. It is 
useful for driving... not so useful for walking.
Well, knowing how to walk isnt very important for people on Octavia. Most 
humans cant swim very well.
He watched the viewscreen and said nothing. I waited for a while, to see if the 
conversation was paused or finished. I knew there were questions I should be 
asking, but I was so tired my brain felt like there were cables cut in it, the 
frayed ends sparking. I looked out the window and thought about how good it 
would be to get some sleep.
Traffic was really light, just the occasional saucer passing us every couple of 
minutes. Saucers were very popular here; they never really sold well on Earth 
because the first models were all manual control and got the rep as being 
death-traps before the fully automatic ones came out. But I always liked them  
one of my best friends in high school had built one from scratch, pretty much, 
for shop class. He had to keep it at school, though, cause his dad was a bigot 
who thought that driving anything without a motor meant you were an alien 
sympathizer.
I went on a road trip in a saucer once. My friend Pete was a really good 
pilot.
Why did your friend fly a saucer? Mr. Zik asked.
Why? ...Uh, well, theyre really cheap. A lot of students get them because they 
dont need fuel and you can fit a lot of people in them.
He nodded. I see.
I thought about telling him about how the young people also like how it pisses 
the xenophobes off, but decided against it. A lot of my friends swear by them. 
Do you know that phrase?
Yes. Swear by them.
Yeah, they think theyre more reliable than floaters.
Pause. Yes. More reliable. More efficient, too.
It had become quite busy, saucers on every side. Gold was most common, and the 
rest were silver. It was an odd feeling, because I was used to floater traffic 
with only the occasional saucer thrown in. As well, the guy behind us was really 
close. I was about to mention it when I noticed we were just as close to the guy 
in front. 
Sit down and connect your seat blelt, said Mr. Zik. We are ablout to enter 
the stratosphere.
I did just that, thinking about how pleasantries disappear with the stress of 
speaking another tongue, and suddenly noticed something.
All the signs in the saucer, down to the little seat-adjuster, were in English.
Why are the signs in English? I blurted.
They are made for explort, said Mr. Zik. We will reach the entry ploint in 
four, three, two, one, now.
The gravitational shift felt like a too-tight halter-top. The idiot behind us 
got even closer and I was sure he was going to be up our ass. I was alternately 
watching him (his outer shell was starting to glow with the heat of re-entry) 
and squeezing my eyes shut (they always give me problems during gravitational 
transitions) so I guess I looked a bit frenzied.
Are you OK, Sam? Mr. Zik said worriedly.
I wrenched my head to point it at him. Uh... I said, staring at the Octavian. 
The grav did funny things to his skull-free head, pulling back the skin of his 
face against soft cartilage. His eyeholes were huge and cavernous, his mouth 
grew larger.
Are you sick? he asked. The gravity will blee normal soon.
His head returned to normal as the gravity lessened, but I could still see it.
Im fine, really. I was just shocked... I stopped. What was I gonna say? That 
he looked a bit like a monster?
I am sorry. The gravity is very... plowerful.
Uh, yeah.
I am very sorry.
No problem, its my fault.
He slapped a few controls. Are you ready?
I nodded. We dropped like a rock, aerodynamics eventually turning us sideways. 
It was hard to gauge how close we were getting to the water, because we were 
approaching the landless side of Octavia so there were no landmarks to gauge our 
distance or speed. The viewscreen was a solid blue-green for twenty minutes.
As soon as we hit the water the thrusters came on. Bubbles whooshed out of the 
pipes behind us. Ah, hydrothrusters, I identified.
Yes, Mr. Zik said. Hydro. I forgot. My English is not so good.
I shook my head no.
The saucer traffic was just as tightly packed underwater. We were headed down in 
a diagonal, but there was no scenery to speak of this high up. I tried to keep 
my eyes open but the drone of the hydrothrusters eventually had their way with 
my exhausted self, and I nodded off.


***


I had an anxiety dream about being torn apart by aliens with squashed-skull 
faces, and woke up a little contemptuous of my subconsciouss lack of 
imagination. We were level now, and were going through what looked to be a small 
town.
Where... My mouth felt weird. My whole face felt weird, actually. What? I 
moved my arm around and watched Octavias atmosphere ripple faintly.
I filled the cablin with our water. I was told it was easier for humans to 
adjust to our atmosphere when they sleep. Are you OK?
Yeah, Im fine, I said, breathing in the water oxygen, in and out, in and out, 
letting it fill my nose and lungs. I had only panicked once, back in 
orientation, and that was because I was still feeling the side-effects of a 
chemical cocktail Matthew had made for me the previous night. 
I looked at Mr. Zik, upright for the first time. The points of his headcrest 
bobbed slightly and were much healthier-looking than when they had been strands 
hanging limply over his platform in the oxygen atmosphere. The platform had been 
tucked out of sight somewhere and Mr. Zik reigned supreme from his cockpit 
chair.
My feet felt funny, and I realized I was wearing cotton socks. Odd that I would 
remember to water-treat all my clothes but the socks, but I didnt mind the 
discomfort  it drove home the fact that I was somewhere very different.
Where are we, exactly? We were passing the buildings too quickly to see 
anything but ribbons of coloured light.
We are in Plangyo.
Plangyo. I had first seen the name four months ago, on my work contract. It was 
hard to believe I was actually here. I stared at the viewscreens with a new 
intensity.
Mr. Zik, noticing this, slowed down. Storefronts selling unknown products 
represented by mysterious colourful pictures. A building with a crest on the 
gates and a guardhouse that could have been an army base or city hall. A block 
of apartments, with kid-sized saucers tied to the balconies.
We turned into a small apartment building and parked. Mr. Zik lowered the ramp 
and gracefully left the saucer with a kind of skipping lope. I stood carefully 
and followed, hanging on to the handrails and getting my sea feet, appreciating 
the reversal of our comfort levels.
Most people I talk to back home are under the painfully ignorant assumption 
(painful for me too, since these people are my friends and I expect better from 
them) that the atmosphere of Octavia is the same as the oceans of Earth were 
before the draining, except you can breathe in it. And I have to say, No, look, 
its got stronger gravity. Its almost exactly half-way between swimming and 
walking. Really, though, its incredible how much Earthlings dont know.
I was walking so slowly that the ramp started to retract before I got to the 
bottom. Mr. Zik started fumbling for his key chain but I jumped  enjoying my 
slow movement through the atmosphere  and landed on my feet, socks squelching.
He led me into the apartment and turned the light on. There were a few pieces of 
furniture there, which I was happy about, because we were warned that we were 
guaranteed an apartment but not necessarily furnishings.
Im sorry, blut I must go now. Tonight, I will come black and help you clean 
the aplartment, Mr. Zik said.
I wandered into the bedroom. The bed was a simple single, but that night my 
wearied brain couldnt have seen a finer object.
Tonight I will be asleep. In that bed. I said, pointing demonstratively.
Yes, of course, you are very, very tired, said Mr. Zik, and his hiss-laugh. 
Call me for anything, even a small thing. He left, pulling the door shut 
behind him.
I took off my clothes and was in bed before they had floated to the floor.


***


Flsfjhas lsfheriheu fjshflahdoe Sam Breen. Fheoi ejkthjad goirteoi gdkgjvn?
Underwater! drowning! Im fucking drowning! I frantically started swimming for 
the surface. 
My flailing got me about three feet in the air before I remembered where I was. 
I floated back to my bed, weighted by shame and blankets.
Flsfjhas lsfheriheu fjshflahdoe Sam Breen. Fheoi ejkthjad goirteoi gdkgjvn?
Quick, what was it? How do I say yes? Whats Octavian for 
En, I said, screwing up the intonation completely.
The vidphone lit up the room, and an Octavians face started to fade in.
Visuals off, visuals off! I yelled, pulling my sheet up to my chin. Was it 
even Mr. Zik?
Uhh... falfje elrelj, said the person on the screen. The vidphone image faded 
out. 
I am sorry, Mr. Zik said. Did you wake up?
Yeah, its OK. What time is it, anyway?
Its nine oclock, Plangyo time.
I set my watch, something Id avoided doing since I left the orientation. I was 
going through so many systems, some that didnt even keep time, that there had 
been no point in doing it before now. I noticed the needle on my aggrometer had 
registered my waking terror.
Your luggage has come. It is outside.
I started pulling on clothes. Right now?
Yes. Can I come to your aplartment?
Uh... I guess so.
Pause. Is it OK? he asked.
Its fine, come over, I said, smoothing out my blanket.
The speaker clicked off without a good-bye.
I went to my front door. The windows were letting in a blue-green light, and my 
suspicions were confirmed about just how dirty the living room was.
When I opened the door, a line of droids buzzed in.
Ido? they said, in turn. They each carried a box of stuff, and I recognized 
the scrawl on top as my own. Ido? 
Ido?! What was  oh yeah! Where?
I tilted the box of the nearest one so I could read it. Kitchen Crap.
I pointed towards the fourth and last room in my apartment. I was a little 
scared to check it out, considering how nasty-dirty the rest of the place was. I 
pointed the other droids on their way.
Other than the little trails of bubbles they left, and the fact that they had 
metal tentacles instead of arms, they were pretty standard-issue droids. 
Or so I thought. One of them, on their way out, brushed my sleeve  and didnt 
apologize. Not in any language. That was surprising.
A noise from outside distracted me. I looked out the window. Mr. Zik was getting 
out of his saucer. He hurried to my door.
He surveyed the scene. Good, he said. I was worried you would have trouble.
Oh, no, I said. They said ido, and I knew that meant where?
Very good, very good. He looked around, then quietly ordered the droids to do 
something. They all pulled an attachment from a small compartment in their backs 
and used it to clean the floor.
Great! I said. I didnt know they could do that. Droids on Earth are a lot 
more job-specific. They can only do one job, I clarified.
Mr. Zik nodded. Octavia was very ploor until this century. We could not afford 
too many droids.
I happily watched the little guys go about their work. I had been wondering how 
I was going to go about cleaning in an aquatic atmosphere, and now I didnt have 
to bother.
Mr. Zik just stood there. I didnt know why he had come over, exactly, and I 
couldnt ask him without feeling rude. Im going to look at the kitchen, I 
said to him, pointing at it. I havent seen it yet. I went to bed right away 
last night. I put my hands together and rested my head against them in the mime 
for sleep.
Mr. Zik didnt react, just followed me. I realized how stupid it was to mime for 
a person who obviously understood English perfectly. Also that I had no idea of 
how Octavians slept. 
The kitchen was pretty much like an Earthling kitchen. Mr. Zik floated by me and 
started opening up cupboards, two or three at a time. In one of them, he found a 
bottle. Ah, Zazzimurg!
Whats that?
Its a... tea. Traditional Octavian tea. He shook it and watched it settle, 
opened it and sniffed it with his stubby nose. And it isnt too ripe.
Lets make some, I said, eyeing its dark brown colour with caffeine lust.
While he busied himself with that, I rifled through the cupboards. There was 
quite a bit of stuff there, although most of it didnt have any English on it. 
Whats this?
It... is a kind of Octavian flour.
I picked up a box with a cartoon chimp on it. The green chimp looked half-way 
between insanity and ecstasy. I angled it his way.
He laughed. Ssss-sss-ss. Candy. For children. He was holding the teapot with 
one tentacle, the kettle with hot water in another, and the bottle of distillate 
in another above his head. With the end of that tentacle, he unscrewed the cap 
and tilted the bottle.
The distillate came out in a thick brown stream, moving with unnatural slowness, 
arcing towards the teapot. Then he started to pour the boiled water, which came 
out equally slowly, gleaming carved silver. After he stopped pouring the 
distillate and before it entered the pot there was a second when it was a stream 
unconnected to anything, like a bent rusty bar.
I watched it, mesmerized. I knew liquids would look different poured through a 
soluble atmosphere, but I never imagined itd be so beautiful. Mr. Zik had put 
the bottle away and shut the cupboard by the time both streams had entered the 
pot. He sealed it, breaking my gaze, and set it down on the counter. I stared at 
it like it was a genies lamp.
Is that... I mumbled, is that a ritual?
Mr. Zik was putting the kettle away. Ritual? No, he said. It is just making 
Zazzimurg.
One of the droids came in and said something to Mr. Zik. He nodded and the droid 
bobbed off. I wondered why it hadnt talked to me. Was it programmed to favour 
Octavians? That was illegal, but possible...
What are your plans for today? he asked me.
Um, nothing really. No plans. Other than cleaning this place from top to 
bottom, unpacking...
Would you like to go on a trip?
Uh... sure?
Wonderful. He waited a second and looked around the kitchen. Can I use your 
vidphone?
Yeah, of course.
He turned on the vidphone and spoke with another Octavian, one wearing a rainbow 
coloured bandanna who gesticulated a lot. I poked through the cupboards.
Something was happening in my brain. I was able to note an outlandish bandanna 
on an Octavian without it registering how odd that was. Now that I did register 
it, though, the first thing that came to mind was how hilarious my friends back 
home would find it when I told them.
And that wasnt quite right either.


***


We had been on the bus for four hours before I cracked.
When will we arrive, Mr. Zik? 
My voice was very conspicuous. Four people looked and a half-dozen more wanted 
to. It wasnt as if I was the only one speaking  there were two guys up near 
the front who were really loud, and attracted no looks despite their volume.
Mr. Zik told me that wed be there in two hours. I didnt ask where there was.
The seats were really quite appropriate for human dimensions. After four hours, 
however, the differences became more significant. I wondered how 9/3 was doing 
in the land of the munchkins. 9/3 didnt have to worry about leg cramps, mind 
you. The image of 9/3s body walking headless through the spaceport came to 
mind, and I made a mental note to call him when I got back.
If I got back. It was Friday, and I figured there was a good chance of getting 
back for Monday. But for all I knew, I wasnt scheduled to start work until the 
following week. I really didnt know anything. What prevented me from asking was 
one of the things they had taught us at orientation.
With many cultures, youll find that their concept of duty is far more 
important. This was from a tall thin man just back from a year of teaching. 
For instance, the Squidollians take being a host very seriously. Amongst a 
group of friends, theyll take turns being host  and the host pays for 
everything, arranges everything, takes all the credit and blame for everything. 
And being an offworlder means that youll probably never get the honour of being 
a host. A happy murmur went through the room. 
Yeah well, it cuts both ways, he said. Youll never pay  and youll never 
really belong. Anyway, have some faith in your host. Often offworlders badger 
the host with questions about everything, and this can be taken as a kind of 
insult  cause youre basically questioning their ability as a host. Here  on 
Earth that is, not here here, I think Im home already  saying someones a bad 
host is kind of a joke. There, its... not.
Are you uncomfortable? asked Mr. Zik.
No, its not so bad, I lied. Maybe I can put my legs out here... I stretched 
them out in the aisle, watching for a reaction. A little girl, who was playing 
with a little human doll, looked at me and then back at her doll. She seemed to 
make a connection, but stayed quiet about it.
But why was the doll not shaped like an Octavian? I watched how the girl played 
with it: moving the doll through the air in the slightly wavy way Octavians 
moved, using its legs to pick up things as often as the arms.
There wasnt anything in the orientation against asking toy questions, so I went 
for it. Mr. Zik, arent there Octavian dolls? I nodded towards the girl as I 
said it.
He nodded. Yes. The human dolls are very popular. More popular.
Huh, I said. No further conversation ensued. I may have gotten the impression 
that all Octavians were closed-mouthed but for the two polar opposites of Mr. 
Zik at the front of the bus. And in fact, the whole bus refuted the idea that 
Octavians were the same  there was every shape and size.
Every Earthling has seen a beautiful Octavian model  her shapely upper torso 
ending in suggestively undulating tentacles, her mysteriously pupil-less eyes 
and an upswept headcrest  but she bore little resemblance to the people on the 
bus. Closest were the two giggling schoolgirls, make-up-less and plain, who kept 
looking back at me. The old man two seats over was terrifying to me, his head a 
withered old balloon and the soft skin that ridged the top of his head lined 
with purple veins. And there was a middle-aged guy in a suit and tie who was so 
fat even his tentacles moved sluggishly. Despite his appearance, the round 
crackers he was eating made me think about how hungry I was.
I watched the scenery in an effort to take my mind off my stomach and my 
bladder. The huge pink and grey columns of rock and the scrub brush were good 
for about thirty minutes before I started thinking viciously intolerant things 
about people who didnt have bathroom breaks. 
The bus headed off the main throughway.
Great! I said.
Yes, we will stop to use the toilet. Are you hungry?
Im starving!
Mr. Zik stared at me blankly.
Im not really starving, I just feel like Im starving.
Ah yes, he said. Starving. Ssss-sss-ss.
A second after I said starving I had been worried he would take it as a 
criticism of his hosting, but evidently he wasnt that sensitive. I relaxed a 
little.
We piled out of the bus and I headed towards the bathroom with an icon of an 
Octavian with thick tentacles (thinner tentacles and cocked head indicated the 
female) and I got into a booth. Poised on tiptoes, I whipped out my johnson and 
let it fly.
It was easier than it would have been in an oxygen atmosphere. Id say about 80% 
accuracy. 85%, even. Not bad for a first try. And I wasnt the only one to have 
missed the hole in the wall today, either  why did they make it sdamn small? 
But compared to a lot of alien toilets, this one was only mid-range challenging. 
At least it stayed stationary.
I left the booth, washed my hands and walked out, hearing a few indecipherable 
comments and laughter in my wake. I found Mr. Zik outside the restaurant and we 
went in. There were a couple of policemen eating soup over a small table, their 
zap guns holstered. They stopped eating to watch me walk to the counter.
When the counterman turned around, Mr. Zik pointed to himself and said 
something. Then he pointed to me and said something else. I smiled uneasily.
Sligllgy blick?! asked the counterman, his eyes wide..
En, sligllgy blick. Koogeem. Then they laughed together.
Koogeem meant offworlder. I smiled and nodded, repeating my mantra: Trust 
your host, trust your host.
The counterman prepared the food and brought it to us, two plates of 
seed-speckled seaweed, red dumplings and other vegetables that I didnt 
recognize. 
Oh Kay? said the counterman when he gave it to me.
At first I thought he was speaking Octavian, but then I figured it out and 
nodded.
OK! he confirmed, and the policemen behind us laughed.
I kept telling myself that I was lucky to be on a planet with human-suitable 
food, even if I had to eat a lot of it by Octavian standards. I took my fork out 
of my pocket and started eating.
I knew this would cause a bit of a stir. We had been warned that a fork may be 
mistaken for a weapon and so it was best to start eating with it immediately. 
The policemen made gestures towards it and looked to be deciding who should ask 
me about it. I ate quickly and kept my head down.
They think your fork is very interesting, Mr. Zik said.
Really? I said, eating faster.
I was just trying to buy myself some time. Im not going to dwell on it, but 
Octavians are messy eaters by our standards. Weve all heard the stupid 
sea-monkeys-in-a-posh-restaurant jokes, and there is an element of truth to 
them. 
One of the policemen, in an endearingly bashful way, sidled up to me. I kept 
eating. Then he said, Can I... food-tool? His friends were watching intently.
Mr. Zik said something to him. The policeman quickly slurped the remaining food 
off of his tentacle-ends and then held one gleaming one out. I scraped the last 
bit of food into my mouth and gave him the fork. 
His friend, mouth ringed with soup-stain, came over to get a look at it.
Fork, I said, pointing at the silver utensil.
Fork? he said. I confirmed. He said Gheithih fork, eoituihvv slork! to his 
friend and Mr. Zik laughed, too.
It sounds like a word in Octavian, Mr. Zik said.
I nodded. 
The policeman feinted at his friend with the fork and his friend jumped back.
I waited for their fun to be exhausted, wondering if Id ever get it back. How 
much would it cost to get a new one sent here?
Now he was using it to pretend to eat from an empty plate, though it seemed to 
be more to get the feel of it rather than mock me.
I belched quietly, realizing I had hardly tasted my dinner in my rush but that 
one of the vegetables had left a pleasant aftertaste. Mr. Zik finished his food 
and put his plate to one side. They saw that as a sign and handed the moist fork 
back to me. I took it with the tips of my fingers, which would have been rude if 
they had understood it as a slight.
Good-bye, I said.
The one who had first approached me stuttered out a good-bye, much to the 
amusement of his friends.


***


The saucers acoustics seemed to be designed to amplify the noise-sound Mr. Zik 
made.
I looked back out at the countryside and tried to reconstitute my shattered 
daydream. Scenery of this sort was new to me: the grey hills of coral rock 
sparsely dotted by pink and green bushes were a sharp contrast to stimulus-rich 
Earth. Every half an hour or so wed pass through a town, a welcome rush of 
people and buildings, and Id scour them for a bizarre storefront or a 
mysterious activity that would keep my mind busy until the next town. Because 
the space between each town was so long and empty, the trip reminded me more of 
space travel rather than any trip Id taken on Earth.
We were headed for the surface. Mr. Zik and his friend Mr. Oool had promised 
something very interesting and wonderful there. Mr. Oool, who we had met up 
with last night, was having no trouble sleeping despite the occasional bump and 
noise-sound. What I had mistook as a bandanna on the vidphone was actually 
traditional Octavian garb  the multicoloured scarf went around the neck and 
also entwined itself around all eight tentacles. Often Mr. Oool would chew on it 
thoughtfully, which I suspected wasnt traditional.
We passed over a whole row of the green bushes, and their vines stretched out to 
us in our wake, wiggled and floated back down to the ground. Small round forms 
that had been scared out by the sudden animation went back under the bushes. 
What were they? I was about to ask Mr. Zik about them when I was struck with the 
regularity and the abundance of the bushes.
Are these... farms? I asked him, incredulous.
He nodded. Octavia makes all its food on Octavia.
I almost said what I was thinking  too bad  when I realized there wasnt any 
embarrassment in his admission. How outrageously inefficient! I thought to 
myself.
Thats why... no coffee, said Mr. Zik with a smile. Sorry.
No, dont apologize... I said, thinking to myself: The only reason we have it 
is because people like Mom keep the Neb slave planets producing it...
Mr. Oool came awake with a hacking cough. Hello, he said.
Good morning, Mr. Zik and I said in tandem, and then we all laughed.
Are we to the destination? Mr. Oool said. We had been travelling for two hours 
already  on Earth, we could have done a world tour. It was a real conceptual 
puzzle: Octavia was half the size of Earth, and yet felt twice as big due to the 
transport systems and the low population density.
We are very close. You are like the child, I think, said Mr. Zik to Mr. Oool. 
Always ask, to the destination? To the destination?
Mr. Oool had a laugh twice as big as his body merited. Ftehui iruet faeiu? he 
said in a whiny voice, poking Mr. Zik in the neck. Ftehui iruet faeiu?
Are we there yet? I guess-translated, and Mr. Zik confirmed it.
Making an impressed noise, Mr. Oool asked me if I spoke Octavian. I laughed and 
shook my head. You have a translator? he asked.
My good humour shrank under this cold reality. No, I said, watching Zik from 
the corner of my eye. He didnt react for a second, then he did.
At home? You have? he said, looking at me directly for the first time this 
trip.
No, I said, looking out at the town we were bombing through.
No one spoke. 
Mr. Oool took his scarf out of his mouth. So, you learn Octavian. No problem.
Yes, I said, foolishly grateful. Yes.
Mr. Ziks face was expressionless. A few seconds later he made the nostril 
sound, and my heart jumped because I thought he was going to say something.
A few minutes later he parked and we got out. It was exceptionally bright and 
humid at this elevation, and there were quite a few people milling about. Mr. 
Oool immediately went to buy us bladders of iced Zazzimurg tea at a concession 
stand, and then we went through the ornate gates.
The Line, pronounced Mr. Oool, pointing up at the lettering on the gates. It 
was only then that I noticed the sky. When you look up on Octavia, you usually 
see an indistinct grey-blue haze, with no discernible horizon. But suddenly, the 
horizon was there, a few feet from the top of the gates. Wow! I said, starting 
to point but then, feeling dumb, let my finger drop. It was just the Line, after 
all.
We walked a bit more into the park and came across a titanic statue of an 
Octavian in bleached coral rock, some of its tentacles unfurled to the ground 
and some of them lifted to where the water met air. 
Where breathable water met unbreathable air. It made me dizzy to think about it. 
Mr. Oool and Mr. Zik simply began loping up the nearest tentacle, and I followed 
them.
When you say Dont mention it what does it mean? asked Mr. Oool, his eyes 
bright, handing me a bladder of iced tea.
What? I asked, looking away from the kids playing on the uplifted tentacles to 
meet his eyes.
Thank you. Dont mention it. You know?
I looked at Mr. Zik for guidance but he was in his own world, sucking at the 
corner of his bladder.
Oh, I said. Its like, Youre welcome.
Same-same? he said, his blue-black eyes fixing on me. No difference?
Well, there are certain nuances and connotations  I thought, and stopped 
myself. Uh... well, no, there is a small difference.
He waited. A kid hanging on to his fathers back yelled something at me when 
they went by on their way down.
Dont mention it means that it is a very small thing, too small to say 
thank-you for, I said, warming up a little. It is more polite. 
I understand, said Mr. Oool, and he looked like he did.
Thats an excellent question, I said, meaning it.
Mr. Oool laughed and slapped Mr. Zik, repeating the word excellent. Mr. Zik 
responded with something that made Mr. Oool explode with mirth. I was glad to 
see Mr. Zik had a sense of humour, even if I didnt understand it.
We crossed onto the second tentacle  this one was a little thinner, only about 
four people could walk abreast  and I made sure I was near the middle. It made 
me a bit nervous, even though I knew that a fall from this height wouldnt kill 
me unless I died from embarrassment. An old Octavian couple passed by and said 
something that made Mr. Zik look at them sharply.
What did they say? I asked.
To know the time, he said. I glanced back, caught them staring at me.
Now that we were close, I had trouble taking my eyes away from the Line. It was 
a giant wavy mirror that stretched over the entire world. I could see, distorted 
but distinct, the three of us walking together  or rather, the smooth slide of 
the two of them beside my jerky bipedaling.
We got to the tip of the tentacle. The Line was perhaps four inches above my 
head, a reflection of my face etched in silver. It looked faintly absurd, my 
average flattened features on such a gorgeous canvas, but I couldnt look away. 
My neck muscles were beginning to complain about the constant tilt, so I looked 
around at the other three tentacles that were raised up to The Line.
All had kids on them who pushed their tentacles into the Lines surface. Their 
parents, having done the same as children, watched on passively, indulgently. 
The surface gave, stretched astonishingly, but didnt tear. One stone tentacle 
was so close to the Line that the children mashed their faces against it, their 
soft heads twinned and intent. I wondered how my more solid skull would fare.
I reached out my hand and pushed the metallic rubber, gently at first, and then 
pushing all the way to the wrist. The surface enveloped it, warm, yielding, and 
when I stopped pushing it ejected my fist. I looked over at the stone tentacle 
closer to the Line and wondered what would happen if I stood up there. Would it 
stretch to accommodate my whole body to the waist? Would I be able to see the 
sun, the surface  nothing but water? Or would the Line press against my 
eyeballs and blind them?
Is it bloring to you? said Mr. Oool. Too bloring, I think, he said to Mr. 
Zik.
No, its not boring, its very interesting, I said, in a daze. What would 
happen if I broke through? Found myself on the other side? Could I get back? 
Would I be stranded?
Is interesting to children. Keeds, Mr. Oool said. 
I touched the Line again, slid my fingertips across it and watched the lethargic 
ripples. On Octavia, I said. I am a child.




four




So the cool thing is that Mr. Zik apologized for them. I had just recounted 
the story of the fork-curious police.
So he knew how gross it was? said Matthew from the vidphone.
Yeah. His tentacles were not clean. I didnt expect it. But then, Mr. Ziks a 
rare gem. No evil drunk like the guy you have for a co-teacher.
Hes not evil. Hes just real irritating. Hes kind of sweet. And he really 
wants me to like him.
I went to sit down on the couch  way down, since most Octavian furniture was 
close to the ground. Matthew looked around the room, or as much as he could from 
the vidphone. So as you see, I said, sweeping my arm across my boxes, I 
havent had enough time to unpack any boxes. We left on our fantastic voyage 
twenty minutes after they arrived, and got back... I checked my watch, forty 
minutes ago.
Thats all Ive had energy for, said Matthew. Unpacking. I havent even seen 
the town yet. Well, a little at night.
Oh  I almost forgot, I said. How have you found the whole see-through-walls 
thing?
Not too bad. I had kind of psyched myself up for it. They actually stare a lot 
less than youd think  when its part of the culture to be so open, people 
really respect privacy in a strange way.
Huh. So you dont feel like youre in a zoo?
Matthew adjusted the pillow he was sitting on. Not really. Because I can look 
at any Squidollian in their home, too. And they really only stare when Im on 
the toilet or eating. Especially eating, which theyve got an endless 
fascination for.
So have you got a normal toilet?
Matthew arched his eyebrows. Yes, I got an Earth-style toilet. Its very 
abnormal for Squidollia 
Yeah yeah whatever, I said, embarrassed at my faux pas. Well see how you 
talk if you gotta crap in one of them sideways johns.
Matthew looked pained. Already have. We were in the goddamned bar till seven in 
the fuckin morning!
Drinking the whole time?!
Yeah. 
Both nights? 
No. I begged off at three last night, after learning the joys of ralphing into 
a sideways toilet. Through liquid atmosphere.
I laughed. Nice!
I dont find it a big deal at all. The liquid air thing. Im used to it 
already. Matthew ran his hand through the atmosphere quickly and left a trail.
Same here, I said.
So tell me about this trip you went on, Matthew said.
Naw, I said. Itll take too long. Ill tell you when we get together. Im... 
still kind of absorbing it all now.
Matthew yawned. OK. Man, I cant believe Im yawning. I got up four hours ago.
Youre screwed. Dont you have to work tomorrow?
Matthew smiled. Nope. Triumph Over the Hurtful Days.
What?
Its a school holiday to commemorate the long Squidollian struggle for 
freedom.
I rolled my eyes at his pious tone.
I feel very strongly about it, especially since it means I get to sleep in 
Bastard! I looked at my watch. No wonder youre so damn chatty. I have to get 
my work clothes ready for tomorrow. Theyre probably all wrinkly.
All right, Matthew said. Ill get in touch with the other guys and well meet 
soon.
See ya.
Matthew nodded and the screen winked out.
I started pulling boxes open, looking for my clothes.


***


I was tricked out in a suit and tie, my hair slick from the shower. I looked at 
myself in the mirror. I tried to convince myself I looked like a Venusian 
gangster, but I didnt buy it. 
Checked the time. Still ten minutes until Mr. Zik was supposed to arrive. I 
would have liked to leave right away, to be swept along with the constant 
demands and distractions that come with the first day of anything new. Instead I 
found myself getting reflective in front of my reflection.
My genetically bestowed square jaw and heavy eyebrows gave me an authority I 
despised. My broad shoulders made me look good in a suit, and I hated it. It 
wasnt the first time I had donned the uniform of the ruling class  but it was 
the first time I had done it voluntarily.
I knew it would drive Mom crazy if she knew. She had made some fairly big 
concessions in an effort to keep me on Earth.
She even went offline while she discussed it with me. I was used to talking to 
her as she scanned the net retinally, watching the light flicker in her eyes and 
the rapid blinking as I talked about the political demonstration I went to or 
the band I saw the night before. She would frown and her voice would sharpen if 
I mentioned anything that may have threatened my profile graph  she knew 
nothing about my pug scraps, until the end  but usually she would respond with 
a vaguely positive murmur.
Samuel, she said, a few days before I left. I was trying to get a sandwich 
together in the kitchen before I met up with Skaggs in Paris, so my head was in 
the fridge. I could tell it was serious, though, from the tone of her voice.
Id like to make you a final counteroffer. Her arms were folded, and thats 
when I noticed she was offline.
The last counteroffer, through her assistant, had also warned me that it was the 
final one but I didnt bother pointing that out. I did try, you know. OK, lets 
hear it, I said as I cut the bun open in my hand. 
Use the cutting board for that, hon, she said, distractedly. Theres an entry 
level position in the media conglom. Low stress. No physical presence needed. 
Fifty hours a week, but most of that just on call.
No suit or anything, huh? I said, chomping into the bun, holding my hand under 
it to catch the crumbs.
Just for the prelims.
I scowled a bit, pretended that really disturbed me. Mom rolled her eyes.
I dont think so. Thanks anyway.
She shook her head. Open file, recruit: Breen, Samuel. Light danced across her 
eyes as she accessed my file, adding to the angry sparks there. Mark it closed. 
Erase file.
I smiled. That was dramatic, since she could have done it by blinking rather 
than voice. How are you doing with the new school crop? I said pleasantly. 
Better than ever, she snapped, still online. Who in their right minds would 
turn down a conglom job?
This Urasan spread is just delicious, I said, my mouth half-full.
And you know that... offworld job doesnt qualify you for any of the trust 
fund
Oh, I know. Why dont you do something with it?
I cant invest frozen money, Samuel. The market is so good right now. There 
would be four or five investments that would be just perfect.
The look on her face was frustrated misery. It was a look that wouldnt have 
been out of place when Jane left, or Grandpa died, but it hadnt been there in 
either of these cases. 
I decided to cut to the chase. You know I dont want it, I snapped.
You dont want to be out of debt?
I dont want money that was made from planetary renovations. The slave planets 

Oh, stop that  that neo-abolitionist nonsense was fine for your university 
days, but theyre over now.
I had finished my sandwich and walked out, saving my rage for the scrap that 
night.
In front of the mirror, waiting for Mr. Zik, I wondered how much the Urasan 
spread cost on Octavia. Or if the green delicacy was even available. And if my 
mom would ever get worked up about anything other than a missed business 
opportunity.
I saw Mr. Ziks saucer pull up, and I went out to meet him.
You look very handsome, he said, his tentacles rippling with pleasure.
Thanks, I said.


***


I nodded and smiled, trying not to wince every time the old guy looked at me. 
His eyes were traced with red and white cracks. He said something, and I was 
sure he was asking about my translator.
Supervisor Lok would like you to be very welcome, translated Mr. Zik.
Supervisor Lok was sipping his tea, unfortunately opening his mouth to do so. I 
thanked him in Octavian. 
He nodded, looking out the roof. There was a dome window that looked quite 
expensive. I looked up at it again. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I 
glanced over at Mr. Zik, who was incredibly nervous. He kept smoothing his 
headcrest down, and glancing between the two of us. I felt a little sorry for 
him, and tried to answer the ugly little mans questions properly.
I sipped at the tea. It was woody with an unpleasant sweetness.
The office of the supervisor was plushly furnished, and didnt look like a lot 
of work got done in it. I looked over at the supervisor, who was calmly drinking 
his tea, and felt a surge of dislike for him for the anxiety he caused Mr. Zik. 
He wasnt doing anything to encourage it, from what I could see, but neither did 
he try to lessen it.
The supervisor said something else, holding forth for a few sentences, a 
tentacle poised in the air.
He said that you are an important part in Octavias... desire to become more 
galactic, Mr. Zik told me.
I nodded, and waited for the rest. Nothing. Was he a redundant blowhard, or was 
Mr. Zik choosing what to tell me? Not that I necessarily wanted the long version 
 I had heard the party line already. To remain/become competitive, planets had 
to learn the tongue of trade: English. Only a few could afford the expensive 
English-translators, and most Earthlings were contemptuous of non-English 
speakers anyway, so the solution most planets gravitated towards was a.... blah 
blah blah. Allum Allum Allum.
Mr. Zik was staring at me, his tentacles bunching and unbunching. For his sake I 
delivered the appropriate response.
Teaching English to your citizens will give your planet a commercial advantage. 
Its a good investment.
Mr. Zik translated, making it two or three sentences long. 
Mr. Lok stood, offering a withered tentacle to me to shake. I did. He said 
something to me.
You are a very handsomebloy, he said.
I smiled at Mr. Lok, who fixed those awful eyes on me, and tried to reciprocate. 
Honestly. Your... office is very comfortable.
Good-bye, Mr. Lok said.
After we left, Mr. Zik said, I didnt tell him what you said ablout the 
office.
Thats OK, I said, smiling at a person with files that we were passing. It 
was pretty meaningless, anyway.
Mr. Zik looked thoughtful.
It was unimportant.
Oh, I see, he said. Ssss-sss-ss.
We walked out of the school board building and I almost asked him why hed been 
nervous, but it felt like I would be implying that he was stupid or cowardly for 
being so. So we got into his saucer in silence. 
Soon the gates of the school came into sight. My stomach leapt, and I was 
surprised by my own nervousness. The building was white, with glints of windows. 

Is that it? I asked.
Mr. Zik nodded.
We parked and passed through the gates. There were children around the entrance 
who moved aside to let us through. They had brooms and bags.
Zik oewiru, eoit fljnt fadntr he? one called.
Kllletnroj fldaj rnui Sam Breen, English oewiru, Mr. Zik said brusquely.
I looked back at them and smiled. That started everyone talking at once.
Hello! someone said.
I looked back and said hello.
This prompted a few squeals and a couple of follow-up hellos. I didnt respond, 
since we were almost out of earshot. One of them said something that made Mr. 
Ziks head swivel. 
He didnt respond to it, but to me he said, They are the blad students. They 
must clean up the ground.
I looked back at the bad students and they looked like they were already talking 
about something else. Ahead, a few windows went up and curious heads stuck out, 
their tentacles sticking out over the windowsill.
Mr. Zik walked smoothly and calmly through the halls. I followed, feeling clumsy 
with my two-legged gait. The groups of students twined their front tentacles and 
bowed to him, and some of them even made this polite greeting to me. He said 
something that sounded friendly without being chummy. Was this the same Mr. Zik 
who had been shaking with terror twenty minutes ago?
He turned into the staff room and glanced back to make sure I was there. I 
straightened my tie, yanked on my cuffs, donned a blinding smile, and walked 
into the room.




five




Hi Lisa,
Welcome to Plangyo. Are you a criminal?
So yesterday Im going about my business. Not doing anything out of the 
ordinary, except Im taking a little more time than usual to buy my vegetables 
since they have physical currency here (5 Beeds = 1 Intergalactic Credit, I feel 
rich!) and I cant read the signs and Ive never seen a double-barrelled 
cucumber...
No, Im not complaining. Just explaining why I was holding up the line. I had to 
put everything on the counter to pull out a handful of beeds and for some reason 
people thought that was really funny  Octavians dont often run out of hands, I 
suppose. I was probably blushing to beat the band (archaic English idiom Im 
using to make you feel dumb) and when I did get a handful of their damnable 
(though admittedly quite lovely) spherical currency out of my pocket two dropped 
to the ground.
The laughter stopped suddenly at this point and I still dont know why. Were 
they at first amused by my awkwardness, but then shocked and moved to pity at 
this proof of how extreme my clumsiness was?
I handed the correct amount of beeds to the cashier (there was a read-out, 
luckily) but before I could go crawling for the dropped balls (now rolling away) 
the female behind me in line picked them up.
I put out my hand and smiled, trying like hell to remember Octavian for 
thank-you. She had them sticking to the suckers on her tentacle. She looked at 
my hand for a second, and then put them on the counter! She actually swerved 
around my filthy human hand to do it!
I scooped up the two beeds and looked at her, dumb-struck. She had dipped her 
tentacle into her purse and came out with beeds running along its length, one 
for each sucker. Then she sort of twined it with the cashiers tentacle for a 
second and the cashier deposited the money into the cashbox. All I could think 
was: she wouldnt drop something into my hand, but twining with a stranger was 
just fine.
Then she pushed by me to leave. After I stared a few daggers into her back I 
checked my aggrometer  surprisingly, a few notches below the red zone. 
I got my double-barrelled cucumber and turned to leave, and some budding 
comedian spits out Hokay-thank-you-come-again to the merriment of all 
assembled. This cut me free  I felt the giddy light-headedness of white rage. 
Balloonhead, as you call it. I swayed there for a second, looked at my 
double-barrelled cucumber and reminded myself of a few things: Octavian 
atmosphere made a fastball punch into a lob. Octavian boneless physiology made a 
lob punch rather ineffective. Which, as you know, is one of the reasons I chose 
Octavia in the first place.
By this time, the people in the store had gone about their business  having 
tired of staring at the freak clutching the cuke  and my aggrometer needle had 
stopped rising and started sinking. 
And that was just the beginning.
So a few steps from the store this cop comes up to me and says, or rather 
gestures, that I should come with him. I had this sudden paranoid flash that I 
had broken a law by dropping a beed, like how it was illegal on some planets to 
desecrate the flag, and that I had been reported. Of course I hadnt thought to 
even register with the Earth consulate, even though I had had plenty of time. 
(And no, I still havent.) So we get to this little police booth  the rather 
sinister crest above the door involves several snaky looking creatures  and go 
inside.
Theres a fat Octavian inside there, looking mighty pleased with himself. Thats 
when he welcomes me and asks me about being a criminal.
Before I can say anything he busts out laughing, a few bubbles even coming from 
his nostrils. Joke, that I thought of!
How proud you must be! is what came to mind, but dry wit doesnt suit this 
atmosphere. Doesnt suit it at all. Instead I said, That is a very funny joke, 
in a tone that sarcasm doesnt begin to describe.
Nauseatingly, this puffed him up even more, and he immediately said something in 
Octavian (except for criminal joke very funny) to the guy who had brought 
me in. I watched the little guys face and his nervous smile and noticed he only 
had one little snake pin on his collar to fat-boys five.
Unds English, very good! the little guy said, more to his beaming boss who 
didnt even refute it  quite unusual, most Octavians Id met were very modest. 
I gathered that I had been arrested to give Und an English lesson.
What are the snakes for? I asked, determined to get something out of this.
He looked at me, his mouth slightly agape. Snakesfor? he repeated, the crest 
above his eyes furrowing. The little guy said something quickly in Octavian and 
my host dismissed him with an undulate of his tentacle.
I pointed to the silver pin on his collar once the underling had left. Snake, 
I simplified. Why?
Ah, he started. Me, Mr. Und. He counted the pins. One two three four five. 
Five very good! He, Mr. Plon. One. One not good. He laughed.
Yeah yeah, I thought. Rank-proud fuck. No, I mean... I pointed to the snakes 
on the police crest on his chest.
He laughed again. I see! I see!
His eyes narrowed with the effort. Before, he finally said, waving a tentacle 
over his shoulder. Snakesfor... help Octavia.
I couldnt be bothered pressing for details. I see, I said, forcing a 
satisfied smile. Then I stuck out my hand and said Glad to meet you. Good-bye.
It was pretty much as easy as that, although he made me promise we would go 
drink ujos, the local poison. When I walked outta there I instantly felt better 
 I wasnt gonna have to call up Mr. Zik to get me out of jail, at least, and I 
knew it would make a good story for you.
Anyway, Plangyo  ah Plangyo. Known primarily for having the best cucumbers (not 
the double-barrelled one I was buying, but a grey-skinned sister) and very 
little else. Unless you count me, the only resident offworlder, the right to 
whom they won in a lottery. They actually won the right for three years of 
teachers, of which I am the second  Plangyos the testing ground for the 
Octavian English program, which has progressed to the point where every kid is 
capable of yelling hello.
I had been led to believe that the planet was had been pretty much levelled 
during the I.G.W. but it turns out that the west side of the planet and the 
major cities got the brunt of it. Farm towns like these still have a lot of the 
traditional coral houses, although Mr. Zik says that most people prefer the 
rounded apartment blocks.
Evidently, one of my predecessors complained about the rounded floors  the 
Octavians suckered tentacles allow them to use a bit of the wall space, as far 
as gravity will allow  and so I live in the only flat building in town. 
Pretty boring, although its about three times the size of your place. Sorry, 
downtown girl, had to rub that in  no more crouch showers for Sammy-boy!
Id kill to live in one of the traditional ones. Mushroom shaped, beautifully 
coloured, and growing right into the ground. Mr. Zik says that poor people live 
there, because anyone whos anyone wants to live in the modern and convenient 
apartment buildings. Phooey.
Theres so much space here, its unbelievable. It takes me a solid fifteen 
minutes to walk from my apartment to the school, and theres a total of seven 
houses and one small apartment block on the way. Most of the houses are on huge 
plots of land, not because theyre shamelessly rich but because they grow food 
there. Its wonderful, getting to walk so much  theres something about walking 
that lets me think, just like my jetpack flights did on Earth. Must be the 
movement.
Actually, I think Ill go for a walk right now. Night isnt too bad for walking 
around, because it never really gets pitch black. The mushroom houses look 
amazing against the deep purple twilight.
Seeya,
Sam


***


It is Octavian cookie, said one of the teachers, proffering a bowl of chunky 
green diamonds. I took one.
You are handsomebloy, she said.
Thank you, I said. I put away my pad. I had pretty much been writing letters 
all morning  after I was formally introduced, I was shown to my desk and left 
alone. Not ignored, in fact people watched me constantly and smiled when I 
caught them, but no one had talked to me until now.
What do you teach? I asked slowly, biting into the cracker. It was very salty, 
and I had been expecting sweet, so I had to contain a wince.
Me? I teach... science. Science teacher. She smiled. Yes. She said something 
to the teacher sitting beside me that got a laugh.
Your English is very good, I said. I took another cracker. They werent bad 
now that I knew what to expect.
Sank you, she said. You are very different from Jessica.
Who? I said, thinking even as I did so that the name rung a bell.
Jessica. She was the last teacher here.
Ah. I had seen the name on the class schedule across the room. I looked back at 
it, all written in Octavian except for the past teachers name spotting it here 
and there. I had felt a silly twinge of hurt pride that my name hadnt been put 
up in its place.
She half-human. You all human, the science teacher said. You bletter teacher, 
I sink.
I smiled, even though it was bullshit. There were plenty of people of mixed 
species at the orientation and they spoke English as well as me.
Jessica very good friend me. 
Where did Jessica live?
Same apartment. 
The whole time?
The science teacher furrowed her brow. She had the sheen of oil on her tentacles 
that older Octavian women wore, and her features were made-up in Earthling 
style. (Octavian faces being already quite humanoid, the make-up mostly 
consisted of darkening the hairless ridges above the eyes and shading the cheeks 
so as to de-emphasize the slightly different angle of the cheekbones.)
Did Jessica complain about the apartment?
The science teacher shook her head and shrugged. I dont... sink I understand.
Mr. Zik glided into the staffroom, a book curled in one tentacle and a mug in 
the other.
Time to go, he said, taking a sip. Ready?
I nodded, but what I was thinking was: Theres no steam coming from that mug. I 
wont be able to stare at the steam curling from my coffee cup for a year.
I had already stood up and put on my jacket on automatically when the science 
teachers awkward stance yanked me out of my odd funk.
Its... very nice to meet you, I said, smiling and waving perhaps too 
enthusiastically. But I would have felt like a jerk underdoing it, since she was 
the only person who went out of her way to be nice.
Her face lit up and she waved a loose wave.
As we left the room for my first class, I scanned the other teachers. Instead of 
the intense surveillance I expected  some part of me expected to be caught 
before I could impersonate a teacher  they were all going about their business. 
Getting ready for classes themselves, writing stuff down, and in one oldsters 
case, drifting off to sleep. 
I imitated Mr. Ziks regal bearing as nearly as I could, staying close in hope 
that his teacherial aura would encompass me as well. Out in the hallway, a 
cluster of girls turned to us like sunflowers. One of them, tall, wore a bow on 
her head. When we turned the corner to the stairs she called out Hello! and 
her comrades giggled and hooted.
I looked back and waved. She buried her face in her tentacles and the giggling 
intensified.
You are very plopular, wow, said Mr. Zik with a smile. 
On the ramp to the second floor there were boys playing with a yellow ball that 
disappeared when they saw us. Mr. Zik said something mild to them and they 
scattered, flowing down the ramp.
The science teacher is very nice, I said.
Mr. Zik nodded. Yes. Her husband is a news-teller.
Oh.
Her name is Mrs. Pling. He slid open the door with a flick of his tentacle.
Pling, Pling, Pling I repeated to myself as the class saw me and started to 
froth over like a test beaker. Luckily, Mr. Zik was a stabilising agent.
Good morning, he said to the students, a few of which were still running about 
the room to their desks. One student was cleaning the board, an expectant smile 
on his face. I heard someone gasp, Handsomebloy! Oh!
I smiled and smoothed out my tie. Mr. Zik said something in Octavian. The class 
laughed. One girl asked Mr. Zik something, plucking at him.
Ask him, he said with a smile, pointing at me. She buried her head in a tangle 
of tentacles and made an embarrassed-alarmed sound: waah!
The boy cleaning the board handed the brush back to me with four twined 
tentacles, his eyes wide and grin infectious. Thank you, I said, relieved that 
I didnt have to mumble through the Octavian translation  in fact, this being 
English class, I shouldnt speak Octavian.
This is Sam Breen. He is from Earth. He will blee your teacher. He nodded to 
me.
It seemed to me like he had already used all my best material. What else could I 
say in simple, easy sentences? What the fuck was I thinking? Teaching? Me?
Hi! I said, smiling as broadly as human physiognomy would allow.
Hello! said forty unreasonably excited children.
If I had my goddamned translator I... I what? What would I say to them, even 
with a translator? It would be a good prop, I suppose, something official to 
fiddle with... 
Write something on the board drifted up to my consciousness, perhaps from 
orientation.
I took off my blazer to buy some time, and the female part of the class made a 
siren sound like a line graph, rising and falling, against a solid giggle 
background. A little alarmed by this, but completely without a response, I 
turned to the board. As I picked up a black marker and wrote my name, I tried to 
figure out why taking off my blazer had that kind of effect. Octavians didnt 
wear pants, just a loose multi-armed shirt to cover their chests, so it was kind 
of hard to know.
I turned to face them and the class laughed at me. I looked at Mr. Zik, and he 
was poking at buttons on the side of the board. He nodded to the board, which 
had changed my handwriting into proper characters  proper Octavian characters, 
the ones that were closest to the English letters. Then they squirmed back to 
what I had originally.
Sorry, said Mr. Zik. It is automatic.
I looked back at the class. My name is Sam Breen, I said. Repeat. Sam,
Tham! they repeated enthusiastically. I guess I sounded like a teacher...
Breen.
Bleen.
Hmm. I looked at Mr. Zik, but he was gazing benignly out at the students.
Sssssss, I hissed, failing to keep a faint smile from my lips.
Amidst giggles, they repeated.
Sssssssam.
Sssssssam.
All right! I gave them the thumbs-up.
Brrrrrrr, I said. They repeated, but it came out wrong. Brrrr, I repeated, 
this time wrapping my arms around myself and shivering. They repeated, again 
poorly, some of them also miming shivering. I realized that I had no idea if 
Octavians shivered with the cold.
Breen, I said.
Bleen, they said. 
Mr. Zik looked at me. Its very hard.
I nodded and gave up. I turned to the board and started to draw a circle.
O, someone called out, just as I started to colour it in. When he realized his 
mistake he ducked down in his chair, and the boy next to him whacked him with a 
tentacle.
If I cant think of anything else, theyre obviously up for a game of Identify 
the Letter.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a map on another wall.
Ah, I said, leaving my crappy drawing and striding fake-confidently over to 
the galactic map. I pointed to a planet at random. 
I looked out at their rapt, spellbound faces and was temporarily speechless. 
God, it was scary! Was I that fascinating?
Is this Earth? I asked.
No, No! Nooo, and NO! pelted back at me.
Right. This is Earth, I said, pointing to Mars. I watched them expectantly. 
Eventually, No!s started coming.
Mr. Zik hiss-laughed. You are lying. He had taken a seat at the teachers 
desk, and I was glad he was relaxed.
Psycho! someone called out.
Choking back a laugh at this weird bit of vocabulary, I asked Where is Earth? 
As I said it I realized that Earthlings at the same age wouldnt have had a 
spit-on-the-suns-chance of identifying Octavia.
I chose the first tentacle that shot up and a fat kid marched up to the map and 
poked my home planet, then marched away. 
Very good! I said, and the kid raised a few tentacles in victory before he 
thumped back in his seat.
I traced the route between Earth and Octavia, a little amazed at the distance 
myself. It was a long trip. A long trip, I said, emphasizing with my 
outstretched arms. 
The kids were looking at each other. Mr. Zik translated, also stretching his 
limbs. I looked at him and nodded wisely, as if I understood exactly what he 
said, and when he said something that made the class laugh I smiled indulgently.
How did I get to Octavia?
They looked at each other. Mr. Zik stayed silent this time.
Oh dear. I repeated myself.
Rast weeka, one boy called out.
Was he swearing at me? I wondered.
Yesterday, a girl at the front shyly said.
Oh.
Not when, how, I clarified. I wrote both words on the board, for no good 
reason, then crossed out when. How? How did I get to Octavia.
No response.
I mimed driving a floater. Did I drive from Earth to Octavia? I goose-stepped 
down the aisle of desks and back to the front. Did I walk from Earth? They 
laughed, but didnt answer.
Fuck. What was I doing up here? I started imagining returning 
earlier-than-expected to Earth, Moms smug smile waiting for me...
Rocketshipuh, a thin boy at the front said.
Yes! I said, pointing at him. I ran to the map. I took a rocketship from 
Earth to Octavia. I made the sound of a rocket as I traced the route. The class 
laughed, some imitating the sound.
I held up the marker. Draw a rocketship, I challenged.
The kid next to the thin boy pushed and whispered at him, and the thin kid got 
up slowly, watching me as if he was cornered prey.
He took the pen with twined tentacles and wrote on the board: R o C k
Nonono, I said, shaking my head. Some wag in the back repeated it. The thin 
boy flicked terrified eyes on me. I smiled and took the marker back. He got back 
to his desk as quickly as possible, muttering something to the laughing boy 
beside him before burying his head.
Draw a rocketship. Draw.
I shot a look over at Mr. Zik, who was scratching his ear. They know the word 
draw, right? I asked, trying not to stare as the tip of his tentacle seemed 
to slide unnaturally deep into his ear canal.
He nodded, looking unconcerned. Draw a rocketship, he repeated.
Ah! a girl exclaimed, jumping up and then seeming to regret it. I held out the 
pen and tried to make my face more encouraging than desperate.
I was tempted to pretend she was right, regardless of what she did  to give up 
trying to communicate would have been embarrassing for everyone  but I was 
worried about how Mr. Zik would react.
When she started to confidently sketch the upright bullet, complete with landing 
fins and tiny portals, I slowly exhaled. She looked back at me and I nodded her 
on. 
When she finished I gave her the thumbs-up sign. Very, very good. There was a 
short series of popping sounds coming from somewhere but I decided to ignore 
them.
She rushed back to her desk, her face a beacon.
I looked at the drawing and drew a stick figure sticking improbably out of a 
window. I pointed to it and said, Sam Breen, then pointed to me to drive the 
point homer than home.
Laughter. I scribbled beneath the fuselage and made the taking-off sound. More 
laughter. I minimized my smirk, mostly brought on by how lame I was, but found 
myself genuinely fed by the laughter. Who needed sophisticated humour when you 
had childish shenanigans?
I started to erase the board, thinking frantically for something else to do. The 
few things they taught us about actual teaching had all but vanished from my 
memory. I was running out of things to erase...
I could hear Mr. Zik talking to a student with the part of my brain that wasnt 
scrambling. Sam? She has a question.
I turned around and put a friendly smile on my face.
The same girl who had drawn the rocketship stood up. How... old are... you?
Im 23 years old.
There was a murmur of translation, so I wrote the number on the board for good 
measure. The class gave that funny up-and-down wooo of approval. I looked at 
Mr. Zik, a little confused at it. 
Youre young, he said. Thats good. Young teacher.
Another boy put up his tentacle. I nodded to him, but he was really looking to 
Mr. Zik. He stood up and grunted out, Do you... like Octavia.
Yes, I said enthusiastically. Octavia is beautiful. I remembered the 
Octavian for beautiful and said it with gusto. They were impressed, and so was 
Mr. Zik.
Oh very good, someone called out.
A couple of girls stopped giggling long enough to beg Mr. Zik to ask me 
something. He refused. They looked at me and went back to beg Mr. Zik some more. 
He was laughingly adamant. Finally they turned their fearful eyes back on me and 
one of them blurted out: Girlfriend?
Through the sudden deafening noise, I attempted to clarify with Mr. Zik: Do I 
have a girlfriend?
He nodded, calling out something that reduced the noise level.
Uh, no, I said to the girls, and they were happy with this answer. Indeed, all 
the girls seemed to like this answer. What the hell were they planning for me?
Mr. Zik fielded a question in Octavian and translated it. They want to know if 
you would have an Octavian girlfriend.
Uh-oh. Loaded question. Um... I dont know, I said, choosing the safest and 
(coincidentally) the most honest answer. I doubted it, given the problems I had 
communicating.
He translated for them. 
I braced myself for the next question, which I was worried would be if I liked 
younger women. Since I doubted hed be asking me that, I relaxed a little when 
the fat boys hand went up. I shouldnt have, though.
Mr. Zik gave him the nod. He stood up and seemed to rally his energy, then 
blurted it out.
Can-you... sing-a-song?
I laughed at first, and then realized how excited everyone was getting. 
Sing-song! Superstar!
Forcing a smile to climb onto my face, I checked the clock. Mercy, I begged, 
please...
No mercy. There were ten minutes left at least.
I looked at Mr. Zik, who had a look of pleased anticipation. They want you to 
sing a little song, he said.
Uh huh, yeah I know. I licked my lips. Thought fast. Thought mean.
Tell them, I said, That I will sing a song... after he does. I pointed at 
the little bastard who had asked me.
After listening to Mr. Zik, he looked at me and pointed his tentacle at his 
chest, as if to verify.
Yes, you, I nodded with a mild smile, feeling triumphant and guilty at the 
same  the kid was smiling. The little 
He got to the front, a little shy, but still with that plump grin. English? he 
asked me.
Whatever, English or Octavian, I said, still stunned.
He listened to his classmates suggest songs, and he shook his head a couple of 
times and then decided on one. He put two tentacles together and pulled them 
apart, making a popping sound, and the class did it with him, making a rhythm 
section.
He sang very well. I leaned against the board, watching this kid belt out the 
pop song or whatever it was with flair and confidence. He even had this little 
spinning dance move that shot his tentacles out so that I had to move or be hit. 
The only thing wrong with his performance was that it was too fuckin short. 
After the popping applause had stopped (and I had learned that you cant clap in 
a liquid atmosphere) they looked at me expectantly.
Teacher sing-song!
I looked at Mr. Zik, then at the clock, then at their shining happy dreadful 
faces. I had never sung in public. Tough enough to do that. Now my cleverness 
had made it even worse.
Now I had to follow a killer act. And I didnt know any spinning dance moves.
Well, at least in this atmosphere they wont know Im sweating.




six




I bellowed for the waitress. 
Hugh looked at me, his face shock-smashed.
I looked mildly back, shrugged, savoured his outrage. I recognized the vintage  
it was the same I had produced when I was new.
The waitress arrived and I ordered more beer and snacks for us in Octavian. She 
understood what I was saying right off, which was gratifying.
Fuck, Mr. Fluent over here, said Matthew.
Its just restaurant-Octavian, I said. But Ive been picking it up.
Did you have to yell like that? said Hugh, still scandalized.
Its what you do here, said Matthew. Same on Squidollia.
I continued. You cant just catch their eye. Its hard at first  but I 
actually kind of like it now. I feel like Im getting away with being rude.
One of the other tables bellowed for more.
I gave Hugh a see? look. He still looked disgruntled.
We had just got there. Matthew had been there for an hour already, came here 
straight from the rocketship  he was into his fourth or fifth beer and he was 
more intent on checking out the clientele than watching how pissed off Hugh was. 
I had started it, but then he just made it worse.
Spose the Unarmoured have a subtler way of doing it, Matthew said 
distractedly.
Hugh finished his beer in a quick draught. I wouldnt know, he murmured.
Whattaya mean, I said. They must have taken you out?
Yes, he said, rolling his glass back and forward between his palm. But Im 
not with the Unarmoured. Im with the Armoured.
What?! Matthew and I sputtered. Oh man, I thought. Hugh had been dying to meet 
the Unarmoured. What a blow. 
They tested me before I entered the atmosphere. Turned out, by their 
estimation, that I was better suited for armour than stripping.
But you werent actually going to  like, get stripped, were you? Matthew 
said, a rare look of worry on his face. Its irreversible, isnt it?
No, I wasnt planning to... but who knows? Hugh lifted a slight hand in the 
air and let it drop.
We sat and drank in silence to ponder this massive fuck-up in our minds. How 
crazy was that  everyone knows lunarians were like, Earths Unarmoured. And 
Hugh was almost uncannily so. A table of Octavians laughed inappropriately 
across the room. There were maybe four sets of couples there, some of which were 
actually touching each other. The big city certainly was different than Plangyo!
Where is the big guy, anyway? said Matthew, his eyes following a female 
Octavians admittedly hypnotizing trip to the bar. My fascination ended when she 
opened her heavily made-up mouth and brayed at the bartender, but Matthews 
didnt. 
Might not be so big, now, I said, thinking about how the robomans body and 
head had parted ways at the spaceport.
Matthews head swivelled. Whattaya mean?
I shrugged slyly.
The order arrived and I dug into the twisty snacks. Man, I love these things, 
I said, ignoring Matthew. Theyre hot!
Seriously  Matthew started. I noticed a smile on Hugh, and he noticed me 
noticing.
9/3s mounted his head on a small mobile unit with treads, Hugh said, spoiling 
my fun. You know how the Montavians feel about big folk.
Howd you know? I asked Hugh.
When I called him to tell him about us meeting. Dont say anything about it. He 
has no idea how strange 
Thats probably why hes late, Matthew said. It must take a long time to... 
roll anywhere.
I had an image of him as a tiny tank, buzzing obliviously through a crowd, but I 
was distracted by someones hip knocking our table.
Hip?
I looked back.
9/3! I blurted. What the fuck!
On the top of this perfectly normal human body was 9/3s bread box of a head, 
staring back at us.
Hugh opened and closed his mouth. Matthew yelled for another beer.
Whats wrong? 9/3 inquired, taking a seat. I watched as he placed his slightly 
hairy forearms on the table in an unnervingly natural way. His nails were dirty.
We thought you were a tankbot, thats whats wrong, Matthew said, looking a 
bit annoyed. With treads and shit.
Ah. No, that would not have been appropriate for this meeting. It would have 
been foolish.
The beer came and 9/3 made a fist, then used his other hand to pull it out of 
his arm. It popped like a cork and came clean out of the socket. He set it down 
on the table and picked up a mug of beer. He held his fistless arm upright and 
poured the golden liquid into the empty wrist.
Hugh laughed. Marvellous!
I looked at the hand on the table. It was still fisted, and wobbled back and 
forth a bit because of the uneven surface, and when it wobbled towards me I 
could see the gleam of metal inside.
Whoops, 9/3 said as his arm cavity foamed over. It slid down his arm to be 
soaked up by the roll of his plaid shirt, since of course he couldnt slurp it 
up. I had a weird flash of Hugh leaning over to do so, but of course he didnt.
9/3 clicked the fist back into his hand and wiggled his fingers alive. I 
borrowed this body from one of my teaching aides  Theodore.
Youre pretty open minded, I said. Its so... humanoid.
Yes, said 9/3, almost sadly. My... friends would be shocked and disgusted. 
But they didnt understand why I was happy to leave Roboworld, either.
I picked up a mug of beer and Hugh did the same. I raised it to 9/3. A toast to 
the rebels, I said.
Hear hear, Hugh said.
Wheres my fuckin beer? said Matthew.
Youve got a head start on us there, bucko, I said. Reign it in. I dont want 
you wreaking havoc on my planet.
Matthew looked at me with the floating eyes of the Already Tanked and said, 
Gotta take a piss. He left.
So does it absorb it all at once, or does it feed the alcohol slowly into your 
brain? I asked 9/3.
He held up his arm and showed it to me. You see those spots there? he said, 
pointing to a few small dots. When they go away, I am ready for another.
Really!
No. 9/3 said. Ha ha ha. Theyre just freckles. Ha ha. Gullible fleshpot.
Hugh let out an astonished hoot.
Fuck you, blockhead, I laugh-blustered. You aint so tough without your 
goddamn flame-thrower. 
Hes still got the laser eyes, remember that, Hugh said.
Oh yeah. I was just joking. Took a sip of my beer. Spare parts motherfucker.
Ha ha ha. Actually, I cannot power the laser without my body. I am completely 
helpless. Ha ha ha.
I cracked up.
Matthew returned, an anticipatory smile on his face. What?
He called me a gullible fleshpot!
What?! Matthew said.
Yes, and I am completely helpless. Ha ha ha.
We cracked up again. That fucking laugh is unbelievable! I looked around the 
table, amazed that a month ago I had hated Hugh, feared 9/3, and had just met 
Matthew.
I was also amazed by the attention that a noisy table of offworlders got without 
half trying. A cook, or maybe the manager, was framed in the kitchen door. The 
couple closest to us moved their chairs slightly to get more table between them 
and us. No one else at our table seemed aware of it, so it may have been a case 
of host anxiety. I wondered, would I blind myself to this if I could?
They think I look like Sean Plynn, Matthew was saying. Can you beat that? 
Soon as I get into the classroom, its Sean Plynn, You are Sean Plynn.
We all laughed. Hes not even from Earth!
Hugh shook his head with mock grief. Im afraid I dont see the resemblance.
Thank god for that, Matthew spat, Prettyboy.
And how, I said, clinking glasses with him. The clink was muffled and echoey. 
Next time they accuse you of being some lunarian flit you just show em some 
muscles. I whacked my biceps.
9/3 looked down at his own muscles, flexed them. Muscles are a poor substitute 
for steel.
I snagged a waitress and ordered more beer. Once that was done, I held my hand 
up to cover my view of 9/3s head. You know, you look OK like this  like some 
kind of Neb farmboy  or like this, I moved my hand so I couldnt see the body, 
only the head, Thats fine too. But together, I whipped my hand away and said 
slowly, You-look-like-a-total-freak.
9/3 shrugged, holding those too-human hands aloft. Why? I do not understand 
your complaint. 
I looked around. Matthew was doing the hand trick I had done a moment earlier 
and Hugh wore a mild smile. Am I wrong? I asked.
Its just disturbing, is all, Hugh said. Its not that much more unusual than 
a human brain in a robot body, which is the entire population of Roboworld. Its 
just an extreme example of seeing someone with a hat on who never wears it or 
vice versa. Hugh looked around. Frankly, were all freaks, and I dont think 
they can tell the difference between us. What I find hard to understand is why 
the Montavians would want such a large android.
Hes an Earthling model, said 9/3. They use it for English class and... other 
exercises.
Smirks all round. When the talk turns to androids, can sexual innuendo be far 
behind? And would we have it any other way? 
Oddly enough, it was Matthew who saved us from that particular predicable 
conversational black hole. So did you sing? he asked me, his beer mug not 
quite hiding a sneaky smile.
Sing? asked Hugh.
I told them the story.
Green Earth Forever? Matthew hooted.
It was the only one I knew by heart!
A little controversial, said Hugh.
They didnt understand the words, I scoffed. You kidding me?
And there was no chance of them recognizing the tune, Matthew said.
Yeah, I made sure of that. I looked at Matthew. Whatd you sing?
Sing?! he made a dismissive sound. No way. I was ready. When they asked me I 
said it was against my religion to sing. The kid who asked looked ready to hang 
himself.
So you knew about the singing? I sputtered. Fucker! Why didnt you tell me?
Ah, I knew youd do fine, he said with a grin.
Actually, I got a standing ovation, I said proudly. I think it was the 
somersault I did in the second verse that won them over.
Hugh looked at Matthew. An experience youve missed out on.
The beer arrived and 9/3 popped his fist out on the table. The waitress squealed 
in amazement. 9/3 spoke to her in Octavian, his Speak-O-Matic built in. She had 
a plate of fruit as well which I knew we hadnt ordered. She pointed to it and 
spoke, saying a word that I knew and loved: free.
The fruit is free, 9/3 translated. It is to thank us for drinking here.
I knew that, I grumbled. So did you guys bring your translators?
Hugh and Matthew shook their heads. Too risky. You know how expensive they are 
out here?
I shook my head, morose. I didnt want to know.
Youll be OK, Hugh said. Youve obviously got a knack for learning 
languages.
I thought about Hughs recent let-down and took heart from my comparative good 
fortune. And I was picking up words with a surprising ease. I had actually been 
avoiding learning, still pissed about losing the damn thing...
I forgot my translator in my apartment when I went to the store for some 
juice, Hugh said, repugnant protein juice, the staple of Armoured food, and 
when they gave it to me Id forgotten how to say thanks. I felt like such a... 
Hughs face was pruney from the memory, such a... typical human, no manners at 
all. It was the first time in a long time Id felt shame like that.
We drank quietly for the first time that night. Then 9/3 said, The far table 
says that Matthew looks like Sean Plynn.
Ask them if they wanna fuck, slurred Matthew, not looking up from his beer.
Ha ha ha. No.
Matthew sighed.
I gave the girls a long look, and was impressed to see that they didnt bury 
their heads in their tentacles. 
Well, thats a good thing about not having a translator, I said gamely. I now 
have a good excuse for being alone and loveless. Plangyos not exactly a 
fashiontank, either.
They all go to big cities like this for university, said Matthew. But have 
you met your workshop teachers yet? Some of mine are awfully cute...
Im supposed to get them next week, I said.
Lets not talk about work, said Hugh. Im drinking to forget. He looked over 
at 9/3. I got stuck with the Armoured.
9/3s arms jerked. They talked about that for a while.
I looked at Matthew. He was staring right at me with a wicked grin.
....I even told them I did a paper on Unarmoured culture, which was 
embarrassing, because it made me sound like some kind of groupie... Hugh was 
saying.
Lets go whoring, Matthew said to me.
The conversation stopped. Hugh looked at me, his eyebrows raised.
Matthew got up and stumbled for the door.
Id better... I thumbed towards him. Ill meet you guys back here?
I gave them a handful of beeds for our beer and took off after Matthew. I 
pointed the suspicious waitress in their direction, and noticed 9/3 patting 
Hughs hand in commiseration, already deep in conversation.
I pushed the door open (and I really had to push, the liquid atmosphere felt 
like a stiff wind against it) and Matthew was standing there, hands on hips, 
looking down the street like he was directing a movie.
He turned around to look up the street and saw me. That way looks good to me.
I looked up at the sign, and tried to get my beer-addled brain to lock on this 
location. I took note of the clothing store across the way and the small cart 
selling dubious-looking food, and we walked off together towards the dark and 
steamy.
I had noticed two identical clothing stores and three carts before I had even 
figured out what I wanted to say. I didnt want to seem like a sanctimonious 
jerk.
I thought... um... you were pretty dedicated to... your girlfriend.
Matthew looked at me, surprised. I am. What, just cause Im looking for a 
whore now doesnt mean... He looked at me sharply. Youre not one of those 
monogamy freaks, are you?
Well, no, I said defensively, not really. But there was something about the 
exclusive couple that did have a forbidden fruit appeal, perverse and selfish 
though it was...
Man, Im hungry. Those snacks just didnt do it, Matthew said.
Yeah, same here, I said, a little relieved not to have to talk any more about 
it. We stopped at one of the carts and got some breaded fried things on sticks 
with yummy red filling.
You know that guy Simms? Who was on our floor during orientation? asked 
Matthew, his mouth full.
I shook my head.
The guy with all the back implants, he said, and I nodded. Well, he got a Neb 
outpost planet, and he keeps getting offered flesh to eat.
That was shocking. Has he reported it?
Shard to enforce the law there, I guess. He shrugged, throwing the stick in a 
garbage can. It took a few seconds to float to the bottom. 
We were definitely in a different area  whether or not it was likely to have 
hookers wasnt something I could judge. There were more offices, but also a few 
rowdy bars.
Anyway, about the whore thing: I figure, you know, shes never going to know. 
So no one gets hurt. He looked over at me.
How would you feel about her doing that? I said.
She wouldnt. Because shes Squidollian. But if she did, and I didnt know... 
he shrugged. Then I wouldnt know.
OK, but its not really fair, because you really cant see it happening. Whos 
your best friend back home?
Wing Lau, he said.
OK, so what would you do if you found out Wing was having an affair with her?
A bunch of guys foamed out of the bar in front of us. One of them had his 
tentacles all over a girl, but still had the time to gawk back at us. He yelled 
something at us everyone else found really funny. 
Thats different, Matthew said, his face troubled. Thats more of a betrayal. 
Plus everyone knows.
The guy in front of us said something else in our direction.
Shut your fucking pus-hole! I advised at a high volume, feeling adrenaline 
rush in to replace the energy yelling had expended.
Matthews eyes popped out. Sam, take it easy.
Im kind of in the mood for a fight, I told Matthew by way of explanation. I 
havent scrapped for weeks. Half the group ahead of us were hurrying to get 
away, half were lagging behind. The wise-ass was staring at me. What you 
looking at, chump? I called.
I suppose it doesnt matter much what I actually say, huh? I said to Matthew, 
enjoying his discomfort. Perhaps whoring wasnt to my taste, but there were 
other parts of the night I was well acquainted with. Yea, verily, I bellowed 
at the wise-ass, Tis better to give than to receive! I looked at Matthew. 
Thats the kind of accent the English pugs would use, I said, educationally.
Man, theyre slowing down...
I smiled, folding up a nice fist to give the wiseasss weak chin, and walked 
straight for him. 
Hello, said one of his companions, with his tentacles twined in polite 
greeting. He was wearing glasses.
Hello, I said dourly, feeling my righteous anger start to soften and droop.
My friend, he is drunky. He is so sorry.
Damn, I said.
Matthew offered Glasses a hand to shake.
Drunky had gone to join his maulfriend who stood with the other girls a little 
ways ahead.
Shall we go? Glasses asked. 
I shrugged. When you dont know where youre going, any directions good as any. 
I shoved my hands in my pockets.




seven




I pulled the door closed behind me and inserted the card-key. It took me a 
second to find the slot in the dark. It gave a reassuring click and I slipped 
the card into my pocket.
As I walked out, I realized that if I lost it, I could not get into my own 
apartment. How strange. I stuck my hand to feel if it was in a deep enough 
pocket, enjoying the bumpy texture of the key as I did so. 
When Mr. Zik had given me the key originally, I had flipped it over, thinking 
that a password for the apartments security system would be on it. But all it 
had on it was a scribbled note in Octavian. 
Key? I had said, wondering if it was a language thing.
Mr. Zik had taken it from me and walked outside the apartment. I had followed. 
He had showed me how the key worked, locking it with deliberate slowness, then 
opening it.
I had nodded, smiling, feeling like an ass.
Very old fashioned, Mr. Zik had said with his hiss-laugh. With incredibly 
casual speed, he passed it through a series of tentacles to hand it off to me.
I fingered it, thinking about how Mr. Zik was so apologetic for every difference 
between here and Earth, as if I didnt come here expecting it, wanting it. Even 
having to fumble in the darkness, because the apartment lights had to be 
activated by a wall switch, was a novelty.
Outside it was twilight, but not as dark as the apartment hall. The atmosphere 
was a green-blue, and for some reason the motion-ripples were more visible than 
at any other time of day. All moving things radiated.
I walked along the road away from the town. A saucer passed by overhead, so 
close that the wake swept some road debris into my hair. The saucer was trailing 
a round disk full of some kind of vegetable. I brushed the debris out  just 
some coral sand and weeds  feeling ambivalent about the close call. But when I 
saw a path winding away from the road, I was glad of it.
Just as I left, another saucer whipped by. This one  maybe because it was a 
fancy model with tinted windows  whipped up my ire as well as the debris. But 
how-close-is-too-close is a cultural norm, I told myself, and my anger 
dissipated with the hydrothrusters bubbles.
Most people assume that, because I was a pug, the first thing I want to do when 
angered is duke it out. Most pugs I know are less rash than your average person. 
If anything, Ive learned to focus my anger and choose where to channel it.
In a way, thats what pug is about  the choice. Most people never even consider 
that theres a way to react to injustice other than retaining a vengeance 
vendor; that they can do something more direct about their situation than hire 
someone to slander-by-the-hour. Its a rare animal thats more misunderstood and 
misrepresented than the pug.
The path led between two fields of the cucumbers Plangyo was known for. Agnay, 
the Octavian for it, came unbidden to my mind. I had been rather pleased by the 
speed with which I was learning vocabulary. Mr. Zik had given me a childrens 
book and then a collection of Octavian songs to translate.
I was humming one of them, the one about the splendours of the Kyung hot 
springs, when a flash of ripple caught my eye. Out in the field, an old Octavian 
woman raised herself on her tentacles and stared at me. I thought suddenly 
Holy, this old woman is still working while the privileged offworlder has the 
leisure to stroll around her town 
My guilt blurp was cut short. Her mouth, revealing the few grey teeth she had in 
her wrinkled head, let loose a nasty cackle, and she grabbed a person working a 
row over with her tentacle and jerked her up.
Koogeem! she laughed, pointing at me with a jab. The other person, an old lady 
with a blue head-covering and a cucumber still in her tentacle, stared dazed at 
me. The first woman started singing the song I had been singing, more for her 
friends benefit than mine, until the friend started to smile.
I smiled at them weakly. The woman sung more of the song with a bray to her 
voice that translated easily. My smile disappeared. The other worker went back 
to her picking and the original lady kept staring at me and calling things at my 
back I didnt understand.
Yeah, we offworlders sure are funny, I thought sadly, staring at the ground as I 
walked.
The path had been made by something with heavy treads, and my light footfalls 
didnt leave prints despite the soft surface. I heard a light bubbling behind me 
but I didnt want to look in case that hag was still staring at me. But instead 
of it coming from somewhere in the fields, as I had assumed, it was a small 
vehicle on treads that was suddenly behind me. I let it squeeze by me with its 
cart of grey cukes and the old man operating it didnt look at me, but called 
out his thanks in Octavian.
I was surprised and, for some reason, touched.
Watching him move off to the transport saucer, I noticed a quick dip in the path 
caused a cucumber to float off the cart and fall to the ground. When I got to 
it, I picked it up. The skin was a little sticky.
The transport saucer was set off to the side of the path, and at first I thought 
that it had set down on the cuke field. But as I got closer, I saw that there 
was an area cleared for the huge round ship  of course there was. For some 
reason, though, I had a stupid notion that massive saucers set down wherever 
they liked, that if they could destroy something in the process it was all the 
better. But that was probably because I had only seen saucers of this size in 
war clips.
Now I was well under the lip of the saucer, and I looked up at the angular 
Octavian characters stencilled there  it looked like a serial number. The 
landing ramp was down and the conveyer belt was dragging up loose cukes. I 
wondered why they didnt have boxes and then, looking at the rounded hull, 
realized why. The old man was putting tentaclefulls of suckered cucumbers onto 
the belt when I approached him.
He looked up at me holding out the errant vegetable to him. He looked at the 
loaded belt, then back at me. I smiled, lifting the cuke a little to indicate he 
should take it, suddenly wondering if I was making a rude gesture. His blank 
stare didnt help. The noise of the belt was a little unnerving.
I pointed back to the path. He smiled suddenly, his weathered cheeks bunching.
No, he said, waving his tentacles. He pointed at me, then mimed eating.
OK! I said, bowing to him.
OK! he said, then said something else. 
Listening to the river of words rush by, I grabbed the word big but nothing 
else. I dumbly nodded and stuttered out a thank-you.
I walked home. I tossed the cucumber up in the air as I did, sort of juggling 
it, but it floated down so gradually that it forced me to slow down. I let 
myself into my apartment with the key-card I had not lost and went into the 
kitchen. I had already had supper but I cut the cuke up anyway. I didnt have 
any of the sauce they usually served the cucumber in, so I sprinkled some salt 
on it. It was a little bitter.


***


Octavian schools have architecture very similar to schools on Earth, angular and 
square, so I was often lulled into a false sense of familiarity. Then when the 
little tune for the next class would play, Id get up from my desk, walk down 
the hall and turn for the stairs  and find none. The ramp made perfect sense in 
a school of tentacled kids but it still surprised me daily for several weeks.
Id pause there at the bottom of the ramp and let it sink in that this was 
another planet because the alien children capering around me wasnt enough. Then 
Id angle my feet slightly and walk up, making sure I didnt step on any 
tentacles. It wasnt until I was in the capital city of Artemia that I saw 
stairs again, a thin strip beside the wide ramp  a pleasing reversal of the 
Earth bias for bipeds.
Today I noticed it especially because I had to climb two flights of ramps. 
Usually my classes were with the younger grades on the second floor, but this 
afternoon I was in for something different.
I almost knocked  then I felt stupid. The teacher doesnt knock. Even if hes 
twenty years younger than his pupils. I slid open the door.
I walked in to the room, where three teachers sat, two men and a woman. They 
were mostly chatting to each other, and not staring expectantly at the door, 
which was a relief. Hello, I said with a smile.
Everyone said hello back, except for a thin old man, who rose. We extend our 
greetings and thanks to you, he said clearly.
This got a laugh, and I made an impressed face. I appreciate that.
One or two nodded, and the thin old man translated for those who didnt: 
Ajgjlhru appreciate ladrlejkj; I appreciate that.
I tried to take a seat at the side of the table, but was waved to the head by 
the attractive young woman. A stout male pulled out the chair for me, and this 
was also funny. Octavians simply slid onto the chair and perched there, so this 
was a human gesture.
Thanks, I said.
I saw in movie, said the stout teacher.
Its very polite, I said. Very good.
Sank you, he said, practically glowing.
Most of the exchanges during these workshops were held over a hum of constant 
murmuring as they discussed amongst themselves what the hell I was saying, mixed 
with a good deal of chuckling.
My name is Sam Breen, I said, prompting one or two people to start their 
recorders. I blinked as the camera scanned me. I am from Earth.
What area of Earth are you from? said the thin old guy, lifting his tentacle 
in a questioning way.
What part of Earth am I from? I said. Well, Im from a place called Toronto.
There was a mumbling as people absorbed this. The young teacher asked me if 
area was incorrect, and the thin old man looked at her suddenly.
No, area is correct, I said, impressed by her sharpness. What part is just... 
more usual.
More common, the thin old man said to the group, reasserting himself. Plart 
is difficult for Octavians to say.
I nodded. I understand. OK, for every question I answer Im going to ask you a 
question. OK, could you tell me your name and your hobbies? I asked the old 
thin guy, mentally registering that I was saying OK way too much.
He cleared his throat. My name is Mr. Nekk. He placed a withered tentacle on 
his chest as he said this. My hobbies are reading English blooks and exploring 
the caverns of Octavia.
I nodded, deciding against putting him on the spot by asking what book. I 
expected that with his eagerness Id find out soon enough.
The young teacher who had asked about area asked about my age with a smile.
I am twenty-three, I said.
Thats very good, she said. Young teachers are good. The students like you 
very much, I think. The others nodded.
Yes, but youre older than me, I said, shaking my head. I feel like a total  
I mean, it is very strange that a teacher is younger than his students.
You are... plerfect English teacher, said the chair-puller. Mr. Nekk tried to 
elaborate, but the chair-puller continued. Bleecause... you native speaka. 
Mr. Nekk nodded his agreement and I smiled modestly.
I looked back at the woman who asked me the question, and decided to test her 
knowledge. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?
She looked blankly at me for a moment and then laid a tentacle on her breasts. I 
nodded, a little too eagerly, my eyes dipping. She said slowly, as if not sure 
what I asked her: My name is Mrs. Ahm.
She had obviously just guessed at what I had asked her, but that was part of 
learning a language, too  it was amazing how quickly she inspired excuses.
My hobbies are exploring caves and taking care of my baby.
Damn. She was married. Octavians never had children otherwise. Damn damn damn.
Then, as if reading my mind, she asked, Do you have a girlfriend? I would 
later pinpoint this as the point at which my lesson plan went out the window.
No, I dont, I admitted. 
I introduce! exclaimed the stout guy.
Do you think that Octavian women are very beautiful? asked Mrs. Ahm.
Well... I started, noticing her proper pronunciation of b. 
Octavian women are ugly, pronounced Mr. Nekk, scratching an earhole that 
looked like a wound. Especially in the country. Earth women are... he strained 
for a synonym, more pretty.
Prettier, I corrected, but his glassy eyes didnt seem to absorb this.
So you think Earthlings... Mrs. Ahm said, fixing me with her pure blue eyes.
No, no. I was just 
The stout man said something in Octavian and everyone laughed.
I think, I said loudly, that there are ugly women and beautiful women on 
every planet in the universe.
Nebula too? said the stocky man, but I decided to ignore this xenophobic 
comment.
I have seen many very beautiful Octavian women since I have arrived, I said, 
looking at Mrs. Ahm.
The stocky man pointed three tentacles at her and asked, You think she  
What is your name? I inquired quickly. Subtle flirtation was apparently 
impossible.
His tentacles dropped. My name is Mr. Kung. He pointed his tentacles at Mrs. 
Ahm again, less aggressively, and opened his mouth to speak.
What are your hobbies? I said.
Uhh... my hobbly... exploring caves. Do
Exploring caves is very popular in Octavia, I said to the group at large. Then 
to Mr. Kung, Do you have any other hobbies?
Other? Uhh... he floundered, and the others suggested things in Octavian. Mrs. 
Ahms suggestion got a big laugh.
Uhh... drinky, Mr. Kung said, miming it. I like to drinky.
Do you like ujos? I said. This got me big points, and Mr. Kung nodded 
enthusiastically. I... love ujos! he exclaimed. He seemed to have forgotten 
his earlier question in his enthusiasm.
Have you tried ujos? asked Mr. Nekk.
Yes, I said, nodding and giving the thumbs-up sign. Even without digits of 
their own, all Octavians recognized this sign. They seemed to want more, so I 
gave them more. Its very good rotgut liquor.
They caught only the emphasis, and happily nodded their agreement.
Ah... Mr. Sam, I have a question, began Mrs. Ahm. Where is your translator?
I dont have a translator, I said.
This caused a fair amount of consternation. Why not? she asked.
I want to learn Octavian, I said, gussying up the half-truth as a grand 
proclamation.
It is impossible, said Mrs. Ahm.
I know it is very difficult. I will study very hard. 
She said something to Mr. Nekk. 
No, it is more than difficult. It is not plossible, he said. Because... the 
language has sounds that only Octavians can make. In our mouth.
Oh, I said.
Mr. Nekk made a sound, a kind of a low bubble sound. The word for delicious in 
Octavian is ijofwejo, he said, the last syllable of which had that sound.
I repeated it as best I could but the group just laughed. There are sounds in 
English which are hard for Octavians to say, I said, instinctively wanting to 
even the score but feeling petty for it. Like buh, or puh.
They nodded. It is very difficult but not impossible, said Mr. Nekk. 
Octavians can learn English perfectly but humans can not learn Octavian 
perfectly.
Well la-dee-da, I thought somewhat sourly. Lets practice the B sound, I said. 
Bad. Repeat after me.
Blad, everyone said.
I noticed something weird. There was a slight movement around their lips. I 
repeated it again, and watched closely. Bad.
Blad, they said. When they said it, a few bubbles leaked out of the corner of 
their mouths. Trying not to stare, I pointed at Mr. Nekk. Bedpost.
Bledploast, he said, bubbles rising at the B and the P.
Bust, I chanced, pointing at Mrs. Ahm.
She licked her lips, her tongue surprisingly tapered. Bust, she said, only the 
tiniest of bubbles escaping.
Perfect! I said. I asked her to repeat, and she did, but I admit I did it just 
so I could stare at her lips a little longer.
I looked at Kung. Bastard, I said.
Blastard, he said, bubbles the size of eyeballs floating up.
By the end of the two hours, I had avoided as many questions as Id answered, 
but they seemed happy.
You will go to drinky? said Mr. Kung as we left the school. My saucer?
I looked around at the three other teachers. Will we go to have a drink? I 
said, amazed at how stilted my speech had become.
Mr. Nekk said, Regretfully I cannot. I am old and sick and my blody does not 
like to drink. 
How about you? I said, looking at Mrs. Ahm.
She smiled. Oh no, I must go home. My husband, I must make dinner.
Women, no, said Mr. Kung.
Oh great, I thought, but went with him anyway. After a formal good-bye from Mr. 
Nekk and a cute wave from Mrs. Ahm, we bubbled off out of Plangyo to what Mr. 
Kung described as a not nice place.
When we got out of the saucer, I noticed some girls about my age passing by  
and they noticed me. One of them, tall and lovely, called out to me as she 
floated gracefully by: you handsomebloy.
I smiled, stunned, and Mr. Kung said, University, he said, oblivious to the 
girls comment, pointing out some nearby buildings. Then he led me away from the 
beautiful girls to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
It was a traditional building, a small cave of black-and-white coral. There were 
no chairs, and we sat down in the slight indents in the floor beside a small 
table. He called out for the waitress and presented me. She reached out and 
pulled at the fingers on my hands.
We all laughed.
When she went to get our ujos, I said, Do you know her?
He nodded vigorously, jowls shaking. Here I am... famous! he said.
A movie star! I said.
We drank for an hour or two. Once again he brought up the topic of women, with a 
slyer look than he had had at the school.
Introduce! he said.
I was tempted, but uncomfortable with the idea. Somehow I doubted that he would 
know any women like the ones who had passed by outside the restaurant; and the 
idea of being indebted or entwined with this man was also unappealing. At one 
point, he had gestured at the waitress and curled two tentacles in front of his 
chest  it took me a second to translate it: nice tits, eh?
I hadnt really made any firm policy on whether I would be fraternizing with the 
natives, but I figured it was really unlikely. The chances of finding an 
Octavian gal who knew English beyond hello were pretty low, and living in 
cucumber town whittled them down even further.
But not, as it turned out, down to nothing.




eight




We floated down the tunnel. The density of the atmosphere this far down was 
pretty intense, every breath a conscious one.
You guys OK? I said.
Matthew gave me the thumbs-up and Hugh nodded.
Let me know if your lungs fill up with water and you die, I said.
Laughter. Your Octavian caves aint shit, Matthew said. You try some caves on 
my planet
The coral is incredible, Hugh noted. I cant believe youre not down here 
every day.
I took a look at the coral, with its swirl patterns and its infinite tiny holes. 
Theres a saying here about something being so hard to find or rare that its 
like it was hidden away in one of these pores. Mr. Zik told me that.
Oh hes a fount of wisdom that Mr. Zik, snarled Matthew. But Ill bet he 
doesnt teach you swear words and drinking songs.
An old Octavian couple wearing cave-exploring goggles surprised us as they came 
around a twist in the tunnel. It was pretty narrow so they flipped upside down 
and climbed on the roof. The man grinned at us and called out a polite greeting, 
but his partner gave us a guarded look.
Talking about drinking songs, I said. Mr. Kung and I got too drunken last 
week. I explained who he was. He ended up on my back, hugging me, singing 
Intergalactic Harmony  well, every other line of the song, anyway, filling in 
sometimes in Octavian. The tunnel narrowed and I worried that it would only be 
Octavian-sized.
That sounds nice, said Hugh. I guessed contact with the Armoured wasnt often 
physical.
It was kind of... touching in an absurd way. But he let it slip that he had a 
mistress, which kind of disturbed me. I am very sorry but I have two wives. 
That he would cheat on his wife was one thing, but that he would pretend to be 
sorry about something he was actually bragging about 
Fuck, Id love to have an affair, Matthew said.
Aw, man... I said.
Hugh looked at me curiously.
Well, I mean, his girlfriends at home being faithful, I said.
Yeah, but shes not going to know anything, Matthew shot back.
And second, sex stuff here is really serious. Because of the eggs and stuff. I 
really knew almost nothing about it as I had no practical need for the 
knowledge.
I picked a tunnel at random. Supposedly they all led to the same place, anyway.
Whyd you form these biases, anyway? Hugh said. I mean, Matthew obviously 
follows situational ethics, which is pretty normal.
You callin me normal, moonboy?
But is there something in your past
I wasnt about to get into how my mom cheated on Jane. I shrugged. Had that 
turned me monogamist?
Hmm, Hugh said.
Shut up, I snapped. Fuck. The tunnels getting too narrow. I turned around. 
Unless youre soft-boned Octavians in disguise, were gonna have to try the 
other tunnel.
We started back, this time with me taking up the rear. Mr. Zik says that one of 
the tunnels is human-sized.
Matthew mumbled Mr. Zik and made a derisory noise that sent a flurry of bubbles 
from the side of his head. They rose faster than the bubbles usually did 
topside. 
So have you made any progress on your philandering scheme? I asked, interested 
despite myself. Hugh looked back but before he said anything Matthew answered.
OK, so there was this guy who was teaching in my town last year, right? A 
lunarian, and so of course he was quite the bag of briskets amongst the ladies 
of the town. A bit of a rep that way. I get his apartment, as usual. Hes left 
it pretty messy but with enough good shit in there so that I dont mind cleaning 
it up.
Whatdya get? I asked.
A talking pot and a pillowpat. He wasnt really being generous  he couldnt 
use them anywhere else because the Squidollian power outlets are different from 
everywhere else. Fuckin pain in the ass. Anyway, Im cleaning out these drawers 
and one drawers got nothing but, like, tins of opened chewing tobacco and a jar 
of spit.
Hugh curled his nose. 
I just figured the previous guy  call him Tim  took up the habit and didnt 
really like it. Cause almost all the tins were pretty full. I just left the 
crap there cause I didnt need the drawer and I didnt feel like cleaning it 
up, he shrugged. I forgot about it.
We came to the fork in the tunnel and took the other choice. I prayed that itd 
be the lucky one, and I hadnt wasted the afternoon for the three of us. It was 
interesting how much pressure I felt to be a good host. Octavia was rubbing off 
on me.
So one day after my class with the adults one of the teachers offers me a ride. 
I say OK, even though it was close by. I was hoping for a ride other than in her 
saucer, get me?
How did she ask you? Hugh said, untouched by Matthews crudity.
Pretty casually, Matthew said. But when we got in she got really excited, 
saying that the other teachers would be mad because she got extra time with me. 
But off we go and we stop off at this corner store. She gets out and comes back 
with a big bag. Then we go to my place.
A group of three schoolgirls appeared suddenly, and two of them twined their 
tentacles and bowed, using the honourific word for teacher. I responded in 
Octavian.
Your students? asked Hugh.
I guess so, I said. Theyre the right age.
No giggling? asked Matthew. No hello? Those cant be schoolgirls.
A slightly echoey good-bye was heard behind us, followed by bubbly laughter.
I looked at Matthew. He nodded, Better.
So youre back at your pad, I prompted.
Yeah, so once were inside she immediately passes me the thing she bought at 
the store. Its soap for the washing machine, which is kind of useless since I 
get all my stuff laundered  I mean, its so cheap  but its a tradition to 
bring a small gift whenever you visit someone, especially the first time.
Same thing here, I said, nervously watching the roof of the cavern get lower 
as we kept walking. I looked at Hugh. What about
He gave a bitter laugh. Are you kidding? God forbid the Armoured spend even a 
moment doing something... inefficient.
I dont know, Matthew said. It seems kind of a silly ritual. Its not like 
you have a choice, its not like spontaneously giving a gift.
Right when it looked like we were going to have to duck, the tunnel widened. I 
was sweating a little, although it was hard to tell.
Hugh touched the side of the tunnel. Its... smoother here, I think.
I looked around. Yeah, I think they may have widened this part artificially. Go 
on, Matthew. 
So I notice theres something else in the bag, Matthew continued. Its this 
little tin of chewing tobacco. I take it out and she sort of laughs like shes 
ashamed. Its a bad, she says, taking it from me. Im like, I dont care, so 
she breaks open the tin and goes at it.
She chews?! I said, surprised. Id never seen women chewing on Octavia. Isnt 
it a taboo?
Big time, said Matthew. I was kind of excited about it because I figured, if 
shell break one taboo... he let his lascivious smile finish his thought. Eye 
on the prize, our Matthew.
Just going into a mans apartment alone is pretty odd, isnt it? asked Hugh.
Yeah, but I never really thought about it. Until she starts talking, between 
spits: This is the first time Ive been in a mans apartment alone since I 
married my husband. Spit. My husband is a very good man but I am not in love 
with him. Spit.
My husband doesnt understand me? Hugh guessed.
More or less, eh? Matthew laughed. Shes totally nervous. Her tentacles are 
twitching and her skin is cycling from red to green to white. For some reason I 
found this really attractive. I mean, shes not that hot  my girlfriends way 
better-looking, for instance...
I had to stifle a grimace.
...so then she says. But my husband knows I am here. He... he trusts me. Then 
she looks at me, suddenly. I must go now. And she gets up and jets out. Im 
left standing there, staring at her bubble trail and then I pick up the tin, 
close it, and put it in the same drawer where all the other ones were. Then it 
dawns on me that I was probably just one in a series, he said, looking more 
amused than rueful.
Was it Old West brand? I asked.
No, he said, Balloon Flower.
What a lovely name, Hugh said, Oh  here we are.
The tunnel ended with a well-worn exit. The hole was pretty small, but we would 
all be able to fit through it, one at a time. I opted to go first.
Its a bit of a drop, I said, sliding my legs through feet first. But a real 
Earthling wont even feel it. 
Hugh said something in response but I had already swung myself out into the 
unknown. It was only about twenty feet, but the density of the atmosphere 
increased so sharply that it actually slowed me as I floated down. I had a full 
half minute to appreciate the scenery.
It was a massive cavern lit by glowing moss, the far wall speckled with dark 
holes. The roof was a craggy blue and the walls were green. It had the feeling 
of a secret; so far down and hidden from even the most powerful eyes on Earth. 
Anything could happen here.
I touched down, then sat. It was a little unnerving, how close it felt to zero 
grav. But I could feel my lungs working harder, and this grounded me. Matthew 
landed, and walked over to the edge. Wow, he said. I cant even see the 
bottom.
He looked up, and I followed his gaze. Hugh was free-falling, his eyes opened 
anxiously and his arms spread as if he was trying to slow his descent. His hair 
floated above his head like a blonde halo. Even as it impressed me, it irritated 
me, this endless pose he struck.
Fuckin lunarians.
Get away from the edge, man, youre making me nervous, I barked at Matthew. If 
he was to fall any further down hed drown slowly; I didnt relish the idea of 
communicating that to Mr. Zik.
Breathe! Matthew called to Hugh.
Hugh started to. His body convulsed a little. He landed on his knees on the 
ledge and hiccuped violently.
You gotta breathe evenly all the way down.
Hugh nodded, patting his hair back into place.
I mimicked him. Ready for your close-up? 
Matthew laughed.
So prettyboy, I said, anytime you want to work off a little steam, I said 
powering a punch through the molasses-air, you know, mix it up pugilistically, 
let me know, OK?
Hugh looked at me with confused eyes. You mean... fist-fight?
Matthew said with a smirk, Yeah, you knew Sam was a pug back home, right?
No, I didnt, said Hugh. He looked kind of hurt, and I felt my trusty 
blowtorch rage sputtering into death. You know, (hic) my family would have been 
much happier if I had been born looking like you, Sam (hic).
My aggrometer needle jumped to life.
He saw my twisted lip and went on. I dont talk about it much, Hugh said 
apologetically, But my parents are really well off. Obscenely so, really. And 
everyone on the moon is beautiful, since the main industry is media. So... plain 
people stand out.
What about the tourists? asked Matthew.
Theyre busy being milked in the hospitality zones, Hugh said. The propaganda 
about it being sealed for disease prevention is nonsense. The truth is that 
people like my fathers father wanted plainness to be the mark of the idle 
rich. He fiddled a little with the dials on his wristphone. This is my 
mother.
We looked as the small image flickered and sharpened, a grey pinched-mouth old 
woman.
Wow, Matthew said, Moms pretty ugly.
No, merely plain, he said. He fiddled some more. Dad, on the other hand...
I looked away before the image was fully formed. Matthew gaped at it.
Hughs brow raised, a pleasant arc. Dear old Dads majestic ugliness means that 
no one mistakes him for a working man. Naturally, he said brusquely, tapping 
the picture away, I was a huge embarrassment to them.
There was so much rawness in that admission I couldnt meet his eye. I looked 
out, instead, across the cavern. On a nearby ledge I could see an Octavian 
couple fanning out round sitting disks, their picnic basket at the ready. She, 
slim and pretty  he, rotund and funny. Their laughter reached us a few seconds 
after it left their mouths.
Hey look, Matthew said, pointing up. From a tiny hole there slid a chain of 
Octavian schoolgirls, tentacles linked. Each new too-big body emerging was a 
shock, a magic trick, and the chain spun and giggled and then suddenly stopped. 
At the top, a boy held onto the ledge and ignored the whiny pleas that he let 
go. I couldnt see the expression on his face, but I imagined it would be a 
mischievous grin.
How can he hold them up? Hugh said.
It must be the density, I guessed.
Then the chain disconnected and the individual girls floated down, their 
tentacles spreading out to slow them like clothless umbrellas. The whines 
stopped and it was silent for a moment, as they fell, and we watched without a 
word.
The boy remained stuck at the top, with the one girl he was holding flailing her 
tentacles at him. He let her go, then dropped himself.
I thought she was gonna ink him, said Matthew.
Well, I understand its kind of rude. The equivalent of farting on someone.
Before the boy hit the ground, one of the girls let loose a big ink cloud that 
he couldnt help but hit, then skittered away.
Hugh and Matthew looked at me.
Well, I said, they are farm kids.
Now that they were closer, we could hear them speaking. I strained to interpret 
what they were saying. One of the girls was saying how boring Earth was.
They keep saying Earth, said Matthew, picking up pebbles and throwing them 
through the air in a superslow arc. Are they talking about us?
Mr. Zik told me the nickname of this cavern is Earth. Cause of the green 
bottom and blue roof. I dont think theyve seen us. Our ledge was slightly 
lower than theirs, though plainly visible. They have a different name for us, 
anyway. Koogeem.
Hugh was lying on his stomach, staring at the Octavians with a half-lidded gaze. 
The boy was running after the inker and the other girls protected her.
Nice, emotional play. Octavians must be fun to teach, he said, leaning his 
head against his hand with a sigh.
Yeah, theyre OK, I said. The Armoured must be well behaved, at least.
Well, their armour adjusts them if theyre not, Hugh said. But its so awful. 
Their pale little expressionless heads stick up from their armour like 
mushrooms. Theres this one boy who cries all the time. No sound, just his eyes 
streaming constantly. One day I asked him why he was crying and he said that he 
wanted to be stripped like his mom.
Oh man, Matthew said. Thats shitty.
His suit immediately put him to sleep, and another teacher came in to carry him 
out. He told me not to worry. Hugh turned his head away, his voice thick. He 
said it was... normal.
Sounds like weve been discovered, Matthew said. I could hear Koogeem Koogeem 
in the distance, but I couldnt take my eyes off Hugh. His body was shaking a 
little, and I didnt think it was the hiccups.
Matthew, oblivious, walked over to the edge of the ledge and gave the crowd an 
expansive wave. He was immediately paid in excited screams. While he was faced 
away I leaned over and patted Hugh on the shoulder. SOK, man.
He stiffened at this. Dont you want to punch me anymore?
I felt a little bad. I shrugged, but he couldnt see that. He sat up and rubbed 
his face.
Hello! one of the girls yelled.
Hello you foxy babes! Matthew responded.
Hugh snorted. 
Matthew, what the hell, man, I gotta work here.
Matthew turned around. Dont worry. Think of what it would translate as. The 
boy bellowed a hello that sounded like a threat and Matthew ignored him, tired 
of the sensation he was creating. So werent you ever tempted to become a 
big-time mediastar, Hugh? Just say fuck your snobby family and make some serious 
creds? Thats what I woulda done.
Hugh nodded. I wanted to be an actor for a while. But not because of the money 
 Ive always been rather stupid about money, really  I thought Id find... 
people like me. I grew up on the Slackwater comedies, the arch humour and the 
genuine feeling of the characters.
I nodded. I liked them, although their relentless refinement started to grate 
after a while.
So I ended up getting into the school where the Slackwater actors actually 
trained. And the people there were beautiful, he shook his head, so darkly 
beautiful. I walked through the school on my first day and my feet never touched 
the ground.
I noticed the couple with the picnic basket were having trouble pouring tea, the 
Zazzimurg glinting across the cavern. I saw Matthew looking at it too.
Gotta piss, he said, looking around. The ledge was pretty stark, no cover at 
all.
Dont do it here, I said, looking across at the kids. Itll just be this big 
cloud at this density.
He made an annoyed noise. Ah, Ill just go back up to the tunnel. He started 
climbing the wall, pulling himself up by his hands. It looked rather impressive.
When he got high enough to make me nervous, I looked back at Hugh. I gather 
your first impression of the school didnt last, eh? I said.
Hugh shrugged. On my second day I talked to them, and found them aloof. I was 
discouraged, naturally, but this was to be expected.
You couldnt expect them to just accept you easily, I said.
Hugh nodded. I found my manner put them off. I had a bearing and poise that I 
shouldnt have been able to mimic until second or third year. They suspected I 
had received early training, and I didnt want to reveal my high beginnings. So 
I developed a... reputation. People fell silent whenever I was around.
He sat up. It went on for weeks. It was fairly torturous. I wanted to be loved 
by them, after all. One of the women there was brave enough to indulge her 
curiosity about me and we became involved. She was extremely beautiful and 
extremely dull, and at first I thought it was this latter quality that made her 
throw in her lot with me  she had nothing to lose, being the dimmest of her 
peers.
I glanced up at Matthew, now using hands and feet to climb slowly towards the 
hole, less cocksure than when at a lower density. I smiled at his needless 
caution. Go on, I said, waiting for his story to roll past another ten 
beautiful but undeserving women.
There was a Roman-nosed rival for her affections. This finally made me worth 
talking to. He took to insulting me, to mocking me. It was appalling, he said, 
looking down intensely at the ground.
Sure, I said.
No, it wasnt hurtful. It would have been one thing to be cleverly put down, to 
be nicked by bon mots or... incisively sliced. But these were comments of the 
crudest calibre, utterly infantile. Comments unworthy even of our friend 
Matthew, there...
I smiled. Matthew was wiggling his way into the hole high above, his legs 
kicking, looking like the wall was eating him.
And people laughed like these brutal banalities were the height of wit. There 
was something horrifying about those sculpted lips pushing out such pedestrian 
nonsense. Of course, I had no response. I was destroyed, socially. But more 
significantly, my hopes of finding common souls were destroyed.
Hmm, I said, thinking about my more successful quest for tribe.
I became a ghost walking around the school. The conversations didnt die on my 
approach, and so I got to listen to vacuous stupidities which simply deepened my 
gloom. Nattering about clothing without talking about aesthetics; they discussed 
scandal after scandal, but never ethics; drinking and self-destruction without 
nihilism; sport without catharsis.
Above us, Matthew reappeared and jumped, curling himself into a ball. I realized 
that Hugh was speaking differently than he would have if Matthew was here.
I quit before the first semester was over, and gave up the idea of finding my 
people for a while. Then a friend of mine told me about the Unarmoured looking 
for English teachers...
Matthew uncurled himself in a sudden explosive move and landed.
...they just seem like angels to me, you know? Hugh said, looking at me with 
sad eyes.
Yeah, I nodded.
You talking about Octavian hookers again? Matthew asked.
I smirked. Right in one.
Matthew looked at Hugh. You and 9/3 should have come along with us that night 
in the big city.
Yeah, what did you end up doing, anyway?
Not too much... Hugh said.
So what did the big guy say when you called him? said Matthew. What was his 
excuse for not coming?
Hugh scraped some gravel into a pile with the flat of his hand. He didnt give 
one. Hes kind of mad at me.
I blinked. Really?
What for? Matthew said, his eyes narrowed.
Its... complicated. Hugh said, his bangs falling over his downcast eyes.
Matthew made an annoyed noise and looked at me. I shrugged. 
So do you guys have plans for the break yet? Matthew said.
We talked about it for a little while  it was still a ways away, but it was 
pretty exciting to talk about the planethopping we could do. Every so often Id 
catch Hugh looking into the distance, but his melancholy didnt inspire my usual 
irritation. I thought about him explaining to his terrifying father why he 
wanted to go to teach English to the Unarmoured, and conversations dropping away 
when he entered the room. His bird-bones seemed more fragile than irksome to me 
then.




nine




Gunge forbly? I said, staring at the little prick.
He looked to his friends, who covered their gleeful anticipation with their 
tentacles.
Gunge forbly? I said, approaching the kids desk. He bowed his head, his head 
crest dipped, but I could tell by his face that he wasnt really all that sorry.
I hated punishing them, but I wasnt gonna be called the unpleasant smelling 
peelings of a sweet potato. I looked at him severely and made the gesture that 
meant come with me. Its a kind of patting of the air  obviously, the curled 
beckoning finger means as little to them as the expanding of tentacle suckers 
means to me.
The class was more attentive than it had been all period, of course, as the boy 
slowly glided to the front. Some of the other teachers would grab the offender 
in their tentacles and whack the child against whatever surface was available. 
It wasnt the violence that I disliked  I knew better than most that in the 
right context it could focus a discharge that was quite healthy. But this was 
institutionalized violence, always directed against the powerless for their own 
good, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. So I had my own tricks.
I took the blackboard brush in one hand and spun the skinny brat around with the 
other. Then I patted his head with the brush, making a small black cloud  not 
unlike an ink cloud. Surprised laughter ensued, and I pointed the foul-mouthed 
boy back to his seat. Defeated and humiliated, he trudged back, waving his 
tentacles around his head to get rid of the cloud.
I continued the lesson, asking the students What Number Is It? going up and 
down the rows to make sure that the smart kids didnt dominate the class.
Et.
Eight.
...Et.
Eight. I looked out at the class, and said it in the repeat after me fashion. 
Eight.
Et.
The bell sounded, and I smiled. Last class of the week. I looked down and put my 
things on top of each other, unnecessarily, but its the body language that 
matters. Bye, I said and waved.
Bye teecha, bellowed the boy who annoyed me earlier. I ignored him, as Ive 
come to ignore everyone who thinks English sounds better yelled, but I allowed 
myself to be stopped by a girl with an Intergalactic Cool Youth sticker on her 
recorder. She gave me a tiny grey creature, carved from coral, and a tiny smile. 
I thanked her, told her it was beautiful. Her tentacles twitched nervously, and 
she seemed to want to say something.
I pointed to her sticker. I.C.Y. are very good! I said.
Her eyes bugged out. Her friend, excited by this, said, I.C.Y.... Octavian pop 
group.
I mimed someone playing the synthitar. They laughed. I.C.Y.... Number One, the 
original girl said quietly.
I took my leave then, having thoroughly proven how cool I was.
Back in the teachers room, Mr. Zik was waiting for me. They have called ablout 
the toilet, he said.
Great! I said.
Lets go, he said with a little bit of a question in his voice.
I was a little surprised. It was the middle of the day, and I usually had to 
kill time at my desk.
No more classes for you and me, he said, ssss-sss-ss. 
We got our jackets and left, making a detour at the principals office. He was 
listening to the newsfeed and staring into space when we interrupted him. Mr. 
Zik cautiously told him about the toilet, and the principal made something that 
sounded like a joke about human strangeness. I pretended to understand nothing, 
telling myself that I would put up with any number of dumb jokes to be free of 
the insanity that was Octavian plumbing.
So, you have been in Plangyo a month, said Mr. Zik as we left the school. I 
automatically headed towards his saucer but he redirected me. It is quicker to 
walk. He removed his tin of chewing tobacco from his pocket. Bad hablit, I 
know.
Has it been a month already? I said. I watched him unscrew and lift the lid in 
a smooth movement, a little transported by the grace of the alien everyday. 
Just outside the gates of the school there were a few boys who found our sudden 
presence alarming. They ducked into a store. Mr. Zik ignored them, and, I 
noticed, quickly put his tin away.
Mr. Zik, I wanted to thank you for being such an excellent host. The time has 
gone fast because you have made it very easy to adapt to life here. 
A smile lit up his face and he glanced at me shyly. It is my duty. Duty is very 
implortant to Octavians.
You have done more than your duty, I think.
He shook his head, still smiling.
We walked by a field of cucumbers, two or three old folk working away. A saucer 
bubbled by overhead from the schools direction.
He laughed. Vice-principal leaves early too.
The bubbles rained down on us.
Today a student called me gunge forbly, I said.
He is a blad student, Mr. Zik said with a laugh. Very blad. Did you hit him?
I wondered if Mr. Zik hit his kids. It was hard to imagine. He told me once, 
during a beating that had happened in the teachers room that it was OK because 
Octavians didnt have bones. I told him the punishment I meted out. I saw how 
they hated being sprayed with ink, in the caves.
Mr. Zik nodded. You are very smart, I think. And your Octavian is very good!
I shook my head, aping his modesty. I had been ripping through my lessons, but 
what else was I supposed to do at night? I wrote all my letters during the day.
Gunge forbly is not a polite word, he said, and we laughed. Who taught you?
Mr. Kung, I said. He had given me a pretty thorough lesson in profanity  the 
majority of the words leading back to the tentacle that was used as a sex organ, 
oogma. I had found it interesting that it was just a tentacle until it was being 
used for sex.
Last time, Mr. Kung was the host for the English teacher.
Really? I said. I am more lucky, I think.
We suddenly were in the market, stalls to each side. It was the weekly market 
day, and thick-skinned farmers watched me with grimness or joviality. I tried to 
understand what they were calling out but I couldnt decipher their accent.
They are surprised to see you, said Mr. Zik.
I could pretty much predict what my presence would do to school boys and girls, 
but the responses from the old folk ran the gamut from friendly to astonished to 
terrified to furious. I wondered if they were mad about the war  but I had been 
told it was mostly city-folk that had been affected by that.
A woman tapped my shoulder and put a piece of fruit in my hand. It looked like 
an inside-out pomegranate. I tried to hand back the beaded fruit, but she curled 
her tentacles back in refusal. With a gaptoothed smile, she said something I 
didnt understand.
She says it is no cost, said Mr. Zik. Free!
I looked back at her with a smile. She was looking elsewhere, her eyes in the 
free float of senility. I thanked her loudly enough for all to hear.
Mr. Zik nodded at the woman who ran the restaurant where we often went for 
lunch. She was sitting in the curled up way of relaxed Octavians, but raised 
herself to greet Mr. Zik in a politely formal way. Mr. Zik didnt live in 
Plangyo  he lived in a nearby city  but he was known in the town, since he had 
taught their children for almost ten years.
You are respected in Plangyo, I said as we left the market.
Mr. Zik blinked and said, I am a teacher.
We arrived at the post office, and went in. I had already been here a few times, 
to send letters, and I bowed a greeting to the nice lady who had helped me on 
those occasions.
Mr. Zik spoke very quickly in Octavian to her, making a large box shape with his 
tentacles. She made an ah sound of realization (perhaps a universal word) and 
slid to the back room.
It was sent from Artemia.
I nodded. That was a relief. It would have been embarrassing if they had had to 
ship it from off-planet.
It is the only Earth-style toilet on Octavia, I think, said Mr. Zik.
The toilet came out of the back, hauled on its antigrav disk by a strapping 
young lad with acne. It sat there like a throne, white and sparkly. I quelled an 
urge to hug it.
Mr. Zik signed for it with a press of his tentacle (the thin one used for 
you-know-what) and we were off. It slid through the door with an inch to spare. 
I looked back to wave at my friend, but she was already back at work.
Outside, Mr. Zik adjusted the strap so it went across his chest.
Can I help you pull? I said, when I realized we were going to drag it home.
No. Its easier for one plerson, he said, starting to walk towards the market. 
The toilet seat bounced up and down, so I walked beside it and held the lid down 
with my hand. It made me feel like I was doing something.
We came to the market. I could see Mr. Zik was a little winded, breathing hard. 
I thought of pushing from behind but I had my fruit in one hand, and I couldnt 
put it in my pocket. I wished I had thrown it away before all these farmers were 
around to see.
I felt like a total ass, toilet lid in one hand and inside-out pomegranate in 
another, jogging behind Mr. Zik. And how must he feel, dragging an alien shitter 
through the public market like some kind of service-issue droid?
We passed the restaurant, where the woman still chatted with her friend. Passed 
the vacuously grinning old woman, lifted my fruit to show I hadnt even 
considered throwing it away. Passed through the entire town, who, instead of the 
hoots of derision and hilarity, remained as composed and nonchalant as I have 
ever seen. Even knowing some of the language, Plangyo remained indecipherable to 
me.
I looked at the back of Mr. Ziks head as he chugged along, tentacles pulling 
the body that pulled the disk. Powered by 100% Hi-Octane Duty, I thought in 
amazement as we headed for home.


***


Id finished dinner and did all the studying I was going to do. I was sanitizing 
the dishes, at a bit of a loss, sensing loneliness in the other room waiting for 
me. Then I remembered the moviedisk Lisa had given me before I left.
It was still there, in the side pocket of my now-empty suitcase. I set the size 
to 50%, popped out the centre and tossed it towards the centre of the room. It 
floated to the floor so slowly that I thought for a second that it wouldnt land 
with enough force to activate, but then the familiar rays of light shot out from 
the edge and my room was suddenly populated by three-foot-high people.
...mind if we record this? Skaggs was saying to the young blond kid. Its 
Sams first scrap, eh?
The blond kid shrugged, looked behind him at the other people he was with. Ye 
want a record of the worst arse kicking you ever got, its fine wi us. I saw 
myself tentatively raise a hand to the group.
A guy came through my ceiling and landed heavily on his boots in the midst of 
the two gangs. He flicked off his jetpack and pulled off his goggles. His brogue 
cut through the exchange of insults starting to fly between the two groups. 
Weve got a guid twelve minutes before the next skyeye sweep. Noo weapons or 
biomech implants are present. He shucked off his jetpack and set it aside, 
continuing despite a decided lack of attention. Insults were flying, anger was 
rising. Noo biting. Noo kicking. Noo bloody mercy.
Two or three fights broke out at this point. Skaggs threw a wild punch at the 
blond kid, and it barely skinned her. She came back with a solid blow to the 
solar plexus.
Little Sam was sort of standing there, a half-smile on his face, bouncing up and 
down on my toes and shyly looking over at the Scottish pugs.
I sat down to watch it, fascinated despite myself. I had always been a little 
contemptuous of the idea of recording the fights, but here I was. I looked at my 
younger self  who was checking his brand-new aggrometer, waiting for the needle 
to red zone of its own accord  and recalled that moment with an incredible 
clarity.
I had felt like a total idiot. Lisa and Skaggs had convinced me to come, and I 
had been quite fascinated by the idea. But the reality of it left me standing 
awkwardly in the middle of a seething, pounding, cursing mob.
I leaned forward and changed the disc to 30%. The whole rooftop became visible, 
and pretty much everyone had paired up except me. I could actually see Skaggs 
shooting concerned looks back at me right until he got a haymaker that made him 
pay attention. Lisa was focused on taking down a guy about twice her size. I was 
watching her, concernedly, and then she looked over at me and waved. 
I couldnt hear it on the recording, but at the time I remember hearing her nose 
crunch under the big guys rock of a fist. He laughed a snorting laugh as she 
fell on her ass, holding her hand under her spurting nose. Ach, the wee lassie 
canna fight!
Guilt and rage combined to rocket me at the guy, throwing punches at his chest 
and face at the same time. He weathered my flailing attack and then casually 
boxed my ears. As I reeled back in pain, he tilted back his head and laughed. 
Lisa, her face streaked with red, had a fist waiting for him when he finished. 
One that sprung up from the soles of her heels and totally clocked the big guy. 
Reet you filthy pugs, said moustache man a second later. Thats it. Two 
minutes for medvac. 
Lisa took my arm and led me over to the line-up. People were casually chatting, 
the Scottish and Canadian accents had vanished along with the hostility. Accents 
werent a foolproof way to tell enemy from friend, but visual indicators were 
too risky.
I set the moviedisk to 75% and turned up the volume, to see if I could hear what 
people were saying. 
Lisa was letting the blood flow freely from her nose, leaning forward so it 
didnt get on her shirt. She was really excited about knocking out that big guy, 
because the Scottish pugs were notoriously hard. She grabbed my arm and said 
that she couldnt have done it without me. I beamed foolishly.
One minute, the moustachioed man yelled. I zoomed back out, to see several 
people fire up their jetpacks and take off like shaky dragonflies. The big guy 
and other knockouts were getting medvac treatment by people with hand-held 
units. After most people had been under the lamp, I was struck with how normal 
and average everyone looked. Those ridiculous jackets and bully-gloves being 
sported nowadays went against the entire 
Ah, the hell with it. It was all a lie, anyway. I leaned forward and popped the 
centre back out and I was alone in my room again. 


***


Hey, little guy, I said to the resident of Plangyo least likely to speak 
English. He was a small creature that resembled half a walnut shell, if a walnut 
had hundreds of tiny tendrils to whisk around back alleys on. And was about a 
human handwidth in diametre.
I was back in the same place where the market was, although now, being night, I 
was the only person around. Well, the only big person.
I held out my hand, wished I had something to offer him. He faced me, floating 
there, but didnt move towards me. His eyes were round and white and the black 
pupils floated all over, independent of each other. 
I didnt know it was a he, really. I didnt know if it ate anything. I stood and 
walked on, boggling at the fact that there was another species co-existing with 
the Octavians, and this was the first Id heard of it.
I was looking in the window of a store that sold kid stuff  all your basic 
Intergalactic Cool Youth needs met here  when the little dude shot past me. He 
used a propulsion system as well as the tendrils, but the pressure was so low  
him being so small  that bubbles didnt even form.
He went down an alleyway, and I was tempted to follow. Maybe his home? His 
speckle-shelled little offspring would approach me, cling to my shoe in the 
manner of the unkicked. I would prove myself worthy of trust.
I paused, looking after it, and then I remembered that I was on another planet. 
The Starscouting rule about dark alleys and avoidance of them seemed to apply. 
What would I do with a half-shell friend I couldnt talk to, anyway?
I looked up at the surface-sky. There were no moons or other celestial bodies, 
obviously, but the wan purplish-gray light was wonderfully foreboding. I thought 
about how I would love someone to come by and throw a punch at me so we could 
battle it out right here. I imagined the big Scottish pug, who Id never seen 
after the first scrap. There were even boxes and shit to throw. It would be so 
great.


***


Mrs. Ahm lifted my tie in a finely tapered tentacle and admired it. It is a 
very nice colour. (It was a steel grey. Well, Earth steel grey. Here, steel was 
more of a black.)
I might have mentioned how I admired the unnerving blue of her eyes. Hell, I 
might have caught up her tentacle and caressed the row of tiny suction cups 
which were said to be so sensitive. I might have, but then she said:
I will have to buy one for my husband.
I shrugged. They can only be bought on Earth, I said, continuing to eat.
The older teacher returned from the washroom and settled back into her spot with 
a smile. I couldnt remember her name despite it being, I knew, a short and 
common one. I smiled back, guilty.
Mrs. Ahm said something quickly to her, motioning at my tie, using the words for 
Earth and only. I was hoping that they wouldnt flip it around to see the Made 
on Octavia tag. This is a great restaurant, I said distractingly.
Sank you, said the older teacher. It is very traditional.
It was pretty fascinating. The room was small and cave-like, if you were used to 
caves with windows. The floor was covered with a soft lichen that glowed, 
providing the light, and instead of sitting disks there were shallow indents 
where the lichen was mostly rubbed off.
I wish that my apartment was more traditional, I said.
I like the modern apartments more, said Mrs. Ahm. I am modern woman.
Why do you like the modern ones better?
Mrs. Ahm crinkled up her nose and tore up some lichen with her suckers. This 
smells bad.
It does? I said, lifting up a snuff to my nose. It faded once plucked, but 
didnt smell.
When it gets older it does, said the older teacher, adjusting her hat. She had 
an old-lady hat with flowers on it. But she should not say that. She batted 
Mrs. Ahm lightly. It is very important to our history.
Mrs. Ahms eyes widened. You know? The story?
History, the other said.
Well, about five hundred years ago... Mrs. Ahm started, then immediately 
consulted with the other teacher. A young, bored looking woman came in and 
removed empty dishes from the table. I didnt rate a look, and I pitied her for 
being so self-involved that even a freak didnt entertain her.
So, Mrs. Ahm started again. We had a war with monsters.
I nodded, so well trained that not even a smile crossed my lips. Its those 
monsters again, izzit?
The monsters lived in Playgi, and at night they came to Artemia and killed 
everyone! Mrs. Ahm made an explosive movement with her tentacles.
The older teacher was looking at my fork, which was sitting on the table.
Everyone? I said. All?
No...
When Mrs. Ahm was looking for a modifier, the older teacher reached out 
tentatively for my fork. She looked at me and I assented with a nod.
Almost everyone, Mrs. Ahm said excitedly. Then she noticed that the other 
teachers attention was elsewhere, and she faux-snapped at her in teacher-tone 
to Pay attention!
We all laughed at this, and I felt really happy to actually get an Octavian 
joke. They looked at me and I proudly explained that I also told my students to 
pay attention. How did you stop the monsters?
The farmers planted lichen everywhere. Many many farmers died. Then the lichen 
grew... and started to... bring light, she said.
Glow, I said.
She nodded, but I dont think she knew the word. Then the monsters couldnt 
hide in the dark. Then the soldiers killed them.
The older teacher smiled. Farmers War.
Yes, we call it Farmers War.
I nodded. I tried to think of a comparison to something on Earth  the yes that 
is like our... syndrome  and came up blank. The only war that mattered was the 
one that essentially brought about Earths ownership of the rest of the galaxy. 
The one that brought me here.
The one that was still going on, in a way.
Shall we go? proposed Mrs. Ahm. Class will start soon, I think.
In the front room of the restaurant, the elder teacher pointed out a painting on 
the wall. Monsters, she said.
There was a group of dolphins there, facing a group of Octavians, but I didnt 
see the monsters. Where?
She poked one of the dolphins.
I walked out a little dazed. Are they all dead? The monsters?
No, said Mrs. Ahm. They hide on the west side of the planet.
Small, said the other. A small amount. Is not too dangerous.
As we left, I wondered how many species lived on this planet, anyway. What was 
the history of those little half-shell creatures? Had they fought against the 
Octavians too? Or were Octavians monsters to them?
We took the saucer back to the school. I had agreed to be a special guest in 
Mrs. Ahms class in exchange for a lunch at a traditional Octavian restaurant. 
It had come up during a workshop when I said that many people took me to an 
Earth-style restaurant because they thought Id like it better.
The two women were talking about a fellow teacher they called stupid-fat-man  I 
took it to be a nickname  and the upcoming holiday. Mrs. Ahm wanted to go to 
explore a certain cavern, but she couldnt for some reason I couldnt 
understand. Her baby was involved.
I really enjoyed eavesdropping, especially when it wasnt about me. I didnt 
feel it was dishonest, since I used enough Octavian during the workshops that it 
was pretty obvious that I was progressing rather quickly. Finding I had a talent 
for it was an unexpected surprise, akin to finding something you need in a junk 
drawer. My spoken Octavian was still child-like, mind you, and it kept me 
humble.
Do you understand? asked Mrs. Ahm, who wasnt driving.
A little... why cant you go exploring?
The elder teacher made a surprised sound. She didnt go to the workshops, so 
expected me to be totally ignorant. I was only partially ignorant now  although 
this class today would prove how far I had (or hadnt) come.
I need someone to protect my baby.
A baby-sitter, I supplied.
We arrived at the school. I looked around, quite interested in seeing the 
differences between it and my Plangyo school. If anything, this town was even 
more remote than mine (well, mine) and it was famous for a method of boiling 
vegetables. I decided that that was lamer than being famous for an actual 
vegetable.
We rushed straight to class, bypassing the tedious introductions to everyone in 
the staff room, and the class had obviously not been expecting me.
The girls froze. I slid the door shut, and turned to face them. I smoothed out 
my tie and said hello.
All hell broke loose. A kind of wailing started up, a keening that grew to an 
almost unbearable pitch and then dropped back down. A girl stood up and screamed 
Ohmigod and collapsed back to her seat, her tentacles flung over her head.
Mrs. Ahm raised her hand with a tolerant smile and told them to begin the class. 
Everyone sat down.
One tall girl sat and then rose. She told the class to pay attention. Everyone 
was quiet. Then she told them to bow. They did, in sync.
Hello, said Mrs. Ahm. Will you sing a song?
That was odd, I thought, since the singing was usually reserved for the end. Oh 
well, here goes nothing... 
A girl got up and made an entry at the control panel, and music started.
Thats not the song I want to sing  I thought, then the girls started to sing. 
I noticed some of them read from their recorders.
Do you like this song, Sam? asked Mrs. Ahm. It is very popular on Earth, I 
know.
I nodded. It was a song by the Zylophonix Corp. It sounded funny, though. What 
clone group was this recorded by?
She gave me a worried look. I think... it is illegal.
I realized she was serious. I felt a moment of exhilaration at the idea that 
Octavia was so remote it was even outside the copyright planet sweeps.
Dont tell my principal, she said.
Oh, no, I said, listening to the girls sweet voices mangle the lyrics. I 
decided not to tell her about the interstellar tribunal on bootleggers, and 
boggled at the idea that she was risking her life for a teaching aid without 
even knowing it.
What kind of planet made rules about the songs you can sing? The same one that 
copyrights its language, then makes it the universal tongue of trade, I guessed. 
I felt a surge of hatred for Earth, and imagined my home planet blowing up and 
breaking 
Are you Pan Venrugie?
Who? One of the girls was standing. It was question time, I guessed. I hoped my 
anger hadnt been visible on my face.
I am Sam Breen.
Maybe... you are the brother of Pan Venrugie, she said, pronouncing the P 
sound as so few Octavians could. The actor.
I imagined explaining that I preferred to spend my spare time punching people in 
the face rather than watching the latest mediastar implode. Sorry, I said.
One of the girls activated a small holo from her ring, and held it up for me to 
see. Pan (I assumed) did a little dance, and from the ghostly rendering I could 
see absolutely no resemblance. However, we both had legs rather than tentacles, 
and so I was the closest person to Pan theyd ever see in real life.
I suppose I should have nodded and smiled. I shook my head. Pan is from the 
moon, I said, where all the bird-boned mediastars are made. I pointed to 
myself. I am from Earth, where the real people live.
Glancing at Mrs. Ahms creased brow, I mercifully simplified. Pan lives on the 
Moon. Sam lives on Earth. Which wasnt true, but it was understandable, and I 
was rewarded by a good percentage of nodding heads and ahhs.
I told them All About Sam. I got them to guess how long it took on a rocketship 
to get to Octavia. I told them how I loved Octavia. I told them how I had a 
friend on Montavia who was a roboman, and got them to draw a roboman on the 
board. I told them any silly shit that came into my head, as long as it was 
simple, as they gazed at me adoringly and scrambled to answer my questions. That 
ate up half the class.
Then, when most other teachers would have let the students ask questions for the 
rest of the class, Mrs. Ahm told them that there were questions on their 
recorder-pads based on my little talk. Whoever answered the most questions, she 
said in Octavian, would get a kiss from me. 
This introduced a volatile chemical into an already unstable compound. They 
started asking questions in English and frantically inputting.
Do you understand what I said? she said innocently.
I hope you win, I said, equally innocently.
Oh! Only the students, she said. She hit me on the arm. You are bad, she 
said, but smilingly.
Why was I flirting with a married woman? I wondered idly. It had just come out 
of my mouth. I had listened to Matthews schemes of infidelity with a scorn... 
an interested scorn, mind you. I supposed that forgetting my Speak-O-Matic was 
one of those blessings in disguise  learning the language kept me out of 
trouble, anyway. That jogged my memory.
So will the students want me to sing a song? I said casually.
Her eyecrests spiked. You?
I shrugged. OK.
She immediately asked the class and the keening began, chatting amok.
I went to the control panel and punched in 66945.
The song was called Full of Happiness, and it was clear by the stunned looks 
on the girls faces that they couldnt quite believe they were hearing the 
beginning chords of their favourite famous hit pop song.
This is a song by I.C.Y., I said, eliciting a piercing scream from somewhere 
in the back.
I had been practicing the Intergalactic Cool Youth song for the better part of a 
month  ever since I had been asked by the kids in Plangyo to sing a song. The 
only tricky thing about it was that the song used both the echoey thac and the 
op sound which, as I had been warned, were impossible for Earthlings to make.
But about a week ago, I had discovered that tapping my front tooth with my 
fingernail made the echoey thac sound. And a couple of silly whacking 
combinations later, I made the echoey op by lightly slapping my cheek while 
pursing my lips in an O shape.
So I sung the song for them, and my heartfelt rendition made them squirm with 
adoration. My sound-substitution made them scream with laughter.
I thought it was funny. I didnt intend to change Octavian society.
The only hint I had was when it was over, I looked over at Mrs. Ahm and saw her 
worried face. She smiled quickly, but there had been fear there.




ten




Outside the bus station was one of those half-shell creatures, scooting around 
the garbage. I crouched near it and held out my hand, talked to it. Its tail 
snapped nervously as it spun around, its eyes floaty. I took a step towards it 
and it shot off down the road.
I heard laughter from the station. There was a group of kids watching me. I 
straightened up and wished I was going somewhere else.
The station was an old structure, mostly coral with steel reinforcements added. 
I entered it with a neutral expression and looked briefly at the kids laughing. 
They werent my students  a few years older, but still no more than fourteen, 
two boys and two girls. I sat down, catching the words dirty and Earthling 
out of their conversation.
Letting my expression harden, I focused on the signs directly across from me. 
Something something open door said one; Artemia express hour-something. I told 
myself it was better to learn the language, even when I had to put up with 
bullshit like this.
Some joke involving garbage was told. A taboo involving the little half-shell 
creatures, maybe? The idiots didnt know what a wonderful thing it was to have 
more than one native species; how humans studied the species that had once lived 
on their planet with reverence and feelings of loss. What a nice thing it was to 
think that you could share a planet, learn from each other! Not that the 
half-shells wanted anything to do with me, I thought, feeling my expression grow 
colder.
When the lepers run from your touch, now thats alienation.
I was ready to bridge the intergalactic gap with a right hook  the cold fury 
had crept its frost over my better judgement  when I realized they werent 
talking about me any more. I looked at them. The boy who was talking loudest, a 
tow-headed short kid, seemed to be focused on a somewhat pretty girl who wasnt 
paying attention to him.
Id have been a much better pug if not for this empathy thing (Fast fists, cold 
heart/Thats what sets a pug apart).
I looked around at the other people in the terminal. An old woman watched me, a 
bag of cucumbers hugged to her chest. A middle-aged guy with a suitcase. And 
beside me, on the bench, was a stunning young Octavian woman.
I looked away, shocked. Was I in Plangyo? Who was she? When could I look back at 
her without being too obvious?
There werent any beautiful girls in Plangyo. Almost all the youth that showed 
any promise left, either to go to university or get a job in Artemia. That was 
probably it. She was probably visiting her parents here or something...
I looked back again, rubbing my eye in a ruse. Her eyes, a rare silver, were 
fixed on the ground. I looked back, stared at the ground myself. I wished I 
hadnt seen her. What could I say in my laughable Octavian? Why would she want 
to talk to me any more than the half-shell had? She had probably seen me scare 
it away, I realized, but didnt laugh at me because she had more class, she had 
more intelligence...
The tow-headed kid was suddenly in my face.
Whassup, whassup-whassup-whassup? he said, bobbing his head at me, raising two 
tentacles.
His face was blotchy, his eyes were wild, he couldnt even dance. He bounced up 
and down on his tentacles as if they were springs. Why was he dancing?
Whassup, whassup-whassup-whassup? he repeated.
I finally recognized the line from an Intergalactic Cool Youth song, the chorus 
of which was in English  Whats up  and probably was the only thing he knew 
how to say in my language.
The other kids were tittering nervously, but this was a little too much even for 
them  and they were the town bad kids. I looked over at the pretty girl, but 
she was staring at the ground even more intently. I couldnt believe I was 
letting this little jerk make me look stupid in front of her, I wished I could 
make him ten years older and 
Whassup, whassup-whassup-whassup, he said, this time a desperate shouted 
challenge. I closed my fists and thought about how I was going to find out how 
punching a boneless face would feel when I heard the hiss of the buss landing 
gear.
Are you going to Artemia? said the pretty girl.
I nodded dumbly. She was talking English.
Come with me, she said. I did.
As we got on the bus, she turned back to me and smiled shyly. 
I showed my ticket to the driver and he pulled away, unconcernedly barking the 
bus on a bump of coral as he pulled away. I almost stumbled into the girl.
As the bubbles started to obscure the back window, I looked back at the 
tow-headed kid and took a petty satisfaction at the jealous twist of his face.
And she spoke English, I thought with a barely concealed rush of joy.
She sat down and patted the seat with a tentacle. I accepted her invitation.
I waited for her to say something. She didnt.
Are you  I started.
How  she started.
We laughed. You go, she said.
Are you from Plangyo? I asked.
No, she said. I... have part-time job. In Plangyo.
Oh, I see, I said, realizing that I was again speaking Octo-English. I am a 
teacher at Plangyo Middle School. Irritatingly, I also automatically avoided 
contractions.
Yes, I know, she said, and giggled. My students tell me. You are Mr. Sam? 
she said, cautiously again.
I nodded. You have students?
She nodded.
Are you a teacher?
Yes, I am a part-time teacher. Nayundi Private School, you know?
I didnt.
The lady with the bag of cucumbers made a horking sound with her mouth. A quick 
cursory glance around revealed a bunch of straining ears and averted eyes.
Oh, she said, a little surprised. Some of your students go Nayundi.
That was news to me. Are they good?
Some of them. Some are very loud. One is in love with you, I think. She 
laughed.
Ha ha, I said, looking at her sadly, thinking how absurd she must find that as 
an adult Octavian. She looked straight ahead and composed herself after her 
laughter, calmness flooding her face. Then she looked at the side of a tentacle 
and I realized I was staring.
I looked away just as she looked at me. Do you know the song he sung? The bad 
boy? 
Yes, I said. Intergalactic Cool Youth.
She gave a little jump of surprise and delight. I felt a foolish grin on my 
face. Yes! I.C.Y.! Pop music. Is he famous in Earth?
No, I said. But my students love I.C.Y..
Yes, she said. All Octavian students, I think.
Do you love I.C.Y.?
No, not love... just like.
I nodded. We sat in silence for a while. I pretended to watch the landscape. I 
was thinking about things to say to her, simple questions, but all that was 
coming to mind were ruminations about the kitsch appeal of offworld music acts. 
Then I was depressed that even with this obviously intelligent woman I was 
unable to have a decent conversation.
Blun Kipp, do you know? she said, her silver eyes bright and alive and 
fuelling me up.
Ah... no. Is he a musician too?
Yes, she said, her brow furrowing. But not a pop musician. He, ah, and she 
broke out into an operatic soprano, throwing her tentacles up: lalalaLa! 
Oh, I said, looking into her serious eyes, falling in love. Opera. 
She blinked.
He is an opera singer, I said.
She nodded, smiled. 
I looked around to see if the other passengers had noticed her solo. No one was 
staring. I had yet to understand the exact nature of Octavian conservatism.
The bus stopped and hissed. I wondered if she was getting off, but she didnt 
make any moves to. I looked around and tried to see any differentiating 
characteristics, but other than the name of the town, I couldnt. I read out the 
name.
Good! she said. You can read Octavian?
A little, I said, with feigned Octavian modesty. All Earthlings were assumed 
to be outrageously arrogant, so I thought Id counter it.
Oh, she said. A little. She sounded disappointed.
I had outsmarted myself. 
Fuck modesty Well, I said quickly. All.
Good! She was back to her original level of enthusiasm. Then her eyes narrowed 
slyly. How about  and then she said a word with one of the impossible sounds.
I repeated it, using the thumbnail trick to compensate.
I was rewarded by a flash of delight and surprise. She said the Octavian word 
for wow, then said it in English. Wow!
I was happy that she wasnt as disturbed by it as Mrs. Ahm had been.
One old guy got on the bus. He was swaying  an obvious ujos victim. He traded 
some unpleasant words with the bus driver, and even more unpleasantly, crawled 
into the seat in front and started staring at us.
We sat in awkward silence for a minute. He is very old and ugly, I said to the 
girl in English.
She laughed. You are right. 
He muttered something at her, low and nasty. Her expression changed not a whit, 
her bearing dignified. I was proud of her and I didnt even know her name.
His breath smells bad.
It took her a second to unravel this, and then she cracked up. She slapped me 
playfully, her suckers plucking lightly at my wrist as she did so. It was 
unexpectedly erotic, but it may have had something to do with the fact that it 
was the first female contact Id had in months. The old man shook his head again 
and then turned his disapproving alcohol-soused eyes elsewhere.
I started to wonder if shed be on the bus all the way to Artemia. I wondered if 
itd be too forward of me to buy her a juice at the rest stop. Where do you go 
to university?
She named a nearby town. Molko. I am studying to be an English teacher. Like 
you. I get off the bus at next time. She looked at me. Why do you go to 
Artemia?
I go to meet my friend, again pointlessly stultifying. At a spaceport.
Oh! Very exciting!
Not nearly as exciting as meeting you, I thought. Yes. My friend is very 
interesting. He is a roboman.
Wow! She started crawling all over me, which was not as nice as it sounds. I 
tried not to wince as she crawled over my groin to the aisle. 
She held out a tentacle and I shook it. Good to meet you, she said.
Yes! I said.
She strapped on her knapsack.
Maybe some time we could have a drink together, I said. 
The bus stopped and she jerked forward a bit. Yes, she said. Maybe!
I locked my smile in place. Wondered as I waved good-bye if I should have asked 
her a direct question, if I had loused up the entire thing with native speaker 
vagueness. And how I didnt know her name or a way to contact her and now I 
couldnt even remember the name of the school she worked at
The bus started again and my common sense kicked in. If she wanted to have 
anything to do with me, she wouldnt have any problem finding me. I was the only 
guy with legs on the entire planet.


***


I had agreed to meet 9/3 half-way. Half-way turned out to be this meteor in 
the middle of nowhere.
A meteor, I saw from my porthole in the rocketship, that was utterly barren of 
anything beyond the transfer station. The rounded dome stood out on the pocky 
skin of the surface like the ugly pimple it was.
Fuck. Why didnt I suggest the Bowling Ball? 9/3 liked that place, and its just 
as close.
The rocket thrusters kicked in and we touched down. I booted it so I could get 
ahead of the Octavians and their platforms. I got into the chamber with the 
first group, and the Octavian atmosphere was evacuated with no fanfare.
Unfortunately, it was with so little fanfare that I had been breathing in at the 
time and had a lungful of the old stuff. I choked it out, coughing noisily, but 
some of the Octavians were also having a hard time. One of them hadnt 
positioned himself properly above his platform, so he had settled half-on, 
half-off, a pile of insupportable flesh. I spat out the water, amazed at how 
little there was for the trouble it caused, and started breathing the brand of 
air I had been weaned on. My lungs didnt like it. It felt like white fire.
The bay door hissed open and the four or five platforms around me hummed to 
life, their antigrav units kicking in. The guy who had fallen half-on half-off 
didnt raise at all, despite the green glow under the platform and his frantic 
tentacling of the keypad. Before he sped off, the guy beside him told him 
something that had him up and running before long. He probably had it set to the 
lighter-grav Octavian atmosphere.
I walked out, the platforms passing me. I didnt blame them for rushing  I 
wouldnt have wanted to dawdle in a place that made me look like a bag of soup. 
My muscles were a little sore, so when the guy who was having the problems 
knocked into my thigh I gave him a more dangerous look than perhaps he deserved.
He apologized in Octavian, pulling his joystick sharply away. His head was on 
its side, looking anxious, and only the tip of one tentacle moved. He managed to 
manoeuvre around me.
9/3 was waiting at the exit gate  I could see his head above the crowd. As I 
got closer, I realized thats all there was to 9/3. His head.
I tried to appear unimpressed. Hi.
Hello Sam, 9/3s head said.
Why no body? The android have a hot date? I asked. 
9/3s head tilted off to one side. Why do you ask? Did you like it?
Uh, I said. It was OK.
9/3 paused, and then said, Bodies are too much trouble.
I looked at him curiously. What do you mean?
Where do you want to go? he asked. We were currently in the flow of traffic, 
as another chamber emptied.
Oh, gosh, I drawled, I dont know! Theres just so many great places to 
choose from.
9/3 turned towards a food kiosk. There are seats over there, he said.
I shrugged and we headed to them. 9/3 didnt care about seats, or even meeting 
in person  he would have been as happy speaking over the phone. I was the one 
who needed to get off of Octavia. I was the one with all the demands, so I 
decided to drop the subject.
It was a Montavian kiosk with a consequently very short robot server. On its tin 
can body it had stickers in several languages, Intergalactic food served here! 
alongside a baffling icon. Taking it at its word I asked for Earth-style beans 
and rice, and was met with a cheery blank stare. A second or two later it 
chirped that it didnt have that, but perhaps Id like to try the Montavian 
version of the dish? I sighed and acquiesced. 
9/3s head hovered between the stool and table, finally settling on the latter. 
I reached around it for some salt and after I used it I set it on top of 9/3s 
head. 
How are you doing without your translator? asked 9/3.
I responded not bad in Octavian.
9/3 laughed. Ha ha. Your accent is good.
Really? I said. Octavians had told me that but I never really believed them.
Yes. Too bad its impossible for humans to pronounce all the sounds.
I centred the salt shaker on 9/3s head, so it looked like an antenna. Youre 
sure about that?
The server droid came back and gave me some water. It noticed the salt shaker 
and replaced it on the counter. Do not abuse the condiments, it said without a 
trace of cheeriness. Salt is precious.
Ha ha. 9/3 said. I knew that would happen. Salt is a very important commodity 
on Montavia.
I vaguely remembered some history lessons about salt mine wars on Montavia.
Try to steal it, said 9/3. The droid wheeled around. Uh oh. Ha ha ha.
I snickered. OK, its kind of dumb, but I can do the two difficult sounds. I 
was learning this song by an Octavian pop group and I did the lines You catch 
my hand I will get up, I give you happiness. (It rhymes in Octavian.)
9/3 processed that. 89% of the population would understand that.
Really? I said. Statistics had a way of bolstering my confidence.
And you use your mouth to make those sounds, 9/3 continued. So once your 
vocabulary is large enough you can register as the first offworld speaker of 
Octavian.
Huh! I said, imagining a ceremony involving medals and kisses.
Of course, there will be repercussions, 9/3 said. It will change Octavias 
cultural status.
Oh? I mumbled through a mouthful of food. That sounded complicated.
At the moment, because the language is believed to be unique, certain cultural 
activities that would otherwise be illegal are permitted. And some sites are 
funded by the Earth Council. 
I nodded, remembering Mr. Zik saying something about Earth in connection with 
the giant statue at the Line between water and air. I had dismissed it at the 
time, assuming that Mr. Zik was mistaken  yeah, right, the selfless Earth 
Council was giving money away. 
Who is your teacher? 9/3 asked.
Youre looking at him, I said. Mr. Zik loaded my pad up with a full tutorial, 
and Ive been working at it most nights. Beats staring at the wall or running up 
long distance bills.
Really? he said. Your vocabulary base is probably pretty small, then.
I nodded, untruthfully.
A few memorized phrases, he said, and my pride rankled. It is just as well. I 
would have to register you immediately otherwise.
I nodded silently, happy I had kept my mouth shut. With 9/3 I knew that thought 
and action were near-simultaneous.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed something way taller than the rest of the 
Octavians around us. I looked over and saw what I first took to be a humanoid, 
but then realized it was a pair of glinting steel legs with a glass bubble 
torso. Inside the bubble was an Octavian.
Wow! I said. Neat!
9/3 looked over  that is, his head floated up, turned, and set down again. 
Yes. They are Squidollian walkers. The bubble is filled with the users natural 
atmosphere. A Squidollian visitor had one with a translator built in.
The legs loped on, moving quickly and fairly dexterously. With English?
No. 9/3 said. I said it was Squidollian. It would be far too expensive for 
them to mass produce.
I thought the Squidollians were very prosperous.
Since the Intergalactic Trade Commission adopted English as the official 
language, they have been less so. And the copyright fees on translators outside 
the Earth colonies are deliberately prohibitive.
Deliberately? I said.
9/3 snorted, a static buzz. Of course. In fact, after the war there was an 
attempt to designate Roboworld as non-English. It would have meant we would have 
had to pay to speak our native tongue.
What?! I said. That was news to me. Thats just xenophobic bullshit! Youve 
got human brains!
Yes. It was bullshit. It was funny hearing 9/3 swear. Once it was proven that 
the brains that we grew in the biovats were actually more purely human than 
Earthling brains  statistically, because of your interspecial mixing  the 
Council dropped their case.
I never even heard of that, I said, revolted by the profit-mongering. No 
wonder robomen hate Earthlings.
Robomen dont hate Earthlings, he said  I thought out of habit. But then he 
added. Many robomen view the Earthling as a little brother who refuses to grow 
up. Earthlings are even referred to as Little Brothers, in slang. The plans of 
the Council were not generally known on Roboworld, anyway. My special interest 
has always been intergalactic relations.
I thought information was... heavily monitored on Roboworld, I said, not 
wanting to say censored.
All stimulus deigned to be superfluous is restricted, he said in a 
matter-of-fact way. When I was not assigned a function, my access to various 
things was increased.
Yeah? I said cautiously. I always wondered about that. Did you decide to come 
out here because you didnt have a function, or...?
I was sent by Central Authority, 9/3 said. Robomen do not do things simply 
for experience, as Earthlings do. As strange as I am among robomen, I would find 
that purposelessness to be extremely unpleasant.
The stream of Octavians had been replaced by a stream of Montavians, the tiny 
little men marching in the opposite direction, their little metal boxes swinging 
from little fists.
So... do you think you were sent because of the relations between the two 
planets? Montavia and Roboworld? I didnt want to seem like a total dummy  a 
total Little Brother  and I knew there was some connection between the two. 
What was it?
Perhaps. 9/3 said, watching the stream of munchkins. The Montavians make the 
best tools in the galaxy, and we buy exclusively from them.
That was it. Tools.
I believe I am the first roboman to ever live on Montavia. The children run 
behind me in the streets.
Same here, I said, grinning.
They run with their small toolboxes, and if they catch up they start to 
disassemble me.
It was funny. It was awful. Awful funny. My face reflected both, simultaneously.
Ha ha, said 9/3, and I joined him. 
I always had a good time with 9/3, as different as we were. It made me think 
about how narrow my social sphere had been at home. How old are you, anyway?
51 Earth years, said 9/3.
Man, were so different, I said. Its amazing we get along so well.
9/3 paused. Yes.
The door that I had come out of opened again and released a wave of Octavians 
into the opposing stream of Montavians. It just looked to be bad timing, because 
the Montavian wave was nearly finished, but neither group wanted to pause. I 
immediately tensed up, oddly protective of my prone Octavians in the midst of 
the pushy munchkins.
Sure enough, one of the Octavians was knocked off his platform and disappeared 
below my line of vision. None of the Montavians were stopping, and a few seconds 
later they were all gone. The Octavians, heaps of weak flesh that they were, 
couldnt help him. I got up and ran.
I slowed to a walk, thinking, I shouldnt interfere, I dont really know whats 
going on. Behind me I could hear an alarm go off at the kiosk and remembered the 
stolen food in my gut. I started running again, as the chamber door opened and 
more Octavians came out. 
I ignored the alarm and dodged my way to the centre of the stream. He had his 
tentacles on the platform and was attempting to pull himself up, the platform 
tilting with his effort. He wasnt getting stepped on, as I feared, and I lifted 
him up  so light!  and set him on his platform. It was a little embarrassing 
to be cradling an adult, and I could only imagine how he felt.
He turned his head to look at me and said thank-you in Octavian. I told him it 
wasnt worth thanks (the polite Octavian response) and he took me at my word, 
speeding off. I escaped the stream with only one minor collision.
I went back to the kiosk where 9/3 waited. Did you pay? I asked.
He nodded. Just in time. The droid was powering up its stunner.
I had been hit by one or two of those in my day. I laughed weakly. Thanks.
9/3 said, You reacted very quickly.
I thought about how, back in the old days, I could be asleep when I got the 
call. Forty-five seconds later Id be flicking the ignition on my jetpack. Seven 
minutes after that my boots would hit the ground where the scrap was, and I 
would be in there cracking jaws no more than a minute later. 0:08:41 was my 
record.
It was amazing how quickly you could react, when you believed in something 
strongly enough. Even if that something wasnt worthy of belief.
The kiosk droid came up to me and treated me like a new customer. When I waved 
it away, still deep in reverie, the stool hissed to the ground. I attempted to 
sit in another one and it collapsed too. 9/3 laughed, until the droid cleaned 
the counter and pushed him off. He fell halfway to the ground before his 
antigrav kicked in.
Have a nice day, said the droid.
I stood there, arms folded, looking at 9/3s bobbing head. 
And you thought this place was boring, he said.




eleven




I felt a little nervous asking. It was like questioning the floor youre 
standing on.
Why did you want to learn English?
Mr. Kung glanced at Mr. Nekk and poked at an earhole. Mrs. Ahm got that intent 
look. There was always a pause, and Id taken to looking out the window in a 
pensive pose.
It was a tough question, and not just language-wise. I didnt expect Mr. Kung to 
suddenly realize his whole life had been playing a small part in a colonial 
conspiracy, and break down crying. I had my own reason for asking. I thought it 
might give me insight into Jinya, the woman I had met at the bus station. She 
had called my vidphone when I was on the meteor with 9/3. I had no idea what she 
wanted  for that matter, I didnt know what I wanted.
I was... skilled at English, said Mr. Nekk. When I was young, English was 
very fascinating.
I was again impressed by Nekks vocabulary. I got up and wrote fascinating on 
the small board. Above it I wrote very interesting. 
Fascinating means very interesting, I said. Kung and Ahm nodded, Kung more 
energetically and untruthfully. Fascinating, I said in the repeat-after-me 
voice.
Fasnating, they said. Nekk didnt repeat, just sat there in a smug way.
Why did you want to learn English, Mr. Kung?
Fasnating, too, he said, continuing his tradition of answer-theft. I idly 
wished too was more difficult to say.
I looked at Mrs. Ahm, who was formulating an answer. I realized I was impatient, 
that I really hoped to learn something.
English is very modern. I am a modern woman. I think.
Jinya thinks of herself as a modern woman, probably.
Kung said in Octavian that modern women are good to
English! I snapped.
Sorry.
Are modern women strong women?
Ahm nodded cheerfully. I think!
Are women more interested in English than men? My eyes wandered back to the 
window, where a line of students had intertwined their arms to form a long line. 
Other kids were climbing from one end to the other. Before I could figure out 
why, Mr. Nekk set his words out in front of me.
English is very plopular with Octavian women bleecause it is good for teaching. 
Women teachers are very respected.
I shrugged. Men teachers, too.
No, Mr. Nekk said, repeating it to Kung in Octavian. Kung shook his head. 
Teaching is the blest job a woman can get, he said. Blut men can do bletter 
jobs. Men teachers are not respected.
Kung said less important than wallens in Octavian. 
Yes. They mock us, Nekk said, his face bitter. They say we are no better than 
the wallens, garbage eaters. Wallens, Mr. Zik had told me, were the little 
half-shell creatures I had spotted in the alleys of Plangyo.
This was pretty interesting. It made Mr. Nekks annoying bossiness seem a little 
desperate, a way of salvaging some dignity  and Mrs. Ahms cuteness seem a 
little affected, deliberate.
I looked at her. She nodded. It is very difficult to be a teacher.
So Jinya was ambitious enough to compete for the best job on the planet. Out the 
window, the line came around in a circle and tightened until it was a huge pile 
of kids.
What are they doing?! I said.
Kung looked and said a word I didnt know. 
A game, said Mrs. Ahm.
Kung got up, suddenly active. He twisted two of his tentacles together and 
pulled them. They stretched an unpleasant amount. Then he released them with a 
cavalcade of pops and his tentacles flew out. Then he pointed at the kids.
I looked at them. I looked back at him.
Stress, said Mr. Nekk.
What? I said, baffled.
Mr. Kung enlisted Mr. Nekk, who tentatively offered up his skinny frame for a 
demo. I was willing to drop it but obviously Kung wasnt  his eyes were alive.
Is it like an Earth game? Football? I said.
No, Kung said, intertwining arms with Mr. Nekk.
It is a war test, said Mrs. Ahm. To practice for war.
Kung waved his arms, whipping around Mr. Nekk until I feared for his spotty grey 
appendages. Suddenly there was a tearing sound  I was sure it was Nekk getting 
dismembered, but it was the sound of suction cups popping in a series.
I win, said Kung, looking at me hopefully. OK?
I looked back at the window. Now the line of kids was an undulating snake. I 
couldnt see any possible relation.
Oh, I see, I lied. 
Kung made a satisfied grunt and sat down. Mr. Nekk just sat down.
I didnt want to bring up the war, but Mrs. Ahms mention of the game being 
practice for it tempted me. I hedged a little. The game is traditional? I 
pinched myself for slipping into simplespeak.
Yes, we stopped the monsters with that game, said Ahm, also entwining her 
smooth and lovely tentacles. 
I suddenly imagined sucking on one of them, suction cup on tongue, sex fantasy 
shrapnel, and pinched myself again. Are the monsters, I held back extinct, 
all dead?
On this side of Octavia, yes, she said, a little guarded.
You are lucky to have so many native species alive, I said. Dolphins, 
wallens...
We love wallens, said Mr. Nekk. The others laughed. It was a little confusing 
 trash eaters in one breath, and this in the next. Was he actually attempting 
sarcasm?
Delicious, said Mr. Kung, fucking up even the simplest English words.
What do you think? said Mrs. Ahm, with a funny smile
About wallens? I think theyre cute.
No, Mr. Nekk corrected. About Octavian Sokchu tradition.
I dont know much about Sokchu, I said. Specifically, all I knew about the 
high holiday was that we got the day off.
We eat wallens, Mr. Kung said, opening his unpleasant maw and shovelling in 
imaginary food. 
I chuckled a little. You eat with wallens, I corrected, imagining a kind of 
interspecies banquet that had some kind of history behind it.
No, said Mrs. Ahm.
I looked at Mr. Nekk. We kill them. We cook them. We eat them, he clarified.
Oh, I said, my head spinning a little. Well.
I looked out the window, but there were no students to distract me. I tried 
desperately to think of anything other than their little bodies piled up on a 
platter, tails hanging dead over the edge.
It is very... shocking? Mrs. Ahm said, her eyes shining, it seemed to me, 
psychotically.
Yes. I said, the stun wearing off and anger rising. It is disgusting. I 
think.
Mrs. Ahms eyes dropped.
Mr. Nekk looked at me, coolly. It is an Octavian tradition.
It is not very modern, admitted Mrs. Ahm with a shrug.
Yes, I thought. Eating smaller and stupider species than you because you can 
wouldnt be in the modern category. I thought about Kungs delicious comment 
and felt my hands curl up in that familiar way. They want to be savage? Lets be 
savage, then...
I thought about Jinyas tentacles tearing apart flesh and chewing it, and was 
overcome by a sick tiredness. 
The wallens were the allies of the monsters, who killed many Octavians. 
Millions. Sokchu is our day of freedom.
I checked the time. Still a lot left. I didnt want to talk about it. I didnt 
want to hear about the history right now, though I was interested, because 
hearing about how clever their generals were would give me an even worse case of 
moral indigestion.
Oh, how righteous you are. Whats a little flesh-eating in the face of Earths 
past? At least theyre just eating them, not suffocating them slowly with an 
alien culture.
The seconds ticked on and nothing was coming to me. My growing embarrassment 
struggled to stifle my outrage, and, despite outrage being a weightier opponent, 
embarrassment won. I was surprised, but the brains a funny ol bean.
Um, so, I said. Mr. Kung, what are you doing this weekend, I asked. I 
already knew the answer, so I challenged myself by thinking up responses in 
Octavian.
I go drinky, he said with a small laugh.
Me too. I go to an offworlder party. Where I hoped to meet people who didnt 
eat other people, I thought grimly.
They made appropriate surprised noises at my Octavian. Mr. Nekk made a 
correction and I thanked him, calling him teacher. It had the impossible pop 
sound.
Mr. Nekk was shocked. He spoke very quickly to Mrs. Ahm, who basically said I 
told you so.
I... it is not real... language, Nekk floundered, his vocab coming up short.
Its a trick, I admitted.
Trick, yes, said Mr. Nekk. Not real. He seemed to be saying it to himself 
more than me. 
I was gratified to have unsettled him, but a little annoyed at myself. I had 
been keeping my proficiency kind of a secret  it let me eavesdrop easily, for 
one. And I still hadnt decided whether I wanted to find out whether, 
officially, my tricks were real or not. 
Mr. Kung continued, having not really followed the rest. And I go to Artemia. 
I looked at him and he was beaming, a childishly sly look on his face.
I had had enough.
Your second wife lives in Artemia, I said slowly. Are you going to have sex 
with her?
His grin dropped so suddenly I swore I heard it thud. He looked at his two 
colleagues, who averted their eyes. 
Class ended early that day.


***


We also have some hot mulled wine, the hostess said.
Oh, Ill have that, I said happily.
Ill take a beer, said Matthew, sneering at me.
9/3 said nothing, looking around the kitchen. He realized the woman was looking 
at him and watched her until her smile started to wilt.
The wine sounds nice, said Hugh, and her smile strengthened again with that.
She busied herself and we all stood around her kitchen, looking stupid. Matthew 
folded his arms, tilted back to look at 9/3s ass. 9/3 spoke.
Your decorations are quite tasteful, he said.
The hostess beamed. Hugh beamed too, for some reason. She gave us our drinks and 
waved us towards the rest of the party, such as it was. At the moment it 
consisted of us and the husband and wife who lived here.
Let us take-a-seat, I said, when the husband followed his wife into the 
kitchen. I realized too late that I was still speaking slowly and put my head in 
my hands.
Matthew, naturally, couldnt leave it alone. Oh Kay Tee Cha.
IguessIcantalkasfastasIlikewithyoujerks, I said.
Matthew cupped his ear. Uh... can you repeat?
We sat down on the couch, 9/3s female android bodys legs crossing smoothly. I 
wondered if he had practiced that.
I hate this first-nerds-at-the-party thing, griped Matthew.
I scheduled the trip so as to allow for a one hour margin of error, 9/3 
responded.
Margin of error, snorted Matthew. Whattaya gotta talk like a machine for if 
youve got a human brain? Or that is, you claim to have a human brain, he 
wisecracked, taking a swig of beer and staring at 9/3s (admittedly fabulous) 
breasts.
Hughs nostrils flared. 9/3 started scratching the back of his head, which was 
unusual.
They didnt seem ready to deal with Matthews obnoxiousness, so I took up the 
slack. Ah, shaddap. You were the one who I started.
Whatever, wineboy. Enjoy your delicate bouquet, Matthew said, waving his hand 
and looking towards the door. 
I was, actually, quite enjoying the cinnamonny drink. The steam curled and 
twined towards the ceiling like a ghosts DNA chain. I hadnt seen steam for 
months.
I heard the hinge squeak open but I didnt look until 9/3 said, Matthew.
Matthew, focused on sucking all the yeasty goodness from his bottle of Neb Beer, 
eventually looked over.
9/3s head swivelled right around so that we could see that he had opened a 
hatch in the back. The top half of 9/3s head was a glassed-in box, within which 
was an unmistakably human brain.
Aw, shit, said Matthew, looking away. 
I stared. When was the next time I was going to get to look inside a robomans 
head? The lower half of the head was packed with multi-coloured wires. And 
through the glass box they led into, I could see the glowing lights I knew to be 
9/3s eyes.
He spun his head around and looked at Matthew. 9/3s laughter had an echoey 
hollowness that disappeared when he clicked his panel shut.
Its so big, said Hugh, with a strange look on his face.
9/3 shrugged. It has the same mass as an average human brain. There is slight 
swelling due to the wire implants. Of course, it is much bigger than Matthews, 
because of the amount of cells he has killed with beer. Ha ha.
We all laughed at this, and it was good timing because the hostess was just 
answering the door.
So it sounded like a little bit of a party, anyway, when the three people came 
in. Two guys and one, much to my surprise, rather pretty Earthling. While the 
hostess fussed over them, I muttered now were cookin with gas to Matthew and 
got an Amen brother back.
She made a beeline for Hugh, naturally.
Are you Hugh? she asked.
Why, yes, he said, looking mildly surprised.
Introducing the galaxy-renowned Hugh Davidson! said Matthew, rolling his eyes, 
as pissed as me.
Were from the same planet! she said excitedly.
He seemed to push back into the couch. Youre Christina?
She nodded. He smiled weakly.
Youre from the moon? said Matthew, insultingly dubious. She was attractive, 
sure, but it wasnt the kind of delicate-creature-beauty one found in female 
lunarians. 
She shook her head.
Christina teaches the Unarmoured, said Hugh.
Ah.
Hugh teaches the Armoured, said Christina to one of her companions, a 
perfectly white bullethead android. He made a gesture with his shoulder too 
delicate to be called shrug, and said in a soft, cultured voice, My 
condolences.
Hugh gaped.
Sid is one of my students, she said. Hes riding an android for the night. I 
liked the way that she put that, disliked the way she patted the androids 
shoulder.
Being a cloud of nerve endings, he pronounced, does not suit travel.
So whats it like, teaching the Armoured? she asked, sitting down.
I rose immediately and walked into the kitchen. I didnt want to hear Hugh 
answer that any more than I would want to watch him walk over broken glass.
Our two hosts were sitting at the table together, chatting happily. They sprung 
up as I entered, guilty in their solitude.
Thanks so much for inviting us all, I said.
Oh, its our pleasure, she said, him nodding along. He was a stocky Earthling 
with short grey hair on a lumpy head.
Do you entertain much? I probed.
She looked at her husband. A few times a year. It gets lonely out here.
I nodded. It had been a bit of a walk from the rocket we had rented, and we had 
remarked on the bleakness as we crunched our way, fully spacesuited, to the 
domehome. 
This is really good wine, I exaggerated. She immediately lifted the angular 
carafe and filled my glass. Cinnamonny. And you worked on Squidollia last 
year?
Yes, for the last two years actually. We liked it there. She looked at her 
husband, who nodded confirmation. We met Matthew when we went back to visit.
Kids like him, the husband said, grinning unjealously.
Young teachers very good, I said, and they chuckled.
I admired the steam from my wine again, relishing its ephemeral ascent. Did you 
 I started tentatively. I mean, living on Squidollia, its got the same water 
atmosphere as Octavia, did you find you missed the steam?
They smiled. Its the little things you miss, he clichd, but somehow it was a 
considered, even wise, thing coming from his well-worn face.
She said, Now I miss the feeling of waking up in the morning in Squidollia, and 
the shock and panic that gives way to the realization of where you are, why 
youre breathing water, that youre going to live after all.
That happens to me, too! I said. I thought I was just a novice.
Its hard to beat the survival instinct, he said. Kathy woke up with a start 
every day we were there.
Oh, but it certainly gets you awake, she said.
I grinned. Beats an alarm clock.
They laughed. His was a hearty one I liked instantly. I liked them both, 
actually, and it felt mutual. It was odd, because I would never have met them 
back home, two twice-my-age geezers with no shiny attributes. Now I was so happy 
to talk with them I felt drugged.
But maybe it was the wine.
The other guy who came in with the Unarmoured andy and the Earthling entered the 
kitchen and put some bottles in the fridge.
Still on that yak milk, eh Ewen? said the host.
Yep, said Ewen, leaving the kitchen without making eye contact.
Sparkling conversationalist, I thought. Is he a teacher? I asked.
She nodded. Yes. He started with us. Odd boy. Think he might be sweet on the 
girl in the overalls.
Lucky her, snorted the host.
Ewens a bit... socially challenged, she said. Came out here when we did. We 
figure he likes teaching because no one really notices what an oddbod he is.
I nodded. Yeah, there were a few strange ones in our bunch too. Kind of a last 
chance thing.
He teaches Cottellians. He actually volunteered for a second year with 
Cottellians, the host said, his voice low amazement. It was hard to imagine 
choosing the dim-witted puffballs out of the whole galaxy of species.
John figures hes found a way to copulate with them, Kathy whispered, covering 
her mouth with a hand.
You cant imagine theres a lot of interesting conversationalists there, I 
said. Maybe thats what he likes, though.
I can only assume thats the case, said Kathy. Not the most challenging of 
teaching positions. Unlike John here, getting quizzed by his students on 
vocabulary and grammar.
John nodded. And frankly, I had to fake it on the grammar. My grammar, when I 
write something, is fine, but its totally intuitive  I cant explain why I do 
something.
So are you a writer? I asked, finishing my wine and setting the glass down. 
Is that what you do with your days out here?
Well, Im writing the audio for a video game triptych, he said. Nothing 
terribly interesting, Im afraid. A friend of mine wrote the game, and Kathys 
sculpting the objects for it.
Wow, that sounds really hand-crafted, I said, impressed. I had never heard of 
anyone generating a game bit-by-bit.
Hi, said the girl with the overalls. Which way to the yak milk? Her body 
tilted with the question, a contrived movement I found annoying and sexy. 
She was directed to the fridge, where she fetched a bottle for herself. She 
fiddled with the cap in anxious fingers, a nervous type, but not moving towards 
the door. She reminded me of Lisa, somehow.
You remind me of my friend, somehow, I said, the wine having weakened the 
artificial boundary between thinking and verbalizing. 
I find that the longer Im away, the more likely that anyone human reminds me 
of someone on Earth, she said.
What part? I said too abruptly, feeling like a junkie. What part are you 
from?
Chicagotown, she said.
Toronto, I said. Were practically neighbours!
I basked in the warm glow of fellow Earthlings and wine and repressed an urge to 
ask John and Kathy where they were from. Why not save it for another time?
There was a silence and Christina took a healthy swig of the unhealthy liquor. 
Your friend, Hugh, she started, isnt the happiest of guys, is he.
Well, I said, shrugging, hes upset that he didnt get to be with the 
Unarmoured, I said to all three listeners.
Yeah, she said, a distant look in her eyes. I just thought it would be 
interesting, she said. I didnt know there would be other applicants.
Its not your fault, I said, with a broader grin than applied. The impact of 
the wine was making me think of an Octavian folk rhyme: Oh trickster wine/ you 
make my tentacles flail/ you make me fall on my head.
I wondered what it would be like to visit the Unarmoured world on weekends, what 
her overalls would look like all bunched up beside the bed.
You have a lovely kitchen, said Christina, apparently on an entirely different 
wavelength. The instafood oven must save time.
Oh, its very convenient. We had one on Squidollia and now I cant imagine life 
without it, Kathy said, patting it fondly.
John walked over to the wall panel and poked a few buttons. A buzzing started 
from overhead. The lights dimmed. Wait til you get a load of this, he said. 
Those ceiling panels? Theyre actually Opaque-tastic Glass. The buzzing 
stopped. He punched another button, and the glass cleared like a mist.
And we could see the stars. I tilted my head back. After a few seconds, I could 
see the pattern of an attacking dwarf.
Wow, said Christina, isnt that something.
I saw a constellation that looked like a saucer. Yeah. I look a deep breath, 
thinking about being in a dome in the middle of nowhere under these twinkling 
drops, with nice and interesting folk, people who didnt eat people smaller than 
themselves. I let my breath out.
After a few minutes the Unarmoured and Hugh came in together. They looked at the 
stars with us for a minute, but then resumed their conversation.
Ideas are artificial, at a basic level, murmured the Unarmoured guy, tilting 
his bullethead.
Thats exactly it, exactly, said Hugh.
It wasnt so much the pretentious drivel but the way it immediately captured 
Christinas attention that made me leave the room.
9/3 and Matthew were still on the couch. Matthew had his back to me, turned 
around and speaking intently to the roboman.
Why not? Matthew said.
Why not what? I asked, sitting down.
Matthews head swung in my direction. He had a funny grin, and he took a swig of 
beer. He slowly sat back. 9/3 sat there, his pretty arms crossed and his 
eyelights unreadable.
I waited.
Matthew shrugged and tilted the bottle back again.
I leaned forward. Did he... ask to have sex with you, 9/3? 
No! yelled Matthew, his face painted scandal scarlet. Come on!
I leaned back, relaxed. What was it, then?
I just wanted to see his tits, said Matthew.
I stared at Matthew, amazed. He kept defiantly meeting my eyes and looking away. 
9/3 remained silent. How would he feel about that?
I swallowed the bitter dregs of my wine. The door opened and two guys walked in 
with a case of Neb beer. 
Kitchens in there, Matthew said, chinning towards it. Neb drinkers welcome.
Thanks, man. 
Robomen dont... I started, shaking my head, You trying to get him declared 
defective?
Oh, shut up, said Matthew, rolling his eyes.
Maybe I am defective already, said 9/3. 
I need another drink. I got up and went to the kitchen. Hugh and the Unarmoured 
guy were ensconced in the corner, Christina was getting talked at by one of the 
guys who had just come in. Kathy took my cup right away and as I was waiting for 
it back I noticed something familiar about the way that Hugh was leaning in and 
touching the Unarmoureds hand. It was the same way he had been with 9/3 at the 
Octavian bar a few weeks ago, before Matthew and I left on his quest for whores.
Maybe I am defective already.
Kathy passed me a full cup. Sam here works on Octavia, she said to the man 
whod come in with the case of beer.
Is that right? Just stopped off there myself. Quaint little place, he said, 
with a knowing grin I disliked immediately.




twelve




He was rude, I said to Mr. Zik a few days later.
Was he from Earth? Mr. Zik asked. Earthlings are very plolite.
I dont know if he was, I said. But he was stupid, tapping my head with a 
scowl, and too loud.
Not normal Earthling, I think, said Mr. Zik. More bleer?
I consented.
He called out to her as she passed. She stopped, most of her tentacles laden 
with platters, and continued on after giving me the once-over.
She was young and pretty by Plangyo standards, and the restaurant was flashier 
than the one Kung took me to, but not entirely Earthified. True, the place did 
have an English name (The House) but the pictures on the walls were of 
Octavians rather than offworlders.
The waitress came by and dropped a bladder of beer on the table. I snatched it 
up and squeezed out a glass for Mr. Zik.
You know how to use the old-fashioned style? he said, after thanking me.
Of course, I said. I am an Octavian. We laughed at that.
It had taken a few tries to get it to work, but the plastic bags of beer  or 
any liquid  made more sense, and not just due to the liquid atmosphere. All you 
had to see was one Octavian struggling to lift a pitcher with a handle made for 
human hands to show you that.
But in big, modern cities like Artemia, more restaurants used pitchers than 
didnt. It was infuriating.
One of the rude offworlders told me that there was a special restaurant in 
Artemia that used forks. I didnt care to add that he had gone on to imitate 
the trouble his fellow diners had had. Only on an alien planet could you be 
proud of speaking your native tongue and knowing how to use a fucking fork!
Very strange, said Mr. Zik. Is he... was he visiting Octavia?
Yes, for a week. And for that he felt like he was an authority on all things 
Octavian. He was making fun of  do you know making fun?
Mr. Ziks pale yellow eyes wandered. Like a good time?
No... uh... mocking, I said, unable to think of anything simpler, though 
defaming and ridiculing popped uselessly into my head.
Yes, mocking. He was mocking you? Mr. Zik inquired, deftly rolling the bladder 
into his tentacle and squeezing me another glass.
No, I said. He was mocking Octavians. I wanted to punch him. Luckily Matthew 
had seen the needle on my aggrometer and had dragged us out of there. 9/3 had 
come with us, after asking Hugh if he was coming. Hugh stayed.
Mr. Zik blinked.
Punch, I said, throwing one slowly into space.
Ah yes, said Mr. Zik. Earth-style fighting. 
I nodded. Octavian fighting was, naturally, more fluid.
But... it is very old fashioned?
I thought about getting into the whole history of the pug movement, how it 
sprang up in opposition to the prohibitively expensive and ineffective vengeance 
vendors  then how Id have to explain how the vendors got that way... I looked 
at Mr. Ziks smiling, slightly drunk face and changed the subject. 
You are working very hard these days, I said. Mr. Zik had been making charts, 
adding up rows of numbers, and rushing back and forth between his desk and the 
principals office. I hadnt wanted to disturb him, so I kept to my letter 
writing. Are you done now?
Yes, he said. Thats why... he pointed to the glass, drinky.
Oh, thats why were drinking, I corrected. It was fine for Kung to sound 
childish, but Mr. Zik deserved better.
It is my job to send the marks to the high schools, he said.
Why is it your job? I asked, automatically defensive for him.
Every teacher has an extra job. Some stay on the weekend to guard the school. 
Mr. Ent does the schedule.
Of course, I had no extra duties. I was also spared having to give out grades. I 
was spared a lot of things, I thought guiltily, then I remembered the gym 
teacher and my temper flared.
What about Mr. Blok? I said, thinking about his indolent strolls through the 
staffroom, his stupid-but-well-received jokes. He never seemed to be busy. Is 
it his job to annoy the teachers?
Annoy? Ssss-sss-ss, Mr. Zik said. No. He is to discipline the blad students.
My mood darkened. On the few occasions I had stayed after school I had seen it 
in progress, this discipline. A student would have all eight appendages 
stretched out at once, secured in what looked to be a painful position. I didnt 
know for sure  I didnt know Octavian physiology to know what was painful, but 
I know it well enough to know that the position left the sex organs exposed. 
They were usually crying, either from the pain or the embarrassment, as Bloks 
reedy whip of a voice came down again and again. Worthless! Shame to your 
parents! Lazy! Shame to Octavia! 
I hate Blok, I said.
Mr. Zik looked alarmed. Mr. Blok is your blig brother.
I shrugged. Mr. Zik was watching me, worry plain on his face. There was no point 
in pursuing it. It went too deep.
Shall we go... another place?
Sure, I said. We got up and before I could get my hand in my pocket Mr. Zik 
had paid for it, passing the beeds to the young waitress. It could have been a 
sensuous act  the sliding of tentacles certainly looked so to me, in my tipsy 
state, except that the waitress was looking in another direction and calling out 
an order to the kitchen as she did it.
Thanks, I said.
Dont mention it, said Mr. Zik, grinning like he meant it.
Wow, were drunken, I said.
Yes, Mr. Zik said. I must go to washroom.
Me too, I said.
On our way there, I ignored my general principles against humanization and 
prayed for Earth-style toilets. I needed to take a shit and it wasnt something 
I was very good at.
I opened the stall door on the wall-toilet and did my business. (I remain vague 
because no matter how strongly people press for details  in the name of 
cultural edification, naturally  I am invariably stopped before I get a full 
sentence out.) Mr. Zik was gratefully not one of those males who need to talk 
while in the john, and waited patiently outside the door.
Every time I use an Octavian-style toilet, I said, as we left the restaurant, 
I am more grateful for you giving me an Earth toilet.
Ssss-sss-ss, said Mr. Zik. No, is not me, is the school bloard...
I cut him off with a shake of my head.
Outside, it was cool and dark. It felt like a different season than the one I 
had arrived in. I started thinking about the fact that planets with different 
orbits and species with different sleeping patterns had had to conform to Earth 
time. Usually, it made me mad, but tonight it made me almost teary.
We walked along the street. A lot of the places were closed, one of the places 
was selling human dolls. Everythings the same. Earth has bullied everyone into 
being like it. I felt like I had come here to bear witness to the fact that 
Earth was everywhere, and what was more, Earth was welcomed into the houses of 
Shall we go sing-song room? asked Mr. Zik.
I looked at him. He was smiling as if he had asked nothing untoward, a normal 
suggestion for a night on the town. My mood neatly inverted from crash-bound 
into soaring. Tremendously marvellous, I said in Octavian.
We swung into the sing-song room on a cloud of joy. (My jubilation at Octavias 
unassailable alienness was amplified by the alcohol as much as my prior misery 
had been.) Mr. Zik booked a room, and a young boy escorted us there, looking 
askance at me. It was a small room with two or three places to sit  I wondered 
if there were smaller rooms, perhaps a stall, for just one songster. He stared 
at me until Mr. Zik closed the door on his slack-jawed gaze.
I was disappointed at the selection. No Intergalactic Cool Youth, I 
complained.
Your favourite pop group, said Mr. Zik with a smile, removing the microphone. 
My daughter, too.
You have to sing, first. Your favourite song.
Mr. Zik nodded. He sped through the selection and chose something from the 
Traditional section. He made a few adjustments at once on the panel, obscure 
level changing that showed a casual expertise. The first twangs of the song 
started. It is very old, he said apologetically.
Good, I said fiercely, I hate modern.
He looked at me with the perplexed fondness that characterized our relationship.
Then he started to sing, slowly enough so that I was able to translate.
Bubbles over Plangyo
Where did you go?
When you were here before
You promised us more
I have mentioned Ziks sunken face and thin lips. He wasnt handsome, by his 
worlds standards  never mind ours. I had never seen him sing before, but I 
would have imagined it would have been a reflection of his shy speech. It was 
not.
The dish is empty of food
Our hearts have drained
Beyond this life
What is there?
I sat there, glad I had not sung my favourite song first. It would have been 
insulting. Between verses, Zik looked into middlespace as if he was adding it 
all up in his head.
Hopes for our minds
Dreams for our spirit
Food for our body
Bubbles over Plangyo
As the last few plaintive twangs faded away, Mr. Zik came back, slowly.
Thats a very beautiful, sad, song, I said. You sing it very well.
Thank you, said Mr. Zik, I am not a good singer.
Why is it your favourite song? I asked for lack of being able to articulate, 
unable to take my eyes away from his face.
It is a very famous song, he said, looking at the microphone in his tentacle. 
During the war with the dolphins, there was a battle near to this place. The 
soldiers who were not killed saw the blubbles from far away, and they came to 
here.
They thought the bubbles meant that there were people here.
Yes, but there were no pleeple here. Very sad story.
What happened to the soldiers didnt interest me particularly. But why Mr. Zik 
was so moved and transformed by this song did. Was this a moment of indulgent 
melancholy or a peek beyond his social facade? Was he, at his heart, a sad man? 
I felt unreasonably close to him.
He offered the microphone. I took it, reluctantly. They do not have my real 
favourite songs.
Yes, only plopular songs, I know, said Mr. Zik, forgiving me.
I looked at the selection. I searched for just one song in English that wasnt 
about rocketships or girls. The bouncy Got me a Saucer (but I aint got you) 
almost tempted me, but it was like using belchy cola to chase a bittersweet 
liquor.
Stupid songs, I said into the mike. 
Shall we go? asked Mr. Zik. 
I nodded.
I walked Mr. Zik to the bus station. He stepped into a phone booth and spoke to 
a blurry image I assumed was his wife. He always called his wife. I wondered 
what their courting had been like. Had he sung to her?
We went to the same bench I had met Jinya at. I sat in the exact same place. I 
met a girl here, I said, immediately a little embarrassed at my outburst.
Mr. Zik nodded politely, but made no inquiries. A comment like that made on 
Earth would obviously mean I met an attractive female on whom Ive placed 
unreasonable hopes. Will you ask me about her so I can revel in delusional 
fantasies? But Mr. Zik was completely unaware of that, for Earth can sell her 
music and language and entertainment, but some of the neurotic nuances were lost 
amongst the stars.
I thought about that, a grin pasted on my face, and leaned back on the bench. 
Mr. Zik took out a chew of tobacco and looked towards the road.


***


Mrs. Pling and I walked up the ramp to the second floor. It was a test day.
She had to wait for me at the top. You tired? she asked.
I nodded. I started to tell her why in Octavian, but noticed the half-dozen 
curious students listening in on their way by, so I tried in English. Mr. Zik 
and I went drinking.
She looked blankly at me.
I mimed it.
Ah, drinky, she said, and laughed. Ujos?
No. Much beer, I said, rubbing my head.
When too much drinky, we say, she switched to Octavian, The movie is 
stopped.
I thought I misunderstood, but then I realized she was describing passing out. 
In English, we say a blackout.
My husband, blackout, all the time, she said with an unconcerned laugh.
Oh, I said, as we walked into the classroom. In English, we say alcoholic.
The class met my unexpected appearance with the usual stunned mayhem. I smiled 
and stood there, watching them settle down, which they did with unusual speed.
Two kids were still standing and Mrs. Pling wrapped a tentacle around each of 
their necks and tightened. One she actually picked up and slammed into her seat. 
The other one she dragged to the front and released a torrent of abuse on. Then 
he was sent back to his seat with a stinging slap to the head.
The rows were silent and attentive, and Mrs. Pling surveyed them sourly for a 
moment. She called out for the leader of the class, and a tall boy sprang up. 
Why do you shame me in front of a junior teacher? she yelled in Octavian. His 
head drooped You are a bad leader, she said.
I am very sorry, he said, genuine misery on his face.
I stood there feeling slightly ill. How much of this was my fault, caused by my 
presence? How did she change so quickly, from giggling at me for showing up to 
work hungover, to this?
Mrs. Pling punched a few buttons and the test started. I strolled around, 
watching them choose answers to multiple choice biology questions. One girl 
looked back anxiously at me as I peered at the diagram of an Octavian. Ah, so 
the sex organs were located where the tentacles met! I started thinking about 
Jinya, and our date tonight, when Mrs. Pling pulled my sleeve.
I tensed up, worried that I was going to get a smack, but she was all smiles. 
Go to black, she said, pointing to the back of the classroom.
I nodded, pleased for any direction.
Junior teacher go there, she added, by way of explanation.
I failed to keep the scowl from my lips. I got to the back, swivelled, and 
looked anywhere but towards Mrs. Pling. I didnt believe she did it on purpose, 
out of spite. It was this goddamned Octavian hierarchy that seemed to be soaked 
into everything, slapping everything into order.
It wasnt that I minded being told what to do, it was more the feeling that I 
was expected, as an inferior, to do it unquestioningly.
I looked at Mrs. Pling now, moving proudly down the rows, a handsome woman 
despite her age, and tried to imagine what shed be like confronted with an 
abusive, irrational drunk husband who dragged her out of bed after midnight 
demanding food to be made for him. Would she submit grimly? Would she be jokey 
and good humoured? I couldnt guess.
The girl beside me sighed and put her test down. I recognized her from one of my 
English classes  her misshapen boulder of a head and her profoundly stupid gaze 
made her quite memorable. I had yet to get her to say anything in English, but I 
still liked her.
Once, out on a walk through Plangyo, I had passed her and two older black-eyed 
folks I took to be her parents, resting from cucumber picking. Despite my smile, 
they had stared and said nothing, three silent lumps. I had been feeling 
particularly lonely that day, and this almost pushed me to flat-out misery.
Then the little girl remarked in Octavian: He is my English teacher. He is a 
very nice man. He doesnt let the boys hit me.
I didnt look back, because I wasnt supposed to understand. I couldnt help 
grinning, though. The stupid girl, so stupid she didnt know to smile when 
someone she liked walked by, justified all my hours of studies. More than 
anything else that happened, this was my real reward.
So obviously I didnt want her to quit a test ten minutes in. I tapped her pad 
questioningly. She glanced up slowly, with a goofy smile, then quickly back 
down. I didnt know how to say pick answers at random in Octavian. 
I walked away, guessing it wasnt the first or last time shed flunk a test. By 
this time another boy actually finished his test. I knew him, too, from my 
classes  he was one of the best students. His English handwriting was better 
than mine. He looked at me and winked. There was something annoying about that, 
but I winked back. He called up a comic book on his recorder-pad and started 
reading. 
He was destined for university, maybe even in Artemia. She would be a cucumber 
farmer, if she didnt kill herself in the machinery. I wondered how they felt 
about each other, or if they thought about each other at all.
English comic blook, Smarty-Pants said, showing me soldiers with projectile 
weapons and shields. war comics.
Good, I said, glancing at Mrs. Pling to make sure that speaking wasnt 
inappropriate junior teacher behaviour. She smiled back.
Judging by the amount of brow-crunching and frowning, it was a fairly hard test 
 time was going quickly for them. For me, though, time had stopped. All I had 
to do was walk around and look official. I wasnt concerned with catching people 
cheating, which may have been a welcome distraction.
I was at a bad angle, so I couldnt see what the stupid girl was doing at first. 
I knew something was going on because I could see her boulder-head moving from 
side to side. I strolled to a better vantage point and saw that she had two 
painted rocks curled in her small tentacles. She was moving them up and down, 
closer and further away. What the hell was she doing?
I tried not to move or draw attention to myself since I was sure she would stop 
what she was doing as soon as she saw I was watching. I looked at her face, and 
saw her lips moving occasionally, moving the rocks at the
Oh, I see. Shes playing. The stones are little wallens or whatever.
I felt really dumb.
I looked up and realized Mrs. Pling saw her too. But instead of throttling her, 
she just looked away. Mrs. Pling was sad, I realized, and I wanted to tell her 
that it was OK, not everyone has to ace the test, not everyone has to succeed. 
But I suspected she would look at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.


***


Hey Lisa,
Sorry its been so long since the last letter. Ive been trying not to write, 
actually, since I thought it might force me to live in the now. But earlier 
today we had a special lunch, and I dont want to be a part of the now, or on 
Octavia at all...
We had flesh for lunch. Theres a small creature that lives on Octavia who, due 
to some old war grudge, is beaten to death (because the terror makes it more 
delicious, I am told) and cooked and eaten on certain holidays. And because I am 
a special guest they tried to give me an extra large serving. When I refused, I 
couldnt keep the revulsion off of my face, and I felt like I was criticising 
the entire culture. Mr. Zik, my co-teacher and guardian angel, looked miserable.
Mulla mulla mulla. 
So Im glad to hear that youve decided to oppose the renovation of Minnora. At 
least one of us can do something  I feel completely powerless here, that 
anything I say or do is completely negated by my being an ignorant offworlder. 
Renovating a planet is just powerbroker-speak for making it economically 
compatible with Earth  it doesnt seem nearly as ruthless when its done by 
remote control. Ive seen my Mom bring down native governments during breakfast, 
and then express concern that Im not eating well enough.
Unfortunately, I dont have any contacts you can use. Maybe someday Ill be able 
to stomach it for the length of time it would take to insinuate myself deep 
enough to do some damage, but dont hold your breath.
Your second question: I would stay the hell away from Skaggs, and you know why.
My romantic prospects are, on the other hand, much better. Remember your 
prediction that Id come back with an Octavian wife? It may yet come true. Ive 
got a date tonight with a lovely, lovely silver-eyed young lady with the finest 
set of tentacles in the sector. So heres the story:
I met her in the local bus station. We talked a little  her English was really 
good. I never expected her to call, but she did. She actually tracked me down. 
The first time I wasnt in and she left a cryptic message saying that she had 
so much to talk to me about. The second time, I was just doing some studying  
I think I may be up to the proficiency of a five year old!  and I answered, 
assuming itd be a wrong number. (I get them often enough to know the Octavian 
for Youve made a vidphone mistake.)
When her face coalesced before me, I swear, there was a joy shock-bomb in my 
chest. Her face went from unsure to a smile in nervous gradients. And she did, 
in fact, have a lot to talk to me about. The conversation was easier, in that 
sense, than it would have been with a reluctant Earthling.
Most of the questions were about Earth. The best thing was when she asked how 
many kids, on average, Earthling families have. One-and-a-half, I answered. 
Then, on a whim, I added, One has no legs. There was a second, and then she 
laughed! She laughed, Lisa! It was a pretty lame joke, I know, but nothing 
beyond slapstick had worked until then. The humour barrier has been broken! I 
repeat, ladies and gentlemen, the humour barrier has been broken!
So I have hope for this. And my hope, as well as being a bright and shining 
thing, has also a sticky and glistening side. In other words, I am also 
harbouring evil lusty thoughts. At one point, we discussed the biological 
complexity of a liaison between human and Octavian, as to whether or not the 
rumours were true or just another archaic half-truth perpetrated by exotic 
erotica. I recall, as I am sure you do, my blowing it off at the time  it was 
hard to imagine being intimate with someone who I couldnt banter with.
But now, things have changed. I have found myself peering fruitlessly at the 
diagrams on my students biology tests. I could, of course, do a search myself, 
but Im worried about being monitored.
Since youre interested in all things pervy anyway, I figured Id ask you to 
confirm or deny. Can a human and Octavian go at it? 


My future is in your hands,
Sam.


***


An Octavian female stood before us, a small planet emerging from beneath her 
tentacles.
She is making birth, said Jinya.
It looks very painful, I said. 
She laughed and hit me. No! Is not real. She... is mother to Octavia... all 
Octavia.
I nodded and we wandered on to the next sculpture. It was a wallen playing with 
a dolphin.
Enemy, she said, poking a tentacle at it.
I looked at the dolphin at different angles, trying to divine an element of evil 
to it. Nothing, not even big teeth, just that half-grin that humans once found 
so appealing.
Many young people come here with their sweethearts, she said matter-of-factly. 

Oh, I said, unable to tell if that was a hint. She had suggested we come to 
the sculpture garden near her university dorm, and I had agreed to it  I would 
have agreed to anything. This was admittedly better than just anything, a public 
park with pretty cool sculptures: my first exposure to Octavian art.
The garden was an obviously good choice for a date. There were lots of 
opportunities for side glances, and the sea vegetal brush provided enough 
concealment for a brief touch or even a quick kiss. 
She was wearing an Earth-style frock that I found really sexy  maybe because I 
was used to seeing people wear pants with it. It had a pocket in the front 
between small breasts that I just wanted to rub and push and rub.
We stopped in front of a blob with a square cut into it, me behind her. I 
glanced at the sculpture for a second and then looked at the back of her head, 
neck, shoulders. I was fascinated most by the wave of her crest flowing down the 
back of her head, how much the delicate ridges looked like hair. I imagined 
tracing a wide ridge with the pad of my smallest finger  would she shrink from 
my suctionless caress?
Stupid, she said, whipping around and catching me not looking at the 
sculpture. She smiled a small smile with downcast eyes, and her tentacles rose 
to cover her neck. I dont like that sculpture.
Me too, I said.
Her tentacles slipped down eventually, as did my embarrassment. As they slipped 
past her pocket, she stopped suddenly.
My wallet is gone, she said in Octavian.
I made concerned noises and expressions. We went over to a bench and sat down.
Yes, she said, with calm resignation. I think it is stole.
Octavian pickpockets were notoriously good, for obvious reasons.
She made an oh well shrug with a smile, then stood up. Lets go!
We walked to the next sculpture. I couldnt help but grin. You have a very good 
attitude, I think, I said. Most people would be very unhappy. I mimicked 
crying, and she laughed.
No, she said. It is stupid. Maybe I will get it back. She spotted something 
down the way. Oh! Sam, come on. Hurry up. It is my favourite one. Her tentacle 
swung out and wrapped around my arm, right up to my armpit. I squeezed it gently 
as she pulled me along, mad grinning. The tip of her tentacle twitched and 
tickled like crazy, and her with no possible clue she was tickling me.




thirteen




Where do you want to go? the Octavian travel agent asked.
The client said, I want to go to Earth.
Oh, very good, said the agent, her head bobbing in enthusiasm. The Earth is 
good cost now. (I wrote down: Earth fares are low now.)
Thats great! said the client, her incredible nervousness making the lilt to 
her voice more manic than happy. I am very poor.
A few of the English teachers laughed at this, although it was obvious the 
student playing the client had no idea of the intended humour. I noticed Mrs. 
Ahm looking at me, and I broadened my smile.
I had been pretty sure these were her students  the Earth references and the 
high level of their English (hitting their Ps) were tip-offs. I looked over to 
the vidphone where Matthews bored head floated.
There was a paper cut-out of a rocketship brought out, and the client-student 
held it in front of her. Being concealed seemed to increase her confidence, and 
she practically yelled: 3-2-1 Blastoff!
Farewell! said the agent, waving her tentacles human-style. Bye-bye! Take 
care! See you! Good-bye!
The skit ended and there was polite popping-applause. Mrs. Ahm noticeably 
relaxed. Her two students made hastily for the exit, and three boys trooped in.
Welcome to Plangyo, they shouted together. I glanced at Matthew, who was 
already smirking. I deliberately avoided looking at the teachers.
I wrote: Too loud.
We-have-a-proud-filling-about-Plangyo, said Tallboy.
There-is-many-good-things-Plangyo-like-cucumbers, said Middleboy.
And-caves, said Shortboy.
SHUT UP, yelled Tall and Middleboy.
Matthew laughed, incredulous, and Mr. Kung beamed back. That figured.
Plangyo-bloys-are-good-to-fighters, said Tallboy. I started to zone out, 
looking down at my pad, wondering where to start criticising. I could feel 
Kungs eyes on me like heavy, meaty things.
Shortboy earned the ire of his betters again. SHUT UP!
I started thinking about Jinya. I wondered if she had competed in these speech 
contests when she was young. Probably. If she was here, she would watch these 
bizarre displays and get something utterly different from it  a nostalgic 
charge, perhaps, seeing herself in the kid who played the travel agent. It was a 
little depressing how different my perception of it was from hers.
SHUT UP!
Matthew was, guessing by the angle of his head, writing away, a little smile 
playing on his lips. What the hell was he writing? Maybe it was a letter. I 
wonder whats taking Lisa so long to write back  maybe she was freaked out by 
the idea of me having sex with an Octavian. 
Sliding my gaze along the floor, so as to not catch the eyes of any of the 
teachers, I admired Mrs. Ahms tentacles. They were a little thin, maybe, but 
had a lovely colour to them. I imagined holding them in my hands, sliding all 
the way up to
SHUT UP!
This time Shortboy got poked in the eye by the other two, and then he ran out of 
the room. It looked like it actually hurt. The remaining two boys bowed, and, 
flushed with pleasure, left the room to applause.
The principal stood up and told the teachers that the two judges would be left 
alone to choose a winner. Mr. Kung, despite being the least capable of it, 
translated this into English. Then everyone left, Mr. Kung making jokes with the 
principal, Mrs. Ahm giving me an expectant smile.
Shes a sweet one, said Matthew from the vidphone when the room was empty. 
His voice was coming in a bit crackly so I adjusted the knobs.
over there? he said.
What?
So you couldnt get them to fly me over?
I snorted. They were saying you should be audio only, at first.
Jesus, the Octavians are cheap.
I felt defensive. Theyre just not rich Squidollian bastards, is all. So did 
you talk to 9/3 about the holiday?
Yeah. Matthew scratched his chin. Blockheads in. Dunno about Hugh, though. I 
cant fuckin wait to get out of this soup and catch some warm breezes.
I nodded. I missed the wind, and we had specifically chosen a destination with a 
breezy climate. So the travel agent one is the winner, right?
No way! The Shut Up one. As Ive written here: For pure entertainment value, 
Shut Up cant be beat. Four stars.
I rolled my eyes. For pure idiocy value. The fucked-up thing is that the words 
they mispronounce are the same ones their teacher mispronounces. The guy 
chumming it up with the superintendent. And theres no way he wrote that skit.
Which one did the hottie write? he asked, eyebrows raised in a simulacrum of 
innocence. The travel agent one, maybe?
Maybe, I said, smiling. But it was the best one. The last one was the worst, 
man! Even the first one was better. At least they seemed to know what the hell 
they were saying.
So do you think itll get you laid? Matthew said. If you fix the contest?
Im not fixing  I thumped the desk. Youre lucky you didnt get flown in, 
asshole.
Matthew laughed. Oh, like I care. Travel agent it is.
Good, I said.
We sat there for a moment.
How long do you figure we have? Matthew asked.
I shrugged. Lets just wait till they come back. Any news from home? I asked 
idly.
Matthew frowned. Stuff from my girl... oh, and this crazy message from my dad. 
Telling me not to travel.
Thats weird. Why not?
His signal hissed a little. ...no reason. He got an annoyed look on his face. 
As if Im going to say, Uh, OK Dad, if you say so.
You dont get along so well?
Hes a freak! Hes been fighting for lost causes all his life. Hes missing 
three fingers cause of pissing off the wrong people.
Matthew looked more vexed than I had ever seen him. Lost causes?
Yeah. My great grandfather, too  it skips a generation, thank god. Great 
grampa was messed up in the ASCII wars. He actually died as an anti-English 
terrorist, if you can fucking believe that.
Anti-English, eh? Put that on your application form? I could see shadows 
lurking outside the door, but I ignored them.
Matthew shook his head. Idiots. I dont even know how the hell he found out I 
was going anywhere.
Maybe hes hooked up into some spy network, I said, smirking. 
Matthew was still agitated. Dont go on vacation, Matthew. Youll enjoy 
yourself and forget to ruin your life like me. He was pointing at the screen 
with a two-fingered hand. Can you believe that he tried to teach me old Chinese 
languages when I was young and impressionable?
Really? I said. He knew them?
No, he said. He had bootlegs. But at the time, it was a serious offence. 
Stupid, stupid risks...
I should try to learn Chinese  Ive already learned Octavian, practically. I 
patted down my hair in an insufferably self-satisfied way. And Im going to be 
perfecting it with a fine young miss tonight.
His face smoothed out immediately, as I intended. Well well. Sampling the local 
talent, are we? Well, good luck.
The shadows outside the door were looming larger. I suppose we should let them 
in.
Sorry about freaking out, eh, Matthew said. Talking about my drunken ass of a 
father will do that to me every time.
Im glad to see you freak out, I said, walking over to the door. Gives me 
something to use against you.


***


When I arrived, a minute or two late, they were laughing together. She and he. I 
did the best I could to keep the sudden nauseating dip in mood invisible.
Oh, Sam! Jinya said, jumping up. Her glowing face, her happy beautiful golden 
face that would never be mine, shone welcome. This is my senior, Surrong. He 
wanted to meet you very much.
Surrong also smiled hugely, and stuck his tentacle out. Hi how are you? I am 
fine. When I didnt shake hands immediately, he collapsed into his seat again 
and covered his head with his tentacles.
I took a seat. 
Surrong muttered I am a fool in Octavian. Jinya shook her head.
Mostly to impress her, I told him he wasnt a fool.
You speak... Octavian?
A little.
In universary, I study Englishee, he said, and the big brown eyes I had 
previously assessed as threateningly handsome became openly childlike.
University, I gently corrected.
Yes! he said. Universary! I am her senior, he said, looking at her in a 
decidedly superior way.
Jinya sipped her tea with a small smile, looking into the cup.
Her English is better than yours, I said, and of course Jinya understood it 
first. She is your senior, I think.
He sat there and looked embarrassed, and I felt a little bad.
Surrongs written English is much better, said Jinya.
Yes! said Surrong, puffing up again. His changeability was alarming. Muchee 
bletter!
The way they were sitting together  a matching pair, so right for each other  
wiped me out.
Tell me your family story, I asked Surrong dully, an appropriate question to 
ask a person youve just met on Octavia.
They laughed a little. Accent is strange, she said into her tea. But good.
My family is very rich. My mother is a housewife and my father is a 
businessman.
Surrong looked out the window as he said this, so I chanced a look at Jinya. She 
was still staring into her cup. Her demure behaviour was even more appealing in 
contrast to his chafing arrogance. Could she really like this jerk?
What type businessman? I asked.
He said something I didnt recognize, but that had the word for metal in it.
Stocks in metals, said Jinya. You know?
Yes! I said. 
You are from New York City?
I nodded. I am from Toronto. It is a... 
I turned to Jinya, Suburb? Do you know?
She shook her head and took out her dictionary. A waitress came by and I ordered 
some tea. Sam Breen, she said as she walked away. I smiled and nodded. I had 
never seen her before.
Jinya pinpointed the word and Surrong nodded. I see!
I nodded. Toronto is a suburb of New York.
My tea came. The waitress, beyond the call of duty, poured me a cup. The casual 
beauty in which she made it describe an arc across the table was counterbalanced 
by the dirty looks she gave Jinya. English teacher, she said, pushing out the 
words from between her thickly painted lips.
I nodded nervously. Jinya looked at me. You know her?
No.
What ablout the family, said Surrong.
My mother is a powerbroker, I said. I have no brothers or sisters.
Yes, very good, said Surrong. Powerbroker.
No, its bad, I said. I think.
Why? said Jinya.
Its boring, I said, and they laughed.
No... Make much money, not bloring, said Surrong.
I picked up the dictionary and looked up a word. Unethical, I said in 
Octavian.
The waitress looked over, then said something that made her friends laugh.
Unethical, repeated Jinya, a funny smile on her face. Sam is very 
interesting, she said to Surrong.
I liked her more and more.
Unethical OK, but... make much money good! he said, his face desperate and 
confused, as if he thought it was just a language misunderstanding.
What is your favourite sport? I asked.
His face cleared and he was sunny again. He slapped his tentacles on the table. 
Soccer!


***


A lot of crap had accumulated on my desk so I was sorting through it when I 
heard the ring.
Audio only, I called out, trying to puzzle out an ad flyer that had the 
Octavian words blind and wealth juxtaposed with a smiling model.
That you, Breen? Matthew called out from the speaker.
Retarded waste-of-skin? I called out.
I can tell its you, fuck. You think your accents that good?
I smiled. Lets hear you. Speak to me in Squid, baby.
Etiujwtfjsdlgj, he said. It means idiot-loser.
I laughed. What a coincidence! I just called you that in Octavian!
Thought it sounded familiar, Matthew said. So how did the speech contest go?
I thought about the fact that Kung had to have another teacher tell him that he 
didnt win. His look of befuddled surprise actually made me warm to him, while 
Mrs. Ahms smugness took her down a notch in my estimation. Um... OK. The riot 
police didnt have to be called in. Thanks for helping out.
Beat putting up with my brats in person.
Sure. Make sure I get flown in for your contest.
See what I can do, Matthew said.
The droid entered the room, moving slowly as it tried to clean the room. I say 
tried because its metal tentacles didnt seem to ever get right into the 
corners. I sighed with frustration.
What? Matthew said.
Video on, I said. Matthew solidified and looked where I pointed. It cant get 
into the corners because its built for a normal, cornerless Octavian house. Do 
you know how fucking hard it is to clean by hand? Shit just floats everywhere. I 
fucking inhaled a dustbunny  dustfishy  yesterday.
Matthew laughed. Behind him I could see through his walls and across the street, 
where Squidollians passed by. What you up to?
Not much, just going through junk mail. Lazy Sunday. You?
Recovering from last night. Went out with this guy from the town. I think hes 
a pimp. Someone on the street behind his head stopped and peered in. He was 
looking straight at me, it seemed.
I looked back at the Squidollian. Eventually Matthew looked back, then shrugged 
wearily. Yeah, he said. I know.
Dustfish didnt seem so bad, suddenly. Matthew turned off the visuals.
Doesnt it drive you crazy, the see-thru walls? I said. I had taken to 
answering the phone audio-only because, otherwise, wrong-numbers tended to call 
back  with their friends. Free entertainment!
Eh, theres always night time. You adjust. 
When I looked back at it, I realized I had read the ad wrong  it actually said 
Blind Youth, not Wealth. It was interesting how similar the two words were in 
Octavian. I tore out the word for Youth, along with the models silver eye. It 
made me think of Jinya.
I had my first language lesson with that girl I was telling you about.
Did you come to an... arrangement?
Yeah, I said. Were meeting again on Monday for a lesson.
Where at?
My place. Before he said what he was bound to say, I took the conversation in 
a different direction. She had this guy with her this time  her senior  but I 
guess I passed, because she called me this morning to suggest my place for our 
next meeting. And hes not coming... I put the eye on an ad for a jetpack so it 
looked like the jetpack rider had a giant eye for a head. ...I actually asked 
her if he was.
Good, Matthew said.
No man, I said, No its not. I shouldnt care. I put the eye above the 
jetpack guy and now it looked like the moon. I... I mean, whats the best 
scenario here? I fall for a girl who I can only communicate imperfectly with...
Who can you communicate perfectly with, Sam? No one, thats who.
Yeah, but...
Seriously. I got a lot of grief for going out with Ranni. Guys calling her a 
war bride and shit. People figured the only reason I was going out with her was 
because she was pretty. Thats why I started going out with her, sure, but... 
theres more.
He paused. I didnt say anything.
Im not going to get sappy, but theres more. Her parents 
He stopped. I turned towards the speaker, wishing I could see his face.
I just think its great, is all, Matthew finished. If this girl likes you, 
dont fucking analyze it, man. Just... ride it. Ride it for all its worth, he 
said, switching into lecher mode.
I thought about her tentacles wrapping around my legs on the upstroke. Thats 
another problem altogether. You know about copulation and Octavians...
That shit?! Thats pre-war stuff. This is modern Octavia. Theres some kind of 
suppressant they use now. Look into it...
I barked out a laugh. Oh yeah, Im gonna ask Mr. Zik tomorrow, Im planning to 
have sex with one of your women and I was wondering... Its not like Im 
hanging around with the town pimp.
I dont know for sure if hes a pimp, Matthew said. I just hope he is.
How can you say that shit, man, I said, A second after talking about Ranni? 
I was about to say so tenderly but I wanted to keep it light.
Yeah yeah.
Maybe Im the weird one. It just seems wrong. Its probably got to do with my 
mom. She cheated on her girlfriend of about twenty years, who practically raised 
me, to go out with this jackass who dumped her after a month.
It just doesnt seem wrong to me, Matthew said. I dont tell Ranni because I 
know her feelings would be hurt, not because I feel guilty. Fuck, I wish my mom 
had broken up with my dad. It would have been great. Instead she just sat there 
and took his shit.
Huh, I said, rolling up the jetpack ad and holding it over the incintube, 
waiting for the intake to pull it from my grasp. When it did, it looked like it 
was flying away. You know what I wish?
That you were fucking that girl right now?
Well, other than that.
What?
I wish I had a jetpack.
Me too, Matthew said sincerely. With this atmosphere you could make an atomic 
cell last like two months. Twice as long as on Earth.
And theyre pretty cheap, too. Doesnt make any sense though. Itd cost way too 
much to ship back after Im done.
Maybe youll be staying longer than you think.
I laughed. Just so I can get a jetpack? Dont think so. I thought about the 
way Jinya had giggled when I asked if she was coming alone. Only me, she said. 
It is OK? I smiled. Dont think so, I said again.
I heard you the first time, said Matthew. And I didnt believe you then, 
either. Did you have one at home?
Yeah. Just a single-thruster one, though.
Knew it, he said. You pugs and your jetpacks. Polish it every week?
Pretty much. My stomach was growling. I checked the time and found out why, 
got up and wandered into the kitchen. But I wanted to leave all that stuff 
behind, anyway. Strip myself clean of the... old.
Why? Matthew asked from the kitchen speaker.
I threw some food in the last clean pot. Well, it doesnt mean anything here. I 
wanted to be open to new stuff, I guess.
You brought your aggrometer... said Matthew.
Yeah, well, most people just think its a watch. Part of me was uncomfortable 
about talking about this, especially with an outsider. But part of the change I 
imagined was about being friends again with people who werent pugs.
You know, right before I left, I noticed they were selling pre-stained pug 
jackets
Yeah yeah thats great, I said, turning on the stove with a sharp twist. Id 
rather not hear about that kind of shit, OK?
There was a pause. OK.
Its just not a casual topic of conversation to me, is all. Sorry.
I stared into the pot, stirring it, feeling the silence like an indictment of my 
intolerance. Why should I care if they were making pug into a joke on a planet a 
million parsecs away? 
Oh! Hey, so  holiday plans! said Matthew. Youre still up for planethopping, 
right?
You bet, I enthused.
Man, I been thinking about that. I havent been on a holiday for almost ten 
years. And that wasnt even really a holiday.
Wheredya go? I said, lying on the floor and looking at the roof. No video had 
its advantages.
Well, we were supposed to go to the rings. Saturn. But when we get there, Dad 
gets all excited. I thought it was strange, cause he was always an unhappy 
bastard. But instead of going out surfing, we stayed in our rooms until night.
You were in an orbiting station and didnt go out?
You thought the trip to Octavia was boring  try being eleven and trapped in a 
room without windows, thinking about how you could be having fun on a glider 
instead of staring at your spazz of a dad.
I laughed.
So we go to sleep, and Dad gets us up in the middle of the night. My mom is 
worried right away, Oh no not again. And I know somethings wrong because hes 
rubbing his finger stumps which he only does when hes nervous.
Like... were they scabby or...? I had never seen a wound heal naturally, and I 
had an unsavoury image in my mind.
No, they were medvacd. He just refused to get replacements. He was just being 
an idiot.
It occurred to me that there was probably more to it than that. So somethings 
up, and then...?
Yeah, were all just standing there in the apartment. My sister was really 
little at the time, so my mom was just carrying her.
You have a sister?
Yeah and shes a real hot snog thanks for asking. Anyway, the door stands open 
and theres one of the Unarmoured there in one of those bullethead andy bodies, 
like the one at the party.
Really!
He just motions us to follow, with that creepy smile. Id never seen one of the 
Unarmoured before  just heard about them in the war news, how there was 
fighting between them and the Armoured. I was for the Armoured cause they had 
the coolest tanks. This one looked just like the guys on the news, with the dumb 
little capes. Do you remember?
All I could remember was the famous clip of the group of the Unarmoured meeting 
a phalanx of Armoured, the one where the Unarmoured with the egghead lifted his 
hand and the Armoured fell like dominoes. I think the capes were supposed to be 
a representation of their real bodies, all wispy and gossamer.
I thought they looked wimpy. Anyway, the Earth Council had declared the 
conflict stabilized by this point and so it was confusing to see this guy in... 
uniform, I guess. And he was looking at me real closely when we were sneaking 
away. He was talking to my dad but he was looking at me.
So did he whisk you away in his ship and teach you the secret Unarmoured 
handshake?
No, we didnt get into a ship at all. We all suited up and stepped outside. He 
had access to an airlock  could have done some serious damage if he wanted. In 
fact, thats what I kind of thought we would be doing. It made more sense than 
us going to this nice Floatel  Dad was always raging about people going on 
holidays and stuff. It made me feel really sick. Why was my dad such a maniac? 
He paused.
And?
I was thinking about all those nice things and people getting sucked out into 
space... then the airlock closed. I felt better, but still shitty. The rest of 
them had started flying towards Saturn.
Something clicked in my head then, something about the war and Saturn. Something 
about it being impossible to keep under surveillance.
They were coaxing me to follow but I just had my arms folded and was just 
floating there. They were upside down to me, and they looked pretty stupid that 
way. That made me feel a little better. Of course, it was just a matter of time 
before I fired up the boot blasters.
It had boot blasters? I said, instantly envious.
Serious boot and palm blasters. Crazy thrust. So I caught up with them, passed 
them, pretended I knew where I was going. I wanted to lead, I didnt want to 
remember they were there, I wanted to be alone rocketing across the galaxy. It 
was such a sweet suit. Fully loaded. Weapons. Whoever these guys were
Weapons?
Yeah. Offline, of course. Lucky for Dad.
So you get there
Well, the Unarmoured guy tried to keep up with me at first but I kept pushing 
harder, until he just gave up. He kept us on course, right into the gaseous 
layers of the planet. Eventually we came to this ship
A ship inside Saturn, I said, disbelief frank on my face. Thats impossible 
for a number of reasons. Is this story going to end with and then I woke up? 
He had had me going until then. 
I didnt know it was impossible, so I didnt ask.
What kind of ship was it? I quizzed him.
I dont remember, he said after a moment.
So this Squidollian agent you were with I said.
Unarmoured, Matthew corrected.
Well, at least you remember your lies, I said. And your dad was missing how 
many toes?
Fuck off! bellowed Matthew.
I laughed and laughed some more.
Matthew turned the vid on, gave me the finger, and turned it off again.
Anyway, I dont think well be going to Saturn, if thats what youre hinting, 
I said.
You know where we should go? said Matthew, sounding composed. Pleasureworld 
33!
As Matthew talked on, weighing the pros and cons of the different possibilities 
 i.e., the likelihood of getting laid vs. the likelihood of getting killed  I 
felt grateful to have Matthew in my sector. I realized I had spent most of my 
life hanging out with people who had the same opinions as me, and when their 
opinions changed we could no longer stand to be around each other. But with 
Matthew, our differences were blatant, and yet we tried to figure each other 
out, and made excuses for each other. Our friendship was the answer to a 
mathematical equation, and we worked backwards from there to find the question 
that fit.
After we said our good-byes and I had my dinner I peeked at the time 
tentatively. It was earlier than I had hoped. The evening stretched in front of 
me and I knew only a few hours of it would be occupied by studying Octavian. So 
before it got any darker I lit out for a little wander.
I locked the door and walked out. I stood at the road, looking one way then 
another, having nowhere to go. Just standing there, thinking about how time had 
become a burden. Then, by habit, I walked towards the school.
I tried to remember when I had been too busy. In my last year at school I spent 
all my time doing pug stuff, in secret. I was ridiculously busy, but also, I 
remembered, ridiculously happy. I had just started going out with Lisa. 
Discovery ended it all.
Teecha! Hello!
I turned towards the sound gratefully. I had reached the school on automatic and 
there were a bunch of students on the field. I lifted my hand to wave and felt 
my Earth identity slide off my shoulders. I am an English Teacher.
Hello! I called back, stopping.
The game paused for a bit as they watched me watch them, and then some impatient 
boy yelled at them to start. They did, and after a second I realized they were 
playing soccer.
That is, they were playing with a soccer ball and following the general rules of 
soccer. But the game they were playing was an entirely different thing than it 
was on Earth. The ball was completely concealed beneath one boys tentacles, so 
it was a bit of a shell game just figuring out who had it.
He moved slowly towards the goal, while his opponents slipped tentacles past his 
guard until one finally yanked it out, like the cork of a bottle, and 
immediately passed it off in a smooth rolling movement.
This guy opted for speed and held the ball aloft in one tentacle and skittered 
like crazy for the other goal. I approved of this method rather than the stealth 
of the first boy so I hoped hed get it in. The goalie prepared himself by 
hanging from the top bar and spreading his tentacles to a surprisingly wide 
extent. The star shape reminded me of a Christmas tree decoration, and it was so 
striking I nearly missed seeing the shot.
The boy on the breakaway passed the ball between his tentacles in lightning 
succession and flicked it with an audible pop! at the corner of the net. The 
goalie snapped closed on the ball, suddenly an oblong ball himself, and floated 
slowly to the ground.
The boys made the routine sounds of failure and victory and I called out, Very 
good!
They seemed to remember I was there, and one of them said, You play... socca?
Surprised, I shook my head. I declined politely in Octavian and they laughed, 
either because I was speaking Octavian or because I was a teacher using the 
honourific for the students. I put my hands behind my back and strolled on.
But before I had even left the school yard in the distance, I turned around and 
went back.
Can I play soccer with you? I asked.
OKOK! sassed one boy, flicking me the ball. I trapped it with my foot and 
reared back for a kick. It flew in an unsatisfyingly slow arc back to them, 
black over white over black hexagons, but they made impressed noises. A boy 
pulled the ball to him and idly did a circuit of his tentacles in under a 
second.
I will be goalie, I said. They looked back at me blankly.
I will... I thought for a second, Ball-stop-man.
They laughed and said the Octavian word for goalie.
In English, goalie, I said.
One of the kids muttered in Octavian that it wasnt class time.
I looked at him. True. 
His eyes widened with distress. One of his friends whacked him in the head. 
Sorry teecha.
I got into net. I hung for a second from the top bar, and they laughed. Then 
they started to take shots. But they were soft shots, their eyes always watchful 
for the disapproval of the teacher, and it was hard to miss them. Once, when 
some mud from the ball got on my shirt, one of the students rushed to wipe it 
off.
The boy who had been impatient to start finally got his turn, he came at me with 
appealing ferocity and thrust it between my legs. The boys responded with 
guarded enthusiasm.
I went to get the ball and then gave it to the boy. Number One soccer player, 
I said. He thrust four victory tentacles in the air.
Good-bye, I said.
Several of the boys twined their tentacles and bowed, a few bellowed See you, 
and some did both.




fourteen




Jinya looked around, a small smile on her face. I waved her in, and she pushed 
through the door frame in the Octavian way.
Welcome, I said.
Thank you very much, she said. It is very good. Very modern.
I shrugged, decided against telling her about the difficulty of keeping a modern 
apartment, complete with corners, clean. I had been doing it by hand with a 
small sieve for the last few hours.
I went to sit down and she followed suit. 
She picked my pad off the table. The pad was blinking.
You have someone... a message, Jinya said, and passed it to me. 
I felt all important and accessed it. It was from Lisa and I read the first few 
words automatically: So youre planning to fuck a... 
Ha ha, I laughed nervously, thanking the fates it hadnt been on sendthru 
mode. 
Who is? Jinya smiled, wanting to be in on the joke.
A friend, I said, watching the ribbon tied around her headcrest float. It was 
silver, and matched her eyes. She is hilarious, I said, saying the word 
slowly.
Ah, I know. She said excitedly. My friend Junghee is hilarious, too. She 
gives people names, very good names... fasfessfas, you know?
I shook my head.
Bean-husk, she said. But it sounds very funny in Octavian. Fasfessfas!
I could hear the individual words now. Do you have a nickname?
She calls me Moon, she said.
I thought for a moment. Theres no Octavian word for moon, I said.
English nickname, because I love English!
I nodded. I could see that her tentacles were restlessly sliding along the table 
legs.
Also because... my face is fat, like moon.
No! I said. Your face is... perfect! 
She smiled, and lowered her eyes. I realized that, instead of the vague flirting 
that I would have done back home, I had been perfectly straightforward. She 
circled her face with the tip of her tentacle. Like moon.
From my bedroom door there came a few thumps. I tensed.
She looked up, Sometimes I eat too many snacks. I study for test, and eat many 
snacks... is bad. Junghee said, Stop, Moon! Is good! She laughed.
Beautiful like the moon, I said.
No! she said. Junghee is hilarious, she said, tasting the word. She is good 
friend.
She is a good friend, I said, unable to stop myself.
Yes, right, a good friend, she said, taking her recorder out of her bag. We 
start?
I nodded. 
The thumping on my bedroom door began again. I pretended to ignore it, but this 
time Jinya turned around. What? she said, turning her silver eyes on me.
I shrugged and adopted the teacherly tone, What did you do today, Jinya?
She smiled and settled in her chair. Today, I went to my university. I study 
English very hard.
Thump thump thump. Shit.
What is that... sound? she said.
My droid is broken, I said. What else do you study today?
Droid? she said.
I nodded. What else
I can fix, she said, getting up.
My first thought, even before thoughts of trying to stop her, was she knows how 
to fix droids? Wow! 
It was hopeless anyway, since she was opening the door before I even got up. 
Octavians move fast, especially when cutting in line and following their 
curiosity.
The wallen shot out, saw an Octavian, and shot back in.
Jinya looked at me, her eyes wide in perplexity. Not a droid.
I was... I balked at saying lying, despite its accuracy, joking.
She looked at the wallen. How?
The wallen, scared of Jinya, got behind the door and pushed it closed. 
Yesterday, I went to play soccer, I said. Jinya came and sat down, watching me 
closely. When I came home, he followed me.
Well, with a bit of coaxing.
Jinya nodded. Just... She made shoo! shoo! movements with her tentacle.
No. I like him. Hes cute.
Jinya laughed at this. Wallen is not cute! Wallen is ugly!
To me, he is cute. To Earthling. I felt like an idiot. I didnt even think he 
was that cute. I just wanted to see if they were sentient or not. Now she was 
looking at me like I had been eating out of the garbage and calling it tasty.
Her smile faded. You have... I think...
I felt a sinking, all the dumb hopes I had for her sinking into the pit.
I looked at her. I have what?
You have... She looked up something on her pad. I didnt look, presuming it 
was going to be brain damage. The wallen started banging on the door it had 
closed.
You have... kindheart.
I stared at her and felt a grin tug at my lip. 
Many Octavians think you... crazy. I think you have kindheart. Just me.
My smile was too big to keep on my face. I dont... I am not kind-hearted, I 
said. I am a scientist.
Jinya made the Octavian sound for confusion.
I am studying the wallen, I said.
No! she said, slapping my wrist. You are kindheart. She looked around. Your 
droid is broken?
I shook my head. No, it  actually, it is broken. I took her to the washroom 
and called it out of its cubby hole.
When Jinya caught sight of the toilet, she started laughing. Oh! It is a 
surprise! Earth-style?
I laughed, amazed by the fact that I was having so much fun. Not only was I 
laughing at toilet humour, but the simplest possible toilet humour  the object 
itself being funny.
It is so difficult, she said. I tried, once.
It is very easy, I disagreed. Octavian toilets are too difficult.
Jinya was looking at my droid, spinning it around. I told it to clean the 
corners and Jinya immediately saw the problem.
Yes! she said, and opened up the droids back panel.
How do you know how to fix droids? I said.
She pushed in its eyes and its headcap popped open in its hinge. My brother 
taught me. He works at a... I dont know the word. Owenfgv.
Where they fix droids?
Fix? No, she said, thinking. The birth of droids.
Where they make droids.
Yes! she said. One of the droids metal tentacles shot out to hit the corner. 
She flicked a dipswitch inside its head.
A factory.
Factory, she repeated.
I wondered if he worked on the line or designed them. Does he... I mimicked 
putting a droid together, Or... does he, I mimicked drawing them and thinking.
Hes an engineer, she said, looking back at the droid.
Oh, I said, feeling stupid.
I watched her tinker for a few more seconds. Do you want tea?
Yes, please, she said. When she looked up she noticed the pug moviedisk 
sitting a few feet from her. Oh! she said, and stretched a tentacle to 
activate it.
I went into the kitchen and started making tea, listening to the sounds from the 
other room. It was in the middle of a particularly vicious fight. It was in a 
warehouse in Moscow, during the height of the whole pug thing  there was a band 
playing and someone had brought a crate of oranges. I vividly remembered the 
orange I had eaten after that fight, how it stung the shit out of my busted lip 
but how I was too thirsty to wait for the medvac.


Because they say we cant  we will
Because its our spirit theyre trying to kill
The violence we make is ours
Fighting gives us powers


What was amazing was that despite everything that had happened since that fight, 
the song still hit me in the gut. I stood there, watching the kettle, until I 
heard Jinyas voice.
Sam?
I felt like Id been caught at something. I felt mad at myself for not being 
proud. I felt too defensive to move, covered in scales.
Oh, Sam!
It was her alarm that broke me out of it. I walked into the room, where Jinya 
was watching me pound someone who just refused to go down. My fists were slick 
with blood and I was wearing a calm smile.
What is? she said. She was sitting beside the open droid, her eyecrests high.
I knew this would never work.
It is a... game, I said.
She shook her head. Too violent.
We watched for a little while longer. I started to get some punches myself, and 
Jinya winced. Oh!
After, we medvac, I said, trying to smile. Violent, yes, but no 
consequences... you know?
She shook her head. Her concerned silver eyes reflected a tiny Sam punching 
away. She reached out and turned it off with a slap. She turned back to the 
droid.
The kettle was beginning to boil. I went back, thought about trying to 
communicate how we felt that Earth was a violent place, but it was Sadism With a 
Smile, Remote Control Killing and all we were doing was tearing the mask off of 
that, reflecting that. 
I made the Zazzimurg and brought it in to her. The wallen was banging against 
the door again. I opened the door and it sped away into the night. She watched 
it go, and I could see her trying to fit my kindheart into the maniac shed just 
seen.
Very strangey, she said, sipping.
I nodded. Is it OK?
She looked at me, silent, then at the moviedisk.
I mean the tea, I clarified.
Oh, yes. Is good.
She continued to sip. The shine of her distant eyes reminded me of the Line, the 
place near the planets surface that I visited with Mr. Zik and Mr. Oool. The 
silver mirrorskin of the world that I could push my hand into but never get 
through.


***


Thats just it, said Hugh. Theres nothing to do. This is the dullest place 
in the universe.
No restaurants? I said, intrigued despite his best efforts to entirely dismiss 
the Armoured side of the planet.
They take it intravenously, he said, his lip curling. Through a socket in 
their armour.
Hmm! I said. Lets go!
Hugh and I walked down the street, the street being magnetized tracks that the 
Armoured stepped onto and were whisked to and fro. The space between the 
buildings and tracks didnt amount to much, especially when you considered we 
were wearing bulky spacesuits without helmets. Mine was a cheap bubblesuit, too, 
so the slightest tear would mean Id be exposed to an atmosphere which did 
naughty things to your lower organs. It wouldnt be fatal as long as it was 
brief, but it would be extremely unpleasant.
So I was quite relieved to reach the building named FOOD. A customer stepped out 
(looking satiated, I thought) and stepped onto the track. His head jerked back 
with the immediate acceleration and, even more wince-worthy, he didnt bother 
righting it. I watched his rectangular body go off, and thought how much more 
human looking 9/3 seemed than the Armoured, even though their heads were 
exposed.
We walked through the doorway. Are there no doors on this planet?
Businesses are expected to be open all the time.
I seemed to remember hearing something about the Armoured work ethic from 
Intergalactic Studies classes. Thats convenient, I said.
Yes, well, Hugh said. It was a large white room with recesses in the walls, a 
few of which contained Armoured people, all facing the wall. The hours are 
good, but the goods are horrible.
We stood there for a second. They look like theyre taking a piss, I said, 
sotto voice, hoping that they had average humanoid hearing.
Thats about the attention they afford to eating, Hugh said.
I nodded, wondering if I was really hungry after all. My stomach burbled, and 
Hugh looked at me. I wish I had some solid food to offer you, but my next 
shipment wont come in for a week. I was pretty depressed last week and I... 
binged.
No, dont worry about it man, I said wandering to one of the empty recesses. 
Thisll be fine. I waved my hand in it experimentally. A rod about a 
finger-width shot out and, finding no one to impale, slowly returned.
My hunger has suddenly disappeared, I quipped to Hugh, who was going through 
one of his suit pockets.
Hugh laughed for the first time since I had arrived. I relaxed a little. I had 
turned Matthew down  and the two offworlder parties he was going to  because I 
had wanted to see what Hughs planet was like. And I had been wondering about 
Hugh ever since our conversation in the caves.
You should have an adapter in your pocket, too, said Hugh. They think of 
everything. He held the adapter close to the rod-hole and it shot out and 
sealed. I found mine and did the same in the neighbouring alcove, the hose from 
the adapter trailing into my suit.
An old guy left his alcove and rolled towards the door, his head watching us but 
his body not pausing. Like a child being carried away by his parent, the old 
guys eyes were locked on us  even as he left, his head turned nearly all the 
way back.
What  how? I sputtered. How can he turn his head  arent there normal 
humanoid bodies under the armour?
Oh, theres normal humanoid bodies under there, Hugh said. The neck ligaments 
have been loosened, Im told. He tapped a place on his upper arm. You feel a 
disk thing under the fabric?
I felt for it and found it.
Now push it till it clicks.
There was a quiet snap from his, then mine.
Slide it around a little...
Ow! Fuck! I said.
Its found the vein, said Hugh. Bon appetit.
We sat down on the floor, careful not to sit on our hoses. 
So, I said. Sounded like you had personal knowledge that there were humanoid 
bodies under there. Checking out the Armoured pornography?
Hugh shuddered. I havent been, although Im certain it exists.
Where doesnt it? I agreed.
Ive been intimate with someone here, Hugh said. Although it didnt involve 
any actual contact. He flicked his hair back and pulled his knees to his 
finely-sculpted chin. Ill call her Marion. Her hair was too long, well past 
her ears, and that was the first clue. Then she tried to talk to me in the 
street. We talked a lot. We would have these frank conversations in the middle 
of crowds and no one paid us any mind. I thought it was because they respected 
peoples privacy. But eventually I realized that sexuality has no meaning here. 
It was like discussing shoe sizes in front of an Octavian, he said, waving to 
me.
I nodded, touching my arm anxiously. I hoped it was working.
But Marion was strange. Marion wanted something. So we opened Marion up.
And? I said, trying to see the answers in Hughs troubled face.
I was amazed, first of all, at how easy it was. On one level. She lay down and 
unlocked herself. I just had to lift off the lid, which required all my 
strength, but still  I would have thought myself incapable of it. It was a 
coffin... He shook his head. I dont know. Her body was smooth and pale, 
innocent of any muscle. Nothing I havent seen before. But then she raised her 
trembling head... to look at herself for the first time. Hugh shook his head. 
Then she dropped her head back down, a stricken look on her face. It was 
heartbreaking.
What did she I started.
Thats just it, I dont know. I touched her hand, as lightly as you would touch 
a bird, and there was a second  I guess it took a second for her to register 
what the sensory input meant  and then she started to scream.
Holy fuck, I said.
Hugh nodded. Oh yes, she screamed until I had returned the lid of her 
sarcophagus to its original state. Then she righted herself, and left, and I 
havent seen her since.
What a place for a lunarian to end up, I said, shaking my head.
Hugh glared at me. Oh yes, us with our voracious sexual appetites. Thats not a 
myth perpetuated for profit. Not at all.
No, thats not what I meant, I blustered, its just a cultural thing...
Poppycock, he said. Why do you think I requested to go with the Unarmoured 
for? Because I lusted after a cloud of nerve endings? 
I thought about the intense conversation he had been having with the Unarmoured 
riding the bullethead andy when we left the party, and shrugged.
The metre in Hughs alcove snicked and then so did mine. Are we full? I asked.
He snorted. No, check out the gauge. Were 1/4 through. Werent the appetizers 
scrumptious?
I smiled. Could be worse. Its a little sterile, I suppose, but I can think of 
several planets where its worse. The Urasans, I understand, dont chew...
His face lit up. Yes, have you seen it?
I shook my head.
I visited Urasa two years ago. They tossed entire potatoes down their gullets! 
And with such gusto!
I raised my eyebrows. I would have thought Hugh would find lack of table manners 
disgusting.
And they dont have grinding teeth. Just jaws. You can certainly see them 
tearing into the flesh of another animal. Which they did, you know, as recently 
as 200 years ago.
That reminded me of the wallens. No, I didnt know.
Hugh nodded. Oh yes. The four-legged species barely escaped extinction. He 
seemed to be fascinated by the subject, but not repulsed. Its amazing, isnt 
it? That people considering themselves civilized could tear another people apart 
and actually eat them? And no one saying anything to stop it?
Well, its a tradition, I said awkwardly. Its not like 
Hello, Hugh, said an Armoured person, looming suddenly before us. You are 
enjoying some meals, I see.
Hello, Mr. Samworth, said Hugh, his smile slowly leaving his face.
Mr. Samworths head lolled to one side, his eyes stricken. He smiled suddenly. 
You have a friend, I see.
Yes, said Hugh, visibly sighing. He introduced us. Mr. Samworth is the 
English teacher at my school.
The Armoureds block spun to face me. 
I had a sudden flash of Mr. Samworth, opened-up, twitching and pale. I couldnt 
help it. 
Where are you from? he asked me.
Mr. Samworth, Hugh said, remember when you asked me to tell you if you were 
being rude?
Samworth spun back to Hugh. Yes, he said, forcing his head into a very floppy 
nod that would have put me off my food... usually.
We are trying to have a private dinner. Private.
I see. Spin. It was good to meet you Sam. I am sorry I cannot shake your 
hand. Hee hee.
There was something so scripted and forced to this that I couldnt bear to look 
at him. I mumbled something.
He rolled out. Hugh stood to check the gauge, then slumped down to sit.
Hes kinda creepy
Thank you, said Hugh, grabbing my shoulder. Some days I wonder if its just 
me.
No, hes creepy, I confirmed.
I have to work with him all the time. For the first two weeks he would say the 
thing about not being able to shake my hand every day. Finally I had to tell him 
that he could only say it once, to a new friend only.
What is it with his mouth, too? Why does he move his lips so strangely?
They all do that. Half of my lesson is spent trying to get them to move their 
lips in a normal way.
He looked glum. I tried to cheer him up. Hey, where did you hear about Chez 
FOOD, anyway? I like the way its entering into my bloodstream so evenly with 
just an occasional dash of air bubbles...
He smiled wanly and put his chin on his knees. After a moment, he lifted his 
head. Ive been trying to access them. Its not like I havent tried. I tried 
first with someone I thought was quite like the Armoured, then with Marion. Its 
been futile, though.
Access them?
Emotionally, I mean. He squeezed his nutrient hose. Back on the moon, it was 
like... peoples locked doors fell open at my touch. Here... its like they 
dont have doors. Maybe not even windows. I can talk to them, some of them, but 
I cant communicate. Theyre too different.
I thought I knew what he was upset about. But you could communicate with the 
Unarmoured...
More than that, he said, his eyes piercing me. I could learn from them. Their 
music, their art  its all about breaking down peoples barriers.
Do you ever think that theyd disappoint you? I said. Just like the people at 
the acting school?
That theyd be petty and crass? he said. Thats 
No, not disappointing in the same way, I said. You said they could teach you 
something, I just think thats I shrugged.
Thats what? he said, softly.
I dont know. I shifted. My butt was getting sore from sitting on cold metal. 
I felt kind of bad saying it, because what did I know? I just think you would 
find they werent the answer to the riddle. 
Well, Ill never know now, said Hugh.
Yeah, you may as well set your zap gun to self-destruct, I said.
He looked at me. Is that an Earthling saying?
No, just something a friend of mine used to say.
Hmm. He looked at me. And what about you, how are you enjoying life under the 
sea?
Its pretty good. I really like my host teacher. And Ive met this great 
Octavian girl... I didnt look at Hugh, fearing a knowing look, ...shes 
really smart and she actually fixed my droid.
Is there romance in the air  I mean, water?
I shrugged, thinking about her stunned silence to the pug fights.
If you had your way, would there be? Hugh lightly probed in a way I would have 
found impossible.
Its hard to think about clearly, I said. Because I dont know how much of 
this is my loneliness talking. I was trying to think about what Id do if I was 
back on Earth, but I cant.
I looked at Hugh. He had his chin back on his knees again. Are you lonely? I 
asked.
Yes, said Hugh. You know, I am. And Im not dealing with it well at all.


***


Mr. Zik and I walked out of the school together, melding into the stream of 
students leaving.
Good-bye teecha! came at me about a dozen times. I responded with cheery 
good-byes! in English until we came to the exit gate, at which point I switched 
into Octavian.
Oh, your Octavian is not very good, said one bratty kid.
Its better than your English, I said, and was rewarded by a swell of raucous 
laughter from the swarm.
One girl, linked into a giggly vibrating three-girl chain, said dreamily, He is 
just like an Octavian.
I just smiled. Mr. Zik said, Is he your bloyfriend?
They translated, the girl who had spoken covering her face and keening in 
mortification. Her friend said, My bloyfrienduh!
You are too fat to have a handsome boyfriend, said one boy with an I.C.Y. cap.
You are too skinny, Scrap-of-Nothing, she said.
He moved towards her with a tentacle lifted, but Mr. Zik stopped him with a 
word. A friend grabbed his headcrest and shook it.
We were passing by the small store. A kid came out of it with a stick of candy 
poking out of his mouth and pointed at me, ran back in to get his friend, then 
they sprinted over to us.
After they had squashed and slid past our entourage they just looked at me until 
the kid with the candy smacked the other kid. Thus prodded, he said Mr. Sam... 
Jinya?
I thought he was trying to say something in English and failing. I gave him a 
puzzled look.
Jinya... you?
Do you know... Mr. Zik started for them.
Do you know Jinya you?
Ah. I nodded. Yes, she teaches me Octavian.
She... my teacher... too! he said, pointing to himself. OK!
OK!
She is so pretty, said the kid with the candy stick.
I didnt react, looking serenely ahead with Mr. Zik.
Jinyas face is too round, said one of the chain-girls with a sour look.
Does she work at the private school? Mr. Zik asked me.
I looked at him, I guess to see if I could detect any hostility or worry or 
anything on his face, but there was nothing visible. Yes. She wants to be an 
English teacher, like you.
She is lucky to have met you, he said. You are the best way to learn English. 
Very lucky.
I wondered about that.


***


When I walked in, she was cleaning the blackboard. Three tentacles quickly made 
short work of the days lessons.
Oh, Sam! she said when she saw me. You are so early.
I checked the time. Yes. Sorry.
She straightened one desk. No, is good. I am finished. I am junior teacher, 
she explained, looking around the room, so I must clean the school.
Too bad, I said. In my school, the students clean. To teach them discipline, 
Mr. Zik had told me when I asked him why it wasnt automated. 
Because it is public school. This is private school. She tapped her head with 
a tentacle in a very human gesture. I forgot. Today I must clean the desk. 
Oh... she looked at me sadly. I do not have time to have a lesson today, Sam.
Thats OK, I said. You told me you might not have time.
I must go from here to straight-catch-a-bus, she said, saying the phrase all 
at once. Is right?
I must go straight from here to catch a bus, I corrected, feeling a little 
frustrated because I couldnt tell her why it was, only that it was. Did you 
learn catch-a-bus from your class?
No, from you, she said. You are better than class.
She opened up a closet and took out a box. I watched her, imagining for a moment 
her bragging to her friends how she had a great English teacher that she didnt 
have to pay at all. The thought was black oil spreading in my brainpan.
What did you do at school today? I asked.
No Octavian, she said, waggling a tentacle at me. 
We had agreed to that before, and at the time her explanation that I could speak 
Octavian to anyone on the planet had seemed reasonable.
But I like the Octavian speech, I said.
All right, she said amicably. One of my students said that you were her 
favourite teacher. She opened the box. Inside was a cloth that she proceeded to 
clean the desks with.
Really? I said. Why?
She says you are gentle and funny. She rubbed the cloth against a block in the 
box, and went back to the desk.
Thats nice, I said, failing to keep a smile from my lips.
Because you dont punish the students, you are very popular.
I smiled even wider. To distract myself, I looked in the box for another cloth. 
It was very gratifying to hear that  that my popularity came out of a 
deliberate stance rather than the fact of me being an entertaining oddity.
I surprise you dont punish, Jinya said, rubbing her cloth on the block. 
Because on the moviedisk, you hit, hit, hit. She was facing the board, so I 
couldnt see her expression.
I dont like to hit kids, I said. Because they are defenceless.
She looked at me, cloth in hand. No defence? I see. She went back to her 
cleaning. Is good reason why.
I rubbed my cloth on the block, and started to clean a desk full of love notes 
to various mediastars.
She stopped cleaning for a second. Sam, what plans do you have on weekend?
Matthew had told me about an offworlder Halloween party. I was planning to go as 
a Comet Pirate. I even had the laser cutlass. There is an offworlder party I am 
going to.
She looked disappointed. Oh.
I erased a poor drawing of a saucer from the desk. Why do you ask?
Because Saturday is a special romantic day for Octavian youth. There is a pop 
song. You know? Is famous.
I shook my head.
The time is now/ to harvest your dreams... she sang, then giggled.
I shook my head, smiling.
She bobbed her head, Because tomorrow, tomorrow/ all lies dead.
I like that song, I said, because I did. But Ive never heard of it. Is it 
Intergalactic Cool Youth?
She shook her head. No, no. Is twenty years old? About.
So its a special romantic day because of the pop song? I said.
Right! she said with a big smile. Is too bad
My plans are not important, I said shamelessly.
Oh? she said.
I will stay in Plangyo this weekend.
Oh, good! she said.
I went back to my desk cleaning. I looked at her sometimes, when her eyes were 
on her work. Her smile matched mine: a goofy one that died sometimes, only to 
spring up again.
We cleaned desks for a few minutes. I love Jinya, I said.
What? she said, looking at me, silver eyes wide.
Someone wrote it on the desk, I said. I was just reading it.
Where? she said, coming over.
Oh, I erased it, I said. Sorry. Some crazy student.
Yes, she said, going back. Crazy boy.


***


I left the door open a crack, in case the wallen came back, calling behind me to 
activate the droid. I heard his vacuum powering up before I had walked out of 
earshot.
I checked the time. It was late, much later than wed planned. 
Im sorry, Jinya had said on the vidphone. My teachers wanted to go out to 
celebrate the Special Romantic Day. They did not have men. She had laughed 
merrily at this unfortunate situation.
I think the restaurant might be closed, now, I had said, a little peeved.
Maybe we can go to your apartment and drink all night, she had said.
My peevishness left me, stunned from my head.
Is OK? she had asked.
Is great! I had replied.
I strolled light-headedly through the neighbourhood made blue by the faintly 
glowing night. A wallen rustled through someones garbage, and I peered at it to 
see if it was the one I knew. This one looked bigger, but I wasnt sure. While I 
had been kind of disappointed that the wallen I had met left so suddenly, I was 
in such a good mood now that I was sure that it would be back in my apartment by 
the time I was. Hopefully the droid wouldnt scare it off...
I arrived at the tree. I imagined telling my friends back home that I met 
someone under a tree. Lisa popped into mind.
LISA: Like a place called Tree? A bar?
ME: No, a tree tree.
LISA: You mean a tree like an actual plant? 
ME: Yeah. Theyre really hard to grow in Octavias atmosphere, so its kind of 
like a craft. For ages I wondered why this old guy was always under it, then I 
saw him trimming it. He pulled himself up the trunk and shook the branches one 
by one. I also realized then that the tree looked a lot like an Octavian, upside 
down.
LISA: 
I cut Lisa off in my mind before she had the chance to say something rude or 
obnoxious. I looked towards the old mans house and, seeing no lights on, sat on 
the flat part of the coral where he usually perched. I smiled a little at my 
audacity. The roots of the tree actually went into the coral and I traced the 
lip of the entry point where wood penetrated stone, slid inside the...
When I realized it was turning me on I stopped touching it.
I started humming what I remembered of the Special Romantic Song. Then I cursed 
myself for not learning it  that would have been something to do when I was 
waiting for her to call. Of course, I wasnt thinking the thoughts of a lover 
then. I had been worried she had stood me up, that I had turned down a night of 
Matthews sometimes appalling but always entertaining antics to sit at home.
Sam? Jinya said, her gently waving silhouette a little way down the road.
I got up.
Oh! I didnt know it was you! she said. Because you sit down. I thought maybe 
it was Octavian man.
She was wearing a tan shift. Your clothes remind me of the beach on Venus, I 
said, a little embarrassed by the flowery language.
She looked surprised. Strange?
No, lovely.
We set off. That is my favourite tree, she said as we left.
I thought of the root and the coral. Me too.
A tip of her tentacle slipped into the space between my thumb and forefinger. 
Not a tree on Earth? she said.
Theres no such thing as an Earth tree. The tip of her tentacle slid away, and 
I didnt know if it was because I didnt squeeze it in time or if she never 
intended for it to be there at all. I bit the side of my cheek. Only on old 
Earth moviedisks.
No more? she said, seeming overly concerned. Too bad.
I shrugged, thinking about the planet of trees we had visited on our 
orientation, the heat and the constant prickling and the uneven ground. 
Do you want to buy some beer?
She nodded enthusiastically and we made our way towards the store. I checked my 
pocket for beeds, and it felt like I had one or two of the big ten-beed beeds so 
I relaxed.
The store was empty except for an unhappy looking woman who barely glanced our 
way. I wondered what hopes she had had for the Special Romantic Day.
Snacks, said Jinya, and I nodded and left her to it.
There were a lot of beer bladders hanging there but not a lot of selection. They 
did, however, have a few outrageously priced Earth-style bottles which I was 
nowhere near nostalgic enough to buy. I scooped a couple of big bladders of a 
brand I thought I remembered favourably and brought them to the counter. Jinya 
put a small pile of snacks on the counter.
The woman started ringing them up and looking us over. I couldnt see how this 
could look anything but bad  beer, night-time, Special Romantic Day, a horny 
offworlder  but Jinya looked entirely composed and relaxed.
Is that enough? I asked, kind of joking  it was a lot of beer.
She looked at it and answered seriously. Is good.
We grabbed a few bags each and left. I watched the counter girl go back to her 
magazine, and was struck again by her misery.
She is sad, I said.
Yes, Jinya said. No man. Too bad. She laughed again. My teachers ask me, 
Where do you go Jinya? I go to meet a friend, I said.
We were walking down the last stretch and I realized that instead of passing us, 
the saucer behind us was slowing. I turned around and my stomach twisted quickly 
as I recognized the twined snakes of the police crest. The dome shucked down.
Hello! the fat policeman said, waving his tentacles. How are you Sam!
I got a smile out of my emergency reserves and slapped it on my face quick. 
Hi!
He looked at Jinya for a second too long. He looked back at me, and I noticed 
his eyes were swimming a little, maybe with the stress of thinking of more 
English phrases. How are you? he repeated. He looked at the beer bladders.
Great! I said, feeling my smile ready to give out. In my anxiety, I almost 
started speaking in Octavian, but I had a sudden fear that he would tell someone 
official that I was fluent.
Another saucer approached. He looked at it, then at us. Criminals, maybe, he 
blurted, then he sealed the dome and flew away.
He is not a good English speaker, was Jinyas only comment.
I looked around as we neared my apartment and was happy to find the area 
deserted. My droid was still cleaning away around the open door  everything 
else was clean, I suppose, so the dirtiest air was coming in from outside.
Is dangerous, to leave your door open, she said, as I shut the door behind me.
Yes, I thought to myself, criminals. I looked around for the wallen. I was 
hoping my friend the wallen would visit.
She laughed at this. The wallen is your friend? she said.
Yes, I said stubbornly, giving up the search. Last week he did not come to 
visit. I miss him.
She put the bag on the table. He escaped. Wallens are trekerous.
What?
Trekerous. She looked at my puzzled face. Not good friends.
Treacherous.
Right! In Octavia, many years ago... she began.
I know the history, I said.
Yes. A wallen eats food and then goes away. Not good friend.
Well, it might have something to do with the fact that you eat them, I thought. 
I looked at Jinyas calm face, and felt suddenly unsure. What the hell did I 
know? Maybe they were bad friends. Maybe hitting kids did make them learn 
better.
Jinya was setting out the bladders and the snacks, I was happy to see, on the 
ground instead of at the table. I hunkered down, thinking hard.
I think teaching English makes everyone the same. Its bad.
Jinya tore the top off of a red package festooned with English phrases like 
good and delicious! and snack! on it. Golden spirals floated out. We need 
to know English to do business well. English is important to the Octavian 
economy.
I know, I said, desperately hoping to get beyond the party line, But people 
like Earth movies, and food, and style too much. It makes a danger to Octavian 
culture.
She nodded, tweaking open a bladder. Octavian culture is important. But modern 
ideas are good too, like jetatag for women.
Jetatag? I repeated.
Equality, she said.
That gave me a bit of perspective on why she found it appealing. One reason I 
came here was because I wanted to see a different culture. But I am helping make 
your culture the same as ours. Its very boring.
She laughed. You are right. She took a pull from the bladder. You speak 
Octavian too much. You are bad English teacher.
Thank you, I said, getting into my beer, again wondering if she was using me 
for my tongue.
She hit me, giggling. Is not good. Is... insult!
Her giggling was a warm rain, melting my suspicions and leaving me pure and 
clean.
Where did you learn culture? she asked. Difficult word.
Octavian newsfeed, I said, feeling a little proud. Id gotten to the point 
where I was learning by context.
Your Octavian is much better, she said, seriously. Great.
I thought back to my conversation with 9/3 and wondered how great she would 
think it would be if it meant that Octavia lost its cultural protection because 
of it. Maybe. Tell me about your parents.
My parents? she said, a little thrown off by my shift in conversation. They 
are very good. Although we werent finished our good and delicious snack, she 
opened up another that bragged about having pickles from Jukwong. My mothers 
very funny. Very hilarious! She is very loud. My father is too quiet. Strange, 
you think?
Interesting, I think. On Octavia, it is strange, but it wouldnt be strange on 
Earth.
Yes, I know. Very different. On Earth, women sex women? Is true?
I nodded. Yes. Everyone sexes everyone, I said, liking the new verb. My 
mothers lover was a woman. Jane. They broke up. My mother is loud too, but she 
is not hilarious.
My mother sing songs in the morning. Too loud! She curled two tentacles and 
guarded her earholes with them. Mom, were sleep! She says La La La!
I smiled. I didnt know if my mother could sing. Jane could, though, and the 
thought made me sad. I watched Jinya hook a few rings on her tentacle and raise 
them to her lips. She was humming, and making a light popping sound with her 
suction cups to accompany it. She saw me looking and looked down at the snacks.
I eat too many snacks. When I study, too too many. Sometimes I stay up all 
night and just... tea... snacks... read... make jokes. You know?
I knew.
Sam, we should stay up... all the night. OK?
I nodded, because her silver eyes made it immeasurably appealing.
And I almost made it. Hours later, after she had told me of her dads pearl 
diving accident and I had described pug as best I could, we had come to the end 
of the beer and the snacks... but not the night.
Over the empty snack skins of our party, amazed at how little dark circled her 
eyes, I asked her if I could kiss her.
Her silver eyes became round mirrors. Kiss? her lips said.
I nodded, feeling defeated already. I looked to see if there was a tentacle 
within reach that I could hold, but they were circled around her.
Sam, she said. When do you go to Earth?
Seven months, I said immediately, having done the math.
Is not good, she said. In seven months... I be so sad. Miserable. You know?
I knew all too well. I got up and felt my head spin. I gathered the garbage and 
got rid of it. I went back and found I couldnt sit down, my heart was too heavy 
and I was sure that if I sat I would never rise again.
Im sorry, but Im exhausted. Very tired, I said, so childish-feeling I was 
unable to meet her eyes. I think Im going to sleep. OK.
She nodded, still unbelievably perky. OK. I will stay?
Of course, I said. Wake me when you want to leave.
The droid came alive and started to clean the crumbs around Jinya. No! she 
said to it with a laugh, as if she was scolding a child.
I fell into bed, leaden, not even bothering with the curtains. I lay there, 
listening for any further sounds from Jinya, feeling like one of the Armoured in 
a sepulchral embrace. And then I went to sleep.
...there room? she asked. I looked up, and moved over.
Sure, I said, giving her some of the white comforter.
I looked at her head on the pillow for a moment and I guessed she was finally 
tired too, and felt a bittersweet feeling that she had decided it was safe with 
me. 
After a moment, she turned on her side to face me, a tentacle or two brushing up 
against human skin unnaturally sensitive. Eyes closed, her lips were inches from 
mine. Then they werent. It was a dry kiss and her eyelids didnt even flutter. 
If not for the tentacles gently stroking my arm like underwater reeds, I may 
have not tried again.
Her lips moved slightly apart this time, and her nostrils moved. 
Again. And again, and I felt them move this time, and I brought a hand up to 
stroke the side of her face, her earhole. She moaned.
I touched her headcrest, soft and hard and finely rippled, and rested my cheek 
on her shoulder. I moved my hand down the front of her shift and was gently 
rebuffed. No, she said, as if half asleep.
An hour later the morning light woke me. I pulled the white comforter over our 
heads and looked at her some more. Bathed in white, luminescent, I tried to 
remember what she had looked like in the bus station, when she had been merely 
pretty, and couldnt. The impossible beauty of her at that moment was to be the 
image that would haunt me forever.
Thank you, I whispered, kissing her cheek.
She turned her head to face me. You are very honest when I ask you when you go. 
Most offworlders would say Baby baby, Ill take you with me.
She saw the good things in me, the things that mattered, and I felt unreal and 
chosen. It was suddenly there, taking the form of a lump in my throat, making my 
nose tingle. I... love you, I said, before it went away.
She buried her face in the crook of my arm and I felt her sigh.
Seven months.




fifteen




It was weird to see a droid completely still. By this time, it was fully 
constructed, and we moved along beside it as it slid along on the conveyer belt.
I tried to remember a time I had ever seen a completely still droid. That was 
the thing about droids, they were always sweeping, moving, lifting...
Ag! said Jinyas brother, yanking his tentacle from under my foot.
I am tremendously sorry, I forgot his name. Oh fuck honoured brother, I 
said, just as he was beginning to look at me.
It is less than nothing, he said, while moving away from me.
You are too clumsy, said Jinya, poking me in the ribs.
Youre right, I said.
No English, said her brother, and I couldnt tell if he was joking. I didnt 
want to apologize again, so I watched the droid. It must have been nearly done, 
but I had thought that a dozen times already and then there would be a metal 
coating added or a screw tightened
SELF-DIAGNOSTIC! the droid blared, becoming a blur of motion and flashing 
eyes. I leaped back to avoid its whipping metal tentacles. Jinya also jumped 
back at the same time so I luckily avoided squashing her tentacles.
Wow! she said in English. I said the same in Octavian, and this won a small 
smile from her brother.
Emboldened, I asked him, Why diagnostic?
The droids test themselves, he said, looking at me queerly. English word.
I wanted to know why it was an English word, not what it meant. I nodded sagely, 
deciding the answer wouldnt be worth the effort of clarification.
The droid, finished with its flailing around, rolled off the belt and away. We 
walked around the end of the belt and it was a relief. I had never walked with 
Octavians in such close quarters before. In fact, I was surprised we were 
allowed to walk in the small gap between the conveyer belt and the wall. I was 
pretty sure the same thing would be illegal for safety reasons on Earth.
Not that there were any factories on Earth, besides the image and photon shops. 
Which was why I asked Jinya so many questions about it that eventually she asked 
me if I wanted to visit it.
I had, a few years back, been fascinated by a clip I had seen of a jetpack 
factory. Not just because I was obsessed with all things jetpack, it was the 
noise and the movement and the mirror copies of the gleaming object. They didnt 
have self-testing, obviously, but that was even better  I remembered telling 
Lisa that I had found my dream job until I found out that they used nearby 
Ikkilians to test fly em. Stupid horse-heads, how
SELF-DIAGNOSTIC! blasted through my thoughts. I jumped again, smiling 
apologetically as her brother looked back with raised eyecrests.
He said a word quietly to Jinya that I didnt understand, who linked tentacles 
with him as they walked along ahead of me. Hes too sensitive, he said. She 
slapped him on the shoulder.
I pretended not to hear.
We caught up with our droid, who was now on another belt busily building a box 
around itself. Up ahead I saw that the belt led up the landing ramp of an 
industrial saucer like the one Id seen in the cucumber fields, only shinier.
Before I saw same saucer for cucumbers, I ventured.
Her brother looked at me, nodded. Its good for cucumbers. Terrible for 
droids.
He didnt elaborate, only watched the droid assemble the box as it moved towards 
the lip of the belt. It didnt look like it was going to finish in time, and it 
also looked like it dropped into nothing, and for some reason these 
possibilities made me nervous. I wanted the factory to work properly, 
flawlessly.
I suddenly realized why it wasnt good for droids. Square boxes, round saucer, 
I said.
He seemed to notice me for the first time. Poor use of space, he said, 
nodding.
Inefficient, I said, using one of the impossible sounds. I threw it out there, 
pretended I was watching the box and didnt notice his surprised face. It was 
gratifying to see his mild surprise  he had been brusque with me, not rude but 
a little dismissive, and so I guess I wanted to impress him. 
Octavians usually hated me or loved me on sight, because of what I represented. 
I knew that it was a tricky situation. As I was an offworlder friend of his 
sister I expected to have to win him over. I would have found ingratiating 
behaviour not just weird, but a little nauseating.
Hostility would also have been upsetting, although the way Jinya had insisted 
that we go to the factory led me to assume that it would be OK. It was actually 
better than OK  I instantly liked him for being an engineer who didnt give a 
damn about me, going about his business without a thought of Earth.
Well, other than an English word blared every 25 seconds.
The box finally went over the lip. A few seconds later there was a splash. Was 
the saucer flooded?
I looked at the two of them, but they didnt seem to be disturbed by this.
Why did it I didnt know the word for splash so I just made the sound with my 
mouth.
Jinya laughed, and her brother smiled. Its normal, he said.
Jinya repeated my splash sound. We say poosh, she said.
Poosh! I repeated dutifully, then looked seriously at her brother. How long 
have you been an engineer? 
Ten years, he said.
I thought about complimenting him on how young he looked, but adopted his 
no-bullshit attitude instead. Is it interesting?
He looked at me and nodded. Its a small factory so I get to do a lot of jobs. 
Some are boring, but some are very interesting.
Encouraged by getting two entire sentences out of him, I prodded. Like what?
He blinked slowly, a surprisingly handsome grin growing on his face. Sometimes 
the droids malfunction. Most of the time they are too responsive. Any sounds 
make it move strangely.
They dance, Sam! said Jinya, her face glowing.
We stand around and sing traditional songs, and clap. It is very hilarious.
Songs like Bubbles Over Plangyo? I guessed.
You know, Sam? Jinya said, astonished, pulling on my arm.
No, he said, Its too sad. Happy songs, he said, singing a few notes and 
pop-clapping as an example.
I see.
Tell him about the time when you were a hero, Jinya urged.
He shook his head, and went back to the belt.
There was a crazy droid, Jinya said, her tentacles rippling like they did when 
she was really excited. And... he ran up to people and hit them!
Dangerous, I said.
Very dangerous! Everyone went away. But the droid break everything. So, elder 
brother shot it in the eyes.
With a zap gun? I asked, aiming my gun-shaped finger at her.
No... before, you know?
I shook my head. Her brother was peering under the belt.
She licked her lips in concentration, and the moistness of them drew me in 
instantly. The gun that makes droids.
Oh, the bolt gun, I said. It had fired the small metal plugs through metal 
with a violence that had also made me jump.
Yes! she said brightly. Bolt gun. He used it to kill the crazy droid. Very 
good, I think.
He was walking back towards us. He is very brave, I said.
Yes, said Jinya, looking proudly at her brother.
No English, he said gruffly, grinning.


***


On the bus back to Plangyo I felt the stress in my bloodstream dissolving into 
small ineffectual particles. It was a bit of a surprise that there was so much 
there, it having built slowly on the way there  even if Jinya had made it sound 
like no big deal, just something interesting to do, I still knew that it was 
quite serious to meet a family member on Octavia.
I looked at her briefly, making like I was looking out the window, taking in her 
peaceful face like a sedative. Her brother had a similar look, but not her 
sudden bursts of excitement to balance it  with him I felt observed and found 
slightly lacking. Or I did at first. Now I told myself that by the end, he had 
warmed to me.
I like your brother. He is... diligent, I said, willing her to say something 
about how he liked me, too.
Yes. Very diligent, she said.
I watched the countryside slide by. I could see a loading saucer far away, made 
normal-sized by the distance.
Too serious, though, she said, shaking her head. You are very different.
Im serious.
No! she said, squeezing my arm. You are foolish. Very foolish!
I looked at her fondly, smiling foolishly, my lips within kissing distance of 
her forehead.
Is better, she said, then let go of my arm and wrapped her tentacles around 
herself, chastely. Which was lucky for her.
The familiar first signs of Plangyo  the police station, the sauna, the 
restaurant  passed by. I could read them now even though the fancy lettering 
made it difficult, but since I had first known them as a pattern of colourful 
shapes they remained that way.
We careened into the bus station and got off.
The bus bubbled away. I must to class, she said.
I think Ill go home to study, I said. Because I am very diligent.
No, you are foolish!
We made further arrangements and I left, feeling a warm happy feeling that I was 
at a loss to explain. I imagined writing Lisa about it: I like it when she calls 
me foolish. I could hear her groaning thousands of parsecs away, and I smiled 
on.
I was headed in the general direction of the grocery store when I felt a tug on 
my leg. The tentacle belonged to a youngish looking man who sat in a round 
shallow saucer like the one we had used to move the toilet.
Four of my tentacles are dead, he said, his head lolling.
Thats terrible, I said. 
He let go of my leg. A bus hit me on the road near Kindah.
I live near there, I said nodding. It is very dangerous.
A bus hit me in the head, he said. He smoothed back his headcrest with a 
tentacle and showed me a purple scar that wasnt nearly as disturbing as the 
milky eyes it arched over. Four of my tentacles are dead.
I looked around, at a loss. There were a few curious people on the street 
watching. I took out some beeds and handed them to one active tentacle. He held 
them for a second and then they fell, all but one landing in his dish.
I didnt bother picking the stray one up  it had rolled away, anyway  and 
walked on.
I stopped at a cart where a guy was selling small muffins and ordered a bag.
He snapped open his black iron moulds. At the same time, he used the covered 
tips of four tentacles to flip the fresh tiny muffins into a bag. It had the 
feel of a magic trick, although he looked bored.
Is he a beggar? I said to the cart guy. 
He nodded. He looked over at the dish-boy, then at me. You are generous, he 
said, squinching the bag shut and handing it over.
I paid. Thanks.
He nodded and started refilling the moulds with goo. I walked away, pulling the 
bag open, and decided I disagreed with the guy. I think I was more motivated by 
not wanting to look like a heartless Earthling than by genuine empathy. I 
munched away on the sweet muffins, which Mr. Zik had told me were shaped to look 
like a fruit which Id never seen, and I was almost half-way through the bag 
before I got to the store.
I did a quick shop, and the counter girl tallied up my items but stopped when 
she saw my spicy pickled onion.
She looked a little flustered for a moment, the pickled onions in her tentacle, 
then said No.
I raised my eyebrows, which seemed to almost terrify her. Then she noticed 
another employee coming from the back of the store.
He wants to buy chikim but its too hot for Earthlings, she said to him in a 
whiny voice.
He set down a box and pointed to the chikim. He mimed eating it, then waved a 
tentacle in front of his mouth.
I know its hot. I love chikim. Its delicious.
She broke up into laughter and his jaw dropped. You speak? She hit the other 
employee.
I didnt know he spoke Octavian, he said crossly, picking up his box.
I apologized, and paid for my groceries.
OK! he shouted as he walked down an aisle.
The door shut behind me and I heard a new gale of laughter, its quality perhaps 
a little harsher and meaner.
On my way home I saw a moviedisk rental store and popped in.
I smiled at the guy at the counter, and he smiled back. He was on his 
wristphone. Chikim?! he said incredulously.
I couldnt hear what the other person was saying, but evidently it was 
hilarious. I looked at the rows of moviedisks, my ears burning. The bag of 
chikim hung obviously from my hand.
I glanced at him. He was looking at me with a smile.
Did that girl from the grocery store call here after I left?
He bleeped off. I picked up a moviedisk randomly and looked at the slowly moving 
image, an Octavian with a helmet and a lance. 
Were they talking about me? 
It was a really creepy feeling. Then again, chikim was very popular on 
Octavia... it could have easily been a chance reference.
I put the moviedisk back and approached him.
Do you have English moviedisks? I asked.
He nodded eagerly and pointed to a wall. I went over to it, and he followed.
Good, he said, poking at a roboman action flick, In Zap Guns We Trust VI.
I looked them over, still wondering, not really seeing them. I picked up an 
Octavian one by mistake.
No, Octavian, he said. You... spik?
Yes, I speak Octavian, I said.
Oh... very good, he said with pleased surprise.
Shifting my bags in my hands, I realized that the grocery girl would have 
mentioned my Octavian if that had been her on the line. I relaxed a little. I 
went to the English section, looking for that action moviedisk  it would be 
interesting to watch it now that I knew 9/3 so well. Some of the appeal of the 
roboman action hero is that he is completely pure, completely ruthless, and I 
wondered how that image would jive with the memory of 9/3 walking softly through 
the forest, cradling Hugh.
While looking for it, I came across Princess Artemia. I was a bit surprised to 
see it there  while it was readily available during my teens, it was hard to 
find now on Earth. The current take on it was that the tragic doomed romance 
depicted the Octavian female lead as an exotic prize for the Earthling hero  a 
xenophobic product of its times. 
I put it back on the shelf, wondering if the actress still lived on the planet, 
what she did now. 




sixteen




I am very sorry, Sam, Mr. Zik said when I walked out of the classroom, 
recorder-pad under my arm. 
I raised my eyebrow and smiled, expecting him to ask me some tiny favour or let 
me know about a minor inconvenience. Mr. Zik was always apologizing.
You have bleen replaced.
I looked at his sombre face. The usual tangle of kids roared around us in their 
swirls and eddies, and for a second their noise was the only thing I could hear.
What? I said, seeing Jinyas sad face in my mind, me with a suitcase. 
Mr. Zik evaded my eyes. The school hired another English teacher.
When we reached the ground floor I suddenly wondered if it had something to do 
with my fluency. Why the fuck did I have to show off? Or maybe thered been talk 
about me and Jinya...
We walked into the teachers room and he pointed at the only other human on the 
planet. You bastard! I said.
Matthew turned around. He was grinning ear to ear, sitting at my desk and in 
mid-chat with Mrs. Pling. Hey, is that how you greet a visitor on Octavia?
Sam is very rude, said Mr. Zik, sitting down at his desk. Blastard.
Did you put him up to that? I asked Matthew. Corrupting Mr. Zik. Mr. Zik, you 
are a liar!
Ssss-sss-ss, laughed Mr. Zik. Mrs. Pling asked him what happened and Zik 
recounted the trick in Octavian.
Howd you find our little backwater? I asked Matthew, happy as hell to see 
him. It was funny  I had been crestfallen about the idea of leaving Octavia, 
but the prospect of hanging out with an Earthling and reminiscing about Earth 
things was also exciting.
I have my ways, he said, nodding mysteriously.
You look brothers each, said Mrs. Pling.
I looked at Matthews Asian features and shrugged. All Earthlings look alike. 
I turned to Mrs. Pling. He is much more handsome. 
She nodded in agreement.
I looked at Matthew. I just said You are considered very ugly on Earth.
Ssss-sss-ss. Lets go! said Mr. Zik.
Matthew reached under the desk and lifted a shiny new jetpack made of 
Squidollian glass with chrome trim. He nonchalantly slung it over his shoulder 
and we walked out of the teachers room together.
When did you I started.
A gang of students attacked us, putting out tentacles for Matthew to shake and 
yelling Hellos!
The students are very excited. Now there are twice as many offworlders, said 
Mr. Zik.
But how could you afford I started.
Matthew looked back at me, wiggling his eyebrows. 
I gave up. You bastard.
He flicked the chrome pipe, and it dinged beautifully. Yup.
We walked past the gate and I immediately started addressing the children in 
Octavian. Leave us in peace you little monsters! They laughed at this because 
peace required a cheek-pop.
Man, your Octavian sounds good!
Its not so bad. Ive been getting private lessons, I hinted. Hows your 
Squidollian?
Crap. Not that I have any interest in learning it anymore.
We trudged along, losing kids to the gravitational pulls of the school and the 
corner store. I waited for him to elaborate.
My girlfriend got married last week, he said. My dad told me.
I looked at Matthew. He looked back and shrugged.
Yeah, he went on. My dad was flipping out over us going to Pleasureworld 33. 
He actually called. My girlfriend must have told him. He was blithering on and 
on about how Pleasureworld was the most evil place in the world, yadda yadda 
yadda, and then he stops and thinks to mention, oh, your girlfriend got 
married.
Mr. Zik looked back. I thought he was going to say something but then he didnt.
Then he says its a good thing anyway because shes Squidollian 
Oh, fuck, I said, disgusted.
Yep, typical. Then hes back on how dangerous it is for me to go to 
Pleasureworld, Matthew said. So I just flicked off the vidphone.
Good for you, I said. How could it be dangerous? Hes just xenophobic.
I pointed out a store to Matthew. Thats where I buy my chikim. We reached the 
main street and, behind Mr. Ziks back, I motioned to a window with shadowy 
round things hanging from strings. Tell you later, I said to Matthew. 
We walked a bit further. Matthew shifted his jetpack to his other shoulder.
Little heavy, eh? I said, eyeing it.
Oh no, he said, holding it out for me.
I hefted it. It was admirably light. I wondered how it handled... Take this 
away, I said. 
Smirking, he did. Yeah, I figured that since I didnt have to rush back for 
her, I might as well put a down payment on one of these babies. Ill have to 
sign up for another year to pay for it, but Ill be living in style. No more 
buses for this bucko.
I grimaced. Then my face did a total inversion.
It was my wallen! Rooting there in the alley!
I looked at it closely, to make sure  yep, little grey-black stripes on its 
shell... I walked over to it cautiously.
Matthew stopped and called out to Mr. Zik, who hadnt seen me stop.
The wallen turned towards me, its tail straightening and curling. I got close 
and crouched. It floated to me and bumped into my shoe once. I touched the top 
of its shell, the strange feel of its surface inspiring a tender feeling in me. 
His big eyes followed my hand, and I moved them in a circle to see him track it. 
They rolled around comically.
Matthew and Mr. Zik had approached behind me, and the wallen caught sight of 
them and scooted away. I walked out of the alley, feeling mean.
You see, Matthew, I said, loud enough for Mr. Zik to hear. Octavians arent 
the only people on this planet. They share the planet with these other 
creatures, who are intelligent and peaceful. But because of an old war grudge, 
the Octavians eat the wallens. I threw the word eat over my shoulder at Mr. 
Zik.
Matthew raised his eyebrows, and I let his shock feed my indignation. I think 
its barbaric, I said, trying not to let my guilt at saying this in front of 
Mr. Zik overcome me. I thought back to the shadowy corpses in the window.
He is right, Mr. Zik said.
I looked back at him. Mr. Zik looked unhappy, his brow furrowed. It is Octavian 
tradition, he continued. But it is blad, I think.
My mouth swung open.
Sure is, said Matthew, but you kill them first, right?
Yes, Mr. Zik said, we bleat them to death. His head sunk even further. Very 
blad.
The Squidollians ate their enemies alive, Matthew said conversationally.
I was as annoyed at his blas attitude as I was buoyed up by Ziks shame. Well, 
they dont do it today, do they?
Of course not! Matthew said. They ate them all. So at holidays they eat a 
kind of rice paste in the shape of the froids. He grinned. The oldsters 
complain that its no substitute, he said conspiratorially to Mr. Zik.
Mr. Zik smiled weakly.


***


You are dreaming, said Mr. Nekk.
I looked up from the thing I was pretending to read. Yes, Im daydreaming. 
Usually I discouraged speaking English during the workshop break by walking 
around the room or sometimes I would talk Octavian. Not often, though, because 
Mr. Kung would correct me in an insufferable (and often redundant) manner.
What do you... daydream about? asked Mrs. Ahm. Girls?
I smiled mysteriously. I had been thinking about Jinya, the way her lips set and 
the nod she gave after she said You are honest. But I wasnt about to give them 
the whole story like that. 
I checked the time. Break-time was over, anyway.
Have you been to the Sculpture Garden? I asked.
Both of them had. 
Do you like it? 
They looked at each other and nodded. But nothing else. That was strange, with 
these two it was hardly ever this difficult to get them talking.
Why? I said, smiling a little to encourage them.
It is very artistic, said Mrs. Ahm.
I agree. There are not a lot of artistic places on Octavia, I said. My friend 
Jinya took me to the Sculpture Garden and it was fascinating.
There are not a multitude of art on Octavia, said Mr. Nekk, rather agitated. 
Blut it is bleecause of war.
Who is Jinya? asked Mrs. Ahm.
The Octavian pleeple are very artistic... very creative, stated Mr. Nekk.
Mr. Kung burst into the room. He looked like hed been drinking, but I wasnt 
sure. Very sorry, he mumbled. He looked at Mr. Nekk and Mr. Nekk told him in 
Octavian I had accused Octavians of being unartistic.
Who is Jinya?! said Mrs. Ahm, her excitement rising.
She is a friend, I said. Do you think Octavians are artistic? I asked her.
Yes, she said. Some.
We do not have time, bleecause of war, Mr. Nekk told me. I was amused and 
intrigued by his vehemence, which I had sparked entirely accidentally.
War, repeated Mr. Kung.
Mr. Kung, do you like the Sculpture Gardens?
Mr. Kung looked desperately at Nekk who grudgingly translated for him. Today, I 
felt a kind of fondness for Kung. 
Jes, interesting, he stuttered out.
I nodded and went back to Nekk. How has the war affected art on Octavia? It 
was something I was interested in, and obviously Nekk was passionate about it. 
It would have been a good conversation, if not for the fact that I was intent on 
sabotaging it.
Nekk laid two more withered tentacles on the table, a sign of intensity  in 
bars I had seen guys launch at each other from this position, though I doubted 
sick old Mr. Nekk would be doing that.
After the wartime, Octavia was very ploor. There was no time to make an art. 
Like in the movie, Hard Years. Have you seen it?
I shook my head. 
It is very good, said Mrs. Ahm. You should look at it.
Watch it, I corrected.
Miraculously Kung had followed the conversation and he said to the others that I 
wouldnt be able to watch it because it was in Octavian.
Well, Ill get my girlfriend to translate, I said.
Girlfriend? said Kung immediately.
Last year, I try to learn to dance, Mr. Nekk said. Because Octavian dance is 
very wonderful and splendid.
Didnt Octavians get stiff when they got old? I suddenly didnt care about the 
girlfriend hinting anymore  this was better. I looked at Mr. Nekks pinched 
lips and tried to imagine him spinning, turning, whipping into a frenzy.
Is Jinya your girlfriend? Mrs. Ahm asked, finally.
Are you a good dancer? I asked Nekk. I had never seen Octavian dancing before, 
so I imagined him stuffed into a tutu and doing pirouettes.
I am a terrible dancer, said Mr. Nekk, and he actually looked sad. If I had 
children I could teach them, but I am blarren.
I didnt correct him.
So no one will keep Octavian art alive.
Mrs. Ahm leaned over and gave him a playful little push. I think, today, that 
Mr. Nekk is too unhappy. Young people like to dance.
Ah, I wondered to myself, but do they dance Octavian-style or Earth-style?


***


Intergalactic Cool Youth obviously ruled this planet.
On my way home from school that day I stopped in at a store dedicated to teen 
idols and saw their faces everywhere. There was Shy Guy and his bashful grin; 
the outrageous poses of Wild Guy; Wit Guys splayed tentacles and hilarious hat; 
Sexy Guys hypnotizing gaze; and the almost visible unpredictable electricity of 
Mood Guy. I loved them all, in my own way.
Their music blared out at me as I walked down the aisle. There were bins full of 
tiny crystal statues of them  probably manufactured by the slave Neb planets, 
given the detail  and I had to suppress an urge to bury my hand in them up to 
the elbow. Each member had his own bin and his own colour. I unobtrusively 
returned the one or two stray I.C.Y. that had emigrated, just for the visual 
pleasure of seeing each bin a clean solid colour. I took one at random, thinking 
that Id give it to the little rock-headed girl if I could do so without making 
everyone else jealous.
There was a blue holo of them in concert that caught my eye, and the price-tag 
made me laugh.
It sings, said the attendant who had mistranslated my laughter as How 
wonderful, exactly the price I wanted to pay!
She pushed a button and the base of the sculpture began playing the song that 
was playing on the loudspeakers, only quieter. I enjoyed the effect of the same 
songs playing at once, and pointed up at the speakers.
Its a very popular song, she said, with a cute smile.
I immediately compared her to Jinya  she was almost as attractive, and her 
headcrest was very stylish.
Im looking for a poster for my girlfriend, I said, which wasnt entirely 
true. I was getting it because she had said that my walls were blank, but that 
wasnt the same as getting it for her. Maybe I mentioned her to make up for my 
wandering eyes.
She nodded, and walked me over to a selection. I followed, watching her move and 
telling myself maybe it was normal to compare women of the same species, because 
they were similar after all.
I looked through the posters and found one I liked. It was a shot of all the 
boys hanging by their tentacles in what looked to be an ancient Earth jungle  I 
liked it because it was unlikely for all kinds of reasons, and it had the silver 
English words Because Intergalactic Cool Youth almost obscuring the picture. 
The one where they all were pointing eight zap guns each at the camera was also 
really good. I bought them both.


***


Jinyas laughter flowed from the bedroom. It made me smile as I poured the 
Zazzimurg tea. I put the pot back and picked up the cups, enjoying the warmth of 
them  my apartment was cold, and I didnt really know why. I hadnt figured out 
the heating system entirely.
You are very foolish! she said, standing in the doorway.
I handed her the tea and shrugged. Why?
Intergalactic Cool Youth poster is for Octavian schoolgirls!
I walked by her, stepping over her tentacles, and went to look at the poster. I 
had hung the jungle scene above my bed. I set my tea cup on the bed stand too 
close to the edge and I saw it starting to tip.
It would have been futile on Earth, but on slo-mo Octavia I was able to grab it 
and only a blurp of tea got over the rim. I was able to feel surprised that my 
instinctive reactions were attuned to being here  that I had even bothered 
grabbing for it  before the blurp hit the ground.
Clumsy, too! she said, sliding into my bed. Is cold.
I watched her getting cozy, her tentacles rippling under the covers, and 
suddenly didnt mind my apartment being chilly. But I stood there for a moment, 
sipping my tea and looking at the poster as if it was a piece in a museum.
Dont look! she said. Is foolish!
Where are they? I asked, pointing at the jungle.
Is not interesting! she said, hitting the cover.
I went to a planet like this, I said.
Earth?
I looked at her, a little surprised. No. When I was training to be an English 
teacher I went there.
I saw pictures like this from Earth, she said.
They are very old pictures, I said. The idea of the creeping green taking over 
the cities made me shudder a little.
I finished my tea and set the cup down. I sat on the bed, flicked off my shoes. 
I sat there for a second.
Its very cold, I said, as if that was the only reason, and got under the 
covers.
I lay there for a second and then turned on my side to face her.
I know its for schoolgirls, I said. It is very interesting to me because 
I.C.Y. are always happy. Our pop music stars pretend to be tough or angry.
Yes! She turned her head, but I was too close, and she turned her head back 
shyly. I.C.Y. are always cheerful. Too cheerful. Is not real.
I like sad music, too, I said.
Sometimes on the bus, I listen to sad musics. I watch the ground go by... I 
think about... old friends... or a boy... or my grandmother... She smiled a 
sweet smile that pulled my heart like taffy, looking down towards the foot of 
the bed.
Me too. On Earth, when I am on a bus and it is raining, the water hits the 
window. The water makes pictures on the window. Its very beautiful.
Oh Sam! Do you know opatio?
I shook my head.
Down far in the caves, it is like water.
I presumed she meant how the atmosphere became as dense as Earth pools at a 
certain depth.
My father is diver. For Octavian pearls.
I remember.
When I was a children he took me to the opatio. All around, the air is very 
deep? Thick! The air is thick. 
She made a hard-to-breathe face and I nodded.
So when you move, it is like pictures. In the air! Very surprising!
I imagined the cave that we had explored. Further down, on a ledge that we 
couldnt see, stood young Jinya and her dad. He spun his tentacles out suddenly 
and ripples emanated towards the four corners of the planet. She threw her 
tentacles up and the ripples travelled up, up, up until they washed over me a 
decade later.
I smoothed her headcrest and kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes, and slipped 
a tentacle into my hand. I turned her head towards me and kissed her lips.
I pushed up against her and planted a kiss on her earhole. She made a little oh! 
sound and squeezed my hand. I slid one arm behind her neck and let the other 
slide down over her body. Her shirt buttons gave me a little resistance, but she 
didnt, her eyes silver slits. Up and over her breasts, over her tummy, and  
with a little thrill  into the alien part of her, where legs should have been 
but werent.
Stroking the part where her waist became tentacles, I picked one and held it at 
the root, then slowly drew it up. Her suction cups plucked at me as my hand 
travelled the length of it. 
Are you nervous?
A little, she whispered with a giggle.
Dont worry, I said. Just tell me when to stop.
OK.
I kissed her neck, still holding the tentacle. The tip twitched a little, and I 
kissed it. I thought back to the times I had looked at Jinyas tentacles with 
lust and felt desire surge up. Then I took it in my mouth and sucked it, feeling 
the suction cups along it try to latch onto my tongue.
Jinya laughed, but it was a ticklish laugh. I let her pull her tentacle out and 
it went with a slurp, and it writhed there in the half-light, glistening.
Very strangey! she said after a moment.
I shrugged, feeling a heady mix of horniness and shame. Im a strange guy.
She was caressing me with four or five tentacles, one or two of them in the 
danger areas  not that it was likely that she knew where those were.
I knew more than her in that respect, thanks to Lisa. But not much more. She had 
spent most of her letter discussing whether or not Octavians were descended from 
humans, or vice versa. Whether they were octosapien or not didnt hold too much 
interest for me, since I figured it was a line of study hugely biased depending 
on your pro-monkey or pro-octo agenda. Finally, the last line read: Oh yeah  
the females do have a meaty hole which is roughly compatible with the human 
specs. Still no hard data (so to speak) on the modern-day after-effects of 
couplings on the female.
I had to smile at the memory of Lisas classy wording.
What? said Jinya.
I didnt want to admit that I was thinking about an ex. Something funny 
happened at school today, I said, and it was true.
What was?
I played a word game with the students. They had to come up with English words 
from their memory. I called the game Memory and wrote it on the board.
Yes! Games are good, because they very competitive.
Yeah, youre right, I said. I had learned that the quickest way to get them to 
pay attention was to divide them into teams. It was a kind of black magic, 
though, and one side-effect was that the boys were a lot more engaged than the 
girls. 
Jinya moved closer and put her head in the crook of my shoulder. And?
Well, every letter got one point. I played the game in all three of my classes. 
The smart class, the middle class, and the dumb class. Who do you think got the 
most points?
The smart class?
Nope. The middle class had almost twice as many points.
She made the Octavian sound for huh? Her head lifted to look at me and I kissed 
her forehead quick. She made the Octavian sound for oh! and then slapped me 
lightly.
Why? she asked.
They were... I didnt know the Octavian for cunning, only clever. Do you know 
cunning?
She was laughing. Yes! Like clever! How cunning?
The smart class came up with good words like apple and school. They were 
thinking very hard. But the middle class were cunning...
She laughed again at the use of the word.
...because they found words on their clothing. English words like Galactic 
because the brand of his hat was Galactic Trendy Boy Love. And the funniest 
was when they used the name of the game, that I had written on the board. 
Memory. Six points teacher, six points!
Too cunning I think! she said. They are not school smart, but they are 
cunning!
Exactly! I said. Buoyed by this success, I went even more abstract. I 
thought, This is cheating, because they are not using their memory. But cunning 
is very important. Maybe it is more important than English. So I gave them the 
points.
Oh! You are right. Because... they are not good at English. So maybe... they 
are business, or shopkeeper.
I didnt say anything for a moment, because I was overcome by this absurdly 
massive crushing gratitude that I was beside this beautiful, soft, wickedly 
intelligent woman. I felt love, but immediately I wondered how much of it was 
because of my isolation. Before it could be cut to pieces by the crossfire of my 
analysis, I told her that she was so wonderful.
She made a happy sound, drew a tentacle across my chest. It tickled, but I was 
smiling anyway.
You too, she said.
Six months.


***


We were inside a massive mechanical clock, and everywhere munchkins were 
dancing.
On the cogs. All over the metal frame work. There was even a few writhing on the 
pendulum as it swung back and forth. I have no idea how they got aboard it.
I had never seen Montavians dance. I thought 9/3 had been joking when he told us 
where we were going. I looked at him now, and he answered my stricken look with 
a shrug of his android body.
You complained that the last place we met was boring. He had adjusted his 
voice so it was plainly audible above the music without yelling.
Matthew was looking around and grinning like he had been told he had inherited a 
jeevesatron. He said something to me I couldnt hear. I cupped my ear.
At least now I dont have to hear any more about whats-her-name!
Its Jinya, you bitter motherfucker!
He made a cant-hear-you gesture and danced off.
I took a breath and yelled at 9/3, Are all Montavian
9/3 put his hand on my arm. You do not need to yell.
Oh. 
I looked over at Matthew, who was dancing to the tick-tock music like he had 
been born into it. He was looking around himself in wonderment. And he had every 
reason to  Id never seen Montavians do anything but fix stuff and then go to 
the next place to fix more stuff. 
But if Matthew was enjoying seeing their squat little bodies jack and bounce, 
they were equally amused by his grotesquely elongated limbs moving about. But 
this mutual appreciation was not to last.
He is not broken hearted, 9/3 said.
I shrugged. Yeah, hes taking it pretty well, I guess. Maybe they werent that 
serious.
9/3 seemed to think that over. It must be nice not to care, he said.
I looked at 9/3 and wondered about this queer roboman who took so readily to a 
human body. You bent out of shape over some Montavian? I guessed.
No, he said, not elaborating.
I looked at a girl dancing nearby, ringlets framing her face, and couldnt help 
myself. Call me xenophobic, but I just cant imagine having sex with a 
Montavian. They look like ugly Earth children. Its wrong on so many levels.
Ha ha. That is mean, Sam. 9/3 looked at me. Sex with Montavians varies from 
sex with humans in a negligible way  in terms of physical stimulation.
Well, how the fuck did you get to be such an expert, Randy Andy?!
He shrugged. I have been experimenting.
I felt betrayed. And? Your results?
He paused. The physical stimulation plays a minor role in comparison to other 
variables  9/3 started laughing. Then he pointed.
Matthew was dancing. Fast. Unnaturally fast. He looked like he was on 
fast-forward. Even the expressions on his face came and went with impossible 
swiftness. I started to get scared.
He has taken too much, 9/3 said. He has taken a Montavian chrono drug. Do not 
worry, it will be over soon.
Before I could do anything, a Montavian came up to 9/3 and started yelling at 
him. I looked over at the group where he had come from and saw a girl wave at 
9/3. One of the men in her group pulled her hand down roughly and yelled at her, 
holding her wrist in his knot of a fist. She argued with him.
Whats he saying? I asked 9/3.
Do not worry. Do not interfere. I looked at the girl who had waved and 
wondered if this was an unexpected result of a previous experiment.
The Montavian took a swing at 9/3s balls and connected solidly.
Ooof, said 9/3 calmly as he doubled over and fell to the ground.
The adrenaline hit my veins and I took two steps before 9/3s outstretched palm 
stopped me.
Dont move, Sam. My pain receptors are off. This is a ritual.
I stood there, my fists hanging like useless weights off of my arms, as the 
munchkin kicked the hell out of 9/3. 
Matthew materialized beside me. He was screaming. What the fuck why arent you 
doing anything fuck I knew you were a fucking fraud just like your whole fake 
pug crap 
I swung at Matthew but he dodged easily, all hopped up. Then he was in my face 
screaming again and my second punch knocked him flat. His body was suddenly 
still, his frenetic speed paused.
Meanwhile, the Montavian was standing on 9/3s chest and rearing his foot back. 
He booted 9/3s head off and it slid to where I was standing.
9/3s eyes flashed. I am fine, Sam. If he was serious, he would have used his 
tools.
I realized he was right. But the little bastard was serious enough, staring back 
at me with hate-filled eyes as he walked back to his group. His tool box, slung 
low, glinted a promise of nastier times.


***


We moved on the belt towards the rocketship. 9/3 carried Matthew, whose chrono 
trip was now slowing time considerably for him. His face was a freeze frame of 
shocked misery.
I... he said.
I was upset myself. I had let the rush get the best of me and hit a friend.
...thought...
9/3s eyes flicked at me. That place was a little too interesting.
I tried to smile.
...we...
Maybe you should retire the andy body for a while, I said, watching the fuel 
cars leave the launching pad.
...would...
Yes, 9/3 said. Again, I am sorry.
...get...
Its OK, I said. It was just a little disturbing, all at once.
...married.
9/3 and I looked at Matthew. Tears were dripping off his face.
I looked at the silver ship and looked forward to entering the velvet blackness 
of space.




seventeen




On the long trip home, I kept falling asleep. But now I was home I stared at the 
ceiling begging it for unconsciousness. I kept running the scene though my head, 
kept punching Matthew, getting upset with myself.
I got up, poured myself a shot of ujos from an absurdly large bottle Mr. Kung 
had given me. The liquid spiralled out of the bottle but I had no appreciation 
for it. I wished my little friend the wallen was around and walked out to the 
living room, thinking about going to find the little guy. If he was still 
breathing...
The pug moviedisk was still sitting on the floor. I tapped it with the pad of my 
foot and it came on. The sudden light made me squint, but I stared at the fight 
anyway. It was the same clip that Jinya had seen  I hadnt looked at it since. 
I wondered what else Skaggs had put on it.
I sat on the floor with my monster bottle of ujos and decided Id watch them 
all. As a kind of punishment.
As it turned out, there werent any more fights, but I got my punishment. Next 
up was the newsclip. Rather, The Newsclip.
The visuals showed a pug fight. These are the pugs, a world-weary voice 
intoned. The fighting froze and the perspective panned around to frame Jason, 
clenched teeth grinning with both fists in action. Theyre a group of youths 
who dont bother with the vengeance vendors. They take a more direct route to 
settle the score. They zoomed in on Jasons face, the crazy intensity about the 
eyes that he got. Parents all over the planet are asking: Where is it coming 
from?
A young man sitting in a high-backed chair appeared. Anger, he said, looking 
up and then away from the camera, as if on a topic that fascinated and yet 
troubled him. Youth should be angry. Theres nothing more socially healthy than 
youthful rebellion. My company just meets the demand. He looked back at the 
camera. Pugs been one of our most successful subcultures, and the reason why 
is because the early participants believed they started it. That it was theirs  
thats pride of ownership for you  and it was theirs, in a sense. He shrugged.
The fight started up again and the camera panned around for another subject. I 
saw myself get a glancing blow to the head that made my smile grow bigger. The 
scene froze. Some of these young boys come from good families, and have bright 
prospects in life. It panned in on me, my clean cut hair and swollen lip, and 
my mothers net worth was indicated. Why are they playing these dangerous 
games? 
Back to the expert, who shrugged his shoulder. They dont think theyre games. 
The expert, in comparison to the world-weary narrator, was downright likeable. 
Pug was started out of a real inequality. He put his feet up on an unseen desk 
and settled his hands over his stomach. Id been demographing for a vengeance 
vendor, and there was a big chunk of pie that couldnt afford even the smallest 
slander package. And this chunk was teenaged. The client wasnt interested in 
thinking creatively so a friend and I went solo. We looked at the tension points 
and the soft spots and put the money in the right places  launched a cheaper 
priced medvac and got a few plants working full time, that kind of thing. But 
that was just the beginning. Then we had to wait. It was the waiting that was 
the hard part. Waiting and keeping it quiet. Damn, that was hard. The young guy 
rubbed his eyes as he said this, and looked tired.
Some parents were disturbed most by this quiet, the narrator said as the young 
guy was replaced by three people.
It was fine, an older woman said, that he wanted to be in a subculture.
We werent against that, said a full-lipped woman. 
The older woman looked agonized. But whats wrong with the one we got him for 
his birthday? We were bacchanalians, so we thought...
He didnt want to be the same as his parents, we understand that, said a man, 
his droopy moustache rising and falling.
Well, he could have exchanged it, then! the older woman said, running her hand 
through her hair. The kits just sitting there! And the oils will go bad, Im 
sure...
The fight came back on and the perspective buzzed around, the camera loving us 
even as the world-weary voice dripped disapproval. Whatever the cause, pug has 
captured the imagination of Earths teenagers. When other subcultures have had 
to struggle to even stay on the market, pug has grown steadily with absolutely 
no support. This was indicated by a line graph superimposed over the fight, 
with the noise from the scene rising as the line did. 
It was imperative that there be no support. Again the young man, swivelling in 
his chair. Which is not to say that there was no cash outlay. Coolhunters, 
media outlets had to be generously compensated to prevent it going public. We 
needed at least two years of simulated authenticity for it to grow to a 
harvestable size. It was a harrowing period of time  most subcultures are 
seeded and harvested in the space of a week, because the fashion and 
entertainment spin-offs alone make it profitable. But we wanted to do something 
different. Something edgy.
The next shot showed pugs lined up for the medvacs, chatting in the post-rumble 
camaraderie. Bathing their hands and faces in the machines glow. The voiceover 
was still the young company man: There hasnt been a spontaneous youth 
subculture on Earth for almost a thousand years. They were hunted to extinction 
long ago. But we did the next best thing.
The next few seconds showed a few pugs pulling on jetpacks, heading home. It 
followed one of them up, and froze, and an offer for home delivery of a pug DIY 
kit appeared. Then the music swelled.
Free to fight
Young boys right
Punch your way through the night
Hard as it was to intellectually absorb the rest of the segment, it was the 
final one-two punch that put me out: the kit and the song. It was always a 
running joke among pugs, what would be in a pug kit  because pug would never 
be lame enough to have a starter kit, like ready-made subcultures did. Yet here 
it was.
And the song, the fucking song that I had raged through so many fights on, that 
song that I knew was cheesy but for some reason got me choked up... it wasnt 
mine after all, it was theirs from the start.
Question their right
Challenge their might
Fight, young pug, fight!
I wanted to, more than anything. But it was their idea. They wanted me to fight, 
so I had to fight fighting. Punching Matthew for telling the truth  for calling 
pug fake  was playing right into their hands. And when I crossed the line with 
him, why not Mr. Zik? Why not Jinya?
The moviedisk blinked out and left me in the dark. I reached for the bottle and 
knocked it over, then righted it. I wondered if the spill would damage the 
moviedisk.
I hoped so.
When I got up to go to bed, I heard the droid bustle into the room, sensing a 
mess.


***


The next day I was waiting for Jinya at Hello Tea Time! It had Victorian touches 
 a welcome relief from the ubiquitous cowboy flavour that half the Earth-style 
establishments on Octavia chose.
Trying to ignore a hole in my sweater, I focused on the newsfeed  flip-flopping 
with different meanings until I found ones that made sense, and having to do it 
before it scrolled away, was quite a challenge.
I pressed the lever for a stream of Earl Grey  they had gotten that right, at 
least, down to the stainless steel piping  and took a sip. A group of girls 
came in as I blew on the surface of the tea, a bit harder than I would have on 
Earth, and to less effect  no steam to wisp and tear at my breath.
But then, girls never looked at me on Earth the way they did here. The three 
girls had chosen a nearby table and were watching me like the exotic animal I 
was. I studied the patterned rim of the cup as I sipped, giving them a serious 
profile to review. 
He is extremely handsome, said one in hushed tones, even though the tea room 
was almost empty. I pretended not to understand.
Eh, youre crazy. His nose looks like a cucumber.
Plangyo nose! said the third.
I tried not to smirk at this joke at my expense. I didnt take it seriously  my 
stately Earthling nose was naturally going to appear big next to the Octavian 
bump that passed for a nostril-holder.
I glanced at them as part of a survey of the room. They stared back  two really 
pretty girls and one chubby, less pretty one. They could be university age. I 
focused my attention on the table and waited to see what theyd see next.
The pattern on the table was the same as the tea cup. I had initially registered 
it as floral, but when I looked back something slightly unbalanced in it caught 
my eye. It looked like a fish or a... dolphin. That was it. A dolphin. And now 
the thing I had taken for a daisy looked more like an Octavian.
He looks like Pan Venrugie, said the love-struck one, and my lip curled 
involuntarily. That mediawhore? That baby faced bimbo? I clenched my teeth and 
waited for the other girl to laugh her out of the room, to give me my dignity 
back.
He does look a little like him, she said.
I couldnt believe it. Thats crazy! I blustered. They looked at me like Id 
pulled out a zap gun. I didnt look anything like that, that... I didnt have 
the words. Are you blind?
I told you he could speak, said the chubby girl.
Not very well, said the other girl. 
The one who liked me was stunned, her full lips slightly parted. So you heard 
she dissolved into a shame wail, and she put her head on the table and piled her 
tentacles on top. Evidently it was not a habit all girls lost after middle 
school.
Its OK, I said. You are beautiful, too.
Her big eyes blinked at me through the tentacle forest, and the wail paused.
Are you Mr. Sam? said the chubby girl. 
I nodded, feeling like a celebrity. Yes, tis I. You have found me.
The chubby girl smiled. I used to go to Plangyo Middle School. 
Was Laz Cha Zik your English teacher?
Yes, blut my English is blad. The other two laughed. 
Its OK, I replied, my smile forgiving, I like to practice my Octavian.
You need to, said Annoying Girl with a smile.
How is your English? I enquired mildly.
Good, she said. The girls laughed. Very good.
She lying! said Smart Girl. 
The conversation continued down this path for a while. It turned out the other 
two girls were cousins visiting from Artemia  which explained why I hadnt seen 
them around before. The one who liked me had nothing interesting to say, and 
even the one who didnt like me had only her coy spunk, which got old really 
fast.
They drank their Zazzimurg and eventually left, and I thought about how 
different that conversation would have been at the time when I first arrived in 
Plangyo. Not knowing Octavian, our conversation would have been limited to You 
are beautiful, You are handsome, I love you, and a whole lot of giggling. I 
would naturally have assumed the beautiful girl had a formidable intelligence. 
Not knowing they were related, I would have seen her friendship with the chubby 
girl as proof of an admirable willingness to choose friends for something other 
than accessory value. I would have never known that she was here on vacation, 
and spent a painful week afterwards hoping to see her in Plangyo.
I looked on that alternate universe Sam and it was so tangible, so predictable, 
that I found it hard to believe that it wasnt real. That I had found someone to 
love, and someone had found me loveable, on a planet where I was a freak  that 
seemed to be far more bizarre.
A group of kids came in, shocked into momentary silence by my presence. I began 
to regret my decision to come here so early. I kept forgetting that a tea house 
here was not a caf on Earth, where I was ignorable enough for it to be an 
introspective space. 
I looked away from the kids and the door. A minute or two later, someone was 
tickling my shoulder.
I smiled and whacked at the tentacle poking into the hole in my sweater. It had 
to be Jinya, and I was ashamed at my slovenliness and happy she was finally 
here
The old lady giggled and pulled her tentacle away.
I stared at her, stunned. I recognized her as the heavily made-up owner of the 
tea room. What did she want?
She pointed at the hole again. I nodded. Did she think she was telling me 
something new? I looked at it again, tucked in the loose threads as if it 
helped. Fuck, theres no way that Jinyas friends arent gonna notice this...
The owner was making motions with her tentacles. Then she actually started 
taking off her blouse. I shook my head desperately, no, and she insisted, yes, 
and started trying plucking at my sweater.
Dont ask me why I just didnt ask her what she wanted. It was one inexplicable 
gesture after the next, and in my anxiety I actually forgot I could speak 
Octavian. 100% of my brain was dedicated to deciphering this crazy ladys 
demands.
At this point, her group of cronies were watching and laughing. She was 
frustrated by this point and muttered Take it off! to herself.
This was all I needed to remind me. Why? I asked her in Octavian.
We will blachet, she said, using a word I didnt know.
Eh?
Fix!
Oh. I looked over at the cronies, and one held up some sewing.
I figured, its not like I can look any stranger to these people. I pulled off 
my sweater. She whisked it away, staring at my chest.
I crossed my arms. I didnt know what she was staring at  the hair? My nipples? 
Out the corner of my eye I could see her making chest-high motions to her 
cronies. They burst out laughing.
I looked away. It wasnt so bad, just a bunch of old ladies. Luckily there was 
no one else in the tea room.
Then Mrs. Ahm came in with her husband.
I would have ducked but I was facing the door  Id chosen it so Jinya didnt 
miss me. She said something excitedly to her husband and then waved to me. I 
waved back.
Mr. Ahms eyes bugged out when I exposed my chest and I quickly refolded my 
arms. Mrs. Ahm didnt seem to notice until she got closer.
Oh! Sam, why do you no clothes? she said, her careful English scrambled by the 
shock. Her tentacles fluttered.
I looked over at the cronies bitterly, who were chatting merrily about something 
else.
Why do I have no shirt? I said, adopting my teacherly-corrective tone.
Yes, why? she said.
It is a holiday on Earth. No Shirt Day. You know?
She shook her head slowly, no. Damn. I was hoping shed fake it, and we could 
help each other lie.
It is a special day to celebrate freedom. Freedom from clothes. It is a 
symbol. I glanced towards the door, knowing Jinya and her professors were bound 
to walk through at any time.
Mrs. Ahm was nodding. Very interesting. She explained briefly to her husband. 
He tried to put a blas, cosmopolitan face on but failed. He watched my arms 
constantly, trying to catch another peek.
Mrs. Ahm is one of my best students, I said to Mr. Ahm. He jerked his gaze up 
at my face guiltily. Hello, he said.
My husband is very bad at English, she said.
He nodded. Blad. Then he put his tentacle out to shake. Nice meet you.
His tentacle waved there for a second and I discovered I was as unable to resist 
this social imperative as I was unable to resist gravity. I gave it a quick 
squeeze and pump and returned my hand to its obscuring duties.
But not quickly enough. Mrs. Ahms eyes were moons.
Are you here for tea? I asked.
Yes, Mrs. Ahm said. Tea. She smiled weakly. Bye-bye.
They moved off to the furthest corner of the room.
If I hadnt had to walk right by them, I would have gone and grabbed my sweater 
back. As it was, I looked at my tablecloth and wondered if it would at least 
cover my offensive midriff. What was the deal with that? I wonder if Jinya would 
have the same revulsion? Oh fuck, she was gonna freak out to see me here 
half-naked, I had to do something
The owner dropped the sweater on my table, and I pulled it on in a gasmask 
scramble. It was backwards, naturally, so I switched it around without taking it 
off. I thanked the owner profusely, pretended to look at the stitches 
appreciatively.
I chanced a glance over at Mrs. Ahms table. Mr. Ahm was listening to his wife 
talk, watching my every move. He was probably a cop or something. I tried to 
remember if she had ever said anything about his job. It was probably illegal to 
be topless on this planet  I knew I had never seen an Octavian bare-chested.
I saw Jinya at the door and stood up right away. I touched my sweater anxiously, 
as if it may have disappeared. I left the beeds in the cup  which isnt rude, 
just a way to make sure they dont roll away  and walked towards her.
Lets go, I said, worried that someone would yell out what a freak I was, or 
communicate that through some Octavian eye-language I didnt know.
Yes, she said. Im late.
I laughed. Thats OK.
We left the building. It was bright out, and I noticed a group of my kids. They 
gave me a cool nod, and went back to chatting, a tall boy placing his tentacles 
behind his neck in affected languor. I felt a little miffed at their casualness.
The guy with the pastry stand did a double take and greeted me as I went by, and 
I happily reciprocated.
You want? said Jinya, stopping.
No no, I said, pulling us on. Just saying hello.
Mm.
I stopped. Do you want?
She tilted her head and smiled. Yes, but... too fat.
I turned us around and ordered a bag, counted out the beeds. Ill eat the fat 
ones, I said.
The bus was pulling into the station in a shower of bubbles. We rushed to catch 
it. I pushed Jinya on first. Hurry, youre too slow! I joked.
She giggled but even her transcendent radiance wasnt enough to combat the 
annoyance of the sour-looking bus-goers, unhappy at being delayed by an 
offworlder and even less happy that he was with an Octavian girl.
We had to sit beside one particularly pinch-faced old ape who stared viciously 
at Jinya as the bus pulled out.
Fuck, these people are old and ugly, I said conversationally, looking around 
and meeting the stares with a pleasant smile.
She slapped my hand lightly. I agree, said Jinya. This old man... too ugly!
Hell be dead soon, I said.
My grin angered the old coot. Who is he? he demanded of Jinya.
She smiled and looked down, silently.
I am Sam Breen. It is none of your interest. You are not her father.
The old man ruffled, his nostrils twitching. All Octavians are family.
All right, Dad, I said, using the very informal. Can we have some money?
I had been saving that one. Two old ladies behind him laughed. One of them 
turned and poked him in the earhole. He cursed her nastily, but she cackled on. 
Then she got up and headed for the door. He followed her and they got off the 
bus when it stopped.
Husband and wife, Jinya said. She is very lively!
Outside he was yelling at her. She laughed for a while but when the bus pulled 
away she started the ugly-yelling too. I wondered what my smart talk would cost 
her in the end. No easy victories here.
Jinya curled a tentacle around my hand and I squeezed it, sliding the pad of my 
thumb across it. I couldnt be bothered looking around to see what kind of 
attention we were gathering. I flipped her tendril over and put my fingertips on 
the suckers, pulled them off, the light suction like secret kisses.
So we will meet your English professor?
Yes! Yesterday, he come up after class: Jinya, remember tomorrow we meet. Mr. 
Sam is special case. I say No! Just Sam, not Mr. Sam!
I smiled. You teach the teacher?
Delight flashed from her. Yes! He very embarrassed. Oh, I forgot. He is 
worried because you come, but also excited.
He is worried because I am a native speaker?
You are an English Test for him. Your name isnt Sam, it is Test!
We laughed and sat in silence for a while, but it felt good. It was a full 
silence, quite different from our silences earlier on when I desperately tried 
to think of something to talk about.
We were coming into the crest of the valley that the university was nestled in, 
the round white main buildings looking like spores on the beds of coral. The 
coral looked red from a distance, but as the road dipped down the walls were 
more purply-blue close up.
I had gone by it a few times with Mr. Zik, but this was my first visit. We slid 
by the small stores and restaurants that grow around any university and I looked 
at the occupants with interest. 
The bus pulled in and we got off. It idled there, oozing tiny bubbles, the 
driver seeming to linger  I didnt blame him, Plangyo was dull in comparison. 
The station was polka-dotted by bright circles of young folk waiting for buses 
or for their friends to arrive.
As we walked through the small streets serving the university, I remembered how 
much I enjoyed being around people my own age. Small towns like Plangyo were 
filled with the very young and the very old  most of the successful middle aged 
people headed towards the cities, and the young folk lived in places like this. 
The occasional older professor was always accompanied by a few students, who 
looked like they were cheerily escorting the man out for violating the age laws.
I caused the usual commotion as I walked with Jinya, who pointed out her 
favourite restaurant (unremarkable looking except for the overflowing crowd) and 
the droid shop her brothers pal owned. Every minute or so shed run into a 
friend, and theyd exchange quick bows. 
Id follow their conversation for a while, but it was so rapid and the content 
so polite that I would just wait until the body language turned towards me. She 
introduced me as a friend, and I always greeted them with the honourific which 
was funny and flattering to them.
I was happy to see that she acted no differently with them than she did with me. 
She would say something about the person we had just met, but it was usually 
pleasant, or tempered with something pleasant. Not good English, but she is 
very cheerful! was about as critical as it got.
I found it a refreshing change from typical Earth cynicism. I remembered how 
Lisa and I would cut people up into manageable pieces; push how far we could 
take being clever and nasty without being outright hurtful. Of course, the more 
clever our quip the more likely that it would get repeated, eventually to the 
person who inspired it. It was like building weapons and telling yourself you 
made them for their beauty, the sleekness of their design... I was glad and 
amazed that Jinya was so continually positive.
Well, until you leave, the nasty voice in me quipped.
It is good that you greet properly, she said, looking at me seriously.
Naturally. I looked at her and smiled, felt like taking her tentacle and then 
didnt. I didnt know how the general university population would see our 
appendage-holding, and the idea of her pulling away was too painful a 
possibility. 
Not natural for Earthlings. Thank you, she said, twining up my arm and giving 
me a squeeze that made a smile pop out on my face.
We went through a gateway made of the same white material as the domes  close 
up, it looked like it might be bleached, sanded coral  and we were inside the 
university grounds. A droid bobbed in front of us for a few seconds while it 
scanned and Jinya designated me as her visitor. I couldnt tell if it was armed, 
but it had eyes.
There is some problem with student terrorist, Jinya told me.
We walked by a soccer field and a very suggestive fountain before getting to the 
smaller of the two domes. There was a cleaner droid on it, scuttling over the 
curved surface in a way Id never seen a machine move. Sometimes the limitless 
manifestations of droids made me shudder; sometimes I thought the Luddix 
Federation wasnt altogether wrong.
I wondered if Jinya had even heard of Luddix. We went into the building and up 
two ramps, and walking through the curvy, angle-less white halls I felt like I 
was in the round vein of some giant snowman. I swerved from side to side, 
enjoying the feel of the slopes under my feet until Jinya hit me. Be serious, 
she mock-scolded.
There was a professor out in the hall talking to a student. You must be more 
diligent, he was saying, his back to us.
Hello! greeted Jinya.
A weathered-looking Octavian with a turtleneck turned around. The student 
hurried off.
Hello, he said, his eyes wide and watery, offering me a tentacle.
I shook it solemnly and greeted him in Octavian.
He looked like he wanted to say more, but then gestured us into his office.
He turned to me again, like he was checking to see if Id vanished.
I was very surprise to hear that there was a native speaker in Plangyo, he 
said with polished English. I am gleeful to meet you. You are the first 
Earthling I have met. Are you surprise?
I took the seat he offered, a long cushioned bench that Jinya also settled on. 
I am surprised, I said. Your English is excellent.
He laughed, made a deprecating gesture. Its horrible.
Horrible is an excellent word.
He said a few words to Jinya that I missed and she nodded and left.
So you understand Octavian? he said before I could enquire about her sudden 
dismissal. 
Yes, I can speak and understand much Octavian.
He looked impressed. The government believes that the offworlder cannot speak 
Octavian fluently, he said, looking around the room.
I wondered if he was worried about being overheard. Is it better to speak 
Octavian or English? I looked around the room, too, and noticed a porkpie hat 
hanging on a hook.
Whatever? he said. He folded his tentacles. Some words are easy in Octavian, 
but some are very hard. Because
I cut him off. I take your hand, I am full of happiness. Hand needed the 
thoc and happiness needed the op.
He laughed suddenly at this. His eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. 
It is very cunning. He folded his tentacles again.
He sat there for a second, nodding and smiling. I was at a bit of a loss. I 
didnt know what I expected  I had only thought it through as far as this, 
telling an authority figure. He had a lot of things I assumed he would  a wise 
look about the eyes, age  but didnt expect him to have a porkpie hat.
I like your hat, I said.
He grinned, and reached out, popped it off the hook and fluidly passed it down a 
succession of tentacles until it was close enough to place it on his head at a 
rakish angle.
I laughed, and Jinya came in carrying tea.
What? she said, and then giggled at the professor.
You think I am very handsome? he said, his eyes wide.
No!
He sighed and grinned and hung it up with the effortless-lightning passing. I 
am very sorry Sam, but I only have Zazzimurg tea. Before I had some coffee but 
it is all gone.
I hid my disappointment. I like Zazzimurg.
The problem with your Octavian is that some people will say it is not real, not 
genuine, he said, back to business.
They will say it is a trick, I agreed. Because I use my hand.
He nodded, taking his tea from Jinya with sincere thanks. I was glad to hear the 
politeness, since it bothered me that Jinya was expected to get the tea  even 
if she wasnt really necessary for the conversation.
It is real, I think, said Jinya, handing me my tea. I took the kettle from her 
and poured hers. The professor made impressed noises about my politeness, which 
I denied.
I agree. You use your hand, not a machine. He rubbed his chin with a tentacle. 
But some Octavians will not like. He shrugged. But it will make us more 
modern, I think.
I was about to protest the use of the word modern in a completely positive sense 
when the professor burst out of his reverie suddenly. I have a bright idea! he 
said. My friend is a professor for Octavian culture. We can go to see him.
He started to refer to his schedule to set up a time for a meeting, and it felt 
good. I had begun to feel like this wasnt nearly as significant as 9/3 had 
hinted at, but now that we were arranging an appointment it felt like it just 
might be real.




eighteen




The yellow oval of gelatinous substance quivered slightly. I peeled it off with 
two fingers and popped it into my mouth.
It is delicious! I said and smiled at the cooking teacher.
Its not like Earth food, I fear, she said, offering one to another teacher.
It has unique taste, I said. Did you cook?
She chuckled. Of course! It would be foolish to buy it when its so easy to 
make.
Sam, said Mrs. Pling, and proceeded to tell me that it wasnt cook, it was 
bake. I nodded patiently and tried to remember how much I had appreciated her 
English conversation at the beginning.
It was interesting how my understanding of the psychic map of the staff room had 
changed since I had learned Octavian. How the pretty teachers in the back did 
nothing but gossip and giggle at the gym teachers dumb jokes. How the dumb 
jokes of the older gym teacher went over much better than the younger ones, and 
how the younger teacher was clearly bitter about it. How he took out his 
bitterness on the gawky history teacher, who had an almost supernaturally 
relaxed attitude. How he was the only one that got along well with both the 
clerical workers and the principal. How the principals slackness was 
appreciated by most of the teachers, since he was correspondingly undemanding of 
them.
The bell played its little tune and Mr. Zik returned. I let him sit down before 
I pounced.
I am buying a ticket today for my holiday, I said. I have to go to the travel 
agency.
Mr. Zik nodded. We will go together.
No, I can take the bus, I said. I wasnt just saying that. I knew from talking 
to my workshop students that my holiday wasnt just strange by Octavian 
standards  it was extravagant. I didnt want to involve Mr. Zik when it may 
antagonize him at some level. I just need directions.
I cannot give you directions, Sam, Mr. Zik said with a smile. My map is in my 
saucer. So I will have to take you in my saucer. A student came in, showed 
something to Mr. Zik. Mr. Zik stamped it carefully and handed it back with a 
word of praise.
My vacation isnt very important so I dont want to cause you trouble.
It is no trouble. It is near my home.
I looked at him sharply. And your wife wont be upset? I knew Mrs. Zik 
prepared the dinner, which was usually the case on Octavia.
I will call! Dont worry. He adjusted something on his desk that was askew. 
The bell chimed.
I got my stuff and checked to see which class I was teaching next. Oh great  
the dumb kids. It had gotten easier since I could tell which ones were cursing 
me out, but it hadnt gotten easy.
Well, thanks a lot.
Youre welcome, a lot, said Mr. Zik with a wave.


***


We luckily found a parking spot on top of a pile that was only four high. I was 
still amazed at how much more space-efficient saucers were  where there were 20 
saucers here, it would have been enough space for four, five floaters max back 
home. Some of the best real estate in the universe was wasted to keep the 
floater companies in business. Stupid Earthlings.
And the mapping function was far better, too, getting us there lickity-split. 
Stupid Earthlings.
The travel agency was decorated in Stupid Earthling style, but since my planets 
the one associated with space travel I suppose thats understandable. Just not 
likeable. The seats were comfortable, though, and had armrests. I was probably 
the first  and perhaps the last  person with elbows to use them.
There seemed to be a bit of a controversy as to who was going to serve us, so I 
took in the posters on the wall beside me. Most of them were for Octavian 
destinations, but one of them showed a gleaming spaceship rocketing through The 
Mysterious and Inexpensive Neb Galaxy! I studied the poster, which was cheaply 
made with the only moving image the unconvincing rocket fire, and decided it 
must have been made specifically for an Octavian market.
No, it is a not-good place, said a smiling travel agent when he saw what I was 
looking at. I wondered if he would have said the same to a naive Octavian in a 
lower price bracket. My own smile was consequently brief.
Im interested in booking a flight to Pleasureworld 33.
How long? he asked, his tentacle wavering over his pad.
Three weeks, I said, looking guiltily at the impassive Mr. Zik. He only got 
two weeks since he had to use the other week for more training.
I told him the dates and he gave me a price.
Mr. Zik let out a surprised whistle. It was a few more creds than I had counted 
on, but not too many more. Mr. Zik obviously thought it was pricey, and I smiled 
inwardly imagining what hed think if he knew about my daily-increasing student 
loan.
It is not a special price for offworlders? challenged Mr. Zik.
The agent, wounded, denied it.
I looked at Mr. Zik and shrugged. OK, I said to the agent. 
OK! he chimed.
He scurried off to the back room so quickly I worried a little. I didnt want to 
bother going around to a few agents, although I would have on Earth  I just 
figured if I could do it quickly and easily, then it was worth it.


***


An hour later, we were still waiting there. My elbows were getting sore. 
I looked at the poster for Pleasureworld, reminding myself how good it would be 
when I got there. It was a beach party, complete with dancing, eating, and a 
pair of suns. It was a classy piece of promotion  it lasted for twenty fun 
minutes before restarting. It looked real, too. 
My eye caught a pair of Earthlings who Id missed the first time. The tiny 
figures snuck off behind a tree and started snogging each others brains out. I 
watched, wondering if the poster makers had noticed it, and if so  why didnt 
they make it more obvious?
A pretty, distressed female was standing in front of us and I quickly looked 
away from the poster. The agent who had originally served us had  after 
apologizing about the delay to our less-and-less tolerant selves  started 
sending her out. The first delay was to check my legality with the governmental 
authorities. The second delay was to confirm my existence with the bank.
Blood, she said, a lower lip trembling. She had a scalpel in her tentacle, 
which she stretched towards me. I pushed back my chair and she let her tentacles 
flop dead, defeated.
We need your blood for the machine, she explained, which didnt make me feel 
any better.
To confirm his identity? Mr. Zik asked calmly.
Yes. To the bank. Usually we use oogma-print, but...
Oogma? I asked Mr. Zik.
He lifted the tentacle  the sex one  and I remembered how he had signed for 
the toilet with it. 
Unwilling to attempt a penis-print, I grabbed the scalpel and nicked my hand. 
Still, it was pretty ridiculous  any Octavian who could successfully 
impersonate me deserved the honour. I handed it back to her and she ran to the 
back room, face screwed up in disgust as it dripped to the ground.
I sighed. Im sorry about this. I didnt think it would take so long. Oh! Did 
you call your wife?
Yes, he said. But maybe I should call her again. 
He tweaked his wristphone and after a while a mousy woman with glasses answered. 
It was the first time Id seen his wife, and I was touched by the similarity 
between them. I leant into the wristphones vid range and called out an apology, 
and she seemed so shocked I felt silly.
I leaned back in my chair as Mr. Zik continued his conversation, and didnt look 
over at the stupid Pleasureworld poster  it better be worth it, but I knew it 
probably wouldnt be. I wished I hadnt let Matthew and Hugh talk us into going 
there when I would have been happier checking out planets nearby that werent 
Ultimate Tourist Destinations. Maybe Jinya could have afforded to go then...
The first agent came out, his smile a shield. He mumbled an apology and passed 
me a small gold cylinder  it was awkward, because he didnt really know how my 
hand worked, and my impatience made it even more so.
There were the governmental twined snakes at the tip of it  perhaps thats why 
it had taken so long, I didnt know they needed that much official approval. I 
wiped off the sucker marks left by a very nervous Octavian and relented a bit. 
He stood there, twining and untwining the tips of his tentacles.
Thank you for your service, I said, using the honourific.
We started to leave and I waved my little cylinder at the female agent. 
Bye-bye!
A startled smile.
Mr. Zik tapped the saucer door, and it rose. I am very sorry, Sam, he said as 
he climbed up.
I thought Id misheard him. What?
He snapped into the chair and started the saucer up, his tentacles flying over 
the controls like he was absently playing a fugue to cheer himself up. I am 
sorry.
For what?! 
Bleecause... they are Octavian. You will have blad impression of Octavia.
Youre brain-soft! I exclaimed.
Ssss-sss-ss, he laughed ruefully. He puffed the saucers on top off, and 
slipped out of the pile.
No, its... I dont pay attention to them. You give me a great impression of 
Octavia. Youve been an excellent host.
He tilted his head to the side, neither a nod or a shake.
I was seized by the desire to make it clear that I was sincere, yet I felt 
suffocated by the multiple layers of the habitual Octavian politeness. Many 
Octavians, when they help me, are very loud. They say, Look at me, I am helping 
the offworlder, look at me! My voice spiked, because I was excited, I was 
figuring this out for the first time.
Ssss-sss-ss, he laughed.
But you are very quiet when you help me, or tell me something  so I dont feel 
like an outsider. I dont know how you say it in Octavian  dignity? Do you 
know?
He nodded, and told me.
Thats what you give me, I said. Its more important than fast service. I 
realized I had been leaning forward with the urgency of communicating this, so I 
leaned back in my chair
We drove on in silence, except for his occasional nose sound.


***


Whats amazing is how exceedingly fond Ive gotten of that sound, I said, 
hefting the bowling ball. Its sick. Im getting nostalgic about people I 
havent even left yet. I whipped it down the alley and got a strike I didnt 
deserve.
Matthew frowned at this injustice, watching the score tally up.
The autoscore was about the only concession to modernity. Everything else 
breathed the ancient art of bowling, as it had been played for millennia. I 
found it a little pretentious, but not nearly as bad as some places  theyd let 
you use your own shoes at a pinch. Which was good, because they only had 
Montavian sizes, the largest of which I could wear as an amulet.
Yeah... he said, after he took his turn. I probably shouldnt ask you about 
Jinya, then.
I nodded and grabbed a ball. I just have to forget Im leaving in four months. 
But it looms there, you know? Always in the shadow of it. Crap. Gutterball.
Oh, too bad, Matthew said, jumping up. Yeah, just enjoy the moment, I guess. 
Although... He paused as I took my shot, watching the ball pick off a few pins. 
...its good to think about it. It can kind of sneak up on you. Fuck you up.
I looked at him. This was the closest hed come to alluding to his breakdown at 
the club. I took my shot and wondered what to say about it. If anything. I 
wondered if Matthew was waiting for me to say something.
He took his last turn, seemingly focused on the game, watching the score after 
each shot. I found his competitiveness amusing  so Earthling. It annoyed the 
hell out of Hugh.
Did you call Hugh? I asked.
Yeah, I left messages with both of them. He checked the time. Im surprised 
9/3 hasnt shown up  were practically in his neighbourhood. It was kind of 
last minute, though. I just couldnt stand the idea of being on display for the 
weekend.
I nodded. It was hard enough for me, and I had a place with non-transparent 
walls to escape to. I picked a cherry red ball.
Unfortunately, theyve figured out how I masturbate, he said glumly.
Yeah, I was wondering about that, I said after another strike. 
After my first week, I realized that they had no idea what human sex organs 
were or how they worked. So when I was in the mood, Id walk around naked in my 
living room till a crowd congregated. There were always a few fine-looking women 
there for stimulus.
I laughed and got another strike, just because I wasnt trying. Matthew cursed 
bitterly in Squid, and I realized I had won. 
We went to sit down on the row of multicoloured chairs, which we had adjusted to 
our height. Matthew waved the waitress over.
So what happened? Howd you get caught?
Well, it was fine at home  if I just kept it regular, they figured it was like 
grooming or something. But one day I was walking home and I see this beautiful 
girl having sex in her apartment. So being horny, I whip it out and casually 
started beating off. I wasnt, like, staring at them or anything obvious. I was 
just standing on the corner, old ladies were shopping and stuff, no one even 
noticed.
He shrugged. But then one of the English teachers from my school came by. At 
the worst possible time. Matthew leaned back and impatiently watched the 
waitress help the only other group in the alley.
Right when you 
Yep. So Ive got this ecstatic look on my face. She was smiling at first, as if 
she thought I was so fucking happy to see her. She doesnt even live in town! 
Fuck, what a fluke. Anyway, the cums just floating there because of the stupid 
atmosphere. And like an idiot I look down, and she notices it. Urine?
I cracked up, imagining the snaky semen wriggling, floating, the look of 
confusion on her face.
But then  she must have seen me looking before I realized she was there  she 
looked over at the apartment, where of course they were still having sex, and 
figured it out.
Holy, I said.
Cant go anywhere now without people staring at my crotch, he said, adjusting 
his Speak-O-Matic as the waitress neared. He ordered some drinks.
He snapped it off as she left. He had a pendant version. I wondered how 
different my life would be if I hadnt lost it.
Wanna try it on? teased Matthew.
May wallens have sex with your mothers corpse, I said cheerfully.
He had twisted the dial but only caught the end of it. What about a corpse? he 
said.
You bowl like a corpse, I said.
So youre still keeping at the language lessons, Matthew asked it like it was 
a subject that horrified and fascinated him. I dunno... I have trouble 
remembering any words without connecting them with an English word. Like 
dichchimp -- thanks in Squidollian -- I learned by thinking, Thanks for being 
a dick, chump. But every goddamn word has to have this chain of words attached 
to it.
I shrugged. Despite the laborious and inefficient method, I doubted Matthew had 
stuck at it long enough to be worthy of sympathy. Sucks to be you.
He was rubbing at his temple. Every word, I have to make up some dumb 
connection... I gotta haul up the chain every time... but you! Damn you. Are you 
fluent yet? Bastard?
Not yet. I shrugged. But if I keep at it, I think I may be the first one.
Our drinks arrived. Matthew paid the waitress and hooked his small glass of 
black soda. Mine was lime-coloured, with a fizz. It was tasty.
He gave me a mean look over his glass. Doesnt that worry you? That no one 
elses bothered?
Fuck off, I squeaked. Literally. My voice was several octaves higher.
Matthew laughed uproariously, then took a gulp of his drink. Who you telling to 
fuck off? he said in a rumbly boulder voice that echoed slightly.
Hee hee hee, I laughed, mortified by my tone. I noticed the waitress looking 
over at us curiously.
HO HO HO, he chuckled.
Another round of giggles, which I got under control. Last time I let you order 
the drinks, I squeaked.
Matthew belched like an earthquake, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. The 
other group of bowlers looked over at us, the guy who had just thrown a 
gutterball standing there in the classic hands-on-hips munchkin pose of 
annoyance.
We looked like utter morons. I tried to stop my hysterical high-pitched 
hee-hee-hee-ing with my hands, and looked over at Matthew.
What elses in the drink? I said, feeling light-headed.
Just the pitch juice, he boomed quietly, looking nervously at the argument 
taking place in the other group. Lets go call the guys and tell them off.
I took stock of the munchkin pointing furiously at us and said really quickly, 
OK lets go I dont wanna get in another fight.
It sounded so wimpy we couldnt help snickering as we left. I pictured the 
Montavians tools flashing into action and that helped sober me up, although (if 
Matthew was to be believed) there was nothing unsober in my system.
We left the bowling alley and snapped (stomach flip!) into zero g. We pulled 
ourselves along the hallway, where a half dozen or so Montavians were headed to 
the alley. I was surprised that there were so few people on the little orbiting 
amusement, since I had heard that Montavians liked bowling  one of the few 
sports their tiny size didnt handicap them in intergalactic competitions. But I 
was surprised that this place stayed open 
Great! baritoned Matthew. He had found a vidbooth, and ducked into it. I 
looked at the icon, a dish with waves emanating from it, and realized I would 
never have figured out what it indicated. Matthew was already inside and looking 
at the instruction-laden panel. It was Montavian, and I looked at the angular 
characters with a feeling of defeat. Why did everyone have to do it their own 
way? I thought, the stupid lazy thought penetrating my carefully placed barriers 
of cultural tolerance.
Matthew was punching buttons.
Do you know what youre doing? I chirped.
Nope, he said, and stood back. The vid snapped onto standby, and we were 
bathed in the green glow. I looked at Matthew in profile, and he was already 
smirking in anticipation of how 9/3 would like our voices.
Youre a good man to have around, Chan, I said as gruffly as my high pitched 
voice would allow, which wasnt very.
The vid snapped a connection, and the image resolved itself. 9/3 was working on 
this huge metal sculpture that was wider than the range of the vid, and came up 
to 9/3s barrel chest.
What the fuck?! Matthew boomed. You passed up a night with us to stay home 
with your metal collection?
9/3 adjusted something near his ear, I presumed because he thought the sound had 
to do with the vidphone. I piped up. Yeah, dude, I had no competition bowling 
against this guy.
9/3s red eyes flicked once in confusion. Then, Oh, you are drinking Montavian 
juice. Only children drink it here. Young children. He placed a ball bearing at 
a high level of the metal structure, and it started rolling.
Does this sound like a kids voice to you? I squeaked indignantly.
Ha, said 9/3 hollowly.
I looked at Matthew. Matthew shrugged.
Have you heard from Hugh? I said, getting sick of my voice.
No. He left, 9/3 said, grabbing a whole boxful of bearings in his pincers.
I knew, suddenly, what he meant.
Left to come here? Matthew said.
He went back home, said 9/3, pouring the bearings onto the structure. To the 
moon. I watched the bearings slide, sparkle, whiz. So did 9/3. 
Fuck... said Matthew. Did he tell
No, 9/3 said. I called him today, and his number was out of service. His 
school told me he left three days ago.
I was stunned. I had known how unhappy he was, but why would he leave without 
saying anything? I felt abandoned, and by the look of it that was a tenth of 
what 9/3 felt.
We watched the last bearings slide to the bottom. I could hear them clinking 
into a pile offscreen.
Well, were still going on holiday, right? said Matthew. His voice was 
suddenly back to normal.
Ive already paid for it, I said, and 9/3 nodded. He static-sighed and used 
his pincers to bend one of the tracks by a small increment. The vidphone flashed 
for more money.
Good, said Matthew, relieved. Fuck him. Hed just slow us down, anyway. And 
you, my good roboman  he said with a point and a leer, You make sure you 
remember to pack your android body, cause youre gonna need it!
He blinked no. I am leaving that at home. It just makes problems.
Out of time, the vidphone winked out.
Matthew raised his eyebrows. I hope he forgets to pack his bad mood.
As we left the booth I realized that originally, it was Matthew and Hugh who had 
lobbied for Pleasureworld 33. Now it was just Matthew, and I felt a surge of 
annoyance for him.
Holy fuck! he said suddenly.
I didnt say anything.
Goddamn it! he said, slapping his forehead.
What!? I said finally.
Hugh owed me 150 creds!
I felt a little bit better.


***


Later that night, Matthew tried to convince me to go down to Montavia to try and 
cheer 9/3 up. I didnt. I regret it now, but how was I supposed to know? Even 
with Hughs departure proving how quickly things could change.
But consider the argument against it, without the benefit of hindsight: I would 
have had to take a rocket home from the surface, and it would have cost a lot 
more. I was sure wed get wasted, and I knew from recent experience how 
dangerous that could be on Montavia. 
On the other hand I could take a quick shuttle back to Octavia and be able to 
slip into my accustomed atmosphere in a few hours which I craved like a warm 
bath. (Id never admit that to Matthew, of course, even though he probably felt 
the same way.) And I might be able to see Jinya tomorrow, before she went to her 
folks place.
So an hour or so after talking to 9/3, I was on a shuttle staring out the 
window, seeing the shape of a certain woman in the constellations, silver star 
eyes.


***


I was leaning against the twined tree waiting for her to show up. I hummed a 
song by Intergalactic Cool Youth and watched the road. It was twilight, and I 
shot an occasional glance over my shoulder to the house of the old man who cared 
for this tree. A saucer whizzed by and lit up the house and then me, the 
twilight atmosphere rippling in its wake.
I previously had sat beside the tree, which had been a step up from standing 
beside it. Now I lounged indolently, possessively against it. My physical 
comfort was almost nullified by an equal quantity of anxiety, and perhaps even 
exceeded by it. So why was I doing it?
I decided I was doing it to look relaxed and cool. And how ridiculous was that, 
when Octavians relaxed in a totally different way? When their concept of cool 
was utterly different from an average Earthlings, which was different from a 
pugs?
A saucer went by slowly. I listened to the hum of its motor for any slowing, 
refusing to squint in the glare of its lights and looking as hardcore as 
possible. When it moved on, I blinked.
The whole scene had a distinct familiarity. After a second, I realized why. We 
would be waiting for the subway, going to London or somewhere for a fight, 
twenty or so of us warming up and goofing around. Most of us would squat down 
along the wall, leaving the seats for the normal patrons. A transit droid would 
inevitably trundle by, attracted by our motion and noise, and blind us with 
white light. No one would pay attention cause none of us had any weapons except 
the ones attached to our wrists from birth. 
The only time there had ever been trouble was when Skaggs had filled his jetpack 
with a green solution that left this fantastic trail, and it turned out it was 
mildly toxic. The droid detected tainted fuel. Seth had reared back and kicked 
the droid onto the tracks as the subway was coming in. After lasering the droid 
the train locked down and kept going, of course, and we missed our only ride to 
the Bolivia fight. 
Everybody had been furious. Seth was finished after that. He couldnt walk down 
the street without being taunted by Bootboy! Whither thou? I had felt sorry 
for him at the time, but after the Pug Swindle news hit, he had a sneer and a 
jab for everyone.
As unpleasant as it was, I was glad I had a complete memory of the whole time. I 
dreaded the sappy sentimentalism that seemed to be an inevitable chemical 
process of the human brain. I wondered what Skaggs was doing now  selling 
pre-stained pug jackets to wannabes? That had a kind of mean, hard-edged appeal 
to me.
Jinya appeared out of the haze, stopping as she saw me, then moving faster. Her 
excitement made me smile, and I watched her approach, her silver eyes downcast.
Sam!
I like your headcrest, I said. She had done something new with it, and it came 
out in expansive waves. 
Oh! Too big... she said, touching it with the tip of a tentacle. We walked 
towards my place.
Beautiful, I said. Did your exams succeed? I mean, did you succeed in your 
exams? 
She nodded. I did fairly well.
We chit-chatted, mostly in Octavian  wed agreed to talk in English until her 
exams were over to keep her in training. I loved to hear her talk Octavian  her 
English was cute, but didnt do her intelligence justice. It was her turn to 
giggle at my fumbled phrases.
I pulled out my key and unlocked my door. This week, your professor has been 
calling me a lot. I have been avoiding the vidphone, I told her.
We went in and my vidphone was flashing a message. Jinya laughed, and said a 
phrase in Octavian I didnt understand. 
You cause it, because you say it, she said. I nodded and repeated the phrase, 
then tried it out in a few situations: If I talk about bad weather, and then the 
weather becomes bad?
Exactly right! she said, her eyes bright. She put her bag down.
I almost said, If I talk about rain, but it doesnt rain here.
No, on Octavia it only, and then she said the word for excessively humid 
weather. But I have seen rain on movies. Is romantic.
It is only romantic in movies, I said. In real life it is wet, only.
She laughed and took out some bottles of ujos and some snacks.
Joy! An ujos party! I said. Because of the end of your studies!
But, I cant get too drunken. I must go parents house tomorrow, she said, 
glumly.
Maybe I will meet your parents, someday, I said.
Perhaps, she said, opening a blue package of Delicious Things. Someday.
I wondered at her reluctance, but also at my probing. Meeting parents on Octavia 
was the first step on the path to marriage. Considering I had four months left 
of my contract, why was I even saying these things?
I took a Delicious Thing as Jinya rooted around for glasses. I slapped the 
vidphone and the professors face appeared, complete with hat. I wondered if he 
thought that would win me over. He seemed a bit drunk. He told me how great it 
would be if I called him. Jinya came in and gave me a drink.
He is drunken! she said, and started laughing. The professor was talking to 
someone offscreen, and then he pulled the speaker into range and wrapped his 
tentacles around him.
Oh! Professor Long! she exclaimed. Octavian teacher! He was, indeed, talking 
in Octavian, entreating me to call them. Then, partially because Jinyas 
professor was leaning on him so heavily, he fell over. With no one in the shot, 
the message automatically stopped.
Jinya laughed and went to play it again. So stupid! she said. Ive never seen 
Professor Long so drunk!
I presumed this meant she had seen her other professors drunk before. I pictured 
them meeting to discuss me and getting so excited about it that they needed to 
talk to me immediately.
It was a little overwhelming, but at least they looked like fun.
Thats why you should have a wristphone, so you dont miss calls like these, 
she said, quite seriously.
Thats why I dont have wristphone! I said. I told him a week before that I 
would call him after the holiday. I didnt know what I was hoping to figure out 
in that time, but I figured a bit of delaying couldnt hurt. Its a foggy 
situation, I said.
She nodded. Because many people are proud, she said. They dont think 
offworlders can speak Octavian.
In my worries about cultural protection and wallens, I hadnt even thought of 
hordes of irate Octavians out for my dry skin. Pleasureworld was looking better 
all the time...
The professors fell down again. Amazingly, she started it again, settling back 
into her seat with her drink and watching it like it was a movie.
By the fourth repetition, I was howling as loud as her, eyes brimming.




nineteen




We lay side by side on top of the coral reef, my face slack-jawed with pleasure.
Jinya laughed at me. A smile is no stranger on your face. You know? Is Octavian 
phrase.
I looked over at her, the slight shift causing the rippling beneath me to change 
direction. Oh my god, that feels so good. Earthling phrase.
She giggled. I remember that one.
I laughed loudly, surprised at her bold reference to our interspecies 
experiments. My laughter didnt infect the old ladies waiting in line  in fact, 
their faces darkened as if they somehow had divined our lewd talk.
I sat up slowly, so as to not tear up any of the bright orange coral from the 
reef, enjoying the little popping sensation along my bare back. I pulled on my 
T-shirt and we moved on. I put a pair of beeds in the bulb the white-eyed 
ancient keeper clutched and we walked into the tunnel. He nodded his thanks.
Hes blind, did you see his eyes? Jinya took my hand when we were out of 
sight. I kissed her forehead.
Blind but not deaf, daughter. I heard that kiss!
Her tentacle tightened around my hand and we started to run. Sorry, 
grandfather! I called back, hoping the tunnels echo concealed my accent. I 
wondered if kissing in the Living Gardens was even allowed. We squeezed by two 
more groups of Octavians and a group of Squidollians, one of whom took a picture 
of us.
We emerged into another roofless plateau, but this one was much bigger. I stood 
at the tunnel entrance, entranced. The round hills of softly moving coral were 
infinitely garish and gorgeous at the same time.
Jinya tugged my hand and I let her drag me past the hills while the dozens of 
Octavians and occasional Montavians looked on. I couldnt help but admire her 
quiet courage, because I knew that she fought not only the disapproving eyes of 
strangers but also the inner voices of Octavians that she respected and loved. 
In front of a hill, a purple one that was as high as my shoulders, we stopped 
suddenly. So suddenly that I knocked Jinya a bit. She made an annoyed sound and 
poked me in the armpit.
The colour of this coral is familiar, said Jinya, looking at me. I shrugged  
it was the shade of my first toy floater, but I knew thats not what she meant. 
My brother! His eyes!
I nodded, although I had been more concerned with avoiding the droid parts 
whizzing by on the belt at the time. Stepping back, it did look like a 
half-buried eye, if you could ignore the gently undulating fibres that grew out 
of it. Jinya touched the blindly groping fibres with her own fluid tentacle, and 
I was struck by the planetary affinity.
So of course, Jinya tore a strip off of it. The fibres on the entire hill stood 
up rigidly, a shock to the system. She ate some of it. She offered some to me 
but I refused it, looking around to see if anyone else had seen her.
I like it raw, she said. She saw my expression. Dont worry, its not 
trained.
Evidently, the coral that had massaged us had been specially trained by the 
Gardeners. But the fact that it could be trained, and its reaction to being 
torn, made me uneasy.
Hello! said someone from behind. I raised a hand to give an obligatory wave 
and found myself waist-to-face with a beaming Montavian. Are you from 
Earthling? he said.
Uh, yes, I said.
We are from Montavia, he said, indicating himself and an even smaller person. 
It is obvious? said the smaller person.
Obvious, yes, said Jinya with a laugh.
He introduced himself  a long name that I immediately forgot  and his son. 
They worked for the government. We stood there for a moment, smiling at each 
other. I was intrigued  Id never felt this kind of goodwill from a Montavian 
before.
My friend teaches English on Montavia, I said. He is a roboman.
The father nodded quickly. Yes, I heard! he said, touching a tiny ear.
My friend saw... the son said. Uh... roboman at a building conversation.
I nodded. 9/3 took an interest in architecture.
Restaurant? said the father.
Robomen dont like restaurants, I said.
The son and father took a second to translate. No, you and you...
Do you want to have dinner, I asked Jinya who was already nodding. OK, I 
said.
OK! they said, chuckling. Lets go!
We walked away together. The son walked beside me and the father started 
chatting to Jinya.
Yes, uh... robomen hate restaurants, he said. Obvious! He looked up at me 
with eagerness, his little legs almost a blur as he easily kept up.
I smiled and laughed, even though 9/3 actually put up with our trips to 
restaurants without complaint. Just like he put up with being disassembled by 
irate Montavians week after week. I couldnt put up with that shit. 
I looked down at the son, who was biting his lip in an effort to think of 
English conversation. Dad and Jinya were chattering away ahead of us.
I had mercy. How old are you? I asked.
I am 12 years old, he said. But I am small.
I smiled.
Every Montavian is small, he said, looking up. From my perspective, he seemed 
to be nothing but an impish grin and a triangle-blur of legs. I am very small. 
Teeny?
Tiny, I corrected.
He nodded quickly, his face falling, repeating it.
But you are very fast! And your English is excellent! I said this loudly 
enough so that his father heard.
His father looked back and said something in Montavian that echoed broadly in 
the tunnel  it sounded foreboding, but most everything spoken in munchkin 
tongue did. The sons face didnt change.
How long have you speak Octavian? he asked.
A few months, I said.
Months? he said. His pointy eyebrows got more pointy. I imagined that his 
father had been talking English to him in the womb, so I didnt ask.
Why do you learn English? I asked him instead.
Its very important... for many things. Especially business.
Do your friends speak English?
He nodded quickly. For school we must learn.
Is it fun?
He gave an adultish shrug. One of my friends is very superb at English. We talk 
about... secret things... and sometimes jokes. No one understands. He laughed.
The Living Garden may have been a boring obligatory family trip for an Octavian, 
but for me it was awe inspiring. Appalling, too, in a way, since it showed how 
beautiful the landscape could be through the whole planet, if the coral plants 
werent killed off by saucer exhaust and general habitation.
I wondered if the Gardeners were angry about it. As we walked into the expansive 
eating area, I noticed several Gardeners moving around with bowls of food, 
passive and benign expressions on their faces. The food, I decided, was 
sprinkled with something that would slowly dissolve the eaters insides. Their 
smiles anticipated the time, twenty years from now, when the people they served 
would explode and the coral plants inside would be free, riotously free to grow 
wherever the body lay.
What? said Jinya, poking me. The father and son were looking at my crooked 
dreamy smile as well. 
Im just hungry, I said, protecting my stomach from Jinya. And I was. The 
smell of the cooked seaweed was making me salivate. The father had secured some 
seats and was waving us over.
I settled into my indent and took out my fork. As if on cue, the son and father 
took out spoons with serrated tips.
Fork, right? said the son.
Yes, I said. Ive never seen your utensil before.
Pample, he said.
We sat there for a second, which I spent hoping that he wouldnt ask to try my 
fork, and then considering whether they considered their tool the superior one  
Montavians were infamously arrogant in this department  and if they expected me 
to be sitting here ashamed by the inherent wrongness of the fork. Thankfully, 
silence reigned. 
Jinya looked towards the bowl, which was making its slow way down the blindingly 
white table. So hungry! she said, and we all murmured agreement. It was hard 
to think of anything else, and I shifted my fork, imagining shovelling food into 
my maw, but then stopped lest I revive the utensil discussion.
A Gardener, barely out of his teens, flung dishes at us from his four precarious 
stacks before moving on. Despite the atmosphere, they came at us at quite a 
speed. The father reached up to grab his just in time. Then he proudly looked at 
Jinya, who hadnt noticed him doing anything unusual and just looked back. He 
looked down finally, obviously feeling silly, and I suddenly liked him 
immensely.
The food came  a simple fare of seaweed, rice, and boiled coral  doled out by 
Gardeners. I had never had coral  it was sweetly rich and had a weird texture.
Do you like coral? asked Jinya, watching the father eat it with gusto. 
Octavians always seemed surprised when offworlders liked their food.
Yes, I love it! he said. On Montavia, we have... he pointed to the rice and 
the seaweed, But not this. It is illegal.
Illegal means against the law, I corrected.
I know, he said, nodding. Illegal. Because it is not plant. It is an animal.
I stopped eating. Animal. Like us? I asked.
The father nodded. Jinya laughed. Not like us. It is more... simple.
I took a forkful of rice, shaking it so the bit of coral fell off. I was seized 
by the urge to scrape the red and purple and yellow nubs onto the bright white 
table, but instead I poised my bowl over the fathers. He nodded happily and I 
pushed the sad little things over the rim, where they floated down onto his 
rice.
It is illegal to eat animals on Montavia? I asked.
Yes, he said. Because of trading status with Earth.
Octavia trades with Earth, I said. Saucers.
It has cultural-protection, he said. He used the words easily  they were 
phrases he used a lot, it sounded like. Maybe in his work. Jinya was looking a 
little lost, as was the son.
Do you think cultural-protection is good?
He shrugged, but he seemed to consider it. He translated to his son. He sucked 
on his pample a little, and then stood up  we were face to face.
For me... my job, it is to make things easier between Earth and Montavia. We 
make a lot of money  is good. But there is a lot of Earthling things  like 
movies, and news  is very big, you know? Is everywhere...
He sort of seemed frustrated, but I didnt know if it was by the complexity of 
the subject or by English. He tapped his pample against his knuckles 
thoughtfully.
The bowls came around again and I had more rice. I still had the taste of coral 
in my mouth. Everyone else, of course, helped themselves to another serving of 
the gruesome delicacy.
Is difficult subject, said Jinya. Protection helps this place. It gets money 
from the Earth Council because Octavia is unique.
Earths influence is bad, I said. I looked at the kid, and wanted to tell him 
that learning English was bad, too, but couldnt go that far.
Sometimes... the father said. Maybe the young Montavians are angry, I think. 
But I like Earth.
There was a sudden click as I thought about how a planet full of young men must 
feel about being the munchkins of the universe. I thought about the look in the 
eye of the guy who disassembled 9/3. Were they even conscious of their smallness 
before the giants came? I wanted to ask him, but again, I couldnt.
I like Earth, he said, reassuringly. I love Earth.
Do you go to Earth? said Jinya, and the envy in her voice was heartbreakingly 
apparent.


***


Not long after dinner, the Montavians took their leave. I had been quiet for 
quite a while, so I made my good-byes especially heartfelt. The older Montavian 
had given me a lot, even if it was bitter medicine.
I am upset that I cannot see the Lovemaking, he said.
Jinya put her tentacle to her lips. Is a secret! she said.
Their rented saucer bubbled away and I looked at Jinya with a neutral feeling 
that had more in common with indifference than lust. Lovemaking?
Lets go, she said with a smile. Is interesting!
I followed her back into the Living Garden and into the tunnels. I was thinking 
about how awful it would be if she actually did want to have sex now, finally, 
when all she inspired in me was despair. 
But what the hell did I want, anyway? A militant Earth-resister? Of course she 
thought Earth was great  it was like her hobby. Was she supposed to look at the 
loss of a few traditions that were probably really boring to her as some kind of 
crime? When it brought with it new, modern, liberating ideas? When it made her 
as a female  and as a female who spoke English  a lot more powerful?
He is a very nice Montavian, Jinya said. 
Yeah.
Or... you say... munchkin? she said, giggling.
Sigh. Infecting her with the English virus and xenophobic slurs. I deserved to 
be left alone with a vicious Montavian with a set of sharpened tools and time on 
his hands. Fuck.
Not even the sight of the basin below improved my mood, stunning though it was. 
The basin was dominated by a single massive donut of coral reef. There was a 
bridge across to its centre, where a few hundred people were congregated.
Whatre they waiting for? I asked.
She just started over the bridge. I followed, stepping carefully  there were 
wide gaps in the metal floor not intended for bipeds. Bright green coral pulsed 
a few inches from my feet. I thought that a glass structure would have been more 
effectively minimal, but perhaps that was too Squidollian.
At the arch of the bridge I let my eyes run over the colours blending into each 
other, running over the loop two times before my eyes were sated and content to 
rest in the centre. I noticed that many of the people were Gardeners. They 
seemed excited, chatting amongst each other and stopping people from touching 
the coral. 
Lovemaking. What could it be? Would there be some sort of a ritual? Would the 
Gardeners suddenly form a lusty oogma chain? They certainly seemed to be ready 
for something. Would Jinya slip onto my lap?
What is it! I said, when we got into the centre. From here, the colours 
completely filled our field of vision. She grinned mischievously and spun 
around. Her silver eyes flashed with the corals colours.
A young gardener, attracted by her enthusiasm, sidled up to Jinya bursting with 
his own.
Is this your first time? he said. He seemed to not register that I was there, 
which was a refreshing change. He was rubbing something on a chain around his 
neck, but I couldnt see it.
Yes. I have only read about it before, she said, with an immediate open 
enthusiasm.
Me too, he said. I have only been a Gardener for half a year. He proffered 
the pendant hed been rubbing, seemingly as proof. It was a grey dolphin.
I glanced around at the other Gardeners, and noticed they were all wearing 
dolphin pendants in varied hues. But why were they wearing their enemies image? 
I was about to ask when his eyes fluttered and he went limp and floated 
backwards.
Jinya made a concerned noise and leaned over him, touching his forehead with her 
tentacle, and I made a mental note: when conversation lags, faint. But he stayed 
out, and I began to look around for help, thinking about the Earth cure of 
splashing water in his face. I just wagged my hand in front of his face, pushing 
the atmosphere at him.
When I gave up, he came to.
Oh! he said, seeing me. He got up and bowed twice. Im sorry. Ive been 
fasting for ten days. He looked at me with such surprise that I began to wonder 
if, in his half-starved state, he had seen me at all before that.
Its too small to apologize for, I insisted, his wild eyes unnerving me.
An older gardener came over, one wearing a blue dolphin, and took him gently by 
the tentacle. He bowed to us and drew him away.
Why do they wear dolphins? I asked her.
He is too hungry, I think! said Jinya, concerned.
He is trying to make you feel sorry for him.
She watched after him, and he disappeared into the throng.
An old but clear-eyed Gardener passed by, and I stepped into his path. I bowed 
and introduced myself. Why do you wear a silver dolphin? I asked. I was 
determined to get to the bottom of it.
I am old, he said, turning away abruptly to pull a child away from the coral. 
He stared at the parents, who looked down and entangled their squirmy spawn in a 
bramble of tentacles. Then he left.
Why is it shaped like your enemies? I asked Jinya, frustration creeping into 
my voice.
This place is the old border. Thats why the garden is so fresh. Beyond here 
the dolphins used to live. She said it absently, a childhood school lesson.
It is for remembering the war, I said.
Before, the people who lived here were soldiers. Now they are gardeners.
No more enemies to fight. I imagined these slim men in combat with the dolphins 
 flailing arms versus battering ram heads? Or did they have weapons? These were 
things every Octavian knew, things they never thought to mention because it was 
like telling someone that Earth once had seas and forests. Everyone knew that, 
everyone had seen the old pictures of ancient Earth as a blue-green marble.
It was twilight now, and some people had settled down  some old grannies had 
brought their own disks to sit on, collapsible ones. They took grandchildren in 
their laps and cooed to them, the smaller smooth and larger wrinkled tentacles 
twining and moving familiarly.
When Jinya and I were in bed together, she would hug me with one or two 
tentacles in a simulation of a human embrace. In the middle of the night, 
though, I awoke to find myself truly held: encircled by eight arms.
I sat down and leaned back on the palms of my hands
When are we going back to our hotel room? I wanted to know.
Relax. After the Lovemaking.
I dont understand, I said, painting my face perplexed. You want to go back 
to the hotel for Lovemaking?
She poked me under the arm. No!
You want to do Lovemaking here? I said, pointing to the ground.
She poked me in the kidney. Shut up! she laughed.
I dont understand Octavian, I think, I said innocently, and the Gardeners 
began to chant.
The people that werent already sitting sat down, and turned their attention 
outwards. The Gardeners remained upright, making sounds that may have been 
Octavian, but I didnt recognize them.
The coral was really starting to move, and at first I thought it was in response 
to the chanting, but it started to pulse faster and the Gardeners sped up in 
response to that. It was a little bit bewildering, and Jinya gave my questioning 
looks nothing more than a sly smile.
The whole circle pulsed even faster  the colours almost blurring with the 
speed, the shouts of the children, the Gardeners lifting their tentacles  and 
then a huge wash of haze came over the whole coral reef.
A white, milky, almost silken substance emanated out from the coral and spread 
into the atmosphere.
What the hell? I said. Jinya just giggled.
Next to us, a grandmother pointed to the coral. Sperm, she said to her 
grandchild. She pointed to another spot. Eggs.
The Lovemaking. Ah. 
I looked around at the crowd, who were watching the juices flow out of the hot 
and ready coral. Pointing at the shapes it made. It was floating down to the 
ground, and no one seemed like they were going to move.
Were we going to sit here and let the spunk settle on us?
One of the Gardeners started to leap into the air, impatiently. Even at this 
distance I recognized the wild eyes of the young man who had talked to us 
earlier. His leaps were pretty good, actually, aided by his waving tentacles.
Eventually, he reached the descending cloud, and started inhaling it. I winced 
and hoped the old man who had helped him before was nearby and would stop him. 
Then the other Gardeners started leaping.
The white gossamer whooshed into their mouths like spaghetti strands.
I looked at Jinya. 
It is good for stamina, she said. High in protein.
Some of the kids were already sitting on their parents shoulders. I watched the 
cloud descend and wondered how long I could hold my breath.


***


Ever since that family trip to the Ice Fair on Pluto Id always sworn Id never 
go into stasis. But ten hours after leaving Octavia, the jelly was beginning to 
look pretty damn good.
The three of us lined the walls of the Pleasureworld-bound rocketship. 9/3 was 
offline, his perfectly circular eyes grey as the rest of him. True to his word, 
he had not brought his android body.
Matthew had the sensemask pulled on, his grin curving so often that I was sure 
it was porn. I glanced down at his trousers and decided the lack of tenting 
suggested a comedy instead.
On the other hand, I had been dealing with a boner like Neb pig iron for the 
past ten hours. Most of the people across from me were wearing sensemasks, 
luckily, except for an old Octavian who was more worried about 9/3. I couldnt 
wear a sensemask. Soon as I pulled it on I was back in the hotel room with 
Jinya, her writhing around in a way only a creature with flexible bones could, 
her tentacles slipping over my ears...
I turned around in my harness. Oh why did I drink that coffee? When I knew? I 
looked at 9/3 enviously. I leaned over and flicked the side of his head, and it 
donged comically. His eyes lit green.
What?
Teach me how to turn off like that, I said sullenly.
9/3 paused. Watch very carefully, he said, and his eyes went dead.
The harness was pressing against my crotch in a terribly deliriously nice way. 
Jinya had let me touch her there. It was insane the way we had rubbed each other 
up and down, how the sounds we made and ways we moved let our bodies find each 
others spots. We werent even the same species, but we knew.
I was literally dizzy with lust. I punched the button for water and sucked at 
the hose until my mouth went numb with the cold, my own tongue reminding me of 
Jinyas thin sharp one. I noticed a stewardess climbing down the rows.
Can you put me in the jelly? I asked her.
She looked confused. She had a half dozen pillows under her tentacles. She was 
very attractive, had the same colour of eyes as Jinya, the same sympathetic 
smile. I wanted to take her somewhere private and fuck her brains out.
My face must have looked pained. Are you sick? she asked.
Um, no. Can you put me in stasis?
Sorry sir, only when ship is docked. She offered me a pillow.
I accepted it, resigned to my fate, and she pulled my straps tight. The one 
south of my hips had been particularly loose. Mmph!
Too tight? she said, curling a tentacle between the strap and my business.
I smiled weakly. It was all I could do.
She loosened it bit. Have a good sleep, she said, with a dazzling smile.
I was worse off than before. I watched the stewardess move away. My mouth was 
dry again. I didnt know why Octavians didnt bother to cover up the place where 
all their tentacles met  that slippery nexus. Where, I knew now, it all 
happened. Where a tentative finger sliding across could draw forth the sounds 
that swirled in the ear, drowned the brain.
What the fuck is wrong with you? said Matthew, the cloth sensemask in his 
hand. What are you staring at?
I dont want to have sex with anyone on this trip, I said desperately, 
incoherently.
He shrugged. Suit yourself. Its not like you gotta get your passport stamped 
LAID before you leave the planet. Now me, he said, pulling down his beverage 
hose and taking a pull. I plan to break a few records.
They have records posted? I said. It was an interesting, if slightly grotesque 
idea.
Personal records, he said. I wouldnt want to compete with that guy over 
there. He chinned to a large-eared fellow who was snoring with his mouth open.
Seriously, I said.
So did you have a good time at that garden place?
I nodded. A little too good.
He gave me a serious look. Is she fixed?
Fixed? I said.
Yeah. A friend of mine told me that his brother went out with an Octavian for a 
while, but she was a widow, so she had been fixed.
All this time Matthew had had inside information? What do you mean, fixed?
Their word for it. Squidollians and Octavians have this thing that they die 
after they give birth. A hormone is released. They lose their appetite, and 
eventually starve to death.
I heard that, I said uneasily. Always? Like what if someone... feeds them? I 
thought about having to encourage someone to eat, everyday. Someone who didnt 
really want to eat.
Not if theyve been fixed. Then the hormone isnt released. Squidollians are 
fixed at birth now. But Octavians still have to get their parents approval. 
Its pretty conservative, not like modern Squidollia.
I thought back to last night with a flashbomb of guilt. But we hadnt, I told 
myself.
At least, I didnt think we had.
More flashbombs went off as I imagined Jinya at her parents place, listlessly 
moving the food on her plate around. Her mothers concerned look. Her brothers 
dawning realization...
I dont think shes fixed. Theres something awful about that word. I said, 
annoyed. Its like if they dont have mating patterns like humanoids theyre 
broken. Why is Earth the standard for the universe?
Matthew rolled his eyes. You sound like my dad. Whats wrong with Earth? Youd 
rather have your girlfriend die?
Youre an idiot, I said, pretending it didnt splash terror in my face.
The Squidollian stewardess came by. Despite a characteristically flat, extended 
head she was quite attractive.
I was wondering why there is no Pono tea, he asked her, actually batting his 
eyes  for my benefit, I can only hope. Its my favourite. Squidollian tea is 
the best.
She frowned. Is not popular. Is not a galactic beverage, she said briefly and 
whisked away.
I smirked at him. He shrugged. It usually works.
Did you talk to your dad before you left? I asked.
No way. His last messages got weirder and weirder. I ended up erasing them 
without even listening to them. I dont know, he said with a concerned look. 
He was always nutty, but Im afraid hes lost it. Which is too bad.
It was an interesting difference between him and me. We both disliked a parent, 
but he was moving into a phase of pity, almost sympathy  I wondered if Id ever 
feel that way about Mom, that detached. I remember how she had reacted when she 
found out Id been a pug: Well, if it interests you that much I can call a few 
friends of mine who are in subcultural design...
Trying not to think about it  I didnt need any more adrenaline running through 
my system  I asked Matthew about his dads warnings.
He rolled his eyes. Oh, it was stupid. One sounded like a doom and gloom 
horoscope, and then he was on about his conspiracies... he sounds like he needs 
to get his brain soaked again, the last treatments worn off.
I thought about the story he had told me about his last vacation. Did he 
suggest we meet up with his Unarmoured friend to hang out on the rings instead? 
I teased.
That was real. I  he saw my smirk and stopped. 
Go on, I prompted.
Fuck you! he yelled.
9/3s eyes lit up. No one else reacted. 
Our ships been hijacked by Unarmoured terrorists, I told him. Were headed 
for the Neb galaxy. Right Matthew?
Matthew was smiling and biting his lip and giving me the finger.
I have informed Roboworld that this ship has been hijacked. We will be 
intercepted and destroyed in two hours.
Oh. I... was joking.
I know. Unarmoured terrorists is an oxymoron, said 9/3.
Did you clear it with Roboworld, this trip I mean? I asked.
Of course, he said. He started a system check: his pincers twisted, his elbows 
bent. I was surprised they cleared it.
Maybe it has something to do with your function?
His arms lifted, as much as they could in his bracket. His head swivelled. His 
eyes cycled: red, green, white, off.
I gave up waiting for a response. I admired his silence. It was intriguing to 
think he might be called into action suddenly. Matthew involved in intergalactic 
espionage was ludicrous; with 9/3 it was something you suspected all along.
Of course, perhaps he would be called into action to eliminate a threat to 
Octavian sovereignty. I had trouble imagining him lasering me, though. I looked 
at 9/3s square head, the weld marks like scars along the edges. Id never 
looked at the welds before, and I wondered if they were different on each 
roboman. I lifted my hand to touch them.
9/3 moved it away. What are you doing, he said, tonelessly.
I realized I had been about to, well, stroke his face. Nothing, I said, 
ashamed to admit I had been thinking of him as an insensate object. Then again, 
why would he care? Why did he move away so suddenly?
Man, the first thing Im gonna do is get me some real food, Matthew said, his 
eyes wistful. Number two: get me a beer that I dont have to squeeze out.
Whats the diff? I said, exasperated at Matthews Earth-centrism. Its the 
same rotting barley.
Yeah, but, said Matthew. theres nothing like a cold bottle. Even a can. But 
a soft bladder? All I can think about when Im drinking on Squidollia is how Im 
squeezing one bladder into another bladder...
I laughed, glad to see him chipper again. It was good that one of us was excited 
about it.
Number three he said, staring off into lewd space.
Youll go for a refreshing swim, I said. Right? Submerge yourself in water 
for a change?
Ha ha, said 9/3. 
What are you going to do? I asked 9/3.
Pleasureworld is geared towards humanoids, he said. It should really be 
called Meatpleasureworld. 
We laughed hard, shocked as always by 9/3s irreverence. The stewardess climbed 
by, smiling nervously at us.
But there is a small oilpool that has my name on it.
Well, your serial number, Matthew piped up.
Yes. Has my name on it is a colloquial English expression, 9/3 
mock-explained. 
That started a series of English teacher in-jokes that lasted until the 
stewardess came around to tell us we were landing soon. I looked out the 
porthole at our destination and thought that it wasnt going to be so bad after 
all.


***


I was wrong.


***


I was sitting in front of the desk, watching Matthew grow. The window was 
massive, covering most of the wall I was facing. I was surprised that a 
planetary emergency ship like this would have niceties like a good view. 
Matthew was now twice as big as the rocketship we had come in on. It stood 
beside him like a younger brother. He looked pretty scared, focused on staying 
still and upright.
A young man came in, his recorder-pad embossed with the Earth Council crest. I 
hadnt seen that in a while. I hadnt missed it. 
He extended his hand, gave me a quick pump. OK Sam, he said, sitting down 
behind the desk. There was a bit of the air of a doctor about him. He saw me 
staring at Matthew.
Maybe we should move to another room, he said, his voice concerned.
No, I said quickly. I had spent the first ten minutes after we had been netted 
and dropped in the ship feeling completely blind and almost delusional. It was 
better to see what was happening, how it was happening.
Now we havent got very much time here, the young man said, staring at his pad 
and holding a tuft of his blond hair in his hand. He turned his sharp eyes on 
me. Matthew is growing exponentially. Theres a chance we can get him back to 
normal if we can get some critical information from you.
I nodded, looking out at Matthew. Giant naked Matthew. He was looking at his 
hands and arms with the same puzzled expression that hed worn when wed first 
gotten off the rocketship. I feel weird... he had said, and I almost missed him 
saying it in the roar of the beachfront, the screech of the gulls.
Now 9/3-0001 has said that the two of you were quite close.
I nodded, trying not to show that I realized that he had used the past tense.
We need to know anything he may have mentioned about Saturn or Jupiter. 
Anything. A comment about a trip there, a family friend who worked there, 
anything, he said, the look of concern on his face a little too laboured.
I sat silently. Did they have any intention of getting him back to normal? Or 
was this some kind of trick? 
His wristphone spoke. Target is on the move. I watched Matthew turn slightly, 
carefully, squinting at something in the distance. The side of his foot knocked 
a concession stand slightly askew. He glanced down at it, appeared to consider 
bending down to right it, then didnt. He moved his pale shoulders 
uncomfortably.
He realized that the word target had shut me up. He sighed, his voice a little 
harder. Look, it looks like he was foetally modified for a site-triggered 
mutation. There were a handful of them that werent accounted for after the war. 
Quite alarming, but not terribly dangerous. But a few of them also carried an 
atomic payload.
I wondered what Matthews dad was doing right now. Was he eagerly watching the 
newsfeed for reports? Was he holding a bottle in a two-fingered grasp and 
crying? Was he going about his normal day, oblivious? What kind of man would 
condemn his son in the womb?
I looked at Matthew, who was obviously exhausted. He was as tall as the 
mountains pictured on the promotional poster, and the top of his head was 
getting wispy with cloud, catching in his hair. He wasnt appreciating that, but 
he was nervously watching the ships going by to net another load of people, as 
if he suspected they would soon be turning on him.
I need to know if he was on Jupiter or Saturn. This is important, Sam.
The window flickered and I realized that it was a viewscreen. I looked at 
Matthew and had the sudden realization that this wasnt Matthew at all. It 
couldnt be. Who ever heard of people growing up to the clouds? It was absurd. 
Sam, I need your help here.
Did he think repeating my name made him more trustworthy? It didnt even look 
like Matthew. His nose was different. I started to smile, amazed that they had 
almost tricked me.
Are you OK? he said. Anger and concern fought for the right of his face.
Im fine, now, I said, smiling bigger. They had the fake Matthew crouch a 
little as he approached the cloud line, playing like he had trouble breathing. 
When he was leaning over, he started to smile, then leer.
He was staring at his crotch. He said something that I couldnt quite catch.
The young guys wristphone spoke again, but I missed it. I was watching the 
fake-Matthew stand up, to his full height. His shoulders were wreathed in 
clouds, but his face was clearly visible. He lifted his arms and pumped them in 
a victorious way, repeating what he had said a second before. This time I could 
read his lips clearly.
My cock is huge! 
Well. It was Matthew, after all.
I looked at the young guy and he was frantically speaking into his wristphone. 
He was looking at me and holding his hand out as if to pull the answer from me.
Saturn, I said. 
Outside, looking woozy from a lack of oxygen, the real Matthew collapsed onto 
his knees. The land around him jumped from the impact.
Goddamn it, thats the continental plate busted, yelled the young guy, 
gritting his teeth as he stared at the scene. We have a no-payload mutator 
here, folks, act accordingly.
He grabbed his recorder-pad and strode from the room, slapping the door locked 
as he went.
They left the viewscreen on to let me watch Matthew be carpet-bombed, to see the 
little puffs flower between the bony knobs of his spine.


***


9/3 was the only other occupant of the shuttle. I was still in magnashackles but 
he, of course, was not. I was marched into a chair and then the guard sat me 
down hard.
Enjoy your flight, scum, the guard said with a lazy grin.
The shuttle door hissed closed too quickly for my spit-gob to reach its target. 
9/3 looked at me and sighed. It sounded just like the door closing and I smiled 
a mean smile at 9/3s expense. Blood and sweat dripped a stinging cocktail into 
my eyes. 
The shuttle softly pushed away from the prisonship.
9/3 got up and rattled through the emergency box. He took out a medvac.
Why are you so stupid, Sam? asked 9/3. He trained the ray on my face.
Leave me alone, I said. Id rather bleed.
9/3 ignored me and continued, moving from my face to my hands. Then he went and 
returned the device. He sat down, heavily.
I have not been in a shuttle since the day we went to the forest planet. The 
four of us. He sat perfectly still, perfectly boxy, not looking towards me. 
That was a very special day.
I stared at him. I wished I was back on the ship being beaten by the guard. The 
guard was someone I could hate. It burned pure, but with 9/3 it was all pops and 
guttering.
I felt a perverse gratitude to the guard for being a focal point. Now all I had 
was 9/3.
So I guess youre headed back to Roboworld, now that youve fulfilled your 
function, I said through gritted teeth.
9/3s eyes blinked no. What do you mean?
Well, I said. You were sent to spy on us, right?
9/3s eyes flashed red anger, then back to white.
If you hadnt told them who I was, maybe they wouldnt have confirmed that he 
was safe to kill. I excluded my own part in it, though it sat in my brain like 
an implant. Maybe they could have... shrunk him. I had an image of Matthew, 
normal sized, with pools of skin around his ankles. It was an appropriately 
stupid image, as I realized how unlikely it was.
In a planetary emergency, I have to report all pertinent details to the 
authorities and Roboworld, he intoned.
I flared up at this. Just more hiding behind procedures, just-following-orders 
bullshit. Well, did you tell them that you fucked Hugh? I yelled, straining 
against my magnashackles. Did you report to Roboworld that you were defective?
The word hung there like the piece of shit it was. I was ashamed but determined. 
I willed 9/3 to get angry, ground my teeth together and psychically flung my 
rage over him like waves of radiation.
His eyes flickered several different colours at once, landing on red a few 
times. There was a sound of static that came from his voicebox that was nearly 
inaudible.
I stared through the window. A star crawled across it. I wished I was burning in 
its core. And then my fierceness was gone.
I checked my aggrometer to verify. Yep. The needle was dead.
9/3 went offline.
When I fell asleep, I saw a squirrel gathering food and stopping at a sound. 
Theres a new river on Pleasureworld 33, rushing over rocks and around trees. A 
red river that flows from a head cracked open on a mountain, where the gigantic 
boys parted lips leak endlessly, bubble and leak.




twenty




It was very unusual to inhale the eggs and sperm of another animal, I 
explained to my workshop teachers calmly, a week later.
It is Octavian tradition, Mr. Kung said. But boyfriend-girlfriend no. Just 
wife.
Fertility, said Mr. Nekk. Is very important to Octavian families.
Mrs. Ahm nodded seriously. 
Boyfriend-girlfriend... strangey, said Mr. Kung, crossing his tentacles in 
case I missed the meaning. 
After marriage, OK.
The Gardens are an Octavian treasure, I said, deliberately using words Kung 
wouldnt understand. The colours are amazing.
Why did you not go to Pleasureworld? Mr. Nekk asked.
We changed our plans, I said, with no intention of going into it. The 
Pleasureworld chain had used their clout to kill the story. I continued quickly. 
I have some bad news.
Bad news? said Mrs. Ahm, always the quickest. What?
I am moving to Artemia. My language skills will be tested. Jinyas professor 
had set it up, after an excited meeting. I wasnt convinced that it was the 
right thing to do, but I figured I could clam up at any point.
Thats terrible, said Mr. Nekk.
Im sorry to hear that, Mrs. Ahm said.
Too bad, Mr. Kung said. We go drinky?


***


Did you tell the teachers about the... accident? Jinya asked while we lay in 
bed. 
No. I told them about the Living Gardens. And about the coral orgy.
Orgee?
Like... sex party.
Yes! Coral sex party! she said, laughing against my shoulder. It felt 
wonderful, and I almost smiled.
Sam?
Yeah?
Are you sad that we dont sex? she said. Humans like to sex.
I thought for a second, tracing the spaces between her suckers with my 
fingertip. Yes, but... you are sad that I am leaving, right?
I felt her nod.


***


The next day was my last day.
Artemia tomorrow? said Mr. Zik, getting ready to leave for class.
Yep, I said, waving at my cleaned-off desk. All ready.
I can drive you, he said. In my saucer.
I thought of what that meant to him  the harrowing request hed have to make of 
the principal, the sixteen hours of travel  all for an offworlder who was 
abandoning his post.
I got up and hugged him, gently holding his stalk-of-corn body.
Ssss-sss-ss, he said. What?


***


I ended up walking to the bus stop alone. Jinya had school and besides, we were 
going to meet in the city soon. 
It was a short walk to the station, but long enough for my melancholy to build. 
I walked by the tree and nodded to the grandfather and the dumb, rock-headed 
girl. She climbed down from the hill and started walking beside me. I looked 
back at grandpa but he didnt seem in the least concerned.
I hadnt seen her in a long while  ever since the test I monitored, maybe that 
long. Shouldnt you be in school? I asked, but with a smile.
She just answered my smile with one of her own. She reached out and took one of 
my lighter bags.
Thank you, I said.
Yellcome, she twisted out after a moment, the first and only English word Id 
hear her speak.
We walked through the town together, pretty empty at this time of morning. A 
scooter buzzed by on a delivery, and I wondered what it would be like to be that 
blank-faced boy. I willed myself into his head, his life. Did he have any 
worries about what he was doing, what effect he was having? Or did he simply 
weigh his decisions by which held the most beeds and the least trouble?
My suitcase was getting heavier by the step but the station was within sight. I 
checked my time. I was all right. We cut through the small market and an old 
lady called out.
Come help me! 
I stopped and looked at the old lady in the booth, her tentacles bristling with 
cucumbers. I was trying to figure out what she wanted when the rock-headed girl 
shook her head and showed her the bag of mine she was carrying.
The old lady nodded and went back to stacking Plangyos favourite vegetable.
When we got to the bus station and sat on the bench, I was surprised by the 
amount of memories that had accumulated there so quickly. There was the spot 
where that little chump had sung I.C.Y. to me, the day Jinya and I met. This was 
the place that every one of my trips on Octavia had begun and ended.
I looked around at the ticket vending machine and the two or three other mid-day 
travellers. From my spot on the bench, I could see the hills in the distance  
never terribly impressive but now even less so that Id seen the incredibly 
fecund Living Gardens. Not much to be fond of, but I was sad to be leaving 
anyway.
I remember how defensive Id gotten when Matthew had visited. My station on 
Squidollia is twice as big as this. This is pathetic.
Yeah, well, I had retorted. Ill bet we have twice as many hideously old 
women waiting here at any given moment.
The rock-headed girl sat beside me, her eyes disinterested. But I guess it beat 
stacking cucumbers. I wanted her to ask me why I was sad, to divine with a 
childs insight that something weighed on me, and to want to draw it out.
Why are you sad, teacher? she could say.
Well, Id say, and then decide to tell her. A good friend of mine died.
She wouldnt say anything, then, because what could you say that wasnt stupid 
or trite? Thats why I hadnt bothered telling my teachers. It was bad enough 
that the memory of it kept backing up like a brackish sewer, draining only to 
bubble up again, without hearing people fumble through empty phrases.
Ha, Matthews voice mocked me, big bad pug hopes a kid will make him feel 
better. Aw.
A bus came for somewhere else and picked up two people. I watched its backside 
as it moved away.
The bubbles from the exhaust were caught in its wake and thrown up, an answer to 
the song.
Bubbles over Plangyo,
Where did you go?
I heard Mr. Zik singing in the sing-song room in my mind. I hummed it, since I 
didnt know the words, and looked at the rock-headed girl. She had her little 
painted stone friends out, playing with them contentedly. She was humming too.




twenty one




The charliebot was polishing glasses, and I was getting them dirty. 
Filler up, I said, staring in front of me. The charliebot stuck out his hose 
and let me have another. He didnt say anything. They dont when youre drinking 
at an optimum rate.
It had been a year since I left Plangyo. The spaceport bar was exactly like 
every other one Id been to. The light just bright enough so that you can see 
the pretty bottles sparkling, an offer of the rough stuff. It was the same as 
every other spaceport bar in the bloody galaxy, although sometimes theres more 
people.
Today, it was just me and the charliebot. Goddamn trash can.
Whattaya lookin at, bud? it said.
Shut the fuck up, metal man.
The charliebot kept polishing. The door slid open.
The guy was dressed in a grey body-suit, with a collar he probably thought was 
pretty damn stylish. I sneered at him.
Gimmie a gin-and-tonic, he said, in a scratchy voice.
I snorted. Sounds like you need a drink, buddy. I slammed the glass on the 
bar. And so do I.
He looked at me, a weak little smile on his face. Where you coming from? He 
got his drink and took three quick sips from it.
Octavia, I said.
Well, welcome back to civilization, he said.
I laughed and raised my glass. He clinked it. 
You know, I had a... thing with one of them once, he said. A digital romance 
they call it.
You were lucky, guy, I said bitterly. She didnt get her fuckin tentacles 
around you. I breathed heavily, feeling bile in my throat and not just from the 
drink. I washed it down with the rest of my beer. Didnt get her hooks into 
ya...
Then I whipped the glass into the row of liquor bottles.
Goddamn sea monkey! I bellowed, clenching my fist and thumping it on the bar. 
The guy in the body-suit laughed, a dry clicking laugh.
He offered his hand. Im Kevin. 
I shook it. Sam.
Youre gonna end up owing quite a bit for that, Sam, he said, watching the 
charliebot tally it up.
The door slid open. An Octavian walks into a spaceport bar...
Oh, great, I said. Theyre following me. Then a crafty look stole over my 
face. I knew a few tricks. I got up and waved the Octavian to a seat beside 
Kevin.
Welcome, I said in badly accented Octavian.
I got the charliebot to pour the Octavian a drink. He was young and reminded me 
immediately of one of those cheerful morons from, what was that stupid pop 
group? Whatever.
The charliebot went back to tallying up the smashed bottles.
A friendly Earthling, how unusual! exclaimed the prettyboy.
I shrugged, pretending I didnt understand. It would be easier that way.
The charliebot finished. You owe the bar 150 credits.
I pointed at the prettyboy.
You owe the bar 150 credits.
I sat down and smirked at Kevin, who was laughing.
Thats an expensive beer! he exclaimed. He lifted the glass and looked at it. 
Through the glass he noticed the smashed bottles.
I ordered another round of drinks for Kevin and I.
The prettyboy looked at us and seemed to figure it out. He set his beer down and 
started to leave.
We were in front of him in the blink of an eye.
Go back and pay the bar, I said. Kevin nodded.
You tried to rip me off, he said. Get out of my way.
No speak Octavian, I said, sneering, and now he knew I was lying. He tried to 
push us out of the way and Kevin swung at him.
The Octavian took the punch and wrapped Kevin in his tentacles, squeezing with 
all his might. I started to pull him off until a well-aimed tentacle poked me in 
the eye.
I reeled back, hand over my eye, and refocused on the fight in time to see a 
powerful twist of a tentacle snap Kevins neck.
When he fell with Kevin, I ran at him and aimed a boot at his head. I missed, 
and felt a tentacle  maybe two  wrap around my lower leg.
Oh fuck.
I went face first into a table and grabbed the edge in an effort to get up. I 
just succeeded in toppling it over. But the tentacles were gone. Prettyboy was 
making his way for the door. 
I got up and lifted the round table and swung it at him, laughing as blood ran 
down to my chin. At the last second, the Octavian dropped on his back, caught 
the table with all eight tentacles, and swung back.
It connected solidly with my skull and knocked me back a few steps. The 
prettyboy hopped up and, when I was still dazed, strolled up and gave me a light 
push in the chest.
I fell backwards, knocking over the entire bar. Every bottle in the place 
shattered.
The prettyboy looked at me coolly and waited for the charliebot to announce the 
damages: 2575 creds. He looked at me on the ground, my hand twitching, my mouth 
still twisted, and shrugged.
That rounds on him.
Then he walked out. 
Cut! That was perfect!
I got up. Lucky it was perfect, I thought as I spat out the blood packet, that 
was the third take.
Kevin was still lying there. Oh  get up, Kevin. Scenes over, I told him
He bounced up. He just said perfect, right?
Yeah, I said. Learning the language, eh? Good.
The door slid open and the guy who just thrashed me came in. Youre a great 
actor, Sam!
Thank you! I was happy to work with you, too. Youre the funniest member of 
Intergalactic Cool Youth.
He beamed and pulled his lips out with six tentacles and crossed his eyes.
I laughed. It was funny. I explained to Kevin briefly who he was and he was 
appropriately impressed.
Around us, the set was being cleaned up and taken apart. The director hustled 
in, patted me on the back. You were right about the charliebot. It was more 
realistic. He had originally wanted to use an Octavian bartender, but I 
convinced him otherwise. He was big on realism, this director  except for the 
fact that there were no spaceport bars with atmosphere where an Octavian could 
stand upright. But unless Octavian action-comedies became a big export, I 
figured wed get away with it.
Kevin was shaking hands with the director. Very good, the director dredged up, 
and Kevin stuttered out an Octavian thank-you.
With an accent like that you dont have to worry about your job, even if he is 
better-looking, the director told me as he zipped off.
Kevin looked at me. Hes always on some stimulant, I said, in lieu of 
translating. They get black dots in their eyes. Thats how you tell. Never 
trust an Octavian with pupils.
Well, thanks for getting me the job, he said. It was fun.
We walked over to the food table. The part was actually written with you in 
mind, I said. I work with the scriptwriter, and when I found out there was 
gonna be another human on the planet I figured...
So you have some say in the part you play? he asked.
Its the only way Ill work on a project, I said, feeding my face. Getting 
beat up made me famished!
So why dont you give yourself a better part? he said. 
I munched on, a smile growing on my face. Why indeed? I said cryptically.
Kevin waited, his eyebrows raised.
Lets go, I said finally. Drinking all that fake beer made me thirsty. Let me 
buy you a bladder of the real stuff.


***


We stopped at my place first, to wash up. When I was in the washroom, Kevin said 
he liked my apartment.
Its OK, I said. I have my eye on this traditional house on the outskirts of 
town, though.
Oh, Ive seen those. Theyre beautiful, called Kevin.
Yeah, I said, everyone but the Octavians think so. I thought back to the fight 
Jinya and I had had over it, and sighed.
I left the washroom. Kevin was peering at the decor which mostly consisted of a 
bunch of pictures of Octavian landscapes and my glass jetpack. Thats an 
unusual clock, he cracked, nodding at my aggrometer wristwatch. It had been 
pinned to the wall ever since the strap broke.
Yup, I said as I checked to make sure I had everything.
We left, Kevin looking at Matthews jetpack again but not asking any more 
questions. I was kind of glad. I had thought that I was beginning to feel OK 
about the whole incident until I was at an offworld party a few weeks ago. It 
was one of the first times Id hung out with a bunch of Earthlings for almost a 
year  it was a year since it happened  and at first I was having a good time. 
But then, in the dim light of the bar, I saw Matthews silhouette. But of course 
it wasnt really Matthew  didnt even look like him  but the lurch in my chest 
showed that I was still expecting him to show up. Show up with his evil grin and 
make fun of what I was drinking, or ask me about my students, or tell me how 
much he needed to get laid...
Kevin sensed my mood, and we walked in silence to the place just around the 
corner. Hello, Sam, said the owner, a woman in her late forties. Her 
handkerchief was bright yellow, which was like her. You bring me new customers, 
eh? Doesnt he like the Earthling bar?
The Crossed Snakes was a no-frills eatery, unless you counted the owner, which I 
did. The Earthling bar is too expensive, I said, although actually it was the 
way they liked me to sit up near the window, a living model, that put me off it.
She cackled, and took our order. I got my usual  vegetables wrapped in a fried 
rice paste  and the same for Kevin. And two regular beers, I added, not 
wanting to presumptuously order large.
Handsomebloy, said the owner, holding Kevins shoulders. Where you?
Blusan I am hometown Octavia, he pushed out in a rush, looking at the owner 
for understanding. Some of the patrons laughed.
Bloosan, she said, nodding.
Bloosan, he repeated gamely.
She left us, and Kevin exhaled. Man, I feel like an idiot. Everyones 
watching.
I didnt bother looking around. Everyones always watching, I said. 
Kevin wasnt listening. He was staring at what I assumed to be a group of 
giggling schoolgirls. I glanced back. It was a group of giggling secretaries.
Kevins trance broke. Was I staring? he said. He ran his fingers through his 
hair. I mean, theyre not wearing any pants! he said, desperately. He looked 
back again. Theres no one like that in Blusan. All we got are noisy little 
boys and sitting-disks.
Sitting-disks? I said. The food arrived, clattered down by the surly daughter 
of the owner.
Yeah. Blusan is famous for sitting-disks.
I nodded. My town was famed for its grey cucumbers. I dug in, eating with my 
fingers. Kevin used his fork.
He looked back at the girls.
Best thing to remember, I said, doling out advice despite my better impulse, 
is that any relationship is going to affect them a lot more than it affects 
you. You probably wont live here all your life. She will. The dumplings were 
hot and good, and I dosed one mouthful with a squeeze of beer.
Kevin took a pull at his beer and nodded. That makes sense. They werent very 
up front about that stuff at the orientation. What have... I mean, have you 
I cut off his struggles with a merciful raised hand. Yeah. I was glad he was 
unsure, unbalanced  he should be. I had been worried that I would finally get 
an Earthling neighbour and he would be a bonehead. I looked at him, decided to 
tell him the story.
Hello Sambreen, said one of the pretty girls, her light blue eyes shining with 
mischief, which was my favourite shade of light blue. I waved as they passed out 
the door, and my attention caused one to collapse on the girl in front of her. 
She said something as the door closed.
Kevin looked at me quickly. I knew how he felt, every incomprehensible phrase 
seemed to promise the code to understanding Octavians. She said, Hes 
famous. I stretched out against the wall. Everyone humans a superstar here, 
I said. Even worse if you can speak Octavian.
He shook his head. They said that youre really gifted, the people at 
orientation.
That was gratifying, in an entirely unexpected way. Well, you dont see them 
getting me to speak at orientation, do you?
Wonneel walked in with some guy in a toque, talking out the side of his mouth as 
was his perpetual habit. He spat his tobacco in a stream out the door before it 
closed. The owner nodded to him.
I raised a hand to Wonneel and he gave me a wan smile.
Yeah, I said looking back at him. Theyre not exactly proud of me. I was a 
better student than teacher. I smiled, more at myself for being so vague. But 
when you had a year to get to know each other, what was the rush?
Wonneel came and sat down beside me. Whos the new kid, he grunted, eyeing 
Kevin. Can he speak?
Nope. Kevin, Wonneel. Wonneel, Kevin.
Kevin looked a little freaked, and I saw him scrambling through his mental 
drawers for the Octavian greeting. Hello, he said finally.
Wonneel stared at him for another few seconds then turned away, the embodiment 
of dismissal. He was the only person I knew who wouldnt return a Hello! and I 
loved him for it.
You get home all right last week? Wonneel said, aiming a stream of tobacco 
juice at a dish wed emptied.
I heard I left just in time, I said.
He gave a rueful shrug. An old man in the back was kicking up a fuss, cursing 
out the daughter. I want wallen, you brat!
My lip curled. The owner whisked by our table. With an eye on her back, Wonneel 
pulled a small container out of his bag and passed it to me. 
You know its illegal, sir, the owner said to the man, her yellow kerchief 
bobbing.
Thanks, I said to Wonneel, who was watching the fight. Get you back later.
This is a modern place. Thats old-time food. Unhealthy! she said.
He waved them away, disgusted, went back to his cups.
Wonneel shook his head. Theres no respect for the old, he tutted. 
I raised my eyebrows on this selective reverence. Wonneel would sooner lose an 
eye than his seat on the bus to an oldster.
Cant refuse an old man his meat, he said, and got up and went over to the old 
guy.
How do you know him? Kevin asked.
He was an extra on a film I was working on, I said, watching as Wonneel said 
something to the old man. The old man listened and then, after throwing back his 
ujos and throwing down his beeds, unsteadily followed Wonneels slim figure out 
of the restaurant.
Yeah, he played an Octavian gangster, I said, finishing my beer.
He kind of looks like a gangster, said Kevin. Sharp features, dark eyes...
Uh huh, I said. I yelled for the waitress. The daughter poked her reluctant 
head out, and I ordered more beer.
So do you always act in action films? he asked.
Not always... comedies, too, I said, thinking about how Wonneel was always 
disappointing, but at least he was consistent. Also, less seriously, that I 
should get a cut of his new business, since I was the one responsible for the 
demand.
What did you play in the last comedy? he said.
Um... That was Loafers Revenge. I played Loafers Earthling sidekick. I 
smiled, remembering it. I had this thing that I hated black noodles, but I kept 
getting served huge heaping dishes of it.
Kevin looked at me, confused.
Well, black noodles have a kind of sexual connotation... its a bit of a 
pun... I said, shrugging. Its funny to Octavians.
Huh, Kevin said. Then he leaned forward and poked the table as if trying to 
pin down his point, a particularly human gesture. But isnt there any chance to 
play a part that isnt a bad guy or a sidekick?
Sure there is, I said. One script I saw last week had a part for a 
charismatic and earnest rocketship captain from Earth who has an affair with the 
daughter of a prominent Octavian family. Leading man stuff.
But... Kevin spread his hands. What? You didnt get the part?
I chuckled. The part was written with me in mind. They cant afford offworld 
actor rates. When I turned it down they just made it a Squidollian captain  
less controversial that way, anyway.
Was that what put you off? The controversy?
I corralled my thoughts. I wanted to make this good. One of the reasons I left 
Earth was that I didnt like it there, especially the way society revolved 
around money. But when I got here I realized how much Earth had already infected 
Octavian culture  its come to symbolize modern life and progress  and I 
realized I was kind of a representative of the whole planet.
Kevin nodded sombrely. Its a big responsibility.
Now, my first inclination was to play parts that were heroic and noble, but I 
realized that that was just me wanting to be liked. And Octavias already got 
enough of that crap beamed at them. So I decided I was going to play parts that 
evened out that singular view of humans-as-heroes by playing the exact 
opposite. I paused for a squeeze of beer. Greedy bullies and idiots.
Kevins jaw literally dropped. 
I had a long laugh. He was a great audience.
So... youre doing it... deliberately? he said.
I raised an eyebrow. Crazy, huh?
Well... he said, looking into middlespace, brow furrowed. I mean, I think 
Ive got problems with the Earth Council...
I nodded, let him talk for a while.
But its like... sometimes its necessary. I mean Octavians were still eating 
other sentient beings until a couple of months ago.
I smiled ruefully. Yeah, the Earth Council had got a lot of mileage out of that. 
Someday Id tell him the whole story. Theres lots of good things about Earth, 
I said, picking at the food. And Earth culture. But the problem with it 
replacing alien cultures  beyond the fact that it makes for a boring universe 

Kevin nodded at that.
 is that, after a generation, no one even remembers how those other societies 
were run. So theres only one template for a society, and theres little room 
for debate or change when theres no real-life examples of people doing things 
differently.
Kevin nodded, raising his eyebrows in a kind of maybe youre right way. He 
squeezed the remainder of his beer into his mouth with a frothy squirt.
It was unsatisfying  Id have preferred he argued. I filled the glass with 
beeds and got up. Octavian tradition. Never stay in one place for more than a 
drink.
He got ready to go and I grabbed my precious container. Almost forgot, I said. 
If you ever get desperate enough for coffee to trade a weeks wages for one of 
these, I said as we walked to the door, Let me know.
It was already dark outside, but not dark enough to hide the owners daughter in 
the clutches of a young tough-looking boy. Tentacles retracted guiltily. 
Boyfriend? I asked.
She denied it.
Youre kissing a stranger? I enquired mildly as we walked away.
Keep your jokes to your movies, said the boy to my back.
I smiled, but was a little stung. Not everyone accepted that my asshole 
Earthling personas in the movies werent my own. Of course, the slight venom a 
few Octavians felt for me was nothing in comparison to what it may have been had 
my part in the modernization drive been revealed.
The actual testing of my language skills had been a joke. I had expected a room 
full of Octavian experts that would listen and judge. I had been terrified. But 
the reality was, as usual, entirely more banal and entirely more horrible.
After I arrived in Artemia, a representative from the Earth Council had shown me 
to a room with a desk. He had the same boyish haircut and doctorly manner as the 
guy on Pleasureworld 33. He tapped his recorder-pad and asked me to make the 
impossible sounds. I thoced and oped for him. He hadnt even smiled, just 
nodded and left. That had been it, and about three months later, the Octavian 
government instituted a series of unpopular laws in the name of modernization. I 
had tried to ignore most of it, guilty and unsure, although Jinya had shown me 
one editorial cartoon depicting a plague of wallens overrunning the streets.
I stuck my hands in my pocket as we strolled down the street, which were, at the 
moment, wallen-free. I took a route through the flashier parts of the city, 
where saucers tried to behead you and flashing lights tried to blind you. 
No one says hello here, said Kevin, watching a chain of girls turn sideways to 
slide by us. I almost miss it.
Most urbanites have seen bipeds before, I said, looking at a snazzy hat in the 
window display. Theres a small tourist trade.
We turned down a series of successively smaller streets until we came to the 
alley. It wasnt even flattened, really, just a path worn in the coral. At the 
end of it was a small entrance with a glowing eye above it. It pulsed different 
colours. Kevin looked at it before he went in, but looked more excited than 
frightened.
Oh no, theyre multiplying! Ilnok said, throwing up his tentacles. I 
introduced Kevin to the old husk, and we followed him to the far end of the 
small bar. One of his students was working there.
Where you from? demanded Ilnok.
Kenya, said Kevin.
You speak English? I said, surprised.
No in Earth. Where Octavia? Ilnok pressed Kevin.
Kevin told him. 
Ilnok nodded, mimed sitting down and then made a sucker-pop: really good.
We nodded. Blusans sitting disks were really good, not that our big asses could 
possibly appreciate it.
Ilnok turned his attention back to his student. The student was oblivious to our 
presence, dipping the tip of his tentacle into a small dish of pale red pigment.
The colours remind me of the Living Gardens.
I went to the Living Gardens last week! Ilnok said, animated. Its too 
expensive now that the government doesnt fund it. He shook his head.
I nodded, glad that guilt didnt have a particular smell to give me away. I 
resolved to buy a few more pictures from Ilnok later this week.
The student smeared the pigment on the cloth, adding a hazy pink line to the 
landscapes horizon. 
Oh, said Kevin. Its a flat picture. Of a reef. He cocked his head to the 
side. Huh.
I nodded. Its a uniquely Octavian art form. They call it smearing.
Uniquely?
Well, humans cant do it, I said, waggling my thin fingers. I looked enviously 
at the thick, dextrous appendage adding definition to a saucer in the distance.
Hows Jinya? asked Ilnok.
I shrugged. OK.
Ilnok rubbed his forehead, leaving a yellow mark. OK?
She didnt get a teaching job this year, I said. She was hoping to move 
here.
He looked surprised. Very competitive, Ilnok said, doubt in his voice. He 
reached down and lifted the students smearing tentacle up. Lightly.
They liked her English. But I think they didnt like her boyfriend, I said, 
guilt and frustration welling up. Some things I said about the school system 
were reported on the newsfeed.
Ilnok nodded, his cloudy eyes regarding me sadly. He was partially blind. 
Wow, said Kevin, as the student used his suckers to roughen up the texture. 
The student looked up at this familiar word and smiled, slightly embarrassed.
It had been a long few weeks after Jinya was rejected. We didnt see each other 
at all: she had been busy, looking for private teaching jobs, and I had been 
working long hours on a movie called Intense Believability. The gritty drama had 
been a good backdrop for the agonizing I had done, deciding and undeciding that 
it would be better for her if we broke up, assuming in the silence following her 
rejection that she was cursing the day she met me.
Then she brought her parents to meet me on the set. Her mom had beamed at me 
benevolently and called me son... and I burst out crying. On Octavia, crying 
is extra dramatic, because the atmosphere causes tears to linger. I figured the 
drama was excusable since I was an actor now.
Its OK, I summed up for Ilnok. Next year will be different.


***


9/3 was sitting at the lunch booth, his android arms crossed and leaning on the 
counter. I smacked his shoulder as I seated myself at a stool.
Whats the occasion for the andy body? I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
You are late.
They gave me trouble again, I said, shrugging. They didnt believe I was 
meeting someone on a way-station.
They can not restrict you from travelling within the sector. Just leaving it. I 
would like an orange juice, please.
The squat droid swivelled to me. Same as him.
We had to buy something if we wanted to sit there, and I was sick of bowling. I 
liked this place because everyone was in a rush and ignored us.
Yeah, I told them that. Theyre just not used to dealing with suspected 
terrorist-accomplices at the Artemia spaceport.
Have you requested a case update? 9/3 was convinced it was just a bureaucratic 
oversight.
I shrugged. Nope. Havent had any contact with Earth  other than occasional 
messages sent to Lisa  since they refused to let me visit. My overwhelming 
feeling had been a perverse joy at my official exile status. Not only was I free 
of any obligation to visit, but there was a satisfaction at finally qualifying 
as dangerous. Ever since pug had been unmasked I had been unconsciously seeking 
it, and it fed me.
They will clear your name soon, he said in an extra staticky monotone I had 
come to recognize as unsure.
Whatever, I said, meaning it. If I dont go back, I dont have to pay my 
student loan. Not that that was a real concern, anymore. I had the savings to 
pay it several times over from my acting work.
I had a dream about Matthew, 9/3 said, and my first reaction was: robomen 
dream? Im such a goof. He was growing on Pleasureworld 33. Then he said, My 
cock is so big.
I laughed, and he looked at me. Its just funny to hear you say it. Go on. Our 
orange juice came. It was orange, and it was juice, but it just wasnt orange 
juice. 
But he didnt have a cock. He had this large toggle switch, covered in skin.
Eww, I said, sipping at the juice despite myself.
And he stopped growing. He was turning the switch on and off, and the sun was 
controlled by it.
Both suns? I said.
No, 9/3 said patiently. Just the small one. He wanted to turn off the big one 
 for some reason I knew this. And Hugh 
Hugh was there? I interrupted. I hadnt thought of Hugh in months, and idly 
wondered where he was, how his angel search was going.
Do your dreams make sense? he said, his eyes flashing red momentarily.
Go on, I said.
Hugh told him that he had to click the toggle switch to the side to turn off 
the big sun, so he did. That was it.
How did Hugh tell him that? I mean, how did Matthew hear him?
He was standing on the part of the ear right beside the hole. We all were.
I shook my head, impressed. Man, thats a fucked dream.
I know. Ha ha ha.






The End