Salamander 4

            Camillia took me out to leave me on my third day. It was important that she took me to this assignment, though, since I would be cleaning the windows of a garage, and needed to be shown how to open a Valian garage door.

            We approached the house, and she had been letting me do the navigating, which I appreciated. I appreciated it all, especially once we got to the opening of the garage door.

            “You’re going to love this.” Camillia took me to the walk-in door on the garage, which opened by twisting a knob, which was at waist level.

            “Ta-da!” she said. “Actually, I have to be here,” she said, turning. “Work rules. Vale requires that you are signed off on doors.”

            I chuckled.

            “They care.” She pointed to a little box just inside the door. I reached to it. She pressed my fingers against some strange bar on the box. Then, there was a clunk, and a hum, and we could see the garage door slide itself up and back, placing itself just below the ceiling!

            She took me out the door and back around to the front of the garage.

            “You may really like this. But, if it’s funny to you, don’t show you’re laughing too much. It is a man’s garage…”

            It was. I couldn’t tell what a lot of the tools were for, but they were everywhere. A tiny car, of course, was parked in the driveway. I stepped into the garage like a diviner. Telling Camillia,

            “Lawn tools…” I swept my hand over the ones lying toward the front. “Carpentry…” I pointed to the side. “He has ten hammers!”

            “Surprised?”

            “Welding! Hey. I shouldn’t go any closer. It could be classified.”

            “You’re right. You shouldn’t. But you’re not an industrial spy.”

            I smiled. Then wrinkled my forehead.

            “You’re right! I’m not an industrial spy!”

            She ‘eed’, and I bowed to her, hands in prayer. She walked back down the driveway, pointing.

            “Water spigot, rags, bucket, vinegar…”

            “Can’t I at least be a little mysterious?”

            “But, you are…”

            Vinegar is the best thing for windows. Non pareil. Coming down from a step-stool as I finished with the main door, I heard a thunk and chatter behind me. On the back stoop and just in front of the door was a big Valian, and a small Valian. The bigger looked down at the littler, then at me. Then raised a hand. I raised a hand to them, then crouched a bit, giving the little one an extra wave. The little one, on instructions, looked at her hand, then used it to wave to me. Then clapped. I didn’t know what else to do, but quickly gathered my things, pretended to wipe my brow for them, á la Buster Keaton, and headed off to dump the bucket and go home.

           We were encouraged to range out around the authorized area on the few days off we had. The days were so easy that some went out everyday. The older ones, like me, would just stick to base and try to rest, what with the troublesome atmosphere and gravity. Anyway, we were all attracted to a spot where the suburb thinned and there were large, wild hills. It was the source of myths. Described by some, it was idyllic, like the planet in Star Trek where things go horribly bad, but in this case it doesn’t. Others made claims tantamount to it being the place where goats are roasted and bootleg kerosene guzzled before the bareknuckle round-robin would start. Sandy approached me during morning meeting and asked if I wanted to join her in a hike there. She had teamed up with Belinda for her tour, and it turns out that Belinda doesn’t hike. Sandy seemed to be from a serious world, which happened to also be a suburb of Cincinnati. She was straight mouthed and purposeful. She had dark blonde hair with strawberry highlights cupping around her ears and jaw, and always wore beige jeans. She was of my ‘class of five’, and, throughout the days, I saw the purposeful look become tinged with dismay, then some resignation.

            We headed out around what would be, what… 10am, cutting through neighborhoods the other hadn’t worked in or seen, pointing out sights and shops that the other didn’t know about. She considered questions that I had, but had no idea where peanut butter or Tylenol could be found.

            On a trail that went up the hill, we complained to each other a little as we tromped.

            Sandy said, “I’m just marking time now. I don’t know why we came here.”

            “I’ve been thinking about that, myself.”

            “Well, we were brought here through discrimination. We’re all middle class. Have you ever wondered about that?”

            I puffed. “I have.”

            “Melanie said that there’s usually Valians just up this rise, and they show us things” She laughed. “Us. The Terran People. The way I talk. Humanism takes on other dimensions when you go to another planet and find what are other humans, basically. They seem to know everything about us, but there’s nothing in our past that indicates that we’ve done much of anything. I see some people the other side of that tree.” She pointed.           

            “I jumped at the chance to come here,” I told her, getting commentary out of the way before we were in the presence of Valians, “but I don’t think I would do this again.”

            “I can’t get physically comfortable here,” she said. “I didn’t know it would be like this. It may sound funny, but I feel like a salamander. If I’m comfortable one way, there’s the ringing in my ears from the pressure. Like a salamander at the bottom of the pond. If I try to get comfortable another way, it’s like a salamander going to the shore- a struggle against gravity.”

            We made it to the trees and were greeted. Sandy and I had gone into this free-form, but things had been arranged. A group of four, dressed Valian business-casual, looked about for something to find for us, and, seeing nothing else living right away, sat on the grass and stirred up some four-legged ants for us to peruse. Meanwhile, someone poured shots. Sandy threw me off, just asking: ‘Proof?’, and the Valians were ready for that.

            “Eighty.”

            I discovered that it’s true. Valians know how to ‘party’. In a setting like the idyllic utopias on Star Trek, where the alcohol’s imbibed in small amounts, and thus, isn’t an abrupt plot-changer, Sandy and I had found what we needed that day. The liqueur had a slight oily texture, and was from some berry or flower we had never encountered. It was good.

            Sandy could communicate more with these people than I, although, like me, she knew very little Valian. She jerked a thumb to the sky, held up six fingers, then applied her hands toward the ground and the ants. The Valians understood that we have leggier ants through that. But, they indicated that the ants were not to be messed with. Sandy asked them, through motions, if they bit or stung. One pointed to the ground, then pinched his arm to show that they only bite. Sandy mimed the instances when she would find an ant on herself, biting for what seemed to be little reason, and brushing it off. The Valians could relate to, and appreciated that. They loved Sandy.

            Looking to the sky and trees bore fauna fruit for the Valians. They were able to point out a few birds. Those seemed to be either kites, or darts- if smaller. We didn’t get a chance to observe them closely, though, and this seemed to worry the Valians. They egged on the more engaged of the four, and he pointed up and told us:

            “Mammals.” They ‘eed’ a bit at our flabbergast.

            “Pretty much, bats,” Sandy said to me. “Is it just me, or do you feel like Darwin, here?”

            “This is incredible.”

            Then, one saw something on a branch. Clinging underneath. A flattish, yellow squirrel, and they were excited to point it out. Then we were all surprised by another squirrel nearby, skittering flat toward the tree. Once it saw that we saw it, though, it elongated into a streak and ran up next to its friend. We couldn’t inspect them closely, but, to me, they looked like a mix between a squirrel and a daring horned toad.

            They were cute, but they can bite. We got that message, and Sandy shrugged and jerked her thumb to the sky, indicating that it was the same on Earth. Some Valians paused, and the one who had been egged on previously spoke up, as it were.

            He jerked a thumb to the sky, like Sandy had, then pointed to the ground. It was a question for me. I leaned down, feeling the resistance as I related it to them, patting the ground, then standing up, looking tired and slumping my shoulders.

            “Ungh.”

            Sandy chuckled, a bit condescendingly. But all understood. I took a little time to indicate the thicker atmosphere, pressing my hands down over my head.

            It was a minor overall comparison, but the one who spoke the most became more animated. It took another prod to get him to relate, though. He liked Earth, but was shy.

            “Cirque du Soliel,” he said.

            We nodded. We both liked Cirque du Soliel.

            “Bolshoi Ballet.”

            Now we knew where he was going. Others prompted him with an ‘M’ sound.

            “Michael Jordan.”

            This man, we understood, after much mime and a word or two of English, had gone to a place where different levels of gravity could be ordered up. Another Valian technological secret, we were sure. He’d cavorted in our 1, which was his .75, and wound up dislocating a finger. He’d loved it, though, from what I could tell.

            Then, the Valians kind of clumped together and smiled at us. The function was over. No goats had been roasted, nor did we come across much that was shady. In other words, accounts of our hike would be looked on as boring to some before morning meetings, but we’d experienced Vale.

 

            More evening conversation in the conference hall

            “…This area looks like North Kazakhstan.”

            “Have you ever been there? Nice this time of year.”

            “I’m from there.”

            “Oh.”

            “So, I guess that’s good advice…”

           

            “…Told him he had a bat in the gutter. They can use ladders. He got up there, looked at it, shook his head.”

            “I hate bats.”

            “If they’re just hanging there, I’m okay with it. But when they fly, I freak.”

            “You don’t want to get bit by a Valian bat.”

            “Are they particularly bad?”

            “I don’t know anything about them. I just don’t wanna get bit by one.”

            “Had me leave it and do some mulching instead…”