Kal
“Don’t touch that!”
Sel smacked my tentacle hard enough to sting. I pulled it away from the panel of flashing lights and buttons with a scowl.
My first thought was that if they didn’t want people to touch the thing, why did they make it look so temptingly touchable? Second thought: if they were trying to train me on this stuff, shouldn’t they actually train me?
But no one was even giving me that courtesy. Just a cursory run-through of the rooms and equipment, and the barest of explanations about what each machine did.
Because they know you don’t belong here. That you won’t stay long.
I shook my head to clear the negative thoughts before they could gather like so much dust. I had worked too hard on keeping a positive mindset to let old habits creep back in.
When Sel turned her back to continue our tour of the command center, I reached my tentacle back out and tapped one of the bright red buttons. Then I stuck my tongue out toward the back of her head for good measure.
And, of course, I ignored the subsequent beeping that sounded a lot like a warning. Surely those two things were unrelated. Purely a coincidence.
Besides, I had every right to be there in the Exploratory Unit command center, the same as all of my coworkers. I took the courses, passed the test, got the job. Not to mention, I had worked there for longer than most of my coworkers. Behind the scenes, sure, but that had to count.
Right?
You mess up one little mission simulation and cause the computers to melt down, and suddenly you were “not fit for exploratory missions,” and designated planet-bound for the foreseeable future.
I maintained that it was not my fault that the equipment labels were hard to read and the instructions were unclear.
If anything, my mistake could have been reframed as necessary quality assurance.
Idiot proofing, I thought morosely. And you’re the idiot they need to prepare for.
I exhaled slowly, trying to regain my composure.
Positive thinking was hard work for me, and I constantly had to practice keeping the insults in my head at bay.
Unfortunately, I had more experience producing negative thoughts than ignoring them.
That habit was reinforced by my work environment; I was constantly the target of criticism.
I knew what my coworkers said about me because they weren’t afraid to say it to my face.
I didn’t belong in the Exploratory Unit because I was too clumsy, too emotional, too different.
On my worst days, they would imply I was a waste of a team member who would be a better fit for flipping patties in the mess hall kitchen.
They didn’t respect me, despite my accomplishments.
I was positive I knew more about Earthlings than all of them combined.
I could speak more than fifty different human languages, recite human customs in my sleep, and I had spent nearly my entire life studying Earth.
More than anything, I understood humans.
At least as well as one could understand humans from millions of light-years away.
Unfortunately, when those around you kept telling you that you’re not worth a damn, it tended to go to your head. I’d learned that the hard way.
Still, I knew damn well that I was more than qualified to work in the Exploratory Unit, which is why I stuck around. And it had paid off when the unit leaders finally pulled me out of the admin pool and put me on mission control.
The foremost human expert was retiring within the next month, and her successor was out on maternity leave. Leadership needed someone who could step up in a pinch and wouldn’t break the budget.
They’d found someone desperate enough in me. Even with no raise or additional benefits, I’d practically salivated when Sel came to me with the offer, a sneer stitched across her face and a condescending tone that could melt mainframes.
I could swallow the embarrassment of being looked down upon, and I could deal with the constant disrespect—because I had finally made it out of the admin pool. I was officially the Exploratory Unit’s Human Expert Lead for Earth Missions. Temporary or not, I was determined to make it count.
Which meant I had to get through the additional training sessions for hands-on experience, even if that necessitated dealing with Sel’s attitude for a little longer.
But I was distracted. It was the first time I had stepped foot in a command center since my incident, and I couldn’t keep my tentacles to myself. This was where the magic happened. Where our planet managed all missions and space travel to Earth. And I had made it, finally.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kalexdyorn? Get your slimy, spotted ass out of that commander’s chair.”
I jumped in surprise, accidentally nudging a knob with a tentacle. With a start, I shuffled back and tentatively rotated the knob back to its previous position—or close enough. My tentacles settled behind me, tucked near my body to keep me on my best behavior.
Sel was in fine form. She had already called me slimy twice, and that was the third time she’d made fun of the small dark spots that covered my face and arms. And, for the record, I wasn’t slimy; I had just spilled my liquid nutritional formula on myself this morning and didn’t have time to fully clean it off.
My skin was freckled—an unusual trait—but I never considered it something to be ashamed of.
At times I couldn’t stand how rigid and single-minded people were.
Small differences became massive rifts. Sameness, uniformity, that was all anyone cared about.
I hopped up from the commander’s seat, leaving behind the bank of screens showing live footage from Earth.
Beautiful.
Every day I wondered how a planet such as Earth could exist in the same harsh, cold universe I called home.
I thought about humans, how they grew into many shapes and sizes, colors and shades.
Some had spots like mine, and they were considered beautiful.
I wondered if I were human, would they make fun of me for being different?
Sel’s hard, angry stare snapped me out of my daydreams. Clearly she wanted the training session to be over with.
I did, too. I craved stepping away from training and exploring the command center on my own time.
There was so much to see and learn, and I wanted to soak up as much as I could while I had the chance.
“Next up is the hu-suit room,” Sel said as I trailed behind her. I absolutely did not squeak with excitement when she said this and try to cover it up with a cough. She gave me a nasty look for some other, certainly unrelated reason. At least, that was what I told myself to maintain my dignity.
Of all the items in my training, the hu-suit room was what I was most looking forward to.
In a chamber right outside the travel pod launch pad, there was a room full of suits designed to look like real Earth humans, and engineered to feel and move like them, too.
Hu-suits, or human suits, completely changed how Xaereans conducted exploratory missions on Earth.
The suits made it so we could live among humans for extended periods, because Earthlings couldn’t detect an alien in a hu-suit versus one of their own.
A seventy-year-old feat of ingenuity, and I was finally, finally going to see a real one in person.
When the lights flickered on, I squeaked in earnest, with no excuse that indicated otherwise.
I was too excited to contain myself. There along the wall, lined up in no particular order, were dozens of hu-suits.
Multiple varieties, already dressed in Earthling fashion.
Some were decked out in colorful outfits—even a couple of uniforms—while others looked relatively plain.
My fingers trailed over the spectrum of skin tones, marveling at the soft, fleshy exteriors.
Professionalism be damned, I couldn’t help myself any longer. I had to ask if I could wear one. Just this once, in case I never got another opportunity.
Be cool about it, though. Don’t let Sel sense your desperation. She hates desperation.
“Can I please, please, please, pretty please put on one of the hu-suits?” I asked, immediately showing my cards as my hands and tentacles clasped together in a plea.
Sel rolled her eyes as usual. But it must have been my lucky day—she actually agreed. “Just make sure you put it back where you found it,” Sel said before walking away. “And don’t you dare damage it. Any repairs will come out of your next paycheck.”
As if I would ever dream of damaging a masterpiece.
I ran my tentacle along the wall, letting it graze the exteriors of the human suits as I decided which to try on.
Tall? Short? Round? Impossibly muscular with movie star good looks?
A tentacle hovered next to that last one, but I reconsidered.
I would feel ridiculous in that hu-suit, especially as my first try-on.
I whispered, “I’ll be back,” to the movie star suit and kept moving.
The experience was all I needed to remind myself to dream bigger. There could—no, would—be a day when I would get to choose a hu-suit of my very own, to wear on an Earth mission.
With a sigh, I settled on the suit that looked most like my actual body type. Medium height, average build, pinkish skin, and dark brown hair. Two strange, flaccid holes looked back at me from the face mask.
I stepped into it, and the fleshy material felt spongy, but strangely elastic as it pushed my tentacles tight to my body.
I wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was…
weird. When I slipped the mask over my head, completely encasing myself inside, the suit fastened itself along the back and tightened to a snug fit.
In the mirror by the suit racks, I studied myself, turning this way and that to see the full effect.
Not bad. Not bad at all.