Chapter 5

The examination didn’t go for very long, but the Balokarid Doctors – at least he thought they were Doctors – took their time in pouring over his data, the aliens retreating to their terminals to work. Although Lambert was keen to get moving, he didn’t mind spending more time with Mezul to try and iron out its ever-growing vocabulary.

What he found strange was that the Doctors were picking up on his taught words as well, despite them having never met before now. Was Mezul uploading his English into some sort of program the whole ship had access to, perhaps they had their own Alice? It would certainly speed things up if both their species were working on breaking the language barrier, even if Lambert felt like he was woefully inept at it.

“I got a D in Latin,” he said, remembering his schooling years. “What is Lateen?” Mezul asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, nothing. So how’re the tests?”

“Test done,” Mezul said. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he watched as the trio of Doctors moved over to one of their strange, blocky machines, standing there as if waiting for it to do something. After a delay, a panel opened up on the side, and a slip of what looked like paper furrowed out into a tray.

Lambert craned his neck to get a better look and saw the page was blank. One of the aliens flicked what looked like a UV light onto the parchment.

After a delay, something began to appear on the page. Like an image fading into focus, the silhouette of a human with its limbs slowly filled in. One of the aliens fixed a lamp over the tray, casting the page into its heat, Lambert realising the process was speeding up. Did they not have printers to ink directly onto the paper?

The process took a few minutes, the whole thing reminding Lambert of the ancient cameras of old where dark rooms were used, before one of the aliens took the photo of his anatomy out from the tray, holding it up to the light to examine it.

A couple more images were printed out, one of an X-ray and one with just his muscles visible, Lambert getting a good look at his own body plan as the Doctors discussed among themselves. They clicked and chirped at each other, Mezul adding her thoughts to the group as they pointed to different parts of his body. He wondered what they made of him.

Mezul’s eyes began to widen the more the aliens talked, Lambert feeling a bit out of the loop as they clicked their beaks, talking about him. Finally he decided to ask. “Hey Mezul, what are they talking about?”

The alien cocked its head at him, thought for a second, then took one of the X-rays and held it up so he could see. With its free hand the alien pointed at his crotch. “What is this?” it asked.

“Uh.” He felt his cheeks warm as he looked at the printed outline of his groin. “That’s my ... well, I’m male, right?”

“Male?” it asked, then turned to the Doctors, the aliens huddling together like they were gossiping, stealing glances at the human every now and then, and pointing to his groin, both the real and printed one. Soon they reached an understanding, Mezul turning back to him.

“Lambert male?”

“Yeah, Lambert male.”

The aliens looked him up and down in a way that came off as disbelieving, Mezul looking especially confused.

“What about you?” he asked. “You a male too?”

“Mezul male ... no,” it replied, pointing once more at his genitals, then at its waist. “Mezul male no. What is ... male no?”

“That’d be female,” he replied.

“Mezul no ... male,” the alien said, motioning to its crotch. He guessed that meant Mezul wasn’t packing, so did that mean she was female?

“Are you all female?” he asked, turning to the Doctors.

“No males,” one of them replied, shaking its head. The other two repeated the same. “Lambert no male?”

“I’m pretty sure I am,” he said, the aliens cocking their heads at him. Why were they so surprised? Maybe males in Balokarid society weren’t very numerous? Maybe they didn’t even have males.

The Doctors used Mezul to translate their thanks to Lambert, and the two turned to leave. The hatchway opened like an elevator door, revealing the huge drop in all directions beyond the examining room. He grabbed one of the handrails on the outside, turning to watch Mezul follow him out.

“Well then, you’re a female, Mezul?” The alien nodded. “Well. You are male?”

“You look like you don’t believe me,” he noted. “Why is that?”

“Lambert ghosha?”

“Yeah, I’m ghosha.”

“Lambert ghosha, Lambert male. No.”

“No? Are you saying males can’t be pilots?”

“All pilot – all ghosha – all female.”

“All your pilots are females? Why?”

Mezul’s feathers on her headdress flattened, the ones just above her eyes folding down and back so it looked like her brow was furrowing. She was trying to find the right words. “Male fly no. Female fly yes.”

“But why do females fly, and males don’t?”

“Female ... fly,” she said, and when she saw he didn’t understand, she held up her arms as if she were about to hug him. When her arms raised above her shoulders, the thin sheaths that contained the wings on her forearms exposed themselves, their span big enough to encompass an engine block. The gears in Lambert’s head clicked.

“Do only females have wings?” he asked. “Is that how?”

“Wings yes. Female wings yes, male wings no.”

So every Balokarid who had wings was a female? He supposed that would make their women more intuitive with aviation compared to men. Could Mezul fly then? He looked her up and down, guessing her weight. She and every other Balokarid seemed just too big for that to be possible, she must weigh too much, and her wings seemed too small.

As they continued through the nexus, using the handrails to guide them along, Mezul tapped him on the shoulder. She was holding up one of his X-rays, pointing at his neck and chest. “Lambert. What is...”

She struggled for the right words, soon opting to just point.

Looking closely, he saw she was tapping at a grey mass built above his left lung, the grey metal contrasting with the red blood and sinew.

“That’s one of my implants,” he said, Mezul waiting for him to elaborate. “that one you’re pointing at helps my lungs pump oxygen more efficiently. Breathing, basically.” He exaggerated drawing in a lungful of air. “It’s made of metal. Like your Sala’ci or these walls.” He wrapped on the deck nearby with his hand.

“Metal?”

“Yep, just metal and wires.”

“Humans Einstein!” the alien squawked, impressed beyond doubt.

“Yep. Humans Einstein.”

“Implant ... Lambert needs?”

“Humans don’t need them, but they help us adapt to harsh environments, like space,” he said. Implants had been restricted to just military personnel during the pioneering age of cybernetics, but years ago the privilege had been extended to civilians to help combat muscle atrophy during long space flights.

“What is this?” She pointed at another implant, the blend of machinery easy to pick out against the red of his internal flesh.

“That’s iron plating wrapped over my heart. I can stand a lot more G’s than someone without one.”

“Geez?”

He began to explain basic force, but it wasn’t long before his words were just as confusing as Mezul’s expressions. She could imitate pretty well, but discussing gravity was beyond the basic dialect they’d established. She could glean his intent, however, deciding to move on and ask about another implant she’d spotted. “That’s my translator,” he said, the machine in his lower neck about the size of a tennis ball. “You remember that word don’t you?”

“Switching up my language,” Mezul replied, in an accent that was both hers and his.

“That’s right. Translators speed up the process by imprinting a dictionary into your brain. I don’t know the specifics, but it basically shoves a language into your head, and then lets you sort out the rest.”

“Speeds up translate?” Mezul asked, looking closely at the photograph as if that would help her gleam its intent. “Implant ... Mezul?”

“You want one?” he asked, the alien nodding. The idea had crossed his mind, but it wouldn’t be as easy as installing a software update. She would have to undergo surgery and get a part of her brain opened up to interface, assuming the device was even compatible with her alien brain.

Lambert remembered learning French a long time ago through the same means, but he still had to learn – the translator was a quick and dirty accelerant, and not without its risks. Mezul did have a good grasp of English so far, however...

“Would you even be willing to have a human do surgery on you?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong Mezul, but having aliens open you up is like, something out of a nightmare for most people.”

“Lambert implant have?”

“No, not on me. We don’t even have the right equipment on the corvette. The Gallipoli has a medical bay, and an actual team, but even then ... Mezul, let me try and explain to you how it would all go down.”

He did his best to teach her the right words to explain the process, floating along as they talked. He mimed taking a pair of forceps to his head and neck, tearing at the X-ray parchment to demonstrate cutting skin. He even pretended to start bleeding profusely from the neck with a little sound effect. As much as he wanted to communicate properly with this alien, he didn’t want to force it into anything that could hurt her.