Emi-29 stepped out of the containment chamber. She grabbed a towel and wiped off the glistening film that covered her face, arms, and legs. Her assistant, Kit-55, helped peel off her bodysuit. She shuffled across the stainless steel floor and sat at her console.
“I thought you’d want a shower first,” said Kit-55.
But Emi-29 didn’t feel dirty. It had only been small talk.
She typed: Discourse #72 – Standard Salutatory Lubricant. The texture tends to thicken over time, and re-application is frequent. As observed in previous studies, this is a predominant mode of basic communication among the Archon’s species, denoting simple greetings and acknowledgements. It also, perhaps crucially, provides lubrication necessary for further conversation. Note: the new bodysuit was effective at preventing penetration of non-oral cavities. However, this also likely inhibits expression of more complex concepts.
💧
Emi-29 stepped out of the chamber. She was laughing and caked in a bluish, cream-like substance. She said, “My skin is completely numb, I can’t feel a thing. This is a real discovery! Even the appendage was new to me.”
Kit-55 beamed. “What do you think it means?”
The discharge spilled off Emi-29’s body in great clumps.
“I got the feeling it was a kind of joke.”
At the console she wrote: Discourse #73 – Analgesic icing. Produced in generous amounts by a long, pinkish tentacle with a clublike terminus. Effects similar to high doses of novacaine. At first I expected this would be a precursor to something painful—as the species communicates entirely through tactile methods, one assumes that uncomfortable sensations might correspond to bothersome information. Could numbness, then, be a sort of euphemism? Possible new research direction here.
💧
Emi-29 careened out of the containment chamber. Her arms, legs, neck, and face were gray. When she handed off her bodysuit to Kit-55 it left an imprint of her usual skin tone, a tan line of pigment. She took a long, hot shower, aware the effects of this particular ejaculate were dependent on exposure time.
Afterwards she sat at the console, fingers blending in with the stainless steel keycaps. She typed: Discourse #74 – Chromatophagia. “CPG” is a well-documented substance produced in small glands at the ends of the Archon’s transverse claspers. It has the effect of completely removing color from everything it touches. This remains perplexing, as the species does not have any sensory organs aside from highly sensitive mechanoreceptors. That is, they do not see or experience color themselves. Is the discoloration from CPG a side effect of some other intended mechanism? Or is this fluid produced specifically to interact with other life forms—with us? If so, perhaps it is meant as a leveling of the sensory playing field, an invitation to forego our sight-based perception of the world and focus on touch and texture alone. (This may be a projection.)
💧
Emi-29 flopped out of the chamber, shimmering and reeking of sweat. She sat down on the floor. Her bodysuit was torn at the waist, the lower half in tatters around her ankles.
“Oh no,” said Kit-55. “Not again.”
“We need to send Textiles back to the drawing board.”
“Was it… okay?”
Emi-29 let out a long sigh.
“Sorry. Towels, or shower first?”
“Towels,” said Emi-29. “And the enema bag.”
Later, she typed: Discourse #75 – Standard Lubricant. This time, application was followed by vigorous physical explorations in complex patterns. As documented in prior studies, the Archon’s body includes an intricate network of cavities, sphincters, and orifices, which appear to be used for linguistic rather than reproductive purposes. One imagines an analog to the South American lake duck (Oxyura vittata), a species in which the two sexes famously have engaged in a reproductive evolutionary arms race, with the females developing an increasingly long, circuitous vagina and the males evolving an elaborate, corkscrew-like penis in response. In the case of the Archon’s species, a similar process may have resulted in this elaborate system of differentiated appendages, tubules, secretions, and tactile receptors as the species grew in intelligence and linguistic acuity. It is unclear what the Archon’s exact intentions may be when engaging the human body—whether it is making a good-faith attempt at its natural mode of communication, or whether it is aware that in humans such sensations are received quite differently. Or possibly both.
💧
Emi-29 stepped out of the containment chamber. Kit-55 asked why she was crying.
“Sorry, it’s just, something new—” she wiped her eyes. She was covered in a soft, white, soapy substance which fizzed away with a soft crackle.
Kit-55 helped towel her off. She was incredibly thankful for Kit-55 then. It occurred to her that she had not been a nurturing mentor. Their work was so crucial, if humanity was ever to establish real dialogue with the only other intelligent species known to exist, and Kit-55 was essential to the mission. She gave her assistant a long, firm hug, which seemed to catch her off guard. It was hard to say what was and wasn’t appropriate in a workplace like this. They could talk it over later.
Once Emi-29 calmed down she wrote: Discourse #76 – Sympathy Foam. A novel emulsion produced in one of the Archon’s beaks. Initial effect was to trigger a panic attack, and I attempted to end the session but was restrained (the first time it has held or touched me against my will). However, after several minutes of elevated heart rate and a sense of impending doom, my mood transitioned, as if controlled by some outside force, and I became overwhelmed by a sense of deep, genuine, love. I felt bound, not as a prisoner, but as a lover or beloved child, unconditionally protected and appreciated by a higher force whose energy was dedicated to ensuring I would be okay. This feeling persisted after I exited the chamber. Pending chemical analysis, I can only assume the Foam contains neurotransmitters, possibly familiar compounds like oxytocin or dopamine, which directly induce emotional states upon absorption. Could this be the Archon’s version of an inflection, a “tone of voice?” And if so, why take this tone with me?
💧
Emi-29 entered the control room naked and shivering. A thin stream of blood trickled down her leg. Kit-55 came running with the first aid kit, but Emi-29 waved her off.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. It got a little excited.” Emi-29 staggered to the shower.
“A little? It destroyed your whole bodysuit.”
“It’s fine.”
“Maybe you should take some time off. You’ve been going in almost every day.”
“I said it’s fine.” Emi-29 looked down at her stomach. She watched the water cascade down ribs and jagged hips. Kit-55 was right, she hadn’t been taking care of herself. But she was getting close. Every session felt more and more like a real exchange, the syntactic building blocks becoming clearer, that complex morphology of fluid and force that made up the Archon’s tissue-grade language. There was something it wanted her to understand, a first step toward real translation, if only she could learn how to feel—
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” called Kit-55.
“I would tell you if I did,” she snapped. Then she felt guilty. “It didn’t mean to hurt me,” she explained. “It was trying to explain something.”
Later, she sat at the console and typed: Discourse #77 –
But she left the entry unfinished.
💧
Emi-29 did not come out of the chamber for a long time.
💧
Kit-55 stepped out of the containment chamber. Emi-29 was slung over her shoulder. Both were drenched in the scum of the Archon, globules of white mixed with inky black streaks. Emi-29 was aware she was moving. She was hurtling through an imaginary country, drooling too thickly to speak. In the arms of her assistant she ambled across the control room. She was being taken away, she realized, in the middle of a conversation! She howled, tried to pull herself back toward the Archon, but Kit-55 refused to let go.
In the hospital, they asked her to describe what happened.
She said: “Have you ever read a poem so beautiful you started over, read and re-read it again and again? Maybe it was one line in particular, and you went over it so many times the words started losing their meaning, becoming pure sound, vibrational texture, wind on the field of your mind. Like this: I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. I am shame and boldness. Did you ever do that? Did it give you a feeling? Was it a tingle, a double helix of panic and ecstasy, like an orgasm? Now, can you imagine how it feels for that process to happen in reverse?”