Dispatches for the Disparate:
Last time, dear Explorer of the Mind, we visited the Planet of Penthos, where perhaps you remember bearing witness as I bawled my eyes out in the comforting arms of a filthy, titanic, three eyed, destitute alien. I'm glad to say, that since that experience, I've reclaimed the composed, respectable, detached mantle one would expect of a journalist on intergalactic travel.
Astonishingly, the Penthians found my
behavior respectful, and recommended me to the Apophasians
Again I accompanied by friend, the
ambassador Kurtis, to the planet of Apophasis. The short briefing
told me that by a perfect, some might say impossible, combination of
factors, the climate of Apophasis was the most pleasant in the entire
known universe. The exact interactions of solar objects which craft
a permanent temperature of 75°F are beyond my
comprehension, but I enjoyed the temperature as we exited the craft.
The sunlight was pleasant and pervasive, gentle like a soft mist.
“There are only three types of weather; a gentle sun, a gentle sun
with a small amount of clouds, and a gentle sun with a light
drizzle,” Kurtis told me as we stepped lightly across the brilliant
grass. It didn't surprise me then that the diplomatic delegation
greeted us with broad smiles.
After a word or two of polite talk, one
of the delegation, a calm looking man (for the Apophasians actually
look like us, aside from their eyes which are milky white
(non-functional) and a second set of ears), turned to Kurtis and
said, “We heard that you brought the journalist who the earned the
Penthian's praise.”
I was produced and politely rejected
all praise. “I didn't complete a poetic epic. I merely wandered
among the Penthians, and their people spoke to me.”
“We intend for you to search for a
similar muse amid our people. So we give you leave to explore, and
reproduce your heroic feat,” he said. With a wave I was excused
from the formal reception (whew), the formal dinner (uh...), and the
after party (!). A furtive grimace toward Kurtis returned only a wry
head shake, and I walked away from the company despondent, but
bolstered with a promise of leftovers.
As I explored the city, I was struck
(after reveling in the comfortable weather) of the beauty of the
land. The springy, emerald grass made on feel these people would
never consider whether the grass could be greener elsewhere. Their
attitude reflected their surroundings, for I encountered not a single
frown or grimace, no tear or glare. Not even a questioning or
inattentive gaze. The more I saw of their environment I thought I
had learned the foundations of their society.
As dinner approached every household
invited me to taste their culinary skills. Their hospitality
overwhelmed me. I traveled from house to house, savoring the
delightful dishes of these generous people, like a humming bird
flitting from flower to flower. I learned that they had a smaller
stomach like organ, making my consumption a spectacle. News spread
of an alien with the ability to eat a prodigious amount. Soon a
crowd had gathered and an impromptu eating competition began. I
defeated the combine digestive systems of twenty Apophasians and was
hoisted onto their shoulders in celebration.
I slept that night in the house of a
local, and awoke to the smell of breakfast. As I walked into the
kitchen I nearly slipped on a slippery, yet sticky, pale blue liquid
on the floor. I assumed it a spill from breakfast, but as I seated
myself at one of the tables I saw the same liquid pumping from the
severed finger of my host.
I jumped up in astonishment, chair
clattering on the floor, “Are you alright?” I asked looking
wildly around for the Apophasian substitute for bandage.
He had risen in concern at my response
and said, “What's wrong?”
“Your finger,” I said, starting to
feel a bit silly. Though they looked human, I had to remember that
the Apophasians differed wildly in biology. Maybe their fingers grew
back. Still, it looked gross, and painful, but I had to admit I had
no idea how their pain receptors functioned.
“Oh this,” he replied, carefully
examining his injury. I've already applied the medication, though
some people do wrap it up, I've never worried much about the mess.”
I apologized and reset the chair, but
asked, “Do your fingers grow back?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head,
“and I'll just have to live with one less. I was clumsy this
morning.”
“If you had brought it to a doctor,
couldn't they reattach it?” I said, still feeling as if I was
missing the reason for his lack of concern.
He stopped looking (Though I said the
Apophasians have eyes that don't work, I've been informed that they
have another sense, along with their exceptional hearing, that helps
them perceive the world, and I've been assured that through a process
I don't understand, they see the outlines of objects, if not the same
qualities we perceive) at the absence of his finger and fixed his
blank eyes on mine. “A what?”
“A doctor.”
“I've never heard the word.”
I tapped the universal translator to
see if it was working, but its lack of response didn't clarify the
situation.
“What do you call professionals who
care for the sick, the injured, and the elderly?”
He stood up and walked over to a
cabinet, small sprays of pale blue blood repainting his kitchen. He
returned, and before siting down, handed me a bottle.
“This is our care,” he said. “It
cures all pain instantaneously. No side effects.”
The bottle reflected the color of their
blood. It wasn't labeled. It had no name, no listing of chemicals
or effects. But my host's smile, which had never wavered through the
entire morning, only seemed to broaden as I described the medicines
of Earth.
“We only have one medicine here, and
it cures all our ills.”
“But it won't regrow your finger.”
“Correct. It only eliminates pain,
but it does it with such effectiveness, that nothing else is
necessary.”
“What about medicines to prevent or
alleviate injuries, like heartburn medication, vaccines, and
antibiotics?”
He looked at me as if he had never
heard of these before. Especially because their eyes don't see, but
also because they sort of see, and I'm not sure exactly what they
see, it was disturbing when any Apophasian stared at me, eye to eye.
“Look,” I said, “what would
happen if you lost your entire arm?”
His face brightened. “Ah, they would
give me enough of this medication,” he gestured toward the bottle,
“so I would feel no pain.”
Then, readers, I felt a terror growing
in me, and though I couldn't see its source, I sense a single
question that would lay it bare. I hesitated, I thought, how dare I,
and also, I daren't, but I did...
Readers will have to check back next
week for more of my adventure in Apophasis.
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