Garnaak and the Two Ladies — an excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

GARNAAK TENSED AND gave a side-eye to the human — watching the lake below with his other two. This was it, the moment of truth, the deciding moment of his mission to Earth. Nothing else mattered if this failed.

The human sitting across from Garnaak was mesmerized. “Sapphire, isn’t it?” The human asked. “My favorite!”

Relief spread through Garnaak, and he puffed through three gillicles, spreading his three claws in supplication. “I hope it meets your expectations?” Garnaak’s xlator relayed his sprach in a soft baritone of English. Sprach was the primary method of communication for Garnaak’s kind. Gillicles were sufficient for interacting with his own race, but not much use talking to humans. They were better suited for filtering the denser gases of his home planet. Here, they allowed him to breathe the rarified human atmosphere. It was up to his xlator to handle all the heavy lifting when it came to communication.

Sidney swirled the martini glass, peering through the crystal clear, icy liquid with a twist of yellow dangling from the top. “And even a lemon twist! Garna-yuck — you’ve learned well!”

“Better than you — it’s Garnaak.”

“Right! That’s what I said — Garn-yack”

Garnaak couldn’t sigh; his breathing chambers and gillicles prevented that by design, but he wished he could. Sidney did try to say it right, but he could just barely produce a guttural ‘ak. Lack of gillicles limited human sprach to such a small frequency range. No wonder they couldn’t communicate with other intelligent residents on their own planet. Hundred-ton behemoths happily dwelled in the oceans, chatting all day long. Garnaak suspected all sorts of cetaceans would gladly sprach if given the chance. They had the vocalizations and auditory receptors for it. But that was not the mission here and now. Perhaps someday, when humanity was ready, the cetaceans and their deep-ocean kin might finally join the conversation. For now, Garnaak would wait.

Sidney took a cautious sip and smiled, beaming at Garnaak. “Yep — outstanding! Couldn’t have stirred a better one myself. Where’d you learn to do this?”

The xlator squeaked and missed a few beats, “ … Carson repeats, that’s what we used in training. Hard to get anything more recent during our FTL trip here. Everything we had received before our departure from home was at least decades old. But, of course, I spend a lot of free time now digesting your more current video stories.”

Garnaak’s other two eyes dilated with satisfaction. He’d passed the test. Neighbors can be so fussy. Garnaak had learned that the hard way, on other missions, on other planets. But humans seemed to be the most. Tiny details seem to set them off on random tangents, losing track of where they were or what they were even doing. Important things fell by the wayside, with simple distractions grabbing them at the most inopportune time. Like their fixations of staring at their handheld pieces of glass, as if the world would end and they would miss it.

This human was as good as any, maybe better. No obligations, no expectations — just neighbors. It was their unassuming hallway encounters that had encouraged Garnaak to reach out and invite Sidney for cocktails. The new neighbor had moved in after the former ones had suddenly left, just after Garnaak had arrived. The previous tenants had never gotten comfortable around Garnaak, and he hadn’t pressed it. But Sidney was different. Their in-and-out schedules seemed to coincide. The end-of-the-day meeting on Garnaak’s condo balcony had become routine.

Garnaak swiveled his huge bulk on his special stool, shifting one of his three legs around the other side to edge closer to the balcony rail. He kept one eye on Sidney and surveyed the lake with the other two.

“There — the Great Blue! He’s always here at Happy Hour.” Garnaak loved using the human idioms — the clicking, popping sounds he made xlated so well into almost poetic resonance. The pauses between his staccato sprach and the audio from the button on his chest were practically imperceptible, and humans like Sidney didn’t seem to mind. It was the one token concession for his mission. Useless tech for the humans — explicitly tuned to his race’s DNA and sprach, powered by his body chemistry.

“He’s one of my favorites, too,” Sidney said. “He just stands there at the edge or wades in a few feet and is so patient. Then boom — he darts his head into the water so quick you can hardly see and comes out with dinner.”

“Patience. Yes. A fine quality, rewarded in time.” Not a trait shared between humans and herons, Garnaak thought to himself. Humans could learn something from their own planet dwellers; they didn’t need space visitors like me to uplift them.

---

It was their discussions of the denizens of the lake that occupied most of their time together on the balcony. Garnaak wasn’t surprised at his neighbor’s lack of knowledge of the waterfowl. For Sidney, they were like furniture, a commonplace fixture of the scenery. But for Garnaak — he was enthralled by their variety and behavior.

Of all the birds, one kind was his favorite. All the others seemed to come in groups or solo, but this was a pair, always together. After spotting them again and again, Garnaak’s curiosity got the better of him, and he allowed himself to use Earth tech to do local research.

Shortly after he and his fellow spacefarers arrived, the humans realized they needed a reliable way to keep in touch with the visitors when not face-to-face. And they had the perfect tech, a fortuitous human invention, and had worldwide infrastructure to support it, ensuring the space visitor’s mission could rely solely on Earth tech. The humans provided each of the space visitors with small handheld glass plates and larger pad-sized ones. When combined with the xlators that each of the spacefarers wore, everything needed for unfettered communication was in place.

It was perhaps ironic that the glass plates were designed with speech in addition to visuals. When Garnaak sprach a question, his xlator asked the glass in the language it understood. And when the images and videos appeared with accompanying information and audio, his xlator sprach it back to him in the clicks and chirps that he needed to hear.

And best of all, it let him while away his idle hours digesting as many of the human video stories as time would permit. He learned a tremendous amount, especially from the humorous ones called science fiction.

But Garnaak realized it was far more than a device for talking via video and watching stories. It opened a portal into all the knowledge of Earth. He embraced it as a tool for research, foraging for as much as he could find on the water creatures. He absorbed so much that he would regale a moderately interested Sidney with trivia during their many happy hours together. The birds became a recurring, noncommittal topic that formed a common reference point.

---

In one of their early times together, Garnaak had offered his insights on a particular set of waterfowl, “They are Mottled Ducks, you know. They’re only in this region of Earth.”

“Really?” Sidney had perked up, attentive despite himself.

“But this does not appear to be a breeding pair. Even though they have little dimorphism, you can tell by their beaks.”

“Hum … ” Sidney had furrowed his brow in an expression that Garnaak had learned meant a human didn’t quite understand. “But they do seem to hang out together a lot.”

Garnaak wasn’t sure how Sidney felt about non-binary interactions, so he proceeded cautiously, unsure of human taboos. “They are two females. Black beaks with orange tips.”

He had explained to Sidney that they were not quite mallards, and not blacks, but were something in between. Garnaak had even asked his glass pad to explain the seeming oddity — and sure enough, it had told him that it was not unusual for the ducks to have same-sex pairing for life. No issue for them — it was in their nature.

“Ah. Good friends hang together, huh?” was all Sidney had offered.

“Indeed. And it’s been several years now. I’ve watched them ever since I rented this … ” Garnaak’s xlator had stumbled looking for a word to describe the unit he lived in. “They’re constantly together like they are tethered to one another. The seasons come and go, and they are always here. Even before and after those hurricanes. I find it a most interesting behavior. I’ve decided to call them the two ladies. They don’t seem to be bothered that they are one and the same. No stigma for them.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS ANOTHER fine evening on the balcony, and Sidney was enjoying his martini.

Garnaak decided to try something new. His left side-eye focused on him. “How was your day?” he twittered, hoping the xlator had done it right.

Sidney choked on a sip, sputtering before breaking into laughter. “Seriously, Garni-eek? What is this, Leave It to Beaver? It’s too bad that the time dilation of your travel left you stuck watching shows from the late ’50s.”

Garnaak’s hue yellowed, and he was unsure if his xlator correctly interpreted Sidney’s response. “Oophfff. Has that custom … expired?”

Sidney grinned, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, last century. First — that’s what a homebody — maybe a wife — would ask their spouse — perhaps a hubby. Don’t see either of those among us two.” Sidney gave a very human chuckle that even Garnaak understood.

“No offense intended!” Garnaak chirped through his xlator.

“Ah, Garnie! Don’t be silly; it’s okay. You mean well and get most of it spot on. So, forget paying out niceties. Most humans bungle them anyway and are totally disingenuous. But I appreciate the effort. You blend right in. Well, sort of, except for your, um … ”

“Size and shape? Color? Three eyes?” Garnaak’s xlator couldn’t turn the tittering flute from his gillicles into a laugh, but Sidney smiled, knowing he was being teased. Garnaak gave a slow, deliberate bow since he couldn’t nod like a human; this time, the xlator relaying the gesture into human-appropriate timing. “Sid … you are good to put up with my slow learning.”

Sidney smirked. “Hah. That’s not what I would say. You’re here — renting a condo at the port, right at the Cape. For how long? It’s been a few years now, hasn’t it? And you’ve been on Earth, what, five years? And now, you and I watch the launches day and night. And the ducks, of course. You teach me something every time we’re together.” The human winked, and Garnaak wondered if there was more than appeared there.

Sidney continued, “You are amazing. And I get to have martinis made by the best xtro bartender on Earth.”

Even though the term made him uncomfortable, Garnaak made a genuine clicking that xlated to a warm chuckle. “No — the only one.”

“True! Who’d have thought it? So, then, neighbor, let me ask you. How was your day? Don’t leave me hanging.”

Garnaak moved his massive, tree-trunk-sized legs and rested one of his three arms on the balcony rail. “Ah, my day. Well, I mediated another ongoing dispute between two of your planetary factions. Entertaining, really. So much emotional investment over such … trivial details.”

“Sounds like a Tuesday,” Sidney joked, taking another sip. “Who was it this time? Nations fighting over resources? Political arguments? Corporate intrigue? Hostile takeover?”

Garnaak shuttered all three eyes, considering how best to explain the interplanetary view of planet-side relations without overwhelming his neighbor. “Yes, something like that. Humans seem to become entangled in minor disputes, yet your capacity for bonding remains … intriguing. Like the ducks.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “You’re still stuck on them, huh? And bonding, huh? What’s that about? Always the philosopher?” He motioned toward the lake, where the two ducks had just arrived for a sunset swim.

One of Garnaak’s eyes followed, and he spied his favorite pair, even more so than the cormorants, herons, egrets, ibis, and occasional anhinga. The two ladies glided across the water, traversing from the far corner of the small lake to pass the nearer shore where Garnaak and Sidney perched, high above on the condo balcony. Always together, constantly foraging, swimming, exploring, and quacking in duet. Never a dispute, never a question of what next. Each somehow knew what the other was doing, thinking, and planning.

Garnaak’s thoughts whirred. “They simplify living. No distractions. They move as one, requiring no words, no deliberation — just … being.”

Sidney chuckled. “Maybe they’ve got it all figured out. No need for martinis and pleasantries about ‘how was your day?’”

Garnaak winked. “Perhaps. But I find martinis to be an essential part of Earthly rituals.”

Sidney stood, stretching as the ocean breeze faded. The sun was down, painting the cloud tops in orange and purple. The two ladies paddled to the edge, ripples disappearing from the calm water.

Sidney glanced at his wrist. “Well, Garney-yick,” pausing, sucking air through his teeth, knowing he was butchering the pronunciation, “That’s it for me tonight. Early morning tomorrow.”

Garnaak studied Sidney — each eye reflecting the soft glow of the twilight — his many limbs still and composed. He let out a slight hum that the xlator missed but passed along, “Thank you for sitting with me, Sidney. Rest well.”

Sidney said, “You too, Ambassador.”

Garnaak didn’t turn as Sidney exited through the balcony door and left the condo, not worrying whether Sidney could find his way out. The spoken title lingered in the air. Garnaak felt a pang of discomfort — Ambassador — an echo of an idea that wasn’t entirely accurate. An anthropomorphism at best, humans were trying to find a label for the role of Garnaak and his fellow spacefarers. He wasn’t an ambassador. He wasn’t there to negotiate, bring gifts, make treaties, or deliver knowledge. Instead, it was more straightforward, like a distant relative visiting to offer unsolicited advice but never intervening.

The rumble of rocket exhaust vibrated the balcony doors, heralding another launch. Garnaak flicked his eyes up to catch the torch-like glare and vapor trail, the continuing cadence of humans trying to expand beyond the Earth. Even as the smoke dissolved into the dusk, Garnaak knew there would be more tonight. There were always more launches — like clockwork, each one a small act of defiance against the constraints of gravity.

They are trying so hard, but they are still limited by their reach, limited by their capabilities, he mused. They’re just not ready yet. They’re persistent, ten times as often as when I arrived. So many attempts and a few nasty failures. Hoping and waiting for the day they’d find a better solution, knowing we have it and won’t give it to them. Yet even though they know their tech is not the answer, they continue. They always continue.

He let his eyes drift back to the lake, where the two ladies were resting at the shoreline. Their bond — so simple, so natural — was a far cry from humanity’s aspirations. They did not seek to reach the stars. They lived within their means, bound by the cycles of the Earth, unburdened by dreams of what lay beyond the horizon.

Garnaak felt a strange cognitive dissonance, an odd kinship with them. He, too, was bound — though not by nature but by his purpose. He and the other space travelers had been deployed to Earth and dropped off unceremoniously, their great interstellar vessel waving goodbye as it departed for another system. Deliberately introduced to the humans as tech-less, they were left on assignment bereft of any knowledge that could tip the scales too early, too irresponsibly. They were there to help but never to interfere.

There is much we could teach you, Garnaak thought. But that would rob you of your path. You must grow into the stars, not be pulled there.

In a way, it was a role as old as the ducks on the lake: a quiet life, fostering and letting it grow in its own time and way. Garnaak knew that humans needed to make their own mistakes. Their crude rockets would one day pierce the stars, but it would not be due to any intervention from him or other spacefaring races.

He scanned the dark sky, with stars hardly visible from the bright beacons of the port. The Earth’s solo moon was rising, a silvery reflection on the water.

His mind wandered back to the ducks, now nestled somewhere in the dark, their connection an unspoken reassurance. They did not need rockets, technology, or progress. Their world was complete.

The night deepened, and Garnaak remained on the balcony, listening to the gentle sounds of the lake below and the distant echoes of humanity’s ongoing quest to leave Earth behind.