A.K.A. The Alien

“Knackered?” He really did not want to talk to me. “I know twenty different terms for being tired and I can go through the lot, if you like. And then I can start again in German. And then Arabic. And then Portuguese. Unless you would prefer Spanish. And then -”

  “Yes, I’m tired,” Robinson said shortly.

  “But I’m not.”

  “We’ve noticed.”

  “I really should be tired.”

  I had come across a flaw in my plan to experience life as a human. I looked like one, but I did not function as one. I was going to have to do something about it.

  I too wanted the chance to be exhausted, grumpy and smelling of sweat.

  1.13. Eyes are not as easy to you would think

  I was sitting in the dining room about to eat sponge pudding with custard, followed by rhubarb crumble with custard (for comparison purposes), when Lieutenant Shue slipped into the chair opposite.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Shue,” I said, ever polite.

  “You need to change the eyes back.”

  “No.”

  I picked up both spoon and fork. I had still not worked out quite why both were needed, but I was persevering.

  “Change the eyes back.”

  “No.” I dipped my spoon in the custard. I was currently eating left-overs reluctantly, if not suspiciously, supplied by the cooks only after consultation with their superiors on whether it was (a) allowable and (b) desirable.

  Since Lieutenant Shue had last seen me I had upgraded my body, so I now had one that needed oxygen, food and sleep. Just like a proper human. I could feel heat and cold, I could sweat and sneeze, and I could taste food. Hence the meal. I could also switch it all off whenever I found it too distracting, but so far it was fun.

  In the process of changing the body over I had decided to replace my carefully average brown eyes, chosen when I was not drawing attention to myself, to a more colourful shade of blue. I had gone for the lightest, brightest blue deemed feasible for humans, true, but they were still allowable. I was rather proud of my new eyes.

  “Humans can’t change their eye-colour at will,” Lieutenant Shue pointed out. “They can, and do, artificially change their hair, but their eye colour, no. Change them back. People are finding it ... disconcerting.” I wondered what word he had intended to use.

  “Oh, I can do hair,” I said, and changed mine to white-blond. I had been thinking about doing it along with the eyes, but at the time had thought perhaps both at the same time might be a bit too much.

  “Remember that bit about ‘artificially’?” Lieutenant Shue asked, with his eyes on my hair.

  I changed it back to brown with a sigh. The blue eyes I kept.

  “Look, how about trying hazel instead?” he suggested. “Getting the patterning right?”

  “No,” I replied. “And it’s not against the Agreement, so I don’t have to.”

  He had so far straightened the jug of water, the salt and pepper pots and the little metal tag that held the menu card during meals. Lieutenant Shue was a little unsettled, probably because Captain Munk had no doubt told him he was not to return until he had persuaded me to change my eye colour, and he was not sure he could. I assumed he knew I liked them. “You know your aim to experience life as a human? Well, humans can’t change their eye colour just because they’re bored with it. You’re cheating.”

  After a moment’s hesitation to run through 36 different possible refutations of this statement, with varying levels of credibility, I changed the colour of my eyes back to plain brown.

  “Thank-you,” Lieutenant Shue said, sitting back, relieved.

  I pointedly turned my attention back to the custard.

  1.14. The John of Dublin

  “I have a list,” I said, slipping onto on a seat near Lieutenant Shue. The officers’ lounge had a sinuous bank of seating that made little U-shaped areas all round the walls of the room, and he was sitting in one with a couple of friends. I put a glass of beer on the table in front of Lieutenant Shue, as we were in a social setting, but even with this offering the friends smoothly drifted away to get more drinks from the bar even though their glasses were still half full.

  “A list?” Lieutenant Shue asked, sounding resigned.

  “A list of things I want to do round the ship. They are in no particular order at the moment. Right: I want to work in the kitchen. Cook meals. I want to sweep the floors. Use the hoover.” I looked down at the carpet, but it looked clean enough at the moment. “Work in the laundry.”

  “Wait until the John of Dublin arrives,” Lieutenant Shue recommended. “She won’t be long.”

  “Why are ships female even when their names are male? Why give a ship a male name when you know it will be referred to as female?” I asked, but I did not wait for an answer: I had found I generally knew more than the crew, anyway. Lieutenant Shue drank from his original glass of beer to avoid answering, which reminded me of another task to add to me list. “Work behind the bar. Work in the labs. As technician and as scientist.”

  “Wait until the John of Dublin arrives.”

  “The Bosun’s store. The chemical store. The clothing store. The mechanical engineering department. I want to feed the fish in the aquarium - speaking of which, I think I should have a pet. A dog or cat would be culturally appropriate. Can I have a pet?”

  “No you cannot have a pet.”

  “I need a hobby as well - chess seems like an easy game. I could take that up. And I’ll need time in the gym. And I know you won’t let me have a go but I want to watch the dentist at work.”

  “Wait until the John of Dublin arrives.”

  “We need to produce a timetable to make sure I do everything in a sensible order. You’ll have to advise on how long I should spend on each element -”

  “Wait until the John of Dublin arrives.”

  “I see.”

  “Look, you’re enjoying what you’re doing at the moment, right? The EVAs? Why not just stick to them for the moment,” he said, in a more reasonable tone.

  “Until the John of Dublin arrives.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Just until -”

  “- the John of Dublin arrives.”

  Lieutenant Shue looked away.

  1.15. How to tell the Captain you’ve injured the alien

  The next external session I did was the first with my all-improved interactive body, and at the end of the watch I was just as tired as the others. Being tired turned out to be a feeling that flooded both body and brain. I was told I would sleep well that night, and I looked forward to experiencing falling sleep and dreaming, but instead I dropped off as soon as I lay down and I remained firmly and dreamlessly asleep until Lieutenant Shue sent some-one in search of me when I missed our morning briefing session.

  ‘Tired’ also made you slow, and clumsy and stupid, as I discovered the following watch when we were labelling and stowing some of the boxes of geological specimens we had retrieved. I mishandled a box, one that had been damaged in the wreck, and as it dropped it ripped glove and skin from half-way across my palm to the upper joint of my first finger.

  Pain was a different feeling altogether from tiredness, but was interesting in its own right.

  “Oh God,” said Poulsen, catching sight of the blood dripping off my hand onto the floor. “We’d better get something on that.” I felt a little guilty as I had been standing there admiring my handiwork and watching how the blood flowed. Poulsen looked round for a suitable cloth but found nothing. “Wait there. I’ll get the First Aid box.”

  After admiring my blood for a while I had intended to heal the cut without any-one seeing it. This seemed a little rude after Poulsen’s concern, which was, after all, the first interaction she had had with me in four hours. She returned with both the First Aid box and Petty Officer Robinson, and between all three they stopped the blood and covered the cut. They then insisted on taking me to the hospital and calling up Doctor Howard from wherever she was hiding to have a
look at it. Because they were afraid they had damaged her alien, they also woke Captain Munk up with the news, and perhaps because they had not explained just how minor it really was, the Captain came down to the hospital to see for herself. And because she was coming, Lieutenant Shue was also summoned as the resident Ben-expert. I diagnosed less sympathy for my plight and more concern over my possible reaction.

  Doctor Howard had insisted that I have an entire railway track of clips put across the cut to pull the two sides together. I was more than happy to have them, and was watching her put them in with great interest when the Captain arrived.

  The Captain turned on Robinson and asked him how it had happened, so I replied for him, making my report clear, precise and accurate. We had an Accident Book to fill in, after all. The Captain looked relieved, as far as she ever allowed any weak emotion to disturb her expression, but looked across to Lieutenant Shue for confirmation all the same.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said, taking one look at me and the doctor. “He’s enjoying himself.”

  And I was.

  1.16. The coloured crayon masterpiece

  I lasted two days with an injured hand. It would have been no more than half a day had it not been for all the care and concern Poulsen and Doctor Howard had put into my hand. First off, the thing hurt whenever I moved it when I forgot I had damaged it. And second I could not do anything with it. I wasn’t allowed outside and I wasn’t allowed in the hold. I couldn’t do any of the other activities on my list. Eating or dressing or holding a stylus were all