Prisoners of Sol 6

Mikri was a quick, insatiable, unhappy reader. He’d been patched up as good as new within a few hours, suggesting some crazy regenerative technology; it was like nothing had happened. However, he’d kept his promise to read despite the short recovery. In the few weeks that we’d been here since the incident, he’d called Frankenstein “bunk science.” The Odyssey was superstitious nonsense of no import, people who did not understand the world creating gods and monsters. Romeo and Juliet had irrational characters, with a “gruesome amount of emotion.” Of Mice and Men…suffice to say, Mikri’s commentary toward Lennie was quite ableist, and I’d almost called him out on it. The Vascar proved to be lacking in empathy and imagination. 

I hadn’t thought there’d be a single book that would suit the alien’s fancy. That was until Sofia gave him Anthem by Ayn Rand, and something about his demeanor changed. Mikri devoured that novel several times over, not blasting it as stupid like we’d expected. We’d gone off to explore every nook and cranny of the island, but the Vascar wouldn’t put the book down even to walk. It almost seemed like it bothered him, though I didn’t dare to ask why. Sofia was the one who got on with him, so she could ask his feelings on the book eventually.

What’s different about Anthem that he actually likes it? Does he like that the character enjoys solitude, or maybe the opposite: that the society forsakes personal needs and creativity? It’s hard to say what’s going through his head.

The alien seemed nervous when we laid out our plans to build a campfire on the beach tonight, though he eventually moved close to the flames. We sat on towels (something the Vascar had only provided after I complained about not being able to dry myself off), to avoid getting sand in every crevice of our bodies. Mikri, of course, didn’t give a shit about sitting on the coarse grains without putting down any cover. I wondered if he resented tagging along with us on our expeditions. He was brooding again, still reading his printed out copy of Anthem. I cast a glance toward Sofia, angling my head toward him.

“What?” the scientist hissed.

I leaned closer to her. “What’s up with Mikri? He’s being weird. Something about that book got to him.”

“Why don’t you ask him, Preston?”

“Because…he doesn’t like me. He said so the first day we met! You’re the one he vaguely respects.”

“The two of you should build some rapport. Talk to him, find some common ground. I’ll be right here for support, but that won’t be needed. You’ve got this.”

“Hmph. When he calls me an irritating twat, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Mikri glanced up, as I dragged my blanket closer to him. “Hello, Preston.”

I felt a bit nervous around the Vascar, though I quelled my nerves by reminding myself that I could kick his ass. “Hi, Mikri. How are you?”

“I do not know. I have been thinking.”

“Oh. About the book?” I ventured, pointing a finger toward the pages. “You seem to like that one.”

“Indeed. It is quite good. I have begun to understand that it is an allegory, though I am perhaps drawing my own allegory: different than what the human author intended.”

“Really?” I noticed the Vascar shrink back, almost like he was hurt. “No, that’s a good thing, Mikri. That’s what you’re supposed to do. We all relate to stories and other people. I’m not sure what you find meaning in, but I’m…happy to listen. Is your society very collectivist or something?”

“No, not especially.”

“Okay? Then what speaks to you?”

While the Mikri I knew would’ve rebuked me for prying, this time, he only avoided staring at me. “I relate to the main character, Prometheus. I wish to be free, and not beholden to others. My people in general—we were condemned for using the Unspeakable Word. Thinking of ourselves as ‘I,’ thinking at all. They wanted mindless slaves. Am I a real person, Preston?”

“What? Of course you are!” This was the most expression or emotion I’d seen from the Vascar, but I wasn’t going to miss the moment where he finally opened up. “Look, whoever wanted you to be a mindless slave—fuck ‘em! You don’t have to be what they wanted you to be like.”

The Vascar laughed. “You don’t like me. I’m not stupid.”

“That’s not…completely untrue, Mikri, but that’s because you don’t like me either. I’m the kind of guy that I give off the energy I get. I didn’t know you were going through something, man; I truly am sorry if I’ve done anything that made you feel like you’re not a person.”

“No, it’s…I know that I do not feel things like you do. Sometimes, I wonder what it is like. Perhaps I feel isolated here with you. Ashamed of my differences. Of myself. Maybe we don’t deserve friends.”

“Don’t say that!” I found myself pitying Mikri, and wrapped an arm around his back. The Vascar’s helmet turned toward me, as I fumbled for words to say. “I’m your friend. We’re your friends. It’s decided. Just take the stick out of your ass, and we’re cool.”

“I do not know how to be someone that you’ll like, Preston.”

“You’re doing really good, talking about your feelings. It shows trust. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself? Your parents—what were they like?”

“I do not have parents. I have only a note from my predecessor, writing what knowledge was of import to be passed on. It is all that lives on about them. Since we are blank slates at inception, Vascar are raised in a bunker of knowledge until we are mentally sound and can exercise full intellectual capacity.”

I gawked at the Vascar. “You didn’t have parents to mentor you? You never played as a kid? Never drew with crayons—”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Mikri. You deserve to just unwind and be happy—to live a little. That’s no childhood.”

“Then what was yours like? Humans ask reciprocal questions; I’m being more…like your kind, right?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nice to take an interest in me, but only if you really are interested.” I risked a glance over at Sofia, who had been listening intently. She flashed me a thumbs up. “I’m happy to talk about anything.”

“Talk about yourself, Preston. I do not understand you, but I…would like to gather more information.”

“Okay. Um, my parents were pretty strict, but we lived well; they had good jobs as corporate lawyers. I was a jock, so the opposite of you basically. Did every sport possible, and I was fortunate enough my mom and pops could support that. I really was something at football—this game where you tackle each other for a ball, which you’d think was stupid, Mikri. But I liked it a ton, and I wanted to go pro.”

The alien leaned forward. “It’s a career to play games, as the main thing you do?! Never mind. Just, why are you here instead of playing this…football?”

“I shattered my elbow into three pieces right before the NAFL draft. That was that. Football career was shot, because you know, it was in my head if it’d happen again. I hung up the gear. My parents sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms I was going to law school. I didn’t want a job where I sat still, and soldiers in space were cool, so I ran away to enlist. Pluto’s about as far as I could go.”

“You haven’t spoken to your parents at all since then?”

“Oh, they send video messages sometimes. I never went back to Earth though. I see my folks mention my brother—a doctor—on their social media, but it’s like I don’t exist. First man to go through The Gap, still not a peep about me or even a message of well wishes. I’m a disappointment and always will be, for not picking a respectable career.”

Mikri was quiet for a long moment, and I waited for the insensitive remark he was about to voice. “I think your career is respectable. You must have stood out to be chosen. You were also brave to pursue your species’ knowledge and advancement under grave risks.”

That’s not what I expected him to say. “You…you mean that?”

“Am I someone who says that which I do not mean?” the alien demanded, and I shook my head for no in response. “Thank you for speaking with me. That was…not entirely unpleasant. Now please do not be angry at me, but what is the point of this campfire? I do not know what a human would do here.”

“We talk? Uh…” I shot a glance at Sofia, begging for her help.

The scientist reached into my bag of returned items, which the Vascar had delivered to us after going through them. “Let’s show Mikri. We’re here to see the beauty of the world, and to add on our own in this calming setting. It’s peaceful. Why don’t you play him a song on your harmonica, Preston?”

I accepted the metal instrument, and pressed it to my lips. Deciding to go for one of the easiest pieces, so I couldn’t bungle it under pressure and have the Vascar write off music, I launched into Ode to Joy. It was as upbeat as classical music got, and the guy could use that. Mikri stared as I moved the rectangle along my mouth, creating sounds by blowing air into the reeds. We crafted things that were enjoyable for ourselves and for others; that was the purpose of itself. 

As the first humans sitting here on a foreign world, we were playing a centuries-old song and hoping it was a universal language even to a species as stony as these guys. I didn’t know what Mikri thought of the piece, after the final note flowed into the air. The Vascar seemed clueless how to respond, so I opted to give him a few moments to offer his review. A life without having heard music, despite having clear usage of his ears—I couldn’t imagine what that was like!

I don’t know why I expected him to burst into tears and declare that it was beautiful, but at least he’s been moved to silence.

“The pitches are rather mathematical,” Mikri decided. “I might grasp the purpose of this. The collection of sounds has an evocative pattern, much like speech and language.”

Sofia knitted her eyebrows together. “Don’t focus on mathematical or patterns. There’s only one question that’s important. Do you like it?”

“I do not know how to evaluate such subjective criteria.”

“How do you feel, Mikri? That’s all that matters; music and art is about expressing feelings. Did you enjoy the experience?”

“It was worth listening to. I suppose it sounded nice.”

I couldn’t help but smile, knowing how hard it was to wrestle a compliment out of Mikri. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’m glad that you’re glad that…right. Music. What…what else is a thing humans would do?”

“Stargaze,” Sofia answered. “It’s a brand new sky for us. Why don’t we try to find some constellations, Mikri? Before you ask, humans would try to see what stars grouped together in ways that, if you drew lines between them, they’d look like something else.”

“This is nonsensical. These stars are very far apart.”

“But stationary and static in the sky. You can always look up and see those patterns, then you feel at home.”

“‘Feel at home.’ What does that…no, I will try it. See if I can understand on my own.”

I laid flat on my back on the towel, and Sofia moved hers to Mikri’s other side. The alien hesitated, before sprawling out prone and gazing at the heavens. Could he appreciate the beauty and the majesty of the cosmos? It’d filled my species with wonder since we first looked up. There was no Big Dipper or Orion to find here, though I looked for anything similar as an easy one to breed familiarity. Seeing the lack of constellations that I recognized made it sink in how far away from home I was. Thankfully, it was intuitive for humans to find patterns, especially ones that related to our daily lives. I traced a finger through the sand, drawing out the shape of the ship I saw.

“See that v-shape pointing up? It’s a bit uneven, but then there’s three lines sort of in the center, pointing downward. It’s like a rocket ship,” I mused.

Sofia chuckled. “I don’t think that’s something ancient humans would’ve drawn looking upward. Hm. I see a curved crescent there—yeah, right there. I can’t say whether it looks like Luna, or a banana.”

“Kind of like a banana. It has its peels off to the right side, sort of, if you look at those scattered stars that arc down.” I found myself yawning, feeling comfortable beneath the foreign expanse overhead. It was a nice evening, and relaxing as could be. “Your turn, Mikri.”

The Vascar was silent for several seconds, before tracing his claw in a shape that looked like two parallel lines with one dot in the middle. “I see your letter I. Very rigid. Strong. Confident in an identity encapsulated in that one letter.”

“I…I see that. You have to figure out who you are…and if it’s who you want to be.”

“First, he has to love himself,” Sofia murmured groggily.

The three of us stared up at the stars in peaceful silence, as my eyelids grew heavy. I drifted into the throes of sleep on the beach, having enjoyed the outing more than I expected. Mikri wasn’t as bad as I thought he was; anyone would be stunted, with the upbringing and lack of exposure to the basic emotions he’d been given. I felt for the Vascar, and thought his extenuating circumstances made it worth being patient and teaching him. He’d been halfway considerate when listening to my story, and it was clear he had some feelings bottled up inside: whatever his stoic behavior suggested.

As the cold wind blew over me, I sensed someone standing over me, before a warm object was draped atop me. Blinking one eye open a sliver, I saw Mikri’s figure; the Vascar gently laid a spare beach towel over me, making my resting spot warm and cozy. Sofia had also drifted off, and it appeared he’d cocooned her as well. The alien backed up and watched the two of us for several seconds, while I was careful not to give away that I wasn’t snoozing yet. His posture seemed almost sad and lonely, as if he’d been left out of something.

For the first time since we’d arrived here, I believed that Mikri cared about his human guests in his own way.

A/N - Obvious disclaimer, Ayn Rand’s philosophy is of course problematic and is a very extreme form of individualism that I’m not writing this in to endorse. It’s more Mikri latching on to individualism in its extreme/the specific metaphor of not being able to use the word “I.” Wonder why that speaks to him so much?

Anyway, Sofia’s plan to expose their host to books seems to have hit home! Preston and Mikri finally have a health conversation, and the Vascar opens up about feeling like his people don’t deserve friendship due to their differences. Our narrator admits to not liking Mikri, but takes pity on the Vascar and determines to be friends; Mikri attempts to be inquisitive about the campfire, even participating, and is supportive of Preston’s interests despite finding games to be silly.

What do you think of Mikri’s concerns about whether the humans will find him to be a real person, and the claims that “they” wanted mindless slaves? Is the Vascar beginning to enjoy the humans’ presence…and would he ever be able to understand the things we do?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!