Fortunately, my Explorer jacket had washed down the same route as Uclod and me. It was soaking wet too, but I picked it up and began to mop myself as I followed the little man forward.

The Soul Of Timidity

The corridor was long and round like the inside of a worm. The ceiling hung just low enough that I had to duck, which meant I trudged along with my head bent over. In that position I could only see the floor, which was most unattractive — the floor’s surface was corduroyed with riblike ridges spaced a finger-width apart, and in the gaps you could see icky bluish-white skin with snaky purple veins. One walked up on the ridges, with one’s feet never touching the skin beneath… but I could tell the skin would feel soft and weak and distressingly pulpy. It reminded me of dead birds and animals I had sometimes found while cutting wood: half-eaten, bloody, wet with dew, withered in some parts and bloated in others.

Ugly, ugly death.

But the skin below my feet was not dead, though it looked most revoltingly corpselike. I tried to ignore it and continued to walk, head down, Uclod’s feet padding in front of me, until we passed through another sphincter and entered a second yellow-lit room.

Two more orange feet stepped in beside Uclod’s. I lifted my head and saw a creature much like the little man but with important differences. First, this was obviously a female; she wore short gray pants and a white shirt of the same style as Uclod’s, but under the woman’s shirt lurked a sizable pair of wallabies. Also lurking under her domes were massive muscles packed exorbitantly onto every bone in her body: huge arms, huger legs, and such an ostentatious set of shoulders they made one furious just to look at them. She was not much taller than I — well, perhaps she was two hands taller, but I do not call that a lot — yet compared to Uclod, she was an absolute giant. At the same time, she shared enough physical attributes with the little man to show she was definitely the same species: spherical globes atop her head, a similar facial structure, and the same scaly orange skin.

The woman said nothing for several seconds — she simply gazed at me with wide-open eyes. Her body pressed tight against Uclod’s back, as if she were trying to hide behind him… which was like a full-sized bear taking cover behind a woodchuck. She placed her hands on Uclod’s shoulders and gripped him tensely, balling up the cloth of his shirt in her fingers.

Still she did not speak. Uclod reached up, placing his hands gently over hers. "Don’t worry," he told her. "Everything’s fine. This is a friend."

The woman did not move. She kept staring at me with her mouth shut, her eyes unblinking. At last, I lowered my voice and asked Uclod, "What is wrong with her? Is she simply crazed, or is there something chemically wrong with her brain?

"There’s nothing wrong at all!" the little man said. He moved to one side so he could put his arm around the woman’s back and propel her a shuffle-step forward. "Honey?" he addressed her in a soft low voice. "Honey, this is Oar."

"Oar?" the giant woman whispered. "Oar?"

"Yes," I told her. "An oar is an implement used to propel boats."

"But…" She closed her mouth so quickly, it made a clopping sound.

"I know," Uclod said, "we were told Oar had died. The reports must have been wrong."

"Yes," I agreed, "I have never truly been dead. Not even once. You should not fear I am a moldering corpse, risen from the grave to ravage mortal souls."

My words of reassurance showed no sign of comforting her. Uclod had to nudge her forward another step and ask, "Are you going to say hello to Oar, honey?"

"Hello, Oar," the woman said softly. There was something odd about her voice — as if it was actually quite low bit she was forcing it higher, like a male pretending to be female. I wondered if this person might truly be a man, despite the wallabies looming under her shirt; perhaps some types of alien men had prominent wallabies. Then again, perhaps some types of alien women had low voices they forced higher for foolish alien reasons… and it was all very boring to think about, so I stopped immediately.

I am excellent at putting a stop to moments of introspection.

"Well done," Uclod told the woman beside him, apparently believing that saying hello took great courage. "Oar, this is my wife, U. C. Lajoolie."

The woman half-whispered, "A lajoolie is a small glass bottle used for holding paprikaab."

Uclod gave her a smiling squeeze. "Isn’t that nice, Oar? Lajoolie told you what her name means."

I said, "I do not know what paprikaab is."

When Lajoolie did not answer, Uclod leaned his head toward me. "Damned if I know either. The little woman comes from a different planet than me — she’s a Tye-Tye, I’m a Freep. We’re newlyweds, and still kind of sketchy about each other’s cultures."

"Oh," I said. Then I stared straight into the woman’s eyes and spoke with the clear enunciation one uses to address the mentally unfit. "I am most glad a lajoolie is a glass bottle. I am sure it is very pretty."

The big woman stared at me in silence for a moment. Then she touched my arm and gave a timid smile.

Scanning Starbiter’s Bridge

"Okay, great," Uclod said in the over-hearty way of males who wish to pretend all problems have been solved forever. "Enough blathering — it’s time for work. Sooner or later, the navy will show up… and by then, we want to be gone."

He moved a tiny distance away from Lajoolie, who still had an arm wrapped tightly around him. This led to a dainty tug-of-war between the two… not that the woman was truly trying to keep hold of the little man, but even her unthinking strength was enough that Uclod could not break her grip. He had to pull away slightly, wait for her arm to ease, then detach himself a bit more. I could not understand why he did not say, "Release me!" or why she made him wriggle free in such a manner rather than just letting go; but there is no comprehending aliens unless you try, and it is seldom worth the effort. Instead, I averted my gaze from their antics and took my first good look at my surroundings.

The previous chamber had been completely empty except for glowing wall-fungus. This new room, however, had Mysterious Protrusions jutting from the floor, the ceiling, and the single round wall that encircled the place. The floor protrusions were obviously chairs… provided one did not mind sitting on great ugly lumps that appeared to be bone and cartilage upholstered with half-dried jellyfish. Normally, I would not be distressed by such jellyfish — at least they were transparent, which is why I could see the chair’s bony frame underneath — but their shriveled outer surfaces were starting to flake off, while the inner parts retained enough of their juices to wobble with shivery abandon, When you sat on them, I suspected they might squirm like things alive.

As for other protrusions in the room, I had no idea what they were. For example, above each chair hung long cords dangling from the roof: cords that resembled the intestines of a groundhog after it has been partly consumed by a coyote. This is not the sort of thing I would suspend from my ceiling, especially not above where people might sit; the intestines would sweep back and forth across a person’s hair with agitating gooeyness. If this is what amused Uclod and Lajoolie, I would not enjoy their company… but then, I would not enjoy remaining on Melaquin either — especially if navy humans arrived with the intention of eradicating evidence of Explorer habitation.

After all, I was such evidence myself: a firsthand witness to everything that happened. Wicked navy persons could not murder me on sight or the League of Peoples would never let them leave Melaquin. However, there was no League law against abducting me to parts unknown: to isolated parts unknown, where one would be devoid of sufficient stimulation to keep one’s brain from becoming Tired.