Future Games: Anthology Part 31

Elizabeth Ann Scarborough.

"Welcome to Naaaame That Planet! The game that tests your powers of observation and knowledge as you try to guess where in the cosmos you are!

"The game is simple. A three-member panel of intergalactic citizens chosen randomly from our studio audience provides sensory clues they feel are typical or symbolic of each of their home worlds. Each panel member must provide up to five clues to our intrepid s.p.a.ce explorer contestant, sealed into a sensory input globe. Though we can see them, the contestants won't be able to see us. Successful contestants win fabulous prizes donated by our sponsors, naturally. But additionally, panel members who successfully stump the contestants also win great prizes. So let's begin this week's round.

"Our first contestant is the communications officer of a cla.s.s A stars.h.i.+p. Her duties include deciphering alien hieroglyphs and petroglyphs, as well as establis.h.i.+ng and maintaining contact between her s.h.i.+p and other cosmic ent.i.ties. Her hobbies include playing 3-D chess, reading old Terran cla.s.sics in their original languages, belly dancing, and cake decorating. Let's have a round of applause for Lt. Shalula Makira!"

Shalula understood the game show conventions as easily as she understood cla.s.sical Venusian. She jogged out onto the platform situated high above the heads of the audience members in the stadium below. She bounced. Her white-gold hair and b.r.e.a.s.t.s augmented for the occasion lifted up and down-but not too far down since the Name That Planet! studio was on the low gravity moon of a wholly owned planetary subsidiary of the FLOG Corporation. The moon was also wholly owned by the FLOG Corporation of course. FLOG stood for Furthering Logistical Organization Galaxy-wide, one of those meaningless acronyms that took in hundreds of thousands of otherwise unrelated enterprises.

Shalula wore a perky red dress uniform with gold piping that matched her Galaxy Corps rank insignia. A miniscule skirt showed off a slice of her thighs between the hem and the tops of the scarlet form-fitting over-the-knee boots. It actually was not a current issue uniform, being from earlier days when the grizzled male upper echelon of the Corps considered part of the duty of younger female personnel included raising the morale of male personnel. The outfit wasn't hers and she felt a little uncomfortable in it. The coverall uniform she and all other crewmembers wore on s.h.i.+pboard was far more practical. Actually, her idea had been to wear civvies, something floaty and ethnic, possibly one of her colorful gilt-edged thwabs from the flower s.h.i.+ps of Griba-Prime, but the producers of the show said seeing a woman in Galaxy Corps uniform made viewers feel safe and gave them a sense of pan-galactic pride. So they provided this one. It definitely made her feel feminine and s.e.xy. From communications nerd to communications bimbo with a simple change of clothing. That was show business.

The producers also insisted that contestants enthuse and bubble and preferably jump up and down with excitement when they won something, though they were not allowed to curse if they lost. Shalula agreed to respond appropriately. Accomplis.h.i.+ng her mission required that she be on the show so she could hardly disagree, even if she were inclined to do so. Besides, it was interesting to study the intergalactic messaging modes in the theatrical subculture represented by the show's cast, crew, other contestants, panelists, and the studio audience.

When she bounced toward the host and the array of cameras-whether because of the bounce, the uniform, or the vid prompts-the crowd cheered and applauded wildly. She laughed in a manner that did not show her teeth. There were some present whose culture viewed revealing one's dent.i.tion as an act of hostility. She waved both hands in the flop-wristed universal gesture of greeting. Among beings possessing wrists to flop, that was.

"Welcome, Lieutenant!" the host cried out a full three meters before she reached him. He had no compunctions about displaying his dent.i.tion to her or the crowd and let interpretations of his expression fall where they may. Large even teeth on full parade were an age-old badge of the game show host, even on Nilurian Amphibats such as Name That Planet!'s own Jiminy Jimson (a stage name, Shalula felt certain). "It's an honor to have you on our show. Are you ready to Naaame That Planet?"

It didn't matter that Jiminy's species spoke by sequencing air bubbles emitted from their nostrils, game show protocol and host behavior was well established in the annals of popular history and custom. A multi-faceted universal communication device translated Jiminy's remarks and witticisms into every conceivable method of transmission and disseminated it by appropriate means to the wide and varied audience. Shalula heard the host's words in a smooth, s.e.xy computer-simulated masculine voice as well oiled as Jiminy's leathery wings.

"Indubitably, Jiminy! I mean, I certainly am. I've been looking forward to this and studying a.s.siduously to be equal to whatever challenges the panel may present."

"Well, Shalula-I hope I may call you Shalula?"

She remembered to giggle enthusiastically, "Of course."

"Shalula, as you know, it will not be possible for you to meet your fellow contestants or our panel beforehand so you will have no prior clues to their ident.i.ties, species, race, and most important of all, planetary affiliation. You must determine that by correctly identifying their clues and answering their questions. You will be allowed to ask one question per panelist in return. With each planet that you name correctly, you will win a fabulous prize and the opportunity to try for another. If you choose to continue after your first success, and answer incorrectly, your game is forfeit and you lose your previous prizes. The clues will be given to our audience as well so they can guess right along with you. Now then, let me just ask, why did you wish to appear on our show?"

She had her answer all prepared. She and the captain and the Galaxy Corps agents had gone over it several times, and crew members of the more exotic species from the her stars.h.i.+p, the Havago, were in the audience to provide verisimilitude to her story. "Well, Jiminy, as I'm sure you've heard, when Sol 169582 went supernova, the inhabitants of that solar system became refugees, homeless. The GCS Havago, aboard which I serve, helped evacuate many of these fine folks. I plan to use any prizes I win to help find them a swell new solar with life-compatible gaseous exchanges, temperatures, humidities, and other life-supporting factors where they can live in peace and harmony."

"Well, say, Lt. Shalula, that's a tall order even for a plucky little stars.h.i.+p officer such as yourself. I'm sure everyone in our audience wishes you luck." It was perfectly acceptable for Jiminy to patronize her since presumably he knew all the answers to the questions and she did not.

"Thanks, Jiminy. Actually, some of the refugees are in the studio audience today. May I wave to them?"

"Certainly!" Jiminy said, waggling his forelegs as well. "h.e.l.llooo there, all you displaced ent.i.ties! I know you're all keeping your appendages crossed that your friend wins big for you. See there, you folks at home, our cameras are picking up the encouraging waves, wiggles, color changes, and odor emissions of Shalula's refugees. Everyone give them a big round of applause!"

Shalula blushed. The color change peculiar to her species was by now understood throughout the galaxy as signifying either humility or embarra.s.sment, possibly of a s.e.xual nature. The translator interpreted it as "maidenly modesty" for the benefit of those in doubt of its precise significance. Actually, she was embarra.s.sed at having to lie, even though the lies were crucial to her mission.

"And now, Shalula, it's time for you to step into our sphere and receive the first clue to your first planet! We wish you all the luck in the worlds!"

Shalula laughed, feigning appreciation, though she wasn't sure that the pun translated universally even with the best efforts of the studio's equipment. Humor as humans understood it was totally unknown in some alien societies. Come to think of it, humor was not understood in all human societies either. Or, for that matter, by all humans in any particular society.

She stepped into the transparent globe, which was transparent only from the outside. Once inside, Shalula could see nothing except the matte silver lining of the sphere and the clear plascine chair with the pull-down goggles and keypads at her fingertips. Nasal tubes projected from the bottom of the goggles for olfactory clues.

Shalula settled herself in, aware that although she could not see another living being, the multiverse was watching her every move and listening to her every utterance.

There was a long silence in her earphones as she had been warned there would be while Jiminy introduced the first panelist to the audience.

She sat breathlessly silent and alert, waiting. Suddenly the light inside the sphere dimmed and turned an odd shade of pale periwinkle, while the temperature plummeted. She s.h.i.+vered. The chair extruded a fleece wrap that wound around her like the tendrils of a plant climbing a trellis. Ice began to frost the inner skin of the globe.

"Have you figured it out yet, Shalula?" Jiminy's computer generated voice asked.

"It's a g-good clue, J-Jiminy," she said earnestly. "I c-can tell that this world is not close to its star. But I need to know a t-teensy bit more."

"Okay, Shalula, here it comes. This beautiful item is found on the mystery planet."

She started to tell him to wait, that her goggles were frosting over, and then the frost inside them began thickening in some places, spreading in others, until it formed a perfect three-dimensional blossom shape. Her nose tingled sharply, as if little icicles were forming on the hairs of her nostrils. Could it really be this easy? "That is one of the floral frost folk of Feldstar, Jiminy. So the planet must be Feldstar."

"Must it?" Jiminy asked. "Is that your answer or do you need another clue?"

"That's my answer," Shalula said. "Ah, can the audience see how the frost tendrils are lengthening and shortening at the points of the leaves? This frost fella is congratulating me on my perspicacity." She lifted her hand and, tucking the top knuckles of her middle fingers in, then straightening them, politely thanked the frost person for his felicitations.

The tendrils lengthened and shortened once more, but this time the sequence surprised Shalula. The frost being was telling her to "beware."

She mimicked the sequence and added the knuckle tip flip signaling interrogatory request for information but the floral frost fellow's image faded from her screen.

Jiminy's laughter, or the facsimile thereof, burbled out of her headphones. "Looks as though you have had frequent a.s.sociations with the floral portion of the Feldstar population, Shalula. It seemed quite chatty just now. Don't tell me they are on your s.h.i.+p's regular route? We try to make our little game challenging for everyone."

"Oh, it is, Jiminy. The floral frost folk have interested me in particular since I first learned of them. They remind me of a children's book my paternal aunt used to play for me."

"And a lucky thing that was for you too. Because-well, come on out here and just look at what your correct answer won for you."

The sphere floated down to the stage and she alighted from it. Jiminy appeared in front of her and waved at a revolving platform containing what looked like some sort of movable furniture. "This lovely Etin Island Dinette Set with two pullout sections and seating for sixteen. And that's not all! You will be able to serve your guests from the finest porceplast dinnerware in the cla.s.sic Rings of Saturn pattern. And in case you don't want to serve them finger food, you will also receive this stunning set of t.i.tanium alloy flatware complete with attachments to accommodate the appendages of three different alien species and all serving pieces! In addition you receive this elegant synlin lace tablecloth and serviette set aaaand . . . " The revolving stand revolved to reveal another piece of furniture. "Your dinette set includes this finely crafted buffet and hutch!" His voice dropped to a totally serious tone as he said, "Now, I know it's a hard decision to make, whether to take all of these wonderful prizes or risk it all to continue the game but our clock is ticking and will give you five seconds to decide."

She didn't need five seconds, or any seconds at all. What in the world would she do with all that stuff on s.h.i.+pboard? Her quarters were barely big enough for her bed, lamp, desk, and chair. Nevertheless, the producers wanted her to appear to be very tempted. She chewed her lip and twirled her hair around her index finger and just as the buzzer sounded, sighed and said, "Gee, it's really tempting to take that marvelous prize and run. I know it would come in handy for the refugees once they get settled, Jiminy, but I guess I'd better keep playing and hope I can win them a home to keep it in!"

"Spoken like the intrepid officer and explorer you are, my dear! Very well, back into the sphere with you to identify your second planet."

While she awaited the first clue, Shalula pondered how the floral frost fella had been able to communicate with her. Surely it wasn't an actual ent.i.ty present in the studio? It was far more likely to be a holo chip. So why had it signaled her to "beware"? Had it been in danger at the time it was recorded? Was it therefore sending an all-purpose message? Common sense said it could know nothing about her, much less her mission or any danger she might be courting.

Before she came to a conclusion, music filled the sphere.

Music was, of course, a valid form of communication based on mathematics and therefore far more universal than language per se, but like many alien art forms, it could seem incredibly unattractive to a human. However, Shalula was highly trained and had taken courses 1-6 in Galactic Musical Appreciation at the academy. Although the piece was played on instruments with which she was so unfamiliar she could not rightly say if they were string, wind, or percussion, its melodic structure was not unappealing.

Judging from its time signature, it would be from one of the peripheral moons of the fourth planet in the Scathach Galaxy.

But which one?

She shook her head.

"Stumped you, did we?" Jiminy crowed. "Well, never mind, little lady, here comes clue number two."

Another holo appeared, this one of some sort of rectangular mauve-colored fruit. The goggles extruded a flat wafer, which pushed at her lips.

"Have a taste of this, Shalula! It is considered quite a delicacy by the people of the mystery world."

She bit down. It was slimy and bitter but with a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste. She had never tasted anything like it, which was saying something. The Havago had an extremely adventurous chef. "I'd like to ask my first question if I may, Jiminy," she said.

"Certainly! But remember, only one per panelist."

"If I were actually biting into the foodstuff depicted in the holo, would it be toxic to my species?"

There was a long pause for consultation. During this time Shalula felt her tongue growing numb and her throat beginning to close. Finally Jiminy said, laughing heartily, "Oh dear, our panelist says that is entirely possible. Bite down on the antidote now, won't you, before the next clue?"

Another flat object extruded itself from her goggles and she bit, then, when she was able, drew a long breath. Jiminy's levity was highly inappropriate. When her tongue moved freely again she said, "I'm ready for the next clue, Jiminy. I hope it won't be as hard to take as that last one."

Was the clue a simple mistake or an attempt to murder her? Had the producers somehow learned about her mission? Was this one of the ways in which the previous six Galaxy Corps personnel who had appeared on this show had disappeared from their lives after it?

"Well, as we on the program say, considering the many and varied species with which we deal, one contestant's meat is another one's poison."

How did an ancient Terran aphorism find its way to this alien moon? Shalula wondered. She had been briefed on FLOG's owners.h.i.+p and supposed corporate structure, but it was as vague and difficult to pinpoint exactly what the corporation did or who was in charge of which section as any other intergalactic enterprise. Name That Planet! was a fairly new show. It had been airing for only part of a single season but it was already tremendously popular. Dinette sets were definitely at the low end of the prize spectrum. The top prize, for contestants who met the ultimate challenge, was an enormous amount of credits. So far, only two contestants had come close to winning that prize, but both had given an incorrect answer just one step away from their goal. Both were also stars.h.i.+p personnel. Four other Galaxy Corpsmen, from lesser s.h.i.+ps, made it through several rungs of the game before failing. All were given very nice consolation prizes, which were duly delivered to their units. The crewmen never returned to their units to claim the prizes, however. All were now considered AWOL. The common theory was that the contestants were too humiliated by their public failures to show their faces among their fellows again. Shalula didn't believe it, and neither did Corps headquarters.

As one of the brightest officers with the most versatile knowledge of alien peoples and places in the Corps, Shalula was recruited to investigate, posing as a contestant. She had never done undercover work before. So far she found it stimulating, though a bit confusing since her usual goal was to clearly communicate a message rather than to dissimulate. Perhaps this would be useful training for a diplomatic post later in her career?

"Ready for your next clue, Shalula?" Jiminy asked in a challenging tone-or rather, his translation device made it sound challenging. Perhaps it was programmed that way.

"You bet, Jiminy! Bring it on!"

And with a quick s.h.i.+ft of color and s.p.a.ce she found herself inside cascade of swirling turquoise and blue rock. Light shot through translucent sections turning them to orchid gla.s.s. Mint green lichen-like growths clung to some of the surfaces.

"Where are you now, Shalula?"

"Lost in wonder, Jiminy! My stars, but this is beautiful! Who would think that the dung heaps of the ancient Zanticoran Pzitsaaurus would be so lovely that their interior, once dried to a hollow sh.e.l.l, would make ideal housing for vacationing monarchs from surrounding star systems? I am on Zanticora, Jiminy. Therefore, that toxic fruit you offered me before must be no fruit at all but the solidified resin from the sap of the Tatatata tree. It's now widely believed that once great groves of the Tatatatas covered Zanticora and their bark and sap provided food as the trees themselves provided habitat for the Pzitsaaurus. The Pzitsaaurus is thought to have consumed sixteen acres of trees every lunar cycle. It then shat so copiously that . . . "

"Yes, yes, right you are, Shalula! Come on out now and see what you've won."

She stepped down, but the surroundings of her last clue didn't change, except to become larger and more s.p.a.cious. She gasped appreciatively as a group of muscular blue-tinged avian Zanticoran males danced onto the platform, their antics engineered to showcase the pieces of sleek and serviceable luggage each carried. "Yes, Shalula, it's a good thing you are so intrigued by Zanticora's colorful history and culture. In addition to your lovely dinette set you have won a lunar cycle leave from your duty station aboard the Havago to vacation on Zanticora. You will bask in the blue light of Zanticora's sun! At night you will dine, dance, and rest in a luxury suite within one of the deluxe structures you so aptly described. To properly equip you for the journey, you will have this full set of fabulous Saturite luggage-it dehydrates with the push of a b.u.t.ton so the entire set will fit into this convenient pocket-sized packet. To fill the luggage, we are also equipping you with a fas.h.i.+onable wardrobe of Zanticoran resort wear courtesy of Tzany Design Studio, Designers for the Stars. You will attend shows, gamble at the casinos, and may either take a companion of your choice or choose from among a bevy of Zanticoran escorts such as these here with us today. So what do you say, will you claim this prize and your dinette set or go on for the big jackpot?"

Shalula had carefully punctuated each of Jiminy's revelations with a little hop, a squeal and a clapping of her hands. Sometimes a gasp was in order. But now she took her clasped hands away from her mouth and said seriously, "I think we should let your audience know, Jiminy, that as swell as all these prizes are, none of them are actually what I will win."

"That's right, Shalula. Ladies and gentlemen and beings of all species, this generous little lady will not actually receive any of these things, though she could have them if she wished. Instead, by special arrangement with our sponsors, Shalula has asked that credit prizes of equal value be subst.i.tuted for the prizes you see here, to go toward the resettlement of her refugee friends. Isn't that special? Isn't she an exceptional contestant and an exceptionally fine example of her species? Let's have a round of applause for this little lady!"

The crowd went wild, in a controlled way that ended the applause and cheering when the prompter went blank.

"What we haven't told her is that our sponsor values altruism such as hers and wishes to reward her unselfishness. If she chooses to take these prizes now, the money will go to her friends as agreed. However, if she wins our jackpot, she will receive not only the cash value of all the prizes but the prizes themselves for herself!"

Shalula gasped, squealed, and jumped up and down. The down part was difficult, given the light gravity. "Oh, Jiminy, that is so wonderful! And I know just who I'll bring with me if I win this prize. There is a little orphaned Beltarian boy who could really use cheering up. I think Zanticoran beaches are just the ticket!"

"I am filled with admiration," Jiminy said, fluttering his wings and baring his large teeth again. "Always thinking of others. So I gather you're going for the jackpot then?"

"You betcha!"

"You do realize that so far on our show, no one has managed to go aaaalllll the way and score the grand prize?"

"There's always a first time, Jiminy, and I am after all a professional pioneer of previously unexplored places and experiences! Not to mention my own personal potential."

"Well spoken! Okay then, Shalula, pop back up inside the sphere and prepare yourself for a reeaaaallly tough round."

"Ready and willing, Jiminy!" she said, regaining her seat. Even though she knew the game was rigged against her, she couldn't help feeling a sense of elation. She had watched vids of all of the previous show episodes prior to embarking on the a.s.signment. She was far better prepared than previous contestants, she felt sure. Her hunger for and grasp of esoteric knowledge of the people, places, and languages of the multiverse was vast and comprehensive. She also had a photographic memory courtesy of the implant her parents had given her for her third birthday.

"For your first clue to this world, the panelist will ask you to answer a question, Shalula. Are you ready?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

A voice did not so much speak as rearrange its secretions. Its supposed language sounded like phlegm being hacked up, rearranged, swallowed, and hacked up again. The very sound of it gave Shalula gooseb.u.mps she thought the studio audience probably could see clear to the back row. She was at a loss as to what tongue contained such fearsome noises. It had none of the common features that distinguished a tongue from a mere set of subvocalizations.

Watching the vids of the shows on which her fellow Corp members were contestants, Shalula had noticed that among the last set of questions, the clues were usually a bit indistinct in sound or image. Audience members were meant to think that the puzzle was simply extremely difficult but now Shalula wondered. Perhaps the clues were hard because they were not actually legitimate clues at all?

To test her theory, she scoured her throat to make similar sounds, as if she were about to vomit.

It took several moments, probably while Jiminy decided how to respond. She waited for him to say, "What was that you said?" or something of the sort but instead he said, "Our panelist says that was the correct answer. For the benefit of our audience, the panelist asked Shalula if she spoke the native language of Emeticus Trine and she replied that she did, a little. However, Shalula, that was a trick question as the planet in question here is not Emeticus Trine, though the panelist speaks the language. You must tell us which planet is the panelist's home world. Do you need another clue?"

"Yes," she said, and then added, "or should I say, 'Hrrracccchacch?' "

"Heh heh. Very good. Here it is then, for the grand jackpot, tell us where you will find our next clue."

A lacey tracery of interlocking outwardly expanding ripples of multicolored lights filled the interior of the sphere. At the center of each set of ripples a strong clear light pulsed. There was something familiar about the sequencing of the pulses-three short bursts, three long, then three short. Versed in ancient messaging modes as she was, Shalula, to her amazement, recognized that the light beams were signaling SOS, the once well known distress signal in a system of dots and dashes used by obsolete antique communications equipment. Who could be sending such a message except another communications expert? Like, for instance, the one who had preceded her on this show, and who was presently listed as AWOL from the GCS William Gates.

"Well, Shalula, do we have your answer?"

"Help," she murmured, still considering the message.

"Does that mean you wish to ask the panelist a question?"

"Er-yes. Yes, it does Jiminy. Except my Emeticus Trine isn't quite up to it, so I'd like to ask my question in Standard."

"And your question is . . . ?"

"It is . . . it is . . . what does the dominant species on your planet look like?"

"I'm not sure that is the sort of question that is authorized, Shalula," Jiminy told her cautiously.

"Oh, gee, Jiminy, n.o.body told me there were restrictions on what I could ask."

Jiminy's teeth looked bigger than ever as he smiled. "Gee, I'm sorry too, Shalula but that question is just too broad. We might as well let you ask what planet are you from?"

"Yes, well then, let me rephrase my question. We know your language is from Emeticus Trine but the planet we are speaking of is not Emeticus Trine. Are you yourself or your species dominating another planet?"

There were more gurgling hawking choking sounds. Shalula had identified them now that she read the feeling behind the noises rather than trying to make words of them. For the sounds represented to her as language were merely the pre-digestive utterances of a hungry slavering b.e.s.t.i.a.l being in search of a meal.

Jiminy looked extremely skittish. "I don't think that question is quite authorized either."

"Oh, but it should be, Jiminy. Because the answer to it holds the key to many of the riddles posed on and by this very show! I did recognize the light show from the last clue. It's the transmission waves from this station bouncing off FLOG's world below us and back out into s.p.a.ce. And the rulers of this planet, FLOG's Board of Directors, are dominated by the beings who make those horrible noises. I wonder if the audience can see the Emeticus Trinian as it really is. Because it is my contention that if they saw the true nature of this being, they would see it as one of the data-devouring demons of the Damaclesian Delta. No wonder no one guessed before. The demons are shapes.h.i.+fters and can a.s.sume any form. In fact, Jiminy, I wonder if you yourself are what you seem to be?"

"Ladies and gentlemen of all species, we are going to cut to our commercial now. It seems our contestant is suffering from s.p.a.ce sickness that is making her delusional."

Shalula, still suspended inside the sphere, could see nothing outside except what Jiminy projected into her sphere. She could only hope her co-crew members were advancing on the stage.