Attempting to make friends (1)

Gerald led Trahzi into the multipurpose hall. An oval jogging track made of light hung in the air above them, a horizontal racetrack ringed the belt line, where students recreated by surfing along the wall on metallic boards in complete disregard of gravity. Down below sat a segmented swimming pool lined with hoops and fountains.

All through the center of the room floated tables and chairs where various groups sat and chatted with one another, playing holo-games and watching videos from the net.

"Okay," Gerald began. "We'll start off by making friends with some of the guys."

"Why? Are females more difficult?"

"Oh, infinitely so. Now, the first thing you need to understand is that people do not regard everyone else with the same levels of affection. I mean, they say they do, but they don't. They create sub-groups based on specific criteria, and they join those groups to the exclusion of others. You'll see it manifest with a lot of 'us' and 'them' kind of thinking."

Trahzi thought hard on this. "That seems very inefficient. The quarrels between groups would weaken the whole."

"Oh it is! It harkens back to basic tribal instincts, but you need to understand it if you are to join a group."

Gerald caught some movement out of the cover of his eye. He looked up and saw Ilrica nonchalantly hanging from the ceiling with two toes, watching them as she swung lazily back and forth like a bat.

"Ilrica, what are you doing up there?" Gerald asked irritably.

She shrugged. "Hey, if you are going to ignore my advice, the least I can do is enjoy the show." She took out a kamanchhi and began chewing on it. "This should be hilarious."

"What should be?" Trahzi asked.

"Ignore her, just focus on the task at hand."

Trahzi nodded. "So, what are the criteria for these social groups?"

"Well, that is why men are easier. All male friendships are based on common interests and activities. That group over there is the Trategim club; they value skill and knowledge of the game. That group over there is all Kuboi players; they value ability and enthusiasm about the sport."

She placed the back of her hand onto her curvaceous hip. "So, if we demonstrate skill in that area, they will accept us into their group?"

"Now you got it." He moved to slap her on the shoulder with his bandaged hand, but thought better of it.

Trahzi nodded. "We shall begin immediately."

And with that she strode off towards the men.

"No, wait," Gerald called out, but it was too late.

The three men nearly jumped out of their skins when she walked up to them.

"Explain this game to us," she ordered.

The men look at each other nervously. Cleyselle gripped the hook with his grey hands. "Well, it's simple, really," he began, as the area beyond them reshaped itself into a field with multiple moving targets. "The secir fires the marble, called a testoh, which you redirect using this hook, called a sotzir." He tapped a switch and the silver hook came to life, blue energy sweeping along its curvature like a miniature water slide. "Once the first testoh is fired, you get points for your team by hitting as many of the targets as you can before the secir catches up to the testoh and brings it back to the plate."

Trahzi nodded. "That is exceedingly simple."

"Yes, but..."

Trahzi snatched up the sotzir, and stood on the plate before the field.

Aryc and S'Meskle looked like they might run away, but Gerald stepped in between them and her. "Hey, I know she's a little acerbic..."

"A little?" S'Meskle clattered his shell.

"...okay a lot..."

"She's got all the feminine delicacy of sandpaper," Aryc said distantly.

"...covered in glass..." Cleyselle added.

"...tipped with acid." S'Meskle concluded.

"Okay, you've made your point."

"Why are all of you speaking? Shoot the marble!" Trahzi commanded.

Gerald motioned for her to be patient. "...the whole point of this school is to broaden your horizons. Right? I mean, come on, think of what the people back home will say when you tell them you played a friendly game of Kuboi with a Trahzi."

The three men looked at each other doubtfully.

"Come on, you wimps," Ilrica taunted from above. "What's the worst that could happen? Right?"

Reluctantly, Cleyselle manned the launcher, while the other two took positions with hooks of their own in the outfield.

Cleyselle wiped his grey brow and looked at Gerald hesitantly.

"Go on," Gerald encouraged.

Cleyselle pulled the trigger and the launcher whirred to life. This was no lazy pitching machine, as Gerald had expected. It fired a volley of testohs like a machine gun. Like rifle rounds they flew, and Trahzi reacted to each one, placing her sotzir so that the marble slid in one side then out the other at the trajectory of her choosing. Each one she caught and fired back out, moving so fast that to Gerald she seemed little more than a blur.

What Gerald didn't see was Trahzi launch the first testoh directly at Cleylselle. With a look of confidence on his face, he brought his sotzir up to catch it, but at the last possible moment, the marble disappeared in a burst of flame, then reappeared a foot higher, striking him squarely in the forehead. His head had only barely begun to snap back from the impact when the second testoh was shot out by her, catching him in the arm with a sickening crunch and spinning him around. The third shot disappeared in a flash of flame, then reappeared downfield, aimed right at Aryc, who managed to instinctively curl up into an armored ball just as it struck him. S'Meskle's one large eye grew wide as he saw what was happening, and he managed to snap his shell shut just as three testohs slammed into him, ricocheting off.

As Cleylselle fell, Trahzi aimed shot after shot into the targets on the field, striking each one in turn. For good measure, she aimed every third shot at either Aryc or S'Meskle, letting them know with a patter against their armored forms what would happen if they lowered their defenses. Finally, just as Gerald was half way through having his thought, the final marble struck a cracked target and Cleylselle hit the ground.

If Gerald had time to think, he would have realized that it would only make sense that any game challenging to these aliens would be far beyond anything a human could ever do, but the game moved so fast that even that thought itself had only half formed in his mind by the time it was over. The three men were lying injured on the field, and the targets were hit so many times many of them had cracked.

Gerald couldn't believe what he was seeing. Aryc uncoiled and gripped his shoulder. S'Meskle rubbed a crack in his shell. Despite their armor, she had managed to hit them in the same exact spot dozens of times.

Ilrica laughed and applauded. "Way to hustle guys! Wooo! Good show."

"Trahzi, what are you doing?" Gerald asked. "I mean, I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to go down."

Trahzi blinked in confusion. "The goal is to score as many points as you can before the sotzir brings the first testoh to the plate. By incapacitating the other players, I can score as many points as there are marbles in the hopper, which is apparently limited to only three-hundred."

Cleylselle moaned as he held his arm. His uniform flashed red, indicated that medical personnel were being summoned for him.

"Well... yes, but you're hurting them."

Trahzi looked around. "We don't understand."

"How can you not understand pain?" Cleylselle barked.

"We understand pain; we just do not understand your preoccupation with such an insignificant amount of pain."

"What I'm feeling right now is not insignificant!"

Trahzi turned to look at the grey alien, her eyes flashing. "You are going to spend the next ten years alone. Your search for a mate and companion will end only in failure. Compared to that pain, this broken bone should be as nothing to you."

"Wait, what?" Cleylselle asked, his eyes growing wide.

Gerald tried to intervene. "Um, okay Trahzi, first of all, we perceive time a bit more linearly than you seem to, so pain in the present is much more acute than pain in the past or future."

"Really?"

"Yes, and secondly, you need to be gentler with people's feelings. We have a saying back where I come from, all right? You can attract more flies with honey than you can with vinegar."

Trahzi frowned. "Why would you want to attract flies?"

"That's not the point..."

Ilrica took another bite of kamanchhi. "You know what attracts more flies than either honey or vinegar?"

"What does?" Trahzi asked.

"Manure."

Gerald looked at Ilrica sternly, then returned his attention to Trahzi. "The point is, you need to say things in a way that won't hurt people's feelings so much."

Trahzi's black eyebrows came up in understanding. "Ah, you mean lie?"

"No... Well, yes."

Trahzi turned back to Cleylselle. "We are sorry for what we said earlier. You will have a deeply fulfilling life filled with money, beautiful females, and political achievement. You will not die alone in a random hovercar accident ten years from now."

"What?" Cleylselle squeaked in horror, his face turning white.

Trahzi turned back to Gerald. "There, was that better?"

The three men got up and their feet and ran away, tossing their sotzirs as they went. Trahzi held out her hand, bidding them to stop.

"We do not understand," she yelled. "We scored so many points. Why do you not like us?"