Cosmic Refugee: Part 1

"That is not funny, Harp Player."

"Right, sorry." Not funny, gotta remember that. "Also, my name's just Harper."

"That is what I said. Harper means one who plays the harp, correct?"

"Well technically yes but...it's a human thing, okay? Just call me Harper."

"Harp-er. Human names are confusing," Mestea says, that slight warping in their words that indicates amusement.

Ever since I landed on Thoran Prime, Mestea - and the Elzex in general for that matter -  have been nothing but exemplar hosts. They have a bit of a reputation for that. They've been a trade world for so long I guess they're kind of used to wayward travellers stopping by all the time. Kind of hard to be xenophobic when you're entire global economy relies on dealings with alien worlds.

Mestea and I are walking along a market street. Stalls pass us on either side, harbouring all sorts of exotic foods and indistinguishable trinkets. I grab what looks to be a vaguely apple shaped, hopefully edible ball and give the stall owner 10 {untranslatable: Thoranan universal currency}. I hold it up to the sky, it almost perfectly matches the blue-streaked, pale green expanse.

"So when are you going to show me that grand library I've heard all about?" I ask.

"Why are you so interested in a Thoranan library?"

"Because, it's the biggest library this side of Proxima Centauri, and I happen to consider myself a bit of an academic." I add a little extra smugness to that last word.

Mestea tilts their head back as far as it can go. Elzex equivalent of rolling your eyes. "You, an academic? You are nothing but an aimless traveller looking for your next thrill. Non offenses."

"No offense. And I'm not some aimless traveller. I prefer to think of myself as a sort of...cosmic refugee."

"Whatever you call yourself, I still do not see the point in going there."

"You're telling me you have absolutely no interest in seeing the largest knowledge repository in the quadrant? Aren't you at least a little bit of proud that your people achieved such a thing?"

"The Aancarnans built it, not the Elzex." Aancarnans and Elzex co-evolved on Thoran Prime. 

"Okay, so you guys didn't build it. Whatever. It's still one of the greatest feats in galactic history and it's right here on your homeworld. People travel lightyears to see it and here it is, practically in your backyard, and you don't want to go?" 

"Elzex have no interest in such matters."

"Oh, don't blame this on culture. I know for a fact there are tons of Elzex who would kill for an oppor-"

"Elzex do not kill."

"Earth saying, don't deflect. This doesn't have to do with your race at all, I think this is purely you." Mestea glares at me with all seven of their eyes. At least our people have that in common. The glaring bit, not the number of eyes. "So what is it? What do you have against libraries?" We've stopped walking now.

"Not all libraries, just that one. It's...a personal matter." Their voice tightens up and is a slightly lower pitch than usual.

"I know that tone," I smile and lean in a little closer. "Relationship troubles, my dear Mestea?" They shift their torso - I say torso for simplicity's sake - to the left, a non-verbal agreement. "Ah, the universal constant, messy love lives." I take a bite of the green, vaguely apple shaped, hopefully edible ball. Its softer that I expected, the texture of a banana encased in apple skin, and tastes as bitter as plain coffee grounds. 

"Harp-er, are you okay? Your face has gone all, how should I say, sky coloured?" I desperately gesture for something to spit in. "Oh, is this the human game you were telling me about? Charades, correct? One word. Hmm, I do not know what that is, human-specific gesture maybe?" I give up and just spit in my hand. "Harp-er, gross! Rude here on Thoran Prime."

"It's rude everywhere, but you left me no choice! Napkin, I needed a napkin."

"If it was that important, you could have just asked."

"My mouth was full of disgusting, slimy, not-quite-apple!"

"So? Just use your second- oh right, human. Sorry."

I find a cloth and wipe my hand clean, then throw the not-quite-apple in the nearest incinerator. I love those little miniature incinerators, so convenient. They're found all over Thoran Prime and use the natural heating below ground to burn up whatever you throw in them. We should adopt something like that on Earth.

"Wouldn't be possible," a random stranger says to me. "Earth doesn't get nearly as hot as Thoran down there. You'd have to dig way past the crust to even have a functional difference."

I stare at him dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, did you just...read my thoughts?"

"Did I? Oh I apologize, really I do. Us Helenians are telepaths, you see. It's so normal on our world but sometimes when I'm travelling I just can't tell the difference between inside and outside thoughts."

"You can read my thoughts? You can read everyone's thoughts? Everyone on this street, you know what they're thinking?"

"Not everyone on this street. Just within a 3 cryon radius of me."

"Isn't that like...an invasion of privacy?"

"It's not like I can turn it off. The most I can do is reduce my range to 3 cryons, like I have now. Again, I do apologize, I know it can be offensive to other cultures. That's why I try not to comment on people's inside thoughts but of course, slip ups do happen." He half-kneeled and covered his face with 2 of his 3 hands. A sign of atonement, I guess.

"Uh hey, don't worry about it. Bit close-minded of me to-"

"Sorry to interrupt this fascinating exchange of cultures," Mestea interjected, "But there is a storm heading our way. Fast. We need to leave immediately, Harp-er." The sky to me hasn't seemed to change, but Mestea can see different wavelengths to humans with their seven eyes. 

"Fascinating," the stranger says. "Each of your eyes picks up a different wavelength and you have seven which must mean-"

"You're doing it again.", I say.

"Sorry." He does that half-kneel again. 

"Harp-er, we must leave immediately." All around us Elzex are packing up their stalls. "I will take you to the nearest storm shelter." Storms in this part of Thoran are dangerous and destructive, but extremely hard to detect until the last minute. The government decided it would just be easier to erect shelters every few kilometers or so than try to predict when one would come to warn its citizens to stay home.

"Okay okay. Hey, strange telepathic man, you coming?"

"Of course, I don't have much of a choice." He wore an expression on his face that I assumed was a Helenian smile.

So off we went - as fast as we could, of course. The cosmic refugee, the kind (if not sarcastic) host, and the apologetic stranger.