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A Learning Experience for Kraag

by Conrad Cook

Kraag shuddered inwardly as the passenger next to him took its seat. Although he agreed, largely, with human politics and methods in the Federacy, he had the most difficult time conversing with them. Now he had a several-hour transit sitting next to one.

"Hello," the human said, extending a hand. "My name is Jones."

Perhaps it would be pleasant after all. Kraag wound his primary tentacle around the extended hand. "I am Kraag," he replied. "Delighted to meet you. There are so few humans on the Lines now."

"Yes, it's too bad. We don't usually get out this way."

Ah, yes, Kraag thought, remembering why he disliked the species. I make a simple statement of fact and it replies with a value judgement. How tedious -- exhausting, in fact. Kraag tried to remember how he had dealt with this in the past.

"I represent Twufy Industries," Kraag said imperturbably, offering a small infogram. "We produce and distribute an obscure yet intricate part used in the factories which create synthetic brains."

"Oh, that's nice," the human replied, causing Kraag to recoil slightly. "I'm a synthotherapist. I work with older brains which have become unbalanced, lethargic or embittered."

Ah, Kraag thought. A quack. "And do you find yourself able to extend their operational lifetime?" he asked.

It nodded. "In most cases, we are able to postpone retirement for about eight years to a decade -- so we increase average brain lifetime by about ten percent, which makes the service economical in most cases, especially with the larger, more expensive brains."

"I have observed that many brain specialists do not substantiate the effectiveness of such therapy. Some state that, since there is a fifteen year margin of error on the average brain's operational expectancy, a ten year increase does not indicate success."

"Yes, and it's unfortunate that these people haven't taken the time to understand the work we do. It would be so much better for everyone involved, especially the brains themselves, if they understood that we do not extend the theoretical duration so much as extend the practical duration by allowing the brain to utilize more of its potential. But some engineers have begun advocating the therapy, so things are getting better."

"I see," Kraag managed. "If you will excuse me... I must relieve myself." He swung his large form toward the xilt restrooms, squeezed into one of the upper cubbyholes, and shook quietly for a few moments. I can't do it, he thought. I'll have to stay here for the rest of the trip.

"You appear to have some difficulty," another xilt commented while rubbing sand on its anterior.

"My neighbor insists on offering me valuations during our conversation."

"I see," the xilt replied. "I have noticed that some species have social conventions which seem quite outlandish to us. It sounds like your companion behaves as if you're about to be mated."

"What can I do?" Kraag agonized.

"Perhaps I can help," the other xilt offered, dusting off the excess sand. "What species is it?"

"It's human."

The other xilt waved his tentacles in the air. "You have my sympathies on your misfortune," he said, and hurried from the restroom.

Squeezing deeper down into his cubbyhole, Kraag contemplated his options. He simply could not avoid the human for the duration of the transit. His primary duty was to show respect for alien life forms in any circumstances. When not on one of their twenty home worlds, every xilt understood that it represented the species, and the species could not afford poor relations with other Federacy groups simply because he, Kraag, did not want to listen to some human synthotherapist's valuations.

The Parent Office had assigned Kraag his job as an ambassador, negotiator and salesman to other species because of his ability to communicate effectively with them. He realized that somewhere in his inner self, Kraag must have the solution to this problem, either remembered from his training or developed from his decades of experience.

Kraag retreated into his inner self, whose name was Foip.


"Hello, Kraag," the beautiful female xilt said as they lounged in a hot spring in the wilderness. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm glad to be here, Foip," Kraag replied. "Unfortunately, I must not stay long."

"How sad," his inner self replied. "What is the matter?"

Kraag quickly outlined the difficulty.

"Yes," Foip agreed, "that is a problem. However, you have learned a way to short-circuit the human tendency to subjectively evaluate information."

"What is it?" Kraag asked eagerly.

"The dirty joke."

"Dirty jokes short-circuit human valuation?" Kraag asked uncertainly.

"Yes. In four of the six encounters you have had of this nature, the subject eventually turned to dirty jokes. In this case, the human's laughter takes the place of its evaluation. It laughs or does not laugh, states that it understands the humor or does not, but no explicit valuation usually takes place. In fact, even when it says, 'That was good,' or, 'That was terrible' --" she trailed off.

"Because it is in reference to a fiction," Kraag finished, comprehending, "the xilt mind can perceive the statement as an appropriate response."

"Exactly. It is no longer offering value judgements on the external world, but rather on an artistic endeavor. The xilt mind therefore perceives the valuation as an objective statement of the joke's merit as a joke, in much the same way the xilt mind would interpret the statement 'it is a good table' as being a statement about the construction of the table itself."

"Foip, you are a genius!" Kraag exclaimed, rolling in the water. "I am so lucky to have you as my inner self!"

Foip smiled. "Have a good transit," she said as Kraag departed.


Kraag hurried from his cubbyhole, quickly sanded himself down, and returned to his seat. "Ah!" he said to the human. "Tell me, what is your destination?"

"New Ganymede," it replied.

"This transit is going to New Ganymede?" Kraag said, alarmed.

"No, I have to switch over at the last stop."

"Ah." Kraag quickly regained his good humor. "I was afraid that I had gotten on the wrong line. You know, it reminds me of this story I heard once..." Kraag related the first dirty joke to the human, an outlandish and to Kraag somewhat undecipherable story a human business man had told him in an earlier encounter.

"That's very funny," the human said without laughing.

"Actually, there's a better one -- " Kraag said, and related another dirty joke which Foip had supplied him with.

"It surprises me that you know these," it responded when Kraag was done.

It's working! Kraag thought elatedly. It's stopped offering valuations! The xilt from the bathroom motioned at Kraag from the next row; Kraag ignored him. "Do you know any?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't really remember them very well," it said.

"Perhaps you've heard the one about--"

"Excuse me," it interrupted. "I have to go to the bathroom."

As soon as the human was gone, the other xilt came over to him. "You should not say these things to the human," he told Kraag.

"My inner self told me that this would stop it from valuating, and indeed it has," Kraag responded.

"It has stopped valuating because it is a female member of the species, and the stories you are telling are offensive a female human."

Kraag considered this. "I had not realized that such gender isolation existed in human culture," he responded.

"In most areas of interest it does not, but gender isolation does exist in the areas of sex, sports, and pay rates. I am a xenologist." It gave Kraag an infogram.

"So what should I talk about?" Kraag asked.

"I suggest that you claim that you have a headache and pretend to sleep for the remainder of the transit," the xenologist replied.

"Isn't that rude?"

The human began working its way back toward its seat. The other xilt said quickly, "I can't explain now. Just do it." He swung away.

The human sat back down next to him. Something about its bearing made Kraag ask, "Are you well?"

"Actually, I have a headache," it responded. "I think I'll sleep for the rest of the transit."

What a dumb species, Kraag thought, and spent the rest of the time listening to public broadcasts out of New Ganymede.

the end

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© Conrad Cook, all rights reserved.