Thrum Beat
Science-fiction work in progress.
Beginning
Beeaathehah swayed on the grassy plain. Neither male nor female, a hermaphrodite, its upper four limbs spread in worship; it accepted the warmth of the food-giving orange star. Its lower two legs now formed a stationary trunk that allowed its roots to knead the deep brown loam and drink its flavors: cool, wet and spicy.
Through the last two weeks of enforced solitude, its mind slipped into quiet lassitude, slow, like a semi-conscious humanoid drunk leaning against a wall after a bender. Its body had shed needles and layers of calloused skin and now the four major sexual organs lay naked, exposed. The sexual protuberances, at other times neatly tucked away, now appeared like neon signs, slick and red, enflamed. They pulsed with an unfamiliar starvation and craved fulfillment.
A small, bright red bird perched on its shoulder -- a friend and companion in solitude, Beeaathehah named it Garnet. Garnet feasted on small insects and ticks that threatened Beeaathehah’s all too vulnerable flesh. Garnet sang a trill for a mate that did not come and a cloud swept over the field and crept onward.
Insects rubbed their hind legs and filled the air with their desires; toads came and extended tongues to envelope the insects’ humming bodies.
Beeaathehah was a poet and literary scholar when not in the throes of a fertility cycle. When its fertility cycle was complete, it would fashion words to voice this wealth of experience: both the pleasure and pain of it —- sing and groan to others of its kind and to humanoids. In the now, its sluggish mind sought words and thoughts but they fled capture.
The ruling Council did not deem Beeaathehah of sufficient genetic material to procreate. Like most Thrum, Beeathehah craved parenthood; it accepted its fate but desired the intimacy of a fertility cycle, even one spent alone.
A Thrum stalked the grassy knoll and strode toward Beeathehah. It reeked of a fecundity; its sexual organs writhed with suggestion, but it strode at an inconceivable pace. Impossible.
If Beeaathehah’s mind were alert, shock and fear would have flooded its being, but lust, not reason, held dominance. Prohibited. Punished.
The Other breached the distance and rested, its limbs whispered against Beeathehah’s branches. Beeaathehah shrunk back, twisted its trunk from contact, but the Other grasped and entwined sexual organs; the Other forced the tide of fluids and Beeathehah, in its compromised state, was unable to resist a tango as old as time.
Its intent complete, the Other retracted root, lifted an upper branch and extended digits to touch the topmost part of Beeathehah’s body and brush its upper shoulder. The Other split trunk and left. Again, impossible.
Beeathehah slept. It should have slept for three passages of the sun, but after only one, as brain awareness returned, the enormity of the event invaded. Shock and horror shook its being and roused it to uproot and flee the place of this abuse, as if the place were at fault. Its mind was filled with panic and it did not think to find its pouch and call for help. It wanted only to shower and wash the offense from existence. It dimly knew it must also find the Council and explain.
Chapter 1
Bryn drummed her fingers rhythmically on her desk and wrestled with her impatience for the cactus like creature across from her to respond.
She reached across her desk and thumbed the switch to retract the sky light over its position. In response, the creature she dubbed Whoosh languidly stretched and flexed its four main upper limbs to capture the full sunlight. Its two lowest limbs behaved as a trunk when it stood, but would separate to form two legs when Whoosh chose to walk. (The name sounded more like Wh-o-ah-oooo-sshhh, but that was much too long. Bryn shorthanded it to “Whoosh” and notified her translator.}
Bryn’s fingers returned to their percussion. She had trained her restless movements to this one outlet in the presence of the Thrum. The Thrum, in anything short of catastrophe, possessed a deliberate glacial quality to their movements and felt uncomfortable in the presence of quick humanoid gestures. Humanoid movement struck most Thrum as frenetic. Bryn knew the up and down movement of a knee, the weave of her fingers, even the restless sway of her butt in the chair and a Thrum could become agitated.
The translator unit was tuned to a microphone in her ear - she would be able to hear the near instantaneous English interpretation of anything Whoosh chose to say, but Whoosh would not be bothered by any extraneous sound. The sounds of the Thrum language, in the range humans were able to hear, were most similar to the sounds of nature –- sounds made when leaves slid against each other in the wind, water as it burbled over stones in the creek or the tide as it tested a sandy beach. A few humans were able to reproduce a large portion of the range of its sounds. Bryn was not one of them. After seven earth years on the planet she was able to understand a good portion of the language, but the translator was more reliable.
Bryn translated Whoosh’s body language without effort, however. She knew Whoosh was troubled but labored to express the source of its problem.
Whoosh’s vision protuberances, all six of them, trained to Bryn and two chartreuse limbs opened wide in her direction, a form of supplication.
“I am pregnant. Not by choice. I was raped. I have been sent here by the Counsel to have this documented and investigated.”
Bryn knew this and stymied her physical reaction to Whoosh’s obvious distress. Such violence was historically unknown to the Thrum, but Whoosh was not the first victim to present in her office. Whoosh, as all Thrum, were hermaphrodites, simultaneously both sexes. When fertile, they mated and exchanged gametes with another Thrum and both individuals became pregnant.
In deference to the needs of the Thrum, she continued the finger drumming for a patient 20 seconds before a question. “How did this happen—-please describe the rape as best you can?” she responded in English, but the translator fluidly made the appropriate Thrum noises.
When Whoosh responded, it did not answer her question, but expressed its fear and worry.
“I have always wanted children, I am not unhappy about the pregnancy, but the Council must be furious. I was not considered of sufficient genetic material to be granted the privilege to reproduce. There are so many of us, you know. It is so difficult to find a space in the sun and fertile soil for each of us.”
Bryn knew this, of course, and more. But it was best to let Whoosh follow its own method in unraveling the story.
Whoosh unfurled the middle two of its limbs in supplication, its face a mask of worry. “Do you think they will require me to eradicate the buds?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Bryn responded. I know of another, similar situation. “The Council has not yet required a termination; they are considering the matter.”
Whoosh showed confusion and revulsion. “Such things are unheard of among the Thrum. I would disbelieve its story were it not my own.”
Bryn felt a nearly overpowering urge to move--she longed to throw herself out of the chair and pace as they talked. When they finished, she would exercise for some time to purge the forced lassitude from her system.
Bryn passed the needful time before response in study of Whoosh. At more than 190 centimeters, it was easily the tallest as well as the most agile Thrum she had ever met.
The Thrum resembled the Sonora or the Saguaro Cactus from Earth, replete with ridges and a number of pronounced spikes. Each adult Thrum had four upper limbs and its “face”, less pronounced than that of a humanoid, nestled between the four upper limbs. Its six eyes were not as acute as those of a human, but, scattered throughout the facial area, allowed a 260 degree range of vision. The Thrum’s two prominent olfactory organs, one in the facial area and the second on the reverse side, provided the Thrum a keen sense of smell, particularly useful in identifying the location of a particular odor. There were four primary hearing organs as well—-two as part of the facial area, one above and one below—-and two on the reverse side, above and below the second “nose”. The large number of sound receptors did not permit the Thrum any greater distance hearing than that of a humanoid, but did grant the Thrum to define the location of the sound with greater accuracy.
No Thrum ever sat; Whoosh was tall for a Thrum and towered above her seated form. A standing human taller than itself was an uncomfortable presence to most Thrum, in deference, Bryn avoided standing; she felt no lack of power in the seated position.
Thrum varied in the depth and pattern of the spiny ridges that covered their bodies. Bryn observed Whoosh’s spines and thorns were less pronounced than other Thrum.
Whoosh was effectively naked, but none of its sexual organs were in view. Beings that derived a portion of their nutrition from the sun did not wear clothing. Sexual organs, digits and roots retracted when not in use.
Some Thrum wore ornaments, jewelry, or other small decorative objects that might have a sentimental value. Whoosh wore only a small, silver pouch looped around the top of its torso and caught on the upper two limbs. The pouch was a fixture of all adult Thrum and dangled below its face. The pouch likely held a uniform payment device, telephone mechanism and some identification as well as any appropriate medications.
Bryn interrupted the silence and steered Whoosh to discuss the rape. “You were in your fertility cycle. You were not permitted to breed, you could have chosen to take medication through your roots to avoid your fertility cycle. You took the other option--that more commonly used. The Council designated a spot for your use in the prairie set aside for use by Thrum in this area. This prairie is solely occupied by those who bide their fertility cycle in isolation. You surrounded your plot of prairie with the required sensory markers, both visual and odor; the markers alert all trespassers of your presence: no one was to enter until the date your cycle was complete. You documented you had adequate nutrition for the entire cycle. How long were you there by yourself?”
The breathing of any Thrum was a slow and deliberate process. The Thrum took most of its nutrition like a plant, through its shallow root system and the sun. For the most part it expired gas and other waste in many holes on its body—it had no lungs. In order to speak, it took in air and controlled its exhale through its own type of vocal apparatus and some spiracle like openings. The air for vocal use was inhaled and exhaled through four separate locations in its body, only one of which was located in the facial area. The resulting sound was a stereo of sorts.
Whoosh was surprised Bryn understood so much. By human standards, Thrum were mathematical and engineering geniuses, but often had difficulty grasping the most fundamental of social interaction.
Whoosh responded. “About two weeks, more than halfway through my cycle.”
Bryn found it amusing the Thrum could and would blush, not pink, of course, but blue. “We are not able to work during the cycle. Our minds are slow, there are areas of callous that must be shed to prepare to mate—-our sexual organs become more prominent and extend from our bodies.”
Bryn risked an interruption; she shook her head slightly. “I do not require this explanation if it makes you uncomfortable. I am quite familiar with your process.”
Whoosh exhibited relief, a definite release in its limbs. “Thank you. I will skip that then.” There was an untranslated rumble sound.
Bryn waited and her fingers continued their percussion while Whoosh basked in the sunlight. Bored, she prompted. “I was told, some other fertile individual, unlikely though that is, trespassed through the barriers and approached you during this cycle…. I understand this is difficult, but please relate all details of the encounter that you are able to remember.” Bryn asked.
“Oh, yes. You understand. During this cycle, few of us move any distance whatever. If mating is to occur, the act is agreed between two individuals in advance. We stay near each other until we both reach the required state. That is our way. The other Thrum approached me. We have less acuity in our cycle, but we do not lose all our memories of the event. It is not supposed to happen that way—-but it did.”
Whoosh continued. “All I remember is another fertile of my kind. I could not resist the urge to exchange the fluids.” Whoosh looked down and another bluish flush swept over the surface of its face, central trunk, and limbs.
Bryn shook her head and responded in a soothing voice. “Without heavy medication, your species is not able to defy the urge to mate—-it is not your fault. You took enormous physical pleasure in this act as well. This is physiology, nothing more. No guilt or embarrassment should be felt.” Bryn believed a business-like approach would be appreciated. She continued.
“We must document what occurred, do DNA samples of yourself and of the offspring you carry in your buds, make efforts to find the culprit, who must now also carry buds, and then I must report the evidence to the council.” She believed the translator would make the appropriate adjustment for “DNA”.
The Thrum equivalent of a wince shook through Whoosh’s limbs. “….That other case, could I meet with that other Thrum, the one that was raped?” Whoosh asked, eagerly; its question voiced at a pace faster than Bryn would have expected.
Bryn was thoughtful. “You should not meet until after your cases are decided. The council will not want your stories muddied or contaminated by the memories of another. After that, I will let the other individual know you would like to meet, if that is what you want.”
Whoosh’s many needles quivered with pleasure. “I would like that.”
Bryn’s face held a twisted smile. “I think I understand. Again, you will not be able to meet until the matter is settled. The other affected Thrum is farther in the pregnancy than you appear to be, but not by much. A meeting must also depend on the desires of the other individual.”
Whoosh did the equivalent of nodding its head in acknowledgement.
“For now, the DNA tests. Here is the name and address of the testing center.” She transferred the data to the recording device in the pouch looped around its neck.
“You must also return here tomorrow when the sun is two measures after its rising. I will arrange for a regression expert and full sensory record to be made. We will take you back in time to the incident and record all your memories in detail for review by the Council.”
Bryn continued, her voice measured and sympathetic. “I understand such a record, to your kind, is pornographic and deeply embarrassing. The Council demands this—-you have no choice.”
Whoosh suffused a deep teal, but bowed in acceptance.
Bryn prayed this violence would be the last, but worried these two acts were part of some larger pattern. It was her job to determine and eradicate the source.