San, the Amphibian

San’s Servant Girl

Absently San smoothed back his gills and turned away from the girl sitting on the plush half shell. He hoped the music emanating from the speakers set in the upthrust ends of the resting bench calmed the young human. She was covering her milk sacks with one arm and protecting the entrance to her birthing channel with her other hand.

“She looks uncomfortable, Kool,” he remarked.

“She is,” his home manager replied. “I’ve been able to make out a few words. She doesn’t like being unclothed.”

“Even indoors?”

“Even then. It’s the custom of most humans to remain clothed outside or inside. Many even wear clothing when they sleep.”

“A strange custom,” San said.

“Different styles for different species,” Kool replied, quoting an old Tern adage.

“I guess. How long before she understands our language?”

“I gave her the pill this morning. Maybe late tonight. She didn’t like swallowing the language synthesizer. She fought like a blue bog. I think she thought I was trying to poison her.”

“Is she frightened?”

“Very. She’s afraid we intend to kill her, and she’s afraid you’re going to have intercourse with her.”

“She’s frightened of intercourse? Why? Has she not passed into that stage?”

“As far as I can tell, to her kind intercourse with other species is taboo.”

San’s astonished eyes turned from the girl to his house manager.”

“Really? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I know it seems strange, but I’m reasonably sure that’s what she said. There is another possibility, though it seems unlikely. She may have never met another sentient species.”

“That’s ridiculous,” San stated flatly.

“It would seem so,” Kool admitted. “But her star system is far out on their galactic arm. It’s possible they haven’t been visited, or if they have, that whoever came by didn’t bother to make contact.”

“Why wouldn’t they have made contact?”

“Her species is primitive. The only sentient spaceflight they’ve managed is with chemical rockets, and even then they’ve traveled only as far as their single large orbiter which they call their Moon.”

“I see. That makes a certain amount of sense. Who would bother stopping? You couldn’t even refuel.”

“Exactly.”

San had noticed that the longer he stared at the young human girl, the more nervous she became, but she was so exotic he was having a hard time keeping his eyes away.

“We haven’t harmed her, so why is she so frightened.”

Kool flapped his gills uncomfortably and a thin trickle of water spilled out.

"Something else happened last night as we were putting her into the resting chamber. When I started to insert the waste evacuator, she became hysterical. She wasn't familiar with that type of procedure. Apparently they evacuate solid waste by sitting on a round piece of flora or plastic and letting their waste drop into a tub of water."

San wrinkled his air nostrils. "That's disgusting. I had no idea they were that primitive. She will have to be trained away from that. I won't have a pet in the house that doesn't know what to do with its filth."

“That is another point we need to discuss. I’m sorry. I let it slip when I was trying to reassure her as to her fate. Her kind abhors personnel ownership.”

San turned to his house manager. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“They abhor personnel ownership. The word she used was ‘slavery’.”

If San was puzzled before, he was totally bewildered now. The protective folds over his eyes widened.

“Why would they object to that?”

Kool shrugged. “It’s part of their morality code.”

San’s Wife, Splo

“The boy passed the house again,” Splo said as she released the heavy drapery.

San sighed. Splo had mentioned the boy several times already. He got it. The boy driving the fishmonger’s cart had passed the house again. So what? Apparently it was important to Splo.

“Do you want me to have Kool speak to him?”

“No, I want you to speak to him, yourself.”

San sighed again. He had been afraid that would be her answer.

“Very well.”

“Today.”

There was no getting around it. The daily stock report would have to wait until he dealt with the fishmonger’s boy. Mildly irritated he laid the paper down and headed for the entryway. The human girl was wiping a table in the parlor and when she saw him, she ran to the door and opened it. He didn’t smile at her as he passed because his smile always seemed to alarm her. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the sharp teeth evolution had given his watery ancestors, so they could tear apart the skin and flesh of fish and less sentient amphibians. He gave a grunt of acknowledgement as he passed her.

The boy seemed to be passing at regular intervals, so San thought he had some time to tramp though his garden. He could keep an eye on the tiled roadway from there. As he passed the first fronds, he wondered if the boy came from a middle class or upper middle class family, and if he came from an upper middle class family, how wealthy they were.

At one time fishmongers were firmly ensconced in the lower echelons of society, but as the population increased, the cost of fresh fish had increased to the point that successful fishmongers had become rich, and many had incorporated their businesses and had expanded into closely related industries. They were still not accepted into the finest clubs, and the snootiest of the elite believed they never would be, but though he agreed with this assessment publically, privately San believed that it was only a matter of time before some of the richer fishmongers bought their way into exclusive clubs that had fallen on hard times.

When he saw the cart approaching, San left his property and stepped into the street.

He held up his hand and when the boy slowed he yelled, “You, boy. You’ve passed this way once too often. Don’t come this way again.”

The flustered boy sputtered mucus over the equines and flicked the reins. The animals sprang forward pulling the cart down the street. Satisfied that he had done his husbandly duty, San left the street and went toward his manor door which was opened by the human girl just in time.

“What did you say,” his wife exclaimed. She had been watching through the window.

“I told him to take his cart elsewhere,” San said smugly.

His wife’s round eyes bulged from their sockets. “What? I told you to talk to him.”

Puzzled and irritated once more, San said, “I thought you wanted him gone.”

His wife groaned. “San, will you please pay attention to what is happening in your family? This is not about a boy bothering us, this is about Chureta.”

San was truly bewildered. “What does Chureta have to do with a fishmonger’s boy passing by again and again?”

“Mother Water,” Splo muttered in disgust.

It took more than a few moments for the star to penetrate San’s watery brain cells, but when understanding finally occurred, his eyes bulged much wider than Splo’s had. Then a strong tide of anger overtook him.

“You must be joking,” he said, his nose flattening.

“San, you know all the kids are talking about it. Why did you think Chureta would be any different?”

“Because she’s my daughter,” San roared.

Splo knew it would only make him angrier if she rolled her eyes, so she kept quiet.

San got control of himself. “I will talk to the boy. You speak to Chureta.”

“Don’t you think I’ve already done so?” his wife muttered too quietly for him to hear as he stamped back to his library.

When he picked up the stock report, he noticed the mug sitting next to it. The human girl had filled it with warm sweetened green algae, his favorite drink. It pleased him that she had thought of doing so, and his temper cooled. Though she had been practically useless at first, she was finding more and more ways to help out around the household. To everyone’s surprise, she had used some ordinary household items to manufacture a breathing device and a mask which allowed her to see underwater while swimming in the first water level of the manor. San’s conclusion was that the girl must be an extraordinarily smart human.

He tried to concentrate on the stock report, but his mind kept drifting back to his daughter and the troublesome boy. After reading the same page for the fourth time, he gave up and ordered Kool to send a message requesting the boy’s presence the following afternoon. The family ate dry that night; a special fish dish suggested to the cook by the human.

The following day, San was waiting impatiently in his study when the human showed in the fishmonger’s boy. They exchanged some stiff pleasantries, and then San got right to the point.

“I understand that customs and more change with the generations,” San said. “Mother Water knows that my generation insisted on our own differences, and those differences were disliked by our elders. But this radical notion of girls choosing particular boys to fertilize their eggs is insane. It goes against the whole evolutionary process. The gene pool would become contaminated.”

“Not necessarily,” the boy responded eagerly. “At the Institute, scientists who study the matter say there is a critical mass, after which point it doesn’t matter if individualization takes place.”

“And you know this because…” San asked skeptically.

“I’m enrolled in the Institute’s Whole Life Study Program. It might take me longer to earn my degree in paraphyletic genetic management, but I’m going to be the best.”

In spite of his prejudices, San was impressed. Still…

“Look, I’m not a flat fish. I appreciate scientific truth as well as the next progressive, but you need to face the facts here. It doesn’t matter what scientists say, the idea is just not acceptable; not yet, anyway. It goes against spiritualist reasoning and cultural taboos. If it were to get out that you had fertilized a nest of eggs of which you knew the mother, you and the mother would be ruined socially, and so would your families. Man to man, and not to be indelicate, you know your family’s position at present.
The young amphibian’s face puckered in unhappiness at San’s reference.

“But it’s scientifically proven,” he protested.

San did not reply. If this boy was telling the truth about his Institute studies, San knew he was intelligent enough to understand the social repercussions to his family from breaking one of the oldest taboos in their society. Nests of eggs were always fertilized by unknown individuals. It had been that way since the first amphibian drew a breath of unwatered oxygen.

“This is so short-tongued,” the boy groused.

“Perhaps a compromise would be in order.”

“Compromise?”

“Yes, compromise. Just because you can’t fertilized her eggs does not mean that you wouldn’t be welcomed to our social events.”

“Really?” The boy’s belly expanded slightly.

“Certainly. I told you I’m not a flat fish. Any man should be proud to have a scholar from the Institute at his social functions.”

“I’m not in the Fast Tide program,” the boy reminded San hastily.

“Even so.”

The human girl brought in a pot of algae which they drank while San grilled the boy about certain rumored inventions, and then they took their leave of each other on a much more cordial note.

When Splo suggested that the family eat dry again, San vetoed the suggestion firmly and ordered dinner to be served in the old lair which was in the oldest underwater nook in the manor. Splo kept her expression placid, though she was startled by San’s decision. After seeing how the underwater jets had made it impossible to snoop on their children, San had ordered the jets installed in the lair. As she had expected and had feared, he turned them on as soon as Splo, Chureta, Flippi, and San had gathered in the nook. She wanted to demand that he tell them immediately what was so important, but she curled her tongue and kept silent.

After dinner, San addressed his family.

~~I have an announcement~~,” San said. ~~I’m going to free the human girl~~.

There was a moment when their natural perturbations ceased, and they floated motionless, and then there was a flurry of gestures and colors from Splo and Flippi, and Chureta gave a tremendous push with her fully extended webbed feet and flung herself around her father.

~~Are you crazy~~? His wife asked.

~~Dad, you can’t do that~~, Flippi said, and her blue skin turned white from fear.

~~That is the noblest thing ever~~, Chureta said, and to San’s surprise and satisfaction, she emitted her mother scent causing the water to glisten.

His wife gestured violently, ~~San, if anyone found out… You know the law. And where is she to go? There’s not more than five hundred humans on this entire planet, and almost all of them are servants~~.

~~No one’s going to find out~~, he replied sternly. ~~I’m going to make a secret document. The family will know, but no one else will. Splo, you will have to keep the document in the matriarchal chest~~.

Splo understood. Even the Servant Police could not get a warrant to open a matriarchal family chest. The human girl would be free within the family household, but not in public. Chureta’s glee diminished a bit, but she did not repent releasing her scent. What her father was doing was still a noble act in her grey eyes, and she was old enough to know how dangerous it was. Freeing servants was strictly forbidden.

~~I want to speak alone to Chureta~~, San said.

When his wife and Flippi were gone, San said, ~~You know the consequences for our family if this ever gets out~~.
Chureta changed colors several times in agreement.

~~If I’m going to do this, there must be no hint of any other scandal around our family or around those closest to us~~.

For a moment Chureta wiggled, uncertain as to what her father was referring, and then she stiffened, and her color changed to neutral.

~~You spoke to Todd~~.

~~Yes, I told him that he is welcome in our home~~.

Chureta was old enough to know that sacrifices sometimes had to be made in a good cause, and that sometimes those sacrifices had to be personal.

~~I understand. Thank you for freeing the human. I’ll never forget it~~.

Once his daughter had left the lair, San flippered into his favorite spot and floated as he contemplated his decision. He would never complete the emancipation document, of course. His wife was right. It would be insane to do so. But Chureta would never know, so her eggs were safe. And even though he could not free the human, he could organize a family visit to a free star system where he could arrange for the girl to “escape” and be delivered into the hands of the Freedom’s Stairway people. They would return the girl to her homeworld, if possible.