TOUCHING
by Ron Richard
(Part 2 of 2)
Jean-Luc and Beverly glanced at each other, raised their eyebrows and cleared their throats in perfect sync.
�Coordinator, I hate to disappoint you. This signal is of Human origin, but . . . nothing momentous I�m afraid. It�s simply a random signal that probably got here by accident. Sometimes, under the right circumstances, subspace messages can skip off the Galactic Barrier and reflect back, even decades later . . . The message is . . . is nothing more than . . . than . . .� Jean-Luc got stuck. Beverly saved him.
�It�s nothing more than someone discussing a . . . a business transaction . . . by the sound of it.� Beverly�s poker face was put to good use, although it�s unlikely the frogs could have correctly read her expression, anyway.
Sla-Aani wasn�t disappointed in the least. It was just one more fascinating thing to learn about these Human visitors. He wasn�t sure what a �business transaction� was and he wanted to know about this Galactic Barrier, but there were several million questions in line ahead of them. The whirlwind tour continued.
�We are now approaching Bunnamol Bay, a very popular gathering spot for our younger citizens.� He called forward toward the driver, �Isn�t that right, my friend?�
Dil-Koman�s head coloring flickered, which the humans had learned was equivalent to a smile. �Quite right, Coordinator. My first Ribaul took place right over there in fact, near those people.
He pointed with a long, bulbous finger toward a section of the beach where a few score Kiyaadi had gathered. There were several individuals knee deep in a tidal pool. At first it looked like they were simply enjoying the water. This was more than mere frolicking, though. As the ground car slowly passed the beach, the humans got a better look at what the Kiyaadi in the water were doing. Several of them had paired off and were facing each other, performing intricate, matching moves. For lack of knowing the right term, Beverly mentally called it �The Charleston.� The frogs on the beach were all watching the ones in the water, waving their arms while croaking and popping in rhythm, apparently cheering them on.
Beverly was impressed with any culture that danced. �Coordinator, I must say I have never seen a species that enjoys life so much. Your people and city are the happiest and most serene I have ever encountered.�
Jean-Luc agreed. Sla-Aani went silver with joy at the compliments. The tour continued throughout the day. They visited museums and theatres and research laboratories. There was much to remind the humans of early Earth culture and much that was dissimilar. These people seemed to completely lack any sense of aggression or selfishness. There was no concept of militaries or any history of weaponry, even in ancient times. According to the Kiyaadi cultural database and their own observations, every resource was shared equally. There was no and had never been a shortage of food. The only thing the Kiyaadi ate was a curious form of algae that coated every coastline on the planet. It washed up on the shore in great, foamy chunks. The Kiyaadi everywhere simply scooped up handfuls and ate it. It was full of chemical nutrients and reproduced itself at a prodigious rate. It was everywhere and had always been more than plentiful. Many other lower life forms on the planet ate it, also. The Kiyaadi had never even developed taste buds.
The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon. It was then that Jean-Luc�s tummy rumbled and he realized that they of course had not seen a single restaurant. He communicated this quietly to Beverly, who agreed. She checked her tricorder and showed him the result. Jean-Luc addressed Sla-Aani, who reclined on the opposite seat in the large, open vehicle.
�Coordinator, your city is magnificent and Doctor Crusher and I are overwhelmed by your hospitality and friendship. If it is acceptable to you, we shall return to our vessel now.�
Sla-Aani�s orange face turned to them. �Surely your visit cannot be over so soon. There is so much more to show you and hopefully to learn from you.�
Beverly interjected, �You have been most gracious and we appreciate it, but quite frankly Coordinator, we need to rest and eat and I�m afraid that the algae you ingest is incompatible with human physiology.�
Jean-Luc said, �Coordinator, I promise we will return tomorrow, if that�s alright.�
�Yes, yes, certainly. We look forward to it and to meeting more of your kind. Tell the rest of your people on your ship they are most welcome.�
�Thank you, Coordinator . . . that is appreciated.�
Dil-Koman brought the ground car to a stop and the humans got out. The Ambassador touched a device on his curious body covering.
�Picard to Mistral, two to transport.�
The Kiyaadi once again were enthralled by a beautiful light show and the humans were gone.
* * * * * * * * *
Beverly had already cleaned up and was looking through the replicator menu, deciding what to have for dinner. This ship was designed for the use of high ranking ambassadors and dignitaries. There were quite a few gourmet and exotic items to choose from. Jean-Luc was just emerging from the sleeping compartment after having taken his sonic shower and put on fresh clothing.
�And what looks delicious tonight?�
Beverly looked her partner up and down. �You mean besides you? One item here caught my eye, but maybe under the circumstances we should save it for another night.�
�What is that?�
�The frog�s legs.�
Jean-Luc winced, �You know, sometimes I worry about that sense of humour of yours.�
�Well then, how does Beef Wellington sound?�
�Grand.� Jean-Luc lit some candles while Beverly programmed the replicator. �It�s astounding. A culture completely bereft of violence and aggression. The Kiyaadi evidently evolved from non-predators, which we�ve seen before, but apparently even before they attained sentience they weren�t preyed upon themselves. They have never known suspicion or distrust.�
Beverly responded, �It�s the poison. Their species, as well as a few other lower forms developed the contact poison as a defense against predators. The distinctive dorsal marking warns potential enemies that to prey upon them was death.�
�That would definitely discourage violent tendencies, as well. A fist fight would never break out if the first person to land a punch died from it.�
�I don�t think it ever would. The Kiyaadi don�t seem to understand the concept of competition or conflict. There�s no war or crime; they have games and recreation, but none of them involve winners and losers.�
Jean-Luc became somber. �They are so innocent, so na�ve, and so new to space travel. I only hope this region of the galaxy is kind to them. I cannot help but wonder if their species will survive if the first space farers they meet are similar to Klingons, Suliban or Romulans. Humans had their hands full in those early years of space exploration.�
�I guess it�s lucky we come from vicious killers. Maybe we owe them a look at what they might have to expect. What do you say tomorrow we show them some of our predatory ways?�
* * * * * * * * *
The next day�s greeting ceremonies were over. Jean-Luc and Beverly were introduced to several prominent Kiyaadi. And of course, everywhere they went they were followed by camera crews and journalists who documented every second they were here. Interestingly, there seemed to be few leader types. The people chosen to meet them were the planet�s most gifted scientists, teachers and artists. Apparently the Kiyaadi had a different priority than humans about what�s truly important.
They were intensely curious, but curiously, they asked few questions of the Humans. Apparently, one�s own business was minded on this world. Any tiny bit of information the Humans volunteered about their species and society though, was eagerly drunk in by the Kiyaadi. When Beverly put forth her proposal, the entire planet was thrilled. This was to be the biggest event in recent Kiyaadi history.
* * * * * * * * *
The Amphitheater was enormous; as large as any in the Federation. It would have dwarfed the ancient Coliseum. The difference was this one only held a mere thirty-thousand spectators. The corridors and seating were all extremely wide and spaced far apart. The area reserved for one Kiyaadi would have seated at least twenty tightly packed Humans. There was no backslapping or high five-ing done in this arena.
Jean-Luc and Beverly entered the main stage. There was a tremendous noise as sixty thousand flippered feet slapped the floor at once, the Kiyaadi way of applauding. The presentation was awe inspiring. As arranged, large screens extended from the floor of the stage to face outward to the audience. Stunning images from dozens of Federation worlds were presented for the Kiyaadi�s pleasure. Some of the Federation�s most spectacular natural wonders as well as a summary of the incredibly varied people populating it were presented. Whenever beings were depicted in physical contact, whether it was in loving embraces or bone-jarring contact sports, the arena of frogs croaked in amazement. To the people of this world, touching was as alien a concept as intelligent mammals.
Beverly did most of the narration. It seems that many of them had trouble understanding Jean-Luc�s low pitched voice. Federation culture and values were explained. The history of space exploration, the known Galaxy and the non-aligned Alpha Quadrant species were summarized. Many things were not understood by the Kiyaadi, such as Ferengi values and interstellar conflicts. The horrific accounts of the Dominion War did not seem to shock or enrage the Kiyaadi. They simply accepted that this was another thing they didn�t understand, but were always eager to learn more.
The presentation concluded to thunderous flipper flapping. The crowd was nearly overcome with wonder and awe at this tiny glimpse of such a larger universe. While the Kiyaadi had been aware that other intelligent life existed in the Galaxy through the mysterious signals picked up over the decades, this was their first factual look at their distant neighbors and their fascinating and bewildering ways. When the applause began to die down, Beverly once again took the podium.
�My friends, I hope this presentation has entertained and instructed you. It is obviously nothing compared to the wonders of your society that you have graciously showed us first hand. We feel that these mere images are insufficient and we would like to demonstrate to you in our own small way one aspect of our society. We noticed during our tour that the Kiyaadi people enjoy dance. That is something our cultures share.�
Beverly glanced at Jean-Luc, who gave her a tiny, nervous nod. Facing off, they each gave a low bow to one another. Thirty-thousand dewlaps popped as one as the Human partners embraced physically. The Kiyaadi had recently learned that this is harmless, but still it was a shocking sight. Jean-Luc snuck in a whisper during the crowd noise.
�Just remember this was your idea.�
�You�ll be fine.�
They had hurriedly practiced aboard ship last night after dinner. At first Jean-Luc wanted no part of it, his excuse being his lack of coordination might start an interstellar incident. Beverly had sweetened the pot though, and got him to give in by treating him to his own private dance performance.
Beverly gave a small signal to a Kiyaadi technician standing by. The sound frog activated a panel and her musical choice issued from the Amphitheater speakers. It was one of the Neo-Brahms waltzes, a relatively simple orchestral arrangement, but elegant and flowing.
All during the dance, many individual Kiyaadi leapt from their spacious seats and bolted from the Amphitheater. Had Jean-Luc been aware of this as they danced, he would have thought it his fault. He would have been right, in a way . . .
* * * * * * * * *
It was relatively impossible to be mobbed on this world as no one came very close, but the amount of attention from the Kiyaadi was in no way diminished. Everyone wanted to see and hear more after the short dance demonstration. Beverly had wanted to do a forty-five minute routine, but Jean-Luc only grudgingly agreed to a single number. Mostly they were fascinated by the idea of dances in which the partners touched. Such a thing was of course not done in Kiyaadi society . . . with one exception. Dil-Koman was among the young admirers talking with the Humans after the performance.
�Please forgive my ill manners for inquiring so blatantly, but . . . when you dance . . . when you make contact . . . do you procreate?�
Four Human eyebrows raced each other for the ionosphere. Jean-Luc�s re-entered first. �Ah, not necessarily . . . or rather not really . . . Why do you ask?�
�My respects, friends. I believe that, in my ignorance, I am misunderstanding. If you please, Doctor Crusher, you mentioned that you noticed Kiyaadi dancing during your tour. Was that at Bunnamol Bay, by any chance?�
�I believe that was the name of the beach, yes. Quite a beautiful place as I recall.�
�Indeed. Forgive me, but I believe what you saw was not true dancing, although it is called that. It is known as the Dance of The Ribaul.�
Jean-Luc spoke, �Ribaul, yes I believe I have heard that term mentioned, but I am unsure what it means.�
The conversation was at that moment interrupted by sudden guttural sounds coming from Sla-Aani, who was still accompanying them. The noise being produced in his prodigious throat built in intensity and volume, while spasms wracked his body. With a final ear-splitting croak, Sla-Aani bolted from their presence and fled outside.
Dil-Koman�s head flickered with joy. �This will be an excellent time to show you. Come, we must follow quickly.�
* * * * * * * * *
It was another beautiful day on Kiyaad. The yellow sun created iridescent swirls amongst the clumps of green washing against the shore. The beach was crowded with multicolored frogs, strolling, chatting and occasionally munching on algae. There was a group of about twenty playing a game involving multiple flying toy discs thrown back and forth in a complex pattern.
At the far side of the bay, a few dozen tiny children were struggling clumsily out of the water and onto the sand, peering about with their enormous red orbs. Their tiny bodies sported short, stubby tails that would be completely gone within a few weeks. They swayed on unsteady legs, their coloring shifting hesitantly, except for the ever-present fluorescent green dorsal badges. They were spotted by some nearby adults who immediately called to them with a low tone. The youngsters instinctively recognized the tones as ones of safety to be followed. They scuttled forward, still finding their land legs. Knowing nothing other than the most basic of instincts, the newly metamorphosed children followed the adults, who happily herded them into the city and into a Growth Facility to start their long education and training into adulthood.
* * * * * * * * *
Sla-Aani sprinted toward the water, emitting high-pitched hooting sounds in time with his strides. The crowd reacted happily and cheered him on while getting out of his way.
Dil-Koman and the Humans followed. The crowd cheered again as the popular aliens arrived. Most of the Kiyaadi present were on the shore. There were about a dozen that were the center of attention several meters out in the water. Some were paired off and were performing what Beverly had earlier mistaken for dance steps. Others, like Sla-Aani, who had just splashed into the tidal pool, were relishing the warm water and the feel of it running between their legs and across their skin.
Sla-Aani was welcomed into the pool with croaks and pops. He glanced hurriedly around and encountered a lovely blue and purple female doing much the same thing. Their blood red eyes locked on each other and they faced off. The Dance began.
* * * * * * * * *
Jean-Luc and especially Beverly could not help but to be swept up in the excitement. The surrounding Kiyaadi watching the ones in the surf were producing a kind of a cappella music. It was a lively beat, accompanied by a rhythmic slapping of their flippered feet. Beverly�s feet tapped along with it. Sla-Aani and his partner were echoing the song and starting to move together with the rhythm. Each would take a step toward the other and, keeping with the beat, they would then retreat in sync. With each step, the couple approached each other and then retreated; over and over, moving to the beat of the onlookers, slightly closer each time. At the near point of each move, the skin between their legs quivered and contracted, also in time with the music. Both of their bodies glistened with the deadly neurotoxin oil excreted by the amphibians. The tempo increased and the Humans noticed something emerging from the bodies of the Kiyaadi.
* * * * * * * * *
Sla-Aani was oblivious to all but the beat and the exciting female in front of him. As the rhythm pounded through his being, he felt The Ribaul coming to full eruption. His pubic sphincter had completely released and withdrawn, exposing his phallus. It was only protected now by the thin Final Membrane. His partner was in much the same condition. The sight of her exposed Ovipositor winking in the sun was intoxicating. It had been so long, over nine years.
* * * * * * * * *
Dil-Koman was providing a running explanation of what the Humans were seeing. The dialogue was interrupted by the occasional hoot of encouragement from him. He was feeling quite joyous for his boss and nearly couldn�t keep up the play by play without being overcome with emotion.
�This is The Ribaul; this is the most important and meaningful act in Kiyaadi civilization. The Ribaul sustains us and we celebrate it. The Ribaul is the reason to exist. Without The Ribaul, there is no existence. The Ribaul is us.� As he reverently recited what seemed to be a kind of creed, others in the crowd began to chant it with him. At this point Dil-Koman became quite choked up, which to a two meter frog meant a tightening of his wide, lipless mouth and a generally grayish hue. �Forgive me, but I am so very happy for the Coordinator . . . ahh, yes, they are both in full Ribaul . . . WE SING WITH THEE, FRIEND! . . . See . . . Sla-Aani has exposed his phallus. It has broken through the Final Membrane and is extended nearly fully. Oh, the pleasure he is feeling at this moment! It is still as nothing though, compared to what is to come!�
* * * * * * * * *
The rhythm pounded in his head and in his loins. Her egg sac had fully erupted. There was still a flap of membrane left hanging on the lower right side. This final, precariously clinging tissue was all that still stood between them. Its persistence was an enticement for both him and her. Neither of them could move it by touch. It had to fall away on its own. The anticipation of its removal drove both of them nearly mad with desire. The tissue now began a slow sliding drop, teasing both of them to near madness. Finally it fell away to fully expose her egg sac. Their red eyes lifted to the sky and they turned their song to a staccato, rattling call of pure animal pleasure. They approached, closer and closer. Their heads, legs and arms were thrust backwards in a self-protecting gesture, keeping them away from their partners� deadly skin oil. His phallus reached forward. The spherical head loosened and unfolded into six manipulating digits. Delicately, but not hesitantly they loosely touched her trembling sac and retreated. They touched again, longer this time. Her ovipositor seam twitched. His phallus touched again . . . and stroked, a lingering, sliding contact, his digits quivering against her seam.
* * * * * * * * *
Beverly and Jean-Luc at first felt somewhat uncomfortable when they had learned they were about to witness a sex act. It soon passed when they saw the complete lack of sexual inhibition and the pure joy in the crowd around them. Dil-Koman�s excitement was no less.
�See! Now he is massaging her ovipositor. Depending on his skill and her level of stimulation, it should loosen soon. On my third Ribaul, my partner�s egg sac spilled open practically on contact. I wish the Coordinator equal pleasure.�
Beverly asked, �Please forgive me, Dil-Koman, but what of the poisonous oil your skin produces? Isn�t there some danger?�
�That is the wonder of The Ribaul. Our genitalia produce no oil. Only with those parts can our bodies touch. And only during The Ribaul are they exposed and able to touch. The act of touching is quite sacred, and because it can only occur during The Ribaul . . .�
Jean-Luc finished his sentence for him, �The Ribaul is sacred.� With that, he reached for Beverly�s hand.
* * * * * * * * *
The pleasures were not all physical. Much could be enhanced by the imaginative mind. There was of course, risk. That was but another part of the act. The physical contact naturally was necessary for procreation, but the Kiyaadi had made it into more than a mere biological necessity. The pleasure of the experience was made infinitely better by the sensation of touching . . . this seldom experienced act . . . this forbidden act made right . . . that was The Ribaul.
* * * * * * * * *
Her swollen ovipositor quivered in anticipation as his digits tickled her seam. The muscles loosened and the intertwined tissue un-knit itself. She howled in delight as her sac opened to the world. Scores of shining, transparent eggs gleamed in the sun. He was directly in front of her, but she had eyes only for his extended phallus as he pulled back for his final insertion.
The sparkling reflections glinted in his eye. His desire consumed him fully. He thrust his phallus into the open egg sac amongst the ova. He felt his member surrounded by clinging, caressing eggs. They slid across the sensitive tissue as his organ swirled amongst them. The usually abhorrent thought hit his aroused psyche like a sexual hammer, �I am actually touching her!� His climax was immense, his aging body�s last primeval effort to continue the species. Nine years of built up sexual energy was expended in one furious explosion. His semen burst from the numerous apertures along the shaft of his phallus, coating the hundred-plus eggs with his grayish-blue seed. An electric wave of pure pleasure arced through his body, his arms, his legs, his very being.
His astounding orgasm triggered one of equal fury in her. The wall of her womb contracted violently and literally turned itself inside-out, expelling the now fertilized ova out of the egg sac. They burst out in a wide pattern, splashing into the water some meters away. The couple�s limbs flailed wildly in ecstasy as they were thrust violently apart by the action and splashed into the water. They floated contentedly, their faces to the glorious sun.
* * * * * * * * *
Dil-Koman and the crowd were quite overcome by the intensity of Sla-Aani�s Ribaul. Raw, sympathetic emotion surged through the watching Kiyaadi, their pure happiness thick in the air. Beverly wished Deanna were here to experience this. Her own feelings were quite tender as well, Jean-Luc�s arm encircling her waist from behind making them even more so. She leaned her head back and lovingly kissed him on the cheek. There were as many Kiyaadi focused on them and that act as there were ones watching the action in the water. Their simple act of touching each other for nothing other than pleasure was a concept that the amphibians found most attractive.
The Kiyaadi�s rhythmic Song had climaxed at the same time as Sla-Aani and his partner. It seemed to have taken a decidedly different turn now. The driving beat had been replaced by a gentle cooing melody. Dil-Koman joined in with the rest. The soothing music continued for a minute or so and culminated in a chanted phrase.
�The World Will Continue To Sing.�
Beverly and Jean-Luc continued to look on, not sure exactly what was to happen next. They looked at the two sated Kiyaadi floating in apparent exhaustion. Something was not right . . . The Doctor reached for her ever-present medical tricorder and quickly ran forward. She splashed into the thigh-deep water and approached them.
�Beverly, careful!�
Jean-Luc�s warning went unheeded as usual, but she was still mindful to not touch her patients. Her scans took but a moment. The results were conclusive and undeniable.
�They�re dead.�
* * * * * * * * *
Sinking quickly, the marble-sized spheres came to rest on the sandy bottom of the tidal pool. As the eggs were scattered by the eddies, they bumped against stones and bits of coral, random chance deciding their place in the universe. The sticky coating caused them to adhere where they hit, resigning them to that spot. Not all would survive. Not even most would survive. The few that did clung tenaciously to their anchors until the day seven weeks hence when the life within would emerge. Even now, chemical reactions within the newly fertilized eggs were taking place. DNA codes directed a catalytic merging of hormones and chemicals and a new substance was born. It formed on the outside of the eggs, coating the soft, rubbery shells with a thick, clear oil. Another change was taking place. The forming of the oil caused pigments on the side of the egg facing the sun to darken. A pattern started to coalesce until each egg sported its own tiny fluorescent green symbol, warning away potential predators.
* * * * * * * * *
The Kiyaadi didn�t react badly to Beverly�s statement. It was something they already knew. She looked down at Sla-Aani�s motionless body as it floated serenely in front of her. His skin coloring, which up till now, had been peach streaked with orange, was beginning to fade. Gradually, his body tone was changing into a uniform dull brown color. The shiny oil sheen on his skin turned flat and began to flake off into the water. His head was the last to change. Before it went to brown, the skin pigment on his face flickered, a sign that Sla-Aani had died happy . . .
Several other Kiyaadi approached the two corpses in the water. Beverly respectfully stepped out of the way. Still careful not to touch each other, they stepped up to the bodies and fearlessly grasped them by their brown limbs. There were apparently no ill effects. Picking up Sla-Aani and the female, the amphibian pall bearers turned as one and headed into deeper water, singing. The green fluorescent marking on the bodies� lifeless backs, the one that from time immemorial had warned away predators, had faded to nothing. The Kiyaadi gracefully swam out beyond the reef with their burdens where the outgoing tides could send their friends on their final journeys. They released the bodies to the currents and watched them float away. Already, tiny predatory fish were beginning to take little nibbles. The Song continued the entire time.
* * * * * * * * *
Mistral was in her element. She swam through subspace at over fifteen hundred times the speed of light, thumbing her nose at normal space limitations. Inside the vessel, there were two plates of Hasperat Souffl� that had been little more than picked at.
�Thinking about Sla-Aani?� Beverly�s question brought Jean-Luc back to the present.
�It�s such a tragedy that he died . . . a truly academic being.�
�Apparently, accidental death during The Ribaul is relatively common, if they inadvertently touch each other the wrong way. And since touching is sacred, they apparently do not have a problem with that. A risk of death during procreation is completely natural to them. When it occurs, they release the body back into the biosphere, where it came from in the first place.�
Jean-Luc mused, �And they celebrate the fact that life goes on. Humans would have mourned the early loss of one of their greatest minds . . . suffer the death of thy neighbor . . . but the Kiyaadi don�t look at it like that. Even though Sla-Aani died they were supportive and happy for him. No one on that world is judgmental. There are no prejudices or taboos, other than no touching, and that�s just a biological necessity.�
�It must be one of my Human prejudices, but I would just die if I couldn�t touch you.�
�What we take for granted,� Jean-Luc took Beverly�s hand, �is almost a spiritual act for them.�
The two Humans gazed into each other�s eyes, both feeling extremely happy with life.
Beverly broke the spell, �You�re worried about the Kiyaadi, aren�t you?�
�I am.� He slid a bit of souffl� around on his plate. �It�s a hard realization. We�ve seen civilizations rise and fall, conquer and be conquered. And unfortunately, the cultures in the Galaxy that thrive seem to be the ones with violent histories.�
�Including our own.� Beverly then took the opposite tack. �But we�ve seen successful cultures totally dedicated to peace, the Halkans for example.�
�But they are humanoid,� Jean-Luc replied, �Primate evolved. Their values of non-aggression are a cultural phenomenon. They chose that path for their civilization to follow, but started off as hunter-gatherers, just like most others. They consciously chose what they believe. The Kiyaadi don�t even understand what aggression is. It simply is not in their nature.�
�What worries me is how eager they are to learn anything new.�
The Federation was still years in the distance. Mistral bore them stoically.