Through Different Eyes

Part II: Details

That first night I spent speaking with Chelpa Feff-Nur changed my entire perspective on the situation. We talked late into the night. It was definitely an odd experience getting to know a person whom I could not see. However, I discovered there was little to fear about this being. Chelpa was unlike any other person I have ever known, aside from the alien status. As we conversed, I came to the conclusion Chelpa was male. Perhaps it was gender bias at work, but he sounded male to me. He detected my thoughts concerning gender identification, and Chelpa countered with information that left me bewildered. He stated that his species did not have gender differentiation. Each individual was capable of producing offspring and he, himself, had two children of his own. The procreative process he explained left me plainly baffled and, I had to admit, a little queasy. It involved some form of exchange of genetic material, a period of mitosis that was unlike anything I could imagine, and an incubation period that was flat-out disgusting as far as I was concerned. Chlepa Feff-Nur was amused at my reaction, and he stated that the mating rituals of humans did not overly intrigue him. We came to the agreement that certain pieces of some areas were best left unexplored.

I knew Chelpa Feff-Nur was not human because he did not act like a human. Every time I wanted a subjective opinion from him on any topic, I would have to force him to reveal his private thoughts. Chelpa was as non-judgmental as any creature could be. He was beyond non-judgmental: Chelpa was the living embodiment of kindness and understanding. I believe much of his personality had been shaped by his vocation. I had heard other people say how much they loved their jobs: Chelpa was his job or vice versa. He wanted to know everything down to the minutest detail. However, Chelpa Feff-Nur never placed a value judgment on whatever I told him. He was gathering information. I have no idea how he stored the information in his mind, or our shared mind at the moment, but his catalog of knowledge was astounding. His presence made me feel like a genius, and it made no difference to me that the knowledge was not my own. I fell asleep that night, and much against my will, while we were discussing the intricacies of fishing. The topic of baiting a hook was very revealing about him as a person. It struck him as rather horrendous that we would use one live creature to attract another live creature so that we could eat the second creature. Chelpa never directly stated his aversion to the idea, but I could tell by the style of questions he asked. His method of collecting data gave me the clearest insight into his private thinking. Chelpa Feff-Nur had a direct pipeline to my innermost thoughts, even the ones about which I was unaware, so I thought it only fair to pick apart his thinking.

I learned the next day that I could talk privately with him. I did not have to vocalize every sentence. Sometimes, however, when I was unable to properly define a piece of information, I would speak aloud. Chelpa found it interesting humans truly did engage in an internal dialogue, and that it was not simply a metaphorical expression. He stated he could hear my conscious and subconscious interactions. I already knew that since he often felt free to comment on what I was thinking. I have since debated if Chelpa Feff-Nur had, indeed, manipulated my mind. When I awoke that Sunday morning, I was completely comfortable with the notion that another being was living inside of my head. Years later, after he departed, I began to wonder about the nearly instantaneous transformation when it came to accepting what happened to me. I do, however, believe he was completely honorable in his intentions. His presence within me taught me a few tricks that I use to this day. The ability to hold two completely autonomous conversations is a subtle and valuable skill. It became necessary for me master this ability with a certain amount of expediency since I was often forced to engage simultaneously in two conversations: one external and one internal. I think my family and friends thought I had gone a little daft as I learned to do this while Chelpa was with me. It often led to some rather interesting results.

“Hey, dweeb, what about your computer crap?” Todd asked me on Sunday evening when I was sitting in my room letting Chelpa Feff-Nur read a book through me.

“It can wait,” I replied without looking up.

“You know mom asked me if you were getting stoned?” My brother queried nastily.

I detect animosity from your brother.

“He thinks I’m a loser.”

Exactly what is it you lost that disturbs him?

I laughed out loud at the question. Todd thought I was laughing at him.

“I told her you were too much of a dork to even know how to get baked,” Todd responded snidely at my laugh.

“Can’t see how that makes me a dork.”

What is a dork?

“Slang term for penis.”

Rather crude.

“That’s Todd.”

“You are so lame!” Todd exclaimed and then walked away.

I glanced up as he left. I had an odd sensation that Chelpa was watching him as well, and studying my brother intently.

I was not aware you were injured.

“More slang.”

Explain, please.

This was a common request from Chelpa Feff-Nur. It was interesting to follow him as he discovered the variations in human language use, and especially English. I had never given it serious thought before, but the concept of communication was becoming fascinating. Chelpa possessed an extensive vocabulary that dwarfed mine, but the subtler aspects of discourse confounded him. Slang, or vernacular as he called it, was a lost art on him. He learned quickly enough, but it was regularly confusing for him. He said his people did not say any word that did not have a very specific meaning.

“I think it’s a whole concept thing about people. See, it’s a putdown… an insult. Todd calls me a dweeb and a loser, a dork and lame to let me know he thinks he’s better than me. When he says I’m lame, what he’s really saying is I’m weak and can’t make any difference.”

Is this form of hostility truly that common amongst your species?

“I thought you said you’d been listening to our transmissions?”

I have, yet the precise contextual reference can be elusive. I was aware of the sharp differentiation between the denotative and connotative meanings within your lexicon, yet...

“English, please.”

This was a common request from me. Chelpa seemed blithely unaware how powerfully he commanded the language in his effort to be precise in his statements. Unfortunately, I did not have the same breadth of vocabulary, and I was constantly asking him to rephrase certain points so I could understand. Chelpa Feff-Nur never once became annoyed at my limitations.

A word can mean the opposite or something wholly different depending on how it is used or placed within a sentence. I also note that meaning is further derived by the manner in which it is intoned… spoken.

“I never thought about that before.”

It was becoming easier and easier to confess the depths of my ignorance with Chelpa since he never seemed to think less of me for it. He never treated me like I was an idiot or stupid. I wished my teachers were as patient as he. I might have actually wanted to learn. However, the topic concerned language, and one item came readily to mind.

“You’re gonna get a whole lot of this tomorrow when I go to school.”

It was a warning. If Chelpa Feff-Nur thought Todd and Marla could converse with me in strange ways, I could not wait to see how he would deal with complete immersion in a teenaged world. I did not think there was any manner in which I could adequately prepare him.

Then I shall rely on your emotional responses to determine certain definitional meanings.

“Can you hear my emotions?”

I cannot.

“What’s it like, then?”

I feel them along with you. Human emotions are very potent and can be very stressful at times. I am aware that human children go through a period of emotional maturation as they evolve into adults.

“You haven’t, like, been doing anything to mine… ’cause I’ve been kind of… I don’t know… sort of nothing the last few days.”

I was not aware my presence was having adverse effects on your state of consciousness. I will examine this and make a report to you when I have reached a conclusion.

“It’s not anything really bad.”

I paused for a moment. I did not want Chelpa Feff-Nur to believe he was causing me harm. It did not feel like he was damaging me. Instead, it was as if my emotions had become muted.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, it’s no big deal. Honestly.”

I do not doubt the veracity of your assessment, but I believe this requires further study.

“Look, it’s like when Todd was here a few minutes ago. He tried to make me mad, but it didn’t work. Most of the time I’d get really pissed off at him for calling me names, but it didn’t bother me this time.”

I understand. May I offer a preliminary speculation as to the cause?

“Sure, if you tell me what that is.”

It is an early theory, Louis.

“Okay.”

I did not feel stupid. I felt as if I had learned something. I was beginning to seriously appreciate having a private tutor trapped in my brain. Chelpa had said the arrangement could be beneficial for us both, and I was beginning to believe him. I could not quite conceptualize what he was receiving out of the arrangement, except that he was consciously alive.

It seems that the impact of statements made to you is being dispersed across two cognitive states, and thus the overall affect is reduced. Since I am attuned to your aural reception and the influence it has on your mental and emotional status, it may be that I am absorbing some of the results.

“What?” I said out loud.

My entity is acting as a buffer for you: one emotion shared between two is only half as strong.

“That makes sense,” I mumbled.

Had I known at the time how much sense Chelpa made, I would have paid closer attention. I was only fourteen, and had a fourteen-year-old’s attention span. The world appeared more interesting when seen through the prism of his perspective. It all seemed exciting and new in ways I never appreciated, and would not until much later. I now marvel at the exceptional skill with which Chelpa pursued his passion for learning about the human species. He often thanked me for saving his life, yet time has shown me that the favor was done for me. As I sat in the room letting him read the book and, as unlikely as it seemed, reading along with him, it did not appear odd to me at all that I was his new vehicle of exploration. His fantastic ship may have been destroyed, but I believe he was pleased with the replacement. Certain questions rose in my head.

“What did happen to your ship? Dad said he didn’t find anything in the swamp ’cept what you tore up when you crashed.”

It was deconstructed on a molecular level.

“Disintegrated?”

That is a sufficient description.

“And your body?”

Disintegrated as well. There is a failsafe mechanism built into each exploration vehicle that reduces the chances of accidental discovery in the event of a mishap. All traces of the ship and crew are eradicated if either the occupant or vehicle is fully incapacitated.

“Kind of harsh,” I heard myself say.

It is a risk we willingly undertake to continue our studies.

“Don’t think I could be that brave.”

I do not concur with that assessment.

This was another example of Chelpa Feff-Nur at his finest. He never told me I was wrong about an opinion. He would correct my misinformation, but he treated my views with respect. Chelpa may not have agreed with them, but he gave me the freedom to form my own opinions. He would always offer his perspective if I requested it. Sometimes he would not wait for the request.

Is it braver to travel in a vehicle that is proven safe or to accept the presence of another within your personal form?

“Depends on what’s at stake.”

This is where I believe you have failed to accurately assess the relevant data, Louis. The cause of my accident was not due initially to a failure of the vehicle, but to my lapse in routine safety precautions. When I first began the voyage, I was confident my craft would not falter. Conversely, you offered to host my entity without any assurance for your personal safety. It was a decision made under duress and without adequate opportunity to research alternatives. The risk you took was far greater than any I have taken.

FreeByte could go to hell at that moment. Todd might call me a loser and a dweeb, but Chelpa was stating I was courageous. I impulsively trusted Chelpa’s opinion over my brother’s. Although Todd had lived with me my entire life, I never felt as if he knew or understood who I was as a person. Chelpa Feff-Nur had been with me for four days, and I sensed he knew everything about me. There was a crucial difference: Chelpa had access to the source in a manner Todd was denied.

I will offer you this to contemplate: Do not confuse valor with either bravery or courage. Valor stems from the character of the person. Bravery originates in the willingness of the individual to confront danger. Courage is found in facing obstacles when all choices are disadvantageous. I do not seek an answer at this time, but I am interested to hear how you assess your actions on the night of my accident.

“I’ll get back with you on that.”

Chelpa returned to his reading. I moved my eyes and scanned the pages without really absorbing the words. He had presented me with a puzzle about myself, and it proved too enticing to ignore. I got the distinct impression that Chelpa Feff-Nur was intentionally ignoring my internal dialogue during the next few hours. We sat in silence: he was reading, I was thinking, and neither made comment. At times he would ask me to turn the page, but we pursued our own interests for a while.

My parents started to take an unnatural interest in my condition. Todd had informed me of my mother’s inquiries, but it did not end there. I could feel them watching me. We performed a strange, silent dance as a family. Todd and Marla were no exception. It was driving me to distraction each time they asked me how I was feeling. I was feeling perfectly fine. I was as normal as I could be under the circumstances. My family was unaware of the developments, and I suppose I cannot truly fault them for their suspicions. The odd middle child had grown even odder over the course of a few days without any reasonable explanation. I was relieved when Monday arrived and I could escape them.

I am not certain this mode of transportation is safe.

Chelpa was not enjoying the bus ride.

Have studies been conducted to examine the percentage casualty rate and probability if this vehicle were to fail while transporting this number of individuals?

“I’ll look into that and get back with you.”

I was grinning to myself during the exchange. Joey was sitting next to me foolishly scanning a printout of Internet addresses that might prove promising for investigation. He had already informed me of a spectacular job he had done on Saturday night, all the while commiserating with me that I was cut off from the online world.

“Dude, it was so awesome,” Joey burbled. “They had nothing. Wide open. No security, no passwords… nothing! I cruised in and could see everything. Some of those dumb-fucks even left their systems running over the weekend. Dude, there are some sick people in the world.”

“Porn?” I asked with feigned interest.

I was more interested in listening to Chelpa Feff-Nur as he ran through a list of structural and mechanical faults he was noticing about the bus. Chelpa was exceptionally worried about the height to wheelbase ratio, and calculating the amount of force it would take for the bus to tip over. He was starting to make me a little nervous.

“Yeah, ’cept it was really nasty. Horses and chicks and shit like that. Gross, dude. Just totally freaked me out. And the guy’s a vice president!”

He does not sound all that disturbed.

“He isn’t. Joey thinks he hit the mother lode when he finds stuff like that on someone’s PC.”

Pee Cee? Explain, please.

“Personal computer. It sits on top of the desk or next to it. Connects to a local area network or an intranet. If they have a ’Net access, then people can slip in and take a look around.”

“… tons of credit card stuff, too!” Joey was saying, except I had not heard the full statement.

Net access? Is this in reference to the internationally connected network of computer systems?

“Yep,” I answered.

“Yeah, what?” Joey asked and looked at me.

Joseph Melman had undergone a transformation when we entered our freshmen year. Not content to be labeled simply as a geek or a nerd, he decided to swing to an extreme. Joey dressed almost exclusively in black. He frequently wore tee shirts emblazoned with some death image and the name of a heavy metal rock band. Thick-soled army-style boots adorned his feet. A hunk of chromed chain ran from his leather belt to his back pocket, anchoring a wallet that contained nothing of value or interest. Joey had let his hair grow out during the summer, but the sides were shaved to the scalp. It was a pseudo-mohawk. To make matters even more surreal, Joey had dyed his hair gunmetal black. It had all the brilliance and sheen of finely extruded nylon. He looked as if he were wearing a wig. Joey thought it made him look mean and tough. Unfortunately for him, his radically altered appearance did nothing to change his reputation. His social status had actually taken a hit. There was only one problem in his overall theory: he could hide the geek, but the geek still flourished within him. His efforts were further undermined by his rather extraordinary mind. Joey Melman had a photographic memory. He only needed to see something once in order to memorize it completely. This was the reason why I thought his use of the IP address list was foolish. He did not need the list. Joey wanted someone to see the list and take interest in what he was doing so he could present himself as a computer hacker.

“You should put that away,” I told him on the sly, ignoring his question to an answer that had not been directed at him.

“Nate said he wanted a copy, and I was checking to make sure I got it all,” Joey replied, and I knew it was a bold-faced lie. He could have recited the most promising addresses from memory.

I am not certain your parents or other guardians would approve of this activity.

“They don’t.”

Then why do you chance having your liberties suspended?

“Because they wouldn’t like it. It’s part of the fun: doing something they wouldn’t like.”

Does this fulfill some aspect or need within you?

“Maybe.”

Chelpa did not respond, and I found that a bit unsettling. I wondered if he was disapproving of me. We rode along in silence, and that was even more unnerving. It was not a comfortable silence of two people respecting one another’s privacy. I could not tolerate it for long.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur… it’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Man, look at this one!” Joey exclaimed excitedly but quietly. “I’ve seen it before. It’s a main branch office for a bank!”

“I… ah, Joey, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go crashing through that one,” I mumbled.

“Dude! What is with you?”

The very question I had hoped to escape at home was following me.

Please, Louis Albert Moran, do not alter your standard method of operation on my account.

“Kind of hard not to when I know you can see what’s going on.”

I have no wish to diminish the quality of your life.

I was too young to be able to properly frame the concept into a coherent stream, but Chelpa was not diminishing my quality of life. Instead, he was making me examine it on a level I had consistently ignored. I felt uncomfortable sitting next to Joey with his eyes boring into the side of my head. I was not certain whom I wanted to impress the most: my friend or the alien in my brain.

“Joey, dude…. Look, sometimes we push the line too far. It’ll break and whip back on us one of these days. My folks are already watching everything I do… and there’s no way I want to get nailed hacking into a bank. They’d fucking kill me,” I replied gravely and slowly.

I do not think your parents would harm you.

“They might if I got fingered for something like Joey’s talking about.”

There are regulations in your region prohibiting the use of violence against another individual and especially against children.

“You read the newspaper yesterday. You think that’s gonna stop them if they’re really mad at me?”

I believe you are speaking in hyperbole and being facetious.

“You losing your nerve, FreeByte?” Joey hissed at me. He was taunting me in a particularly vengeful manner.

“Dude! Not here!” I snapped at him.

‘English, please.’ I added silently.

You are purposefully overstating the probable range of reactions to make your point. Although your parents may become quite upset, I do not believe they would terminate your existence over the matter.

“They might come close.”

Joey was glaring at me. He had violated one of our cardinal rules concerning the use of screen names in public. I could not tell if he was angry because I barked at him or because he could not goad me into thinking it was a good idea. Joey curled his lips a bit before returning to the printout in his lap. It was a pointless exercise on his part. We both knew that. He was emphasizing his displeasure with me.

Louis Albert Moran, I do not understand why you are willing to incite your friend’s hostility because of my presence.

I had no reply. My mind was tumbling into a realm of confusion that hitherto was unknown to me. I did not know why I was willing to upset Joey because of Chelpa. It somehow seemed more expedient to keep the presence in my head pleased with me than the sullen teenaged one sitting next to me. It would take me another two years before I could satisfactorily explain it to myself. My junior year literature teacher had us read Pinocchio: the original version and not the Disneyfied one. All of us watched the cartoon version despite the admonitions to refrain. As I sat watching the little wooden boy learn to deal with life, I saw a parallel between us. Pinocchio had Jiminy Cricket to act as his conscience. Chelpa Feff-Nur, for the duration that he was with me, had become my Jiminy Cricket. I did not understand it on that morning as I sat on the bus trying to rationalize my actions. Hollywood had gotten it right in that regard.

Joey was not too inclined to talk with me even after we arrived at school. I was aware he had wanted my approval and admiration for having secured the IP addresses, yet I could not bring myself to herald the illicit activity with Chelpa monitoring my brain. Joey, Nate and I depended on one another for approval and acceptance nearly all the time. I violated the sense of community that kept us together. It began to dawn on me that there was a flipside to the arrangement: the benefits were balanced by disadvantages. I was very moody by the time I reached my first class. Chelpa Feff-Nur let me be. That is until the class started and then his interests took over. I was forced to endure the power of his will as he sat in rapt attention listening to the teacher. I wanted to brood, but somehow he made me interested in social studies. All of the reading we had done over the weekend served us well. It was an odd experience for everyone to watch me raise my hand and then, against all probability, recite the correct answers. I could feel my geek status grow another notch before the end of the period. I was mortified.

I do not understand your disdain for having correctly supplied the information to your instructor.

“It just isn’t cool!”

Explain, please.

“Argh!” I groaned out loud.

No one paid attention to me.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, this is what makes me a loser and a geek!”

What have you lost by gaining knowledge? I am not certain there is a correlation between your social status and the amount of information at your disposal.

“Wanna bet? Some guys would beat the shit out of me for being too smart!”

What purpose is there in forcing you to defecate because you have knowledge? I believe you are utilizing hyperbole again.

“No, I’m not, Chelpa!”

I used the shortened version of his name on purpose. I knew he would take it as an insult, and I wanted him to do just that.

I apologize that I have made you upset.

The infuriatingly calm, rational alien was apologizing when I had just insulted him. I pounded out my frustrations on the hallway floor. I could not make him understand what I was up against in this strange world of high school, and I had resulted to childish name calling because I failed in my first endeavor. Chelpa Feff-Nur seemed very adult and mature in comparison, except he resembled no adult I knew. My father would never have apologized for making me angry if he thought he was teaching me a lesson. It was another sign that Chelpa was truly an alien. The ire churning in me from the social studies class blinded me to what was going to happen next. I had science. I had a scientist of sorts resting firmly in my mind. I continue to wonder why I did not expect what occurred.

“NO!” I heard myself say some fifteen minutes later. “Gravity only affects the directional path of photons. It cannot alter the physical properties of light unless the field strength is strong enough, like you find around brown and white dwarf stars and black holes!”

Mrs. Ramsden was gaping at me. Chelpa Feff-Nur had taken a minor piece of general information as an insult to the study of physics. He was not willing to raise his hackles when it came to a personal insult lobbed at him, but misinformation appeared to irritate him to an extreme.

“And the electro-magnetic spectrum is a measurement of the wave form, not of the particles!”

“That is quite enough, Louis!” Mrs. Ramsden yelled at me. “Sit down and be quiet. I’ve had just about enough of this constant arguing with everything I am trying to teach!”

I was humiliated. Chelpa Feff-Nur was outraged. I slumped down in my desk wondering if there was a hole deep enough for me to crawl into and hide for the rest of my life. The other students were staring at me as if I had finally reached the point they had predicted: my mind had snapped. It was a strain trying to separate what I was feeling from what Chelpa was feeling. I wanted to be angry again: he was feeling remorse, but not about his actions.

This is egregious, Louis Albert Moran. The facts being presented are almost completely incorrect in application. They hardly suffice for theoretical information. These students are being led to believe that the color of a light wave has more property value than it actually possesses!

“I don’t care, Chelpa Feff-Nur. You made me look like a fool!”

I would rather your dignity suffer than your knowledge!

He was arguing with me. This was a first. This was also unexpected. Chelpa complicated the issue even further because I could tell he was acting out of a sense of duty for and to me. He did not want me to learn even a small fact incorrectly. It was, I presumed at the time, how he must have acted with his children. I knew then that I could not fault his intentions: it was his methods that were causing me problems.

“Did you ever think that maybe — just maybe — we’re not as advanced as your species?”

You will not advance very quickly if this is the standard procedure for instructing the young. I would think this instructor would be pleased with having the correct information available.

“Not from a ninth grader… and I can’t tell her why I know she’s wrong, either!”

There was a momentary pause.

I understand the dilemma, Louis. I apologize for once more having acted hastily. Please, forgive my intrusion.

He was doing it again, and I wished he had his body back so I could punch him.

You could not damage me with a physical assault.

“What?”

Chelpa was listening to my internal dialogue.

The relative density of my body mass is nearly six times that of your own. If you were to strike me, it would be akin to striking a stone.

“Why?” I blurted.

“Because I said so!” Mrs. Ramsden roared at me without turning around to face me.

As I stated: the mass of my body is more compacted on a molecular level than yours. It is the result of being born on a planet with greater gravity. My world is nearly four times the circumference of this one, and its median density is nearly six times as great. Hence, the physical properties of my species have evolved under the effects. Did you not note the shape and structure of my form when you viewed me?

“It wasn’t exactly what was on my mind at the time.”

I was being peevish, but I was also curious. I did remember what he looked like because it frightened me so much. Chelpa Feff-Nur was, or had been, shaped like a squat bullet. The thought of his arms as they extended from his body and the single, wobbling eye still sent a shiver down my spine. I was still having difficulty reconciling the creature I saw slide out of the vessel with the one in my brain. There was a logical disconnect between the two.

While it may seem very strange to you, the physical form of my body is exceptionally well suited to the environmental conditions on my planet. Excuse me, but your instructor is issuing an assignment to the students, and I believe that includes you as well.

I lifted my head up. Mrs. Ramsden, who was still rather red in the face, was scribbling aggressively on the blackboard. A reading assignment and the questions we had to answer appeared in a cloud of white dust. I jotted down the information in my notebook. It was a large assignment. Several students were already pulling out their books. Many more were glaring at me. I realized I was the source of the assignment. In a completely contrary mood, I was not the least bit sorry.

I believe it would be best if you began the assignment. I am interested in comparing the methodology of printed instruction to verbal instruction.

“Why? You’re only going to tell me how wrong it is.”

I will not beleaguer you with my knowledge, Louis Albert Moran.

“Doesn’t that kind of defeat the point of what you were telling me earlier about Mrs. Ramsden?”

The point I was seeking to impress upon you was not about your instructor. I believe that you are being ill served by the transmission of inaccurate information; however, you have wisely raised the issue of non-interference. It is not my place to weigh the merits of the instructional techniques of your species, and any information I can reveal to you may be detrimental in effect. A species must be allowed to evolve at its own pace without the direct and intentional interference of an advanced race. I would be remiss in my duty if I were to instruct you further in the sciences.

“Could you say that again so I can understand it?”

In basic terms: my knowledge could contaminate the evolution of your species. There is a risk the exposure to advanced data could drastically alter the path of development. It could also be very damaging and perhaps even lead to your destruction.

“I get it: the Prime Directive.”

Explain, please.

“Star Trek. It’s one of their rules about making contact with other races. If they’re not as advanced, then the Enterprise isn’t allowed to contact them. They can watch…”

Something Chelpa Feff-Nur had said to me before suddenly jumped up in my mind. Regardless of the fact that I could not repeat exactly what he had said, I understood the meaning. He was going to get into trouble for taking refuge in my mind because they had rules just like the television show I was trying to explain. I was suddenly afraid for him.

You are correct, Louis. However, you have no cause to be concerned for me. When I sent the emergency transmission to my people, it also included the data about the accident and the measures I have taken. This will be taken into consideration as they review the case and determine what steps will be taken to secure my retrieval. It will also be used at a later time to decide if there is sufficient reason to alter our procedural guidelines.

“I guess… but I still don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

I am alive, Louis Albert Moran. Do not think that because my species is culturally and technologically more advanced than yours that we have lessened the value we place on life. We are more reasoned in our approach, but it has not diminished our capacity to hold life very dear. It may be that we place a greater value on it because of our developments. No, Louis, my people will view what you have done for me with gratitude.

I wanted to believe him, but I was thinking he was telling me this to calm me down. I was feeling guilty for how I acted earlier in the day. I was being self-centered, and the realization hit me hard. Chelpa was stranded on a strange world, trapped in a strange body, and completely at the mercy of the capricious whims of a fourteen-year-old boy. I tried to place myself in his position, or rather a similar set of circumstances I could understand. I wondered what it would be like being wedged in the mind of a five-year-old somewhere in China. It would scare me senseless.

I am not frightened. I grant there are disastrous aspects to what has happened; yet the benefits are already beginning to mount. I could not have predicted the amount I would learn in the five planetary rotational cycles I have been with you. Moreover, I think you are failing to recognize that I am truly grateful to be alive. This could not have been achieved without your assistance. My people will not overlook this fact.

“I hope so,” I muttered.

I do not lie to you, Louis Albert Moran.

Of that I was certain. Chelpa Feff-Nur was, as far as I could tell, so honest that it was nearly painful. It seemed to me at times that he was incapable of telling a lie, as though his species had bred it out of their genes. There had also been a plaintive quality to his statement. It was not as if he was asking me to believe him, but rather there was no cause to doubt him. I added it to the stack of items I needed to think over. The alien was very good at stretching my mind. Before I could give him a chance to respond to my thinking, I pulled out my textbook and opened it to the correct page. As I had suspected, the introduction of the book derailed him from speaking with me since books held a surreal and total fascination for him.

It is because I have access to your understanding of the language and the symbolic code your species has developed to preserve knowledge.

That was his last comment until the bell rang and the class was released from the period. I was surprised when Mrs. Ramsden did not pull me to the side and give me a detention for acting out during the session. I wondered if she was thinking about what I, or rather Chelpa, had stated. While my teacher did not have anything to say to me, the same was not true of my classmates.

“Way to go, dork!” Tyler Case said and nudged me with his elbow.

“Yeah, real smooth, Moran!” Emily Snodgrass chimed in and barged past me.

They were not alone in heaping verbal abuse on me. I had no choice but to accept the insults as I tried to wend my way through the halls. There was some element of having Chelpa Feff-Nur in my head that made me overly conscious of the fact I did not have many friends. Aside from Joey and Nate, there were few I conversed with on a regular basis in the halls. It was another sign of my lowly status. The few times I received any considerable attention was when one of the three of us pulled off a major hack. Even then it was short-lived because the details were more important than us. The taste of that inconsequential popularity was a driving force behind our exploits. The disparaging remarks I suffered as I left the class reminded me that I was never popular for long.

I offer my apologies again, Louis Albert Moran. It appears you did not understate the reception the others would give to the challenge to your instructor.

“They’re mad ’cause we got homework.”

I bear direct responsibility for that unintended result. There are dynamics in the social interchange of your species that I had considered fabricated by your entertainment transmissions.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

I will not, and I admit I was adequately warned.

Although he had not used the exact words, Chelpa was confessing that he made an error in judgment. I wished my father had the capacity and ease to make the same admission. A picture of how alien Chelpa Feff-Nur was in reality was taking shape in my mind. His physical countenance was one facet, yet his demeanor was even more telling. He displayed it further when he opted to remain subdued through my next two classes and lunch. In truth, he was not so much subdued as less overwhelming with his intense curiosity that drove me to act out of character. Chelpa did, however, force me to consume foods that I would normally disparage. Except to say he did not really force me. Curiosity about the staples presented for our consumption intrigued him and, as a result, intrigued me as well. I had a very foreign lunch.

You mother is more adept at preparing meals.

“She’s not cooking for an entire high school!”

You are correct, Louis. I am not certain your mother could maintain the same quality given the quantities necessary.

Chelpa had a rare gift for unintentional understatement. Perhaps it was his honesty and insatiable curiosity, but he even took jests seriously from time to time without realizing I was trying to be humorous. As I thought it over while we trudged along to my next class, I wondered if his species had a sense of humor and, if they did, what it was like. I had as of yet not seen any indication that Chelpa Feff-Nur was given to belly laughs. I had half-hoped he would respond. He did not. He did, however, respond to the art class. We were still working with watercolor painting. It was a skill I could not master and ended up creating nothing but multi-colored blurs in shades of black, brown and gray. When the teacher, Mr. Adams, set us to work, Chelpa came back to life.

If it is not too presumptuous of me, Louis Albert Moran, may I lend you some guidance?

“What do you know about watercolors?”

I made the inquiry while I was wetting down my sheet of paper.

Nothing except to state that I believe the end product might be of some small interest to you.

“What do you have in mind?”

An image of my world if we can manipulate the medium correctly.

Chelpa Feff-Nur’s gift for understatement was reaching new heights. The offer had piqued my interest beyond measure. He could take over my body for all I cared if it meant I could see something of the reality from which he originated.

Physical control of your limbs and extremities is unwise, Louis. I have already utilized what limited opportunity I had when I set the controls in my vehicle for the emergency transmission and the auto-destruct sequence. We cannot run the risk of integrating too completely lest the process of my removal be deleterious to your person.

“Um, sure,” I whispered. He sounded somber, and I decided he knew better than I.

I believe that if we work together, we can produce a rendering that will be an adequate facsimile of a place on my planet of which I am most fond. We will be working in hues of orange and violet.

I had never worked so carefully on an art project in my entire life. I moved cautiously and slowly. Because Chelpa Feff-Nur did not have to concentrate on moving my arms, fingers or hands, he could focus on telling me where to apply the paint. He was also quite deft at instructing me on how to properly control the amount of water on the sheet. It was almost unnatural.

The atmosphere on my world is very fluid, Louis. It is not as dense as the natural state of water here on this planet, but the relative aggregate density of water in parts per billion in my native atmosphere far surpasses what you experience.

“You swim through the air?” I inquire aloud as I moved the brush to complete what seemed like an outcropping of dusky rock.

It might appear that way to you if you had the opportunity to visit my world. Now, dry out the brush and add a small amount of the diluted black. We are going to create the shadow on the edge on the left side of the chasm.

I did as I was instructed. It did not appear to be much of a painting at first. Yet it suddenly came to life when Chelpa had me add the highlighting and shadowing. I detected a rather pleasant feeling as the image came closer and closer to whatever vision he was creating.

“Very… interesting, Louis,” Mr. Adams said from behind me. “A bit gloomy but still interesting. What is it?”

I do not have the proper words to relay an adequate description.

“It’s some place I might like to visit some time,” I answered for myself.

The atmosphere and gravity would crush your body almost instantly, Louis Albert Moran.

“It’s not any place here, just… something I imagine might exist some place.”

“Well, it’s the finest piece you’ve produced yet,” Mr. Adams said with some appreciation. “I can’t quite say I understand the inspiration, but it apparently means something to you.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” I replied softly.

Mr. Adams moved on to examine the work by the other students.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, how, um, how close is this to what it really looks like?”

It is a fair approximation. The prismatic effects of the atmosphere when the star is at zenith cannot be accurately rendered, yet I believe you would recognize the location from this depiction.

“Does it make you homesick?”

No, my world does not make me physically ill.

“I mean do you miss your home.”

Chelpa could be too literal.

Yes, I do miss my home. It is beautiful to me, as your world is to you. I find my travels have made me appreciate my world in numerous, subtle ways. While I very much enjoy my missions, it is always pleasant to return. There is an axiom on this planet I have come to adopt as my own: Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

He did not actually say it, but Chelpa Feff-Nur was homesick. I could not blame him. It was nearly impossible to imagine how far away he really was from his world. He was separated from everyone he knew and loved, if he loved — and I had no doubts that he did. He was trapped inside the mind of a fourteen-year-old boy and, despite the fact it saved his life in some fashion, I could not see him having too much fun. Chelpa had to go wherever I went. He had to endure whatever I endured. When I was making the connection with Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket in my junior year of high school, I began to understand he was in a much worse position: Chelpa Feff-Nur was caged in the puppet and had no access to the strings. Observing the painting we had created in unison evoked sympathy in me for him.

“Why is this spot important to you?”

It is a place my parent and I would travel to on occasion. We would observe the… the… a creature that bears some resemblance to your hippopotamus with an extra set of legs…

“And one eye?”

Yes, and a single eye. The creature is buoyant in our atmosphere. It may appear unwieldy in size, but is it very mobile, can accelerate to phenomenal speeds, and is carnivorous to an extreme. The place in the painting is a safe vantage point to observe them. When my planet turns away from the star, the creatures emit a call that can be heard for incredible distances. It was at this very place where I first decided I was going to join the exploration corps.

Regardless that I did not phrase it like this at the time, I knew Chelpa was waxing nostalgic for his home. I tried to form an image in my mind of the creatures. It was difficult to conjure up a vision of a hippo acting like a bear darting along the ground like a gazelle. I attempted to imagine Chelpa Feff-Nur and his parent camping at the site like my family did in the northern reaches of my home world. I wondered what the stars looked like from his planet.

It is difficult to see the stars through the atmosphere. My home star also radiates brightly around the planet and dims them. Only the largest and most luminous are visible from the surface, yet they are as enticing as any I have seen here.

“They must’ve been if it dragged you all the way to Earth!”

It was not the star that brought me here, but the species on the planet that is orbiting it. Space is beautiful, Louis Albert Moran, but it cannot compare to the awe inspired by an intelligent race of beings, even one as young as yours.

He was in awe of the human race? I scarcely could believe that, yet his presence was evidence he was here for a myriad of reasons. When the art class ended, I asked Mr. Adams if I could stop by at the end of the day and take the painting home with me. Mr. Adams graded it right then and there. It was the first A-grade I ever received from him. I felt a touch guilty over the fact I had not produced it alone. The grade belonged equally to Chelpa. The content was, after all, inspired by his vision of his home. Perhaps the grade was his alone. Even on the best of days, I could never execute such a fine painting.

It was not until I stepped out into the hallway that my fifth period dread set in. I had gym class, and I hated it. I was the quintessential target for dodge ball, I was always one of the last people picked for a team, and my ability to trip over my own feet was near legendary. Gym class always made me exceptionally nervous. There were times when it raised such a panic in me that it brought on nausea and, on a few occasions, real vomiting. As I forced myself to walk toward the gymnasium, Chelpa Feff-Nur picked up on my very transparent thoughts.

Louis! You are in grave distress, but I cannot perceive the threat to you!

I swallowed hard in my throat. I was glad I could rely on simple thinking instead of trying to vocalize with a voice that would not cooperate. Even with that advantage, it was still painfully hard for me to express myself.

“I, ah… um, I really hate this class.”

This is not hatred, Louis Albert Moran: this is complete fear. Why does this setting arouse such strong fears in you?

“You’ll find out.”

My reply was so glum that it gave Chelpa pause. He had to go along for the ride regardless of how traumatic it would be for the both of us. I sensed apprehension in him, and mainly from his observant silence. I suspected Chelpa Feff-Nur was applying his incredible powers of observation full bore. As I considered how the experience was going to affect him, I started to calm down. I was not alone. I would not have to stand in lonely isolation immersed in my dread and uncertainty. If he understood the subconscious fears I was generating, he did not enlighten me. However, Chelpa was acting as an emotional buffer. There were elements to this arrangement I was becoming quite keen on, even if there were some aspects that had been embarrassing. For the first time, I was secretly delighted to have a private friend with me, or rather inside of me. It was also the first time that I thought of Chelpa Feff-Nur in that manner: my friend. Although I harbored deep resentment at having to suffer through the class, my fear did not crest into full-blown panic. It subsided somewhat.

You are calming. This is good. Should there be facets you need to take into account, your judgment will not be clouded.

“It’s because you’re here,” I said to myself, out loud.

How does my presence mitigate any probable threat to you?

“English, please.”

Chelpa pondered for a few moments while I walked closer and closer to what I thought of as a torture chamber. The first round of humiliation would begin in the locker room. My scrawny body, glaring white in seeming comparison to those around me, was a logical target for ridicule. It was not infrequent that one of the athletes, the jocks, would look at me and snort in disgust. I almost envied Nate’s potbelly when I had to go to gym: at least he had some meat on his bones. I more closely resembled a starving child in Africa, and that comment had been made about me more than once.

It is not logical that I, in my current state of physical non-entity, could lend you any form of assistance should you be assaulted. I can offer you no protection from those who would do you harm. I am at their mercy as well.

I was nearly at the locker room entrance, and I had to answer fast. I could not imagine this was a topic Chelpa would let rest without adequate discussion.

“It’s not that. I guess… I think it’s ’cause I won’t be alone this time. Most of the time I just stand around and get picked on. If I’m lucky, they’ll ignore me. I guess with you here… it’s just different is all.”

I believe I understand, Louis. A fear shared is a fear reduced.

“I guess,” I muttered as I pushed open the locker room door and stepped into the dank, fetid, moist environment.

Although this bears no relation to your current plight, I thought you might be interested to know that this atmosphere holds some likeness to my world.

“Wouldn’t advertise that if I were you. Who’d want to visit a place that smells like a high school locker room?”

I was referencing the tactile sensation upon your skin. However, I will note again that your species would suffer immediate termination if left exposed on my planet.

“Chelpa Feff-Nur, please, do me a favor: don’t mention immediate termination and exposure in the same sentence when I’m walking into the gym. Okay?”

Explain, please.

“Forget it. It was a lame joke.”

Injured humor. I will think on this.

Unfortunately, he chose that very moment to think about the joke. His silence echoed through my head. I went to my locker and began the first in what as series of uneasy acts. I typically tried to strip and dress in my gym clothes as fast as I could make my hands move. The thought of undressing with so many other males unnerved me. It twisted my stomach into a knot. Per my routine habit, I would stare blankly ahead into the dark confines of my locker. Even though others were talking around and past me, I did not engage in any form of social contact while I stood around in my boxer shorts. I was jealous of those who could be so comfortable in such a revealing state. Half of them were standing around naked or slipping into athletic supporters. I kept my eyes glued to the bland, gray metal walls of my locker. It was my best and only defense. I prayed that Chelpa would finish his contemplations and engage in dialogue with me.

I fail to find the logic in your statement.

He piped up, and I was too relieved to hear his voice to nitpick his rebuttal.

If a joke is meant to elicit a specific cerebral response, and if the joke fails to produce said response, it cannot be injured — or lame in your parlance — since it cannot be considered a joke at all. Insomuch as you made of request of me regarding my choice of lexicon in the statement about the comparison between my home world and this current environment, I do not find the source of the humor…

“You’re over-analyzing it, Chelpa,” I murmured as I slammed my locker shut. “I was being stupid, okay? Can we agree on that?”

Your intelligence is not sub-par.

I could not win even when I was admitting defeat. I turned, keeping my eyes riveted to the floor, and walked toward the gymnasium entrance. A few others were in line with me, and no one spoke to me. I liked it that way. I wanted to be left alone. Besides, I had all the company I needed despite the gaps in our shared understanding of humor. My body started to tense up as I walked onto the parquet floor of the gym. My tennis shoes squeaked on the wood, and the sound was lost amid the tumult of voices and other squeaking shoes. I followed the edge of the wall until I was within close proximity to where my particular class assembled.

I believe I understand this now. Your joke was lame, injured as it were, because it failed to meet its objective. Hence, it was wounded by my failure to understand the specific parameters of the intent.

“I think it’s a cultural thing. You know: things are too different between us and the point sort of gets lost. I think.”

That is an excellent analysis, Louis Albert Moran.

It did not matter how terrible I was at badminton, I was too distracted by the on-going conversation with Chelpa about the lost subtleties in communication when the frames of reference are too widely separated. I would catch sight of the shuttlecock at some point and swing wildly, usually missing, while I tried to explain how humans found humor in things that were injured. I brought up the notion of slapstick comedy, and used the example of a person slipping on a banana peel as an example. Chelpa Feff-Nur did not think it was very humorous. He was concerned for the welfare of the person who fell. As we talked and I got slaughtered in every game I played, I began to see that some forms of comedy were very carefully structured. I could not recall many instances when I got to see the person getting hurt up close. That was not true for animation, but it was rare that a scene involved a close-up shot of a person getting hurt in a comedy. I shared my views with Chelpa, but he still did not believe that injury of a person was a justifiable source of humor. He gave me credit for trying to explain the variations of the subject, and he finally did concur without prejudice that cultural development influenced what was considered humorous. By the time the period ended, I was amazed at the fact it was the most fun I had ever had in gym. I began my walk back to the locker room. My gym teacher was yelling at us to take a shower quickly.

My blood froze and the panic started to well up in me again.

Louis?

“I hate it when they force us to take showers. We get points taken away if we don’t. It’s not fair!”

I believe there is a justifiable need for your species to engage in a regular routine of hygiene.

I clamped down on my mouth and my mind. This was not a topic I was predisposed to discuss. It was too personal for me.

I do not understand what it is you have to fear, Louis Albert Moran. You simply face the prospect of heated water and some form of astringent. Why does this cause you trepidation?

“It just does, okay?”

I slithered into the locker room trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as I could.

You do not have the capacity for topographical transformation. It is not one of the attributes of your species. The human form lacks the requisite elasticity and fibroid mechanisms.

“What?” I hissed as silently as I could.

You cannot change your shape at will.

“Well, duh!”

Explain, please.

I clammed up. I had reached my locker, fumbled with the lock with trembling fingers, and called up every shred of will I had to begin the process of stripping my clothes from my body. I realize now, and I knew it subconsciously then, that what I truly detested about gym class was being forced to expose my naked self to an eighth of the male student population. I almost considered skipping the entire situation and suffering the point loss. The only problem with my plan was that I was going to fail the class if I kept using that tactic. My father and mother would skin my alive if I failed the course because I was self-conscious.

Consider this, Louis: each person here does not deviate very much from the typical human form. There are variances in skin coloration, height and weight, and dispersal of hair follicles, but you are all rather the same for the most part. You are nearly as heterogeneous as my species…if one discounts the division of gender. Even then...

“Chelpa, can’t you give it a rest for one minute?”

I was snarling inside my mind. I knew I should have been kinder to him. Chelpa was, after all, merely carrying out his duty and his job. Moreover, he was also trying to lend me a sense of comfort, but it was not helping. Pointing out the human form did not ease my mental state. It was the human form, itself, that was causing me grief, and mine in particular.

I do not understand this issue.

There was a quality to his tone that said he was speaking to himself. I wanted to avoid thinking about the issue at all costs. Standing before my locker and forcing myself to remove my clothing took a considerable amount of concentration. I was trying not to imagine how I appeared compared to the others. It took superhuman effort to yank my boxer shorts down and step out of them. Chelpa Feff-Nur said nothing. I did not even get a glimmer of his presence. It could have been he was respecting my inner sense of privacy, or perhaps he was caught in my rampaging emotions and could not sort through them. The cause was of little concern. I wanted to get in and out of the showers as fast as I could manage. My gym instructor kept track of who turned in a towel on the way out of the locker room. That was my single, fixed goal.

I bent my head down as I started to move toward the showers. I looked neither right nor left, following the heels of the person in front of me instead. There was a small parade of naked young men. Some were engaged in idle chat, others were just as silent as me. I tried to find a secluded spot in the long, tiled room that was studded with showerheads at regular intervals. Steam was already rising up, and colder water splashed my feet. I found an unoccupied shower by chance. Without thinking because of my churning sense of panic, I turned on the water flow. I was blasted with cold water. It was so frigid it made my stomach seize. However, it quickly began to grow hot. I had to scrabble with the control to stop myself from being scorched. As I had no soap and the wall dispenser was empty, I simply let the warm water rush over me. I pretended it was shielding me from the sight of the others.

Louis, I am unable to perceive any threat to your person. This experience is rather pleasurable. It is similar to my home.

I did not answer. I did not know how to tell him I was ashamed of my body. It was little more than a pile of bones strung together with some bits of flesh and tendon. It was uncoordinated. It was dappled with acne. It also looked as if I had been soaking in a bleach bath. I felt awkward and repugnant.

From the little I could see, you misjudge your appearance.

“Wanna bet?”

I have stated already that there is no significant difference between you and these other males. The existing discrepancies are relatively minor.

“You just don’t get it, Chelpa Feff-Nur. I know what I look like compared to these guys… and it ain’t good.”

Your evaluation is purely subjective. You do not suffer from malformation. Your internal systems appear to be functioning above an adequate level. Your general state of health is good. I do not understand exactly what it is you are comparing.

“Here, get a good look!”

I slowly craned my head from side to side. I was surrounded by young men who were much more prime specimens than myself. As I let Chelpa take in the sights, I noted them as well. I saw the muscles: muscles I did not have but would have liked. I saw the bodies that were galloping along the path of puberty while still I resembled a pre-pubescent boy. If it were not for the hair on my head, I would have been naked. The only saving grace was that without my glasses the images were distorted. It did not mean my mind could not fill in the blanks, and this it did with frightening rapidity. Even through my blurred vision, I was well aware that handsome young men flanked me on all sides. They were the same men who would never see me as such, and would take great delight in pointing out how inferior I was compared to them. I felt oddly fortunate that no one had decided to glance upon me and take stock of what a pathetic example I was as a human.

You are no worse or no better than those around you. You have not yet fully matured into your final physical form. If your brother can be used as a gauge, you will gain in both height and weight. The most that can be said about your current stature is that you are slight. I cannot perceive any fault with that.

“I’m an ugly geek.”

Again, I would caution you against making subjective comparisons. You will not find much value in the results.

“Can’t run away from the truth… not when I have to live it.”

I shut off the water. The sound of voices completely comfortable with the setting reverberated through my ears. It was condition I would never achieve. I was a person apart. Even the presence of Chelpa was not lending me any real comfort. Moreover, there was an unsettling aspect to sharing a shower with so many young men. A piece of my mind treated it like pornography. The fuzzy view through my eyes was not so bad that I could not see the occasional flash of skin shining in the water. Other elements, equally out of focus, also caught my attention periodically. They were reminders that I was physically not far removed from boyhood. I tried not to think about these things as I wandered out of the showers and toward the towel locker. The gym assistant handed me one without even a glance. I skipped drying off and chose to cover my lower torso. At least I would deny anyone the opportunity to laugh at my shortcomings. I straggled back to my locker. I hardly even noticed the complete silence from Chelpa Feff-Nur as I hurriedly dried off and climbed back into my clothes. I was very relieved to be fully attired, hidden from the world and unexposed.

I walked out of the locker room into the crowded and noisy gymnasium feeling utterly alone.

You are only as alone as you allow yourself to be, Louis.

“What would you know about it?” I mumbled angrily.

I am very far from my home.

I succeeded in making myself feel even worse because I offended the only one who was trying to be anything remotely close to understanding. I struggled to find a way to apologize, but I was too entangled in my own dour mood to find the proper words. I hoped the incident would drift quickly into the past.

There is an animal on my world that lives its entire existence in isolation. The young are spawned individually, and the parent flees from the newborn. Few make it to adulthood. They burrow into densely packed… you would call them shrubs, and they are poisonous to the touch. These creatures never come out when any other animal is present. They live in darkness almost perpetually. When it comes time for them to spawn their own young, they emit tiny genetic spores that are carried through the atmosphere. The only hope they have of reproducing is purely by chance when they venture forth to feed. I have never seen one of these creatures, but I imagine their existence must be terrible. They do not even know their kin, Louis Albert Moran. They are alone in ways that I cannot comprehend.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Because I thought you would be interested to know that creatures can evolve into such distrusting beings that they cannot even tolerate the presence of their own kind. They live in a realm dominated by fear… and it is all they know.

Chelpa was trying to teach me something, I was aware of that, but his method left me perplexed. I could not figure out what point I was supposed to draw from the story. I did not live in a poisonous shrub, I came out to feed whenever I felt like it, and I certainly did not live in total isolation. The parallels were lost on my fourteen-year-old mind. Yet the story nagged at me from the moment I heard it. I tried to ignore the tale, dismiss it as I would a documentary, but I could not escape the notion that Chelpa Feff-Nur wanted me to learn from it. It had not taken me long to realize that he spoke only when it was important either to him or to me, or to us both.

Living with another consciousness mired in my skull was turning out to be trickier than I thought. It was complicated by the fact that Chelpa Feff-Nur was an adult, very mature, and extremely intelligent. It was as if the fates had lined up the odds against me. I did not want to pursue that line of thinking any longer. My last class of the day was coming up, and I would make apologies to Joey for having disabused him of his achievements over the weekend. I needed at least one flesh and blood friend.

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