Don’t ask me why the standard filter bearing component of zero-point energy extraction happens to be members of a cybernetically enhanced genetically engineered silicon life form from a globular cluster orbiting the Lesser Magellanic Cloud. Maybe they scored highest on the aptitude tests. Or maybe they’re the only ones willing to do the job. Truly alien beings are often more than willing to do the sort of things a sensible consentient wouldn’t even imagine. Or so I’ve been told.
I wouldn’t expect you’ll get an answer you’d even get a decent response, even with whatever kind universal translator you have. And it probably doesn’t matter anyway. Consentients sensible or not, we do what we do. To attach a reasonable meaning to anyone’s behavior would probably be a disservice, to attach a higher meaning, even more so. Higher meanings are for higher life forms, or so we’re told. Between you and me, though, given what I’ve heard, and experienced, higher life forms often get up to, I think higher meanings are a bit of a misnomer.
But back to the Oboloni Siliconoids.
Personally, I tend to find most non-carbon based life forms to be rather creepy (not to mention a great deal of carbon-based life forms). But these ones were particularly weird. Now, there weren’t as many as I had expected to be on such a large station, maybe around thirty, and their shifts were staggered, I didn’t have much of the way of encounters of any numbers.
The Siliconoids did make it up for that in their own kind of passive-aggressive manner.
What would happen? A few would show up, and by showing up, I mean they would descend into the outer chamber, ostensibly to exchange their filters, and the stick their thick appendages through those holes in the chamber I mentioned, inserted filters filthy with supersymetrical taint (not to mention, their own hot gooey alien bodily secretions). I did make me wonder how efficient the whole operation would be in such a polluted environment, but mine was not to question, just to do my filtering.
With their appendages discharged, they would hover their appendages behind me, and bang and scrape them against the protective force field. They did it for so long the tips cooled off and splintered causing glass shards to litter the floor and Blueneck to resume his cursing. I didn’t really care about the mess, but the incessant scraping did put my nerves on edge. On the Vobri scale of pleasant noises, I’d rank it a point four - somewhere between the screams of tortured Vappa Rats and the sound of stars getting sucked into black holes.
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Again, bizarre aliens. Hell if I knew what they wanted. I was doing what I was told. Cleaning the filters to a shine I could be proud of. Exactly what I’d been advised by Blue neck to do.
After they’d left, I turned to my stump necked co-worker. I’d finally had enough to ask him.
“What was that all about?” I wanted to know.
“Are you*blank**blank*telling me you*black**blank*don’t*blank*blank*blank*understand?” he replied. Yes, I hadn’t reduced the level of my profanity filter.
“No,” I replied. “That’s why I’m asking.”
What the hell did I know about Siliconoid Cybernetic Aliens from the Lesser Cloud.
Eventually, though his usual stream of invective, Blueneck relayed to me they were trying to get a reaction from the new guy. They were looking for some entertainment after a long shift of filtering dirty dark matter. They thought I was cute.
Oh.
Too bad. I wasn’t here to entertain some twitchy tendrils from some extra-galactic cyborg. I was here to do the job I was being paid for. If I wanted to do perform interspecies hand-holding sessions, I would have gone to diplomatic school like my three half cousins. Would have made my extended gene pool actually proud. Diplomatic school is well regarded on Balleen. On the other hand, they don’t last long either. I’ve managed to outlive each and every one of those supposed high-achievers. It may sound odd to you Cleaning filters in the middle of warped space-time is a less dangerous vocation than counseling whatever consentient flesh-eating aliens and their like. There are more out there than you might expect out there, based on the law of averages, who always seem to want to take a bite out of the Baleen occupied space-sphere. It’s a sad fact, so there, you diploma hugging hotshots.
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