“I have compiled a selection of positions for which resumes are requested and which do not rule you out by qualification,” Ship told him. “It is a short list.”
It was indeed a short list. A company located somewhere called Elk Grove needed an accountant, but Qtzl failed to see how anyone could keep track of imaginary units of value.
“Digits,” Ship said (smugly, Qtzl thought), “are digits no matter where in the galaxy one goes. We will send a resume there.”
Ship had also found an engineering position and several programming slots with a large company that seemed to be doing research in space travel. “You are an above average programmer at home.”
“But I don’t know any of the languages their computers speak, Ship.”
“I do, and what I know, I can teach you.”
“Why bother?” Qtzl asked, feeling useless. “You take the job. I’ll just… putter. Maybe explore the area.” He conjured an image of himself as the intrepid explorer, charting alien territory.
Ship quickly dismantled it. “Qtzl, it would be extremely unwise for you to leave this domicile without my Field Remote. You simply would not survive. There are large, wild life-forms in the surrounding woodlands.”
“You said there were only small life-forms in the surrounding woodlands.”
“I have revised my assessment, and widened the range of my scan. There are large life-forms. Four-legged. And they move in packs of three to ten individuals.”
Qtzl gave up the idea of exploring, intrepidly or otherwise.
Ship fabricated and sent a sterling resume based on a combination of Qtzl’s expertise (a rather limited set) and its own. A week passed without positive response. All of the prospective employers had insisted on interviews; three told Ship it was overqualified.
“This is more difficult than I anticipated,” Ship admitted.
Qtzl fanned his neck frill in frustration. “We have,” he noted, “a limited amount of food left.”
“However,” Ship continued, as if Qtzl hadn’t spoken, “I have found another employment opportunity. This one requests a resume, a photo, and published clips from anywhere in the United States.”
“United states…?”
“A group of sovereign or semi-sovereign provinces which function as part of a federation founded upon the principles—”
“What’s a ‘photo’?”
Ship idled momentarily. “A two-dimensional representation of a person rendered on paper in a chromatic medium—”
“Published ‘clips’… is that like published writings?” Qtzl’s interest was piqued. He’d exhibited a flair for both prose and lyric during his school days. In fact, he’d won a number of essay contests and had published a few pieces of short fiction and philosophy. Not that anyone had noticed…
Ship emitted the mechanical equivalent of a sigh. “The advertisement is from a city newspaper. A large one, judging from the estimation of its readership. They need a ‘columnist’—that is, one who writes prose of philosophical bent and gives advice to the readers.”
Qtzl twitched his crest. “Philosophy I can handle, but advice? About what?”
“It does not say,” said Ship.
“I need a… ‘photo,’ you called it.”
“Very good, Qtzl. Yes, ‘photo.’ You need one. And some examples of your prose.”
“You have that in your database.”
“Indeed. Shall I select a cross-section of your philosophical meanderings?”
As Ship’s AI system was not programmed for wry humor, Qtzl was sure he must have imagined the barb. “Do that,” he directed, feeling somewhat more buoyant. “I’ll find a ‘photo’ somewhere. They’re all over the backs of these… ‘books.’ ” During his rambling exploration, he had found a volume with a representation of an Earth personage in shades of gray. He found it now, and carefully excised it from the book’s glossy wrapping, using a foraged utility blade. By the time he had finished, Ship had produced several pieces of his finest commentary, and had come across sample advice columns in the newspaper’s online archives.
“It is called ‘Ask Angela,’ ” said Ship. “In it, a reader asks a question and Angela provides the answer.”
“What sort of question?”
“For example, this female complains that after the birth of their first young, her mate has ceased to accord her the requisite attention due her. She is uncertain what to do to recapture his interest.”
“And what advice does Angela give?”
“She tells the female to decrease her weight and revitalize her… assets. This is an approximation, of course. This will, according to Angela, put something called pizzazz’ back into the relationship.”
“That’s terrible advice! How can decreasing her body weight possibly increase her powers of attraction? A female is supposed to gain weight when she produces young. It’s the natural indication of her elevated status. Doesn’t this society have a mating codex? This female should sue for breach of attraction!”
“I am uncertain how this society handles their domestic matters. Perhaps the bearing of young is not as highly regarded here as it is at home.”
“Nonsense. The society will not survive long that devalues its young.” Qtzl stood and began to pace. “I shall not only tender my ‘published clips,’ ” he decided, “I shall give a real answer to this question. Ship, read me the entire column.”
Ship did, and Qtzl gave his own opinion about mates with wandering attention and the merits of a matron’s physique. He recommended legal action only as a last resort, suggesting that some remedial classes in couplehood might help the woman’s mate bolster his flagging attention span.
Scanning the photo of the Earth person for transmission, Ship said, “And what is the name of your alter-ego, Qtzl? Judging from the data I have accessed, Qtzl Fhuuii is not a common name here.”
“Well, I think it should sound something like that other one, er, ‘Ask Angela.’ ”
“ ‘Ask’ is a verb meaning to inquire. Angela is a name suggesting the columnist is a saintly being from the next world sent back to this plane to intercede on behalf of others.”
Qtzl was impressed. “All that in three syllables! Is there a word in this economical language for a saintly being from another world who’s stranded on this one?”
“Alien. Also known colloquially as an ‘ET.’ ”
“Well then. That’s it. ‘Ask Alien.’ ”
“I do not think we wish to call attention to your… non-local origins.”
Qtzl’s feelings were hurt. “Well, then you suggest something.”
Accordingly, Ship reviewed databases of common names beginning with the letter ‘A’ and came up with “Arlene.” Close to “alien,” but not close enough to draw suspicion.
Ship dispatched the packet to the newspaper and Qtzl began an expectant wait. While he waited, he returned to the transport module to assess the damage and began the painful process of learning the natives’ difficult language. “All gutturals,” he complained. “It’s enough to give a person a sore throat.”
By the end of another week, Qtzl had managed to read a book or two. It was challenging; even Ship was at a loss over certain words and concepts, and Qtzl began to suspect that he had stepped into a very strange world indeed, much like his favorite childhood story of Qalss in Tuiifooshand.
A decaday and a myriad resumes later, Qtzl had read a variety of books—mostly of a type called “science fiction.” It was not without its counterpart on his own world—every people, he suspected, dreamed of other peoples on other worlds. He also learned how to play computer games and developed a taste for something called “cheese puffs,” which was one thing his borrowed cupboards seemed to contain in abundance.