The 5th Gender, page 20
part #1 of Tinkered Stars Series
“Yeah, baby.”
“I will get to decorate a human ritual gathering space! May I choose all the colors?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Then we will need a great deal more paint, Drey. And after the decorating and the ritual, you will call me husband?”
“I will call you somate if you wish.”
“I would like that, Drey. I would like that very much.” Tris pressed his smooth face to Drey’s rough beard, a caress of permanence and intimacy, and Drey couldn’t believe his good fortune.
Tristol had almost forgotten where they were.
Still on the galoi ship.
Still in the common nest.
Drey took his hand and led him toward the exit. Tris waved his hand in the air at the correct spot and the door telescoped open. They walked through together and back down the hallway of the galoi spaceship, the sillovin flowers lethal and beautiful above them. Somehow Tris could like them again. In their way, they had given Ooloi Villisol the exile that he so desperately craved.
Tris did not know or care if the three galoi followed them. They were not important anymore.
But he was stopped at the top of the ramp by a cool hand on his arm. Tristol was so surprised, he jerked. The touch of another galoi.
Drey noticed and paused as well.
Together they turned.
Anisoi Ureeya stood before them.
His isoga spouse was there, protective as always, but a little apart, observing from a distance, guarding against intrusion rather than threat.
Tris was confused. He should be back to being invisible – unseen, untouched, nothing.
Yet Anisoi Ureeya’s hand still rested on Tristol’s arm. Tris was being touched by one of his own species. Tris had not had that in so long – the cool softness of another galoi’s skin. He had not known he missed it until this moment. But it also itched, bothered him.
It was not warm enough. It felt alien.
“Zyga?”
“Yes, antiga?”
Anisoi Ureeya let him go, once he was certain he had Tristol’s full attention.
Tris allowed his hair to stroke over the spot on his arm, sooth away the lingering coolness. He squeezed Drey’s big, warm hand. His human somate was patient, waiting.
The antiga stayed silent for a long moment, eyes fixed on where Drey and Tristol’s hands were entwined. Fingers woven together like strands of hair, dark brown and lavender. Contrasting but not ugly.
Finally he said, “Tristol, zyga, your hair is all one color. Do you have an advocate of record?”
Tris trilled sadly. “I did. The strand went flat and fell out, so I assume that she died.” That had hurt more than he would have thought. Not physically. He’d simply awoken one morning to find that one special strand of hair lying flat and lifeless in his nest. He had known immediately that Ooloi Plesol was dead. His last friend. His last true connection to Gal.
Tris pressed on with his explanation. “I was never sent another one. I have been waiting for a new strand for three years now. I thought maybe Gal forgot about me.”
“We ignore zyga but we never forget them. There are one hundred and three of you off planet right now. And every zyga carries the strand of an advocate. Perhaps they were just waiting to find you a younger advocate, for the safety of time.”
Tris realized then, that despite mycota, despite being captain of a spaceship, despite completing gamein, Anisoi Ureeya was quite young himself. Younger than Tris.
“Wait. You are speaking to me, anisoi. Why?”
“It is allowed in this instance.”
“Oh. You are offering me advocacy? I… Oh, I…” Words would not come to Tris. His hair drifted *sad*hopeful*waiting*.
Anisoi Ureeya switched to galoi and spoke the formal words of binding.
“I Anisoi Ureeya *galoi*male*first gender*complete* would be honored to be your advocate of record Ooloi Tristol *galoi*male*fifth gender*incomplete*.”
Tristol’s old title and identity. For a brief moment his existence as a true galoi was reestablished. In this one instance Tris must be seen completely by another galoi, so that at the very end, when he died, he would be remembered.
Tris recalled the ritual response as if it were yesterday. “I, Ooloi Tristol *galoi*male*fifth gender*completion-irrelevant* accept your sacrifice, Anisoi Ureeya *galoi*male*first gender*complete*.”
Anisoi Ureeya, wincing but brave, reached into his own beautiful violet-colored hair and yanked out a single strand. A valuable one, too – long, dark purple, soft, and beautiful.
Drey gasped and said *brash*loud*human*, “What the hell are you doing?”
Poor human, he understood so little.
Tris switched to galactic standard. “All is well, Drey. This is important. Give me another moment, please, somate?”
“Of course, baby.” Drey subsided, trusting.
I love this big human, Tris thought.
Tristol took the offered strand of hair reverently and planted it among his own, feeling it nudge in, take hold, knowing the dark violet color was threading a little with lavender, melding. It would always be different from the others, a single streak of a dark violet. He’d been so vain when he chose Ooloi Plesol as his advocate. He’d wanted her partly because she had his same color hair. Perhaps that was his mistake. She had been too old, so he had outlived her and her hair.
Anisoi Ureeya said, “I acknowledged that you are Ooloi Tristol *galoi*male*fifth-gender* no longer.”
Tris touched his new strand of hair. “Zyga,” he agreed. “My ears are naked and I am nothing.” Which completed the ritual.
By rights Tris should be invisible again, no longer a person, but Anisoi Ureeya surprised him one final time.
Still in galoi he said, “I look forward to learning the story of your life and singing it to others. Your death will bring great change, I think. And we need that now more than ever.”
“Hopefully, not too soon,” said Tris, his hair tips flicking in amusement, even the dark purple one.
Tris thought he caught a bit of tip-twitching from the captain’s hair too, even though Anisoi Ureeya was back to ignoring him, as was right and proper.
Tristol turned and, tugging Drey by the hand for a change, dragged his frowning, worried human off the alien spaceship.
They stood at the bottom of the ramp a long moment, in the strange, relative safety of the isolated docking bay. They knew that Professor Frills and possibly others were on the other side of the bulkhead, waiting to ask too many questions.
“Tris, did he just give you a strand of his hair?”
Poor human somate, he was so very confused. “Yes, Drey.”
Tristol’s emotions were all over the place, and so was the hair in question. It was so unexpected and so very kind of the antiga. Tris did not know antigas could be kind.
“Anisoi Ureeya is now my advocate of record. I am touched and honored. I lost my first advocate a few years ago. I thought Gal forgot about me. So I would be forgotten utterly too. Now I will be remembered.”
Drey noticed the perturbed state of Tristol’s hair and gathered Tris close. Soothing him with alien warmth. Tristol loved that already Drey knew what to look for, how to read and understand him, and how to comfort. He was such a wonderful somate.
Drey’s big human hands nested easily into the coiling lavender strands, occasional petting the darker violet-colored one.
“The strand he gave you has threads of lavender in it.”
“Of course, yes. It is mine for the rest of my life.”
“What happens then?”
“When I die, my strands will collapse, as Ooloi Villisol’s did. All of them will go flat and lifeless, except for that one. That one will stay vibrant and whole, dark violet and lavender together.”
“And?”
“And the galoi will know to whom the strand belongs. Our hair color is unique, like human fingerprints. There is a legal mandate governing all zyga living among humans. Our bodies must be given back to the home world. They must! It is for the hair. You must make absolutely certain, Drey, that my hair is sent home.”
“Baby, I think you’ll live longer than me. I hope you will. And I’d rather go first.”
Tristol nodded. It was a fair request and he would do his best.
“So what happens with that one leftover strand?”
“It is returned to Anisoi Ureeya, as my advocate.”
“And?”
“He will tell the galoi my story. My life away from them. And they will know what I have learned of sock shopping and noodle eating and cat keeping. And they will wonder at the differences in our universe. And because of you, they will see that there can be human somates, and human love and purple penises, and they will maybe talk a little more to humans. They will maybe open up their ships to visitors. And they will maybe consult your doctors for the secrets of human fertility. And they will maybe change. Because that is what zyga is for, in the end. Possibility.”
Drey was crying, which Tris found odd, but suspected it had something to do with him talking about death, which humans went funny over. As they were funny about all kinds of things.
“Tris, are you saying that galoi hair contains collective memory?” Drey’s voice was shaking.
“Of course it does, Drey. Does not human hair?”
Drey gave a watery chuckle and ran a hand over his closely shorn tight black locks. “No, baby. But if it falls to me, I will do everything in my power to ensure your hair makes it back to Gal.”
“Good, Drey. I have learned very important things. They should not be wasted or lost.”
“Especially not the parts about noodles and purple penises?”
“Especially not those.”
Drey kissed him and held him a little longer, and then said, “Shall we face the music?”
“There will be music waiting for us in the hallway? Professor Frills plays an instrument?”
“Well he is a windbag. But that was an idiom, Tris. Once we’ve danced to his metaphorical tune, we get to go home to your nest.”
“After we purchase brown paint so I may paint you into my life.”
“After that, somate.”
Tristol’s hair shivered with joy and he trilled a little at a future with Drey filled with so many new colors and new possibilities – brown and violet and lavender and beautiful.
GLOSSARY OF ALIEN TERMS
Anisoi: the honorific for an antiga galoi, 1st gender.
antiga: connecting (social) and inseminating (physical) galoi, 1st gender, who produce sperm and inseminate eggs. They show human-male-like biological sexual characteristics, but occupy a matriarchal social role. Their skeletal structure is smaller than isoga but larger than loga. Their skin comes in darker purple colors. They are addressed with the honorific “Anisoi” and their names end in “a” sound. Other galoi who like to bond with 1st gender wear a BLACK earring.
Belloi: the honorific for an isoga galoi, 2nd and 3rd gender.
cota: the galoi ideal social/sexual adult relationship and cohabitation unit made up of four individuals – one antiga, one loga, and both isoga.
dorien: an alien race that has three genders – male, female, and neutral (or flexible). All three appear to humans as entirely androgynous. Dorien neutral pronouns are xe and xer and are in common use in galactic standard for anyone, regardless of race, who does not identify as male/female. It is also considered polite to address someone as such, if they have not stated a preferred pronoun. Dorien have silver, gray, or white hair (or any combination) and textured skin that looks/feels like an indented tattoo pattern. They are genetically compatible with, and often sexually interested in, humans.
galoi: a xenophobic alien race with 5 genders both socially and biologically based, and a complex. extremely strict biologically-deterministic culture. The planet Gal and its bio-formed galoi were once referred to by the Tinkers as the “platypus of the galaxy.” Galoi is both singular and plural (one is a galoi, but also a group of galoi) and also the name of the language.
gamein: a priori legal social obligation of galoi antiga and loga to the greater society and culture. It translates to mandated sexual liaisons, for the purposes of procreation, between antiga and loga, resulting in a required number of viable offspring.
isoga (female): protecting (social) and child-rearing (physical) galoi 2nd gender. They have a marsupial pouch (for the joey) and milk-producing teats (like kangaroo), plus residual secondary biological sex characteristics of a female. They don’t produce eggs, only milk. They have the largest skeletal structure and skin on the pink end of the purple spectrum. They are addressed with honorific “Belloi” and their names end in "b" sound. Other galoi who like to bond with 2nd gender wear a COPPER earring.
isoga (male): protecting (social) and child-rearing (physical) galoi 3rd gender. They have a marsupial pouch (for the joey) and milk-producing teats (like kangaroo), plus the residual secondary biological sex characteristics of a male. They orgasm but they don’t produce sperm. They have the largest skeletal structure of all galoi and pinker tones to their purple skin. They are addressed with honorific “Belloi” and their names end in “b” sound. Other galoi who like to bond with 3rd gender wear a GOLD earring.
loga (female): nesting (social) and childbearing (physical) galoi 4th gender. They have eggs and a very small womb, plus the residual secondary biological sex characteristics of a female, but they don’t produce milk. They have the smallest skeletal structure and come in lighter purple colors. They are addressed with honorific "Ooloi" and their names end in an "l" sound. Other galoi who like to bond with 4th gender wear a SILVER earring.
loga (male): nesting (social) and childbearing (physical) galoi 5th gender. They have eggs and a very small womb, but the residual secondary biological sex characteristics of a male. While they orgasm, they don’t produce sperm. They have the smallest skeletal structure and come in lighter purple colors. They are addressed with honorific "Ooloi" and their names end in an "l" sound. Other galoi who like to bond with 5th gender wear a WHITE earring.
mycota: any sexual/social bonded galoi cohabitation unit from pair to triad comprised of any (culturally acceptable) gender combination. This is considered less desirable and less stable than a full cota of four, but it is fine as far as the government is concerned. Mycota might loosely be translated as marriage.
Ooloi: the honorific for a loga galoi, 4th and 5th gender.
somate: a person with whom a galoi forms a working sexual and social bond, similar to spouse.
zyga: genderless exiles (by social construct of galoi society), similar to the ancient idea of outcaste. The word “Zyga” is also taken as a last name by galoi zyga, and no honorific is used.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you so much for picking up The 5th Gender. I hope you enjoyed Tristol and Drey’s story. If you would like more from the Tinkered Stars universe, please say so in a review. I’m grateful for the time you take to do so.
I have a silly gossipy newsletter called The Chirrup. I promise: no spam no fowl. (Well, maybe a little fowl and the occasional giveaway.)
gail carriger.com
Read on for a sample of G. L. Carriger’s The Omega Objection
The
OMEGA
OBJECTION
SAN ANDREAS SHIFTERS
G. L. Carriger
CHAPTER ONE
Saucebox
“What do you mean you didn’t sleep with him? You’ve been chasing his tail for six months. You got cold pussy at the last minute?” Isaac stared in awe at his friend.
“Isaac! Don’t be crass.”
“Babycakes, I’m always crass and you love me for it.”
Clara giggled and bumped against him. “I totally do.” Her eyes were big and worshipful on his face. It was only a little creepy.
Clara was human, so she didn’t understand why she liked Isaac so much. Isaac had learned not to mind. It wasn’t him, it was what he was and he couldn’t do anything about it, so he might as well enjoy the results.
“You going to tell me why you turned him down after weeks of flirting?” Isaac adored contrary women. He didn’t want his cock near them, of course, but he loved to talk about their sex lives. Mysterious alien creatures that they were.
Clara rolled her eyes and looked cagey. “Well…”
Isaac perked up. That meant there was something seriously wrong with the dude. All this time trying to get him into bed and what? “Ooo, lemme guess. He kisses like a dead fish? He’s kinky in a bad way? Smells wrong?”
Okay, maybe not that last one. Humans didn’t seem to care as much about smell as Isaac did.
Clara laughed. “Sugar, you have no idea. He’s got this—” She stopped in her tracks (and mid-explanation) and stood frozen on the busy sidewalk. Her big blue eyes were wide and staring at the club. They were across the street from Saucebox, the sacred space where Isaac and Clara practiced their nightly ritual of group counseling, liquid courage, and interpretive dance. Otherwise known as bartending.
Clara and Isaac were two of San Francisco’s best and most popular bartenders.
It’s not arrogance if it’s the truth.
Clara was clearly distracted by something very shiny. “Oh, my heavens, would you look at the new bouncer?”
Isaac laughed. “You going to put a hand to your head and faint?”
“Land’s sake!” Clara always stepped up to play her part if given the right cue. “Stop looking at me, honey-child. Look at him. Does he bat for my team or yours? Oh, please say he’s straight.”
Isaac squinted across the street. “Can’t tell at this distance.”
Clara gave him an incredulous look. “You’re joking. You could stand on the top of the Empire State Building and ID every gay man in New York City.”
Isaac grinned at her. “I’d sure try.”
“With your spit.”
“Can you think of a better gay litmus test?”
