Canto Forty-Four – In the Bio-Dome
Alden and Gracie stood before the row of cloning jars, staring at the gently floating and twitching forms. Sizzahl gently adjusted the nutrient feeds to the artificial placentas.
“They look so… so human,” said Gracie. “Their little bodies are so perfect, and so big!”
“We will have them developed to birth size by morning,” said Sizzahl. “The cloning jars use electro-magnetic chronol-enhancement to make the gestation occur in a fraction of the time.”
“Really?” Alden was aghast, “We will have ten babies to take care of by morning?”
“Oh, yes. They will grow fast for a while. They will be toddlers in less than a week. And about your other comment, Gracie… they are precisely fifty per cent human. Half me, half Alden… half Galtorrian…”
“…Half human,” said Alden. It was stunning. He and Gracie had talked about having kids, in fact, tried hard to have kids for years… and now, suddenly, they would have a family of ten children and three parents who, no matter how mentally old and wise they might be, were physically only between ten and twelve.
“I want to be a mother so badly it hurts,” said Gracie. “But why so many? How will we manage ten babies all at once?”
Sizzahl put a hand on Gracie’s bare shoulder. “There is very little romance in what we have to do. We have to raise up a workforce of these new fusion-race babies, possibly even an army. We really don’t have a choice if we are not going to simply let this entire planet die.”
Suddenly a black-clad figure appeared above the tanks. It was humanoid in form, but had a tail like a Galtorrian. It wore a black mask like a ninja.
“Ah! Scabby!” cried Alden, pointing.
“He moves too much like a lizard with no diseases,” said Sizzahl, a firm hand on the shoulder of each of the Morrells. “In fact… he seems awfully familiar.”
“Sizzahl! I thought Gohmurt had killed the whole family!”
“Senator Makkhain?” asked Sizzahl.
The lizard-man pulled off the mask. “Yes, little one, I have survived. The Cooperative managed to kill Emperor Rekhpahree in the last battle over Spidercrawl Fortress. I came to tell your father and recruit him to our cause… um, forgetting that Gohmurt killed him, I guess… but it seems the Bio-Dome is wrecked and everyone else is dead.”
“I am not dead,” said Sizzahl, mistress of the obvious. “And the Bio-Dome is not wrecked. I have the atmosphere scrubbers working at full capacity, and I am trying to solve the blighted food supply problem.”
“Clever girl. How did you survive the scabbies with nothing more than your little naked self?” Makkhain pulled off his mask. For a lizard-man, he had a very gentle face with wise bluish snake eyes.
“I’m not alone here. Father’s robots are set to kill anything wearing clothes or carrying equipment. How is it that you survived them?”
“I’m sorry. Three of your father’s toys attacked me, and I had to break them quietly with this…” He brandished a silver blade weapon with a hook on the end that was smeared with oil.
“Erm… I guess I will have to fix them, then. They have been protecting us very effectively.”
“Who is this man, Makkhain?” asked Gracie. “Should we be trusting him?”
“Oh,” said Makkhain, “your naked Skoog Monkeys talk?”
“We are not Skoog Monkeys,” said Alden. “We are humans from Earth.”
“Of course you are,” said Makkhain. “But apparently really scrawny ones.”
Alden was boiling at the insult. Still, the lizard-man had a sword and Alden was naked and trapped in a mere boy’s body.
“Makkhain is my uncle,” said Sizzahl at last, “my mother’s brother. He is one of the good guys.”
“That is good,” said Gracie. “We need more good guys.”
“What are you doing cooking tailless Skoog Monkeys in the cloning pots?”
“These are fusions,” said Sizzahl proudly. “They are half Earther and half Galtorrian. They will be our new work force, hopefully with the best qualities of each race combined into one being.”
“Ah, girl, you always were the smart one in the family… a real dreamer. But do you really need these things now that I am here?”
“Yes, uncle. They are superior to the lizard-people who have destroyed this planet. They will be a more worthy successor race than we were as an original race.”
Makkhain dropped down onto the floor of the cloning chamber and lowered the sword. He quietly put an arm around his naked niece. She hugged him fiercely and began to cry.
Alden felt awkward. He was glad that Sizzahl had a family again. He was also glad for an adult-sized ally. But something about Makkhain rubbed him the wrong way. Things just didn’t feel right in Alden’s farmer weather-bones.
*****
Catch a Falling Star 
Hurtful Words
Yesterday’s post got me thinking about how words and the power behind words can actually hurt people. They can you know. Words like “brainiac”, “bookworm”, “nerd”, “spaz”, “geek”, and “absent-minded professor” were used as weapons against me to make me cry and warp my self-image when I was a mere unformed boy. I do not deny that I was smarter than the average kid. I also recognize that my lot in life was probably better than that of people assaulted with words like “fatty”, “moron”, “loser”, and “queer”. Being skinny as a child, there was actually only one of those deadly words that was never flung my direction. Words like that have the power, not only to hurt, but even to cripple and kill.
We all stand naked at times before a jury of our peers, and often they decide to throw stones.
I try to commit acts of humor in this blog. Or, at least, acts of verbal nit-witted goofiness that make at least me laugh. I have been told by readers and students and those forced to listen that I only think I am funny, and I am a hopelessly silly and pointless old man (a special thank you to Miss Angela for that last example, used to tell me off in front of a science class I was substitute teaching years ago.) But those words do not hurt me. I am immune to their power because I know what the words mean and I am wizard enough to shape, direct, and control their power.
I have stated before that I don’t approve of insult humor (usually right before calling Trump a pumpkin-head, or otherwise insulting other members of the ruling Empire of Evil Idiots). And I don’t mean to shame others or make them feel belittled by my writing. But sometimes it happens and can’t be helped.
This blog isn’t about entertainment. I am not a stand-up comedian working on joke material. I use this blog as a laboratory for creating words and ideas. It is mostly raw material that I mean to shape into gemstones that can be used to decorate or structurally support my crown jewel novels. I use it to piece ideas together… stitch metaphors and bake gooseberry pies of unusual thinking. I use it to reflect on what I have written and what I have been working on. And sometimes, like today, I use it to reflect on how readers take what I have written and respond or use it for ideas of their own. That’s why I never reject or delete comments. They are useful, even when they are barbed and stinging. I made an entire post out of them yesterday.
I try hard myself to be tough in the face of hurtful words. You have to learn that essential Superman skill to be a middle school and high school teacher. It is there in those foundries for word-bullets that the most hurtful words are regularly wielded. The skill is useful for when you need the word bullets to bounce off you, especially if you are standing between the shooter and someone else. But I can never feel completely safe. Some words are kryptonite and will harm me no matter what I do. Some words you simply must avoid.
Anyway, there is my essay on hurtful words. If you want to consider all of that being my two cents on the matter… well, I probably owe you a dollar fifty-five.
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Tagged as humor, hurtful words, insult humor, resisting hurtful words