Alien 1

I awake to the silence of the tomb. Checking the clock, I see it'll be an hour to breakfast. I sit in my easy chair, watch the beauty of the sunrise over the stunning river valley scene.
You go through the cafeteria line with the women, then turn off into the Men's Mess. A new food server gives me a leer. Then her eye falls on the tiny 2 centimeter square black badge on my lapel, and a look of horror washes over her face. Yep, I'm the one and only black badge in the entire complex.
I'm first in, choose a window seat. As it fills up, everyone leaves lotsa room round me. They're being ridiculous, it isn't contagious, you are born this way. Or not.
After eating, I go outside, sit in the park, enjoy the birdsong and river view.
My comm-device beeps, "appointment with your lawyer, Room 31A, 10:00."
"Roger, wilco." (meaning will comply)
"Word of warning, self-important types. Room isn't booked before that. Best to show 15 minutes early."
"Roger, wilco."
Fred the guard greets me there. His function, just make sure no forbidden political talk. Other than that, he's sworn to secrecy.
My court-appointed Legal Aid lawyer shows at 10:15, flustered and breathless. Flipping open her laptop, "let's not beat around the bush. If this ever comes to trial, odds are it's the death sentence."
Bring it on, I think, what is life anyhow?
"You find that interesting, don't you?"
I nod.
"Well forget it. Here's how it really works. Court cases are back-logged some five years these days. Then you get your day in court. Any death sentence, automatic appeal to the Empress for clemency. Again, back log of some five years. If she spots one 'i' missing a dot, clemency is granted."
"I see ma'am, what fraction of cases result in clemency?"
"Over nine tenths."
I groan inwardly. Surely our society is one colossal waste of time.
"Your choice of how you react to the prosecution offer of a plea bargain. Plead guilty to reduced charges, it's a misdemeanor."
"I se ma'am, is that where they send you off to a desert island?"
She laughs easily, "you are sooo out of date. We've run out of desert islands. You go to Earth, become an Earthling. Even get to choose which of two."
"Isn't that a bit unfair ma'am? Kill some poor Earthling."
"Does not work so. Person is already in a state of clinical death. You enter then. No one is killed." She opens a file, "you can't keep the file nor make copies. Spend as much time as you wish examining it in the presence of the guard. He'll courier it back when you're done."
As she leaves I start to take a look. It's a no-brainer, man or woman. Everyone knows women have all the fun.
Fred grins awkwardly, "son, when I was in University, I had to do an artsy course for first year. Chose Anthropology 101E, study of Earthlings. Got me interested, read up more on it over the years."
"Sir, I am made of time, tell me all about it please."
"Well you see son, Earthlings are lots like us. Bigger, they're say six inches taller on average and heavier. Somewhat different nose shape. Other than that, same variants in skin color, facial shapes as here. Just like us, love to drink, smoke dope, gamble, fight with knives and guns, fight wars, cheat on spouses. Love to freeze their silly asses off in winter, just to look stylish. Same sorta oceans, deserts, farmland, apartments. Just like us, totally sex-obsessed. Only one real difference."
"What's that sir?"
"Total role reversal. In their world, men do the beachcombing, furtrapping, run off and join the Foreign Legion. Men who ply the High Arctic rigs or mine in northern Greenland for fabulous money, then return home for a spree. Men are merchant sailors, navy, army, truckers, pilots. Women get the boring jobs."
I take a good look at the two photos. The man is an Irish-American army sergeant. "Sir, he looks so good in uniform. Happy to be alive, fulfilled."
"Wouldn't you also son? Travel all about the world with your comrades. When not on duty, it's bar or racetrack or ballgames." Wicked grin, "so, tell me what's wrong with the woman?"
"Sir, looks like she's been constipated for a week. Needs more fibre."
He laughs uproariously, "you are such an innocent little boy. That's the look that says she ain't had sex in five years."
I gasp, "surely you're joking sir? Woman get what they want, when they want it."
"Not in their world boy."
"Any other clues sir?"
"Yes, think nationality, ethnic group. Now to be an Irishman is right up there along with the French, in terms of joie-de-vivre. Atmosphere of fun. If you're gonna be a man, Irish is about as good as it gets." Pulls a face, "now the woman, she's Afghan. Truly a backward people. Of all the places or cultures on Earth where you could be a woman, Afghan is dead last."
"But sir, says she's Afghan-Canadian."
"True son, but more Afghan than Canadian. Just so, man is more Irish than American."
"Ok sir, my mind is made up."
"Word of advice boy. Read both files very carefully."
I feel a chill of foreboding, "as in ah"
"You got it boy. Techies are hopeless. Could end up in the wrong body by accident."
"So what do I do sir? I mean if I'm in the wrong body."
"Job One, stay alive. See the bookkeeping system is set up to snag errors at monthend. Maybe. So if a week goes by after monthend and they ain't found it, it won't get found. And then, well you're truly on your own. It would be against the law for me to suggest an illegal act, even one offplanet."

My appointment with the counsellor is at 1:00. She tries, but like all these people, tedious and tiresome beyond belief. I sometimes think of slashing myself open, just to not have any more appointments with her.
As always, she's sex-obsessed, in her world, all is Freudian. Pays scant interest to my previous job nor my hobbies, other things which might define me.
This time, a surprise, practicum student will sit in, watch, so she'll endlessly repeat what she endlessly repeats for the benefit of student.
"Now Monsieur, please think back to entering junior high. There is usually an initiation ceremony. Was there in your case?"
How many time do you hafta? Oh well, "yes Doctor."
"Don't you 'yes Doctor' me. I want the complete story, all the details."
I groan inwardly, "it was the first day. In our class, 15 boys and 15 girls. Right after school, the girls took us all out behind the gym, no windows you could see out. They ordered us to take off all our clothes, get down on hands and knees. Then they went down the row, each girl gave each of us 4 strokes with a paintstick. So, 60 each. They then ordered us to give oral, but it never happened. That exact moment, principal came out, blew her whistle."
"I see, so were the parents hugely upset?"
"Big controversy, Doctor. Older parents shrugged, such is life, kids gotta learn, girls will be girls. Younger parents, up in arms, gives people wrong ideas about sex, best to just stay with the sex-ed course."
"I see, and how did sex-ed work in your school?"
"Doctor, I would imagine the same as in every other school."
"Similar maybe, not identical. Want all the details just so I could spot any local variants."
"First it is lectures Doctor. Then the ten practice sessions in the lab. Sex-ed teacher watches and critiques as boys give girls oral and girls give boys manual."
"I see, and how did it work for you?"
"Teacher did not want to play any favorites, so she just drew names, who your partner was. Mine was an East Indian, her parents were mega-prudish, signed the exemption certificate. So she and I didn't participate, just watched."
"How did the girl react to this?"
"Furious Doctor, that she'd been cheated. Demanded she come around to my place after school."
"And she ah chose not to reciprocate?"
"All demands, Doctor, nothing in return."
"Did you hang around with her after the sex-ed class was over?"
"No choice Doctor, don't have a girlfriend, endless harassment from all the other girls."