By Jessica Andrewartha
Originally appeared in Utopia Science Fiction Feb./Mar. 2021
I don’t think I slept at all last night. I was too nervous. I finally got up at 0400 and spent the rest of my sleeping hours reviewing practice questions.
How many teeth does a Squelt have?
What is the ideal temperature for a Worblat during a procedure?
What three words should you never say to a Krezen?
One of my mom’s ridiculous Terran sayings is “there’s no second chance to make a first impression,” so I iron my slacks again, eat a breakfast with no added sugars, and brush my teeth for a full four minutes. I want to make sure I look clean, precise, and professional. Like a real dental hygienist.
#
I was born on a colony ship only three days before it landed, so I’ve basically lived on Zahnna my whole life. My parents are Terrans and they talk all the time about how different Zahnna is from what they call home. I don’t think I’d like Earth, or the moon (who wants to live on a planet with only one moon?), or even Mars. Only Terrans live there. Who would want to be on a planet where everyone is the same species? It sounds dreadfully closeminded.
Zahnna isn’t like that at all. It’s in the middle of trading lanes that span the galaxy. The Zahnnians have been welcoming tourists, refugees, and scholars for centuries. Their schools teach dozens of languages in the seven known ways to communicate. My favorite is with tentacle positions, but Mom and Dad don’t understand how anyone can say anything if it’s not with a mouth. But that’s what’s so great about Zahnna. The schools cater to a multitude of different species, and so do the bars, the gyms, the doctors, and the dentists.
I’ve wanted to work in intergalactic dentistry since the first time I saw a Squelt open their mouth. Rows and rows of teeth, then another chamber with more teeth, and another after that, all with their own purpose, their own sense of taste, and their own cleaning needs. Squelt are more conscientious about their teeth than humans are with their hair, Zahnnians with their tentacles, or Kelf with their reputations. It’s a big deal.
#
After a short walk down the glass tunnels of my neighborhood, I’m outside the office ten minutes early. The only hard part was making sure it wasn’t thirty. Just looking at the sign makes my heart beat faster:
Dr. Spendblat Addams, Intergalactic Dentist, DDMSI.
Dr. Addams is the greatest dentist on Zahnna. He’s Squelt himself and teeth are his life. He’s where you go no matter what species you are if you find yourself on Zahnna with a chipped tooth or in need of a root canal. His office can handle absolutely anyone. He has over a dozen hygienists. Some are known for being so courteous that even a Kelf couldn’t take offense. And some are experts at being so rude that a Worblat would feel right at home. If there’s an intergalactic cosmopolitan center for dental health, I’m standing in front of it, about to prove I’m worthy to be a part of it. Hopefully.
I open the door and am immediately greeted by a tiny Kelf, who bows all the way to the floor.
“Greetings child of light and reason. I and my clan are at your service, and I could not be more pleased to see you. In what ways could I possibly be of assistance to one as brilliantly shining as you?”
“I’m here for an interview actually.”
The little Kelf is delighted by this. But Kelf appear delighted by most things. It’s impossible to tell if you’ve offended one; they’re too polite to ever let on.
“I welcome you then as a noble practitioner of the dental arts and a worthy colleague.”
Eager to make a good impression, I bow low to the Kelf. “I hope I’m not too early,” I say as respectfully as I can muster.
“Are you the 0900 appointment then?” This voice is sharp and clearly has no patience for me or the Kelf. The voice belongs to a six-armed, two-tentacled female that I’m 99% sure is a native Zahnnian. While they are relatively rare on their intergalactic haven of a planet, I’ve always wanted to work with one. They’re said to be the most adaptable species in the galaxy.
“Er. Yes. Thank you. Both of you. Dana Wittington, here to interview,” I say, unsure how to split the difference, behaviorally speaking.
“So pleased to make your acquaintance and to be of service,” says the Kelf.
“Sit down. Last person isn’t out yet. They’re probably more qualified than you, anyway. Although they looked like a real dumb-dumb to me,” drawls the Zahnnian.
“Please ignore my exalted colleague. She is most used to serving our Worblat and other honored clients who are exhausted by the elaborate service of my kind.” The Kelf is practically tripping over herself (all Kelf are girls unless they’re molting) to make sure I don’t take offense. Time to practice my skills.
“Oh, my little friend. What you lack in size you make up for in manners. I would never take offense from either of you lofty servants of the dental arts. I understand that you each humbly serve your own roles in this hallowed house of hygiene.” The Kelf trills and the other receptionist huffs. I take a seat and try not to look nervous. I want very badly to get them on my side.
“How long has this establishment been made the better by your diligent presence?” I ask the Kelf.
“Dr. Addams has had the patience to bear with this humble Kelf’s service, such as it is, for seven standards now.”
“How do you like it?”
There’s a glimmer of something I can’t quite decipher on her face. Her colleague at the desk responds before I can think of inquiring what it meant. “She’s a Kelf. What the hell do you think she’s going to say? Dr. Addams’ boots are too exalted for her to lick. She couldn’t be happier if she was trapped around the clock in a Duzgordian pleasure machine.”
I’ve never seen a Kelf look annoyed, but this would be the moment if ever there was one. “My esteemed colleague is of course capable of describing my joy in ways I would never have imagined,” she says as her face turns an embarrassed shade of turquoise.
I’ve always wondered how the office deals with having so many diverse client needs to balance. Seeing these tensions play out in person gives me a thrill, but I decide not to mention it. The Zahnnian already looks somewhat nauseous at having to listen to the Kelf and I flatter each other for this long.
“Do either of you have any tips for the interview? It’s been my dream to work here since before I went to hygienist school.”
Wrong question. The Kelf turns a deeper blue still as she quickly reassures me, “I would never presume to be able to advise such a well-educated, beautifully groomed representative of their species.”
“Try not to fuck it up,” is all I get from the Zahnnian. There’s a silence that’s threatening to get awkward when a light on her desk flicks on. “Boss says it’s your turn. Go back if you want. Or just lock yourself in the bathroom and cry. It’ll save everyone time and won’t change your chances,” the Zahnnian says.
“I think I’ll just do my best. Which direction?”
“If you can’t figure that out, how the hell are you going to find a Squelt tooth that needs polishing?”
Fortunately, the Kelf takes over.
“While I cannot leave the doorway due to the risk of offending an arriving illustrious guest, please allow my poor mind to guide you,” she offers with a bow. I’m glad I have enough experience with Kelf to know what she’s offering. Kelf can pass someone a sense memory through touch.
“I would be most honored to receive your guiding thought,” I say with another bow.
I offer my hand, and the moment she touches it I see what it looks like to walk back through the door, turn right at the poster of happy Worblat gums, make the second left, and stand outside a large brass door. With a quick bow, I turn and follow the path she has shown me.
#
I pause for a moment outside Dr. Addams’ door. The Kelf’s memory didn’t show knocking, but I’m not sure a Kelf would ever do anything that bold. I give the door a light tap. “Come in,” beckons a reverberating voice, so I take a deep breath and enter.
Dr. Addams is an impressive specimen of a Squelt. He must easily be two meters tall, with shoulders over a meter wide and a neck thicker than any tree on Zahnna. All that neck is there to support the glory of his Squelt head. It’s as big as a beach ball, with four large golden eyes that stand out vividly against his dark mauve skin. One of them has a golden monocle hovering in front of it.
Below the soft golden eyes is his incredible mouth. Squelt mouths are unlike anything else in the galaxy. Three chambers work together, each with its own pH, chewing motion, and temperature, to make a mosaic of sound that is the reason Squelt are among the galaxy’s most prized opera singers. They also can devour nearly anything.
I’ve seen pictures of Dr. Addams, of course, but being in his presence gives me an extra flutter of nerves. This person is a legend and he has consented to talk to me. He lazily waves one of his four arms at the human-sized chair in front of him. I’m sure he has a closet full of other chairs for other species. I hope I get to find out.
I swallow my nerves and step forward. As I do, I extend my hand to give his outstretched fingers the traditional Squelt twiddle. He gives his a stately wiggle in return, but I think I detect a small smile of surprise on his incredible mouth.
“It’s such an honor to be meeting you, sir,” I say as I take the offered seat. I repeat it in my best attempt at Squelt. Squelt are master linguists, but it still seems rude to expect him to conduct the interview entirely in Human Standard just for me.
“Thank you. Please feel free to speak your native language,” he says kindly as he reviews my resume.
“You’ve recently graduated with excellent references from your instructors and Dr. Thorddle.”
“Yes, Dr. Thorddle was so kind to me during my apprenticeship with her. I had many opportunities to assist her excellent staff, both human and Squelt.”
He nods politely, if not helpfully. “Given your excellent experience there, why did you not stay on more permanently?”
“I was able to complete my training in Dr. Thorddle’s office because my time there coincided with the extended gestation period of one of her staff member’s young. I filled the position while he was pregnant.”
“Ah yes, I remember now that Fred Zarfulgarintoninger had another child this year. I must send him and his brood my regards.” Of course, Dr. Addams knows the members of my old office. The dental community is small on any planet.
“I would have loved to stay, of course, but Fred’s child is now a perfect shade of puce, and he was very ready to come back to work before they start trying out genders. And as grateful as I am for my experience with Dr. Thorddle’s staff, her office only serves humans and Squelt. It has always been my dream to work with as many different species as possible.”
“I see. You are the rare human to have such a goal.”
“I know some humans can be isolationists, but I’ve never understood it. Why settle for one type of mouth when the galaxy has so many?”
“I see. Well, let’s dive into it then.”
#
For the next three quarters of an hour, Dr. Addams asks me the most rigorous series of questions about teeth, gums, tongues, uvulae, and lips I have ever experienced. My final exams seem low stress compared to this grilling, all done in his quiet, stately voice. Each answer is received with the same decorous nod, which gives me maddeningly little information about my performance.
I know I slipped up a little when he asked about the proper way of alerting a Kelf to any defect in their teeth (it must be done with extreme delicacy to avoid offense). I also had to come back to his question about the right dose of Novocaine for extracting Worblat teeth. Given how much Worblat take any kind of pampering, consideration, or kindness as a personal offense, it is generally best to give a minimum. But I forgot to mention that the opposite is true for their pregnant females who must be catered to and made to feel no pain or discomfort at all during their two-year gestation period. When I came back around to that after a few minutes he only nodded again. If Dr. Addams ever wanted to play poker with humans, he would clean them all out.
I squirm with the knowledge that the interview must be almost over. I can only hope that I’ve made the right impression. I know I got most of the technical questions correct. I read the x-ray examples he provided accurately. I’m confident in my diagnosis of a model Krezen mouth. I remembered to prod the second to last tooth to make the second tongue unfurl. I can only hope it’s enough.
“Thank you for answering all of my questions, Dana,” Dr. Addams rumbles. “If you would give me just a moment, I would like to check something with my reception staff before I let you go about your day.” He rises at a stately pace, eases himself around the desk, and opens the door wide enough for his long tubular body to pass through.
Left alone in his office, I try to stop my heart from racing. He went to ask the reception team something. That could be a good sign. Right? If I had done terribly, he probably wouldn’t care what they had to say. I’m glad I tried so hard to be gracious and respectful to the Kelf. I hope I didn’t blow it with the Zahnnian by being too nice. I hope my bow was low enough. Dear sweet Laughing Gas, I really hope I get this job.
After what feels like a lifetime, I hear the soft, fleshy sound of Dr. Addams squelching down the hall. His stately pace is agonizing as he slides himself back into the room and around his desk. Once he’s seated, he gives me an appraising look and I try not to bounce with anticipation and nerves.
“Well, Miss Wittington,” he begins. “I must say I am impressed with your dental knowledge. You have a startlingly good grasp of the workings of other species’ mouths.” I can feel my whole face flush with pride and satisfaction.
“If we had a spot for a human and humanoid specialist, the job would be yours.” He says this kindly, but I swear my heart stops. If. If they had room. If there was a job. I’m not going to get this. My mouth goes dry and I curse the primate ancestors who evolved in such a way that my eyes prickle and threaten to form tears at the news. Squelt find our tendency to leak water when emotional highly unsettling.
“I hope you will humor me while I make an alternate suggestion,” he continues. I can’t handle this emotional whiplash. Is he going to tell me they’re hiring me anyway for something fabulously inter-species, or advise me to move to one of the backwater planets filled with nothing but humans? The thought alone almost kills me. Who wants to look at the same 32 teeth over and over again for their whole career? They’re all the same color for cavity’s sake!
“First, I’d like you to insult me,” he says in the same steady tone.
What?
“If you would be so kind. Really let me have it. Be as rude as you can muster for a moment.”
“You want me to insult you?”
“Please.”
“As part of my interview?” My mind is spinning. Dr. Spendblat Addams has been my professional idol for years. I had a poster of him in my college living pod! How in the world am I supposed to say something rude to him?
“Your third interplanetary Golden Tooth award was undeserved,” I venture feebly. And falsely. His work on Worblat root canals alone deserves every award the galaxy can throw at him. He just looks at me expectantly. “And your eyes are somewhat uneven,” I add. He looks disappointed. I’ve just disappointed Dr. Spendblat Addams.
“Surely you can do better than that,” he says encouragingly.
“Your size is disappointingly small compared to your species average, and your breath smells bad.” I’m lying wildly at this point. His breath smells like the ideal mix of Zahnnian wild boar meat and spearmint. His disappointment only grows.
“Oh well, I had hoped we might come to an unorthodox arrangement, but if that’s as rude as you’re able to be…”
He turns off the screen containing my resume. I’m about to lose my dream job because I can’t properly insult my hero. My eyes are prickling. My throat is dry. My fists clench.
“Not so fast, you oversized sack of purple goo. I’m not leaving this third-rate shithole without a job. You think you don’t need me, you pompous slug with a monocle? Open your ears. Oh wait, your species was too stupid to evolve any! I know more about teeth than any sniveling Kelf, plus I don’t need a ladder to get to patients’ mouths. I may only have two hands, but Dana Wittington, Intergalactic Dental Hygienist, can get more done with them than you or anyone on your staff, you blind, ungrateful, overblown, pestilential hack of a dental professional!”
Dear
Sweet
Laughing Gas.
I just said all that. In a job interview. To Dr. Spendblat Addams.
My career is over. I’m panting, feeling empty now that the tidal wave of vitriol has poured out of me. I can’t look at him. With my eyes averted, I stand up and start to fumble my way to the door.
“I thought you weren’t leaving this third-rate shithole without a job,” comes his mild voice behind me. I turn around in shock. Instead of looking aghast, Dr. Addams appears quite tickled.
“That was exactly what I needed to hear,” he says pleasantly. “’Pestilential hack’ was truly inspired. I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but would you consider joining my practice as our Worblat specialist? Your knowledge seems more than adequate, and your record is impeccable. I just needed to make sure you could properly insult our Worblat clients. It would not do to hire a meek human who will make them feel uncomfortably respected. I have a reputation to uphold. But you’ve demonstrated nicely that you can handle the requirements. The job is yours if you want it.”
I stare at him for a full ten seconds before it sinks in. I got the job.
“Yes! Yes, of course. Thank you, sir. I’d be honored!”
I float out of the office, wondering whether this means I was properly rude to the Zahnnian receptionist, or appropriately obsequious to the Kelf. I’m not sure if being recommended to work with Worblats would be considered an insult or a compliment by most people. Yet all I can do is plan a celebration when I get home. I am going to get the chance to spend years working on mouths my parents could never have dreamt of back on Terra. And all I have to do is be deliciously rude to people while I do it. Dazed, I head home to practice my insults.
Jessica Andrewartha 