The Man from Winter

Many thanks to neuroparenthetical and Alphafemale1965, who edited this story.

This is a story about exploration and discovery. It is about getting there, not being there.

Winter is a desolate and remote world. It is small and as frigid as they come. It has always been isolationist and every bit as ignorant, disdainful and disinterested in the outside as the outside has been in it.

For the longest time, Winter maintained that no humans lived in the stars. It took a lot of time, and a lot of persuasion -- not all of which was gentle -- for the greater nations of Winter to acknowledge that `the outside' was real. It took even longer to convince them to try to engage with it in any meaningful way. When they did, they sent observers to a select few of humanity's inhabited worlds.

The man moves slowly but purposefully through the crowd of people at the party. It's a midday gathering hosted at a large villa. The edifice's large rooms are tall, and have ample windows that let the summer sunlight in.

His name is Roland. He's in his early forties, has dark, short-cropped hair, and is of average height. Today he wears a business suit, as do most of the other men who are attending.

Having just arrived, he's searching the crowd for a certain someone. He meets people he recognizes, and when he does, he stops and says hi, but does not stay in their company long. They're not who he's looking for.

Presently, he exits on one of the many terraces to which the rooms open. He's still accustomed to the bright sunlight from outside and does not squint. The light breeze carries the scent of the sea. He approaches the edge of the terrace to take in as much of the scenic view in front of and below him as he can. The hill on which the villa stands slopes down to a large bay. Its waters are blue, motionless, and dotted with hundreds of small, white boats. The entire horizon is blocked by the wooded hills that surround the bay. Their green color turns bluish-gray in the distance. Towns and villages clutter the shoreline of the bay, though one may take the view that they're just one big city.

Roland doesn't linger on the terrace. He heads back inside and resumes his search. It's not long before he finds the man he has come for. Roland spots him in the company of a middle aged couple, with whom he appears engaged in a light hearted conversation.

The man, Roland's quarry, wears a light blue suit with a white shirt beneath the unbuttoned jacket. His not-so-short hair is black. His face is clear, open, and beautiful. It is more than a little feminine. While his gender and age are both uncertain, his ethnicity is all but impossible. It's as if someone created a composite of all the races, and then, for good measure, threw in a few features found in no race on Earth.

Roland joins the small group and listens patiently to their conversation for a little while before intervening. "Madam, Sir, may I steal the Ambassador from you? His presence is urgently requested in the garden. His absence has caused quite a stir, and only his immediate arrival can prevent it from escalating into a full-blown riot."

The other two smile awkwardly and nod their agreement. Roland leads the man away. The Ambassador is not unaccustomed to being whisked off like this at parties, and allows himself to be carried away from the scene.

"Dear Ambassador," Roland says, "I don't know how you manage to endure such mundane pleasantries with such unwavering grace."

The man smiles. "They were from a neighboring province I plan to visit. I asked them for travel information and recommendations."

Roland takes his arm as they move to another room. "Nonetheless, you can't allow people to monopolize your precious presence." They pass by a table loaded with drinks. "A glass of sparkling wine?"

"I had one already, and I fear it was one too many. Alcohol has a funny effect on me."

"Of course," Roland says. They've reached an uncrowded room, and he stops. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Roland. About six months ago I heard the unlikely rumor that somebody from Winter -- an Ambassador, no less -- had taken residence in the city. Perhaps you'll understand me when I say I found it most improbable. Somebody from Winter on Earth? That would have been a first -- in itself a most remarkable event. But in my city, of all places? It's a beautiful city, granted, but a backwater place, far removed from the centers of power and industry. I dismissed the notion incuriously. When I learned not long afterwards that the rumor was true, I was not just very excited, but also peeved at my unpardonable nonchalance."

The man chuckles before responding. "Mister Roland, I have been on Earth for more than two years now."

"I know, Ambassador! In the months since I learned that it was all true, I put my time to good use, trying to correct my unconscionable lapse. I've learned everything I could about your arrival and subsequent activity. Unfortunately, I was no longer in the city when the evidence became undeniable. Business had taken me up North; my company is building a railway line in that desolate land. Soon, I was tied up in work with no possibility of extricating myself. After too long I finally managed to disentangle myself from the quagmire of dealing with countless subcontractors and aggrieved parties and hurried back home to meet the Ambassador of Winter."

The man Roland calls `Ambassador' laughs amicably. "Mister Roland, if you've read anything about my mission to Earth, you know I'm not an ambassador. I'm merely a cultural observer at the behest of the government of one of the several nations on Winter."

"Of course. I do know that."

"I represent nobody from Winter. In fact, I haven't had any contact with the local government since my arrival. I'm here only to collect information about the people of Earth and send it back."

"That's even better. I, too, represent nobody but myself."

The Ambassador laughs again. "Then we understand each other. How can I be of service to you, Mister Roland?"

"Meeting you was already most gratifying, but there's still so much I want to learn about Winter -- and about the only person from Winter on Earth."

"Mister Roland, everything you need to know -- all the answers to all the questions you have about Winter -- can be found at any library."

"And I've been reading voraciously for the last five months. I've read everything I could get my hands on, but some things can only be learned in person. Isn't that why you are here, Ambassador?"

"You are right, Mister Roland. That's precisely why I am here. We have libraries on Winter, too, and they have a lot of information about Earth. Nevertheless, here I stand. Some things you can't learn from books."

Roland studies the stranger's face, which he finds exceedingly seductive. For a long moment he imagines kissing his lips.

"Would you like to step out on the terrace?" he asks. "This day is too beautiful to waste inside."

Outside they are met by the bright summer day. The alien looks over the bay. His dark hair flutters in the wind over his forehead.

"How do you like this area, Ambassador?"

"We don't have anything like this on Winter."

"What do you mean?"

"Good weather lasting for days on end. The sky of my world is usually gray. The air is moist and cold, and fog hangs over the sea."

"How cold is Winter, really? Are the drinks freezing in their cups at the table, as they say? Are you bathing in ice cold water?"

"You'd find it quite frigid, Mister Roland -- only snow and bare rock."

"But you do have a summer?"

"A summer, yes. And plants, trees, forests, and animals -- though the latter are all small in size. We produce enough food to avoid starvation."

"And yet, Winter thrives, doesn't it?"

The stranger chuckles at hearing Roland's implication of prosperity. "We don't call our world `Winter.' That's the name the Earthlings slapped on it."

"Is there a better name for it?"

"I don't have one."

"What do you call it?"

"I guess that the translation of the words we use would be `Earth,' `World,' `Everything.'"

"Everything?"

"The word signifies the totality of all things. Your language uses it similarly at times, but perhaps `Existence' and `Universe' are the better translations."

"You don't reserve much room for the ego of people outside Winter."

"The stars are painted on the night sky. Earth... it does not exist. Winter does not care for it."

"That hurts. So cold." Roland again loses track of time staring at the Ambassador's face. "What am I even doing? Here I am with a man from four hundred light years away, and all I can talk about is the weather."

The Ambassador nods agreeably.

"Is it true that it took you four hundred years to get here?" Roland asks. "Is Winter really four hundred light years away?"

"Winter is three hundred and eighty-seven light years away. The journey here was three hundred and ninety-one years in real time, though the subjective experience was that of just a few weeks."

"It's said that the star Winter orbits is not even visible from Earth."

"It's a cold star, just like the world. You can't see it with the naked eye, Mister Roland, not from sea level. I was told that if you climb up on a high mountain in a dry, desert country, you can see it. Whether that's true, I can't say. I have yet to take that journey."

"There's something on my mind, Ambassador, it has been for several months now. See, I've given the distance and how long it took you to get here a lot of thought. Does it mean you won't be going home?"

"No, Mister Roland, I won't. If I were to return to Winter -- something entirely within the realm of the possible -- eight hundred years would have passed since my departure. I'd arrive at a place as strange to me as Earth is now -- a world so altered, I'd scarcely recognize it."

"Do you regret leaving?"

"It wouldn't do any good if I did, would it?"

"No, it won't. I'm glad you're here. Ambassador, you must let me show you how good a home Earth can be."

The Ambassador smiles.

"I will be seeking you in the coming days," Roland continues. "For now, I must allow others the pleasure of your otherworldly company, dear Ambassador."

"Goodbye, Mister Roland."

"Just one more thing, Ambassador. May I inquire about your name?"

"You must already know it, Mister Roland, it has been no secret. I'm Theryn."

Roland was truthful about how he learned of Ambassador Theryn's presence in Bay City, his hometown. At the time he was on a job assignment in the not-so-desolate North. He saw the pictures of the man from the stars -- many of which were printed in journals and magazines and even more of which were posted online -- and found the Ambassador attractive in a way that he could not push out of his mind.

He is not the only one to find Ambassador Theryn's uncommon appearance arresting. The nonnative's arrival has sparked a minor craze, if even for a short while; online searches for `Winter' have surged, and teenagers have been copying his looks.

Novelty is what excites Roland the most, and the novelty of this entire situation is not lost on him. Aliens have been present on the planet for quite some time now, and in sufficient numbers -- hundreds, if not thousands at any given moment -- that their appearance no longer causes inordinate excitement wherever they go. But none has hailed from Winter -- not until Ambassador Theryn.

Like a magpie hoarding shiny objects, Roland collects unusual experiences; he's an adventurer with both the means and the leisure to pursue his infatuations. Adding to the extraordinary character of the Ambassador's presence on Earth is the exoticism of everything about Winter -- not least of which is the fact that the stranger is neither male nor female.

The alien is not an ambassador though, nor an official representative of his distant world. He never claimed to be one. He got the title because in the excited confusion caused by his arrival, somebody called him so, and the title simply stuck.

As on many worlds of Man, the inhabitants of Winter are unique -- a human species distinct from all others. Just like anywhere else, they arrived there in a past long forgotten. (There's an almost universal consensus that humanity must have originated somewhere, that there exists a birthplace of humanity, but what that place is remains a point of contention. Earth is among several worlds laying claim to that title, a claim met with incredulity and much derision elsewhere.)

What sets Winter apart is that its people have no gender. There are no males and no females. People are eunuchs -- or latent hermaphrodites -- for most of their lives, with no visible sexual organs. In a rather periodic fashion, they become sexually active for short lengths of time, usually just a few days. When they do, they assume one of the sexes, either randomly or voluntarily.

The cab rounds the corner in the late afternoon, its windshield streaked with the light rain that has been falling since morning. The road runs between a long, narrow park and a residential area. Roland spots Ambassador Theryn standing by the roadside, sheltering under a large umbrella.

"Should we take a few steps in the park?" Roland asks.

"You're going to get wet. You did not bring an umbrella. Get under mine."

"May I carry it?" Rolands holds out his hand. The stranger surrenders his umbrella. "Grab my arm."

Together they walk on a wet concrete path. The trees on the sides are lush green and heavy with rainwater. Their branches form a gallery over the walkway. They walk in silence for several minutes. Roland finds the physical contact intoxicating.

"We meet again," the man says. "I was surprised to find your message in my mailbox. My address isn't public."

"It wasn't hard to find."

"Yes, I see. You're a resourceful man."

"Resourceful, curious, interested... I have many qualities."

"Mister Roland, you must not waste your great talents on researching Winter -- or me, for that matter."

"Why not? Winter is a fascinating place -- truly unique. Speaking of which, I can't tell you how delightful I find this walk."

The air is fresh and charged with the scents of flowering trees and cut grass. The treetops are noisy with chirping birds.

"Winter is quaint and provincial," the Ambassador says. "Its culture and history are just like its climate: glacial. Why is that?"

"Perhaps, but its people! There's so much I want to learn about them. I'm walking with someone from a very distant star, arm in arm. We're made from the matter of two different stellar bodies. Isn't that astonishing?"

"Do tell. Isn't that a different way of saying that we're worlds apart? What I find even more surprising is that we are holding each other in a way that suggests we are intimate."

"How does a society of gender undifferentiated people function? When I first read about it, I thought, `Surely, this can't be true.' How did it come to be? Was it a freak accident? A rogue experiment? It was, wasn't it?"

"Humans on Winter were created; they did not evolve. That's the working hypothesis. There's no record of the event. There's no record left of most of our history, let alone the early history. The origin of humans on Winter is a mystery. The experiment theory never gained much traction on Winter, people don't really buy into it. But our scientists believe that it's the only logical explanation."

"How is sex on Winter?"

"We're sexless for long stretches of time, with no external genitals. Every now and then, we become interested in sex and assume a disposition which is either masculine or feminine."

"You're being rather vague, Ambassador."

"Would you like me to draw you a picture in that sandbox over there?"

"No, but only because it's drenched with rainwater. And I've seen the illustrations in more than two dozen books. I'm more interested in how it feels."

"I don't think I can help you, Mister Roland. I don't understand what it's like to be different. It's the difference that defies comprehension. I find the permanently gendered nature of Earthlings to be confounding and unsettling."

"Roland. Just Roland is fine."

The Ambassador smiles. "Alien. I am an alien."

"That you are -- one I find fascinating -- one I'd like to know better. In fact, I'm both puzzled and grateful that people don't find you as interesting as I do."

"You worry me, Mister Roland."

"In a good way, I hope. But I reckon that fascination must go both ways. You must find the people here... most interesting."

"I am here to study the local population."

"Are you saying your interest does not have any personal dimension?"

"I'm not saying that. I find the people of Earth and their relationship with sex and gender, as you said, most interesting. But more and more I realize I don't understand them. The gap is too wide. The psychology is too different. The difficulty in relating is probably mutual."

"Have you observed them from up close?"

"From very close proximity."

They reach a paved circle at the intersection of two paths. In the center stands a bronze statue of a hippopotamus, frozen in a comical pose with its front legs and muzzle on the ground, while its hind legs stick up in the air. They stop to look at it.

"How was the experience, Ambassador?"

"Theryn."

"Ambassador Theryn."

"Just Theryn. Strange. Frustrating."

"Is it the gendered nature of people that makes it frustrating? What's the most difficult part of it?"

"It has been a journey of discovery so far. It still is, though not as raw and unsettling now. It was everything I expected, and then a whole lot worse."

"You're not saying much. How was it for Theryn, the person?"

"Intense. Sharp. Exciting at times and quite hurtful."

"Have you felt disappointed? Betrayed? Used?"

"I thought I was prepared. I wasn't. Earthlings that visited Winter reported having a difficult time adjusting, so I was expecting that it was going to be hard. The cultural shock was the larger part of it. I've made every mistake, transgressed every rule, and embarrassed and made a fool of myself enough for a dozen lifetimes."

Roland laughs. "I bet. You're very open about it."

"I believe you forget again, Mister Roland, that I am an alien. You don't know what I am."

"I stand corrected, Ambassador. I keep forgetting that, and then I don't. There's something I need to tell you -- the reason why I asked you to see me today."

Roland turns to face the stranger. "I like you," he says. "I find you very attractive. I have made up my mind to have you, Ambassador. You're going to be mine."

The other stares back at him with wide eyes. Raindrops drum on the umbrella above their heads. After a long time, he says, "Mister Roland, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment at this time."

Roland walks along the waterfront separating the small town from the marina. Lofty palm trees line the street, their long leaves appearing more brownish than green in the hot, quiet afternoon. The tall hills that block both ends of the street are covered in scrub and tall grass of the same warm golden-brown color.

Yachts and fishing boats bob at their moorings with splashing sounds. The blue waters of the small bay are separated from the larger one beyond by more sun-bleached hills. They go round to form a circle and crowd the town on a very small plain. Its multi-storey buildings are painted in bright colors: pink, yellow, orange, light blue and green.

The town side of the street is packed with shops and cafes, and at this hour, it is busy with visitors in summer clothes.