An Analysis of the Cardassian Language

Chapter 1

It started in Chicago.

I met Derek at a conference on linguistics. He shared my passion for making the world a better place, my vision for our field's potential to solve major social problems. Other attendees called us both idealistic dreamers, and Derek and I hit it off almost immediately.

On the last day of the conference we grabbed some coffee between sessions.

"Lunch?" he asked.

I looked down at the table beside the coffee pots, at the cookies and the squares of fruit and cheese impaled with toothpicks. "Sure hope not," I smiled. "But I wouldn't worry, it's only nine-thirty." I grabbed a cookie.

"No," he said, "I meant, what are you doing for lunch? I'd like to take you out."

"My cousin doesn't get home till five-thirty, so I have the afternoon to kill. I just need to call my kids first, after the last session."

"You're lucky you can stay with your cousin," he said. "Hotels here ask for your firstborn."

"Which would leave you out on the street," I replied. Derek didn't have any kids.

"I'd just kidnap one of yours," he shot back. "Forge a birth certificate. They'd have no way of knowing."

"Good thing school's in session, then, and my kids are back home safe in New Hampshire."

"Alone? How old are they?"

"Oh, no, they're with their grandmother. They're eight and ten."

"Sweet," he said. "I like kids. But I'll have to settle for their mom for now. One o'clock okay? I'll meet you out front."

He took me to a quaint-looking German place in the ground floor of a red-brick nineteenth-century meat-packing building. "You have to try the rouladen," he said. "It's the best I've had since Frankfurt."

"Oh, when were you in Frankfurt?" I asked. "I've never had rouladen, but I've heard it's good."

"I went to university there, undergrad."

"Oh. Any particular reason? Have relatives there or anything?"

"No. Well, my ancestry is German – Bavarian - but that's going way back. I've just always liked Germany, so when I had the chance to do my college there, I took it. Are you warm enough?" He glanced at the fan that whirred at the end of a long rod reaching down from the ceiling twenty feet above us, then studied my face.

I lowered my eyes for an instant and confirmed my suspicion: my nipples stood out in two chiseled points under my clothes. Note to self, I thought, feeling myself blush, don't wear a knit bra and a knit top together around cute, intelligent guys. But I'd brought a sweater, so I put it on.

"What's this vision you keep hinting at," I said, recovering my dignity, "about linguistics as a tool for social change?" I asked not only to change the subject, but because I was burning to know. I myself wanted to find the universal language patterns that would allow me, in partnership with a good computer programmer, to create software that could translate just about any language into just about any other language. The possibilities were staggering. This software, loaded on either a regular computer or a small, tough device built for the purpose, could empower indigenous businesspeople all over the world. It could let ordinary individuals build relationships across cultural boundaries, lessening international tensions on the grassroots level. It could reduce war, oppression and poverty by building bridges and eroding misunderstanding, fear and hate. But I wanted to hear what Derek had in mind. I knew it was going to be good.

His smile showed his dimples. I was beginning to suspect that when the dimples didn't appear, he was just being polite. I smiled, too, because I had a feeling I was going to have plenty of time to test that hypothesis.