by Lydia Hope
Homebound
A Sci-Fi Alien Romance
Lydia Hope
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Independently published.
Copyright © 2020 Lydia Hope
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798605400035
Chapter 1
Dawn had not yet broken when Gemma came within sight of the prison. It loomed ahead barely silhouetted against the dark sky, a hulking five-story quadrangle with no windows facing the street.
The prison was hundreds of years old, built long before Meeus had been colonized by humans, and good ol’ Earth started its inexorable decline into the cesspit of the Universe.
Back then, no taxpayer money had been spared on the prison’s construction. Copious amounts of reinforced concrete had been poured in a precise fashion to resemble a medieval castle, and the resulting structure had been celebrated as a symbol of firm control and a threat to those who dared to break the law.
And so it remained, Gemma supposed, the symbol and the threat. For her, the prison was merely a job. Not the job she had dreamed about when she was a little girl, to be sure, but life was what life was, and sometimes survival meant having to adjust one’s expectations.
Gemma hastened her uneven steps down a pitted sidewalk that weaved through the tumbledown neighborhood. Other figures were walking in the darkness making their way toward the back entrance. People like her, custody helpers that took care of the inmate population’s most basic needs, their shoulders hunched in the cold wind that blew right through their clothes.
The nightly lockdown would be lifted at six sharp, and to earn the full day’s pay, everyone had to be scanned in before the siren sounded.
A solid metal door with rust spots opened and closed with each arrival. A round onyx plate mounted next to the door reminded of the glory days of a by-gone era of a technological boom. Gemma pulled her mended glove off cringing at having to splay open her stiff fingers and touching the icy scanner. The door opened and let her in, and the portrait of Warden Heis smiled benignly at her from its heavy frame.
It was about as cold on the inside as it was out on the street, but at least the wind wasn’t blowing. She went to her locker and neatly folded her hand-me-down coat, placing it inside along with her hat and gloves. She put on a gray overcoat worn by the prison support staff, and now she was as ready for work as she’d ever be. a
The siren wailed once, and more lights came on as the main generator kicked in and boosted the power for the day. Gemma exchanged greetings with familiar co-workers waiting to be thoroughly patted down. Once through, she promptly got in line to get her assignments and her stun stick.
“Morning,” the lady in the uniform of a prison guard greeted her and checked the ledger. “McKinley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Third floor. With Beatty and Lloyd.” She handed Gemma a belt with a stun stick clipped to it.
“What? Are you sure? I work on the second, in the women’s ward.”
There was a pause as the lady frowned and checked again.
“Third floor,” she repeated firmly.
“Are you sure?” Gemma pressed the issue.
The guard looked up with cold eyes. “I know how to read, McKinley. You’re on the third floor.”
Gemma’s mouth opened. “But…”
The guard motioned to the door behind her that lead into the prison’s administrative offices. “You have questions - the Operations Overseer will be on duty at eight. Now, move along, you’re holding up the line.”
Not a little shaken, Gemma automatically fastened the stun belt as she moved aside scanning the lobby with unseeing eyes. Convinced it was a mistake, and one that would be corrected soon, she fought the acute apprehension that swamped her and made her cold hands clammy.
The third floor housed aliens.
Alien people, especially Perali and Tana-Tana, were a common occurrence in the City where they had eventually come to live side by side with the humans. Other varieties mingled too, roamed the streets and traded goods, being that the City was home to a large network of spaceship docks built next to the landing jetties on the bayside. The docks were the industry that kept their City going where so many others had fallen.
But Gemma wasn’t native to the City.
And no alien, however common, was known to be a man’s best friend.
“You McKinley?”
Gemma whirled around. A thin wiry man was looking at her expectantly.
“Yes. Yes, I am. Gemma McKinley.”
“Thought so. I’m Arlo Lloyd.” He extended his hand and they shook. “I was looking for you,” he explained, “after we heard we’d be getting a new guy. Of course, you’re a gal, but cool. Ruby will be pleased.”
Gemma smiled with relief at Arlo’s welcoming words. He was on the short side with an air of shrewdness about him. His clear eyes were assessing Gemma with an intensity of the onyx scanner, cataloging the littlest details and piecing them together to form a full picture.
The crowd in the lobby was beginning to thin out as the cleaning staff, cooks, and technicians dispersed to begin their duties. Following their lead, Gemma and Arlo turned and went to the staircase.
“Who else is assigned to the third floor?” she asked him.
“Just the three of us. The powers that be” - he rolled his eyes heavenward - “don’t consider the third floor dangerous or overcrowded. On the fifth, where the really bad boys are housed, it’s hell.”
“And I heard they brought a new bunch of gang members in the other day.”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re here. They took Bug from us to work on the fifth floor. Bug’s a big guy, and they need big guys up there. Us - we get by fine with average sizes. But we stay busy.”
Gemma wanted to ask him what pointers he could offer on handling the population she’d be dealing with, but her time ran out. They climbed the last flight of stairs and reached the third floor.
Arlo moved ahead of her into a poorly lit corridor lined on one side with cells. The setup was exactly the same as on the second floor where Gemma used to work, and it was probably the same on every cell block of the prison. It smelled just as gross here but a little peculiar, with exotic, spicy undertones. Still stale sweat and dirty socks mixed with urine, yet different. Gemma struggled to put a name to the difference.
The door that let her in from the staircase clanged shut sealing her in with them, and she hovered there in hesitation. From where she stood she could see the few closest cells and discern their inhabitants. Some were already awake and loitering at the doors with arms casually thrust between the heavy iron bars.
Another unsettling revelation about her new assignment stared Gemma in the face: the third floor was alien and male.
“I hope you aren’t one of those girls who take forever to get ready,” Arlo nudged her. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Gemma looked at him in question. “Where’s Ruby?”
“Probably late.” Arlo’s expression said he wasn’t concerned nor surprised.
He strolled off to perform a morning roll call.
“Wake up! Wake up! Rise and shine, motherfuckers!” he shouted as he went. He used the handle of his extendable stun stick to bang at the bars when he found an inmate still sleeping.
Gemma stood rooted to the floor and tried not to stare, but it was hard. The collection of the species inside this one cell block could fill an encyclopedia of all humanoids in evidence.
Perali and Tana-Tana aliens occupied several cells she could see, which was to be expected given their large presence in the City. Calling forth all her limited
knowledge of species, she recognized a Sakka and a small-statured Xosa. Another one, with prominent fuzzy ears, must be a Tarai. She’d never seen one, but she’d heard about the ears.
The aliens, in turn, regarded her with curiosity. Some uttered a good morning, others simply stared. The sounds of this floor, the unfamiliar speech coming from the cells sounded strange to Gemma’s untrained ear.
Ruby finally made an appearance, a tall gaunt woman with a hard-looking face, its stony expression telling the story of a lifetime of hardship. Lines crisscrossed the skin of her cheeks and forehead at every angle, and none of them appeared to be put there by laughter. She looked harassed and gloomy, and Gemma surmised that for her tardiness, today Ruby would work for free.
“Good morning, Ruby,” Gemma turned to her, partly because she felt bad for the woman and sought to offer her a gesture of support, partly to escape the scrutiny of the alien prisoners. “I’m Gemma.”
“Hi, Gemma,” Ruby replied, and her name was snatched from the air and repeated down the corridor.
“Gemma, Gemma, Gemma” she heard it pronounced and moved like a relay baton from one cell to the next by peculiar voices.
“Welcome to the third floor. Did Arlo give you a tour?”
Gemma smiled. “He and I talked on the way up. Does it count as a tour?”
“Eh, he didn’t bother, did he. Let’s go, I’ll give you some pointers.”
Gemma went, for going with Ruby didn’t seem quite as daunting. They followed Arlo who’d disappeared around the corner.
“Hiya, guys, whassup?” Ruby waved at some with complete ease.
One guy, a Perali in cell number 34, chuckled. “Loads of news to share, Ruby. I found a dead spider in my crapper this morning. You?”
“See, there’s entertainment for you, like in a five-star hotel,” Ruby good-naturally retorted.
When they moved past his cell, Ruby said under her breath, “He’s fine, this Arc in number 34. He’s one of the stable ones, doesn’t show attitude, doesn’t expect special treatment.”
Gemma filed that tidbit away. “Why is he in prison?”
“Who knows? I don’t. We don’t ask.”
They went on past some strange looking creatures that occupied two cells next to each other. Thin, with barely discernible shoulders, they had bodies that widened briefly around the middle and thinned out again, ending with a pair of spindly legs. Their bald heads were their most peculiar feature, for they were flattened on both sides, grotesquely so, like someone took a pair of cymbals and whacked them together real well on the ears. Their beady eyes rotated restlessly inside shallow sockets, giving them a wild and desperate look. That, together with a habit of cocking their heads this way and that, reminded Gemma strongly of chickens her Aunt Herise kept in the backyard.
“This starry couple,” Ruby pointed at the bird-looking aliens, “is special. Treat them like you would three-year-olds. They can’t speak normal languages, and we think they’re brainless. They tend to stay together, so that’s a good thing.”
“Noted,” Gemma acknowledged Ruby’s words of advice, while in her head she was trying to keep track of who was what.
Next were three cells with more Perali who glared at Ruby and Gemma with no real hatred but more to maintain the air of toughness. After the Perali, they reached a cute older man with greenish skin. He was small and skinny, with a compact potbelly, and his striped patchy hair stood on end. Gemma smiled at him, she couldn’t help it. All he needed was a pair of green pointy shoes to transform into an elf.
His demeanor, though, didn’t match the sweet picture. Upon seeing their approach, he unleashed a verbal torrent in the guttery language Gemma had never heard before. His face twisted into an angry red mask, and he jumped in place from baseless fury.
Ruby gave his cell a wide berth. “This one is rarely let out.”
“I can see why,” Gemma observed.
“Not even to shower. He bites and… other stuff.”
“Gotcha.”
They walked all the way around the quadrant that brought them to the same door Gemma had breached for the first time what seemed like ages ago.
Ruby explained that most aliens - whose variegated species and habits Gemma couldn’t keep straight in her head if her life depended on it - were allowed a few of the same freedoms as non-violent human offenders. They went outside to the prison courtyard daily, and they were escorted down to the basement to wash once a week. That was all.
“I noticed all the cells here are solo, and yet the prison is overcrowded on every other floor. Aliens can’t have cellmates?”
Arlo, who had joined them, screwed up his face. “Most aliens don’t do well when sharing space with humans. Either the alien dies or the human - kinda like on the outside. And some species don’t play well with certain others. Nobody wants to have to explain to the Magistrate why a native of such-and-such planet died and was half-eaten while in our custody. I know I don’t want to clean up the mess.”
Ruby placed a hand on Gemma’s arm in a gesture intended to comfort. “Don’t worry, Gemma. They aren’t all that scary. Treat them like you treat your human charges, and everything will be fine. You’ll see.”
Taking Ruby’s words to heart, Gemma went to work alongside her new teammates.
Breakfast was not provided to prisoners because of a lack of funding. Instead, all inmates were recommended to pray or meditate and were given warm water to stay hydrated - after all, Warden Heis prided his operation on being humane.
Gemma hauled a large pail of hot water from the kitchens in the rickety elevator, and Arlo and Ruby efficiently poured the water into tin mugs and shoved them between the bars into the cells. The water was gratefully accepted, as Gemma knew it would be, for at least it quenched thirst and warmed up bodies on this chilly morning.
After Arlo collected the mugs and took them back to the kitchens, Gemma and Ruby did another roll call, making sure every cell’s occupant was up and standing by the bars. Among other cells, Gemma ended up checking the green elf-looking alien who spat at her through the bars. She eyed the yellow spit spot on her gray coat with disgust and made a mental note to coast by his cell at full speed, protocol be damned.
After the “breakfast” the prisoners spent some time tidying up their cells under the helpers’ watchful eyes. Most of them idled inside their cells waiting for lunch to arrive. There were conversations, singing, and even arguments. The bird-looking aliens alternately crooned and shrieked at each other.
The corridor and cells had to be mopped on a schedule that Gemma was all too familiar with, and the third floor didn’t differ in this regard from other areas of the prison. The three of them took the stairs down to get their janitorial supplies consisting of buckets with unpurified water and a previously used rag.
The corridor stayed filthy despite frequent mopping. Spit, boogers, and sometimes feces could be found splattered on the floor directly in front of certain barred doors. Some prisoners were gross, but she already knew that.
Preoccupied, Gemma mopped away with little sense of direction throwing furtive glances at the aliens. She couldn't help her curiosity. They were so very different from Earth’s native population, many markedly so.
She approached a cell with its tiny window boarded shut that she had assumed was empty. But now, standing in front of it, she saw that it wasn’t. Slowly, Gemma lowered her mop, cocking her head to one side to better understand what she was seeing. Arlo circled her with his bucket, on his way to the stairs.
“Who is that?” Gemma asked, pointing at the cell with the boarded window. “In there.”
“In where?” Arlo swiveled his head in the direction of her pointing finger. “Oh, it’s Simon.”
“What is Simon?” Gemma couldn’t tear her eyes away from the white skeletal creature huddled on the cot. “I’ve never seen anyone like that.”
Arlo gurgled a rusty laugh. “Ain’t nobody there like our Simon.”
“Is he sick?”
&nb
sp; “S’ppose so. Always been like this. I remember them bringing him in - hey, Ruby, how long ago did Simon come here? You recall?”
Ruby paused her unenthusiastic rubbing of the wall where something left dark skid marks. “Two years? Closer to three. Yeah, almost three years.”
Simon had come to the prison at about the same time Gemma had arrived in the city. Strangely, she found the coincidence significant.
She approached the alien’s cell and peered inside through the bars like it was an animal lair. The stench emanating from within made her nostrils burn. It was bad even by prison standards.
“Did no one think to clean him in all this time?”
Arlo gave her a funny look. “Are you serious? Who do you think is gonna police the aliens’ bathing habits? No one cares. But if you do, he’s all yours.”
With a derisive sneer, Arlo slapped his multi-purpose rag into Gemma’s hand and moved his rolling bucket along to the elevator for a trip downstairs for a water change. He did it a lot, go up and down the elevator, changing water much more frequently than cleaning dirty surfaces.
Gemma dropped the rag into her own bucket and rolled the galvanized steel contraption outfitted with a crude handle welded to it toward Simon’s cell door. The squeaky casters, rusty and wobbly, turned with reluctance, requiring Gemma to push hard at the bucket to make it move.
The small onyx plate, similar to the one that allowed access to the prison from the outside, hung next to the narrow barred door. Its smooth surface gleamed in the weak filtered light of the hallway. It beckoned Gemma and repulsed. She wanted to press her palm to the slate to gain access, yet hesitated to do so. The neurotic chatter of the Birdies, as she started calling them, unnerved her. Ruby had moved around the corner of the corridor. Arlo had left.
Gemma stood alone in front of thick iron bars, and behind them, the unknown creature breathed the rank air, covered in nothing but a tattered, thin shirt under the freezing draft.
Gemma lifted her hand and placed it on the onyx palm reader. The scanner beeped its agreement, and the metal lock released with a clang. The door squeaked as it opened, and Gemma walked in, bucket and all.
