by Lydia Hope
“What’s there for me to do?” Leena asked without enthusiasm.
“You can meet Dr. Delano. He has awesome pictures of aliens in his office.”
“I don’t care about no dirty aliens. They can all rot.”
“You can see for yourself what nurses do, talk to them about their work.”
That got Leena’s attention. Despite the uncertain future of her nursing training, she was still interested.
Together, they quickly prepared a light meal for her father before going to his doctor’s appointment. Leena was too scared to tell Drexel about the abrupt end of her seamstress training in case he freaked out and made his condition worse. She and Gemma deemed it best to break the news to Herise later tonight and let her pass it on to her husband.
“Why are you home so early, Leena?” Drexel asked after he ate, suddenly realizing something was outside the norm.
“They let us out early today,” was Leena’s curt reply and, concerned with little outside his pain and disability, he didn’t question her further.
Gemma and Leena took turns pushing Uncle Drexel in his buggy down the streets to the hospital. Their route cut through parts of downtown.
The streets teemed with people. Many carried large sacks loaded with belongings. A campfire burned right on the sidewalk to provide warmth to an impromptu encampment around it, people huddled close together against the cold. And everywhere there were long lines of people waiting.
Gemma wondered out loud what kind of services they were seeking.
“Services?” Uncle Drexel scoffed. “They are looking for work. See there, it’s a plumbing company office. These people are looking to place their applications in.”
“How will they know if they’re hired? There are no communication lines,” Leena inquired.
“They come back every day to check. You should see what’s happening at the docks. Every lousy migrant thinks the docks should hire them.”
“The docks do hire people,” Gemma maintained. “It’s a large operation.”
“Not these kinds of people,” Drexel wanted to make a sweeping gesture with his arm forgetting about its condition and barked a curse. Recovered, he continued, “Country folk, they haven’t even seen a spacecraft up close, much less know how it’s built. They are from the agricultural sector. Farmers. At best they know how to fix a tractor. The docks need skilled men who can disassemble an aerial fighter or an orbiter in their sleep and put it back together with his eyes closed.” He meant himself. “We don’t need no sodbusters.”
“That’s right, father,” Leena bobbed her head in agreement.
The clinic was slammed as per usual. The waiting room run out of space and people were forced to stand on the street. Drexel, much more alert than he had been on their previous trip here, bemoaned the wait time in no uncertain terms. Very shortly, the vacuum formed around the McKinleys after the people next to them had quietly scattered to avoid becoming the default audience for his many grievances. Even Leena was giving him a hairy eyeball.
“Your father is a lot more animated this time around,” Gemma confided in Leena privately. “I think it’s a positive sign.”
“I hope so,” the girl replied with much doubt.
A nurse finally invited Uncle Drexel to come inside and Gemma hurriedly pushed him in the doors. Leena followed, gawking at the busy surroundings and in awe of the nurses who bustled around and bossed whiny patients with the air on no-nonsense authority.
Uncle Drexel was wheeled into the familiar examination room and told to unwrap his arm for Dr. Delano’s inspection. While Gemma helped Uncle Drexel undress, Leena walked around the room and glanced at the pictures lining the walls.
“Eww. These creatures are so weird. Like, really weird,” was her verdict.
She turned her back on the artful illustration and didn’t give them a second look, neither the subjects nor the skillful artistry of the drawings of the slightest interest to her. When the nurse walked in with a chart and medical tools, Leena sidled closer to observe.
Gemma, on the other hand, had little interest in the medical proceedings. After helping Uncle Drexel onto the table where he now sat like a nesting goose, she faded to the background. She couldn't wait to look again at the strapping Rix with his tawny skin and proud, sculpted cheekbones.
Dr. Delano walked in and spotted Gemma, greeting her first.
“Hello, Gemma. Nice to see you again.”
Surprised that he remembered her name, she greeted him back.
“How’s your uncle been doing? Fever? Pain?”
“He has no fever now but the pain is persistent.” Gemma awkwardly indicated the examination table, implying that the questions could go directly to the patient.
Dr. Delano greeted Uncle Drexel in a more reserved manner.
“You use the ointment as prescribed?” he asked his patient.
“Yes, I do. Twice a day, with a warm water rinse in between the applications.”
“And still no scabbing?”
“Not that I could see. Seeping blood and some puss.”
“I’ll perform another flush and we’ll have to inject more of the special antibiotic. They got you but good. Slobbered all over your wounds. Go ahead and numb, here and here,” he ordered one of his nurses.
Gemma half-listened to their conversation as she examined the Rix. The short hair was startling in that it completely changed the appearance from what she was by now intimately familiar with.
He was beautiful and startlingly different from humans. This Rix appeared fairly slim, not bulging with muscles like strong men or heavily-built Tarai. Still, defined sinew ran up and down his limbs indicating toughness, stamina, and quick response time. His proportions were so perfectly balanced.
“You seem to find particular enjoyment in this illustration,” Dr. Delano’s voice addressed Gemma from across the room.
She smiled, turning. “I like them all. But yes, I’m curious about this alien.”
Dr. Delano chuckled, his gloved hands never stopping their careful exploration of mangled tissues in Uncle Drexel’s arm. “Rix are a spectacular breed. We know so little about them.”
“They never visit Earth?”
“Not really. They have nothing to gain here.”
“Perhaps people from Meeus can establish contact with Rix. Through trading or cultural exchange,” Gemma suggested.
Dr. Delano shook his head without looking up from his task. “It isn’t the goods they seek, or profit, or even knowledge. They simply keep to themselves. They live by a self-imposed code of conduct and adhere to a stringent no-interference policy. As the legend has it, once upon a time they used to racketeer all over the Universe terrorizing good citizens of every planet known to them and crippling intergalactic trade. But then something happened and they stopped. Maybe they finally grew up, evolved, who can tell? They no longer attack unprovoked. A violent race, it is fascinating how they keep themselves in check.”
“It sounds like they have rules and they follow them. Isn’t it that simple?” Gemma questioned.
“Yes, simple if you are peaceful by nature, which they are not. Rix males have a natural predisposition toward aggression. They’re predatory and highly reactive. Simply put, they like to fight. And they have the right physiology for it, strong and resilient. With four hearts.”
“Four hearts? You’re making fun of me, doctor.”
“I’ve examined one. Drainage tube, please. Then sutures,” he switched briefly to the nurse.
Four hearts, huh. She was going to ask Simon about that.
“Rix possess astonishing abilities for regeneration,” Dr. Delano went on, so delighted to have a captive audience in Gemma’s face. “They put us humans to shame with their advanced adaptation to harsh environments. High tolerance for pain. Immune to most infections. A bite of a Perali wouldn't infect a Rix like it did your uncle.”
“That is so not fair!” Drexel interjected. “Aliens need to get off of our planet and live with other
aliens. Off! We, humans, are delicate and aren’t made to withstand them pests. I’ve suffered enough at their ugly hands.” He became agitated.
Dr. Delano addressed him sternly, “Mr. Drexel, if you work yourself up into a fever, you’ll experience a setback. Is that what you want? No? Of course not. Keep your heart rate steady for me. Easy and calm, yes, like this.” He motioned to another nurse and she unobtrusively injected something into Drexel’s thigh. It helped. He shut up and his face smoothed out.
The doctor and his team of nurses performed the procedure to clean and pack the wounds in silence interrupted only by their brief exchanges full of medical jargon. Leena continued to watch them, her eyes round from wonder.
Gemma looked again at the illustration of the Rix alien. Something about the drawing bothered her but she couldn’t put a finger on it.
Uncle Drexel’s procedure complete, Dr. Delano approached Gemma pulling his soiled gloves off.
“I’ve added a new medication to help boost your uncle’s immune system. He’ll have sufficient supply and instructions to go.”
Gemma nodded. “Thank you so much. Does he need to come back again for a procedure?”
“Your uncle’s treatment plan includes five visits. Most people only require two or three but I’m afraid he’ll need all five. There’s extensive damage,” he sounded grave.
Gemma’s spirits sank. “I am so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” His brows rose slightly.
“Survivor's guilt, I guess.”
“Understandable. He’s got a long road to recovery. Please impress on him the importance of following doctor’s orders.”
“I will. Absolutely.”
Dr. Delano looked pleased. He glanced at the Rix picture. “It would be wonderful if we could borrow some of Rix genes to boost human recovery rates. In the future, we will.”
“You mean, have human and Rix babies?”
“Not in this sense, no,” the doctor looked vaguely crestfallen. “Our genetic codes are too dissimilar to interbreed. But dissecting individual DNAs and supplanting them in humans can have explosive implications.”
Dr. Delano’s eyes gleamed briefly with undisguised obsession and that zealous glimmer resonated with Gemma in a chilling way. She peered closely at the doctor wishing she could peek under his professional veneer to see what motivated him from within.
But the moment had passed and Dr. Delano was talking again about Uncle Drexel’s treatment plan. He asked if Gemma had any questions.
“No, you explained everything well, and we’ll go by your instructions. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Be careful at your job in prison. Aren’t you the one who works with alien inmates?”
Gemma nodded.
“We don’t want to see you here as a patient.”
You won’t, Gemma thought, imagining what kind of damage the Obu could’ve done to her. I don’t have any money.
She smiled politely. “I’m careful, and the aliens are contained. My work isn’t dangerous.”
“Out of curiosity, who do you have in there?” His eyes on her were sharp.
“It changes, they come and go, but we see a lot of Perali. I guess they get in trouble a lot,” she smiled again to cover up her inexplicable unease. “Tana-Tana are common. There’s been a Tarai, a Sakka, an Obu. All kinds.”
“A gentle Obu in prison? Are you sure?”
Yeah, she was pretty positive. “Yes.”
“Huh. And have you ever seen a Rix there?” He posed the question casually but his intent eyes behind the round glasses were anything but. As he spoke, he half-turned his head toward the picture near which they were standing. Instinctively, Gemma looked at it too, and it clicked.
The Rix on the picture was inked around the base of his throat. The artist’s attention to detail depicted the blue hieroglyphic signs with laser-sharp precision, and a cold sensation flitted through Gemma.
She dipped her head low to hide her expression.
“I did see an alien at the prison when I first started working on their block,” she heard a slight hoarseness in her voice and cleared her throat. “I was told he was a Rix but he looked nothing like this picture.” This much was actually true, and she raised her head to give Dr. Delano another one of her small apologetic smiles.
The doctor struggled and failed to conceal his sudden powerful interest.
“What did he look like?” His eyes searched Gemma’s face, probing, creepy.
“Very thin and pale, with long tangled hair and white eyes. He sat in his cell for days on end never speaking a word to anyone. I thought he was deaf and blind.”
“Did you see him move at all?”
“I… can’t say I did. He looked very sick.”
“What was his name?”
“I… don’t know his name.”
“Is he there now?” he almost interrupted her, his intensity bordering with lust.
“No, doctor.” She folded her hands neatly together. “He died.”
Chapter 17
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 outside, a symbol of justice and a threat to those who dared to break the law.
At the sight, Gemma’s belly grew tingly and warm. For her, the prison held a special significance. Simon was housed within its thick walls.
She hastened her steps down a pitted sidewalk that circled the prison. Other figures were walking in the darkness making their way toward the back entrance. People like her, custody help servicing the inmate population, with shoulders hunched in the cold wind that blew right through their clothes.
A solid metal door with rust spots opened and let her in, and the portrait of Warden Heis smiled benignly at her from its heavy frame. She went to her locker and neatly folded her coat placing it inside along with her hat and gloves.
The siren wailed once. Gemma exchanged greetings with her co-workers as she went through the security checkpoint where an indifferent guard patted her down head to toe.
“Morning,” the lady at the counter greeted her and checked the ledger. “McKinley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Second floor.” She handed Gemma a belt with a stun stick clipped to it.
Time ground to a screeching halt.
“But I work on the third floor. With aliens.”
There was a pause as the lady frowned and checked again, and all the while the floor kept dropping, falling from under Gemma’s feet.
“Second floor,” the guard repeated firmly.
“It can’t be. There must be a mistake.”
The guard looked up with cold eyes. “I remember you, McKinley. Always questioning me. You’re on the second floor.” She pointed at the stairs indicating for Gemma to move along.
Gemma’s mouth opened, “But…”
The guard’s scowl turned mean. “You wanted to say something?”
Gemma closed her mouth and moved away.
Her cold hands were clammy. It was hard to breathe. She felt faint and nauseous, and the walls were spinning around in circles. She stopped and stood by the stairs as other helpers brushed past her on their way to their assigned cell blocks.
The lobby emptied.
She had to move. She had to go. Do something.
Placing one foot on the first stair, Gemma mounted it and repeated the process with her other foot on the second stair. And so on. She kept climbing, going past the second floor, ignoring everything but the blind need to see Simon. That need could not be ignored.
On the third floor, she pressed her hand on the scanner but it remained dark and silent. She tried it with the other hand to the same result. She even pulled the door handle on the outside chance it might open. It didn’t.
Her access to the third floor had been revoked.
She slid down like melted cheese to sit on the stairs, fighting tears, fighting panic. Putting her f
ace into her hands, she breathed in and out pulling herself together. He was so close! Only this door separated them. Ruby and Arlo would be doing a roll call now. Was he awake? Would he wonder where she’d gone to?
She felt raw as if the skin was stripped clean off her body in one rough yank leaving all of her nerves exposed.
“It’s okay, Gemma, you’re okay,” she whispered to herself. “It’s not the end of the world.”
Despite no longer being on the same floor, she and Simon would continue to inhabit the same building. Sooner or later, she’d find a way to get near him. It was the unexpected shock of the reassignment that temporarily robbed her of rational thought.
It wasn’t the end of the world.
Feeling more grounded, she rose and took the stairs down to the second floor. She had to carry on or risk being fired, and that would be the end of the world.
Her appearance caused a flurry of welcome, and, despite the gloom of her yearning, Gemma was glad for the opportunity to visit the people she used to work with. She remembered not wanting to be reassigned for the first time, could easily recall her shock and distaste at the prospect of working with the aliens.
Ironic, that.
The second floor, women’s, adhered to a much more relaxed schedule. After the roll call, the cells were opened and the prisoners could mingle and hang out in the corridor or visit each other’s cells, which made for a more sociable and enjoyable experience. Only now, after having spent time away, was Gemma able to perceive and appreciate the lack of aggression in the air.
It didn’t matter. Her heart was upstairs.
“How was it up there?” women peppered her with questions.
“It was fine. Same as here in many ways.”
“Are the aliens scary?”
“Some are, but you get used to them.”
“Are there interesting ones worth banging?” She got that question a lot.
“Nope.”
“Aww, c’mon. We heard some dudes are hung. Is it true?”
“Weeeell…” Hung, she knew on good authority, didn’t always equal bangable.
