by Loki Renard
“So this is the past we're looking at?”
“It is the past. It’s also the present. Time…” he makes an explosive motion with his hands. “Exploded.”
I don’t think I’ll ever understand what he means by that. Not without a lot of reading and maybe an online quiz or two.
“You interfere in the politics of these places?”
“We try not to, but occasionally we have to. We’re responsible for humanity. Whether we like it or not. Whether we’re particularly good at it, or not. We will defend people across time, space, and everything else.”
“My hero,” I say with only a hint of sarcasm. “Can I see the world? Can we go out and explore?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are not sightseers. We’re here on business and we need to get back to the simulation as quickly as possible.”
"All work and no play makes you a dull boy,” I complain. “And it bores me.”
“We're not here to entertain you. I’m trying to educate you.”
“Oh, are you?” I smile archly at him. I like teasing Tyank. He likes to tease too, in ways that I love.
He makes me feel all the things I used to crave feeling. Desire, maybe even a little dependence. It is not easy for me to depend on anybody, but Tyank is the most competent male I have ever met. He is yet to even once forget his keys and ask me where they are like my ex did. In that relationship, I felt like a mother to a petulant, resentful child. In this powerful alien, I have found my equal.
“I have to get ready,” he says. “Now, don’t freak out, but we have these suits which make us look human. It can be disturbing…”
“There is no way you can make yourself look like a human,” I laugh. “You have horns and you’re covered in knives.”
“Oh yeah? Want to lay a bet on that?”
“Sure. What do you want to bet?”
“Your ass,” he grins, flashing white sharp teeth. “I look like a human in the next ten minutes and I take your bottom.”
“With your…” I look at his crotch.
“Oh yes. With my,” he nods. “Still want to make that bet?”
“Not on your life,” I laugh. “Go put your party suit on.”
“This is serious business," he growls, not quite managing to be entirely convincing.
“Very serious,” I agree, laughing. Did I ever used to laugh? I don’t remember it, if so. It feels as though I’m always laughing with Tyank, and he seems to always laugh with me. I feel in my gut that is a very good sign.
I think I might be changing. On the inside. I used to be miserable all the time, harsh with others, and with myself. But with Tyank around I feel completely different. I am lighter. Happier. I am free.
“Here I am!”
It is still Tyank’s voice, but the person standing in front of me is not my massive scythkin lover. It is a handsome human male. The disguise is impeccable. I can't see where the suit ends and he begins. I can't see him at all. And somehow, that's still not the weirdest thing about the way he looks.
“What the hell have you come as?”
"Roman centurion,” he says. “The timesplosion got messy, trust me, this makes sense. I’ll be right back.”
Nothing makes sense, but nothing actually needs to. I sit back in my chair and watch the goings on outside my window. The people out there are rougher than the ones I’m used to inside the simulation. I can't hear what they're saying, but there's a very handsome, rugged man with a bionic arm, and a smaller woman clinging to him. They’re both covered in blood and dirt. They look as though they haven't bathed in years. There's a nobility to them though, they have the appearance of people who have struggled long and hard and… I gag as the man picks a piece of brain off his shirt.
Without context, it is impossible to tell what’s going on, if it is good, bad or indifferent. Things escalate when Tyank pulls his suit head off, completely ruining the human illusion. I find myself laughing at the woman’s expression. I wonder if I looked that way the first time I saw Tyank. I don't think so. I thought he was hot. She looks like she thinks he's going to devour her in a single bite.
It occurs to me that I don't miss them. People, I mean. I used to be surrounded by them every day, interact with them constantly both in my job and around the city. I haven’t actually had a conversation with anybody human since I was thrown into the ocean hole. I should probably miss my own kind. I should probably be consumed with the desire to run out there and say my helloes to the people who eat slugs. But I don’t. I stay right where I am until Tyank is done and then we leave and I don't care, not one bit. Maybe when you’re with the person who is most right for you, even if that person is an alien, you don't need anybody else.
Galactor
Tyank
Things are going smoothly. Maybe a little too smoothly. I expected Karen to cause trouble on our trip to the colony, but she's been a model passenger. I make a mental note to do something nice for her when we get back to the simulation.
"So those suits,” she says. "You can look like anybody?”
“Yes, they’re a key means of entering the simulation. Under Galactor rule, aliens of all species would enter the simulation and interact with humans, leaving you none the wiser.”
“That's creepy”
“Most of what they did was,” I say. “Fuck,” I say next, when I see what has appeared on my screen. It’s a blip, but it represents a much bigger problem. A Galactor ship has materialized out of subspace and is on an intercept course heading for us. This isn't good.
"What's wrong?"
“Scythkin vessel, you are in Galactor territory.” A message plays over our speakers. “Surrender immediately."
“That’s what's wrong,” I tell Karen. “Galactor has come for us.”
She doesn't know enough about them to look afraid. Instead, she just looks mildly interested and somewhat annoyed.
Karen
“Pull your ship over," the officious voice intones.
I know that kind of voice. It's the sort of voice that gives you a ticket for going 31 in a 30. It's the sort of voice that fines you for being thirty seconds over your parking limit. It is, in other words, the voice of an officious twat.
Tyank curses. “We can't outrun them. This is a cruiser. It’s not made for speed. And the clutch is spread out across every galaxy and timewhen. They can't get here before these bastards do.”
“Who are they, exactly? Are they other aliens like you? Or are they a different kind of alien animal altogether?”
"They're a collective of various species. They used to run the simulation before we took over. They're the ones who took you originally. They don’t see humans as people. They see you as product.”
I draw myself erect and straighten my shoulders. “I’m ready.”
“No. You’re not ready. You’re going to hide. I’m going to put you in the cargo bay with the supplies. It will be a small crate, but it will have to do. Now go, quickly.”
“I’m not going to hide, Tyank. That's not what I do.”
He plucks me from the ground, throws me over his shoulder and carries me off to the cargo bay, where in very short order I find myself stuffed into a cargo crate.
“Let me out!”
“Be quiet,” he growls with uncustomary ferocity. “This is life and death, Karen. Yours.”
With that, he closes me into darkness. Well. I am going to have a lot to say once he lets me out, that's for certain. I begin compiling my lecture in my head. The word unacceptable comes up a lot, as do the terms disrespectful, and never again.
Tyank
Back alone on the bridge, I initiate a video link. In short order, the Galactor captain appears on my screen. He is of the Holdan, a species of alien known for brutality, much like the scythkin, except unlike the scythkin, they are not scythkin, which is to say, they are my enemy. They like to sail the universe in flashy ships which tend to be noisier than most, and brighter colored. Like all of Gal
actor, they are heavily branded.
"All alone, scythkin?”
“Scythkin are never alone,” I bluff. I’m hoping that they keep their distance. They are a single ship, alone. So am I. Best case scenario, we pass each other by, ships who’ve said hello, threatened each other, then passed in the night.
“That’s what they say, but our instruments aren't picking anything up.”
“That's because your instruments are cheap Galactor crap.”
It is important I remain hostile, and aggressive. Any sign of weakness, any hint of fear and they will be on me. Galactor made products are rubbish, but their weapons tend to work. I need to get out of their radius of efficiency now. But I also want to know what they are doing out here. If they're sniffing around the timesploded colonies, we may need more help safeguarding humanity.
The Galactor captain laughs without humor. “We’re offering twenty percent off all weaponry right now,” he says. “You might want to invest in some. Our scans indicate you’re traveling very light.”
“Come aboard and see how light I'm traveling,” I threaten. The Holdan are no match for me. In person, I could kill dozens of them before they touched me and they know it. Unless they're willing to blow me out of the sky, this is going to be nothing more than posturing.
“We have men trapped in the timesplosion. We're working to free them,” the Holdan captain confesses, apropos of nothing. Apparently they can't stand awkward silences.
“Well, that’s fun for you,” I say. “Better get on with that.”
"Next time, scythkin.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as their ship departs at high speed. We were not equipped to deal with them. That was foolish oversight on my part. Next time, I will be ready.
“Alright, Karen. You can come out no…”
The second I open the cargo bay doors, I realize I have made a huge mistake.
It is empty.
They robbed me. They never intended on fighting me at all. It was a ruse. They must have activated their transporters while I was talking to them. They took everything I have by stealth, including the woman who matters more than anything in the universe.
They may not know what they have in that crate. I sincerely hope they do not. I hope she stays quiet until I can get to her. If they touch her. If they look at her. If they so much as fucking breathe on her - I am going to kill each and every one of them.
The Final Manager
Karen
There’s a weird lightness, as if I and the crate momentarily loose all mass, then the heaviness of existence sets in. I must be running out of oxygen. I need to get out of this confined space. I need to free myself. I start to push at the top, only to find that large hands are already lifting it off. Relief mixes with anger to express itself in a sharp exclamation.
“This is UNACCEPTABLE!”
I burst from the crate, expecting to see Tyank's face, but what I am looking at is not Tyank.
It is tall, and lean and it has big dark eyes, a small mouth, and what looks like a fin on its back. It could be a fish, except for the fact that it has two legs and is covered in musculature which speaks to warriordom. It wears an insignia upon its chest, a large G which manages to be somehow cheerfully obnoxious without being in any way interesting. For a moment, I am afraid that I am in the grip of a complete stranger. Then I remember about the suits and whatnot and I reach out and slap Tyank on his arm.
"What the hell are you wearing? Does your face come off in that one? Does the dick work?”
Tyank looks at me blankly, then turns around to another Tyank in a suit. Except it’s not Tyank in a suit because how could there be two Tyanks? The fear returns, twice as strong for having been scared away once before.
“There’s a human here, sir.”
“A human?” The other not-Tyank turns around and looks at me with a curious fish-eyed gaze.
“Human female. Forties, I’d say. She could be out of the simulation.”
“Are you out of the simulation, human?” The second not-Tyank questions me.
"I don't know what you're talking about. How dare you disturb me!” I put all my energy into righteous condemnation.
The not-Tyanks look at one another.
“I would like to speak to both your managers,” I hiss.
The universal incantation has never failed me before, and does not fail me now. The not-Tyanks look at one another, reminding me strongly of fish out of water. Their googly-eyed gazes have gone from predatory to concerned.
“This instant!” I add, before they can collect their wits about them and wonder aloud why cargo is telling them what to do. The secret to dominating strangers is to start out strident and not let them have a moment to think.
“The utter gall!” I harrumph. It has been a long time since I have had a good harrumph, and doing it feels like reclaiming my power.
“If she’s a human…”
“I'm sorry, did I ask you to stand about gawping at one another? Manager! Now! I will be asking for a complete refund. And I don’t have to tell you that the insurance processors won't like that one bit. You’ll likely be in for an audit.”
The word ‘audit’ sends a visible shiver through both not-Tyanks. They turn, their massive forms setting off into a gait which can only be described as a scurry.
It is quite obvious that I am no longer on the same ship. I don’t know what they did to Tyank, if they did anything at all. I have the feeling that they somehow took everything out of the cargo bay in an instant. I do not like alien technology. It is unsettling at the best of times. At least in the simulation I had to undergo the formality of being thrown down the plughole in the ocean into the laundry basket at the end of the world.
I follow the not-Tyanks down a green corridor which is liberally festooned with the same G symbol they wear on their not inconsiderable chests. This doesn't feel like a ship. It feels like a small traveling shop. There are signs here and there declaring that employees must wash their hands, and others declaring that everything is either 15 or 30 percent off - except for the things which are 50% off. Finally, we reach a door which is unremarkable except for what is behind it.
The manager is not a fish person. He is something round sitting on a stool far too small for him. He is the color of play-dough when all the colors get mixed together, and he has the general expression of a half-melted candle. He doesn’t appear to have arms or legs. He does, however have hands which flap on either side of his generalized girth. He looks at me with weary eyes, and a sort of disinterest I have seen on many a manager's face before. This is no mere manager. This is more like a regional manager. I will have to be careful.
“Sir? This… person would like to speak to you,” the not-Tyank says, introducing me.
“How can I help you, madame?”
“I,” I say in a practiced tone well versed in complaining, “have just been stolen.”
“Stolen, eh? Well, that would be a 1-J4 form you’d need to fill in to report yourself stolen.”
Oh. I see what’s happening here. They’re going to try to use bureaucracy against me. I don't think so. I invented useless forms. I know how to administer my way in and out of all kinds of trouble. If this piece of glob thinks he has the better of me, he has another thing coming.
"This is piracy!” I declare. “Would you download a car?”
The manager gives me the benefit of a simpering smile. “Of course we wouldn't download a car. The combustion engine is the product of toxic historic societies.”
“That’s insulting! I am insulted. I'd like to lay a formal complaint. Bring me your forms and I will file them forthwith.”
“I’m sorry, all forms must be obtained from the office in Zetareticuli. They must then be filed two clicks left of the Horsehead Nebula, past the old parts store.”
Oh he’s good. Really good. I’m dealing with a professional here. This deviant pile of semi-sentient dough has obviously been giving annoyed customers the runaround since before I was born.
/>
“That's fine,” I say, knowing I still have cards up my sleeve. “I’ll just go… to… the media!” I whip the final words out with a verbal flourish. On either side of the doughman, the not-Tyanks blanch, but not him. He keeps his cool and he does the one thing I cannot stand, and for which I have no defense.
He ignores me, and starts talking about me as if I am not there at all.
“She’s still fully functional,” he says to the not-Tyanks. “Pretty impressive given they were never designed to work outside the system. Most of them had complete meltdowns if we took them out. Had to wipe them completely. This one doesn't seem to have had her head cleaned.”
“You will speak to me when I am present,” I say stridently, but the spell is broken. Nobody is listening to me anymore. There is no fear in any of their eyes. Whatever power I had has been utterly decimated by the manager. Is this how it all ends for me? In a stuffy office, bested by an officious drone?
Some part of me always knew this is how it was always supposed to end. Live by the sword, die by the sword. Every Karen knows that there will one day be a manager she cannot destroy.
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you mean,” one of the not-Tyanks says.
“This is the Kar3n model, remember? From the simulation. We programmed a few of the humans this way so they'd take the murketeer orders and convey them to the rest of the population. Officious, self-important, humorless, joyless, we engineered them to be repellent to most humans, so they would forever be on the exterior, willing to enforce whatever regulations we decided.”
He's reading me for filth, calling out every weakness I’ve ever had, which makes sense, because apparently, they were programmed into me. I didn’t choose to be this way. I was made this way by beings who wanted to use me for the very traits everybody hates me for.
