Alienation

by S E Anderson

  “Are you coming?” Kun asked as he dashed inside, grinning as he threw himself on the padded armchair. He waved me in after him.

  “You don't have to get excited about it,” Rüt said, giving me a look that could easily have come from Droopy the dog, “but you could try to be polite. It's not like we had to bring you.”

  “Oh!” I said, feeling the blood rush to my face. “I'm sorry. It's just ... wow, this place took my breath away.”

  “Better,” said Kun. “Now come on in. Let me show you where your stuff is.”

  “My stuff?” I asked, but he ignored me.

  I followed him through the house, which was much bigger than I had expected it was even tall enough for me to walk through comfortably. Everything was lit with the same soft blue light, the little flames flickering inside jars set on the floor every few steps.

  The rooms were wide and under-furnished, though there were mattresses in every corner. There were blankets and rags, sometimes indistinguishable from each other, piled all over the place. It looked like a squatter's hovel, or maybe a drug den.

  Not that I had seen either, except on TV. And this wasn't Earth, anyway.

  I forced myself to smile out of politeness, but hiding my disgust was going to be difficult.

  They had called it their hideaway. Maybe it was a place to hide from the Beast. Their lives must be difficult down here, in the dark and constantly having to evade a monster who smelled like the sewers. They were just barely surviving.

  Rüt brought me to a room that was completely empty except for an old pump in the center. The floor was tiled in white on one side and brown-green on the other. One step on the brown tiles made me realize it wasn’t paint, but mold.

  Alien mold. I gagged. I should have taken shots before this trip. I’d probably die of space flu after all this.

  “The larder is through there.” Rüt opened a door I hadn’t seen. It was dark and had stairs leading down into a darker space. “We're going to need a nice dinner. And be snappy about it.”

  “Excuse me?” I stammered.

  Was he really asking what I thought he was? I glared at the stranger. I was taller than him, by a lot. I bet if he had a clone stand on his shoulders, I’d still be taller. I could take him down easy. Who did he think he was anyway, bossing me around like this?

  “You heard me. We need a meal,” he snapped. “And the food has to last for a week. So be smart about it. You might want to plan ahead. We eat twice a day, and we get pretty hungry.”

  “You seriously expect me to make you a meal? We just met. If you think—”

  “We saved you,” Rüt said. “Without us, you would be wandering the streets until you got lost and starved to death. With us? You'll always have food. All you have to do is make enough to share.”

  “Hey, I faced the Beast on my own, remember? Doesn't that count for something?”

  “Maybe.” He offered up a shrug with his eyes. “But that was just one Beast. They travel in herds, you know.”

  Well, that was terrifying as fuck. The shiver came back and took me for a spin.

  He picked up on this and nodded slowly. “Look,” he said, “we all have jobs to do in order to survive. You don't know your way around the streets, you're human, and you don't have the Light like we do. Your kind wasn't meant for the Undercity. So let's help each other out, okay? You cook. You clean up. Make this place nice. And in exchange, we’ll let you stay with us. All right?”

  I nodded, slowly. Not that I was okay with this deal, but I was exhausted, bruised, hungry, and not in the mood to argue. He was right—I didn't know my way around. They were the only help I would get.

  And I was happy to cook. It wasn't a big deal.

  At least for now.

  “Good.” Rüt grinned. “Now get us some grub. You can use the roof-shrooms to see down the stairs. Thank you.”

  He dashed out of the room before I had time to ask what he meant. At least he was polite enough to say thanks.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I Hear Wedding Bells: Make Them Stop!

  The one thing no one tells you about falling a few miles down a highway is that you feel pretty sore after it.

  Probably because it was a no-brainer.

  With the adrenaline wearing off, I felt the soreness I’d wanted to avoid. I desperately wanted to sit down, but that would irritate my bruised rear, a literal pain in the ass.

  I stood on wobbly legs by a small door leading to the larder, staring into the cave black darkness down the stairs. What had he meant by roof-shrooms? I looked up at the dripping stairway ceiling, and sure enough, there were little mushrooms there, gray and seemingly lifeless.

  It was odd how you could travel light-years and still see something recognizable. I reached up to touch the hood of the delicate little guy, hoping to the heavens it wouldn’t kill me. The second my skin touched his, he lit up.

  And so did all his friends.

  A ripple of teal light flew down the staircase. The bioluminescent fungi made the room look like it was midday in the Sahara.

  Though maybe a blue-green Sahara. Or that planet from Avatar. Panorama? No, Pandora.

  I thought of my iPod and my definite need for the familiar. Luckily, my music selection was fair on its own, so I put in my earbuds and hit shuffle. If I was going to be Snow White, I needed a musical entourage. And so, with the dulcet tones of Taylor Swift in my ears, I got to work.

  I marched down the stairs in pure awe. The light was magical, like something out of a fairytale, all bright and glimmering. But the roof-shrooms gave off no heat, and soon my teeth were chattering. It was time to stop looking up and instead look at the job ahead: preparing food for over a dozen small aliens whom I knew nothing about.

  Not what I had planned for today, that's for sure.

  I grabbed what I could and ran upstairs, too cold to stay down there much longer. I had what appeared to be an onion, maybe, and a block of either meat of cheese. There was also some potato-looking lumps and maybe some grubs.

  Grubs?

  I dropped everything. The grubs didn't care, they were latched onto the alien potatoes and paid no attention to me. I brushed them off with the edge of my toe, biting my lip in disgust and leaving a brown smudge on the tuber's skin. Of course, the fake-potato was now covered in mold from the ground. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

  Gross. I wondered if I was supposed to eat them then shuddered at the thought. Please, no.

  I put my hand on my stomach, carefully. Not even an hour ago, it had been writhing with creatures, and even though they were gone, it still hadn’t settled. I never wanted to think of pizza again, and I didn’t want to touch a bite of food in this terrifying world.

  My belly gurgled with hunger.

  No. I turned my entire focus to the job at hand. I would suck it up, work through it, then find a way out of here. I was Dorothy from Kansas. I was Snow-fucking-White, and I would beat my witches. I needed to get back to the city, and this was the only way to do it. I grabbed a bucket, pumped the water in the middle of the room, and got to cleaning the taters.

  They had everything in the larder. There were cooking utensils, old pots and pans, and things I had never seen before and could only guess at their use. I grabbed what looked familiar—cutting, frying, seasoning—and made do, hoping to high heaven I wasn't poisoning myself or anyone else. Soon, the smell of frying onions filled the kitchen. I was proud of my weird alien creation.

  It looked like potato rösti, so good I probably would have Instagrammed it, had I been back home. Heck, I pulled out my iPod and snapped a picture, just for good measure. There.

  Kun must have smelled the food because his face was suddenly in front of mine. I crouched over my makeshift stove, a pan over one of their upturned lights. He rubbed his belly like a hungry child.

  “This smells good. What is it?”

  “It's ... Earth roast,” I said. “A specialty of my ... um ... grandfather's. Yes. Grandfather's Earth roast.”

 
“How much longer?”

  “I'd say it's ready.”

  Kun let out a shrill sound, like an awful whistle, and suddenly the Street Sweepers were running around, grabbing plates and utensils and cups and drinks in a whirlwind. My hands flew to my ears, trying to keep out the noise. In less than a minute, they had taken everything into the living room, where they sat on the floor despite having actual chairs to sit on, eager for dinner.

  I followed Kun out holding the frying pan, walking around the small group and scooping out ladlefuls of my creation. They had their own order of seniority, with Kun at the top and Rüt close behind. I hadn't learned any of the other names yet, and no one cared to introduce me.

  When I had dished out a plate to everyone, Kun gestured for me to sit next to him, giving Rüt a not so delicate shove to make room for me, which made the latter pout. I did as I was told, sitting cross-legged next to their leader, emptying the last of the saucepan on his plate. There would be no seconds, for anyone.

  “You won't eat?”

  “I ... I can't,” I said. “Nothing’s been staying down on this planet.”

  That was as gentle as I could put it. There was no way I was eating anything here, not after those ... things. I shuddered at the memory. Kun's glare, though, made it clear that it was not the right thing to say.

  “What if she's trying to poison us?” suggested Rüt, scowling. A slice of potato slid out of his open mouth and onto the floor before him.

  “She's not going to poison us.” Kun laughed, but the expression never reached his eyes. “Right, Sally?”

  “I wouldn't dare.”

  Rüt pushed his plate forward. “Well, I'm not going to take a bite until she does. And I suspect none of us will.”

  He was right. The rest of the aliens pushed their plates forward, all staring at me. I gazed down at my plate. The food looked good, that was for sure, and it smelled amazing. Even so, my stomach was doing flips at the thought of eating it.

  “Fine,” I said, and picked up the metal skewer in front of me. I stabbed a Da-Duhuian potato, closed my eyes, and brought it to my mouth.

  It tasted like bananas had cross-bred with a cucumber. But it didn't burn. It didn't hurt. And I wasn't crazy and addicted, yearning for more. I swallowed it, opening my eyes and holding out the skewer like a proud sword, victorious in defeating the not-actually-poisonous food.

  “Hum, this is pretty good!” Kun said, and instantly, his crew devoured their meals. They ate with metal spatulas, utensils like flat spoons, the kind of thing used to scrape paint off the walls, rather than skewers. I watched as the aliens finished their plates before I had put my utensil down.

  They burped in unison. Then laughed.

  “Sally Webber has made us a glorious meal,” Kun announced, giving me a fond look. I edged away. Something about his voice creeped me out. “Her presence here has made this place feel more like a home. And for that reason, I wish to announce that I am marrying her!”

  I spat out my food like someone had slapped me on the back. It didn't all go out. Some I inhaled down the wrong pipe and started to both laugh and choke. Rather than coming to my help, Kun laughed.

  I caught my breath, wiping tears from the edges of my eyes. I felt winded, not only from the laughing fit but from the shock of hearing those words from a perfect stranger.

  “Kun … I'm not going to marry you,” I said, softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for starters, I don't even know you, and I don't want to get married. To anyone. And it would have been nice if you had asked me first.”

  “Well, you're going to say yes, so I didn't think that mattered.” He shrugged.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you have to.”

  “But what if I don't want to?”

  “That's not fair!” he said, getting up in a scurry and glaring at me. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Life's not fair.”

  “You're mean!” And with that, Kun took off down the hallway, covering his eyes with his hands and sobbing. I watched him go, awestruck.

  I turned to look at the rest of the Street Sweepers, but their eyes were already on me. Glaring, actually, as if I had just stabbed someone. There were no thanks for the food, only pure anger.

  They got up and moved away from me, casually, like they had all simultaneously planned to do something else. I rose to my feet, stepping over their dirty plates and spatulas as I made my way to the door.

  “Where do you think you're going?” Rüt asked, suddenly in front of me.

  “I'm not welcome here,” I replied, wondering why I was so nervous. My hands shook, and I stuffed them into my pockets. “I'm leaving.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to move past him. The small alien stood his ground. I'll blame that on his low center of gravity, not on my weak arms. “Look. If you're not going to help me find my way back up to the city, I'm going to do it myself. Without you and the Street Cleaners.”

  “Sweepers. But it's impossible. You'll die! And what do you mean, you're not welcome here? We opened our doors to you. You're getting married tomorrow! Isn't that hospitable enough for you?”

  “I don't want to get married,” I snapped.

  “But Kun wants to.”

  “I'm not Kun, and I don't want to. He'll have to wrap his obloid head around that fact. Capiche?”

  I shoved my way forward, but Rüt was joined by another Downdweller. I frowned.

  “Let me out, Rüt.”

  “No. This is for your own good.”

  “I'm the only one who gets to decide that. So let. Me. Out.”

  “No.”

  They glared at me. And not just them. The Street Sweepers formed a barrier between me and the door. They advanced on me, blocked my escape.

  I knew I could take them: I was taller, after all, and probably stronger. But they had strength in numbers, and I didn't have enough arms to swat them all at once. Instead, I put my hands up.

  “Fine. I'll stay. But I'm not getting married.”

  “We'll talk about that after you clean up,” Rüt said. “For now, I need to console your fiancé.”

  I shuddered at the thought. No way was I marrying that infantile stranger. No way was I marrying anyone in this unbearable city.

  And for the first time since I got to their weird planet, it hit me: I wanted to go home, more than anything else in the universe.

  Talk about culture shock.

  I clenched my fists and stormed to the living room where I picked up the dishes and brought them to the kitchen. I cleaned them, violently throwing them into the bucket under the pump, trying to keep my mind off my imprisonment.

  I would leave when they were asleep. They wouldn’t be able to stop me then.

  All the while, the Downdwellers kept popping their heads into the kitchen to talk to me. Sometimes it was to ask about the world above, but mostly it was to congratulate me on my spontaneous engagement. I groaned internally as they rambled on about my future spouse's accomplishments.

  “He's very kind,” one said.

  “He's very handsome,” said another.

  “One time, he ate fifteen nuts at once!”

  “You'll be marrying a leader,” they all agreed.

  I didn't care either way. I had only just met him, and there was no foundation for a relationship. Not to mention I was not of his world and that I had to leave, yesterday.

  Did I mention that I never got a say in this? Because I would have liked a say in my own engagement.

  It must have been getting late because they stopped coming to see me. The noise in the house died down until all I could hear was my own breathing.

  I poked my head out of the kitchen—nothing. Slipping out of my shoes, I grabbed them in one hand, taking care to step as lightly as I could on the cold stone floor. I reached the first room with the mattresses, and, yes, there they were: three little Downdwellers snoozing in a pile. I got out of there
quickly, balancing on the tips of my toes.

  The other rooms were the same—the Downdwellers’ sleeping forms rising and falling gently in the near-dark. They had left their little lights on the floors beside them, floating flames trapped in jars like a small swarm of fireflies. It was just enough to light my way out of there.

  I reached the front door and panicked. I had never seen a locking system like this. Latches and knobs and hooks and string were all over the door, with no rhyme or reason. I wondered why half the things looked like they didn’t serve a purpose.

  I had to be quiet.

  Of course, as luck would have it, the second I nudged the first latch, a loud ringing exploded into the room. Instantly, they were upon me, racing at me, suddenly awake and very, very angry.

  I pulled the latch again, but it wouldn't give. I tried another, but there were hands around my waist, my legs, my arms, dragging me down and away from the door.

  I cried out in pain as one twisted my arm backward.

  “Quiet!” Rüt snarled, raising his hand. A small plume of blue light appeared in his palm, dancing delicately in the air above him. The light from the lamps; the Downdwellers were the ones creating them.

  I watched wide-eyed as the thing grew, sucking energy from the room and making the air crackle and hiss. It grew larger and larger in his palm until it was bigger than my head, and then he raised it, ready to strike ...

  “That's my future spouse, you brute!” Kun yelled, leaping into the air and kicking Rüt’s face. The fire fell to the ground and set the rug ablaze, but together the Street Sweepers stomped it out, while the two angry aliens stared each other down.

  “You kicked me!” Rüt cried, holding his palm to his face.

  “You tried to incinerate Sally Webber!” Kun retorted. “You're not allowed to do that. I'm telling on you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Rüt snapped. “Well if you tell, then I'm telling too!”

  They glared at each other. Stalemate. I took my window of opportunity and leaped at the door, trying to rip the latch, but still I grabbed the wrong one.