Alienation

by S E Anderson

  “Very.”

  “Then come. Your room is this way.” Tam led me across the room to the hallway, picking up a small metal plate and a glass bulb on the way. He waved a few fingers over the bulb and coaxed a flame into existence, without any kind of matches, before closing it off with the metal plate and handing it to me.

  “You can,” I muttered, awed, as I held the floating fire. It looked delicate and blue, like a jellyfish.

  “A gift us Theosians have mastered in the dark,” he said, extending a hand and letting small sparks flicker above his palm like little fireflies.

  “Theosians?”

  “Downdwellers who haven't fallen.” He chuckled. “Anyway, sleep well, Sally. Don't feel obligated to get up right away. Sleep as long as you want. We're all here for you.”

  Tam turned and left without another word. I took to my room, which, despite its inhabitants being rather short, was close to my size, like Kun’s hideaway. The room itself was small but well-groomed, like the rest of the home, and I barely noticed the smell.

  There was a small basin in the corner, and a quick glance at it told me there was water. I was desperate to wash off the past day, to get the horror of it off my skin. There wasn’t enough water for a cat bath, but at least my hands and face would feel clean.

  I dipped my hands into the lukewarm liquid and brought it to my face with a splash. Sweat and grime washed off in a cool and refreshing touch. My skin felt slimy, oily even under my fingers. I dug them in deep, practically clawing the dirt from my face.

  Tears leaked through my closed eyelids, tears of stress and fear. Scrub, scratch, splash. I repeated the sequence, trying not to think, as if the mechanical motion would be enough to cleanse my soul.

  I had fallen. I was weak.

  I had faced a Beast. I was unhinged.

  I had played Snow White to a band of children. I was an idiot.

  How had I not seen this was all a game to them? How had I been so quick to play along, to put my survival in their hands?

  I scrubbed the memory from my mind. What would have happened if Tam hadn’t gone looking for his son? Would I be married to Kun, slaving away as his wife and servant and waiting for my alien prince to rescue me.

  I scoffed. Zander was no prince. He had dropped me. The image of him as an infallible white knight riding through the universe on starlight and saving it from destruction was fading fast.

  In the end, he was just a man. He wasn’t perfect, and neither was I.

  Not that I ever claimed to be.

  But he was all I had. I put my hands on the basin, gripping the edge as I forced myself to breathe. Focusing on the difference in temperature from the air I inhaled versus the air I exhaled. In. Out. In. Out. I was calm. I was in control. I would not give into my panic.

  Where was he anyway? Where was the great Zander, the one I had heard so much about in hushed, terrified tones? If he was anything like the man I thought he was, he should have found me hours ago, rescued me from the dark.

  Zander needed to hurry his ass up and get over here to do some rescuing.

  I sat down on the bed—a mattress suspended from the ceiling by thick ropes—which creaked and groaned under my weight. My mind raced, running away, going anywhere but here.

  Zander would find me. I put my head back on the pillow. “He will find me,” I said, hoping that repeating it a few million times out loud would make it true.

  But as sleep crept over me, my resolve in this elemental truth faded.

  He had promised to keep me safe, and I wasn't feeling very safe right now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Under the City, Under the City

  I was at home, sitting on my couch clutching a cup of warm tea. The smell and the heat of the drink was soothing.

  I ran a hand awkwardly over my scalp. I felt soft hair growing under my fingertips, slowly coming back after being singed off. The baldness was unsettling. Every time I passed a mirror, I thought the person staring back was someone else. I could not, would not, get used to it.

  Marcy sat across from me, Dany having left to bring us a takeaway. Pizza, I think it was. She wore a black dress, which really wasn't her color. It wasn't joyful; it was sad.

  Today was a sad day, after all. I ran my hands through the fabric of my own black dress, something I had bought at Target—or had ordered it online. I couldn't remember. I didn't want to spend a lot of money on a dress to mourn someone who wasn't dead.

  “How are you holding up?” Marcy asked, cocking her head to the side. I looked up at her, poking out my tongue. A peppermint melted there.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  I said something, not sure what. A few words like that's okay, or maybe just thank you. Nothing special. I ran my hand through my hair and missed. There was no hair to play with.

  “That was the weirdest memorial I've ever been to,” she said, and I could tell she was trying to read me. I didn't like that. We had always trusted each other, but today, she was judging me. “I can't ... I just can't believe our friends are gone.”

  I nodded, my eyes dry. I said nothing about who Grisham really was; I had never told her Zander's secret. But I knew if I tried to talk about Matt, his sacrifice, that I would cry tears I didn't know I had left.

  “You killed them,” she said, her eyes snapping up and capturing mine in a vice grip. “You killed them all.”

  “What? No.” This was wrong. Marcy would never say that, but it was her voice, and they were her lips the words tumbled through, and they sounded real and harsh and cruel.

  “You killed Matt,” she said, rising to her feet. She was growing now, growing larger than life, taking up the entire apartment. It was getting dark, the light being sucked up by this non-Marcy.

  “You're unnatural,” she snapped. “You stole his life for yours. You killed him. You did. No one else.”

  “Marcy, stop,” I begged.

  “How are you still alive?” Her teeth were long now, and sharp at that. “How did you survive? You should be dead. You should be dead and Matt alive.”

  “No, I—”

  And then she lunged at me.

  ***

  Waking up in a strange bed is always unsettling. There's that moment where you still believe you are at home, wrapped up in a bundle of your own sheets, in your own room. The second you see that you're not, however, the brain panics. And that was me, right now.

  The last time I had slept—really slept, in a bed and not tied to a pipe—I had been in my apartment. I had been in my own bed with my sheets and my warm pillows. When I had woken up, light had shone through my window and my roommate/ex was making us tea.

  About five minutes before we had a fight and I kicked them out. Or they ran away. But that’s a story for another time.

  In any case, waking up in a strange bed was unsettling, but waking up in said bed in cold sweats made matters even worse.

  This room had no light. Not natural light, anyway. The small light of floating fire gleamed on the shelf. It looked the same as when I had gone to sleep.

  I got out of bed and stumbled as I put my clothes back on. My body still smarted from everything that had happened the day before, like I were an old piece of wood that was stiff and creaking. The jeans were dry-ish now, having had time away from the mess that was me, and I wished I had something clean to wear. Gosh, I would give anything to feel clean right now.

  I’d had that dream before. Call it a recurring nightmare. Almost always bringing me back to the moment right after the memorial service for the Grisham Corp plant disaster. Three deaths, one injury.

  Zander, the alien. Grisham, the villain. Matt, the hero. Although, to the people of Franklin, it was just the accountant, the boss, and the protégé.

  I was the injury.

  No one else had been hurt. The evacuation had been perfect. Grisham had certainly planned the most efficient plant there was, even when it came down to fire preparedness. Too bad he hadn't been alive to see it in action.

  I s
huddered at the memory. Two years had gone by since, and not all that much had happened. Life was different, but it moved on. I was still without a job, but money was no longer so tight. I was still rooming with an alien, but they weren’t like Zander. Except for the bit where they were extraterrestrial.

  I wasn’t sure they would be there when I got back.

  I reached up to brush a finger through my hair. It should never have grown back. Not this fast, not this thick. It shouldn’t have grown back at all, not after the burns that had covered my head.

  More had happened to me in the last day than in my last two years combined, but now, I wasn't so sure that was a good thing. My astrolust was quenched. Now I was just, well, scared.

  Scared I wasn't going to make it home. Scared I would be stuck here forever. Scared I would be stuck in a culture I did not know, to never see the sun again. I shivered, the fullest body shiver I had ever experienced.

  Today, I would find a way back home. I would find Zander and leave this planet. And I would not ask for a second trip anywhere else, ever again.

  The smell of hot Jee wafted through the house, bringing memories of autumn back on Earth, all warm and spiced. That alone was enough to force me up and out of bed. I tied my laces on my trusted Chucks, straightened my t-shirt, and left the small room, closing the door behind me. The scent was heavy enough to give me a clear path to follow through the house.

  Everything looked identical to how it had been when I had gone to bed. I passed a study filled with books, huge shelves lining the walls; and a kitchen, much better stocked than the Street Sweepers' playhouse and cleaner. I shuddered at the memory.

  Marth was in the dining room, sitting at the end of a long table with chairs enough for twelve. The entire surface was empty, save for two glass chalices and a little kettle. As I entered, he filled the empty chalice from the weird looking kettle—it just looked weird, okay?—and pushed it to the seat beside him. I took that as an invitation to join.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, smiling warmly. I watched the steam rise from my cup and breathed in the heavenly scent of Jee.

  I nodded then remembered this wasn't Earth, and certainly not the United States, and voiced my agreement instead.

  “Yes, very,” I said. “Thank you for letting me use your spare room. You are too kind.”

  “It's a pleasure,” Marth replied but caught himself. “I mean, we're glad to be of help. I am so sorry about your situation.”

  “It's okay. No, I mean, thank you,” I said. It was definitely not okay, and I had to stop saying that as a response to everything. It just wasn't right.

  “And sorry again about our offspring.”

  I kept my tongue locked between my teeth and drank my Jee quietly, staring ahead at the bare wall. The light on the table caught my eye and I turned to it, watching the little fireball float and flicker under the glass.

  “How long did I sleep?” I asked. I no longer felt sleepy, but I sure as hell still felt tired.

  “Not very long,” Marth replied. “A few hours. I guess your body is still on Alliance time. You'll get used to it here.”

  I nodded sheepishly, never having worried about jet lag on other planets before. Was it still jet lag when there were no jets were involved? Planet lag? Space lag? Either way, I didn’t understand which way was up and which day it was anymore. Was it even daytime?

  I distracted myself from these thoughts by staring at the globe of light. It was so pretty, the way it floated and flickered like it had a life of its own. Marth watched me, saying nothing and drinking his Jee.

  “Can everyone produce fire?” I asked and looked away from the small sun.

  Marth chuckled. “Where are you from, Sally Webber?”

  “Earth.”

  “Is that part of the Alliance?” Marth sipped his own drink then continued. “Our history isn't all that up to date. Any new additions to the Alliance in the past century or two might not have made the news around here yet.”

  “Oh,” I replied. “No, but the Alliance knows about us. We haven't made first contact. I'm here with a friend. Or at least ... I was.”

  Marth bobbed his head. Was that a nod?

  “I wondered if us Theosians are still part of Alliance history,” he said, “or if they cut us out of that, too. But you won't know many elemental races if you haven't made contact yet.”

  “That's for sure.” I laughed and sipped my Jee. This stuff was amazing for a weary soul. “I only know of humans. And humans can't do what you do. I don't even know what an elemental race is.”

  “Elementals have a certain degree of control over their environment,” Marth explained. “Like us. We can excite particles to give off light, either hot or cold. But humans can do a lot of things we cannot even fathom. Honestly, some of the things I hear humans can do truly scares me.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Take how fast you adapt, for instance. You get sick and then move on. Not every person who falls down here survives, you know. But humans? Humans seem to take to this just fine. Anything avian doesn't last longer than a month. Take away sunlight, and they wither away.”

  I didn't like the sound of that, so I focused on my Jee. But it was too late; the chalice was empty. I had already downed it. Marth quickly filled my cup, smiling as he did so.

  “But what about the fire?” I asked, indicating the glowing orb on the table. He did the bobble head thing again and extended his hand forward. Filaments of light lifted from his palm and stuck together, growing into a small hovering ball, gently turning, like a miniature star, a tiny blue giant. I watched in awe.

  “Take it,” he said, pushing his palm forward.

  “What?” I shifted back. “I can't. My skin will burn.”

  “It won't,” Marth smiled, and his smile was warmer than the little sun. Literally. As I reached out, I felt no heat from the tiny ball of light. It was cold, but so alive.

  I held my two hands together like a cup, and Marth reeled back.

  “That,” he said, incensed, “is incredibly offensive!”

  “What?” Not even a day in this stranger’s house, and I was doing cultural faux pas. I put my hands on my lap, and he burst out laughing.

  “I'm kidding!” Marth reached for my hand, gently, and lifted it to the same level as the light. “You don't need to be afraid of us, Sally. This is your home now, so think of us as family. Here, take this.”

  And I took the light. The tendrils reached for my hand, and I felt nothing, nada, zilch, as if the light were all in my head. I pulled my hand away, and the ball stayed with me, hovering an inch above my palm.

  “Yes, us Theosians can create plasma,” he said, “and flame. But mostly light. Anything that burns takes practice, so you won't see children with a dangerous heat. But while we live in darkness, we have light in our veins.”

  I was listening, but just barely. The light was so ... fascinating. It swayed, and when I ran my finger through it, disturbing whips of light came right back in place once my finger had passed. I giggled.

  “They needed us, once.” Marth sighed, leaning back in his chair.

  “Who did?”

  “The Alliance.” He shrugged, his eyelids squeezing and dropping. “They needed us to stoke the great fires of the first ships. Our people fought together side by side. But then ... well, you know.”

  “I don't know. I just got here.”

  “No, you know.” Marth's eyes met mine and held them there, captivatingly dark. “You're down here with us now. They did the same thing to you that they did to us. Welcome. Anyway, keep the light. You're going to need it. Light isn't always so easy to come by down here.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The World Beneath the World

  Marth made me take a walk.

  He opened the front door and practically pushed me out, giving me a stick and a lantern for me to stuff the little light ball into. It would be good for me, he said, so I took his word for it and went for a walk.

  The
market was shut, but there were still people in the street. Orbs of light shimmered as I walked by, and I kept away from them, trying to not draw attention to myself. Either no one cared about the human who had just fallen, or they were being polite. I was thankful either way.

  I didn't know where I was going and soon realized that I had left the habitable sector entirely. There were no more warm street orbs, only my own lantern. I wondered why some parts of the Undercity were settled and others not. If the city above stretched across the entire planet, were there settlements down here with other Downdwellers? More Theosians? Did they talk with each other? If I was to live here, I had to know these things.

  Not that I was planning on staying. I clenched my fists around the lantern pole as I walked. I was getting out of here. I would find Zander and go home.

  I stopped by a wall and stared. Yes, this would do nicely. I was getting out of this place if I had to fight for my freedom by tooth and nail. Probably nail, because it looked like I’d need to climb my way out.

  I slipped my fingers between the cracks of the old bricks. I pulled. My arms burned like they were on fire. I found a foothold and then another.

  And I began to climb.

  I had hooked my light onto a pole and propped it through my bra so the lantern hung near my face. I probably looked like a human anglerfish, though much more attractive, if I do say so myself.

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice sounded like that of a small boy's: calm, composed, unsurprised by anything, like everyone I had met in this odd place. Turning my head, I spotted him in his own little pool of light ten feet below me, his eyes wide as they gazed back at me.

  He was half the size of Kun, his clothes more ragged and not as fitted as what the others wore—a loose, red sweater and fourth, maybe fifth-hand cargo pants. He stood in the street, unmoving, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He looked like one of the Street Sweepers, though one whose name I had never learned.

  “I'm going home.” I cringed as I stretched my hand to the brick above me, feeling around for it and taking a deep breath before gathering the courage to move to the next ledge, a fanciful divider between the floors of the buildings. I hadn’t yet thought about what would happen when I reached the awnings, but I’d figure that out when I got there.