Alienation

by S E Anderson

  “Yes, please.” I nodded. “Oh. Um, last time I ate some food up here, I got some ... larval parasite things, though. I should be careful.”

  “Oh, don't worry. You can only have them once,” Qee said eagerly. “I had them when I was a kid. Ate right through my abdomen.”

  “She's, like, part cyborg now.” Pox giggled.

  “Part robot,” Qee said, frustrated. “Part robot. I'm a cyborg because I'm part robot.”

  “Whatever,” said Pox. “I have a robotic foot, but you don't see me bragging about it.”

  Mal sighed. “Everyone's got parts these days.”

  “But not you.”

  “Nope, one hundred percent human,” he said proudly. “Da-Duhuian, born and raised.”

  “So am I, dingbat,” snapped Qee.

  “Yeah, but your robotic innards aren't,” the driver teased. “All right, we'll park here and get something to eat then it's down to Mister Boss Man to drop off Sally. Good?”

  “Whoopee!” shouted Qee. “Finally! Food!”

  Mal drove up to another of the openings in the wall of the city, deftly maneuvering the van through the small entrance, like a bee flying into its hive. Once inside, the place opened, leaving ample room for parking. He found a spot and set us down with a sigh of relief from the hovering suspension.

  Pox opened the door and we piled out, and for a second I thought I could maybe be one of them, a young adult taking on the big city. Going for a bite to eat with my closest friends. But I wasn't; I couldn't be. I was from Earth, and these aliens had grown up here, while I have been light-years away.

  That and I wasn't too sold on having them as friends yet. But hey, new planet, new me. Let's see about making connections.

  “I don't have any money,” I said, cautiously.

  “Don't sweat it,” said Mal. “We'll expense this to the boss. Come on, I'm starving!”

  The world up here was not as glamorous as the level I had been on with Zander. Sunlight trickled down through layers of grating, but it was so dim the streetlights were on, even in the middle of the day. The streets were a little gross. Actually, a whole lot of gross. The Downdweller streets—the ones they lived on—were cleaner than this. I hadn't seen any litter there; whereas here, it was all over the place.

  “Are you coming?” urged Pox. “We want to get there before the lunch rush.”

  “Yeah,” I said, noncommittal, and trotted to join them. Together, we walked the soiled streets, following Mal as he led us to, well, I had no idea where we were going.

  “Oh my drang, zoommies!” Qee squawked, rushing to a street vendor. The stall held a large selection of boxes, all open at the top, letting out the sound of small shuffling and little chirps. She reached into one without hesitation, pulling out a small, squirming figure barely bigger than her hands.

  “Isn't he precious?” she asked, holding the thing out to me and Pox. The creature was cute, I could give her that. It was shaped like a puppy but covered in feathers, its mouth a weird assortment of stunted tentacles, like the face of a mole. The fleshy appendages moved around in hypnotic circles as the small creature whimpered in Qee's hands. Its eyes were closed, if it even had any.

  “You can pet it,” she said, eyeing my expression. “They don't bite. They don't do much of anything.”

  I reached out, nervously, to stoke the tiny zoomie along its back. It let out gentle cooing noises, obviously liking the attention. It felt soft, like Qee's hands or the down of a pillow. Not what I expected from a small touch of the strange-looking bird-mole.

  “I can't believe your folk eat these,” Mal muttered, butting his way into the small circle we had formed.

  “Shut up.” Pox scowled. “You all eat poultry, and you know the chicken is our holiest creature, right?”

  “It's also delicious,” Mal said, flashing her an obnoxious smile.

  “Screw you.” Pox ripped the tiny zoomie from Qee's hand and swallowed it whole before any of us could stop them. Even the tiny critter didn't have time to react and went down silently. But we could see it squirm as it went down their gullet, the transparent skin giving us a full window of the zoomie as it began to be digested.

  I recoiled. Pox didn't seem bothered by this, making a scene of licking their fingers as we stared. They paid the store clerk, who couldn't have looked any less interested.

  “You know I'm a vegan, right?” Qee said, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Sorry, darling,” Pox replied. “I know you think they're cute.”

  “So fucking gross.” Mal shook his head. “I'm still hungry, though. Come on, everyone.”

  I followed, now reluctantly, as Mal led us around the corner to a fast-food place he was excited about. We walked right in, found a table, and took our seats. The menu popped up digitally where a placemat would go.

  “Pick anything you want,” Mal said.

  “Thanks,” I said, scrolling through the options and not understanding a lick of them. Pizza. Pizza. Pizza. Probably for the first time in my life, I was glad for a menu with pictures. Nothing looked familiar, except maybe the pizzas that actually were pizzas, and I knew well enough to avoid them.

  In the end, I settled on something that looked like noodles. The second our orders were placed, a resounding ding flew through the restaurant, forcing open a small door in the wall that I hadn't even noticed. Out rolled an old and battered robot, scruffy and graffitied in places, one eye lit and the other dull. It rolled up on caterpillar treads and slid the food in front of each of us before returning to his stall.

  Those were not noodles.

  Every single thing we ordered had come in the form of foam. Mine was a bright red, while Qee had some green sludge, and the other two plates carried something pure and white. They each grabbed straws and sucked as I watched in awe.

  “Tuck in,” Qee suggested, taking a break from her foam. Her soft pink nose twitched in every direction, though I wasn't sure if it was meant to be doing that.

  I grabbed courage in both my hands and jammed my straw into the foam, taking a long sip. I immediately regretted it. The foam was heavily spiced. The entire thing was overwhelming and confusing. I coughed the way I had when I’d tried my first cigarette, and I felt the same nausea in the pit of my stomach. Bile threatened to rise.

  The group laughed.

  “You like it?” Qee asked politely.

  “It's ... an acquired taste,” I said, and she laughed again.

  The second sip was not as strong, seeing as how I knew what to expect this time. By the fourth or fifth, I appreciated it a little more, though there was no way it tasted like noodles.

  It tasted like pizza.

  Crap. They say everything tastes like chicken, but they’re wrong. Everything tastes like pizza in the big wide universe. There was no escaping it.

  And it wasn’t even good pizza.

  I wasn't done before the others ordered more. By the time my plate was clean, they had made it through at least three helpings, and it didn't look like they would stop anytime soon.

  “Um, shouldn't we be going to see your boss?” I asked, wishing there was a glass of water available.

  “He can wait.” Mal waved me off.

  “Are you sure?” I continued. “Because I have a deal to uphold, and I really haven't gotten the details on the whole of it.”

  “We're going, we're going!” Pox said, taking a break from their fourth serving. You could see pretty much the entire esophagus through their skin now, all white like snow. I wondered if the zoomie was digested yet, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I was very glad for their outfit, as weird as it was, since it covered the most gruesome part of the gut.

  “And you're sure he's going to pay for this?” Qee asked Mal, nose bristling.

  “Of course,” Mal replied. “It's nothing to him. Where's that bot when you need it?”

  The sad-looking robot came back, and Mal shoved some paper money at him. The thing reacted after a lag, picking up the cash with its flat fingers.
<
br />   “Thank you for dining at Grotto's today,” it said, gathering the payment and verifying it was correct. “We hope you come back soon. A well-filled belly is a happy belly.”

  The three of them mouthed the words along with the robot before it spun its torso and went back to the stall, the panel sliding shut over it before they could respond. Not that I think they would want to. I didn't think they were too fond of that robot.

  “All right,” Mal said, standing, “best not keep that boss man waiting. Let's get a move on.”

  I followed him out of the eatery, the women straight on my heels. A man in a maroon jumpsuit picked up litter with a cold look on his face, glaring at each of us in turn. Three robotic street sweepers were working with him, but of course they paid us no mind.

  “But what do they want me to do?” I asked Mal, trying to ignore the street cleaner’s glare. “The Downdwellers only got the main gist of the plan. They didn't tell me much.”

  “Their minds aren't ready for that kind of complexity.” Mal snickered, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. “Don't worry. It's very simple. Anyone could do it. Maakuna planned it himself.”

  His hands flew to his mouth, his eyes widening as if he had spilled a deep, dark secret. But the word, the name, meant nothing to me. The second he realized that, he not only relaxed, he got cocky again.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, “you really aren't from around here, are you?”

  I shook my head. Did shaking your head mean the same thing here as it did back home?

  Behind us, the girls were hushed, whispering with their heads close together. Whatever event had transpired with the zoomie was forgotten. They looked at Mal repeatedly, smiling as they did. Was there a crush I didn't know about? Then again, I knew nothing about any of their relationships.

  “Maakuna is one of the most powerful names in this sector,” Mal explained. “Maybe even the entire Alliance. You must really be out of the loop for his name to mean nothing.”

  “I'm telling you, never heard of him before.”

  Mal shrugged and opened the door to the van with a twist of the wrist, inviting everyone in. I took my seat in the back again, running the name through my mind over and over again. I was sure I had never heard of Maakuna before, no matter how much Mal wanted me to.

  Qee closed the door, and we took off. Mal unthreaded the needle to get us to the main avenue. There, I was surprised he did not drive up. Instead, he banked us, slowly, across the road to a series of dismal homes.

  “I can't believe you don't know who he is,” Pox stammered. “He's the ... he's a household name.”

  “Not in my household.” Qee showed her teeth. “Veganism, and all. An evil spirit invoked inside a house becomes bound with that house. We were never allowed to say the name, even when we wanted to share some juicy gossip.”

  “You're actually a vegan?” I asked.

  “All hail the great and mighty Vega,” she replied, making the sign of a star in the air.

  “Anyway, he's ready for you now,” Mal said as he turned off his com. “And don't worry. He's very reasonable. Just do everything he says, and no one gets hurt.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The alien-father and Totally Legitimate space Business

  I knew the second we drew up to the house that this was shady as hell. Or, at least, much, much shadier than I had expected.

  Tam and his friends made their nameless helper out to be a philanthropic hero. Mal and the gang made him sound like an intense businessman. But from the looks of the house we were heading to, it seemed more likely that we were heading to a legitimate businessman.

  As in I think I accidentally joined the mob.

  Let's look at the signs, shall we?

  One. The place looked grim, and ultimately kinda creepy. It stuck out from the rest of the buildings because its façade was just a little bit nicer and more polished than the others surrounding it. Still, it was dark and looming with brass ornaments around the windows and doors. Even the little sidewalk out front where the car could land seemed cleaner than the ones around it. All the buildings on this strip had their metal shutters rolled down and looked empty.

  Signs number two and three would probably be the men standing outside the front door. Lurking? Nah. Guarding it, but putting on a big act of lurking. They looked practically identical: tall and lean, wearing crisp suits in one piece—which looked altogether weird, yet gave off the same effect as suits back home. Their bald heads were both covered entirely in intricate tattoos.

  Tattoos that seemed to move with each breath.

  Mal parked the van on the ledge, and we got out. I froze as my foot hit the pavement. I just couldn’t stop staring at those tattoos, mesmerized by the weaving patterns. They looked fixed, like tribal tattoos. But out of the corner of my eye ... there was no way I could be sure, but they were putting me on edge.

  “Itzi,” Mal proclaimed, as if to an old friend. He waltzed up close to the man on the right looking like he wanted a hug. Itzi glared at the boy, not returning the affection.

  “Sonota,” he said. “That's Itzi. Get it right, boy.”

  Mal gulped but stood his ground. He wasn't going to show weakness in front of this man, and it made me suddenly frightful of who they worked for.

  Sign number four that you might have just joined the mob: if their guards were enough to put Mal on edge, then I wondered just how unsettling the man in charge was.

  Itzi waved and grinned at Mal, showing off a row of shark-like teeth. A shiver went through my body. These were the type of men that mothers would see and pull their children closer to their bodies as they walked down the street. And from what I could tell, from the cold chill of the air around them, those mothers probably had the right idea.

  I looked back at Qee and Pox, surprised to see the color had drained from their faces, which was impressive, considering that Qee's fur was white and Pox was entirely transparent. They kept a healthy distance from the two men, practically still in the van.

  “You're late, little man,” said Itzi. The way he said it made it sound like this might be the last time Mal would ever be late to anything.

  As in, you know, the alive capacity.

  “You know the Downdwellers,” Mal said, trying to shrug him off playfully but failing oh-so-badly. “They took forever to get her to us. No sense of time, you know.”

  The two men glared at Mal, identical stares on identical faces. Mal took a hurried step back.

  “Relax, kid,” Sonota said, putting a heavy hand on Mal's shoulder. “He's waiting for you, but you're lucky he is a patient man. Go on in.”

  Itzi was already at the door, opening the polished wood for Mal with a loud creaking noise. Mal trotted up nervously then turned to look back at me, giving me a wary look as if to say, You coming?

  I hustled to catch up with him, sidestepping around Sonota, who sniggered as he watched me walk. I had no idea what he meant by that, but I sure didn't like it. Itzi grunted as he closed the door behind us.

  We were in a tight hallway, more tall than wide, dimly lit and grimy. The wallpaper, or tapestry or whatever was covering the wall, was peeling and decaying. There were a few cobwebs in the corners—which glowed a bright shade of blue and formed patterns I had never seen before—but the spiders, or whatever had made them, were nowhere to be seen.

  The place smelled of mold. No, it reeked of it. Like week-old bologna and cheese. I held my breath as we walked, but it did no good. The smell seeped into everything, and I knew it would never come out of my clothes.

  But it looked—and smelled—incredibly familiar.

  A woman stood, bored, at the top of the stairs, smoking what looked like a stick bug, while wearing a long-draped nightgown that revealed more than I wanted to see. Turns out the three-boob thing wasn't just something dreamed up by Earth boys.

  She glared at us too, like we were the spiders making all the webs, and she wanted to squash us under the heel of her fluffy, green slipper. I tried to ignor
e her, looking instead at the few pictures on the walls, mostly of pressed flowers from planets I had never heard of.

  Possibly the only flowers I had seen on Da-Duhui.

  Itzi led us through a small maze of thin hallways, some so tight we had to turn sideways. Finally, though, we reached a sitting room, one large enough that it could easily take up an entire floor of someone's house. The smell here wasn’t so bad, or, at least, different enough that I didn't want to gag anymore. Maybe I was just getting used to it.

  While there were windows here, they were covered in heavy purple drapes, the kind of thing you would see at a Victorian funeral parlor. Everything else was lit with harsh electrical lighting, which buzzed and hummed like a fly on steroids.

  “Sir, they’ve finally arrived,” Itzi announced. I couldn't be sure if he was trying to be dismissive or sarcastic. Either way, I didn't think I was making the best first impression with Itzi.

  He turned out of the room and slammed the door shut, leaving us alone in the dark with an ornate pink couch. Or at least, I think it was pink. It was dark.

  “So, the Downdwellers really did find a round head for their cause,” a deep voice resonated through the room. I realized then that the couch was not a couch. Or, more reasonably, the couch was part couch, part something else. “Come around. Let me look at you.”

  Mal gave me a quick shove and I trotted, knees trembling, in front of the sofa, trying to keep my head held high.

  My heart fell. I knew this species. I had seen it before, just yesterday: an Oexasie. But the look in his eyes matched mine—recognition.

  “You!” it said.

  “You!” I echoed.

  It was no longer nude. The Oexasie had squeezed into a tight, pink suit, like an overstuffed sausage spilling out of its casing. I stepped back, ready to run. The thing knew who I was. He knew I was with the thief who had raided his museum.

  I understood now why the place had felt so familiar. I recognized it from when I had been running for my life down the hallways and stairs.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, his voice both deep and wheezing simultaneously. “I think she'll do just fine.”