by Ann Christy
He introduced me to some of his work mates and while we were close, the subtle differences between them became apparent even to me. Drives Too Hard’s eyes have a slightly more pronounced folded ridge beneath them. It makes them seem to tilt up at the ends, like a smile in the eyes. To them, they probably look as individual as all humans look to me.
And they were all very friendly, very funny in their own way, and absolutely lacking in social subtlety. I’ve been asked twice if Jack and I are going to “squish.” Yes, I’ve been asked that. Drives Too Hard must have done some poking around about humans, just as I did to learn about the Kassa, because he hopped right in and told the asker that humans are secret about their squishing.
I can’t be sure, because Kassa expressions are posture related, but I think that notion intrigued the other Kassa. I have zero doubt that someone in that group looked up human mating. None whatsoever.
Today when I arrive at the docks, open my implant, and ask for Drives Too Hard, he answers that he’s in the dock where the new ships are and is working. I’m sort of bummed, but then I get a ping from a different Kassa.
You want to come in? Engine test today! I get an extremely excited translation, so I’m guessing that’s an equally exciting activity.
Yes, who is this?
One of the many Kassa on the work floor is scurrying toward the glass in that way they do. I swear it looks like they’re going to fall forward at any moment when they hurry. It stops and unfurls those fuzzy looking antennae, so that it has the most amusing crown around its head. I’m Noisy Sleeper, brother-cousin of Drives Too Hard.
I wave at the Kassa and hurry over to the little tunnel, which is an airlock. Luckily, I’m already suited. By the time the inner door opens, the Kassa is waiting, rather impatiently if the twitches are any indicator. It sticks out one of its upper arms toward me, the big manipulators that are their version of hands spread wide.
Good to meet you, Lysa! Shake, yes? Shake like human?
So, at least a few of the Kassa have indeed been digging into the human databanks. I extend my gloved hand and feel the rasp of the armored appendange as it slips into mine. One of the manipulators taps the back of my hand and I smile at the Kassa.
It’s very good to meet you, Noisy Sleeper.
It lets me go without ceremony, then shuffles a bit and hops. There is certainly something exciting going on. It radiates from him like a physical thing, a corona of anticipation that should have a color, like a sun or the blue of a bright sky on a perfect day.
What’s the engine test?
That was the right question, because I get a series of clicks coming through with the vague translation, noises of excitement. So, Noisy Sleeper is actually beyond words? Wow.
Come over, come over. We’re going up to watch, he sends, backing up and ready to go.
I hurry after him as fast as the suit will let me. I’m getting more comfortable in the suits, which helps me to run, but the Kassa are extremely quick. If it came down to a chase, I would lose, which is a sobering thought when I think of what I’m going to do. At the tunnel entrance, a crowd of Kassa are mingling. I’m out of breath from running, so I’m glad to stop.
While I bend over and gasp, Noisy Sleeper taps my helmet and asks, Are you ill? You are not normal now.
Shaking my head with a grin, I marvel at how succinct they are about some things. I’m fine. Running in this suit is difficult for me.
Noisy Sleeper furls his antennae and another Kassa pushes him with a pair of manipulators. Apologizing! I did not want to harm you!
Looking between Noisy Sleeper and the Kassa that pushed him, I wave my hands downward and say, I’m fine. Truly fine. Humans should be able to run better. I eat too much and don’t practice running.
I have no idea what the look the two Kassa exchange means, but I get hints of a head shake in there via the implant.
We go now. Can you go? Need to carry you?
The horrifying thought of being carried pushes back my fatigue. Oh no, I’m fine. Quite fine. We’re going up on the elevator?
I can already see the open elevator door from here, so I answered my own question. Different groups of Kassa keep moving down the long quasi-hallway to other open elevator doors. I guess we’re using all the elevators in this tunnel. Noisy Sleeper clicks and hisses at two Kassa and they take off for the next elevator, leaving he and I to take the first one in the tunnel. That’s so nice of him.
I’ve got my breath by the time we get to the mid-level that puts us even with the ship. I capture the images of me standing in an elevator with a dozen Kassa, because the sight is just so funny and awesome. I’m taller than them by almost a head, so there I am, sticking up in my suit helmet from a crowd of excited bug-looking people. It’s hilarious, so I capture the view from the front as well. If I get the chance, I really want to show this to my mom. She’ll get a kick out of it.
There are a hundred or more Kassa all along the tunnel, all facing the glass and the ship beyond. Noisy Sleeper stands next to me and hops when it says, Starting engines now.
For a long time, nothing happens. After about five minutes, I tap Noisy Sleeper’s manipulator where its pressed to the glass next to my hand. Why are they testing engines?
Leaving soon on mission. That ship. He points to the ship attached to the ladder and gantry that represent my only shot at getting up to a ship. This is the ship I’ve created all my plans around.
My stomach drops into my boots and my heart seems to skip a beat. Swallowing down an immediate sensation of panic, I try to remain calm and send, When are they leaving? Today? Tomorrow?
I know what the Kassa version of a shrug looks like from looking up their species, and Noisy Sleeper does that now. Not sure. Soon. When’s your tomorrow?
My timeline just shrunk, I think. Then again, the Kassa definition of a day is very different from mine. Their day is about two weeks long in Earth time. I suck in a deep breath, reaching for calm and peace. I’m doing the right thing, the needed thing, so things have to work out. That’s just the way the universe operates, I think. Asking the implant for time definitions, I find one that will suit the situation.
Will it be this work cycle? Next work cycle?
Noisy Sleeper rotates its head a little, which is their way of expressing approval. Start of next work cycle!
That means I have two days. Just two days. Their next work cycle starts in three days, right about mid-morning for me. At that time, Drives Too Hard and his brother-cousins will all go off shift and the next group will come on shift. I can’t wait until that last day either, because I have no idea what process they use when they change shifts. For all I know it’s an all day affair.
As I try to figure out if I’ve got the stones to really do this, a vibration starts in the glass and all the Kassa along the tunnel hop, unfurl antennae, and generally fidget. All faces are glued to the ship beyond the glass. They are enraptured. I watch the ship, thinking I’ll see blue light come out of the propulsion like in the movies. Alas, nothing like that happens. There’s no visible hint that the engines are running, only that vibration.
I know the Kassa can see using parts of the light spectrum I can’t, so I wonder what they’re seeing. After a minute or so of vibration, it stops and all the Kassa seem to deflate as one. Not really deflating, but more like a sigh, like they’re relieved or something.
Did it go well?
Noisy Sleeper’s eyes are shiny and his neck has a little extra curve in it. To me he looks relaxed and happy, like I might feel after a good meal. Excellent. Very finely calibrated. Beautiful work!
That’s good news, I send. And I really mean that. After all, I’m going to need those engines.
And I’m going to need them in two days.
Thirty-Six
The cabinet bot delivers my quasi-luggage, pushing it along like the cabinet is getting ready to check its bags. It’s sort of funny. I’m glad no one asked me why I wanted a rolling c
rate. This is the last piece to my puzzle. While I probably need to sleep, I can’t sit still. I test the safety lines on the hook I specified for my crate and it attaches perfectly. I’ll be able to hoist up the bag currently nestled inside the crate once I reach the top of the ladder. Assuming I reach it. Well, assuming a whole lot.
Once I’m done packing, I have a thirty-pound crate. The small items, the most important ones, will be tucked inside my suit. The camera, the portable control surface, as well as a few other things too important to risk will be stowed safely next to my body in the suit.
I’m ready.
The painting on my easel is covered by a cloth. I don’t want anyone to see it until tomorrow. The painting is almost done, and I think I’m going to leave it this way. Not quite finished. That sends a message too, and it’s one I hope Hub will understand.
I’m fidgety now that I’m done. I think about unpacking my crate and packing it again for the third time. If I keep doing that, I’ll eventually get sloppy and that would be bad. I need to focus my thoughts on something else altogether. It takes a few turns around my room and some self-talk, but I manage to convince myself that everything is packed perfectly and should be left alone. I’ve got to distract myself before my nerves get the better of me.
Looking up at the ceiling, I ask, “Hub, how is Heather doing?”
“Her visit with you was immensely helpful, Lysa. She is doing quite well and fully engaged in her orientation. She is, as you’re fond of a saying, a real trooper.”
I’m relieved to hear it. The way she looked when she came here was awful and I’m happy to hear she’s joined into our little fray. “Did she get her lymphoma fixed?” I ask, not forgetting why it was so urgent she get help quickly.
“I’m not sure I should share medical information, Lysa.”
“That’s not fair! I mean, you brought her here because she had it bad. It’s only right to let me know if I did the job correctly.” Will that work? It would work on my mom.
It does, because Hub says, “In that case, I’m pleased to report that Heather is entirely well in that regard. She has been healed.”
Clapping my hands, I say, “Bravo, Hub! Fantastic job.”
“To you as well, Lysa.”
We fall silent a moment, and I consider asking to talk to her again, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. The temptation to share something—anything—with another person might be too much. Best to avoid that.
“Is there anything else, Lysa?”
“No, goodnight Hub. And thank you for all that you do. I really mean that.” I shouldn’t say that stuff, but I have to. I have to say thank you before I go.
“You’re welcome, Lysa. Goodnight to you too.”
My fidgets have vanished. I’m glad I asked about her. If she’s so much better for knowing the truth, then I’m doing the right thing, a good thing. Even if it means I never see Jack again or travel beyond my planet or live the eternal life of a Ranger out in space, I have to do what needs to be done.
Rather than sit here and dwell for my remaining hours, I climb into bed. For a little while, my brain won’t slow down, but eventually, my tiredness overcomes my anxiety and at last, I can sleep.
*****
Since I cleared my calendar and marked my day as a non-working day, nothing wakes me. So of course, I sleep later than I wanted. Springing up out of my bed the moment I realize the time really does say eight o’clock gives me an immediate headache and a bad mood.
That won’t do.
I’m not using my implant unless absolutely necessary, but I need it now, so I turn it on to order coffee, extra orange juice, and a full English breakfast. No one should judge me for that one, because I’ve got a rough day ahead. Then I run for the shower. The bot pings me before I’ve even rinsed off the soap suds, so I do my best not to lose my towel while retrieving the delicious smelling tray.
Getting dressed faster than I thought humanly possible, I try to savor my meal. It reminds me of my mom and a place we used to go on those rare occasions when we actually got our act together in time to see a Sunday matinee. That was when I was still little. She’d take me to this pub that served the best breakfasts. It was the only place I went where I didn’t have to order a kid’s meal. She and I would have this breakfast and get excited over whatever princess movie I was about to see.
I have a great mom. I didn’t appreciate her enough and I hope to make some amends for that. I’m going to see my mom. The thought hits me like a punch, but a good punch. I’ve missed her so much my heart feels like someone is squeezing it for the juice. Now, I’m going to finally…at last…see her again.
I’m getting weepy-eyed all the sudden and that is almost the last thing I need today, so I drain my juice and bring my coffee into the bathroom to finish getting ready. I’ll need a clear field of view, so I braid back two sections of hair and clip them together at the back of my head. I give it a shake and it stays put, so I’m good there.
Basic clothes are the rule of the day. No funny tee shirts about aliens, especially considering what I’m about to do. I put on a plain black tee, then realize I look like a scared goth. My nervousness has made me pale. Switching it for a nice sky-blue one works better.
“Yeah, a nice calm color. Calm is good,” I say to myself in the mirror.
A pair of jeans and some slip-on skater shoes are the only other things I’m going to wear. I need to keep the weight down and my body free to move.
Calling the cabinet bot for my dishes, I gather them up and put them outside the door, then wipe off the table so that the surface is free of debris. Putting the environment suit I intend to wear on top of my rolling crate, I survey the room that’s been mine for almost two months.
My room is clean, with everything put away. It barely seems anyone lived here. I’ve packed up the art supplies and left the box behind the easel. All that’s left is my easel and the pictures I’ve made while here. I ordered some frames—which stick to the walls anywhere you put them in some mysterious way—and arranged many of them around the walls. The order they’re in tells a story, and I hope Hub and Jack will understand the tale.
I can’t know if it will translate, but it’s the best I can do. The rest of the pictures, the ones that simply punctuate the story, are spread out on the table. There’s just the one on the easel left. I lift off the cloth and fold it while I look for a moment. Will Hub understand? Will Jack?
I don’t know. I hope so. That painting is the only one of them that isn’t signed, isn’t complete.
With one last look around my room, I try to say goodbye, but what keeps nudging that aside is the hope that I’ll come back. I’m returning to Earth, but I still feel like my future is here. I always wanted to work by digging up the past. I didn’t realize that what I really wanted was to bring it back to life. Here, I can almost do that.
And I don’t even need to finish high school to do it.
The bot passes my door as I step out and sends me a smiley face, so I say, “Thank you.”
With that, I walk out, rolling my cabinet behind me.
Thirty-Seven
I’m not at all worried about this first part. I feel even better after seeing Esme on my way out of the wing. She greets me with a big smile and points at my cart. “Going somewhere special?”
With a wink and a smile so easy it almost surprises me, I say, “The Kassa like my art. I thought I’d do more for them.”
The expression on her face makes me feel like garbage. She looks proud of me. “I’m so glad you’re settling in.”
“Give me another week and I’ll be changing bodies and asking for a job.” With that, I push through the door and exit the wing to the sound of her delighted laughter.
The subway ride goes well, but I start to get nervous when the little car comes. The butterflies in my stomach turn to bats the size of housecats as I put on my environment suit. With all the busy machines on the transport level zipping past with
their mysterious crates and bubbles of water, I’m in a crowd, but also very alone. The darkness when my car shoots down the shaft for the entrance level matches my sadness. As always, that darkness lifts, and so must my feelings, because I have work to do.
The suit slips up my torso, then one arm, then the other. This isn’t the time to get sloppy, so I pay attention and do it right. Inside the suit are big pockets that Jack told me are for longer term support equipment. Given their locations near my hips, I’m guessing those are for various machines to take care of bladder needs and so on. For now, they function perfectly to hold my portable control surface and my camera.
Basically, anything that I can’t leave behind goes inside. I bounce around experimentally before sealing myself up. I’m a little heavier with the gear, but the flaps on the pockets keep everything secure. I seal my shoes in after a moment of consideration. I have no idea if I can get more on the ship and the idea of being without shoes for however long bothers me for some reason.
I can’t explain it, but there it is. I need shoes. Being barefoot while saving the planet is just out of the question.
Now comes the hard part. I ordered a utility belt suitable for the environment suits and I put that on, then clip each of my safety lines to it. If I was feeling heavy before, I’m really weighty now. The lines themselves are made of some super-light material, but the metal clips are heavy considering how many I have attached to my suit.
A final clip goes from me to the crate. The line for that will pay out as I climb. Inside the crate, my belongings are tied up in a bag that can resist the Kassa atmosphere. My cards with the Kassa glyphs are on a big ring, with the English on the back of each card. I’ve practiced, and I’m fairly quick with them, but we’ll see how well I do when I’m nervous. That big ring goes on another clip at my chest. I flip it up and yes, I still have room to hold it. The position is a little awkward, but it won’t get in my way as I climb.
